you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
“Shhh--” the butcher hums as he manages to be that space that keeps Danta from falling off the bed and really getting an abrupt awakening, and only when it seems like he isn’t going to move or throw more of a fit (it’s about the time that Danta flinches), Astaroth’s arm snakes underneath him to wind around his chest, keeping his back pressed against him, his nose pressed into tousled blond. “You’re okay.” He tries again, still gently, still trying to get him to relax.
He doesn’t realize at first when Danta fully wakes, even the groaned fuck registering as something that could still be part of the nightmare between the sudden intense stillness and the tension that lingers in Danta’s bones. His other hand lifts to thread the Maverick’s hair back and away from his face, his own tail hanging off the bed beneath the tossed around blankets, flicking with the internal awkwardness of being unable to do much, not without fear of making it worse. “You are safe.” He decides to say instead of I’m here, because depending on the torturer of the evening, he might not be that relieving of a realization.
He doesn’t realize at first when Danta fully wakes, even the groaned fuck registering as something that could still be part of the nightmare between the sudden intense stillness and the tension that lingers in Danta’s bones. His other hand lifts to thread the Maverick’s hair back and away from his face, his own tail hanging off the bed beneath the tossed around blankets, flicking with the internal awkwardness of being unable to do much, not without fear of making it worse. “You are safe.” He decides to say instead of I’m here, because depending on the torturer of the evening, he might not be that relieving of a realization.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
