I told you, you were brave

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

If Ancients could purr, Danta would have been little more than a big cat in Asta's arms by this point, grumbling something muffled yet affectionate into the other man's chest to feel his fingers migrate up and through his hair. "Mm, deal," he says, of the other man dressing him for a day. The Maverick, of course, assumes that the threat of his dress sense would be much worse, but then again, he hasn't considered yet that Asta might lace him into another corset.

Stretching out against the butcher and peering up at him, Danta takes the opportunity to kiss the smile right off his face, before he's promptly slouching back in against his shoulder. "Alright," he says. "I think now I might be ready to nap." And Asta only has himself and his clever fingers to blame, a shiver running down the Maverick's back as he finally drops his glamour, his tail sweeping contently across the blankets.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //