run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
Tail lashing, he’s perfectly still despite how sunk into the bite he is. A warning as it may be, the feral, not really there butcher, doesn’t quite register what’s happening. It’s when the tang of iron hits, warm and sweet and successful in the snap that his jaw twitches to feel the hands thread through his hair. A gentle touch. One that, along with the blood, starts to pull him out of it.
When he moves closer, those teeth twitch again, retracting slowly as he loosens the hold he has on the Maverick’s arm. Realization hits, slowly at first, and then the pain sets in. Blood streams from Danta’s arm and down Asta’s mouth into the beard, and there’s a sheen of tears on his cheeks he doesn’t remember happening.
But he withdraws, slowly at first, and then suddenly. Enough that it seems he’s trying to pull away, but Danta’s hand is still tight in his hair. “Fuck, shit, shit, Danta,” he gasps, choking on the sharp breath and blood he inhales, moving his arm slightly to try and steady himself before the pain radiates so sharply a grunt of pain escapes him. Another flurry of those tears blur his vision, streaking down his cheeks as he breathes heavier and faster. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—” He’s pleading. Begging.
When he moves closer, those teeth twitch again, retracting slowly as he loosens the hold he has on the Maverick’s arm. Realization hits, slowly at first, and then the pain sets in. Blood streams from Danta’s arm and down Asta’s mouth into the beard, and there’s a sheen of tears on his cheeks he doesn’t remember happening.
But he withdraws, slowly at first, and then suddenly. Enough that it seems he’s trying to pull away, but Danta’s hand is still tight in his hair. “Fuck, shit, shit, Danta,” he gasps, choking on the sharp breath and blood he inhales, moving his arm slightly to try and steady himself before the pain radiates so sharply a grunt of pain escapes him. Another flurry of those tears blur his vision, streaking down his cheeks as he breathes heavier and faster. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—” He’s pleading. Begging.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
