burned me up and down

// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //

“Hey you,” Asta hums softly, voice still hoarse but warming up as he finally has a moment to regain his breath and the comfort of settling into the chaise, her warmth shifting to lean back against him and shift his arm so that he can keep her against his chest. He radiates warmth, a steady pillar as she rests against him and he sees her mischievous grin, a spark of his own lingering in the curve of his own lips.

His dark gaze finds Danta’s grin and subsequent remark while the butcher’s fingertips trace idle patterns into Flora’s shoulder, a certain softness of adoration in his gaze as he watches the Maverick take that long sip from the aged bottle of whiskey. Flora will feel the snort from the butcher at the warning, though, tilting his horned head slightly toward her. “He has done that once or twice.” He murmurs to Flora like it’s a conspiracy, before Danta’s joining them.

He reaches out his free hand to stroke a gentle sweeping pattern up Danta’s chest, before it rises to snag the whiskey and offer it to Flora in case she wishes to have a sip of it first. Whether she does or doesn’t, the bottle is soon lifted to the butcher’s lips in turn, downing a heavy sip of it to wash away the taste of iron still flooding his mouth with a hiss of appreciation for the burn.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //