don't need love when it comes in a bottle

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“Mm, I recall. It is funny how much I had to crow it about.” His name, he means, with all the nicknames that lied therein each time Danta would call him Aspartame and the like. But that’s neither here nor there as the butcher settles into this timeframe, because letting his mind drift back to the Climb centuries ago would be nothing good for the butcher’s state of mind when it comes to his apologies.

Instead, he fans his fingers out and drags blunt fingernails across his lover’s skin, gentle and soothing as opposed to anything else. He listens to the sound of the Maverick’s scoffed laughter like it’s the perfect melody he could hear over and over again and not get sick of it. “In fairness, it is a great weed.” He hums, his accent thicker as he tucks his chin to peer down at his lover pressed against his chest, peering up at him with those bright blues.

The smile lines on his face deepen to hear his name, the way it twists warmly in the recesses of his heart. “See, that was not so hard, was it?” His hand lifts to stroke through golden stands, paying special attention to the space his horns sat when his glamour is up, offering nothing but unconditional attention and adoration, bursting with love.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life