[SE] 'til you get to the bottomland

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

He didn’t know it back then when they’d been opposed, but perhaps they both were always meant to be each other’s canvas of blood and marks. It isn’t so dissimilar to now if you looked at the bare bones of it, but the circumstances have changed and despite the greed and bites, it’s never his true intention to harm him. A necessary evil, perhaps, but one they make do with. One that will help immensely when they finish the fountain just as it had when they were in Torchline.

For now, though, Asta relishes in his possessiveness, of the ego that blossoms within the butcher to all the darkest depraved sections of his chest. He relishes in the touch of his fingers that sink into his hair, sparking a huff of a sound from him of pure approval, the way his head tilts up into it as if silently conveying more.

He’s distracted, obviously, the feel of Danta overwhelming him in all the best possible ways. At his tease, though, his lips curl in a Cheshire grin, mischief blooming through him as his hand slows to a trickle that is likely just as maddening as he hopes it is. “Of course I can.” He growls out with utmost arrogance. “But I still have to make sure you’re not too bruised.” He smirks, eyes dark and full of desire. “We have.. many.. days left.” Each word is punctuated with a sharper thrust, broken up with the hitches of breath he tries to swallow down.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //