seven sins, don't let them in

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

Every retort is trapped behind sharp teeth, jostled gently by his fiancé’s hand as his jaw is cupped. An indignant huff leaves him, short and annoyed despite the amusement that lingers in his gaze that completely betrays the butcher’s internal thoughts. But as the mention of his birthday comes (grateful for the fact he does not have a partial shift otherwise his ears would be pinning), the butcher opts for sticking his tongue out briefly at his lover — as good a sign as any that he’s certainly not sober anymore — as he ferries him closer.

Because despite all of the fanfare and playful dramatics, the butcher is realistic. He’s also a romantic at heart, such that he keeps them close to drip his honeyed vows right against his fiancé’s waiting lips. The shut up echoed back at him has a low laugh escaping him, tucking him in close against where he’s chosen to hide his reddening face.

Content and curled in, the butcher thinks he could stay like this for quite a bit longer, but it seems Danta has other plans. “Mm, you are not allowed to get into bed until you’ve shed your attire, darling.” The butcher drawls, pulling away just enough to shoot him a wink before he’s snagging his wrists to tug him along toward the bed where he promptly sits, still without his glamour, and waits for Danta to shed his clothes. It’s only fair, he thinks.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //