// and rise with me forever across the silent sand //
“Oh, I believe I have been replaced by a cartoon crab that only knows how to say let’s get crackin’.” It takes him a moment to manage to make his accent disappear to get the correct kind of drawl for the wording on his bib that Danta had put on him. But he thinks he does a satisfactory job, looking over at Danta now that his hands are clean to shoot him an amused smile.
Relaxing once they’re clean enough and the bib is taken off to fold up nicely and look back at him with its saying face up, the Butcher leans into the kiss his fiancé presses to his cheek. “Oooh, that’s a fantastic idea, darling.” Extremely content with the idea of that, so he’d at the very least be able to enjoy it for longer without Danta having to roll him home, the Butcher tilts his head to claim a warm kiss to seal the deal.
The peach cobbler arrives soon after, sat down with two forks even though the Butcher is confident they’ll only require the one. It smells lovely and homey, sweet and tart in all the ways a good warm dessert often was. And he reaches out to snag a portion of it on the fork to offer to Danta first, trying to get his read on whether or not it was sweet enough to satisfy the sweet tooth spurred by resurfacing traumatic memories.
Relaxing once they’re clean enough and the bib is taken off to fold up nicely and look back at him with its saying face up, the Butcher leans into the kiss his fiancé presses to his cheek. “Oooh, that’s a fantastic idea, darling.” Extremely content with the idea of that, so he’d at the very least be able to enjoy it for longer without Danta having to roll him home, the Butcher tilts his head to claim a warm kiss to seal the deal.
The peach cobbler arrives soon after, sat down with two forks even though the Butcher is confident they’ll only require the one. It smells lovely and homey, sweet and tart in all the ways a good warm dessert often was. And he reaches out to snag a portion of it on the fork to offer to Danta first, trying to get his read on whether or not it was sweet enough to satisfy the sweet tooth spurred by resurfacing traumatic memories.
Astaroth
// and the stars will be your eyes and the wind will be my hands //
