Shaw pack and Mates Headcanons! Their first Sunbound Solstice as couples!
Angel's antics amused David, but he knew it would be too much to handle on the solstice when he felt like shit.
David was super nervous and tried to get Angel to leave him alone for that whole day by explaining it all a week in advance.
It did not work. Angel showed up the night before and was ready with shopping bags full of food, heat packs, ice packs, some extra blankets...
Pretty much everything he would need.
They insisted on staying over. David, in his growing state of exhaustion, gave little resistance. Angel promised not to be a menace this time.
The house was quiet when he woke. He could see through a crack in the door they were making breakfast in the next room, careful not to make any noise that might distress him.
There was fresh water on the nightstand.
His Angel took good care of him.
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Tw vomiting
Asher hadn't told Baabe about magic by the time the sunbound solstice rolled around. After all, they were only a few months into the relationship.
The nausea kept him bound to the bathroom, hovering over the toilet bowl while crouched on the cold floor tiles. His hair was longer at the time, and it kept getting in the way. It felt gross. It sucked.
He had texted Baabe. He'd mentioned feeling sick, and not being able to meet up that day.
But they had a key to his apartment.
They'd let themselves in and found him in the bathroom, old tear streaks on his face.
They held his hair back for him. They brought him water to wash away the nasty taste in his mouth.
They got him into the shower, though he only managed to sit hunched over under the spray. Baabe rinsed the sweat off him and shampooed his hair.
That solstice was what resloved Asher's decision to tell Baabe about his magic.
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Milo begged and begged Sweetheart for weeks to take the day off work for their own sake. True to form, Sweetheart was resolute to soldier-on. So Milo pulled the boyfriend card.
He described how lonely he would be on the solstice without his mate. How he would be so vulnerable all alone and weakened to his core, literally. He needed someone to remind him when to drink water or eat something. All he would need was to cuddle up to them in the quiet bedroom of his apartment, and that would make the day alright.
Sweetheart did a full 180 on their decision and the pair of them suffered the solstice a little less in each others arms.
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Sam was cunning about his plans for his and Darlin's bad solstice. He came over the evening before and kept them up late.
Darlin ended up falling asleep to some cheesy movie, empty popcorn bucket and snack wrappers strewn on the coffee table. That kicked off Sam's plan.
He snuck in a full fridge's worth of food and drink. He locked the doors and double checked that all the curtains were drawn so there would be no leaving without him intercepting them.
By sunrise, Darlin was still on the couch in a deep sleep. They didn't stir until noon, surprised to find themselves relatively cool.
Sam had the air conditioning going and was nursing a headache from his place on the floor next to them.
Upon realising they were awake, he quickly pushed a bottle of water into their hands and ordered them to drink.
They complained. They insisted it was fine and they could take care of themself. But there was no mistaking the way their heart skipped a beat, not for either of them.
Their shared discomfort eased as the hours wore on. At midnight, Darlin had perked up enough to heat up some dinner for them both.
Together in front of the television again, Sam received their murmured 'thank you.' He slipped his hand into theirs and stayed that way for several hours more.
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Christian and Amanda. THAT'S RIGHT, we're doing this.
They had been messing around since March when Amanda awkwardly brought up spending the solstice at her place. She had been dancing around the topic for weeks, wanting so badly to bring it up.
Christian, after a drawn out pause and starting a sentence a few times, eventually made the excuse that he would be spending it with his sister and mother out of Dahlia.
He brushed off the idea and put a little more distance between the two of them where they were seated. That hook up ended earlier than usual.
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Something was wrong and he could feel it the moment he stepped into the house, shoes left on the doormat, coat hung on the rack for it to dry. Paper bag in hand, his footsteps were quiet in the pristine silence of the dimmed living room, only light being the burnt out embers in the fireplace and a lone candle burning to its inevitable demise, leaving a faint bergamot scent in the air. Everything seemed the same when he left it before he closed the doors behind him, and yet, everything seemed different.
His senses were tingling, he did not like it at all.
Walking towards the kitchen, he hit the button to turn on the led strip hung under the cabinets. His house was fancy as everyone who visited kept telling him, and he had a small swell of pride in that. For managing to do it his way, to finally make a space that felt comfortable but his. His to call, his to own and his to change within his control. Even if it was only changing the LED light to warn orange instead of blinding and harsh white on the remote attached to the wall. Someone missclicked the buttons last time.
The paper bag was soon emptied onto the counter, various items ready to be sorted out into their respective places. Few apples and a bag of plums because someone had been devouring them like crazy, two steaks wrapped neatly in brown paper, carrots and beans, some spices. Tea and coffee for him, tissues and a bag of sour gummies because he was pretty sure they would find their way into a particular wolf shifter's stomach sooner or later.
He would prefer later, judging by their sugar intake as of late, the crushed cans of redbull hidden in the trashcan because they thought they were being sneaky with pushing them all the way down. He knew. He said nothing because no matter how much he talked about it, they would not change and would keep downing them on a daily basis. Caffeine junkie that they were, they had at least half a mind to occasionally buy the sugar-free type.
The groceries were put away, shelves and cupboards closed, kettle put on the stove, water slowly reaching the boiling temperature and he could not shake off the bad feeling that started to gnaw at his back, whispers of doubt slowly stirring in his mind. The shoes were left by the jacket rack, and by that, he assumed they were home. Their coat was also hung so that was another indicator. Maybe, they slipped by the terrace glass doors and went running head first into the forest in their wolf form, but there was no draft of the window not being closed fully, the handle was turned fully down. Their scent was still lingering in the air, and so was the sandalwood of their shower gel, yet they didn't come to greet him. It wasn't like he expected that from then, maybe they were busy, but he had a feeling.
He hated having the feeling, back when he was still a human and especially now, with vampiric senses making it worse. The dread looming over him, tickling his slightly pointy ears, fangs aching for nothing because he was fully fed, the empty plastic packet still on the kitchen counter, next to bottle of water they finished at breakfast.
Until he heard a small rustle coming from the bedroom. Vampiric hearing once more, coming in handy.
"Darlin?" he called out, turning the gas down, abandoning the idea of making the tea.
No response, no other sound. Did he mishear?
"Darlin, I'm back!" more rustling, slightly more frantic. Followed by a thud, all coming from the bedroom they shared. And a curse muttered in haste.
Now, he had all the rights to be worried.
Taking few tentative steps on the stairs, he waited for something yet upon not getting any response or acknowledgement of his presence, he climbed to the upper floor, nose immediately hit with a nauseating scent. Mildly sweet and metallic.
Blood.
Doors to the rooms upstairs were all closed, every single one beside the bedroom, the faint light of a bedside lamp illuminating the wooden floors. He noticed the blanket that he put on them before he left to the shop was currently kicked off and left tangled and messy at the edge of the bed, most of it spilling onto the floor. The lamp was turned on but dimmed as much as possible, casting a faint orange glow on the wall. His pillow was thrown across the bed.
"Hey," a shaky breath left his mouth when he saw they were still there, although not in one piece. Trying to get up as they no doubt tripped on the bundled blankets, they looked miserable.
"Let me" sitting beside, his hand gently stretched towards them, fingertips softly cupping their cheek as his right arm peeled their hands away, uncovering the bloodied nose, small stream pooling on their upper lip and staining it crimson red. Nothing was fractured, just a bit bruised, easily handled with his magic. And soon enough, after just a bit of focus and pressure to the tender spot, pleasant warmth soothed the sharp pain, making them exhale, airways no longer blocked.
His healing magic was always soothing.
Swiping his thumb over the skin, he cleaned the blood, wiping it into a tissue taken from the small box on the nightstand.
"Aren't you a sight, huh?" he asked, taking a look at their face. Groggy, still laced with sleep despite the unwelcome and unpleasant wake-up call after the thud, causing them the nose bleed, hair messy and sticking in every way possible. Ever since he dragged them out of the safe confines of their bed for breakfast, much to their protest, of course, they were all...so sleepy and snuggly. When he sat down on the couch to read a bit, they joined him immediately, head on his lap, blanket over their back. Upon falling asleep and being moved to the bedroom, they did not say anything, only moving onto his side and holding onto his pillow. When he got up, a promise to get them something tasty from the grocery shop on his lips was met with only a barely coherent hum. And it seemed that while he was gone, they did not get up at all, opting for sleeping in bed.
He was glad. They deserved the rest as their body started to slowly catch up with whatever it was put through, finally being able to let go and focus on working properly, mending whatever was missing. It seemed to start with sleep, and Sam could not be happier seeing his mate taking the time to take care of themselves. Even if hesitant and lost at first due to the various sensations making them confused.
Who would have thought that after years of being on the run, constantly fighting for something unachievable, one's body could collapse to a brink? Without anything to hold it together, it just crumbled underneath the weight and he slowly was picking the pieces together. With rich and tasty meals, lots of tea, water and naps throughout the day, which not long ago was considered a heresy.
The heresy turned into something they yearned for, every time they opened their eyes.
"What happened?"
"Wanted to...see you, but I was attacked," pointing to the nightstand. He turned his head and saw the crime scene. On it, beside the lamp, was the book they tried to finish, half empty box of tissues, their keys, still full glass of water he left before going out and few small splotches of red, aftermath of their close meeting with the wooden tabletop.
He nodded, not saying anything to that, his slender fingers only caressing the skin that slowly was getting back to its usual colour, cheeks feeling fuller and livelier. Like a stagnant house that was getting lived in, their body began to feel better. Healthier.
"Is my big bad wolf getting up today at all?" he mused, gently teasing their tousled state and clothes they slept in, not meaning any malice behind his words. If it turned to that, he would rot in bed with them close, head propped up comfortably on his chest, legs tangled, breaths mingling in a soft dance, eyes closed and mind finally quiet, just soaking up the proximity, the pleasure. Ever since being turned, he lost all hopes for achieving anything remotely positive, and life bestowed him with a fierce wolf that had a knack for getting themselves in trouble.
And he would pick them up every single time, petting and soothing any bruises, kissing all the pain away just to see that crooked smile once more, better than the forgotten sun in the sky, better than the thrill of a late night drive. Better than anything he had and he would have in the future they were bound to share.
"C'mere," the statement, paired with the childish gesture of "grabby hands" as they stretched on the bed to make a spot for him, solidified any assumptions he may have had.
"Someone has to make food, Darlin'. Have you eaten anything after breakfast?" Of course not, he would have seen the mess in the kitchen or at least some tries to cover it up with measle attempts at stacking the drying rack. Kitchen was left pristine and sparkly.
"M'not hungry..." the wolf groaned, scrunching their newly healed nose at the change of topic. They wanted to hug, not to eat.
"You will be soon enough. Lazy day as it is, you still need food in here. Foreign concept, I know, " he poked against the muscles of their stomach, making them jolt and toss a hand towards his. They may have been a wolf, but belly pets were an absolute no-go, claws sharp and rady to strike the poor bastard who decided upon such a sinful indulgence.
There was something of a cat in them, with the way they were sprawled on the pillow, the warm orange light casting shadows on their face, almost imitating sunlight.
"Bullshit," they protested, voice groggy, much to his amusement.
"Oh, is it now? I'm sorry." his chuckle was the gentlest and perfect sound in the whole world and they were down badly for it. Even half asleep, brain fuzzy, body limp and unwilling to move around. When he wrapped his arms around them, they were gone and they would not have it any other way, immediately nuzzling into him, nosing at the collar of his shirt, one of the buttons digging into the flesh of their bicep, leg thrown over his hip.
"How are you feeling?" a mumbled "peachy" answered him, smile tugging at his lips because of that
"Anything else hurts?" they grumbled something under their nose, pulling themselves closer, no space in between allowed. It was not a time for casual cuddling. It was time to hog their mate all to themselves.
"Now, now. I'm not going anywhere, you know? Beside kitchen at some point" his fingers began to ran through their hair, gently undoing any knots and waves, their body practically melting into a wolf shifter puddle, breaths evening out to the point of almost falling asleep right away.
"My Darlin," he whispered against the crown of their head, lips ghosting against their forehead when they sighed, content and cosy. His arms keeping them securely in his hold, made sure nothing would happen to them. They could relax and laze around to their heart's content. And he would be right beside them.
The bad feeling disappeared the moment he saw them, it always worked like that. Never once in his new life he thought he could care for someone in this way, not because it was needed of him or expected. There were no expectations when it came to the wolf in his arms, but that wasn't an issue. He would take the spontaneous decisions and lazy days spent in their bedroom over anything else.
He turned off the lamp, the bedroom once more turning dark, only lone rays of sunlight seeping in, cloudy day not allowing much of them. If they fell asleep, so be it. There was nowhere else in the world he would rather be.
anyway, I'm taking the spot to quickly remind that Sam already won the march redactness. Vote wisely! (the Porter love confession is still on the table people)
david has to be an absolute slut for forehead kisses, heâs all big and tall and buff so he doesnât get them as often, but it turns him into complete mush
*I feel this takes place a bit after or around the time of that valentines audio where Angel got David flowers OR after when david said he thought about a future with them outloud for the first time*
David has told angel that Angel lives in the moment and goes with the flow vs David in which he likes to plan for things.
Angel would take pauses in their morning routine to take a look at David while he would brush his teeth, and a warm smile would appear on their face. Angel would also sneak glances when David would cut vegetables for a dinner recipe he wanted to try. Angel would look up from playing on their switch to see David sitting on the counter, his eyes illuminated by the laptop screen he was staring at.
And each time David would look up from what he was doing with his eyebrows furrowed. He would âhmphâ and grab the mouth wash. He would look up and see Angel glance away quickly and set the table. He would look up from his laptop and see Angel snuggled in the couch holding that stare for a second longer than last time and go back into their screen.
David had somehow developed a 6th sense for when his Angel was looking at him. Like something was calling him. He would now find himself smiling ever so slightly when he would feel their stare. Sometimes he will pretend not to notice, just so Angel can stare a bit longer. Other times he just wanted to see them, the way they stared at him with such bliss.
And each time Angel would hold their stare for a little longer. And every time they did that they would feel warm a bit more than last. Not that warm feeling where their face and ears flush, but that feeling in their chest just growing more and more.
BUT before David developed his 6th sense, Angel one day pulled him onto the couch. Before david opened his mouth wanting to ask âwhy?â Angel told him âI want to try somethingâ and sat on the couch facing him.
After closing their eyes and taking a deeeeeep breathe, Angel opened their eyes. Not to stare or to look at David, but to see him. Angel would say nothing. Not a giggle nor a laugh.
This initially confused David because he expected his Angel to say something. And right before he was going to speak he saw the change in Angelâs eyes. He saw the smile in their eyes before a smile ever so slowly appeared on their face.
And thatâs when he knew why Angel would sneak peeks at him because he was feeling it too. The feeling of feeling it all.
No words where said. Just shared smiles, breathes and little glimpses of what they saw in their future with one another. A silent way to show love, yet it was loud.
Angel and David both know that bridging is not a possibility for them and they are ok with that. He knows that Angel does not have a core like he does, but my god after that moment?
He knows that Angel reached something in him, and his core reached back. And he swears by it that he could see his angel glow.
-darlinâ gives sam puppy dog eyes all the time both with or without their own acknowledgement (they bite their lip too and it drives sam fucking insane)
-wolves donât particularly enjoy being touched around their lower back area, even the most controlled wolf will get uncomfortable and/or shift instinctively to protect themselves
-asher and baabe are literally johnny and mavisÂ
-vincent and lovely are always together. always. (where one is, the other is not far behind)Â
-gavin telling freelancer theyâre pretty every single dayÂ
-freelancer telling gavin he has the kindest heart every single day (and that heâs pretty)Â
-freelancer plays volleyball (theyâre on a recreational team)
-darlin' and milo will forever have beef with asher and asher will always harass them. when milo says "ash, ew.." darlin' says "ash, what the fuck.."
-david âhardassâ shaw brought to his knees begging for forgiveness because angel called him david onceÂ
-freelancer and huxley feed off each otherâs energy and theyâre both adorably loud when around each otherÂ
-gavin and freelancer get violently upset if theyâre not around each other for more than a day
-âyour eyes are so prettyâ was one of the first things coworker said to lasko and he stopped breathing for a solid minute
-under extreme stress, cutie loses control of their powers and it can either make them slide out of someoneâs head or into everyoneâs head (during the inversion they could hear everyoneâs thoughts and they were trying to fight off a panic attack the whole time)
-milo and darlin' make fun of each otherâs trauma (milo: âthatâs why your dad doesnât fucking love youâ darlin': âyour dad doesnât love you either, bitchâ)
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since SOME OF YALL ainât about angst, hereâs some fluffy, bite-sized, tooth-rotting headcanons to curl up in bed with a warm drink and readâŚ
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baabe mastered the art of knitting long ago, and each holiday season they will hand make themselves and asher matching sweaters. three sweaters, to be exact, so his wolf form can also wear one when it gets chilly outside. only two of six sweaters have been regifted or donated since this last year, when asher admitted to being allergic to the wool material purposed for the first two sweaters gifted to him by baabe. of course, he did spill after more than a year of owning them that âlast winterâs bug wasnât a bug at all, it was me being an idiotâ but baabe thought it adorable that asher spared his feelings (and immune system) for them, nonetheless.
ďźďźďźďź
milo and sweetheart stay up each year to watch the first snowfall greet dahliaâs grounds. in preparation they drink egg nog amidst expiring (regular for milo, spiked for sweetheart), while they form a trio to Michael BublĂŠ andâââariana grande? *scoffs* âash mustâve added that one.â still they waltz around the baige-bathed, dwarfish living room of their apartment, with aggro leaping in toe. he is freshly three years old, and has made it his birthday mission to reach the spiked poof of red and sienna yarn attached to the toque fit snug on his ownerâs head. the yule log on the grainy television exudes no heat, but the humming radiator and miloâs body swaying with theirs warms sweetheart plenty.
ďźďźďźďź
âyou little snot.â david chastises his partner as the icing smeared on his nose begins solidifying. leave it to him to accept angelâs invitation to build gingerbread houses on their first shared holiday. and leave it to angel to pursue their menace activities like clockwork. he grumbles something about acting indecent on a national holiday, but as angelâs come to discover, the sharp tone is all for show. at their suggestion to go clean him up with outstretched hand, david takes the risk and allows them to guide him to the kitchen for a paper towel and fresh glass of cider. his mate then pauses in the threshold, sparing a glance to the top of the doorway. âhuh.â davidâs eyes follow the same trail and all he can muster is a scoff at the mistletoe dangling above them. âyou know, angel, if you wanted a kiss all you had to do was ask.â
or:Â i donât care what you do, as long as you pronounce it properly.
gn!reader, nothing too objectionable, domestic fluff with a little bit of flirting for good measure. written for the magnificent @/bluewhispers for @angelicaether's skyside 2025 holiday exchange â i do hope iâve done your darlings justice! happy holidays, lovely blue, and happy (belated) new year! <3 inspired by iâm beginning to see the light, specifically the 1945 version by the ink spots and ella fitzgerald. and you can go and figure out whatâs going on with donât look back in anger on your own time, if you really feel like it. or donât, iâm not your gingerbreadmother. damien biting the bowl off the spoon in just over 1800 words.
The sound of his electric toothbrush has stopped, and thereâs a familiar shadow standing in the kitchen doorway.
âYou do realise youâre a fucking idiot, yes?â
In your arms, the stack of cake tins seems to have a mind of its own, teetering back and forth with every tiny shift of your weight. The cupboard above the fridge seems to get fuller and fuller every time you open it, so youâre resigned to staring at it, unblinking, to stop it from spawning any more rolls of baking paper or tartlet tins before you can put these away.
Down on the counter, you can hear the kettle beginning to boil. Itâs difficult to see his expression from up here, twisted away from the door to reach the cupboard above the fridge, but youâre sure that itâs something gentle and encouraging. Heâs very supportive. And he likes things to be tidy, so heâs almost certainly looking pleased. Approving, perhaps. Or benign, at the very least.
Resolutely, you nod, secure in your deduction. âYes.â
âOkay. Just checking.â
The buzzing of Damienâs electric toothbrush starts up again, and a warm hand settles itself against your thigh, steadying your weight and sitting just low enough to not be entirely indecent. You did say he was very supportive, after all.
Metal clatters against metal. Itâs not elegant, but with a little bit of engineeringâ
âFuck!â
âokay, with a little bit of engineering and a lot of swearing, you manage to cram all of the baking equipment back into the cupboard, minus a single roll of silver foil thatâs just going to have to live on top of the fridge for now. Thereâs a loaf tin thatâs probably going to fall out as soon as anyone opens the door, and a little box of fairy cake cases that definitely werenât that shape before, but thatâs a problem for future-you.
The way down is relatively easy, all things considered. The hand on your leg drifts up to your waist, and it feels like you float down the ladder rather than step, a warm thrum of helpful psychokinesis playing across your skin like sunbeams.
âYou see?â In an instant, youâre nestled against his side, a self-satisfied grin spread wide across your face. âExpertly tidied.â
Damienâs eyes flick up to the cupboard door, which is still suspiciously not-quite closed, then back down to your face.
â...mghrn.â
He turns to the side and spits a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. Clearly, he agrees.
The kitchen is a little bit cold, but heâs as warm as ever, and the faded cotton of his T-shirt is excellently soft beneath your cheek. Behind you, the switch on the kettle flicks up as the water reaches boiling.
âAre you making tea?â
âMaybe.â
The words are nothing more than a jumble of syllables, smeared across his shoulder as you bury your face in his neck. âCanât move.â
He huffs lightly, the low vibration of his laugh rippling through the side of your head. âPardon?â
âCanât move.â Itâs not fair, itâs just not fair, why canât he understand? Heâs so lovely and it drives you mad. âYâre too warm.â
âAm I? Aw, baby, Iâm sorry.â
By degrees, he manages to slowly turn the two of you around so that he can reach the kettle with his free arm, the one still holding the toothbrush now looped around your middle. âYou must be hating it, then.â
Pouring water, steam hissing. He snatches in a breath as your palms dart underneath the hem of his shirt, pressing flat to his back and feeling him tense up at the temperature difference. âNot liâ Jesus! â not like you spent most of this morning enjoying it, or anything.â
Solemnly, you shake your head, although it probably just looks like youâre trying to give yourself a friction burn with his collar. âI would never.â
âSo Iâm told.â You can almost hear his eyes rolling. âI believe you, thousands wouldnât.â
Reluctantly, he lets you go so he can pick up his tea, retreating towards the microwave. Damien tends to move a little further away from you whenever heâs drinking tea â he drinks it obscenely hot, and ever since Lasko almost gave himself a second-degree burn trying to hand it to him, heâs made a habit of keeping it well away from anyone else. Itâs very sweet of him, and perfectly understandable, although it would be nice if he didnât have to.
Above your head, thereâs an ominous thud from above the fridge.
âOne of these days, Iâll melt that fucking ladder,â he muses as he watches you glare at the cupboard, sipping his tea and steadfastly ignoring your indignant protestations. âDonât think I wonât! You know I will!â
âWhâ itâs not even that tall!â you splutter. He talks about it like youâre climbing Everest, not a tiny little stepladder with three steps to its name. âItâs useful!â
âItâs a death trap!â
âYouâre a death trap!â
Sluuurp. âWell, youâre very welcome to come and climb on me, instead.â
God, you could just strangle him, sometimes. Instead, you settle for flinging a tea towel at his stupid, smirking face â he catches it, because of course he does, the bastard â and resolving to definitely not take him up on that offer, no matter how tempting it sounds. Or how tempting he looks. Or how temptingly heâs looking at you, dark eyes trailing slowly down your body, quick fingers tapping wickedly against the side of his drink, leaning back against the counter like it would be nothing at all for you to slide into his grasp, your hands in his hair, his lip between your teeth, heavy breaths that only get hotter, sweet and slick andâ andâ andâ
âDonât let me distract you, or anything.â
Damien yawns, catlike, and with absolutely no sense of human decency whatsoever, stretches juuust enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his sweats, stretched infuriatingly low across his hips. Itâs just a flash, but you couldnât hope to miss it â the violet trail of hickeys scattered across his stomach like flowers, blossoming innocently beneath his skin.
âI hate you,â you say weakly.
âOkay.â
The time on the microwave is 10:03. He sets his tea down on the side, and pushes it away.
âLike, I hate you hate you.â
âMm. I guessed.â
Itâs raining outside, condensation on the kitchen window. Someoneâs phone, probably yours, buzzes quietly from the living room. A shiver goes up your spine.
âNo, like actually.â
â...yeah. Thatâs⌠thatâs what I said.â
The kettle is hot, the water ready. If you wait, itâll go cold, and youâll have to boil it again.
âFuck this,â you spit, and he tastes like jasmine and that dreadful blue toothpaste he always buys. Everythingâs so warm as he gathers you up against his chest, helplessly melting into his hands and his laugh and his kiss.
Damien, Damien, the loveliest boy in the whole wide world. Utterly charming as his eyes flutter closed, palms skating enthusiastically across your back, your waist, your hips, as if he couldnât possibly settle for just one. Entirely too precious, his wry smile that makes your heart race, soft words dripping off a sharp tongue.
âYouâre so, so stupid,â you sigh dreamily, unable to help the way your fingers slide eagerly across his chest, over his neck, up into his hair. âThe stupidest there ever was.â
âMm, I know,â he murmurs, and the words are impossibly soft and gooey as he presses them against your lips. Spit snapping, the crackle of lightning between his mouth and yours.
Itâs just getting good, whenâ
Slip inside the eye of your mind, donât you know you might findâŚ
âwhen your phone starts ringing, the custom ringtone changed to whatever flavour-of-the-week song Gavinâs been obsessed with lately, and both of you groan in unison as youâre reminded of the actual reason youâre down here at all.
âWhat time did Gav want us for?â Damien asks, although his fingers donât stop tracing little circles across your back.
Begrudgingly, your eyes dart over to the microwave clock. Whenever Gavin said, thereâs no way youâll make it in time. âHeâs gonna kill us.â
âNot if we use protectionâ ow!â
Despite his theatrics, Damien takes your half-hearted slap with remarkable grace, quickly trapping your hand against his side with his own and guiding it down to his waist. âLook, if you want to go without this time, itâs up to youâŚâ
âYouâ youââ Your spluttering peters out beneath his laughter, half-moon eyes and that great big smile that always makes you want to kiss him silly. Heâs got to stop this, heâs got to, your poor little heart canât take it. âI changed my mind. Gavin wonât get the chance, Iâm killing you instead.â
âDo you have to?â Mwah, mwah, mwah, tiny little kisses down your jaw. âIâm told I give very good bribes. Glowing reviews.â
âUnless youâre planning on bribing him too, I think youâre out of luck.â
Damien pauses briefly to grimace against your neck. âNot while weâre out, Jesus. One of the waitresses there is in Laskoâs class this year, I saw her leaving the lecture hall two weeks ago when I went in to give that shirt back to him.â
You snort. âStill canât believe you walked off in his shirt.â
âI was distracted!â
âŚActually, thatâs fair. Hux is very distracting, even when heâs not getting out of the pool.
âBesides,â Damien continues, âif youâre so opposed to my shirts, I can think of a solutionâŚâ
The air is cool, but his hands always chase the chill away. Youâre starting to get the feeling that his persuasion is working, and if the way his lips trail across your collarbone is any indication, you think he knows it, too.
âWeâre going to beâ fuck, weâre going to be so late,â you manage to choke out, and you know he knows heâs got you. The world spins as Damien pivots you around until your back is against the counter instead of his, and his grin twists into that hateful, haunting smirk, just on the right side of cruel.
âAnd?â
The edge of the countertop digs into your back. âHeâs going to skin us alive.â
âAnd?â
âIâll text him.â
He scoffs, not fooled even for a second. âNo you wonât.â
Your hips rock against his, just once, and Damienâs head falls back as he moans, loud and shameless in the still air of your kitchen. God, heâs so beautiful, spit-slick and sugary, and ridiculously, painfully yours.
âNo,â you say, breathless, and drag him back in. âI wonât.â
â
worldâs biggest gulper: ON UR WAY MY ASS
worldâs biggest gulper: ITS BEEN 90 MINUTES THIS IS NOT BRUNCH ANYMORE
worldâs biggest gulper: istg u two r worse than vincent. FUCKING VINCENT SOLAIRE AND HES NOCTURNAL
worldâs biggest gulper: ok i rebooked for dinner. if i see turtlenecks its on sight
â
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this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.
