sorry but someone assuming you have "left a fandom" when you don't post about it a lot anymore feels like bilbo coming home to the sackville bagginses having him presumed dead and selling all his stuff. girl i was just on a little quest????
Her eyes crawl over to find yours, lids lax with the carelessness solely bestowed on the honest summer child. Her heels are burrowed into damp, glutinous mud, still weeping with the remnants of last weekâs downpour. Bare feet tilt at a persistent angle, pushed by the creek's current, the only sounds your shared breathing and the babble of liquid motion over stretches of flattened stone.
âWhat wouldn't you like?â she drawls, her voice lancing through the balmy stillness between you. âRich's godawful cologne suffocating you while you try to cook his dinner like a serf?â She snorts, fingers lazily drifting through kelly green blades of bristled growth.
The night before, she had insisted on you stopping by right after work while she grabbed a portable radio for your night to the drive-in. Her mother had indeed been slaving away over the stove while her stepfather, Rich, encased her from behind, barely allowing her an inch of movement in any direction.Â
But there's one particular aspect that has stuck out in your mind and needled at your idle hours since.Â
âHe kept kissing her neck.â you finally answer, flicking an ant off of your skirt. âThey were loud and wet andâŠand kind of off-putting.â
Alexis grunts, her agreement not needing to be articulated. But her eyes remain on you, eyebrows raised in droll challenge, irises shimmering with something that tugs at your memory.
"Is it just the thought of him kissing your neck, or being kissed on the neck in general?â she questions, her hand falling stationary.
âThe thought in general.â you reply, your nose wrinkling. You've always been rather sensitive, giving your peers and family members no shortage of amusement as you twisted and flinched away from gentle pokes and teasing prods. You can't imagine that having lips where your sensation is most heightened would be anything nearing pleasant.
Quiet resumes, and you've just managed to tuck away your sensibilities enough to lay back on the grass before her words reach your ears.
âI could kiss you there. If you want. To see if you like it.â
Your chest hitches, static weighing thick and heavy over your just prone form. The implications don't need to be voiced. The potential fallout sits like a stone in your throat.Â
âIâŠI shouldn'tâŠâ you trail off, fingers curling into your dampened palms.
âWouldn't you rather find out now?â There's an odd sort of hunger coloring her tone, desperation tempered with a bite that almost makes you wince. âWhy would you want to wait for some prick to slobber all over you just to find out you'd rather be dead?â
The word dead coming out of Alexis Getty's mouth is nearly enough to make you break into peals of laughter. She isn't made for talks of mortality, not conceivable in terms of beginning and end. You can close your eyes and imagine her laying on this creek bed at any period, at any era. The world could be in ruins, and she would still be siphoning the sunlight for all it was worth, gulping it down like a rabid scavenger aware of its closing window.
Call it familiarity. Call it something that won't go past your trachea. Either way, it's just wrong.Â
You bite your lip, watching as her pupils dilate a touch at the crease in your skin.Â
âItâŠit won't mean anything, will it?â you ask. You're not religious, exactly, but the community might as well be your temple, your family its followers, and its creed forbids aberrations.Â
Her face shutters, her nostrils flaring.Â
âNo.â she mumbles. âIt doesn't matter.â Her eyes flash with an accompanying sneer inching at her lips.Â
âI'm just helping you. I've done it enough.â
Something hot and sour lances your stomach at the reminder. Girlhood is a toothy thing, blossoming in patches of damp in curves you aren't ready for, shark-infested waters you haven't managed to acclimate to, milestones so far out of your reach while others attain them with every other step. Lip gloss and mascara feel like they're trying to glue your orifices shut, making sure you can't see and you'll never be heard. It ends up leaving you sitting in front of your mirror in a daze, wondering when, or if, you'll ever feel ready.Â
Alexis, on the other hand, was born ready in a way that renders you equally dizzy. She flirts and parries advances with blistering ease, caustic insults and saccharine coos intertwining into a symphony that makes your bones chill as you watch from the outskirts. She kisses and tells with identical nonchalance, detailing her exploits with brash satisfaction moderated with boredom while you stew in something nervous and slippery.Â
It will be helpful, won't it? To be on the receiving end? To know what she does and how it feels good, so that you can replicate it later?
âYeah.â you eventually murmur. âYou can do it.â
Your eyes slide shut on instinct, not allowing your senses to catch up with what your mind has decided. The second darkness descends, you feel them. Plush, slightly sticky warmth grazes your skin, lighting a traction path that forks lightning around your skull.Â
You remember when she first moved here, your mother all but commanding you to show her around. You had ended up on this very same creekbed, what would eventually become your âspot.â She had nicked peaches from a yardside farm stand with a quick snap of her wrist, tucking them into her skirts with a wink and a smirk.Â
You had watched her sink her teeth into the warmed, fuzzed flesh, overly eager to see her reaction to the fruits of your land. But then the juice had trickled, and she had slurped the tender meat until you had to focus on your own produce in order to not do something irrational. The thought of her mouth and tongue roving over the mess of sugar and fiber had stained your mind for weeks after.
Now, feeling those same motions on your heated skin, you wish that your dermis could split as easily as a peach's, that she could play audience to the deepest, wettest parts of you.
Seconds or hours pass, time stretching and morphing into a pocket of simple yet devastating pleasure that you can't bring yourself to reconcile with. Her mouth is eternal, her tongue everlasting, and all you want is to fall into the void of athanasia with her.
But eventually, she retreats, breaths puffing in moist drafts over your collarbone. A groan sits leaden in your throat at the sheen of saliva ringing her mouth, and you briefly wonder if it still carries the remnants of nectar.
She looks down at her watch, then jumps to her feet, leaving an imprint in the grass already fading.
âI have to get going.â she mutters.
âWhat for?â you ask, cringing at the desperation lining your tone. You know it's irrational, but you can't help but wonder if your neck wasn't up to par, if you didn't taste the way men do. You don't even know what men taste like, but a sudden, unquenchable urge wells up within you to not only match it, but better it.
âI have a date.â she answers, blase as ever. A vague silhouette takes form in your mind. Gangly limbs and calloused fingers, nicotine breath and wandering hands.Â
And oh, how you ache. How you burn. It doesn't matter. It can't matter. But you can feel your teeth lengthening, whetting themselves on sleek and bitter steel.
âHave fun.â you eke out, watching the creek rush by, continuous and unfeeling. A singular stone tumbles along its current. You know that it will eventually fall out of synch, that it'll stray to the banks and find rest among its kin, too burdened to forever be held aloft. And as she makes the solitary trek back to the township proper, you know the feeling so intimately that it nearly ruins you.
â
She's in your front yard. Her body leans against her beat-up Ford Falcon, the engine idling. Her shoe arcs in drag paths through the packed dirt of your entryway, sending up plumes of sepia tinted dust.Â
You open the door and go out to greet her, the words lapsing to quiet before they reach the open air. Her coming to you is a novelty, and the implication has the hairs on your arm standing on end.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â you ask, and âhere' could mean anything from your property to the mortal plane entirely.
âI'm gonna be gone.â she replies evenly, her hair frizzing in the steadily growing humidity. Her manner is almost frenetic, charged with prey's instinct for watchful wariness. âFor a while.â
She looks as though she wants you to wail, to throw yourself down on the earth and beg. But you instead feel a hollow resolve fill your chest cavity. Something ancient and weary resting in your bone marrow knew this day would come, in the half-baked fashion of a child imagining the sun blinking out, plunging the earth into permafrost at the first mention of dissolution. A tumble from the mundane into the ephemeral.
âWith the guy fromâŠâ you swallow past snarls and profanities. âFrom that day?â Your voice is limned with a plea so needing and insecure that you almost want her to insult you the way she did the men who lurked outside the storefront window when she bussed tables.Â
She nods, chin tilting upward in defiance of a structure you aren't aware of. Her eyes meet yours, and your lips nearly form a perfect circle as the memory from before finally settles into resolution, a stubborn fold in a sheet of paper finally wormed out of its obstinance.
Your mother had taken you to a different county, wanting to show you one of the new-age centers for stray animals.
âThey don't euthanize them right away.â she informed you as you made your way through corridors of steel cages and echoing yips and yowls. âThey keep the majority of them for adoption.âÂ
You remembered that your dad had muttered something about it being a waste of tax dollars, but you thought it was rather nice, to give the rejected a second chance, or at least the hope of one.Â
You had dawdled by the end of a hallway while your mother talked to one of the volunteers. Peering into the nearest cage, you were caught in your own sort of limbo.
Pressed against the bars was a Rottweiler, lips curled up in a ferocious baring of fatal teeth. But its eyes were open, bare in another fashion entirely, frantically jumping between your face and your hand at your hip. Simultaneously asking you to touch, and daring you to try.
Alexis looks much the same way, you realize, beckoning you ever closer and promising a fitting retribution.Â
Affection, or perhaps a jealous sort of pity, buoys your next words.
âIs he nice?â you reply, knowing the answer.
âNo.â she says swiftly, intending it to hurt but unable to follow through. âBut he wants me.âÂ
You let the pointed comment slide by, readjusting your blouse.Â
âWell,â you try with a smile, âwhen you come back, I'll be here.â
A bright laugh tears from her tongue. âYou make it sound like you're staying in this shithole forever.âÂ
âYou make it sound like you'll be gone forever.â you retort, but somehow it doesn't sound as funny.Â
You hold up a finger and dash into the house, fingers sliding against glass and fumbling under water before you re-emerge, tossing her a farewell token.
A peach.
Her face lifts and falls and goes every other direction in the span of a second, her limbs spasming.Â
âA snack for the road.â you tell her. âAnd maybe a little something to remind you of home.â
She holds the fruit in her palm for a moment or two before biting into it with a savage tear.
âWhen I come back,â she says through a mouthful of pulp and juice, âwe'll share one. We'll buy out that whole damn stand. We'll get sick of them. I promise.â
It's the last thing you'll ever hear from her. And when you're sitting on the creekbed after your mother's wake, not caring if you muddy your Sunday best, a small, worrisome nook of your mind will pause to wonder if Alexis Getty ever ate another peach.
Sweetheart fades in and out during a summer solstice. Their powers are out of control and donât listen to them, so sometimes, without realising, theyâll become invisible for a few seconds before going back to normal.
Milo hates it. He knows just how much pride Sweetheart has in the masterful control they have of their stealth magic. Heâs seen it first hand. Heâs heard of the risky jobs they had to go through but carried out perfectly with their skill and finesse.
But here they were, fading in his arms. He can physically feel them still there, but every now and then it looks like heâs holding air.
The disappointment they have in themself shows on their face every time they return to normal, and it breaks his heart.
Itâs hard to be confident in the abilities you spent years mastering to lose it all in one day. (Although they both know theyâll be back to normal tomorrow, it doesnât undo the negative experience today.)
On these days Milo holds them as much as possible so that he can be there to keep them together if they fall apart. Quick trips to the kitchen are done hand in hand. Naps on the couch are done in each otherâs arms. Every time Sweetheart fades, he calms them with his arms around their body, hands stroking their back as he reassures them that heâs here, that theyâre still the amazing stealth they are, that whatâs happening today doesnât change anything about them, even if it doesnât feel that way. Sweetheart seems full of confidence on the surface, but theyâre much softer than many expect them to be on the inside.
Milo knows.
âI see you, baby.â He whispers in their ear as the waves came and went. âYouâre okay. I see you.â
If Angel ever got a bike/bike license I think David would have a heart attack (too many risks, heâs begging them not to ride)
I think Asher has a dirt bike XD Babe is more interested in cars
Sweetheart rides a sweet sleek black sports style motorcycle and itâs super hot when they park, remove their helmet, and shake their head a bit to get their hair to settle (Milo sees all this in slow motion and somehow thereâs sparkles and petals falling in the background)
I headcanon that Ivan's passcodes for everything are still his ex's (the one from flyboi and Sadboi) birthday. Even during the kidnapping, when he needed a passcode for something it was automatically his ex's birthday.
âDo all wolves go through a vampire phase?â Porter asked from the shower, turning his head to look at the shifter in his bedroom.
David met his gaze, frowning the way he always did when he didnât like what Porter said, or when he didnât exactly understand how he meant it. âFuck you.â
âThatâs sort of what Iâm talking aboutâŠâ
David leaned against the bathroom counter, still naked and endlessly comfortable in that state.
Porter liked that about shifters, though admittedly David was the first heâd ever known in any way but passing or fighting. And even this wasâŠodd. Even for Porter. This was the third time theyâd hooked up.
The first had been a matter of timing and maybe some self-destructive behavior on both sides. Theyâd been at the same club. Porter had flirted with the big shifter, not really expecting anything from it but maybe a new enemy. David had dragged his eyes over Porter, not exactly judging but just taking him in completely, and it had sent chills through the vampire he hadnât felt in ages. Finally, the shifter looked him dead in the eye and said in that husky voice of his, âIf you bite me, Iâll bite you back.â
Porter had almost moaned. âPromise?â
Theyâd messed around in the park that night, neither one trusting the other to bring him home.
Porter had never been with a shifter before. It wasâŠthrilling. David could hold him downâactually hold him down, not just the way Porter let the humans do it. In theory, so could another vampire, but Porter never did that. Other vampires were always potential rivals and enemies, he couldnât give any of them a sense of power over him like that.
He hadnât been able to get David out of his head after that. When he went looking for him again, was when he found out exactly who David was.
He told himself he was playing a cunning game when he approached him the second time. He was laying groundwork for his king, ready to do something terrible if needs be.
He was a liar.
That second time theyâd gone for coffee first. David was a good person and when Porter made him laugh, it was almost as thrilling as being pinned under him at a hotel later that night.
Even more reason he should have walked away. He didnât deserve him.
But theyâd exchanged numbers and the texting had startedâŠand the sexting.
David was better at this than Porter would have ever guessed. He suspected they both liked being with someone who knew what they were, but wasnât at all connected to their daily life. They couldnât want anything more than these moments from each other. They were a secret just because no one knewâbecause neither of them knew if what they were doing was off limits or not. They belonged to two very different houses, not in conflict with one another but not exactly compatible either.
Porter pushed wet hair out of his face and took a second to just look at David Shaw standing naked in his bathroom. He was tall and thick, a handful of scars and a lot of muscle. âIt doesnât seem fair,â Porter mused, looking at the red marks that would become bruises on Davidâs thighs and ribs from where heâd grabbed too hard, and those scratches from his teeth. He hadnât bitten him. They hadnât crossed that line yet, but they were both flirting with it. âWhy do you get to keep the marks and I donât?â he asked, sliding his hands up and then down his chest.
Davidâs gaze followed his hands, head cocked to the side and mouth trying to hold back a smirk. âYouâre complaining about healing faster than me?â he asked, the audacity of it thick in his voice.
Porter laughed and held out his hand, inviting David to take it when he realized the shifter was waiting his turn for the shower. This was all new for them and heâd learned already that David rarely assumed anything. He didnât take what wasnât offered.
Porter didnât think about why that made him feel soâŠsafe.
He smiled when the shifter took his hand and let Porter draw him into the walk-in shower with him. âDo you have someplace to be?â he asked, turning David into the heat of the spray and feeling a bloom of satisfaction in his chest at the way he sighed and relaxed under the water.
âNot tonight, no,â David said and then seemed to remember who they were. His body tensed up again. Porter was learning that he was almost always ready⊠ready for what, he hadnât exactly sorted out, but ready. âI can get out of your hair. Iâm sure youâve got sneaky vampire shit to do,â he smirked around the words.
Porter grabbed the bodywash, gently soaping up Davidâs back and keeping him from rushing to take off. It was tricky, this thing they were doing of being so close but not really vulnerable. Porter knew it was smart to leave it that way. Smart would be to cut this off. Keep the vague connection to the Shaw pack in his back pocket and stop seeing the shifter.
And the thing was, Porter was smart. Porter did the smart things. He had survived by making hard decisions and getting himself to a place of safety⊠at least, safer than ever before.
But David was relaxing again under his touch, even when he was massaging the suds up his shoulders, into the back of his neck. Porter could snap those bones so easily. The idea made him feel sick, but it was also what made his heart pound at the fact that David was trusting him. He shouldnât. Porter had done awful things. He shouldnât even let Porter touch him. âYouâre welcome to stay for a while. I might have food in the kitchen,â he said, despite all the reasons he shouldnât.
âMight?â David grumbled, letting Porter move his hands down his back, to his sides.
He was careful of the spots that might become bruises. As much as he envied them a moment ago, he worried about them now. âIâm sorry⊠I didnât mean to leave marksâŠâ
David turned his head to glance back at him, eyebrow raised like he needed to see if Porter was joking.
He wasnât. He wouldnât have been that careless with a human. Why had he been with a shifter?
âI thought that was the goalâŠâ David turned around, Porterâs arms still around his waist. They were so close. That worry crease appeared in Davidâs brow again. âWas I too rough?â
Porter exhaled a laugh, surprised out of his own words for a second. âNever. Are you kidding? Look at me.â He held up his arms and turned a full circle to prove how entirely unmarked he was. But when he landed where he started, looking up at David, the shifter did not look convinced.
âYou would have a lot more marks than me if you had my healing and not yoursâŠâ David seemed to be thinking about it for the first time, and not sure he liked it.
Porter slid hands up his chest, fingertips skating across his pulse and onward, to cup the side of his neck. âYou really donât need to worry about that. I liked itâŠvery much.â
The crease was still in his brow, his mouth pulling into a frown. Why? Why did he care that much about it? Porter was fine.
âSweetheart,â Porter cooed. âIf Iâd wanted you to stop, I would have made you stop.â
David looked him in the eye, maybe trying to gauge if he believed it? Porter grinned, flashing all his teeth like a reminder. He wasnât human. He liked letting this shifter rough him up, but he was very capable of fighting back if heâd wanted to. This was not a fight. This was not a power struggle. This was just⊠What? What was it?
The crease in Davidâs brow smoothed out and he used his fingers to comb some of Porterâs wet hair back, scratching at his scalp and making his eyes flutter shut for a second. âYou would tell me if you didnât like something?â
The question was so simple, so casual, but somehow vulnerable. Porter smiled slyly as his wolf. âI tell you when I like things donât I?â
David huffed, turning them to trade places and grabbing the bodywash. âYou are bossy,â he agreed.
Porter laughed, heart pounding when he realized David meant to wash him. He almost stopped him. Almost told him he didnât need help. But he didnât and it felt amazing to be cared for. Porter was all for aftercare, but he took on the caregiver role. He loved being the caregiver after sex. It was one of the only times he ever got to take on that role for anyone, but as David washed him, he realized this was a role heâd never had either.
âFuck,â he sighed, almost moaned.
David ducked his head to have his mouth near Porterâs ear, smiling around his low words. âYou want me to stay for a while longer, biter?â One of his hands slid up, wrapping loosely around Porterâs neck, while the other went low.
Porter did moan then, the sound choking off when David squeezed both parts of him.
Yes, he wanted him to stay. Gods help him, he wanted him to stay with him.Â
Long walks around the property were a must for the two of them.
It had just rained a few hours before so the temperature had cooled to a decent feel.
The leaves still dripping on the brush below in a faint pitter patter.
Frogs and toads croaking in puddles around, the occasional hoot of an owl, a gentle breeze...
And the soft padding of wolf paws trotting along next to boots on the damp grass and dirt.
Darlin' loved these moments, ones where they didn't have to say a thing, ones where they get to the nature surrounding the house. The moments where they could spend time next to their mate, shifted and happily prancing along next to him in a little walk.
Okay, maybe walk was the wrong word because the last time Sam referred to it as that, he got a firm slap to his arm and a heatless glare.
With the rains for the past few days, the little creek on the outskirts had filled a little more, a stronger flow of water running through rocks and fallen leaves.
It was a favourite place for Darlin' to sit and listen to the water, a little sanctuary for them to calm themself down. There was a distinct path now bare from how many times they travel it to the bank of the creek.
Their ears swiveled to the sound of the running water once they were close to it and they made a swift detour, nearly bumping into Sam's leg passing by.
He hummed a quiet laugh, "You really like that place, huh?" He asked, knowing he wouldn't get a verbal answer. He still got a version of one with a short bark sound as he followed the wolf down the path.
Two lefts, over the fallen tree, then a right. They knew the path well, but with how the grass was nearly to dirt along it helped.
Before Sam was even to the bank, Darlin' hopped themself into the flow of the water, getting a long sigh from him. "If I have to hose you off again, I swear-" He muttered as he found a big enough rock to sit against to watch them.
They were in their happy place, splashing around the cool water, chasing the frogs around the edges, feeling the moss in certain sections under the pads of their paws... This was what they needed. A quick mental refresh and some fun in the water.
One of their favourite things to do is use their snout to move through rocks and find the prettiest ones. They've found a few cool ones over their visits to the creek, and Sam had to become the "pack mule" of sorts because as a wolf? Darlin' didn't exactly have pockets.
The water was colder with the dropped temperature, but having fur helped. The flow was about halfway up their legs, some sections up to their belly from the ground dipping down, but they could always shake the water off. Getting a little wet is nothing compared to the joy of finding a cool creek rock.
Every now and then, they'd dip their head down to nudge rocks around, eyes scanning around... Then back up, moving through the water to repeat the process in a new section.
"Don't get too wet there, darlin'," they lifted their head and looked over. Sam was giving them a pointed look, "I ain't dealing with the consequences of you doing this every night, you're not exactly the best patient when you end up with a short cold, y'know."
He was met with a chuff, their head moving in such a way to exaggerate an eye roll.
"Hey, don't matter if that ain't how that works, you still end up feelin' like shit the next mornin' and you know it. A coincidence can only work so many times."
Another huff and they were back to digging through rocks.
As they went along, their tail was lightly wagging up in the air, emphasizing their joy. It didn't take much to make them happy.
A few feet past Sam, their paws found a divot and nearly tripped on a rock. They heard him shuffle to get up and help until they recovered. Their head looked back with the wolf equivalent of a "my bad" expression.
"Just... Don't hurt y'self..."
They made a short sound of acknowledgement, and went back to rock hunting.
A few more minutes went past before they started splashing around in excited jumps. It was a good thing they were far enough away to not get Sam wet.
He watched as they dipped under the water, pawing a few rocks out of the way before they emerged now soaking wet. They had something in their mouth as they waded through the water to the bank to sit next to him. Their tail was wagging in a blur, thumping against wet leaves and grass.
He held his hand out, like he's used to doing before, and they dropped a decently sized rock into his palm. He rolled it around in his hand, humming an impressed sound.
"A hag stone, hm?"
He got a happy bark in return, making him laugh.
"Is this for your collection?"
Their head moved on a faint nod as they crouched down in a happy playful stance, tail wagging up a storm.
"Is this what you wanted to get the entire time?"
They stood back up with their version of a nod.
"So we can head back now so I can, again, hose you off?"
As soon as he asked that, they were on their way back.
"You're lucky you're cute!" He called back to them as he got back up, pocketing the rock for the time being.
Back the way the two came, following the path, occasionally getting dripped on from the wet trees overhead, but the two soon got back to the house.
Darlin was about to get up on the porch before he stopped them. They whined pitifully as they looked up at him.
"You're covered in mud now, darlin', I ain't having that throughout the house."
Another whine.
"You'll get your rock after I hose your fur off, doesn't matter. You'd still be muddy even if you shifted back, don't make things difficult."
They huffed a noise and sat down as he got the hose going, squinching their eyes closed as the blast of even colder water hit their fur down to their skin. They did like the pets as he washed the mud off, even if it meant they had to still get a warm shower once inside.
They kept shaking the water off, getting him drenched in return. Got to the point that he determined they were clean enough and shut the water off.
"Okay-! Okay, I'm gettin' the hint, damn," he chuckled, hooking the hose back up. "At least you're able to shake all that off, some of us ain't that lucky, y'know- hey! That didn't mean shake again-! Darlin'!!"
By the time they had shook enough, he was the one more wet than they were, and they looked rather proud of themself.
"Snot," he mumbled, but it was with pure love. "Since you did that," he got the door first, "you can get me a towel then, just to be fair."
They booped his leg as they went past, their version of being a bit sassy, as wolf paws padded through the house to find a towel to bring back. They decided on shifting back, coming back to hand him to towel.
"Hmm, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing that cute face again?" He took the towel, drying himself off enough to actually step inside without leaving a puddle.
"It's easier to carry things sometimes," they commented with a shrug, "sometimes I forget the versatility of hands and thumbs," they joked as they flexed their hands.
He hummed, throwing the towel over his shoulder, "Well..." His arms tucked around their waist to slowly spin them around into his arms, his chin in the crook of their shoulder, "I've got a lil' idea then..."
They leaned their head back, resting it against his, "Oh yeah? And what's that?"
They shuddered as he began to pepper kiss along their neck and shoulder. His voice lowered to a low whisper, making their breath catch in their throat before he continued.
"How about... you make use of those hands of yours, hm?"
May I request Porter and Darlin headcannons? I feel like they would get along really well and kinda be friends but you make their relationship however you want :)
(a/n: i like the way you think! reqs open!)
i think theyâd definitely be wary of each other at first. trust doesnât come easily to either of them
but other than the more overt similarities (returning to dahlia after some time away, their connection to sam)
i think that they both have lives that have been irrevocably shaped by violence
people they care about have been hurt. theyâve internalized it, made it their mission to repay it in some form or fashion
others take issue with the way they carry themselves and misconceptions abound
i could see a situation much like âdinner with the vampire boysâ in which the two of them happen to end up somewhat alone
and the topic winds its way to quinn. darlinâ canât find it in themselves to explain why, but itâs much easier to talk about him with someone who gets it to a degree
when they mention the way quinn viewed others, as disposable playthings, porter noticeably stiffens
âhas he been dealt with?â he asks quietly
they nod
âgood.â he murmurs
simple as that. itâs good that quinn is gone. he doesnât pry into their separation from the rest of the pack, their lack of communication, their isolation and their less than friendly attitude. he asks after the problem and is gratified by the result
he gets it. it might not be a âgoodâ thing, but it almost feels like it
after that, i donât think they go out of their way to hang out, but i do think that they gravitate toward each other when thereâs some form of gathering and their partners arenât otherwise engaged
and i especially think theyâd have a lot to say to him about the prospect of leaving one reality in exchange for another. of allowing himself to become just a tad more vulnerable to join something that might be called a family.
If you didnât pull away or stop him, Gavin would definitely keep kissing you nonstop.
He loves the feeling of your lips on his, and would happily spend days savouring them. The feeling is so addicting and has his core lighting up in fireworks.
Heâs never the one that stops the kiss. (Although he will stop as soon as you pull away or show any sign of wanting to take a pause)
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