tagged by (and tagging back!) the incredibly talented @kirnet!! 😚
I am literally drowning in wips at the moment, but ngl, I also have some spare time SO. this is from the imperium!david/angel bodyguard au.
--
It happens again. A stolen kiss against the kitchen counter, against the bookshelves in the library. His hands memorise their body, the places that make them release sweet sounds, and their hands map him in turn, until they’re marked with him, obvious enough that the rest of the pack knows.
He’s in too deep, but he can’t find the space to care.
He thinks about them, their hands, their mouth. They haunt his waking moments, even finding their way into his dreams.
But they’re not his. And they won’t be.
And so he holds it back, the burning possession his wolf feels, until he can’t anymore.
--
tagging- you, reading this!! and also (no pressure!):
@evilbunnyking @chroniclesinlacuna @dominimoonbeam @sealriously-sealrious (you just wrote me wonderful fluff but I am GREEDY forgive me <3) @glassbearclock @taelonsamada @horrorscoupes @aaami @slushrottweiler @romirola @pearl-kite @frenchiefitzhere <33
Tea, you know me so well - there is ALWAYS growling omg. Christ, all these wips are smutty. ENJOY.
They’d been so sweet under him, and they’re sweet for him now, pushing back into him, asking for more. A growl building within his chest, he gives it to them.
This is from the final chapter of the imp!David/Angel Imperium body guard au >:3
He releases a dismissive snort. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Their jaw hardens, and he can feel it then, that stubborn edge of determination, that fire that he’s grown to love from them. "They’ve taken so much from us. They don't get this, too."
READ FULL VERSION ON AO3
--
first love, last love
It's late. They're tired - they're always tired lately, the toll of the last six months leaving them with an exhaustion that’s bone-deep; a strain he can feel all the way down to his core.
It's the classes. Not just the brutal curriculum the academy keeps, but the additional lessons they've been getting from the Haven's freelancer coordinator, under the guise of a faculty internship.
Healing is a delicate art, and not one that the academy values, despite its necessity. From what he's been told, the 'lessons' are barely more than skin deep, useful for superficial wounds and little else.
It's another shackle, another tool for controlling an empowered population that should be better than this; that had the strength to overthrow their oppressors, but chose not to.
…but not all of them. Not his freelancer. And not their tutor, a brilliant, gentle mind fostered under Avior’s wing.
But still, it takes a toll. One he knows all too well. He's tired, too.
And hungry.
It has been almost two weeks since he last fed. Since his arrival at the Haven, he's been assigned a visitor, someone he's grown to know over the last few months. But two weeks ago, their sessions had been cancelled at the last minute. Permanently.
It's not Avior's fault. He was doing his best to source an alternative, but he'd already had more than enough on his plate before this. And besides, Vindemiator has some ideas about who may be behind the last minute changes. He hasn't been here long, but he already has a list of adversaries, empowered humans who would like nothing more than to see him harmed.
There are one or two names at the top of that list.
The hunger leaves him weak, although he tries not to show it. They only get such small windows of time together, and he wouldn't waste it - wouldn't ruin it with the sour taste of their worry, further staining the already muted glow of their emotions.
(Sometimes, in brief moments, he gets glimpses of their true colours - rosy pinks and brilliant gold, small sunbursts amidst the rain. Sometimes, he feels it too.)
"Vin?"
Their voice is soft and careful, and when he blinks back into the moment, he finds that they're closer than he remembers them being. Close enough that he forgets himself for a moment and lets the facade slip, lets some of his weariness slip through as he leans into their touch.
"Are you okay?"
He forges a smile. "As well as any of us can be. You're tired too, freelancer. Healing classes have been going well?"
They don't take the bait, and they don't look away.
"Vin." It's something about the way they say his name like that, something that's so simply and uniquely them that undermines his defences, sinking into the heart of him.
He can't bring himself to lie to them.
"I'm weaker than usual. But I’ll be fine. It will pass."
Their brow pinches, a dark thread of worry seeping through their aura like a stain. "Weaker? But I thought… Avior said that the d(a)emons here had an arrangement."
"My… arrangement, as you put it, fell through."
"When?"
"Two weeks ago."
Their eyes widen, impossibly dark in the shadows of his quarters. He's grown used to the darkness, preferring it to the harsh brightness of the fluorescents, but he wishes now that he had the light to see them now. Watch the full spectrum of emotion that crosses their features, before they close it off behind a mask of neutrality.
"...you should have told me."
But even with as good as they've gotten at hiding their emotions, there's no changing the fact that he’s a demon.
There's a thread of guilt in their emotions now, almost superseded by the anger. But not at him, he realises - but themself.
And just, no.
"Freelancer-"
They're moving again, drawing back as his heart clenches, and he wants to reach out for them, except he won't. Not if they’re pulling back from him like this - not if his touch is unwanted. He bites down on his tongue, his teeth longer and sharper than usual - another side effect of his increasing weakness, the failure of the glamour - and he can do nothing except watch as they pull away completely.
Except - they don't leave.
They’re gripping the hem of their shirt, pulling the worn fabric up and off until their chest is bare, and it’s then that the realisation hits him, dousing like a flood of ice cold water.
He closes the distance between them before their shirt drops to the floor, collecting their wrists, his touch carefully neutral.
“Freelancer, no.”
“I can help. Let me help.”
“No.” Their eyes are wide again, glittering like obsidian in the darkness. “Not like this. Not because of some - need.”
Their eyes flicker, the anger within them dimming, replaced by something with the sharp edge of hurt, before it’s gone.
“They’re starving you.”
He releases a dismissive snort. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Their jaw hardens, and he can feel it then, that stubborn edge of determination, that fire that he’s grown to love from them. "They’ve taken so much from us. They don't get this, too."
He lets them twist their wrists out of his grip, their hands moving to hover over his neck, his shoulders. They still won’t make contact, not without him initiating, and it’s a gesture he appreciates, more than they know.
It’s a cruel joke, his means of existence on this plane. The lack of agency, of choice.
He won’t take that from them.
As if they’re reading his thoughts, they drop their hands, leaning in close. "If this is about my own comfort-"
"It's because you shouldn't have to."
"But what if I want to?"
His throat closes up. He can’t speak. Can’t find the air to speak it. They close their eyes, a little furrow in their brow forming, before-
on marking and wolf relationships, grief and recovery.
--
There are things that Asher doesn't talk about. David is one of them.
–
There's a mark there, at the nape of his neck. The impression of fangs, too broad and pronounced to be the mark of a vampire.
A wolf bite.
READ ON AO3
--
lover never let me go.
“What happened here?”
It’s late, the failing light casting most of his office in shadow aside from the table full of papers they’ve been bent over for the last hour. Milo is at his right hand side, the sole human resident of his pack to his left. The threadbare sofa is barely big enough to fit the three of them, squeezed in as they are, and their thigh is warm against his, a steady weight.
Their grey eyes on his are shadowed from lack of sleep but still soft, curious. Their hands are playing with their hair and it takes him a moment to realise what they’re referring to, see the way their eyes linger on the nape of his neck, where his hair covers the mark he knows is there.
The impression of fangs, too broad and pronounced to be the mark of a vampire.
A wolf bite.
Milo clues in quickly, judging by the way he stiffens imperceptibly, his dark eyes unreadable as he glances between them, a pinch in his brow. He’s ready to break the awkward silence that’s fallen between them, to change the topic, but Asher beats him to it.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
A smile curls up their lips and they drop their pen, straightening until they’re sitting upright again, the battered cushions creaking beneath their shifting weight. “And what’s that?”
Their voice is warm, teasing - and why wouldn’t it be? They don’t know what the mark is, what it means. What it means to a wolf.
Milo clears his throat, shifting uneasily in his seat as he lowers the stack of papers he’s working on. The movement catches their attention and they pause, glancing over at him, their brow furrowing as they read his expression, and that’s when it clicks.
The teasing smile drops from their lips. “Ash-”
“It wasn’t a fight.” His hand curls around the mark, the raised skin beneath his palm. The scar is subtle, barely visible in most light unless you were looking for it. They’ve spent a lot of time in close quarters lately, and they’re observant (they've had to be). He’s not surprised they noticed.
“It has significance to us,” Milo finishes, an edge to the gravel of his voice, a note of finality. “And it’s private.”
Biting down on their lip, they nod, their grey eyes lowering before they bend back down to the papers. The heat at his thigh wavers, before pulling away completely.
He misses the contact.
–
Later, when they’re out in the woods, a chill in the air and the bite of the frozen earth beneath their paws, Milo breaks the silence that’s fallen between them since the conversation.
“Ash… you got a minute?”
It’s just the two of them on this particular route, checking the wards at the fringes of their territory. They all take turns on the rota, no matter their position in the pack; it was a rule set in place by Gabe Shaw, and the alphas of the pack that followed him abided by it.
Tonight was Asher’s shift. Milo had volunteered to accompany him, a determined glint in his eye that told Asher that he was gonna come with, no matter what he said. Milo had always been like that. Even after David, when the mantle of alpha had passed to him, he’d stuck by him, no matter how much Asher had tried to push him away.
And if it wasn’t for him, Ash doesn’t think he’d still be standing here, right now.
Pulling to a stop, Asher turns until he can catch his beta’s gaze, waiting. Milo holds his stare, eyes glittering in the light from the streetlamps, a stubborn tilt to his jaw, the one he gets when he’s facing down something he’d rather think twice about. He’s trying to find the words.
"Are you… okay?"
They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about him, not if they can help it. David.
There's an ache in his chest that never goes away, old and familiar by now. A piece of him that is missing, and will never be replaced. A year ago, he wouldn't have been able to talk about it. To put it into words.
But time had a way of dulling the pain, even if it couldn't fully heal the wound.
"Does it matter?"
He scoffs, his expression twisted in disbelief. "Fuck, Ash. Of course it does."
He steps closer, closer than they've been in a while, his hand hovering over his shoulder before he clasps it, pulling him in until they're touching fully, chest to chest, temple to temple. His heat is a fiery brand against him, and it's been so long since he's been touched like this that he can't help the small gasp that escapes him, or the way he leans into the contact.
Milo doesn't say anything, just grips him tighter, his arms wrapped around him, holding him close.
"We lost him, Ash. I know we don't talk about it, but it fucking hurts. And you two-" He cuts himself off with a soft curse, and there's wet heat against Asher's cheek, his eyes burning. He's crying, he realises, and fuck.
This time Milo does acknowledge it, his hand slipping from the back of his neck to his cheek, the pad of his thumb rough as he presses the tears away. His eyes are bright when he catches his gaze, wet.
"I know. Fuck Ash, I know. It's okay, it's just us. You can lean on me. I've got you."
Something breaks in him then, and he can't hold it back anymore. Everything that he's been holding in for the last year - it comes spilling out in shaky gasps and sobs against the shoulder of Milo's hoodie until the material is soaked through, until Asher doesn't think he has anything left to give.
"We're here for you, you know that? Through the thick of it. Until the end."
He’s imagined how their lips would feel like more than once over these last few months.
-
Imperium verse. David and Angel, and their first kiss.
READ ON AO3 IN FULL
--
back at the beginning
It had started simply enough.
A job, one of the best opportunities to come by the pack in a long time. Private security for the Imperial Prince. Or rather, as he’d come to find out, the Imperial prince’s mate.
A special case, as the prince had emphasized, his dark eyes as sharp as the line of his mouth.
“Discretion will be required.”
David had heard enough rumors of the families that have led the Imperium to know what that means, even as the thought sits uneasily in his gut. A secret relationship. Wolves weren’t in the habit of hiding their connections; but then again, it wasn’t as if it was much of an option within a wolf pack. With their enhanced senses, there was little that wasn’t shared with the whole.
The introductions had been short and to the point, which David preferred. The contracts had already been signed, this was just a formality.
They’re different than he expected. Softer. There’s a hard edge to the Imperial lineage, passed on from mother to son; a cold, glittering steel in the prince’s gaze, his voice. In contrast, his mate is tempered silver, soft and glittering. The prince himself never strays far from their side, a dark shadow in the wings, his gaze sharp and perceptive.
“This is David Shaw. He will lead the new security detail.”
Their eyes on him are bright with unbridled curiosity as they glance over him in turn, taking in his height, the broadness of his shoulders and the muscle there, lingering on the edge of the tattoo slipping out from under his shirt sleeve.
They’re unempowered, which is surprising considering their partner - although maybe partner wasn’t the right word, not with the careful distance they keep between each other, especially in public.
Consort, he learns, is their title, although they don’t wear it easily.
You can call me what you like, they’d remarked later, when he’d stumbled on the word, and so he settles on their family name, or Ser, when the company around them demands it.
Later, after he’s gotten to know them a little better, it becomes Troublemaker.
It fits them much better than anything else.
They like to tease him. They’re too smart for their own good, fast with a quick comeback, a witty remark that’s steeped in enough innuendo to make anyone - let alone him - blush.
It’s a game they play with him, a battle of wills - and he likes it.
He likes the way their lips curl into that infuriatingly attractive smirk when he enters the room, the banter they exchange when he accompanies them through town. It’s just subtle enough that it could be passed as a slip of the tongue, if it wasn’t for the fact that he knows them by now, and they know exactly what they’re doing.
(Their lips curled into a grin, eyes dark as they watched him, pupils wide. Aren’t you the big bad wolf?)
The flirtations are innocent enough, and the conversation is good. They actually see him, the way his pack members see him, except - more.
With them, he wasn’t the alpha of the pack, with all the deference that came with it. He wasn’t a shifter, or ‘half-breed’, limited in his capacity for magic, treated as a second class citizen under the imperial rule.
With them, he was just - David.
When they kiss him for the first time, it feels natural, like coming together. Like becoming whole.
It’s a mistake, but he doesn’t regret it.
–
The first time it happens is during an attack on the royal apartments.
A quiet war has been waging for years between the rebels and the Imperial rule, but it’s only lately that those attacks have turned personal, targeting members of the family in strategic, carefully planned strikes.
The latest attacks have been led by a handful of unsanctioned vampires, which means the Monarchs are finally taking an interest in the governing of the nation again, a dangerous idea that could spark a war.
But right now, David couldn’t give a shit about politics.
A member of his pack - Christian, as of course it was - had been caught unawares, granting an opening for the Freeborns to gain access to the apartments. The rest of his team have been tasked with tracking them down, while David focused on his charge - and keeping them safe.
For once, his troublemaker isn’t living up to their name, their expression serious as they make their way through the halls beside him, eyes wide and dark in the failing light. They’re dressed in little more than a silk robe, pale silk embroidered with the dark insignia of the Imperial house, their bare feet padding quietly across the tile floors as they make their way through the halls.
If they can make it to the back exit, the secret passages that will grant them a safe passage out of here, then he can join the hunt himself. It’s been too long since he’s used his teeth like this.
It's not long before the fight finds them, however.
When the attack happens, it happens fast - but David is faster.
He shifts in a blink of an eye - fur, claws, teeth - snapping at the dark blur that streaks towards them, forcing them to retreat as he pushes himself to his full height.
He’s intimidating like this, he knows; it’s an image he cultivates, his dark coat blending in with the shadows, his lips rolling back until he can show the full extent of his fangs.
The vampire hisses, scrambling backwards, his own paltry fangs bared, eyes pitch black. He’s in the middle of a frenzy, blood staining his chin and throat, and that means there will be a body waiting for them in the halls later.
He can feel the way his troublemaker shrinks back at the sight, and they’ve probably guessed the same thing.
A low snarl rips from his lips as he positions himself in front of his charge, watching the way the freeblood’s wounds stitch together - preternaturally fast, faster than they should be able to. Very well fed, then. Probably more than one victim. He won’t have another.
The seconds tick by, dragging in the silence that’s fallen between them, but David is patient. He can wait for the bloodsucker to make his move.
It doesn’t take long. With another blood-soaked hiss, the vampire lunges toward them.
But instead of coming straight for him, he leaps to the side, using the momentum from the wall to push past David’s guard, reaching for his charge - and like fuck is David going to let him take them from him.
His teeth connect, clenching down around the arm and wrenching even as the vamp hisses again and swipes at his flank. His nails are like claws as they make contact, streaking down his side, and he can smell the stink of the blood before he can feel the pain.
The initial strike is superficial, but then he swipes again, nails pushing deeper, fingers pressing in until they almost reach bone - and this, this David can feel every second of.
Still, he has claws of his own, and using every ounce of his strength, he rips the bloodsuckers arm at the joint, tossing the disintegrating flesh onto the ground as he spits out the taste of its blood.
It’s enough to make the bloodsucker pull back, his expression twisting as he takes stock of the damage. He’s not the only one; David can feel his blood soaking his fur, even as his magic steals the pain, and he sees the way the vamp’s gaze catches on it, as if unable to look away.
He’s still caught in the bloodlust, David realises, and that means he’s a newblood, freshly weaned from his maker.
It’s easy, then, to take advantage of his distraction and secure his maw around the bloodsucker’s throat and tear it out.
It’s messy. It always is, even as the body dissolves into dust, rotten flesh melting away until only gleaming white bone remains.
Then, and only then, does David let himself collapse, his claws and teeth and fur melting away until all he’s left in is his skin.
The fact that he’s shredded his livery, the red and black uniform he’d been required to wear during his posting here, and is now naked should concern him more than it does.
But fuck, he is tired.
“David- no. Nonono.”
Small hands press against his chest, applying pressure through the thin material of the hoodie they'd been wearing onto the gashes he can feel along his sides. He can feel his magic working, ripples of heat and energy flowing through his veins, stemming the blood and knitting torn skin.
But they don’t know that. “T-Troublemaker.”
They draw back with a sharp gasp, cheeks flushed and blotchy as they catch his gaze. “D-David?”
“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He means it. As if to confirm his words, the bleeding stops, although the gash itself is still a brilliant, livid colour.
There are tears in their eyes, leaving wet tracks down their cheeks even as they swipe at them angrily with the back of their hand.
“Thank fuck.”
He huffs a laugh as they glare at him, dewy-eyed and frantic. He can hear the thundering pace of their heart inside their chest, before they lean down and press their mouth to his.
The kiss is chaste, but desperate, their breath shuddering against his cheek. Their lips are slightly chapped but soft, moulding to his as their hand finds his cheek.
He’s imagined how their lips would feel against his more than once these last few months.
He doesn’t have time to react before they pull away, eyes wide and dark as they flicker between his own. The first words to blurt from their lips is an apology.
“I’m- I’m sorry.”
He can’t help the way his eyes are drawn back to their mouth, watching as their tongue swipes across them, before he’s pulling them back in to meet his mouth again, tasting them for himself.
Close like this, he can feel the way their breath leaves them, their body tensing before relaxing, slowly. They’re soft and warm against him. They always ran so fucking hot.
It’s when they moan, a soft noise that he can barely hear over the racing of his heart that he comes back to himself.
Remembers where they are, who they are.
He watches that settle in as they draw back breathless, their pupils blown wide, skin hot, a flush riding high on their cheeks. Their fingers slip back down to his collarbone as they take him in, lingering on the arch of his nose, the curve of his mouth, before flicking back up to meet his gaze.
There’s a mutual understanding there, a mutual need.
But it can never happen again.
The thought twists in his chest, edged and sharp, but he shoves it down as they lean back on their heels, hands dropping from his chest.
The hiss of his earpiece distracts him from the awkward silence that's fallen between them, and he lifts his hand to activate the mic. It takes him a moment to find his voice.
“Ash. Report.”
A crackle of static, before his voice comes through. “Building secure. We counted three.”
“Four. One got past the perimeter.” Asher curses sharply, and David knows that his reaction will be threefold when he learns who was behind the breach, if he hadn’t guessed already. “I handled it.”
“The asset?” In the corner of his eye, he can see the way their lips twist at the title, the hard line of their mouth as they glance away. Their hands are fidgeting in their lap, picking at their nail beds, and this close to a shift, he can sense the way their emotions are whirling inside of them - want, anxiety, fear.
Fuck. It isn’t directed at him, but he can guess the cause.
Later, he will blame it on the blood loss that is making his head spin when he reaches out to take their hand, squeezing until some of that unease settles. “They’re fine. They’re with me.”
They return his grip, a softness in their gaze as it flickers between his. Then their eyes narrow, a flicker of determination entering them as they lean forward and speak directly into his earpiece.
“Your alpha’s hurt. I’ve done what I can, but you should send for back up.”
Another curse. I’ve got your location. I’m sending Miguel.
David can’t fault them for their concern, so he doesn’t. He settles for a flat look, which earns him a wet laugh, their grip on his hand tightening.
a question!! how much is 'imperium!david - first times' gonna make me cry?????? i cannot wait to read it!!!!
;u; ZO. WELL. It chronicles all their first times: first meetings, first kisses, first something more... it's a love story! Just, set in tragic circumstances.
Have some angel POV from their first introduction...
--
David Shaw is a wolf, they realise, taking in his clothing, the sharper aspects of his features.
A wolf shifter, Damien had corrected them, his dark eyes creased with that amused fondness he only had for them. The leader of his pack.
Their eyes on him, bright and curious, when they’d been introduced, taking him in. They’re unempowered, which is surprising considering their partner - although maybe partner wasn’t the right word, not with the careful distance they keep between each other, especially in public.
Consort, he learns, is their title, although they don’t wear it easily.
You can call me what you like, they’d commented when he’d stumbled on the title, and he settles on their family name, or Ser, when the company demands it.
Later, after he’s gotten to know them a little better, it becomes Troublemaker.
It fits them much better than anything else.
And despite their initial friction, they get along. More than that. He likes them.
He likes the way their lips curl into that infuriatingly attractive smirk when he enters the room, the banter they exchange when he accompanies them through town. The flirtation had been innocent enough, and the conversation had been good. They actually see him, the way his pack members see him, except - more.
With them, he wasn’t the alpha of the pack, with all the deference that came with it. He wasn’t a shifter, or ‘half-breed’, limited in his capacity for magic, treated as a second class citizen under the imperial rule.
With them, he was just - David.
When they kiss for the first time, it feels natural, like coming together. Like becoming whole.
--
tagging YOU, reading this >:3 also (no pressure!):
