Little bit of Angel x David fluff about the wedding.
💕🌹💕🌹💕🌹
Angel's feet throbbed with pain as they toed off their fancy shoes in the back of the wedding car.
David climbed in next to them and rested his arm around them, letting his temple bump lightly against theirs.
"That went well."
They couldn't help but chuckle. "Better than well, I would say."
His wordless sigh and nod was the clearest sign of his agreement that they could ask for.
The pair of mates had moved off from the ceremony to have their photos taken and enjoy a break before the reception. Angel had appreciated the chance to get some food in them.
And to bask in their newly-wed state.
They were definitely relieved to get those gorgeous, tortuous shoes off once the photos were over.
They opened a compartment under the seat where they'd stashed their change of footwear for the reception. Those ones were much more suitable for dancing, and much more comfortable.
"Clever." David motioned to the new pair as Angel set them aside, to put on later.
"You didn't just marry me for my looks." They joked wryly.
David's mouth broke out in a beaming smile, quickly smothered when he pulled them in for a kiss.
"Married," he murmured between kisses.
The kisses took up a great deal of the ride over. As they pulled up, David asked them to wait in there seat as he got out.
They did sit, and decided to busy themselves with sliding on their change of footwear only to find them missing.
David opened the door for them. He had the shoes in one hand, and reached for their foot with the other.
"C'mere."
Angel extened their leg. Their face flushed as he gently held their ankle, sliding on their shoe.
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, he’s all big and tall and buff so he doesn’t 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 “hmph” 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 “why?” Angel told him “I want to try something” 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 Angel’s eyes. He saw the smile in their eyes before a smile ever so slowly appeared on their face.
And that’s 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.
-darlin’ 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 don’t 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 mavis
-vincent and lovely are always together. always. (where one is, the other is not far behind)
-gavin telling freelancer they’re pretty every single day
-freelancer telling gavin he has the kindest heart every single day (and that he’s pretty)
-freelancer plays volleyball (they’re 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 ‘hardass’ shaw brought to his knees begging for forgiveness because angel called him david once
-freelancer and huxley feed off each other’s energy and they’re both adorably loud when around each other
-gavin and freelancer get violently upset if they’re not around each other for more than a day
-“your eyes are so pretty” 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 someone’s head or into everyone’s head (during the inversion they could hear everyone’s thoughts and they were trying to fight off a panic attack the whole time)
-milo and darlin' make fun of each other’s trauma (milo: “that’s why your dad doesn’t fucking love you” darlin': “your dad doesn’t love you either, bitch”)
since SOME OF YALL ain’t about angst, here’s some fluffy, bite-sized, tooth-rotting headcanons to curl up in bed with a warm drink and read…
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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 “last winter’s bug wasn’t a bug at all, it was me being an idiot” but baabe thought it adorable that asher spared his feelings (and immune system) for them, nonetheless.
＊＊＊＊
milo and sweetheart stay up each year to watch the first snowfall greet dahlia’s grounds. in preparation they drink egg nog amidst expiring (regular for milo, spiked for sweetheart), while they form a trio to Michael Bublé and——“ariana grande? *scoffs* “ash must’ve added that one.” 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 owner’s head. the yule log on the grainy television exudes no heat, but the humming radiator and milo’s body swaying with theirs warms sweetheart plenty.
＊＊＊＊
“you little snot.” david chastises his partner as the icing smeared on his nose begins solidifying. leave it to him to accept angel’s 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 angel’s 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. “huh.” david’s eyes follow the same trail and all he can muster is a scoff at the mistletoe dangling above them. “you know, angel, if you wanted a kiss all you had to do was ask.”
or: i don’t 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 – i do hope i’ve done your darlings justice! happy holidays, lovely blue, and happy (belated) new year! <3 inspired by i’m beginning to see the light, specifically the 1945 version by the ink spots and ella fitzgerald. and you can go and figure out what’s going on with don’t look back in anger on your own time, if you really feel like it. or don’t, i’m not your gingerbreadmother. damien biting the bowl off the spoon in just over 1800 words.
The sound of his electric toothbrush has stopped, and there’s a familiar shadow standing in the kitchen doorway.
“You do realise you’re a fucking idiot, yes?”
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 you’re 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. It’s difficult to see his expression from up here, twisted away from the door to reach the cupboard above the fridge, but you’re sure that it’s something gentle and encouraging. He’s very supportive. And he likes things to be tidy, so he’s almost certainly looking pleased. Approving, perhaps. Or benign, at the very least.
Resolutely, you nod, secure in your deduction. “Yes.”
“Okay. Just checking.”
The buzzing of Damien’s 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. It’s not elegant, but with a little bit of engineering—
“Fuck!”
—okay, 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 that’s just going to have to live on top of the fridge for now. There’s a loaf tin that’s probably going to fall out as soon as anyone opens the door, and a little box of fairy cake cases that definitely weren’t that shape before, but that’s 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.
“You see?” In an instant, you’re nestled against his side, a self-satisfied grin spread wide across your face. “Expertly tidied.”
Damien’s eyes flick up to the cupboard door, which is still suspiciously not-quite closed, then back down to your face.
“...mghrn.”
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 he’s 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.
“Are you making tea?”
“Maybe.”
The words are nothing more than a jumble of syllables, smeared across his shoulder as you bury your face in his neck. “Can’t move.”
He huffs lightly, the low vibration of his laugh rippling through the side of your head. “Pardon?”
“Can’t move.” It’s not fair, it’s just not fair, why can’t he understand? He’s so lovely and it drives you mad. “Y’re too warm.”
“Am I? Aw, baby, I’m sorry.”
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. “You must be hating it, then.”
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. “Not li— Jesus! – not like you spent most of this morning enjoying it, or anything.”
Solemnly, you shake your head, although it probably just looks like you’re trying to give yourself a friction burn with his collar. “I would never.”
“So I’m told.” You can almost hear his eyes rolling. “I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.”
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 he’s drinking tea – he drinks it obscenely hot, and ever since Lasko almost gave himself a second-degree burn trying to hand it to him, he’s made a habit of keeping it well away from anyone else. It’s very sweet of him, and perfectly understandable, although it would be nice if he didn’t have to.
Above your head, there’s an ominous thud from above the fridge.
“One of these days, I’ll melt that fucking ladder,” he muses as he watches you glare at the cupboard, sipping his tea and steadfastly ignoring your indignant protestations. “Don’t think I won’t! You know I will!”
“Wh— it’s not even that tall!” you splutter. He talks about it like you’re climbing Everest, not a tiny little stepladder with three steps to its name. “It’s useful!”
“It’s a death trap!”
“You’re a death trap!”
Sluuurp. “Well, you’re very welcome to come and climb on me, instead.”
God, you could just strangle him, sometimes. Instead, you settle for flinging a tea towel at his stupid, smirking face – he catches it, because of course he does, the bastard – 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 he’s 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 and— and— and—
“Don’t let me distract you, or anything.”
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. It’s just a flash, but you couldn’t hope to miss it – the violet trail of hickeys scattered across his stomach like flowers, blossoming innocently beneath his skin.
“I hate you,” you say weakly.
“Okay.”
The time on the microwave is 10:03. He sets his tea down on the side, and pushes it away.
“Like, I hate you hate you.”
“Mm. I guessed.”
It’s raining outside, condensation on the kitchen window. Someone’s phone, probably yours, buzzes quietly from the living room. A shiver goes up your spine.
“No, like actually.”
“...yeah. That’s… that’s what I said.”
The kettle is hot, the water ready. If you wait, it’ll go cold, and you’ll have to boil it again.
“Fuck this,” you spit, and he tastes like jasmine and that dreadful blue toothpaste he always buys. Everything’s 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 couldn’t possibly settle for just one. Entirely too precious, his wry smile that makes your heart race, soft words dripping off a sharp tongue.
“You’re so, so stupid,” you sigh dreamily, unable to help the way your fingers slide eagerly across his chest, over his neck, up into his hair. “The stupidest there ever was.”
“Mm, I know,” 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.
It’s just getting good, when—
Slip inside the eye of your mind, don’t you know you might find…
—when your phone starts ringing, the custom ringtone changed to whatever flavour-of-the-week song Gavin’s been obsessed with lately, and both of you groan in unison as you’re reminded of the actual reason you’re down here at all.
“What time did Gav want us for?” Damien asks, although his fingers don’t stop tracing little circles across your back.
Begrudgingly, your eyes dart over to the microwave clock. Whenever Gavin said, there’s no way you’ll make it in time. “He’s gonna kill us.”
“Not if we use protection— ow!”
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. “Look, if you want to go without this time, it’s up to you…”
“You— you—” Your spluttering peters out beneath his laughter, half-moon eyes and that great big smile that always makes you want to kiss him silly. He’s got to stop this, he’s got to, your poor little heart can’t take it. “I changed my mind. Gavin won’t get the chance, I’m killing you instead.”
“Do you have to?” Mwah, mwah, mwah, tiny little kisses down your jaw. “I’m told I give very good bribes. Glowing reviews.”
“Unless you’re planning on bribing him too, I think you’re out of luck.”
Damien pauses briefly to grimace against your neck. “Not while we’re out, Jesus. One of the waitresses there is in Lasko’s class this year, I saw her leaving the lecture hall two weeks ago when I went in to give that shirt back to him.”
You snort. “Still can’t believe you walked off in his shirt.”
“I was distracted!”
…Actually, that’s fair. Hux is very distracting, even when he’s not getting out of the pool.
“Besides,” Damien continues, “if you’re so opposed to my shirts, I can think of a solution…”
The air is cool, but his hands always chase the chill away. You’re 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.
“We’re going to be— fuck, we’re going to be so late,” you manage to choke out, and you know he knows he’s 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.
“And?”
The edge of the countertop digs into your back. “He’s going to skin us alive.”
“And?”
“I’ll text him.”
He scoffs, not fooled even for a second. “No you won’t.”
Your hips rock against his, just once, and Damien’s head falls back as he moans, loud and shameless in the still air of your kitchen. God, he’s so beautiful, spit-slick and sugary, and ridiculously, painfully yours.
“No,” you say, breathless, and drag him back in. “I won’t.”
—
world’s biggest gulper: ON UR WAY MY ASS
world’s biggest gulper: ITS BEEN 90 MINUTES THIS IS NOT BRUNCH ANYMORE
world’s biggest gulper: istg u two r worse than vincent. FUCKING VINCENT SOLAIRE AND HES NOCTURNAL
world’s biggest gulper: ok i rebooked for dinner. if i see turtlenecks its on sight
—
main masterlist
this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.
