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dreamingofep · 7 months

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Sinned Awakening pt. 8 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, angst, some smut, aggression, blood/gore!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.6K

A/N: Hello everyone!

Welcome to part 8 everyone! I appreciate your patience as this was a MONSTER to write! This is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story. I hope you enjoy the story from Elvis' perspective in this part. He is very very bad so please be prepared 🤭 I think it was important to understand him better. Please let me know what you think in the comments or send me a message!

If you’d like to start reading from the beginning, start here. 🩸

Thank you again!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes and overall goofs.🖤

Day 1 With You

The sunshine slips through the cracks of the heavy curtains and illuminates the otherwise stark bedroom of his. He groans and shuts his book harshly and goes to close the curtains. He huffs, pushing his hair back, and sits on the edge of the bed. It was only noon but he was so restless and wanted to get out of the penthouse. He knew it wasn’t an option though. It would be too easy to be recognized and he was starving. His lack of control was worsening by the day and the longer he starved himself, the more he craved blood.

It was all he could think about. When could he sink his teeth into something warm and feed himself to contentment? He knew it was morally wrong and that’s why he tried to contain himself and ultimately hide up here all day and drown himself in books. Not only is his appetite ravenous, but the longer he goes not feeding, the weaker he physically gets.

He gets up and goes to the bathroom to take a shower which distracts him from the burning thirst that resides in his throat. The bathroom light makes him wince and he hunches over the sink, annoyed that he has to walk around feeling like this. Looking up at his reflection, those red eyes stare back at him and he feels disgusted looking at them. He doesn’t have a normal life already and he can’t even look normal because of this choice he made. He felt no physical pain but the thirst that resided in him made him feel like he could collapse any second. The last time he felt like this was in the Army. How some nights they didn’t eat and the blistering cold penetrated so deep to his bones he felt as if he was dying.

He takes another deep breath and opens the medicine cabinet. The short vials stared at him menacingly and the burning in his throat felt like fire the more he looked at them. There was a small amount of blood in the viles but enough to calm his thirst for a short time. He grabs one of them out of the cabinet and takes the small cork top off. The smell of it hits his nose and he grumbles, lifting it to his lips and letting the crimson liquid pour down his throat. It was just what he needed and he made sure to not let a drop go to waste. He tosses the vial in the trash and looks back up at his eyes which are now a stormy blue, a bit more human-like. But it wasn’t enough. He could drink all the remaining vials in the cabinet and calm his thirst. But the issue of getting more blood became an issue.

There were other vampires in the area and the common thing was to steal from blood banks. However, with more coming to Las Vegas, it was becoming too conspicuous that all these blood bags turned up missing at the closest blood banks. Elvis’ men went out and got him as much blood as they could so Elvis would have enough strength to sing and put on the best show possible.

For the last few years, Elvis restrained from feeding on humans, even how much he loved it. It was the best way to feed.

He became too addicted to getting a girl in his suite, make love to them, feed just until she couldn’t take it anymore, and making them forget he ever bit them. He had never felt so good. But people started to notice the weird behavior of the girls that would come out of Elvis’ suite and suddenly not remember certain portions of the night.

He still had some morality in some sense and knew it was wrong and had to find other ways to feed himself. So that’s when the blood bank idea came to be. It wasn’t terrible but not enough for Elvis.

A knock on his bedroom door turns his attention and he quickly goes to answer it.

“Hey, EP. Just reminding you that a new housekeeper starts today,” Jerry says stoically.

Elvis grumbles annoyed and looks at Jerry.

“Are you kidding me? Another one? The last one was good. She was quiet and kept to herself and I never wanted to suck the life out of her.” He says annoyed. “This is not a good time for someone new to start man. My appetite is not under control and I can’t risk anything,” he explains.

Jerry nods his head and looks down to the floor.

“I understand EP, but they assured me this new girl is really good and one of the best. You can control your thirst, I’m sure she won’t be a problem,” he assures.

Elvis takes a deep breath and nods his head too.

“I’ll make sure to lay down the rules with her. I don’t think I can handle a human here for more than an hour,” he huffs.

Jerry agrees and tells him that you’ll be here at three. Elvis thanks him and closes the door to his bedroom again and prepares himself to meet you. The other housekeeper never said she was leaving to him and was very peculiar. She never asked questions about when she would find blood splatter on the sheets or why he never made any contact with her for fear she would get concerned over his body temperature. Ever since getting bit, his body temperature drastically dropped and made it clear that he was not human. In the rare cases, when he did have to shake people’s hands, he made the excuse that he was not feeling well and usually people would not ask other questions about it. He decided to get back into bed and continue to read his book until he had to get up to meet this new housekeeper.

Three o'clock came before he knew it and he heard the lurch of the elevator make its way up to the penthouse. He runs his hands across his face, not mentally prepared to be so close to a human that he’s never met. He grabs his sunglasses to hide his dark eyes and more importantly, hide the hunger that resides in them. He puts on a new shirt and begins to button it when he hears a peculiar sound.

Thump, thump, thump thump…

A heartbeat. A very peculiar one. He’s never heard something like this. It was like music to his ears. The sound kept getting closer and louder.

Nervous little human, he thinks. Good, she should be nervous, she has no idea what I am capable of, he scoffs to himself.

The sound of the front door opens and quickly shuts, but the sound of your heartbeat only quickens when you don’t see anyone around.

He quietly opens the bedroom door to examine you. That’s when it hits him fully. Your scent. So alluring and beckoning. He literally had to hold his breath to keep his fangs from descending. He knows he can’t step another inch closer to you or disaster can strike. He watches you look around the living room and the current state it's in. Last night’s party was a lively one no less and the evidence was all on the floor. You keep peering around and he decides to stand in the corner of the room, motionless, examining you.

The sound of your heart pitter pattering away combined with the way you smelled was practically killing Elvis. This was exactly what he didn’t need. He didn’t need a new housekeeper at this time where he was practically starved. But to have you here smelling this irresistible was going to be an issue no doubt. His lack of restraint has always been an issue, even when he was a human. He always did what he wanted and if he liked something, he was going to get it. Nothing changed in that aspect once he became a vampire. You smelled so sweet to him, practically like honey and the sound of your heart was like a symphony. Like it was perfectly created for his ears alone and rose and fell so easy for him. What he would give to make that orchestra only play for him and get you all excited. Get you so close so he can feel your heart pound against his body and keep the symphony playing for him.

Fucking hell this is not going to end well.

He closes his eyes and tries to refocus, get her to clean this up, and get her out, he thinks.

“About time you showed up,” he says gruffly. He watches you snap your head in his direction and sees the most beautiful eyes. The way they glimmered in the low light but nevertheless brightened up the room almost instantly.

Oh lord, she’s beautiful…

Your heart danced wildly again, nerves rushing through you and it made Elvis even more eager to be around you. No matter how dangerous it may be for you.

You clear your throat nervously, “I’m very sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Presley. My name is y/n, I’m your new housekeeper.” You say timidly, placing your hand in front of you to shake his. He looks down at your hand, and your heart pumps louder.

Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, he thinks. He tries not to recoil from you but he has to get away from you.

He looks down at you with hunger, he knows you can’t see the ravenous look he has in his eyes but he knows he doesn’t have enough control to even shake your hand without the thought of trying to take a bite out of you. He watches intensely how you quickly retract your hand and put it at your side, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

Hmm good stay nervous, I want to hear your heart louder, he thinks.

“Um, where would you like me to start cleaning?” You ask.

“Where do you think?” He snaps coldly at you. This makes your breathing accelerate and he likes it.

“Okay, no problem. Do you mind if I open the drapes so I can see what I’m cleaning?” You ask gently.

“I don’t care, Just get it done,” he snaps at you. He starts to make his way to the other side of the room by the sofa. As he passes you, he gets another whiff of you passing by and his mouth salivates from it.

He studies you, watching your every move and how careful you are. He notices your wandering eyes. How you want him. He knew how he looked and most humans wanted him. That was part of his curse, the way he allured people in just so he could get close enough to bite. But you kept glancing over at him, unable to resist his presence. Sitting there with his legs open, he watches how your eyes get drawn to his legs and bulge. A smirk forms on his face, liking the attention he’s getting from you. He watches you clear the floor and go to the cleaning cart to grab something. His thirst was becoming insatiable the longer you were in here. His eyes bored into your backside and wandered down to your perfect legs. Your uniform didn’t showcase your physique very well but he wanted to see more of you. Particularly on his bed…

“Make sure to dust the other bedrooms,” he directs, “and under no circumstances do you go in my bedroom without my permission. I forbid it,” he says gruffly.

You quickly agree and move away from him to start on the next room. He follows you into the bedrooms and he gets dangerously closer to you the more you move.

Just get her closer and do it…

Your heart never calmed down and your nerves got the best of you. He wasn’t so concerned about how you were cleaning, he just wanted to keep you in here as long as he could so he could make his move.

He had to hurry up and figure out where he wanted you. His meal. Where he was going to take his first bite of you and drink his problems away. He wanted to get you in his bedroom, pin you to the bed, ravage your neck, and then, make you forget it ever happened. He was too indecisive though. He might as well just do it now, you would probably resist him in some way and he should just surprise you and make it quick.

Come here, he whispers, compelling you to him so he can get what he wants. You don’t respond though, and this shocks Elvis. Maybe he’s weaker than he thinks and he can’t compel you in the condition he’s in.

No, that can’t be, he’s always been able to compel no matter the circumstance. Maybe you just didn’t hear him…

Come here honey, he says a bit louder, you turn around to look at him but instead of obeying, you leave the room to start cleaning another area. He is beyond baffled, were you resisting him in some way? How was this even possible no human can resist a vampire’s abilities?

His frustration got the best of him and he was fed up with not getting what he wanted. It’s easier to have you under his control while he feeds from you rather than having you flail around and try to escape.

Just do it when she’s not looking…

Devour her.

You move quickly and efficiently throughout the suite and try not to linger as his eyes continue to bore into you. Finally finishing the remaining room, you are about to excuse yourself when his keen eyes scan the room for anything you missed.

The glimmer of a champagne bottle that rolled underneath the piano catches his eye and he thinks this is the perfect opportunity to get her back turned and he goes in for the bite. He smiles to himself, “There’s a bottle underneath the piano,” he grumbles.

Your face drops in disappointment as you aren’t as thorough as you thought. He watches you move the piano bench aside and crawl underneath, scanning for the bottle hidden under the curtains. His eyes trail over your backside, liking what he’s seeing. He moves quickly and carefully, walking to the piano where he wants to pull you out from underneath it and suck you dry.

He hears your bewildering hum as you did not see the glass there. You start to retract back out from the piano and he’s inches away from your body. His breathing quickens and he feels his mouth water, getting ready to let his fangs descend down and bite. He wants to grab you but he wants you to turn around so he can look at you.

You turn around quickly and your body jumps, making you gasp at his close proximity. Your hands involuntarily squeeze on the bottle, making it shatter in your hands and making you cry out.

You gasp as you feel shards of glass get pierced into your palms. You drop the remnants of the bottle on the floor and watch the glass fall at your feet. Letting out a frustrated groan, you stare at your palms filled with glass as blood starts to quickly leak out of the wounds, the pain stabbing at you over and over.

The scent of you floods his nose and makes his eyes roll back. The frenzy inside him thirsty for blood over overtook everything inside him. Elvis lets out a frustrated groan and touches you for the first time. It sends an electric shock through his body and combined with the blood spilling out of you, he is on fire.

His grasp in your wrist is tight and he can tell you notice the unusual amount of strength he has.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He barks loudly, sending another chill through your body. You try to back up and the piano keys hit your thigh, making a tumultuous amount of sounds behind you as you try to get free from his grip. Your balance gets wobbly and you place your other hand on the keys to keep yourself from not topping over. He looks at the keys covered in your blood and he feels his eyes burn as they start to shift into the terrifying black and red hues.

The more you move, the more blood comes out of your wounds, and the sound of your scared heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears.

The pressure of this only makes the shards of the glass go deeper inside your hand and you cry out again.

“Ahhh! Please, I'm so sorry about this. Let me clean this up,” you cry. You glance over at the other hand he is holding up and see the trails of blood drip down your arm and his, along with his fingers also covered in your crimson blood. Your eyes grow wide and your breathing becomes uneven.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls violently, disgust filling his voice. Your body shakes uncontrollably and he quickly lets go of your wrist, your feet try to scurry away but they feel like jello, and you manage to stumble your way to the door. You pick the large shards out of your palm and throw them on the floor. You don’t care about the mess you’ve made you just need to get away from him.

You slam the door and he hears the ding of the elevator and the descending of it down to the basement.

He can’t control the descending of his fangs any longer and hisses when he feels them. He drops to his knees in the middle of the suite looking at your blood dripping down his hand and arm. There was no control left in his body and wanted, no, needed to taste you. Dripping like decadent honey down his body.

He licks his finger carefully and groans deeply when he tastes you. It was the best thing he’s ever had. His tongue laps up the rest of what’s on his hand and licks up his forearm not leaving anything behind.

He instantly felt his strength rise and his hunger subside. You were perfect, so fulfilling he couldn’t get over it. There was not just one word to describe how to taste. You were sweet and savory and overwhelmingly delicious. He's never fed on anyone like you. Most people were just satisfactory but not you. Oh no, you were the most satisfying thing that graced this planet.

“Oh my god, fuck,” he hisses.

He looks at the shards of glass left on the ground and carefully picks them up. He was going to save the last of the remnants for another time and savor you.

His breathing remains heavy and uneven and cusses under his breath. He walks over the the piano where your remaining blood was spilled. He places the shards of glass carefully on top of the instrument and sits down on the bench. His eyes cannot comprehend what he has in front of him. He wipes his finger across the ivory key, gathers it on the top of his finger, then places it in his mouth. Another shock wave of pleasure hits him as he swallows. His hand grapples onto the lip of the piano top where he tries to calm his breathing.

Jerry comes barreling in the door looking at him hunched over at the piano and stops in his tracks when he also smells your blood.

“Oh god EP, are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I… I don’t know. I wanted to bite her so bad and she got so nervous around me and broke a bottle,” he says in a daze, holding up the shards in his hands.

“God she is amazing… I’ve never experienced anything like this… I want to keep her around,” he instructs.

Jerry’s face grows panicked and he shakes his head.

“EP I-I-I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can barely control-,” he says before Elvis cuts him off.

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do you hear?!” He commands, raising his voice and striding quickly to look him in the eyes.

Jerry looks down at the floor and nods his head in agreement.

“Write a letter to housekeeping that I want her to come back up here tomorrow. I want her here permanently,” Elvis says gruffly.

Elvis moves past Jerry and out the suite doors.

“NO, EP where are you going?!”

He quickly runs down the stairs in a flash and can smell you in the garage. Your wounds are bandaged but the scent of you is something he’ll never be able to forget for as long as he lives.

He hides in the shadows as you briskly walk to your car. The sound of your fast heartbeat gives him a smile as he inches closer. Then, he hears you weeping, struggling to get air in between sobs. His heart suddenly ached for you, seeing you sad made him want to comfort you in some way.

You pop your head up from the steering wheel, feeling a particular set of eyes on you, but Elvis is already back upstairs in the Penthouse. He sits down on the sofa and takes a moment to breathe, contemplating what he wants to do about you.

Day 2 With You

One of the worst things about his curse, he didn’t sleep. He no longer could rest in the traditional sense and the constant wandering thoughts that swarmed his head were like a dense fog. The scent of you lingered in the suite and it only made Elvis more desperate for you. He wanted you back up here so he could bask in your presence and try to figure you out.

He paced the rooms all night, trying to rationalize why you didn’t succumb to being compelled by him. He hadn’t experienced anything like this in the last few years he was a vampire. There had to be a rational explanation. He tried to blame it on the fact he was starving and he wasn’t focused. He wanted to try today and see what would happen. He felt physically stronger just from the small amount of blood he consumed. His eyes were a much more vibrant blue and his skin didn’t look so ghostly.

He continues to grow restless and looks at the clock. It was only one o clock and he let out a frustrated growl. He quickly rushes to the door and peers out into the hallway.

“Call her up here. I want her up here now.” He barks.

The men look at each other nervously and stay silent.

“I’m not asking again!” He shouts, making everyone jump.

Jerry was the first to face him but kept his head lowered.

“She doesn’t start til three… that was the agreement with the hotel…” he says sullenly.

Elvis grunts and frustratedly puts his hands through his hair, “fuck, fine. You get her up here the second the clock turns three.” He barks before slamming the door. He wallows in his own self-despair for the next few hours until he finally sees the clock reach three and gloats with happiness.

He could hear your nervous heart from down in the basement and get closer and closer as you rode the elevator up there.

You quickly make your way to the door and step inside. The decedent smell fills your nose again and you quietly close the door behind you. There’s so much more light in the room today and as you turn around, you realize the curtains are all open, letting in that fresh sunlight. Your eyes dart to the moving figure moving in your peripheral. Elvis stands a few feet away from you in all black again, a white shirt buttoned down to the middle of his torso and his hair perfectly combed back in his signature way.

He smiles to himself, thankful he didn’t completely scare you away and glad he could be in such close proximity to you today. The sound of your nervous heart filled his ears and didn’t stop the more you looked at him. He had to admit you were stunning, the way you looked was like something out of a book, too perfect for words. Your beauty outshined anyone and he was in awe.

Your mouth felt dry and you weren’t sure what he was going to say to you after yesterday’s events but had to try to talk to this brooding man before you.

“H-hello, Mr. Presley,” you say intimidated, giving a slight smile at the last second.

Your voice called out to him like a siren. The way you said his name made him feel something he couldn’t pinpoint. All he knew was he liked it. He liked you around and he liked his name coming from your lips. He noticed how smooth your skin was and it made him want to touch it.

Touch her, touch her…

“Hello, y/n. I’m glad you’re here,” he says with a grin. He makes his way toward you in a slow, nonchalant manner and raises his hand out in front of him.

He waits in anticipation for your skin to touch his. He didn’t care about the noticeable temperature difference, he just needed to know what it felt like.

You realize he’s not wearing any sunglasses today and can see how blue his eyes are for the first time. They’re electric, so captivating, and alluring. They’re like clear blue tropical waters, something you’ve only seen in books. No photograph could properly capture this shade of blue and you just wanted to swim in them. This makes your heartbeat flutter again and you try to regain focus on what Elvis is saying to you. He smiles to himself as he watches you analyze his features.

“I’m very sorry for how I acted yesterday. Maybe we can start over. I hope you don’t think I’m a rude asshole,” he suggests with a chuckle.

He watches you look down at his hand waiting for you to grab it. You carefully wrap your fingers around his large hand and shake it. He holds his breath, relishing the sensation of your warm skin on his. It felt perfect and he thinks he found his new obsession.

You.

You look up into his eyes willingly for the first time and meet his alluring blue eyes, melting into them.

“It’s alright Mr. Presley, I was also a bit nervous yesterday and wasn’t myself.” You assure. You notice he still has your hand in his grasp, rubbing the faintest circle on the back of your hand distracting you from making a coherent thought. He wanted to tease you, make you fall apart for him and he knew you had the same reaction to his touch as he did with yours. Even though his temperature was off from yours, the way his skin felt on yours was obsessional. The way it tingled effortlessly through your body down to your toes and you wanted more. He loves it when he hears your heart continue to dance in your chest and makes his gaze intensify.

“Are you feeling better Mr. Presley? You were very…cold yesterday,” you say shyly.

He lets out a small hum before answering, “Never better honey. You definitely brightened up my day,” he says coyly.

He watches how your cheeks flush red, unable to resist his charm. He regretfully lets go of your hand and starts to walk toward the couches.

“Please, sit with me. I want to get to know you better,” he coos, drawing you in and compelling you to his every last wish. Standing there unable to speak, you nervously smile and shake your head at him.

“No, that’s okay Mr. Presley I don’t sit down in the guest's spaces when I’m on the clock. I really should get started cleaning.” You defer.

How the hell… he thinks.

“Oh no, please, I insist,” he says cheekily, hoping you will finally listen to him.

“That’s okay Mr. Presley. If you want, you can ask me questions while I clean, I’m okay with that,” you say cheerfully. Turning to your cleaning cart you left here last night, you grab a trash bag and begin to clean up the remnants of last night's party.

He was beyond baffled. He has never experienced any human to so easily resist a vampire’s abilities. He needs to try and find any lore that talks about this. There had to be a logical explanation.

You quickly glance over at him sitting on the couch, watching you like a hawk with a smirk on his face.

“What did you want to know about me?” You ask, picking up bottles and throwing plates away.

Elvis hums softly to himself, trying to find the words to ask, “How old are you?”

“I’m 30, but I really feel like I’m 16 still,” you quip cutely. You hear a low chuckle come from him. “How old are you,” you throw back to him.

“Hmm, I guess I’m 38 but sometimes I feel 33, maybe even 21 at times but based on how many times I’ve traveled around the sun, I’m just 38.” He remarks.

“Okay, I’ll say you’re young at heart,” You say and you hear him chuckle.

“What do you like to do for fun?” He asks next.

This actually makes you pause and think because quite frankly, you don’t know.

“Well, it’s hard to say… I work pretty much all the time so the days I do have off, I just clean up my apartment or go swimming or something. I just don’t have a lot of time for fun,” you say a bit defeated. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, hearing the sadness that is behind those words.

“I’m sorry to hear that. That’s no way to live,” He noted. You nod in agreement as you tie off the trash bag and reach for another one.

“Yeah, it’s not the easiest, but I get by and that’s all that matters,” you try to say cheerfully.

“So, do you ever leave the penthouse?” You ask him cheekily.

He snickers and nods his head, “only when I have to. I just don’t like it. There’s nothing out there for me,” he broods.

“Ah I see… do you miss being able to walk down the street without being noticed?”

“Sometimes, but my fans gave me all of this so I can’t complain,” he says stoically.

You fall quiet but be doesn’t mind. He likes to watch you how you move in your clumsy little human way.

You move to the next room and he follows closely behind you. This was one of his guest bedrooms and he sometimes liked to read in here. It was dark and decorated with candles and had books along the walls. This was where he kept the books on the lore of supernatural creatures and history. He had a lot of time on his hands so reading was the only other thing to keep him occupied and not think about feeding so much.

He sits on the edge of the bed as you reach to dust the books and the shelves above the bed, something you didn’t get an opportunity to get to yesterday. His eyes wander over your body as you have your back turned toward him. He can’t help but stare at the curve of your ass and how your long hair flawlessly fell down your back. When you dusted, you made short little movements that made your body jiggle in the best of ways. Elvis keeps staring at you, wanting you to move more for him. You made short, cute little hums trying to reach the shelf and Elvis liked how you sounded.

A wave of hunger washed over him, but this time it was different. This hunger was for your body. Pure raging lust burned through him and wanted to have his way with you in this room. He didn’t enjoy sex anymore like he did when he was human. He would use sex to get whoever he was feeding on all excited and their heart pounding just enough before he sunk his teeth into them. He didn’t see it as pleasure anymore and thought of it as an easier way to get a girl in his most private room and feed to his heart’s content. It didn’t interest him anymore and he could barely remember the last time he made love to someone and really enjoyed it. He didn’t feel like he had enough control to be so close to a human and not think about taking a bite. It was too risky and he was trying to be better.

This wasn’t what he was thinking about though. Sure, it would be nice to feed on you in such a way but right now, all he wanted was to bend you over, rip your skirt off, and stuff you to the hilt with his cock. Making you moan his name over and over and beg him for more. God, he knew you would feel like heaven there was no doubt about that. He wanted to get you so wet and make your core throb for his cock. He already tasted your blood but right now he wanted to taste the arousal that would be spilling out of you once he made you nice and needy. It would be so easy for him to put his hands all over your body, discover where you like to be touched, and make you beg for it. His hands trailing over your soft skin, squeezing those perfect legs and spreading them apart so he can fit in between them and fuck you to his heart’s content.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt his cock twitch in his pants with just the thought of having you. He adjusted himself and knew you wouldn’t notice and sat back down on the bed. Those wandering thoughts were killing him though. You suddenly became his new addiction in a matter of twenty-four hours and he thought it was bad enough that he craved your blood, now he craved your body on a new unprecedented level. He wanted to watch you writhe on the bed and scratch down his back as his cock split you in two, all night long.

Oh god no you can’t, he thinks. It’s too risky…

No, he can and he will. He needed to fuck you and have you make those beautiful sounds he knows you make when you’re getting pleasured.

He feels his cock grow harder down his leg and he starts to get uncomfortable. He starts to reach out to grab your arm to make you look at him but he doesn’t. He quickly retracts his hand and just takes in the view and bites his lip, trying to calm himself down.

You look over your shoulder at him and see where his gaze is directed at. Your cheeks feel on fire being the object this man is looking at lustfully. You haven’t gotten this much attention from a man in years and you can’t lie to yourself, you kind of like it.

You get off the bed and fix the comforter, fluffing up the pillows as you stare back at him with a similar intensity.

“Can I ask what you’re staring at?” You jest.

He presses his lips together to not show the deviant little smirk he wants to give you and shakes his head. “Nothing honey don’t worry. You’re just very beautiful that’s all,” he says calmly, ignoring the hard erection forming in his pants.

His eyes continue to wander and they stop dead in their tracks when he sees your finger. It was faint, but you had a suntan line on your left ring finger.

Fuck, she’s married…

“So you’re married?” He says flatly, trying to keep the agitation in his voice to a minimum.

“Huh?” You say confused.

“You have a suntan on your ring finger, I assumed it’s because you’re married and don’t wear your ring while you work,” he observes.

“Oh, well no, I’m not actually married. I’m just engaged and yeah I don’t normally wear the band at work so it doesn’t get damaged… You have good eyes, Mr. Presley,” you say jokingly.

“Mhmm…how long have you been engaged?” he continues.

“A couple of years,” you say embarrassed.

Years?! What kind of fucking idiot would wait that long to marry you? he thinks angrily.

“Why is that?” He snaps. You shoot your eyes back to him and he’s now standing up, looking at you like he could jump over this bed and attack you.

“I don’t know… We haven’t gotten around to setting a date or picking a venue or anything. It just isn’t the right time,” you say sheepishly, defeat tainting your voice.

He knew he shouldn’t touch you, but you called out to him so strong he couldn’t fight it.

“You deserve better,” he mumbles, reaching out and touching your cheek with his cold hand, rubbing his thumb softly there, giving your body a shiver. His eyes drink you in as he stands there with your face in his hand, chest beginning to rise and fall quicker. You watch as his chest heaves, inspecting every detail of your face and trailing down to your collarbone to the swell of your breast. He didn’t have to see you naked to know you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. It took every ounce of willpower he had left in him to not push you up against his body and kiss you. He wanted to kiss you passionately and feel your body become weak for him to take care of you. Your skin gets chills as he continues to stare at your body and he notices, bringing a smirk to his face.

“If only you knew…” he trails off.

If only you knew how bad I want you…

You grab his wrist, feeling your breathing increase with his close proximity making the room spin. Your vision gets blurry and you grab onto him tighter. You wanted him to comfort you in way you didn’t quite know about. You just wanted his body close to yours, like that would fix all your problems. A complete shift in thought compared to yesterday when all you wanted to do was say thirty yards away from him.

“Elvis, I-I -I should get back to work,” you say a little breathlessly.

His chest continues to rise and fall quickly and he bites his lower lip, nodding his head to you.

“Of course, I’ll leave you alone. Leave whenever you would like,” he says quickly. Before he turns away, he takes his hands off of your face and gives the back of your bandaged hand a kiss. His lips barely grazed your skin but the way his lips dragged down along your fingertips before he left was all too much to handle.

The way his body screamed for more was frightening. Why did he want you so bad? He walked to the other side of the suite and felt like he was on fire. Every cell in his body wanted you and he knew it wasn’t going to disappear overnight. He knew you felt the same too, he could sense it. Just the way you looked at him or how your body desperately tries not to touch him but loses that battle instantly.

He grabs his wrist you touched moments ago and feels it tingle and your scent stays on him.

More, you need more…

That stupid voice inside his head wasn’t shutting up and he knew this was going to be a very long night. He looked down at his pants and he sees the bulge in his pants waiting to come free. He winces and tries to ignore it for now. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to pleasure himself but would wait til you left. There wasn’t much else to clean in the suite so he knew it wouldn’t be long until you left.

After some time, he takes a shower and clears his head a bit. These last few days were overwhelming, to say the least. He wanted to know so much more about you but he was afraid to lose control with you around. He would keep you here all day if he could but he knew that wasn’t an option. The way you talked about being engaged bothered him. You didn’t seem overly enthusiastic about the whole thing and it seemed more like a burden to you. He didn’t know the whole situation, but from what he had observed in the past with other women, they were happy to be engaged and didn’t talk about it the way you had.

He wanted to make you happy and carry this weight you had on your shoulders. He didn’t know if it was because of your fiancé but he was determined to find out. Getting out of the shower, he drys himself off with a towel and puts on his black and red robe that had his initials embroidered on the left side of his chest. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees a pathetic creature. His eyes were still vibrant but he was still in need of you.

He paces his room for a while, outweighing the negatives of having you around as his housekeeper. Other than the fact he could lose all control and kill you, he needed you to stay. Maybe this would be a good thing and he can learn some control. He wasn’t too confident on that part but he’d sure as hell try.

It was getting late and the sun was setting. His mind was wandering again and the craving for your body began to worsen. He hadn’t heard you rustle in the suite for hours and assumed you left already for the day. His mind kept replaying when he touched your hand and how you touched his. How satisfying you were just to be close to him was almost enough.

But Elvis became greedy and it wasn’t going to be enough for him. He closed his eyes and all he could see was those pretty eyes matched with those pretty lips. Of how he wished those eyes could be looking into his while he fucked you on this bed.

He felt his length harden and he groaned, wishing you were here right now, wrapping your lips around him and helping him come. He rubbed his eyes and wished he could get your body off his mind.

He went to put on the tv and a devious thought popped into his head. He had this porn video he got a few years ago and for the most part, he liked it. He just wanted to distract himself, not think about you, and just block it all out.

He rummages through his tapes and finds the x X-rated movie hidden behind the box. He puts it into the receiver and sits on the end of his bed. Adjusting the volume, he watches the scene unfold before him. How the man starts kissing the woman passionately and the way she would moan because of it. His finger found her soaked panties and teased her there.

Oh fuck, I want to do that to you, he thinks.

Elvis can feel his cock throb against his leg, begging to be touched. So much for trying to distract himself from you because that’s all he’s thinking about as he watches the TV. He starts to take his robe off, uncovering his body and looking at his leaking shaft.

Suddenly, his ears pick up a nervous little heartbeat. Yours. He doesn’t glance over at the door but he knows you’re watching. He stupidly forgot to close the door it seems.

Or he wanted you to stumble in on him in this condition and see what a mess you’ve made him…

He brings his hand up to his mouth and he spits in it, wrapping it around his length and he starts to rub it back and forth in his hand. You didn’t care what was on the TV you just wanted to watch him. He focuses on the tip of his cock, rubbing some of his precum along the shaft. There’s a vein that pops from his neck the longer he does this, making you wish you could just bite there. He moans from the feeling of this and hearing your breathing quicken makes him agonizingly needy. Every time he shut his eyes in pleasure, your face was there beckoning him to come apart.

The moans escalate from the movie and his hand picks up pace, making his own delicious moans that drown out the others. He focuses on your heartbeat and the sound of your blood rushing to your core, making you dripping wet for him.

“Oh fuck,” he moans deeply.

Another moan slips from his beautiful mouth and his hand jerks his length harder. Your breathing picks up and that need inside you grows. You feel so naughty, so dirty for even remotely like this.

He likes hearing you get this way for him and wishes he could look into your eyes. But he relies on his senses to show him how you’re feeling. His eyes glance at the mirror and he can see how you’re looking at him. Your face dripping with lust and need.

God, I want you. I want you now, he trembles.

“Mmm, yes… you like that,” he groans.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, his hungry, and yours, petrified. The sound of your scared little heart made Elvis’ mouth water. You sounded so perfect and wanted you here in his lap. But you don’t do that and run as quickly as you can out of the suite. Elvis feels frustrated that he scared you off. There was no point in trying to talk to you as that would probably freak you out more.

He turned the tv off and groaned, looking at his hard cock dripping with precum. He wanted to come and make himself feel something good. He brought a towel with him from the bathroom and laid it on the bed. He stands at the edge of the bed, one knee bent up on the bed and focused on you again, and rubbed his hand along his shaft, moaning heavily as he felt his orgasm about to release. His mind keeps picturing how you’d look taking his cock, your tight walls hugging him as you took each inch of him. He grunts as he feels the heat form in his lower belly and his cock begins to twitch. His thick, white seed comes out of him quickly and he groans in pleasure. Images of you continue to fill his head and for the first time in a long time, he feels so good. He watches the last of his seed come out of him and he hunches over the bed, almost breathless. He could not wait to have you all to himself.

There wasn’t a logical explanation for why he felt this way for you but he wasn’t complaining. He wanted to experience this feeling over and over. More importantly, he wanted that feeling to be with you. He wanted to see you tonight and be in your presence again. He quickly gets some clothes on and rushes out the door. His men throw him concerned looks and he doesn’t bother to tell them where he’s going.

He starts to run and follows your scent down the street of Paradise Road and before he knows it, he’s in front of a small apartment unit with your car in the front. He slips inside the front door easily as it is left unlocked. Elvis shuts it quietly and locks the deadbolt. The scent of you here was astonishing and made him grin in delight. There was another scent lingering in here though, a male’s mixed with alcohol. This made him annoyed but was more focused on finding you. He only heard your heartbeat in the apartment so he knew you two were alone again.

The squeak of the shower faucet directs his attention to the back of the unit. He carefully walks in that direction and you quickly walk across the hallways into the bedroom, never noticing Elvis there. He continues to walk slowly to your bedroom and he stops in his tracks when he hears you grunt frustratedly. He’s confused by your sudden outburst and wants to see what you’re doing.

He carefully peeks into the room and finds you on the side of the bed, the towel draped off of your body, and sitting there completely naked. He presses his lips together to not let out the moan he wants to let out. You were stunning, just as he had thought and he saw how your body ached with need. He watches as your fingers carefully slide down and find your aching bud. You take a sharp breath in as you discover how sensitive it is.

Rubbing it in slow circles, you feel so much relief, so much pleasure instantly that you’re pretty sure it’s not going to take you very long until you come undone. The amount of slick that came out of you was embarrassing but you didn’t care, you kept focusing on yourself. He hears how much wetness has gathered in between your legs and how you easily rub your slender fingers there, making you come apart.

Your hips involuntarily grind into your fingers and a louder airy moan comes out of you. Your index and middle finger glide through your sopping folds and moan more as you rub them on your clit, sending another shock in your body.

“Oh god,” you moan breathlessly, putting more pressure on your bud.

Oh God, yes, he thinks, watching in awe. He starts to feel his cock grow hard again, wanting you unabashedly. He puts his hand in his pocket and rubs his warm length again. Watching you get off was so hot to him. He knew it was bad he was invading your privacy but god he could watch you for hours like this. Your heartbeat began to rise and by the look on your face, you were close to coming apart.

You let your head fall back and squeeze your eyes closed, working yourself up to orgasm. He continued to rub his shaft trying not to make a sound watching you.

“Ohmygod,” you moan out, “Oh my god E-Elvis,” you hiss and you gasp at what just came out of your mouth so easily. You sit there shaking, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm reel through your body.

Elvis stops, looking wide-eyed at you. The way you moaned his name was heaven-sent and made him want to fuck you like never before. He was in just as much of shock as you were. He would have never thought that you would moan his name like that especially when you were pleasuring yourself.

You sit there breathless on the bed and feel something staring at you. You snap your head in the direction of the door and a dark shadow moves in the corner of your eye. There’s nothing there but a huge chill runs down your body and your breathing continues to grow heavy. You were being paranoid and the shame and guilt ran through you.

Elvis quickly ran to the living room so you wouldn’t see him. He could not believe what he heard and witnessed. The sound of the bedroom door closing followed by the switch of the lock made him want to get back to you. But it was probably best to leave you to have some peace. Today was a whirlwind even for him. He couldn’t wait to see you tomorrow and quickly went back to the Hilton.

The next day came and the clock hit three o'clock. But he wouldn’t call you up to the penthouse. Elvis also needed time to think. He needed to control himself so he wouldn’t hurt you. He took out the shards of glass that had your blood on it and would set it in front of himself, trying to withstand the want to taste it. He tried to get stronger in that sense for your safety. If he couldn’t do this, maybe he shouldn’t be around you anymore. He succeeded mostly when he was doing this little experimentation. His fangs would descend almost every time but by the time the end of the week came, he managed to hold back and have the utmost amount of strength.

But that wouldn’t stop him from checking in on you at night and watching you sleep. You were so peaceful laying there and he liked hearing your slow, soft breathing. He caught you a few times saying his name in your sleep and it made him so happy. He had to get stronger and get you back to the suite.

On that Friday, he thought he was ready to call you back up to the penthouse but he had a sudden lapse of judgment and his eyes turned into the terrifying crimson orbs when he smelled your blood. He was so frustrated with himself, he thought he could be good and control himself but the beast inside him always won.

“Tell her not to come. I can’t do it,” he tells Jerry frustratedly. Jerry leaves the room quietly and does as he’s told. Elvis hears him make the phone call to housekeeping and he sits there frustrated with his head in his hands. Suddenly, Jerry pops back into the room frantically.

“She uhh.. she hung up on me,” he says in shock.

“She what?” He hisses.

“She hung up on me and the elevator is coming up here now,” he hisses.

Elvis stands up and growls, “fuck I’m not ready,” he grunts.

Jerry leaves the room again and the ding of the elevator sends chills through Elvis.

You come to the double doors with fumes radiating off of you as you are ready to give Elvis a piece of your mind…

Now

You stare motionless at Elvis, unable to say anything after everything he just described to you. You feel as though the whole world is going to come crashing down on you. Not only was Elvis a vampire, he craved your blood. So much that he barely had enough control to be around you.

So much more made sense now. The way he acted on his first day with you. It wasn’t that he hated you, he was starving for you. Letting his need for blood overshadow any rational thinking he had left in him. It scared you, how much he wanted you. It was the dark creature that resided within him that overtook his mind and made him an animal. The draw you had to him also scared you. This was all a mess. An engaged woman should have never been acting like that but you did and now your life will never be the same.

“So now you know, everything I was thinking that first week of seeing you. How you turned my entire world upside down and there’s nothing else I think about but you.” He states.

You stay silent, looking at his beautiful face that has so much hurt in it. You fidget with your clothes and wish this was all just a dream.

“I don’t know what to say…” you mumble. “You compelled Daniel I assume?” You ask.

He nods his head, “yes. I shouldn’t have but he wasn’t going to go away,” he says with annoyance in his voice.

“And you watch me… sleep?” You say with a shiver running down your back.

He stands up to sit next to you on the same couch. You can’t help but recoil from him, so unsure of what he might do now. He picks up your hand and stills you, looking into your eyes intensely.

“I understand if you never want to be around me again or ever do anything physical with me, but you deserve to know the whole truth. I’m sorry I’ve lied to you so much but it was for your safety. I’m trying to be better I promise you,” he pleads.

“Elvis this is just so much for one day. I don’t know how to feel,” you admit.

“I understand baby, I do. But I need you to know one thing; I’ll never stop wanting you. I need you. You’re all I need and more and the way my body feels for you is something that I can’t control.” He says frustratedly.

You pull your hand away and get up from the couch, needing to put some space in between you two.

“I need a second to think you’re so suffocating you know that?!,” you rasp, your nerves getting the best do you.

“Please just, give me some time alone.”

He has so much betrayal in his eyes but he stands up slowly and quietly agrees.

“I’ll be here… if you need anything,” he says solemnly.

You rush to the spare bedroom and lock the door behind you. Like that really mattered.

Elvis was a vampire. He craved you like nothing else on this planet and it scared you. He was never going away. He was going to find you no matter where you went.

And secretly, way deep down, you liked it.

Tagging:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo @loving-elvis

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997

@returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis fic #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x oc #vampire elvis #sinned awakening #samfangirls #elvis smut #elvis presley #70s elvis

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bisexual-horror-fan · 10 months

Note

Ugh it’s really late at night where I am and I can’t sleep and it just popped into my mind that I’m low-key terrified and excited to see what you’re gonna do with the third part of your Mickey-Randy fic. Is Mickey gonna go through with killing him? How will reader react if he does? Will she find out it’s Mickey? WILL MICKEY GET WHAT HE WANTS?

You best believe the moment you post it I’m locking myself in a dark ass room and telling my boyfriend to leave me tf alone for 3-5 business days

Well! I had the past two days off and I finished up this! For those who haven’t read part one or two of this trilogy I would recc that you do! Seriously, I never thought I would love doing this so much but I did! Massive shout out to @applesontheground for going over this and betaing pre-posting! Now then, I don’t wanna waste much time, I just wanna dive in and get deep! The long awaited conclusion of this trilogy is here! Let’s get deep in the paint!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 6.5K. Mickey Altieri And Randy Meeks X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: So Much Context Needed. Threesomes. Sloppy Seconds. Cuckholding. Semi-Public Sex. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Gagging. Stalking. Murder Plot. Murder. Blood. Gore. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. Death. Grief. Vaginal Sex. Kissing. Confessions Of Feelings. Manipulation.

—

You Need Me Like I Need You.

—

When did shit, namely, his life, get this fucking complicated?

He used to think that sex was pretty straight forward, that he had a good handle on himself, his interests and personal sexuality, even before he brought anyone else into the equation but now all the lines are blurred and muddy. He never knew that it could all be so varied, which seems fucking stupid now. The human experience has untold and truly vast depth, of course sex, something that has existed as long as people themselves have existed, has a million different ways to explore, play with and partake in and Randy had been confronted with all that, thrown headfirst into it with almost no preparation.

Randy has experienced impossibly high highs and some true lows, the emotional roller coaster of it all was a lot to handle but also, shamefully, addicting as hell.

He didn’t know that there could be so much sexual enjoyment derived from such typically and previously negatively associated feeling, particularly, humiliation. He had experienced plenty of humiliation over the years and it always, well, fucking sucked but for some reason, when it cropped up again from that tape and subsequent threesomes with Mickey, it made his heart race in a different way, a much better, albeit, confusing way.

When he first was confronted with that tape he was a mess, when you eventually pulled out what was wrong he was still a total mess, and during that first threesome, he was even more of one. Mickey was an almost intolerable asshole but he had to admit, the things he did to you, the view and picture you both provided him, undeniably hot, much better than any bargain basement dumpster porn tape he ever watched by far. He hated that every boundary he tried to lay down, like Mickey wearing a condom, was ignored. Even further, the disrespecting of said boundaries were usually encouraged by you, as you seemingly craved it too. The shared wants between you and Mickey took precedence over his comfort and boundaries, he certainly didn’t do much to dissuade you both when he let it keep happening, especially when the evidence of how hard it made him was clear as day.

And the rules Mickey did agree to? It turns out he was lying, placating Randy to gain consent and access to you to then do what he wanted in the end. The worst of the worst is that when Randy had you afterwards, totally messy and stuffed with cum, literally subjected to Mickey’s sloppy seconds. It felt so fucking good that he couldn’t bring himself to have a single negative thing to say, any complaints die on his tongue as he buries his face into your neck and himself inside you to the hilt.

Mickey said he would pull out, Mickey was apparently a fucking liar and when Randy was on his back afterwards, sweat slick and panting, still dizzy and high off the hardest orgasm he had in recent memory, he wanted to fucking thank the guy for making him do this and see how good it was. He would never actually thank him, Mickey’s ego was already approaching the size of a supernova from this situation as it was, he is sure if he thanked him for cumming in you when he asked him not to? He cannot imagine how much worse he would become. It doesn’t matter that true the experience was fucking great, the ignoring of his consent was screwed up, thanking him further sends the wrong message.

So Randy put up with Mickey’s comments and overall attitude, he says he puts up with, but really he enjoys it, mostly secretly, he downplays his enjoyment but that damn knowing smirk of Mickey’s makes him think he isn’t as good an actor as he wants to be.

This has been going on for a month.

A glorious, confusion littered, fuck centered, sweat soaked and embarrassment filled month. In the moment and with his dick in his hand it is easier to take, he gets swept up in how filthy it is, finds himself consumed with your new relationship dynamic constantly. In the quiet moments between doing other things his mind wanders to either your last hookup or what might potentially happen in the next one.

The last one he keeps on thinking about is a rather risky semi-public hookup, it was late, rushed, in the stairwell leading up to Randy’s apartment. The sight is burned into his mind, Mickey leaning against the wall, his fingers in your hair as he leads you while you are on your knees, blowing him, right in front of Randy. It is all so striking, so clear, as if it is still happening right in front of Randy when he thinks of it, the low light, the way Mickey’s head tips back and rests against the concrete wall. A bead of sweat rolls down the column of his throat, along with the bob of his Adam's apple from a heavy swallow he took after a harsh inhale of air. He hears the quiet moan, the curse that spills out as he rocks his hips to force himself deeper into your mouth, you gag, Mickey laughs breathlessly with that half sideways smirk and then, he looks at him. Mickey’s head no longer rests and instead brown eyes meet blue and that smile grows into an outright sadistic grin as he drives forward harder, more purposefully and the moan you let around the shaft invading your mouth makes Randy ache in his jeans.

Someone speaks to him, asks him a question and it pulls him out of his head, Christ, he wasn’t listening and he is far too hard over his walk down memory lane while stuck in class still. He needs to stop, he fucking hates himself for thinking and feeling like this so often. He especially hates himself for how he couldn’t wait and ended up cumming in that same stairwell a week previous during that hookup he was just pouring over, he has to fight back the urge to cringe thinking about whatever poor sap had to clean that up.

True, while he is caught up in his head and consumed with all of this often, filled to the brim with negativity more than he’d like to be, things with you had gotten infinitely better. Your sex life together had gotten downright incredible in his opinion, he relishes the time he can be alone just you and himself without Mickey around. It isn’t as dirty as the threesomes you have, it’s softer, sweeter, more intimate and not as intense but he thinks you both need that. He has taken Mickey’s advice to heart and his fingering and oral skills have improved leaps and bounds, he loves when he is able to pull a sound out of you that reminds him of one Mickey has made you gasp out previously.

He wasn’t sure how long this could or would go on for, it couldn’t last forever but this didn’t have to stop anytime soon, there wasn’t any reason to rush, right? Not when it felt so good and it seemed to be actively bettering and strengthening your relationship as opposed to harming it. So the worries are shoved aside, pushed to the back of his mind, a problem for future him.

Mickey is positively elated over how this has all panned out so far. He knew this stage would be fun, he just didn’t count on how much fun it could be. He got to not only fuck you, he got to humiliate Randy while he did it, being balls deep in you while you were moaning like a total whore and your pathetic cuck of a boyfriend was jerking off to it, making eye contact with the sad little redhead in that moment? Making him truly be confronted with the sight of what he could do to you? My lord, he is sure he will never need viagra when he is fifty plus, he can just recall that memory and be good to go.

You were just so intoxicating, he thought he had it bad for you before he got to fuck you that first night Randy pissed you off but he was so wrong, it only got worse when he got to know you in the biblical sense. Now that he knows how you sound when he has two fingers angled just right inside of you, or how you feel when you are cumming on him, his interest grew into a full on crush and became infinitely worse. He couldn’t get you out of his head, how could he push it out of his mind or forget such an experience?

You were a delight, a joy to be around, so funny, so filthy and ready, willing and open. You got him, understood him, the sexual compatibility was a massive plus of course but it was more than that. It was the hushed whispers during class of dumb jokes that make you stifle laughter, it was shared lunches, and those times where you and he would end up crashing together post threesome and wake up side by side before Randy did. He knew you felt more for him than you were saying, the moments you would hold his hand when Randy wasn’t around told him that, the way you looked at him, would brighten when seeing him, it all tattled on your true feelings. He was sure of how you felt.

Christ, he couldn’t wait until he could have you all to himself as opposed to having to carve out these small moments whenever Randy wasn’t hanging off you like he was doing his best impression of a koala bear.

It was so soon. Mickey could hardly contain himself. The last thing standing between you and him being together is your boyfriend that you were still holding onto for some reason. Clearly it was out of some sense of loyalty, he liked that quality about you. So it means that he has to get rid of him and then you will be able to get with him guilt free, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The single option.

You are more than worth him doing this, uprooting and changing his whole plan, Nancy had to go. She just did, no way would she understand or be on board, she was just a means to an end really, she bankrolled him sure but it isn’t like he was attached to her. He believed in his motive, in what he wanted but now that he had you, the idea of risking going to jail wasn’t high on his list of to-do’s. Maybe he could keep a low profile, maybe he would be satisfied being with you, having you and quietly killing people to satisfy those parts of himself from time to time. If he did go through with the original plan there is still a chance it might fail. Was he willing to risk even a slight chance of being separated from you?

He is sure that the high he would get if he could pull it off, kill and spill his guts, blame the violence of movies and not go to jail would be immense, but then that part of his life would be over, that chapter closed. No way he could keep killing. Or, maybe he could, if he could keep getting away with it after that it would be amazing, however if caught that same plea wouldn’t work twice.

Perhaps the real high could be in never, ever getting caught.

Between that and you, he might be just fine.

He should feel worse, shouldn’t he? The thought was on his mind as he was cleaning his knife in the sink after putting an end to Nancy, he should feel something, but he just didn’t. Honestly seeing the look of betrayal on her face was priceless, she never would have thought Mickey would do this to her. She sobbed and begged, going on about how could Mickey do this to her, she needed to avenge her “sweet baby boy-” and yeah, he wasn’t going to listen to her go on about that. He didn’t waste much time on her, didn’t linger or monologue or go on and on, he made it relatively painless and pretty quick.

The important thing is she was gone and now he could focus on killing Randy.

Unlike his previous and now dead partner, he wanted to make it hurt, he wanted to destroy Randy, make him unrecognisable, but he knew that might not be best. Logical thought doesn't usually win out in these situations however. He hated how Randy took you for granted, he hated how you looked at him, that you insisted on staying together, hated every time he watched you kiss or anything else, he wanted to stab the knife into his chest, pierce his heart and twist. Wanted to watch him gasp, struggle, and bleed.

He had a good handle on Randy’s schedule because of your arrangement, he is coming back from a late class, going back to his apartment while Mickey follows far enough behind to not alert him, yet.

Ol’ Randy was so oblivious, he was going to make this way too easy. Mickey felt his anticipation grow with every single step, every heavy footfall makes his mind run with possibility and pure excitement.

He wanted to rush him, tackle him to the ground, end it right here out in the open but that is stupid and way too risky, it still doesn’t stop how his hands itch, he craved to have his knife in his grip, to bury it in something. The urge to penetrate in a violent sense and in a sexual sense are not that different and Mickey finds it so hard to ignore either of those urges. Soon it is just right, soon Randy is unlocking the door to his apartment building and Mickey picks up the pace, he runs forward, he timed it just right, the door opens and he knocks into Randy, causing him to stumble into the building with a shocked, “Woah!”

With him totally off balance Mickey takes the opportunity, hand gripping the collar of his shirt behind his neck, he moves him, comes forward, hauling Randy along, he bursts into the stairwell door in the lobby, that same one that you all hooked up in. He is quickly throwing him with all of his strength against the stairs. It hurts his spine, knocks the wind out of him, he groans feeling slightly dazed and when his eyes open he sees the figure clad in that all too familiar black robe and white mask and his heart drops. Eyes widen and he curses, trying to scramble back on the stairs, “Shit, fuck-”

God he loved that look. Pure and unadulterated terror, totally horrified, there was only one way to make it better, Mickey pulled the knife out, the glint of the blade in the low light flashes over his face, it made Randy’s breath catch. He tried to bolt, tried to turn to launch himself up the stairs, towards the safety of his apartment, away from his would-be attacker and that wasn’t going to happen. Mickey was on him too fast, one hand threads in short red hair and he jerks his head back, making it slam on the concrete, the sound was sickening and it made his struggle so much weaker immediately. Mickey sat on his stomach, knees on either side of him, he took in the view below him. Randy was already bleeding from his head wound, scarlet starting to stain the concrete, holding his own head up weakly, his other hand reaching out, trying to push on Mickey’s torso feebly.

He enjoyed this immensely. He watches him for a moment before it starts, it’s like the calm before a storm, like in the summer when you can feel a thunderstorm brewing, something in the air telling you what is to come, as if you can feel the electricity threatening to crackle and break though.

He lingers for only a moment more, he knows he is pushing it, but fuck, he has wanted this for so long and when he started he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Finally the moment is just right, he raises the knife and there is zero hesitation, it comes down and comes down hard. It embeds into his shoulder first, the air is practically sucked out of Randy, eyes wide, his hand comes up to clutch near the blade but Mickey didn’t take too kindly to that. He twists it and a choked off whimper left Randy and then he yanks the knife up, pulling the blade out, the body below him moving with the force of it, back arching as the struggle to remove steel is won quickly.

Randy is still trying to hold the wound at his shoulder but the angle is awkward and the pain is blinding, he doesn’t think anything could snap him out of the agony, his mind is running a million miles a second, synapses are firing but not connecting to anything. The urge to flee is strong but how? How can he get out, how can he get away, he is stuck, he hurts so much, what is he going to do? He thought he left all this behind in Woodsboro, he should have been more careful, he knew the threat, the risks, he should have taken that tape more seriously and realised he was being watched probably this entire time since he got said tape.

It turns out there is one thing that can pull him out of his head and free him enough from the pain to speak, eyes come into focus as the hurt is numbed with what he is seeing. Ghostface is still seated on top of him and the fingers leave his hair, hand comes up and the mask is tugged off to reveal is pseudo sort of fuck buddy or more accurately, YOUR fuck buddy and the cucker to Randy’s cuckee’, Mickey fucking Altieri.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Randy wheezed out, a cough that sounded too wet coming out after the words left him, “Mickey?”

“Heya Randy.” He dropped the mask, gloved fingers ran through his own hair as he stared down at the body starting to struggle under him once more. It all comes to Randy at once, the cheating, the tape, the “coincidences”, the dark edges to him, the knowing looks, he is the killer, he is Ghostface. Of course he is.

“What the fuck? Why-AHH!” Randy yelped as the knife came back down, settling in the other shoulder, he left it there, holding the handle as he said, “Oh why? Meeks wants to know why-”

Mickey hums and grips the handle harder before starting to twist it slightly, back and forth, digging deeper. Randy is crying now, tears falling down and struggling for breath, “-lots and lots of reasons. I had this whole big motive, this crazy plan, Billy’s mom, you remember Billy’s mom, Nancy Loomis, had found me and brought me here, bankrolled my education while I was meant to do the dirty work-”

Randy could hardly believe what he was hearing over the burning and pulsing pain, Mickey kept talking, “-but thennn, you-”

Mickey pointed down at Randy with his free hand, “-fucked up. You took your girl for granted and I got to swoop in at that party and our whole whatever the fuck you want to call it started and I realized, I don’t want to share her. I don’t want to follow through on that original plan. I just want her. But she’s-”

He ripped the knife out and Randy half screamed, blood splatters over his robe and the wall and when Randy’s scream subsided he was still holding the knife while he made air quotes as he said “-all “in love with you” for some fucking reason.”

Mickey shakes his head, “She’s amazing, but man that shit I just do not understand. I mean look at you! No fight at all! Fuck, you are so pathetic. You find out I fucked your girlfriend and you come to my apartment begging me to do it again while you watch?! Who does that?”

He laughs with a shake of his head, “I know as long as you are around she wouldn’t dump you and I couldn’t ask her to, I would come off like a total dick and then she might push me away and end our fun. That can’t happen!”

The exclamation is loud, angry, and violent. The knife comes back down again, in the ribs and Randy’s body jerks, he coughs, blood paints his chin, he wheezes, he thinks his lung might be punctured. Mickey barks out, “Look at me, Meeks.”

Randy’s eyes open half way, he feels woozy, Mickey looks positively manic, he has leaned down closer, still holding that knife handle so tightly, “I’m doing this because it’s the only way I see that she can be all mine. I’m killing you to fix this little problem. I’m going to be there while she grieves, I’m going to be the one to help her pick up the pieces, she’s gonna cling to me and then I’m gonna have her all to myself.”

Mickey was grinning, “Our little thing was a good time I’ll admit that but I’m ready to move up to the next level, I don’t want to be her classmate, or her friend, I don’t want to be her fuck buddy, I want to be her boyfriend. Not you.”

Randy is shaking his head, his face is so wet, blood, sweat, drool, tears, he is mouthing something, too weak to talk, Mickey thinks it’s “No” but who cares really.

“Yeah. It’s gonna happen and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Mickey said in a condensing tone as he nodded, “You’re going to die, and soon it seems like!”

Mickey rips the knife out again and Randy jerks once more, nowhere near as strong, “I cannot wait. Not anymore. You should see her when we are alone, the way she looks at me, talks to me, she isn’t yours and hasn’t been for a while. I’m just helping her see it, speeding along the inevitable. She’s mine.”

The silver blade stained red cuts through the air and hits home again, lower this time and a similar reaction is drawn, weaker still, before being pulled out and then it happens again and again. Chest, ribs once more, stomach, stab, cut, rip, tear while repeating that one word over and over again. A quiet chant breathed through gritted teeth on harsh exhales from the sheer amount of exertion and effort, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Randy is dead.

He didn’t get proper last words but Mickey thinks he didn’t deserve them the same way that he didn’t deserve you. Mickey is sure it happened sometime between the seventh and the seventeenth stab but it doesn’t really matter. He stays there for a moment looking down at Randy, body slowly turning cold, bloodstained and eyes lifeless.

He sits until he is sick of looking at him and then he gets up, the robe and mask are rolled up and put into his bag. He leaves out the back way, the camera is broken on that side of the building so no one can possibly tie him to this. He left with a spring in his step and the bag under his arm and excited for the news to reach him naturally.

The phone ringing is what wakes him up, he is wiping sleep out of his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen, he snatches it up off of the bar and brings it up to his ear, “Lo’?”

It’s you, the voice sounding wrecked, you barely get the words, “Randy’s dead-” before you are sobbing, he lets himself smile. You start trying to talk a mile a minute through your sobs and he listens to you go on for a minute before he cuts in asking you to take a breath before he is apologising, tell you how awful that sounds and as you are sniffing you ask quietly, “Ca-can you come over? I-I don’t wan-want to be alone.”

“I’ll be right there.” He assures and you tell him, “Hurry, please-”

He tells you he will be right there. He hangs up, he throws on clothes and finds himself humming on the way to your place. He shows up with coffee and breakfast, it’s stupid early and he isn’t sure when you last ate, he knocks and calls out, before he can get your name out the door is open and you are throwing your arms around his neck. He almost drops the coffee tray in one hand and the take out bag in the other but he keeps a grip on them. Your face is wet and buried in his shirt, body shaking and he says softly, “Oh hey, hey, I’m here.”

You stand in your doorway for minutes and he doesn’t rush you, he lets you cling to him and God this is already working out so well.

Once he manages to get you inside he sits with you, he makes sure you eat, he listens, holds the box of tissues while you lament, “I wasn’t allowed to see him but they say it was a massacre, they are talking murder Mickey-”

“Murder? Oh my God!”

If only you knew. But you never would.

He barely left your side. You kept asking him to stay, begging him to be close, you told him that he made you feel safe, made this easier to handle, you feared you’d fall apart without him and it made him feel so important. Your grief is intense but he loves how you are like this, how you rely on him even when things are difficult and hard to manage, he loves the desperation. He pokes, he has a small pattern, you are so raw that a small nudge makes your emotions go screwy and when you are in a deep spiral then he helps soothe you, pulls you out of it again and makes sure any positive emotion you feel during this time, no matter how small, is tied to him.

You are so needy, but he has never felt this needed and my God is it nice to feel needed.

No serious suspicion is thrown his way. He doesn’t kill anyone else, lets everything calm and die down and a funeral is planned and hosted for Randy over a month after he died. Everyone was just so scared that whoever it was might strike again beforehand. The fear it was Ghostface was present, kept Sidney and everyone else permanently on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop but it seemingly never does and they all have to start moving on sometime. Mickey had to fight hard to keep the act up, but inside there was such power and joy in doing the receiving line of Randy’s family, shaking hands and giving condolences, everyone unaware that he is the reason and cause of his death. He made the right call, abandoning the other plan for this was amazing. He listens as you cry your way through your turn speaking, he knows he is going to be comforting you hard after this and true, right after you finished you come over and he held your hand, giving you the pack of tissues he had in his pocket.

The casket buried, the wake over, he is with you back at his place. You’d been wanting to spend more and more time here, you hadn’t cleared out all the little pieces of Randy from your space yet and you felt like you couldn’t face them today. Your eyes are red from the crying, your nose raw from the tissues used, sitting on his couch, heels kicked off and in your funeral dress still. You aren’t quite as sombre now, he had seen to that, he got your favourite take out just before the place closed, it was near midnight and you actually ate, half empty boxes on the coffee table along with a few empty drink cans.

You were cradling your current drink in your hand, looking across the couch to him, you were both sitting on the same ends of the couch as before, a mirror of that night months previous that started all this. He was in the middle of telling some story that was making you laugh, the smile on your face was small but steadily growing. “She ended up not even having her wallet after all that.”

“Holy shit, no way! So then what?”

“What do you mean what? I sure as shit didn’t pay for her.” He laughed and you said around an amused exhale of your own, “Alright fair, especially after how she treated the cashier yeah fuck her.”

He takes another pull from his can and you did the same before setting aside with a sigh. You rested your head on the back of the couch as you said, “Thanks for this Mick.”

A questioning hum left him paired with raised eyebrows and you elaborate, “For being here for me. I know I’ve been like a mess, understandably so but a mess all the same. I know dealing with me hasn’t been easy but just…Without your support I dunno how I would have gotten through this.”

“Oh hey, no need to thank me. That is what a good guy does.” He said easily and you nod, “You really are, you’re so great.”

You reach out, a grabby hand gesture and he fills your need, taking your hand and you sigh. “I feel bad.”

“For a different reason other than the funeral?” He asked and you laughed a little, “Yeah. I just…I’ve been having these thoughts that make ME feel like I’m a horrible person.”

“What thoughts could you possibly be having to make you feel like that?”

“I dunno if I should say.” You grumbled and he said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to but you know you can trust me. I won’t judge you and I sure as shit won’t tell anyone else.”

You are quiet for a moment before deciding that yes, he is right, you can trust him. You might even feel better getting it out, “I loved Randy. I mean I still love Randy but…All this time I have been spending with you and everything from before, how great you are I’ve been thinking about you more than I should. In ways I probably shouldn’t.”

He ignores the first half of your sentence, he is sure that would fade in time, he focuses on the second half, “Like how?”

You give a half shrug and look away, gaze averted and he says your name, stretching it out, he is leaning closer and you steal a glance back at him and say, “Like…”

The tension is thick, you’ve moved closer throughout the conversation yourself, not so much on the opposite ends of the couch now, almost on the same cushion in the middle of the couch you take a deep breath to steady yourself and you open up. You are already raw and vulnerable, why not go all in?

“I’ll be in a class I don’t have with you and I feel this huge hole where you should be. I don’t feel like I can do anything properly while away from you, I can’t eat or focus, the weight of everything else crushes me but when you are around I have, fuck, I have hope. I think I can do this, I feel stronger and better, you do that for me!”

He keeps doing what he has for more than a month, he listens, he squeezes your hand harder and he listens to you.

“I’ll be in bed alone and wish you were with me. My sleep schedule is wrecked but I think I could finally get some good rest with you because I swear to God, if there is one, I only feel safe around you lately.”

You are speaking so fast now, as if you can’t communicate your intense emotion fast enough until the words stop because your other hand that isn’t in his is on his face, tugging him close to you and kissing him. It starts off hot, deep, needy and he is stunned, it takes a moment to match the energy but he lets you lead it. Fuck he has missed this, missed feeling you against him, you start to slow, he keeps pace, from all consuming open mouthed to soft brushes with laboured breathing and you pull back, “That. I have been thinking the most about doing that.”

“And that…Makes you feel bad? Cuz it felt pretty good to me.” You laugh from the tone and his expression, the big smile that is so him, you admit, “No that did feel good but I feel bad because my boyfriend has been in the ground for less than twelve hours and I’m on your couch, kissing you and I’ve been thinking about doing it for weeks.”

You inhale in a way he has come to know far too intimately, that hitch that tattles on you that you are going to cry, you choke out, “How shitty of a person does that make me?”

He lets go of your hand, his hands are on your cheeks and then tracing down to your neck, thumbs stroke over the line of your jaw and he says, “It doesn’t, hey, you aren’t a shitty person. You’re my favourite person.”

Your hands are on his wrists and you shake your head, “I’m pretty sure I am, I-I don’t deserve you, I didn’t deserve Randy either-”

A sniff and he assures further, “No, stop that, you deserve so much. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”

It is quiet for a moment, you are trying to breathe through it and stop yourself from seriously crying, he knows just the right thing to say, “I know I’m really stupid but I have good taste.”

You laugh. A nod as you admit, “Okay, you’re right, you do have good taste.”

“We’re gonna ignore you not disagreeing with me calling myself stupid-” You laugh again harder, “But see! So if I have good taste that means that everything I do for you isn't a mistake, it’s not wasted, you deserve this.”

You look into his eyes and ask a bit more seriously, one of the main worries weighing on you, “Isn’t it too soon?”

It’s his turn to laugh, “What? Do you seriously think Meeks would want you to recognize Victorian mourning customs and mope around in all black for a year?” Another laugh spills out of you at the image, “Why does the timing matter on this? If you want it now, then why not now? What is waiting a few more weeks or months going to do?”

He is right. Why does it matter?

The next thing you ask is, “Am I really your favourite person?”

“Easily. No contest.” You are still so close to each other, and you decided fuck it, why does it matter? You’ve been through so much, you are desperate and you deserve to feel good and so you give into what you have been craving.

You kiss him again on the couch.

Neither of you stay on the couch for very long.

It comes out while you are in his bed, your dress on the floor and you are under him, arms wrapped around his neck, you feel like you could cry but not for any of the feelings or reasons that you had previously over this past month. You don’t want to sob because you are sad or missing Randy or anything else, you cry because fucking hell you missed this, you needed this, it feels incredible but it’s more than that. You finally realised it a while ago, but now? You are unable to ignore it, can’t hold it inside, the admission is on your tongue and has been threatening to come out between moans for minutes. Rocking with him, feverish kisses placed over the side of his face as you gasp, Mickey’s hands are all over, like he cannot get enough of you, he is buried deep and he hits that spot that makes your whole body want to shudder and at long last it comes out in a rush, overwhelmed and feeling overflows you tell him-

“I love you.”

That makes him slow, not stop, but slow, rolls of his hips are purposeful, the change in angle is fantastic, the pressure and grinding on your clit makes you want to cry all over again. He has one arm under your neck, the other one runs up your side, there is this expression on his face that can only be described as a cross between joyful disbelief and pure affection, brown eyes are warm as he asks, “What did you just say?”

You repeat it, louder, voice more sure, “I said I love you.” A harder thrust, a shared and hushed moan, your nails biting into the skin on the back of his neck, you make yourself maintain eye contact, it’s difficult but it’s important so you manage, “I am tired of-of feeling it, fuck, and not saying it, I fucking love you.”

He couldn’t be happier, this was better than he ever could have planned or hoped, better than any dream possible, he leans down, kisses you deeply and you return it. Eyes closed you are close in sensation and the moment, in him. He pulls back, close enough his forehead is touching yours as he breathes back the same sentiment, “I love you too, so fucking much.”

A broken moan that could be read as the word “really” but he is picking up the pace, quicker, rougher and your hand falls back, a desperate plea of, “Mickey, fuck, don’t stop-”

As if he would ever.

He did manage to get away with it.

It’s been over a year since Randy’s murder, you are none the wiser and you barely mention Randy anymore. Sure his birthday, his death day and your old anniversary with Meeks was hard but that was understandable and tolerable.

The main and most important thing is that he had you, after the funeral you and he became official, you kept it on the down low, he insisted he wanted you to be spared the judgement, you were already going through so much and any added stress needed to be stomped out. You and he talked regularly about living together and man was he ever excited for when that could happen. Sure it would make his “hobby”, whenever he picked it back up again, more difficult but fuck it, he loved a good challenge. The itch for murder hasn’t been on his mind in so long, much too happy and concerned with you, wrapped up in your relationship but he was feeling that need wriggling in the back of his brain, he can ignore it for the time being. He got away with it and he has you, life is good.

#Mickey Altieri x reader #Ghostface x reader #slasher x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HOOOOOOO #ENJOY

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unmitigatedsuperiority · 1 year

Note

Hi! Congrats on finishing your multi-chaptered fic!! For promptober may I ask for post-prison ralvez angst? Thank you! ❤️

hello!! thank you for the prompt i was SO pumped when i got it. hope this scratches the itch for ralvez angst plus it's technically a one shot bc it's 2k words lol

PROMPTOBER REQUEST #4

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid Category: Angst Warnings: Depression/Anxiety/PTSD

Throughout history, many societies used significant events as a way to track time. One specific moment to build their calendars against.

For the majority of Christian Europe, the birth of Jesus marked that significant event. It was also a way to get away from previous methods of dating—such as Romans counting from the founding of the city of Rome. This gave us what we know now as B.C. and A.D.

For Spencer, the birth of Jesus wasn’t his year zero. While it was undeniably a significant year for humanity, it didn’t have quite the impact the year 2017 had on him. No, for Spencer, his time wasn’t about that. It wasn’t before and after Christ. It was before and after prison.

Before Prison, Spencer Reid knew exactly who he was. He was former boy wonder, now adult genius. IQ of 187. Seasoned criminal profiler. Addict, several years in recovery. Avid reader with a speed of 20,000 words per minute. Bisexual. He knew all these things about himself. He also knew he was seriously, deeply crushing on Luke Alvez.

Ever since Luke’s first day on the job—no handshakes, your reputation precedes you—Spencer had been drawn to the man. Like a compass needle pointing toward true north. He found himself gravitating toward Luke, and he could’ve sworn Luke had been doing the same. Now he knew that he had been. Doing the same.

It all happened days before Mexico. Maybe even a week before. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. But Luke and Spencer had stayed late after work and got to talking which eventually transitioned into a late-night dinner and an almost kiss and…

And then Mexico. Cat. Prison.

After Prison, Spencer couldn’t keep things right in his head. He was traumatized, he knew that. But that didn’t make living like this any easier. Was he still the adult genius if it took him so much longer to connect the dots? Could he still boast his reading speed when now he often found himself having to scan the same paragraphs over and over for that comparable level of comprehension? Could he still consider himself to be crushing on Luke Alvez if the concept of letting the man in now terrified him to his core?

Luke was the one to bring Spencer home that first night back from prison. The first one to learn about the nightmares that haunted him. The things he had to do to survive. And that wasn’t even everything. Spencer’s chest felt achingly hollow when he thought about having to tell Luke about everything he’s done. Even just him seeing what he did to Cat…

It was too much.

It was though he had been pushed past the point of overstimulation and into this empty numbness. And, yes, he still felt fear. He still felt anger. But mostly, he felt nothing. Nothing at all.

And on nights where Luke would offer to spend the night—on the couch because he had always been such a gentleman—on nights where Spencer could see his fingers twitch to reach out and provide some kind of physical comfort…well. He knew things couldn’t go back to the way things were Before Prison. This was After Prison. After Spencer had been charged with murder and assaulted and watched people die and witnessed so many horrible, terrible things that were all his fault, he knew he couldn’t bring Luke into the mess he’d made. Luke was offering a shoulder to lean on, a safe space. And for that? Spencer was grateful. But it couldn’t be any more than that. He wouldn’t let it. Even if he would see the way Luke would watch him, fondness and sincerity in his gaze. A simple hand on the shoulder that lingered far longer than the standard acceptable time for friends. Spencer wouldn’t take it any further. Because things were different now. He was different. And Luke deserved better.

Tonight was one of those nights. Luke had taken it upon himself to show up at his apartment right at sunset. Spencer didn’t have to say anything—Luke knew that nighttime was the worst. From the nightmares to the cravings, being alone certainly wasn’t helpful. It was basically a daily occurrence at this point. Having Luke over. It made Spencer feel better and worse all at the same time. He eyed the man in his doorway now.

“I figured we could watch that documentary you talked about that night we got dinner after work?” Luke lilted his voice at the end, transforming the statement into a question. Like he had a solid plan and then second guessed himself at the last second. Spencer let him in, motioning through the hallway before shutting and locking the door behind them both.

“I remember that,” he said. In After Prison times, Spencer was grateful to remember so many trivial things. His memory wasn’t what it used to be, and he found himself celebrating the small victories: He remembered. It was Luke’s idea in the first place to celebrate the little wins, even if part of himself laments the fact that this is what it’s come to. Gratitude for feats that used to be nothing for him. “That sounds good to me.” Luke gave a small smile at this, and Spencer felt that same feeling in his chest again. Like someone had scooped out everything behind his ribs, leaving a hollow space behind.

The documentary had been interesting enough to keep Spencer’s attention, and Luke didn’t seem to mind watching it. Though that was what Spencer liked so much about the man in the first place—how intent he was to just listen, even if Spencer was rambling for minutes on end. It would never be boring to Luke.

If Spencer were better, he would put Luke’s listening skills to use and tell him everything he was feeling. Everything that went down in prison. But he couldn’t handle Luke having to see him in a different light. Who he was back in prison, who he is now? That’s not the same man Luke showed interest in all those months ago. Spencer was different now, and he couldn’t risk him not liking what he saw. No, this in-between state they were in, Luke a comforting friend and nothing more, that was how it should be.

Interrupting his thoughts was Luke resting his arm behind the couch, not quite touching his shoulders. Spencer wanted to lean back. But he also wanted to lean away. Everything felt too…open. Too vulnerable. Exposed. He chose the second option, noting the way Luke’s expression deflated just the slightest bit. Spencer sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

Luke looked over at him, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

Spencer rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbed at his face with his hands before running them through his hair. “I’m sorry I’m…like this.”

“Like what?” Luke was prodding, but it was gentle enough. He always knew what to ask and how to ask it. It drove Spencer mad.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I just know this isn’t what you signed up for.” He let his words stop there. They’d hadn’t been much of anything Before Prison. Definitely something. But they never really talked about what it was. It was hard to have that conversation when days later he was behind bars and suddenly the what are we conversation didn’t feel quite as important. And maybe it was good they never got to have that conversation. Because the guilt wasn’t quite so crushing now.

“I signed up for you,” Luke reassured him.

“You didn’t sign up for this, though.”

“What—this or,” he waved between the two of them. “this?” Spencer licked his lips as he turned away. He couldn’t bear having this conversation right now. Right now, he was held together with tape and glue and if he opened himself up, really opened himself up…

He’d fall apart.

“…the second one,” Spencer finally spoke. Luke blew out some air.

“Huh.” Luke furrowed his brow, and something about the kindness, the care in his tone, made Spencer’s skin crawl. He was so understanding, but that was a dangerous line. And what they’re doing…the dinner and the movie, the countless nights spent together? Was only bound to end in flames. Spencer took a breath.

“I know you want to come here and comfort me and do all the things that boyfriends do, but you’re not my boyfriend, Luke. I never asked you to be.”

Luke reached out to him, but Spencer didn’t move. “Hey, I just want to help. I want you to feel safe, and maybe it’s selfish but I feel better being here with you. Knowing that you’re okay.”

“You’re right, maybe that is selfish,” Spencer rebutted. Luke’s jaw twitched and Spencer felt his heart drop to his knees. He couldn’t take it back though. Couldn’t risk what would happen if he apologized and Luke forgave him. This wasn’t Before Prison times, anymore. Things were different. He was different. But Luke wasn’t getting that.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asked, soft, like he didn’t want to know the answer. And for a moment, Spencer didn’t want to give him one. Let them float in this limbo for a while longer.

No. “Yes.”

Luke nodded, disappointed in a way that made Spencer want to reach out, grab onto the man and never let go. But he stayed put. Luke got up and walked towards the door, the action sending a sudden chill through Spencer’s core.

He paused. “I know you’ve been through a lot,” he started. Spencer scoffed. Luke propelled forward. “Trust me, I was there. Maybe not there with you…I will never be able to understand what it was you went through. But I spent every day trying to get you out. Every day worrying, hoping, hell praying even, that you were safe. And you still got hurt. I—” He shook his head, collected himself. Spencer pushed himself up off the couch but didn’t come any closer. “I thank God every day that you’re okay. I didn’t even know if I believed in God, but I still thank Him every day that you’re…here. Even if you don’t feel okay. You’re here. You’re safe. I’m making sure of it. So, you want to push me away? Go ahead. But I’m going to keep coming back. I’ll be here tomorrow to keep you company and make sure you’re still safe. And I’ll be back again the next day. And the next day.” He shrugged on his jacket and opened the door before turning to face Spencer again. “You’re well within your right to do what feels best for you, set boundaries, move at your own pace. But you can’t shut everyone out. It’s not healthy and you know it.”

“Luke—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Spencer.” Luke smiled, a sad thing, before slipping out, shutting the door behind him. And Spencer was alone.

He hadn’t spent a single night alone since he’d come back. Even if it was just a phone call to Luke in the middle of the night. He’d never felt this sense of isolation. Not since he was in prison. The thought pained him, spread through his body like poison, a cold feeling swallowing him whole. He didn’t know how to spend a night like that. Feeling…this terrible loneliness, this numbness. The pain and regret and guilt just lingering below the surface. No distractions.

Spencer itched for something to do. He still knew the number for his dealer by heart—something his eidetic memory would unfortunately never forget. But he thought of Luke’s promise. He’d be back. And the disappointment, the sadness on Luke’s face if he found out years of sobriety were down the drain…no. Spencer couldn’t do it.

Luke would be back. He had to be. Spencer would just have to make it through the night to see it. So, he would. Even if Luke never showed up again, he had to prove to himself that he could do it. That he could live in the After without someone to lean on. He didn’t need him.

Spencer walked to his room, dissociated, and laid down on top of the covers. It was just one night. He could do this.

He had to.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #ralvez #luke alvez x spencer reid #luke alvez #ralvez angst #ralvez fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds blurb #spencer reid fanfiction #asks #rj's promptober

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cygnetofthesea · 3 years

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Welcome Home, Part 1: Élite Fanfiction

This fic was inspired and dedicated to @sweetpeony200 and the request for a Guznadia reunion in NYC. Thank you for the inspiration!! It’s not quite what was asked, so apologies for that! (Hopefully @jasminejc4525 writes her version 👀 ) The writing ran away from me and I couldn’t help but delve into Guzman’s psyche. I love doing character studies so this was a way for me to explore the complexities of Guzman’s mind and emotions. I hope to write a second part with more of their reunion, more of their present-day interaction the day Guzman arrives. Hope this part is still enjoyable until then! <3 Part of the Moments Series.

Guzman sat still with his eyes closed, the picture of calm if anyone looked over at him, but inside his was an anxious mess. He wasn't a nervous flyer by any means as he's gone on countless trips overseas throughout his short life, but this was no ordinary flight and he was no longer that ordinary boy.

This was the flight that was taking him toward the rest of his life.

The past few months without Nadia had been unbearable. He had known it was going to be difficult but he hadn't been prepared for the constant tightness that sat on his chest. The only thing that loosened it was Nadia, talking to her, face-timing her, texting her. Every time he saw her name or face on his screen, his chest swelled with elation instead of pain.

It was with Nadia's absence that Guzman was forced to confront the pain that haunted him from Marina and Polo's death. He felt that out-of-body experience all too often, every morning waking up to a sense of loss and confusion. His sister was dead, his best friend had murdered her, and now that best friend was murdered too. It was too much for him to comprehend, his mind twirling with the reality of it because it just didn't feel real, couldn't be real.

But it was.

Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the ashen face that became almost unrecognizable to him. He didn't know how it was possible to be still standing in the wake of all this grief.

It was Nadia who had made him feel human, who had centered him, quelled the raging storm inside of him enough to feel alive. Her simple presence felt like a balm to his soul, brought peace to his mind and combated the pain, the incomprehensible thoughts as he tried to make sense of his life.

It was with her Guzman felt like he could deal with everything. She was the tether that brought him to life and snapped him back to reality. Guzman had always been intrigued by her, since the first moment he set eyes on her simply because of the utter calm and resolve she emitted.

She was this young girl of sixteen and yet he carried herself with a sense of resolve and strength that was unlike anything he had seen in even some adults. Even Lu, who he believed to be tough, wasn't anything like Nadia, didn't nearly compare because it was Lu's privilege that gave her that strength. She was born into a world where everything was handed to her, her every desire was at her fingertips, effortless.

But Nadia wasn't like that. Not by a long shot. She worked hard for everything, every single step she took was a battle for her because of her race, her religion, her gender, her socioeconomic standing. She had everything working against her and yet she weathered through it, pushing her way not by aggression or iniquitous means but with a quiet fierceness, a calm gait.

He had to admit, his attraction to her was instant. That had been quite unexpected in of itself and it caught him completely off guard, but it was undeniable. He was pulled in by her demeanor, completely and utterly intrigued by her. He wanted to unwrap her, metaphorically and literally. He wanted to uncover the complexities of her, what gave her that strength, what made her happy, what made her laugh. And then as soon as that thought entered his mind, he knew he needed to see it, to hear it.

What did Nadia Shana's laughter sound like? What did her smiling eyes look like? Particularly, what did her soft eyes and smile look like when it was directed at him? And when by some miracle he managed to achieve that smile, he was addicted, pulled even deeper into her. He was lost and in love before he even knew it was happening.

If he thought it was a miracle that he made her smile, he didn’t know what to call her falling in love with him, her actually wanting and agreeing to be with him. Perhaps it was some divine intervention. Perhaps God had decided that he finally earned her love, that he had suffered enough and deserved something beautiful and miraculous. That she was meant to be his savior all along. Nadia Shana saved so many simply by existing.

And now as the eight hour flight was coming to a close, he couldn’t believe he was going to be reunited with his miracle at long last. He felt like at any moment he would open his eyes and wake up in bed with a heavy heart full of longing and tired, wet eyes. He opens his eyes now at the thought, wanting to get the disappointment over with, but instead of finding himself in bed, he’s met with the sign that reads Fasten Seat belt.

It flashes red just as a ding overhead sounds.

“Attention passengers, we are now approaching JFK airport. Please fasten your seat belt in preparation for the descent. Thank you for flying Air Eropa, we hope you had a pleasant trip.”

Guzman takes a deep breath, his sweaty hands immediately fastening his seatbelt. His heart is racing in anticipation and impatience. His leg bounces erratically as he looks out the window as though somehow he’d be able to spot Nadia from such great heights. He’s momentarily distracted by the view but soon wonders if Nadia was already waiting for him or perhaps she was still on her way.

He switches out the SIM card from his phone for the one Nadia had mailed him a week before so that he could call her as soon as he landed. He remembered the day he saw it in their mailbox. He knew to expect because Nadia had already given him the heads up, they had been making all the arrangements for weeks at that point, but he wasn’t any less excited when he saw it.

He had torn through the package that had her neat handwriting on it and wanted to immediately switch out the SIM cards but she had teased him it wouldn’t work.

“An American SIM isn’t going to do you much good in Madrid,” Nadia had giggled.

Guzman shrugged with a tilt of his head. “I know but I’m excited. I feel like I’m one step closer to you and I can’t wait until you’re in my arms.”

She had looked at him softly, a wistful smile on her face. “I know what you mean. I can’t wait either.”

Before he knows it, the plane lands and Guzman is out of his seat and grabbing his carry-on in record speed. His strides are long and fast and he feels like he’s practically flying at the rate he’s going. He can’t see anything in his periphery, his eyes ahead and only looking around to make sure he’s going to the right place.

He calls her as soon as he can, finally putting the new SIM card to use. The phone rings for a long and excruciating minute. His heart begins to sink when he hears the click on her beautiful voice on the other end.

“Guzman,” she says breathlessly as though she had been running. “Are you here? I just saw your flight landed.”

His stomach does a somersault, a beaming smile across his face. “Yeah, I just picked up my suitcase. Are you here?”

Nadia lets out an astonished laugh. “You’re really here? Where?”

Guzman looks around. “I’m by the Emirates line, where it says terminal 7.”

“I’m looking for you.”

His heart gallops in his chest and he sounds winded when he asks, “You’re here?”

“When you say ‘here’ you better mean JFK airport because that’s where I am now.”

Guzman spins in place, one hand on his suitcase and the other pressing his phone tightly to his ear. He can hear his own heavy breath loud in his ear.

“Yes, this is definitely JFK airport,” he laughs, looking at the crowd. He even spots a film crew on the other side and remembers how Nadia said it was a popular site for tv shows and films. That was probably why it was especially crowded and hard to see around the bodies.

Nadia lets out her own excited laugh. “I see you! You’re wearing your green jacket, the one with the orange lining inside, the one I gave you.”

The excitement mounts inside of him, he feels like his heart would either burst out of him or he would throw up right then.

“Yes! Yes, I’m wearing your jacket. You can see me? Where are you?”

“I’m coming toward you. Turn around.”

He whirls around and there she was, his eyes immediately finding her. It was as though time had stopped and everything, everybody had ceased to exist and there was only her. Nadia, Nadia, Nadia….

In every scenario he imagined, he had run toward her. No matter how wild his imagination, In every single version of his reunion with her, there was running involved: he’d see her as soon as he got off the plane, waiting for him at the tarmac and he’d run to her, their eyes would meet across the the luggage pick-up and he’d jump across and run to her, they’d see each other across the airport and run to each other, colliding until they fell to the ground.

But here, in this moment now, he was stunned. He wasn’t prepared for the breadth of her beauty so close to him, just mere steps away. It was almost overwhelming, his senses anticipating her, his mind unable to comprehend that she was here, that in just moments he would be able to not only hear and see her but actually touch her, smell her, feel her, kiss her...even make love to her if she was so inclined.

His arm falls to his side, limply holding his phone and his breath is caught in his throat as he stares at her in awe. She felt like a mirage but her sparkling eyes are drawing closer, closing the distance between them. She stops just inches away from him, a soft, achingly beautiful smile on her face that he feels his chest hurt at the sight.

She’s the first one to speak. “Hey.”

And just like that, he’s snapped back to reality, the emotions falling over him in one fell sweep that he feels like he’d buckle under the weight but instead he pulls her into his arms, holding onto her to tether him.

“Nadia.” His voice comes out in a choked sob and it’s only then he realizes that he’s crying.

He feels her warm body against him, soft and familiar and he finally feels what he’s been missing all along: home.

He wraps his arms around her tightly, encasing her and holding her close as though trying to meld their bodies together.

“Nadia.”

“Guzman.”

He buries his face in her neck, feeling the coolness of her silk hijab and the warmth from her skin simultaneously, the sensation so familiar and glorious he can’t help leaning heavily against her.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he croaks.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls back slightly and catches her glittering eyes. She lets out a wet chuckle and wipes his cheeks with both hands. “I’ve missed this face.”

She leans in and kisses his damp skin and his eyes flutter close as he kisses his eyes next, basking in her touch even as it makes him breathless.

“Oh god, I love you.”

He lets out a ragged breath and pulls her lips to his before she can even respond, unable to hold off any longer. He needs to feel her, taste her and god, does she taste divine. He doesn’t mean to get carried away but the full weight of reality hits him: she’s really here in his arms, he’s not going to wake up because this isn’t a dream.

He kisses her hard, cupping the back of her head as it leans back against the force of his lips. His tongue slides against her desperately again and again, needing to breathe her in, needing her taste to fill him up because he has been hungry for so long, starving for her touch and he can’t get enough.

He wants to slide his lips against more skin, find the soft spot behind her ear that he knows makes her weak, before sliding down her throat, his tongue tracing the skin there. He wants to grip her until her clothes fall away and there’s nothing left but her skin against his.

He’s so desperate for her he feels he could weep and almost does when she pulls away with a gasp. He chases her lips with a soft whine at the back of his throat. “Nadia,” he pants, looking at her with hooded eyes.

Her eyes are just as intense but with a shyness that he certainly didn’t have. He had no qualms showing all his love for her for the world to see.

She slides her hand down to his chest to halt any further movement with a soft smile. “I love you too. Let’s go home,” she says.

And he wants to pull her in again, the word home echoing inside him, his body filling with elation. Home, he was home now, with her. He swallows thickly and nods against her. It takes a herculean effort to pull away from her but even then, he pulls away just enough to gather up his large suitcase that had fallen in his haste to embrace Nadia. He keeps an arm firmly around her, plastering her to him.

Nadia giggles at the gesture, shaking her head even as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “Is this all you brought with you? I was expecting more.”

“No, I just brought the essentials and figured Mama can ship the rest as I need them. Plus, I can always get new things here.”

“How was your flight?” She tries to reach for his carry-on. “Here, let me hold that for you, at least. You must be tired.”

“It’s ok, I’m not tired,” he says, looking at her with a soft smile. He was still reeling but he hooks the carry-on to the suitcase and pulls them forward, keeping his arm tight around her. “How did you get here?”

Her smile turns coy as she looks up at him. This time, she was the one dragging him forward eagerly. “It’s a surprise. Come on!”

She drags him along by the hand, practically skipping with excitement that he can’t help laughing with her. They make it out of the airport and immediately he’s bombarded with noise. He’s not unfamiliar with city life being from Madrid and visiting Barcelona often, but the noise here certainly felt different somehow. People chattering in so many different languages, cars honking, loved ones greeting each other with shouts and squeals.

He barely has time to register it all when Nadia expertly weaves him past the people and cars, crossing what looked like an island to get to a parking lot. He glances behind them at the long line of taxis waiting in a line, confused.

“Isn’t that where we’re supposed to wait for the taxi?”

But Nadia says nothing, simply squeezing his hand and continuing her trek to the parking lot.

“Is there a special taxi here?” he asks.

“Oh I can’t wait to see how this city is going to test your patience,” she says in amusement.

They finally stop in front of a grey jeep, clearly an older model but still in relatively good shape. Guzman looks at it, noting that it had been recently cleaned, a shiny gleam to the impeccable paint job. He peers inside and sees it’s neat and tidy in there with soft-looking seats and a backpack in the back seat.

He looks back at Nadia. “What’s this? Is this our uber? Where’s the driver?”

He’s looking around as though the driver was going to stride up any second when Nadia lets go of his hand and heads toward the trunk. She pops open the trunk and looks at him expectantly.

“What, am I going to be your bellhop and your driver? Get your suitcase in here.”

Guzman looks at her stunned, not comprehending what she was implying. He looks between her smug face and the car with new eyes. He points at the car and lets out an astonished laugh.

“This is yours? How?”

Nadia shrugs, dusting off invisible dust from her shoulders with a wink. “I bought it.”

His eyes bug. “But, you don’t even drive?”

She brandishes a card out to him, seemingly from out of nowhere. “I do now.”

He takes the card from her and looks at it in awe, seeing her name, birthday, and picture on it, confirming that Nadia, indeed, could drive. At least according to the state of New York and if his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“Holy shit,” he laughs. He grabs her up into a hug, lifting her off the ground. “Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you! You never said anything when we spoke.”

She returns his happy kiss when he sets her back down. “I wanted to surprise you. Plus, I’d have been embarrassed if I ended up not passing so I didn’t want to get both of our hopes up.”

He shakes his head lovingly at her, placing more quick kisses to her mouth. “Nadia, I’d never be disappointed in you. I’d have been proud of you simply for trying.”

She kisses his nose. “I know you would and I love you all the more for it. I just wanted to surprise you and see the look on your face just now? Worth it.”

“Holy shit,” he says again, in awe. “I can’t believe you managed all this on top of everything else. I mean, I can, but I can’t comprehend how. And the car, I thought money was tight?”

Nadia shrugs. “It’s not the easiest, but I’ve been saving up well before Columbia even happened. I always wanted a car and I always thought college would be the best time to get one, in case I ended up somewhere near home and needed to commute.”

“Wow” He shakes his head again, this time with a dull ache in his chest. All these months Nadia had been painstakingly saving her hard-earned money not just for school but for freedom, she had been studying for her permit, took her test, passed, took driving lessons and then passed that too. All of this had been happening and he had no clue.

He knew she wasn’t trying to keep him out of the loop intentionally and his heart warmed at the thought of her wanting to surprise him but it made him realize once again how different they were. Not for the first time he wondered what she even saw in him. Would she ever wake up and realize that she could do better than him? Selfishly he prayed that she didn’t.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So my suitcase can fit in here?”

She scoffs, “Please, it can fit at least three of the same size,” she calculates. She jumps in place and gestures to the open trunk. “Come on, stick it in there! Or do you want to check out more of this parking lot?”

Guzman pretends to look around. “Is a carnival going to pop up somewhere? I’ve heard they do that here.”

Nadia rolls her eyes and shoves him playfully. He catches her hand in his keeping her from pulling away completely. “Someone’s eager to get me home.”

“And someone’s not?” she challenges, sending him a coy look.

Immediately Guzman throws his suitcase inside haphazardly and slams the trunk shut. “What are we waiting for? I just had a long flight.”

He shuffles Nadia urgently to the driver's side, her laughter filing his ears pleasantly. He smooches kisses to her cheek as he helps her in before running around to the passenger side.

The drive is long and somehow short all at the same time. Perhaps Guzman hadn’t yet become jaded from the New York City traffic and he was too amused with Nadia’s bouts of road rage to notice how long they sat on the road.

“Did you see that idiot? You’re supposed to signal, how do you pass the driver’s test when you don’t even signal?” She mutters under her breath but he hears her anyway.

He stares at her in bliss for a moment, watching her practiced movements. He’s never seen her drive before. He remembers the one failed attempt at teaching her on one of their dates but she had gotten too nervous with all the functions in his car.

“Why are there so many buttons, where do I put the key?” she had asked nervously, looking around.

“This car doesn’t need a key. See here? You put your foot on the gas and then push the button?”

She had whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. “What?!”

“Surely this isn’t the first time you heard of an automatic car?” he asked in amusement.

“Well no but I guess we haven’t been in your car a whole lot for me to notice. I don’t know about this Guzman.”

“You’re going to be fine,” he soothed. “Press your foot on the gas lightly and then push the button.”

She does so hesitantly and oh so carefully that it’s a shock to both of them when the car roars to life. “No! No, I don’t want to do this anymore, Guzman. Turn it off, make it stop!”

He tried to muffle his laughter as he put a soothing hand to the back of her neck and pushed the engine button so it quieted down once more.

“That couldn’t have been so scary,” he told her, rubbing his thumb against her skin all the while. He couldn’t help teasing her because she looked so cute but he didn’t want to freak her out either.

“Um it was and I don’t want to do it again.” She moves to get out of the car before freezing in place as though it was going to blow up with the slightest movement. “It’s off, right?”

“Yes, it’s off.”

He had barely gotten the rest of the words out before she bolted out.

That had been the first and last attempt at teaching Nadia how to drive, but looking at her now, he wouldn’t have believed she had been petrified at the thought of it just six months ago.

He wants to continue staring at Nadia but she pushes his face to look out the windshield. “You’ll have plenty of time to look at me until you get sick of my face, check out the sights.”

He obediently keeps his face forward but glances at her from the corner of his eyes. “I’ll never get sick of your face.”

But he does finally comply and takes in his surroundings, after all, this was going to be his new home. He has to admit, the pictures don't do New York City justice. He remembers seeing pictures and even videos of the highly populated city, cars stuck in traffic, people walking carelessly across the street, but nothing is quite like being in the midst of it. He is now among those people in the photos and it felt so surreal.

It was hard to fathom that just a year ago, he had no idea what his future would look like. Had anyone asked him then, he’d have shrugged carelessly and likely joked about sitting on a beach or even sailing in the Balearic Sea or something. But never taking in the sun from New York City and certainly not with the love of his life. He knows he’s supposed to look around and be the wide-eyed tourist, and he will be, but at the moment, all he wants to do is look at the love of his life.

He tries to be subtle about it, leaning his head back and letting it lol in her direction. He does catch sights of the bridge and the gorgeous water gleaming under the bright sunlight, but he’s more entranced by how the sun makes her look ethereal, almost unreal. Guzman was a man of God so there were moments where he wondered if Nadia was an angel meant to guide him through light.

But then he’d really look at her, look past the beauty that rendered him speechless, and look at the person she was. She was more than a miracle, she was a person with her own hopes and dreams and he’d do everything in his power to ensure she achieves them.

Nadia somehow weaves through the bustling roads, carefully and patiently, now that they had left what was the main freeway. They seemed to have reached an area that she was more familiar with and as he paid attention once more to the world outside, he realized it’s vaguely familiar to him too. Nadia had taken pictures on some of these roads and sent them to him, even taking quick little videos to show him the madness that would take place on the streets. They must be getting closer to her apartment—their apartment.

He looks out the window, up at the tall building before it’s obscured from view as Nadia pulls into an underground parking space. He feels a little breathless suddenly, reality hitting him once more. This new, strange, and unfamiliar place would be his home now for the foreseeable future. All the things that he knew and was familiar with, the grocery stores, the arcades, the beaches, everything he once knew was gone. Well, not gone exactly, but would become a distant memory as he made new ones in a new place.

There’s a small ache in his chest, a sense of homesickness but more for the innocence of youth. But as he thinks about his future with Nadia, the ache eases and he’s filled with hope and endless possibilities. He once believed he could do anything he wanted but it was more due to an ignorant cockiness he had, born from privilege. Now, though, he knew that the possibilities only existed because of Nadia. Because she was by his side, Guzman felt like he was capable and worthy enough to deserve a beautiful future.

He looks over to her with a smile, “Is this it? Is this the apartment?”

“Our apartment,” she corrects and he feels like his chest would burst. “But yes, we’re here. Welcome home, Guzman.”

#Guznadia #Nuzman #Guzman x Nadia #Nadia x Guzman #Elite #Netflix Élite #cygnetofthesea graphics #cygnetofthesea writings #cygnetofthesea edits

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artificialqueens · 2 years

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Just Like Heaven (Taywhora) - Spiritualcramp33

Summary; A'whora had never been one for feelings.She's always kept up a stoic, emotionless facade of sorts - she knew her secrets were safe in the comfort of her dimly-lit bedroom, knew that it wouldn't dare to speak of her tears to anyone else. That any harsh words that left her mouth were left hanging in the air, disintegrating into nothingness if they every tried to crawl through the doorframe and into the open atmosphere. She kept herself to herself, and that was what she knew best.But when lips met, when the glittering green oceans in A'whora's eyes and rich pools of honey that filled Tayce's were welcomed into eachother's arms, mingling together in an gentle symphony, deliciously perfect and passionate and undeniably human, the blonde could feel the walls she'd spent years building crumbling before her very eyes.

A/N; HELLO I AM ALIVE!! and rusty as hell so please don't expect much from this fic LMAO i thought i'd send it in anyways, though! enjoy!

A'whora had never been one for feelings.

She's always kept up a stoic, emotionless facade of sorts - she knew her secrets were safe in the comfort of her dimly-lit bedroom, knew that it wouldn't dare to speak of her tears to anyone else. That any harsh words that left her mouth were left hanging in the air, disintegrating into nothingness if they every tried to crawl through the doorframe and into the open atmosphere. She kept herself to herself, and that was what she knew best.

But when lips met, when the glittering green oceans in A'whora's eyes and rich pools of honey that filled Tayce's were welcomed into eachother's arms, mingling together in an gentle symphony, deliciously perfect and passionate and undeniably human, the blonde could feel the walls she'd spent years building crumbling before her very eyes.

The debris rose from the ground in abundance, seeping into her lungs in a way that made her cough and splutter, but tayce's addictive scent clung to the blinding particles so, despite the tears that pricked at her eyes, she continued to breathe it in like it was some sort of lifeline. perhaps it was.

She found home in the most microscopic of things, in the faint smell of her coconut shampoo, the radiant smile which had burned itself into her memory, her mind melting a little more at each silly grin in a way that set her insides on fire. in the way her voice always held a unique quality - so soft and familiar in a way that had A'whora yearning for it every second that went by when she didn't speak, the silence deafening and overwhelming with the absence of the other's voice.

It was sweet, like strawberries and sugar, and A'whora could almost taste the sweet fruit on her lips - feel it on her tongue as the darker girl spoke, hopelessly clinging to each word in a way that surely made her look as absolutely smitten as she felt. But when Tayce was like this - when she looked like a dream and felt like the comfort of the morning sunshine that filtered through the curtains on the last days of summer, A'whora couldn't care less.

She loved waking up like this, eyelids heavy with sleep as she snuggled into an equally as tired Tayce, drinking in her warmth like she needed it to survive. She liked to think she didn't, but she was sure it made itself known through the affectionate warmth that tinted her face, a light pink dusted across her cheeks. She felt the darker girl's hand on her shoulder, stroking her thumb in a circular motion - it was soothing, something she knew could have A'whora putty in her hands within minutes - and a content sigh slipped from her lips at the domesticity of it all.

They bathed in tranquility, and the morning sun that poured through the window made Tayce's skin look golden, like she'd been smothered in liquid sugar, delightfully sweet, sticky, and warm to the touch, and A'whora thought that maybe when she'd try to move, she'd find herself attached. (She didn't particularly mind the thought, though she knew it was a silly one to entertain.)

She was pulled from her thoughts as a gentle groan rung out from just above her, an indication that her girlfriend had woke up, and she stubbornly wrapped her arms tighter around the brunette, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere they'd made for themselves - a silver spiderweb of quietude, spun with delicate threads of tenderness and vulnerability. It was perfect.

Tayce chuckled, blinked the sleep out of her eye, before lightly shoving the clingy blonde off. A'whora let out a whine of protest that turned the darker girl's insides to mush, but she was cut off by Tayce's groggy voice as she spoke.

"morning, princess"

The words were brimming with affection, punctuated with a yawn as she sat up on the fluffy white bed, and A'whora could feel the girl's eyes on her as she snuggled into the nearest pillow, sulking at the absence in warmth now that Tayce had slipped from her grasp.

"c'mere" A'whora whined, grabbed at the air stubbornly, her voice tainted with sleepiness and ever so slightly slurred, and the brunette let out a huff at the neediness.

Hugging her girlfriend was a feeling unlike anything she'd ever known, while simultaneously feeling like everything at once. She wanted nothing more than to cave - to indulge in the warmth of the one she loved. To soak up every last touch, every last word, to feel it dissolve into her skin like a bathbomb, fizzling and crackling and bubbling up inside her chest until she was sure it would explode, and sparkling bubbles spread throughout her body. It was as if she were malleable, perfectly shaped to fit the space between the blonde's arms.

She thought that, maybe, she'd set in place. And she wondered if A'whora's loving embrace would falter years into the future, or if her arms would still slot around her girlfriends perfectly. Perhaps they'd grow old together like this, that a flowerbed was still a flowerbed no matter how much the petals deteriorated. She didn't like to think about it too much.

"come on, you hound, wake up"

A'whora's retort was humerous and telling (that being a groan of frustration, though it was diluted with liquid endearment, and didn't hold much annoyance behind it). Tayce let out a chuckle, voice smoothed over with generous affection, and her gaze lifted to meet A'whora's waiting one.

Her eyes were a muted green, and speckles of gold bathed in the emerald atmosphere, like a field with the occasional sunflower growing here and there, and she thought that the image described her feelings towards the blonde in a way that words just couldn't - so delicious and soft yet so, so vivid, like the whisps of green grass and delicate yellow petals she often found obscuring her mind.

gentle hands chipped away at the fantasy she often found her mind floating to, slender fingers drifting up her arm with a glittering intimacy - the type that you'd still find around the house days after, sparkling flecks strewn about in a way that made her feelings towards the younger girl all too apparent.

"It's picnic day, you know?" she coaxed.

A'whora shot up comically at the words, becoming visibly animated as she kicked the covers from the bed and sprung to her feet. They'd been having weekly picnics for months now, almost like tradition, and Tayce found A'whora's excitement towards it undeniably adorable. Butterflies erupted in Tayce's stomach at the sight, and she huffed with feigned annoyance, though there was no response from A'whora's end, who had already ran down the hallway (conveniently forgetting about the sleepy act she'd been trying to pull). Amusement swelled in the brunette's chest at the goofiness of it all.

When Tayce finally gathered the few smithereens of motivation she could manage, she sat up from the bed to join her girlfriend in the main room (albeit begrudgingly), footsteps unusually gentle against the worn-down carpet of their bedroom, given how loud Tayce often was.

A pleasant scent invaded her senses, accompanied by a tingly euphoria - coffee. She felt herself smile giddily at it.

Underneath her sour-faced exterior, A'whora was a big fucking softie. Tayce thought her sweetness could effortlessly surpass anything else on this god forsaken planet - even the milkshakes and cakes they often shared on dates, or the sugar-water mixture that her overly-sympathetic girlfriend would leave outside for the tired bees sometimes. She was a breath of fresh air, akin to the wind in more ways than one - loud, sometimes annoying, but Tayce could never bring herself to do anything but turn into mush the second the blonde's green eyes locked with her own.

The subject of her affection stood drowsily at the counter, kettle in hand as she poured hot water into two mugs. Tayce stumbled over to their record player (the one A'whora has bought when she'd discovered the other girl's profound love for vinyls) and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before sliding one of the vinyls out of it's cover and setting it on the player, cautiously lifting the stylus from it's resting place and onto the vinyl.

"i love this one!" A'whora gushed as 'just like heaven' by The Cure began to play, a muffled crackling startling the comfortable atmosphere before the soft tune rang out into the room, quickly lulling Tayce's mind back into tranquility before she could even properly react to the noise.

show me, show me, show me how you do that trick,

the one that makes me scream, she said,

the one that makes me laugh, she said,

threw her arms around my neck.

show me how you do it, and i promise you,

i promise that i'll run away with you,

i'll run away with you.

"it's like this song was made for you" Tayce teased, though an all-too-telling tone cushioned the words, trembling with affection. A'whora just smiled proudly at the overly-mushy comment, the type of smile that had blood roaring in Tayce's ears within seconds, as she handed the brunette a coffee with her favourite mug.

"3 sugars - just how you like it, you crazy hound"

And Tayce knows it wasn't a particularly huge deal that A'whora knew how she liked her coffee - because of course she did - but it brimmed with domesticity, and the brunette thought her heart sang along with the record playing.

She was absolutely smitten.

And A'whora was, too, as much as she tried desperately not to let it show.

But it peaked in small ways, slipping through the cracks of her beaten, worn down armour in ways Tayce never expected it to - through dancing to silly songs at fuck knows what time in the morning, beckoning Tayce to join her while she begrudgingly tells her to piss off. Little things.

In fact, it reminded her of the time before they'd started dating. They'd drawn a set of imaginary lines in the sand with reluctant precision, all neat and tidy despite them being mere figments of their imagination. It was easy, effortless in a way Tayce found a little haunting, to be honest. They were friends, nothing more.

Until fresh waves came crashing down and thunder split the sky into fragments, and suddenly everything became all blurred - like tv static, hissing and spluttering in Tayce's ears in a way she didn't mind nearly as much as she thought she would've.

Her feelings were organised, bundled up snugly with a neat little bow - until this dumb fucking hound of a woman came along and pulled at the ends - manicured fingers working at it with such skill and unwavering attention that Tayce couldn't have surmised, couldn't have predicted, until she was tearing apart at the seams, unravelling under the blonde's gentle touch and warm palms. A'whora peeled away at her layers, scraped at the jagged surface to leave Tayce's vulnerability on full display, all to herself, and Tayce could only spectate, blissfully helpless.

Her touch was so loving, so tangable yet concurrently felt distant, as if reality was an afterthought in the flurry of emotion.

The brunette didn't allow herself to show weakness very frequently, though. Some words were better left unspoken, she determined rather stubbornly, some tears better left unshed. She rejected anything that posed as a threat to the fragile yet addictive ignorance she'd engulfed herself with - despised it, even.

but as she sat sipping her coffee, with her beautiful girlfriend by her side, and her favourite love song humming in the background, she decided that it'd be okay.

and it was.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #spiritualcramp33 #uk2 #tayce #a'whora #taywhora #bed sharing #fluff #like fluffy fluff #cottagecore #cottagecore gfs #they're in love

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hieranarchy · 3 years

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The Women of Sherlock

4 years late to this masterpiece. Sherlock is just the most well-written TV show i have ever come across. Everything is perfectly finessed and crafted with so much care and flair, from script to dialogue to cinematography to plot pacing (I need to rest after one episode), I find no words for higher praise. Perhaps the pompous english delivery and tendency for grandoise flourishes might not be for everyone, but it is definitely my kind of show.

I remember the part where Mycroft told John, "you are not traumatized by the war. You miss it." was precisely the point I got hooked. I felt that.

So in a bid to enshrine my love for the show (4 seasons of which i binged over two weeks), I shall make a post of the excellent portrayal of female characters (in the same unrelentingly verbose, highfalutin style), that no one asked for and with no new information provided.

MARY ELIZABETH WATSON

The poised and sensible wife and woman behind every good man (wait sorry, why still behind?) that can probably mother anything in her path. Except when she is in assassin-killer mode, she is able to detach her emotions to the point where she can coldly calculate exactly where to shoot you so you might just not die.John just couldn't pick ordinary, blessedly mundane partners, can he?Deadly sharp and sweet, with a deep, prescient wisdom and perception that can probably only be acquired from having killed many and needing to cover your arse about it, Mary is the typical femme fatale character. Unfortunately, she lived up to that name, when, out of fatally unconditional love and loyalty, she fatally took a bullet for the one time our dear Sherly failed, and died.

MRS HUDSON

your sweet, shrivelled grandma-next-door with a whole lot of sass, probably a saucier history of debauchery than you, plus guts of steel belied by her diminutive frame, because which other landlord will stand frequently finding various kinds of human remains stashed in the fridge for lab analysis and the occasional cracks of gunshots in her daintily-wallpapered walls when Sherlock expresses frustration at not being able to crack a case?yes, she isn't a simple woman. the widow of a depraved and philandering cartel druglord whose death by decapitation was in part precipitated by none other than herself, and therefore inheriting his house and BMW, Mrs Hudson was able to quick-wittedly conceal Sherlock's critical possessions at gunpoint, while engendering sympathy from her captors as a hapless, frightened old lady.

"Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street? England will fall."-Sherlock

EURUS HOLMES

They say women are crazy, and you should be afraid of Eurus Holmes. Sherlock's impressive, Mycroft's prodigious, and Eurus is diabolic. Long-lost, locked up sister of the Holmes trinity, her cleverness proved too dangerous to contain even as a toddler.Her crime? Leading Sherlock's playmate to his death so Sherlock will play with her. Whoops.Might be the best rendition of a villain I've ever seen. One colder, crueller and cocksurer than any male fiend has ever displayed. Beating them at their own game, feeding their ego, making negotiations to get exactly what she wants.However it is revealed her distended intellectual abilities result in feelings of extreme isolation, as if she is 'trapped in a flying plane in which everyone's asleep.' At the end of the day, for all her acerbic appraisals on people and the world, Eurus remains mentally as a little girl pining for her brother to play with her. A light illuminating too brightly that extinguishes just as quickly. Nevertheless, an intriguing freak of nature indeed.

Amazing the number of times a man doesn’t really look at your face. Oh, you can hide behind a sexy smile, or a walking cane ... or just be a therapist, talking about yourself all the time.

IRENE ADLER

What does it mean when a female, self-professed homosexual professional dominatrix and a male, most-likely asexual high-functioning sociopathic detective seem to have an undeniable electrifying attraction to each other? Both recognise the inner freak of a genius in each other that is now, two-of-a-kind.We are shown a woman who relishes and maintains power in every respect, from the bedroom to her personal wealth and even securing underworld invincibility, who, in her own words: 'makes her way in the world'.

She has no qualms using the power of female sexuality to surprise, subdue and siphon what she seeks, but towards the end we see her falter and thwarted by yet another typically female inclination of emotions and sentiment. (She sardonically or rather affectionately, if her multiple texts to Sherlock in an avant garde display of female-initiated wooing is any indicator) sets the passcode to her phone as I AM SHER-LOCKED)

Yet she is literally saved by this lapse in affection, from Iranian terrorists, when it moved our utterly self-possessed and honestly also self-obsessed secret softie Sherlock, who reciprocated coolly with rare cliche of a hero-saves-the-damsel-in-distress moment, thus showing us love can be both a formidable weakness and strength.

MOLLY HOOPER

Finally, a character we can relate to. Depicted as an unassuming, babbling and bumbling side character, but also possesses the ultimate superpower of being able to slap Sherlock in the face without facing resistance or retaliation. Because if she does so, then he deserves it.

JOHN WATSON

Sorry not a woman, I emasculated him. Just balancing out the status quo. He is almost like Sherlock's unappreciated wife in the shadows / and full-time child handler (and I mean this in terms of relationship dynamic, nothing sexual, go away shippers and fic writers) A complete danger-addict and badass packaged in fun-sized, cute, wrinkly dad material. Aw.

https://moonlitthoughts.medium.com/the-women-of-sherlock-3c3437c6f93e

#sherlock #sherlockholmes #BBC #eurus holmes #irene adler #mrs hudson #mary watson #molly hooper #john watson #mypost #tvshows #netflix

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hand-crushing-crusher · 4 years

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BAKUDEKU FIC REC

Hey all! Quarantine has been dragging on, so here are some BKDK fics to fill your time.

All fics are completed works unless the [∆] symbol is next to it. Please note there will be no ABO fics in this rec, just cause I made a seperate list for that HERE

Enjoy!

1. ∆ The Space Between by Kanae_vR

Holding his expensive camera tightly between his hands, Midoriya Izuku looked up at the once-white letters displayed on the black storefront banner. “The Hard Luck Bar,” he murmured to himself, unsure if he was getting ready to enter or flee.

Amateur photographer Midoriya Izuku is stuck in a rut and desperate for a change of pace. Deep in his city's grimy underbelly, he finds exactly what he's looking for in the form of an underground punk sensation on the verge of their big break, fronted by a foul-mouthed firework of a human being.

Loud, brash and passionate, Izuku may have just found the creative spark he needed, as well as something new to set his soul ablaze.

2. Album Title in Progress by bkdkink

"I mean, technically, sure. Anyone able to sing can sing. But am I good at it?" Deku left the pen alone so he could gesture as though he was weighing two different invisible objects. "...Yeah, I'm okay."

Now that got a chuckle out of Katsuki.

"I wouldn't call that just 'okay'." -- OR; Izuku's singing makes Katsuki realize sex is Real™ and uses those feelings to make a bomb-ass(lol get it? cuz his quirk is...) album while also helping a self-doubting Izuku realize how fire his mixtape is.

3. After Hours by Morpheel

Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact.

However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

4. While You Were Sleeping by Belkacaramelka (annabelleg)

The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.

5. ∆ Hummingbird Heartbeat by Tokiji

“The knife went through his fucking chest, Kirishima.” Katsuki spat his name into his face, mouth twisting into a vicious snarl, teeth and all. “You know that's where his heart is, right? And his fucking lungs? All the vital shit?”

Kirishima blanched. “I-I know, I just meant—”

“What, you mean to tell me that your stupid fuckin’ ass is so ignorant to forget that he lost a shit ton of blood, hah?! Yeah, it was a flippin’ knife wound, oh hoo-ray, but look at the nerd now! He’s fucking dying because of it!”

6. Addiction by MiraChaDoodles

An abundance of freckles smatters his sun-tanned cheeks, and dark green waves curl around his face. But Katsuki gets hung up at his eyes. They’re huge and green, innocent and filled with tears, just li—

Wait.

Holy shit.

Is that... Deku?

---

Or... the first time that Katsuki gets off to a porno, Deku turns out to be the star.

7. In Another Life by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)

Katsuki's never been one for gentle words, but from the wild panic in Deku's face, he knows this is the time for it.

"Deku—" The weapon presses a little harder against Katsuki's forehead and he stops, getting his bearings. "Fine. Midoriya, then. Look. I'm not going to hurt you. I swear. I'm just looking for some answers I'm hoping you can provide."

After a battle gone awry leaves Katsuki stranded, he seeks out one of the few people he really trusts: Deku. Except when he finds his hero partner, he looks completely different, and the first thing he does is put a gun to Katsuki's forehead. So that's different.

Canon-divergent future fic where Katsuki gets sent to a parallel universe during a villain battle. One where Izuku's a cop instead of a pro hero, and Katsuki himself has been dead since middle school. In a world that's different enough to be strange and similar enough to be familiar, Katsuki does whatever it takes to find his way home.

8. F.U. by warschach

Izuku smiled; Katsuki understood why people warned that the devil wore a Sunday hat and fine clothes because deception worked better if no one expected it.

Not anymore. He knew Izuku’s evil ways, and his ass might be a 20 on the hotness meter but Katsuki held grudges.

“Izuku,” he sneered; he too could be evil right back.

(or Katsuki's a football player; Izuku's a cheerleader; they have a rivalry until it isn't one)

9. Oh My God They Were Roommates by Maginot

Bakugou had really, actually moved in with Deku.

They were roommates.

Oh my god, they were roommates.

In which Bakugou's hero insurance bills seem to climb with every explosion he makes, and Izuku happens to have an extra bedroom and an absurd amount of patience for his childhood best friend.

10. And It All Keeps Coming Back to You by GuardianMira

Ground Zero and Deku are the world's top two heroes, constantly knocking each other out of the number one spot. Their rivalry keeps them both sharp, and while Katsuki would prefer to be the undisputed champion, he’s not unhappy.

The thing is, he’s still a virgin. It’s not like he’s shy. He just doesn’t want to waste his time with people who aren’t good enough for him. But he’s admittedly let his personal life fall by the wayside so that he could focus on being a big damn hero. Anyway, now that he’s finally thinking about it, it’s clear there’s only one person who’s worthy of being with him. His oldest friend. His rival. His permanent pain in the ass. The only hero alive who comes close to being Ground Zero’s equal: Deku.

#bkdk #dkbk #bakudeku #katsudeku #katsuizu #bakugou x izuku #bakugou/izuku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha #fic rec

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babywarg · 5 years

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Drpepperony with Stephen thinking Tony and Pepper are just using him to spice up their sex life, but they're actually in love with him. The dumbass just keeps leaving before they can tell him and barely stays around unless it's for sex

Hello, anon! May I point you to this excellent fic by White_Sparrow: Stay over if you can, which I believe suits this lovely prompt better? In the meantime, I shamelessly go off-tangent and hope anon likes it anyway, angst and sap and all 💖

Idea came to me while listening to an old fave: “Addictive” by Faithless.

Dependence

Pepper didn’t need to say she was worried about him.

Tony was, too.

So when she proposed that they talk to him, Tony offered no resistance.

“The trouble is getting him to stick around,” Tony pointed out. “Remember that time we tried to trick him into staying for breakfast?”

“I think he stopped taking our calls for days after that, too,” Pepper thoughtfully replied.

Tony made a small sound of assent. “Of course, Wong just said he was busy, so we can’t be sure…”

“He’s avoiding us for a reason, Tony.” Pepper sounded absolutely sure about this. “I just want to find out what. And if it’s a good reason…we can let him go, right?”

The words “let him go” got to him in a bad way. Like a punch to the gut. A wrenching. It hadn’t even happened yet, but it already brought on pain.

Maybe Pepper could let him go easily. As for himself…he wasn't too sure.

He laid a hand on Pepper’s shoulder. As if sensing the turmoil in his touch, Pepper leaned into it.

“I know,” she murmured, in reply to the unsaid. “I’ll miss him a lot, too. But if it’s what he needs, we have no choice.”

***

“There’s nothing going on with me.”

Stephen sounded genuinely puzzled. Not to mention a bit irritated. He seemed to be determined to make himself unlikeable, so Tony and Pepper would let him go right away.

…but it was really hard for them to find reason to hate on someone they’d already seen stark naked and begging, skin slick with sweat, mouth hanging open as he skirted the edge of climax.

Tony had to mentally clamp down on his arousal. Was it going to happen every time? The sorcerer would say something deliberately inflammatory, and he would flash back to so many vulnerable moments?

Well, Tony said to himself, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

“If that’s it, I can go, right?”

“No,” Pepper said sternly. Stephen frowned at her. “Stephen…we just want to know why you’re avoiding us.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Stephen argued.

“Yeah? My five unanswered calls since Monday say otherwise,” Tony argued back. “Look - we’re adults. We should just be able to talk about stuff.”

For a moment it looked like Stephen was going to get angry. But he shut his eyes instead, let out a long, slow breath.

“I agree. Let’s be adults about this.” He straightened up in his chair, far from relaxed. “I’ll just lay it out: I have an addictive personality. I’m sensing the warning signs of addiction in myself. So I’m staying away from triggers.”

Tony and Pepper looked at each other, alarmed.

“Triggers?” Tony echoed. “From us?”

“Stephen,” Pepper began in a somber, almost pleading tone, “if there’s anything we’re doing that triggers you in any way, you can let us know. We’ll do our best to avoid it.”

“Damn right we will,” Tony supplied. “So what is it? Sex? Drink? Food? Casual conversation? I gotta say, if you ask me, we haven’t been having nearly enough of any of that - ”

“Please don’t make light of this,” Stephen said, almost too softly to hear. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face in frustration.

“I’m not making light of it,” Tony answered. To emphasize, he leaned forward and laid a reassuring hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You’re talking to a man who knows all about addictions. And the fallout from them. I’m sorry I’m…not as refined as Pep. But I hope you know we both mean it when we say we want to help.”

Stephen took his time answering. It seemed to Tony all the while that Stephen was shrinking from his touch - was all but shrugging his hand off his shoulder.

In the end, however, Stephen took his hand, and pressed it to his lips.

“How can you possibly help,” he asked, without looking either Tony or Pepper in the eye, “when it’s the two of you I’m addicted to?”

On the other side of Stephen, Pepper reached out and quickly took his hand and Tony’s in both of her own. She knew it was not a good time to talk, and Tony trusted her instinct, shut up duly.

“You remember,” Stephen continued, encouraged by the silence. “That first time, in the penthouse of Stark Tower…I said yes only after you said it was one less regret.”

One less what-if. Yes. Tony remembered. He still occasionally gloated to Pepper about managing that one.

“Even now I’m wondering if I regret saying yes.” He finally looked up, met Tony’s eyes. He squeezed Pepper’s hand tightly. “I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. I can’t get either of you out of my head. When I succeed in not thinking of one of you, I get to thinking of the other. And when fate is feeling especially vengeful, I’m bombarded with thoughts of you both.”

Pepper laid her other hand on Stephen’s arm, and Stephen seemed to tense up from that, too.

Touch-starved was the word that came to Tony’s mind. He noticed it that first time in the penthouse. He would notice it again now, even as Stephen seemed to want to avoid being touched.

Triggers, he’d said.

“And you think this is addiction?” Pepper gently asked.

“It can’t be anything else.” The reply sounded absolute. “I recognized the signs some weeks back. When I woke up in the middle of the night embraced by you both. And my only thought was, I could do with a lifetime of this.”

Tony knew the feeling well. He had it several times a day. Whenever both Pepper and Stephen were around.

The thought of it as an addiction…amused him.

And made him realize that Stephen’s lack of experience with the feeling made him prone to misunderstanding it.

He glanced over at Pepper, and knew she was thinking the same thing. They’d discussed how Stephen seemed to be out of touch with his own emotions, a couple of times before.

“If we keep it to sex, and make it occasional, I can manage it,” Stephen said, sounding almost desperate. “If it doesn’t go further…”

“But let’s say, hypothetically,” Tony interrupted, “let’s say it’s not an addiction. Why shouldn’t it go further?”

Stephen shot a questioning look at him. He reached out and touched Stephen’s cheek.

“My point is, you may be confusing addiction with something else.” He gave that cheek the lightest of slaps, before withdrawing his hand. “Which you are highly likely to do, because you are an idiot.”

“Still a doctor,” Stephen protested, his offense genuine. “I did take up the workings of the human body and brain in school.”

“I’m no doctor, but I can come up with a couple of other diagnoses,” Pepper offered. “Fear of rejection. Fear of intimacy. Fear of loss. In a word: fear. Something that has less to do with the human body, and more to do with human emotion. You know…” She ran a hand through his hair. “…that part of you that you seem to like ignoring.”

At that instant, Stephen seemed to have forgotten that being touched made him nervous. He relaxed under Pepper’s fingertips.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered to him. “We’ll take care of that, if you’ll let us.”

He looked at her - confused, but calmer. “What are you…proposing, exactly?”

“Just that we want to get to know you better,” she answered, smiling. “We want to know more than what you like in bed.”

“And we want you to get to know us better, too.” Tony hooked his arm around Stephen’s, grasped his hand tightly. “You’re already a part of our lives, Stephen. We want to be a part of your life, too. And if in the long run, it doesn’t work out -” He winked at Stephen. “- it’s at least one less regret, right?”

Stephen gripped Tony’s hand, and his shaking was undeniable. For only a second.

Then his grip relaxed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

#drpepperony #ironstrange #drpepper #pepperony #anon asks #tony stark #stephen strange #pepper potts #iron man #doctor strange

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muhhbabehwrites · 4 years

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time to ourselves (seokjin fic)

you & your boyfriend, jin, have a night alone. a perfect time to be romantic.

Jin.

for a moment, your eyes drifted shut as seokjin's gentle hands caressed your body. he really treats you like a damn princess and you did not feel an ounce worthy of it. he was careful and conscious of your wants and needs, always taking specific mental notes each time you lay in bed like this to use for next time, since your time together was very limited. he wanted you to remember each second with him, never knowing when the next time would ever come due to his busy schedule. his fingers wandered over your curves as he delicately pecked your lips in the dim lit hotel room. candles filled the room with a floral yet fruity scent. an essence of romance with jin had undeniably brought to boost the mood. you supposed it did what it was intended to do.

jin pulled away from your face, only to study over your swollen kissed lips and dreamy expression on your face. he was head-completely-over-heels for you. his heart ached even at the mention of your name just as you cherished him. it was indisputable, you two were meant for one another, like two puzzle pieces or two pieces of cloth cut from the same fabric. soulmates. "hey..." he muttered faintly, pushing your fringe from your face to get a better glance at your face, taking a mental note of each inch of it from behind his dark eyes.

you let out a small chortle as you shook your hair back over your eyes, obstructing his view of them. even though you fell victim of his gaze time after time, you still felt yourself grow bashful. already feeling the blood and warmth rush to the top of your cheeks, you wonder what goes through his head when he looks at you. was it the same thing you thought when you looked in the mirror?

"baby." almost in a quiet yet scolding voice, jin pushed your hair back behind your ear again before pouting. his puffy lip jetting out as he whined, "you're so beautiful, i wish you'd let me see you. don't hide from me." he pressed his warm palm of his hand against the small of your back to pull you into his body. his long legs tangling themselves with your's, entrapping you in his hold, as if you minded.

you let out a sigh as you looked back up into his black marble eyes, granting his wish. "just love me, seokjin." you spoke lowly to him, as if someone was in the room with you two, even though you were alone with just him. thank god - you've waited long enough to have him to yourself.

jin chuckled soundlessly before pushing his lips against your's slowly. "of course, sweetheart." he let out a hum, not wasting him to give you want you wanted, even though he did love you all the time, he knew that this was a different request of sorts. moving his nimble hand from your back to your hip, pushing against it, motioning you to roll to your back so he could do exactly what you asked. you obliged and when you did, his body followed suit, rolling against you to hover over your body from his hands and knees. he was always so graceful on his movements that you question if he was actually human or not. he was never hasty. he loved to take his time with you. taking you in not with drinks but with sips, appreciating you.

"oppa..." frustrated, you pouted out your lips as he gently puckered them in a pout, your voice coming off more whiny then you intially intended it to. you never call jin oppa anymore, especially after you started to date. you usually called him 'jinnie-ah' or something along those lines, but in tender moments as such, you knew he liked it a little too much, especially when you were pouty. letting out a small scoff, jin pulled away from your face with his to give you a knowing smile. "you've always been so impatient. it's hard not to find you adorable when you do that." he cooed, combing through your hair with his fingers. he was stalling still. he was making you wait. of course he was. how rude of him.

you reached up with your lips, slowly attaching them to his bare neck, kissing him there ever so slowly yet sloppily, leaving a wet trail behind. his skin tasted as it always did, sweet, a taste you could almost (if you weren't already) get addicted to. hearing his soft breath catch as your lips moved made you smirk in small victory. your hands caressed his small waist, pulling him downwards against your body.

"jin-hyung!"

jin's body tensed as he heard the voice boom from outside of the hotel room. your own arms flopping to the bed along with your head against the pillow in disappointment. how could you think this was going to be a perfect night? you loved the boys so much, but damn, privacy would be really nice, especially right about now. did they not know you were there? they had to. jin's head slumped with a sigh. you could tell he was debating on answering the annoyance or not. he was silent for a few moments but then there was four loud knocks at the door before the the interupter called out for jin once again. "what, jungoo-ah?" jin called back after raising his head away from your ear, but his body was still pressed against your's in small hopes that the younger would go away soon.

"it's work out time!" the maknae whined from the other side of the room, you could tell his nose was pressed where the door met the frame and he was bouncing ever so slightly up and down by the way his voice shook. your eyes looked to jin's, who was now looking back down at you. again, there was a long pause before jin smirked and responded back to jungkook. "i was just about to do that in here." with that, both you and jin started to laugh and loud enough for the other to hear from the other side of the door.

"ugh. gross." jungkook's voice was barely heard, audibly walking away from the room.

maybe that was easier than you thought it was going to be.

#kim seokjin #bts #bts fanfic #fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic

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caedmonfaith · 5 years

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Kiss Me Slowly

This is my first work in this fandom - my first of what I hope is many! I watched Good Omens with my husband a couple of weeks ago (after my husband practically twisted my arm) and fell headlong into this ship. After doing nothing but reading Azirophale/Crowley fic for a solid week, I absolutely had to write my own story. So here it is - just another first-night-of-the-rest-of-our-lives fic (featuring a besotted, clueless Crowley), but hopefully you’ll enjoy.

Aziraphale/Crowley - rated T for mild swearing - 4407 words. Title taken from Kiss Me Slowly, by Parachute.

Summary: Demons had no concept of love, but Crowley had never been a model demon. Took great pride in that fact, actually. He reckoned, to borrow the human phrase, he was actually madly in love with the angel. Batshit crazy about him, in fact.

Oh, I'm not sure what this is gonna go, But in this moment all I know Is the skyline, through the window, The moon above you and the streets below. Hold my breath as you're moving in, Taste your lips and feel your skin. When the time comes, baby don't run, just kiss me slowly. 'Kiss Me Slowly' by Parachute

Demons had no concept of love, but Crowley had never been a model demon. Took great pride in that fact, actually. Since he had never experienced love, he had no yardstick by which to measure what he felt for Aziraphale. Warmth, certainly. A tenderness he held for no other being, human or divine. He frequently felt his soul curl up contentedly in Aziraphale’s presence, warming itself like a serpent on a sunny rock. The thing that made him happiest in the world was when Aziraphale smiled at him and called him ‘dear’ or some other ridiculous little endearment. He’d become utterly addicted to the little verbal affections Aziraphale bestowed upon him over the years, and constantly longed for more. He didn’t know what to do to provoke them, but he was (privately) slavishly grateful when Aziraphale gave them.

He also felt a protectiveness towards the angel he couldn’t quite explain, since he was typically quite happy to let whatever happened to the people around him just... happen. Yet when he’d gone to Aziraphale’s bookshop and seen it engulfed in flames, his angel gone, he’d felt something wrenched from within his very own, damned soul. For the first time in sixty centuries, he’d known anguish. He’d known fear. He’d known torment. Finding out Aziraphale had not, in fact, been destroyed in hellfire and was able to come back to him had been overwhelming in its joyfulness. He wouldn’t have to be alone, after all. He’d have Aziraphale. The angel was his home, the places he inhabited also the place Crowley felt the most happiness - any happiness.

If that was what being in love was, then there was no room for doubt - he loved the angel. He reckoned, to borrow the human phrase, he was actually madly in love with the angel. Batshit crazy about him, in fact.

It hadn’t always been this way, although Crowley was self-aware enough to acknowledge that he’d always been at minimum tolerant of Aziraphale, from that very first day in the Garden, six thousand years ago. The fact that the angel had shown such great compassion to the new humans he’d foolishly given away his flaming sword to, in blatant defiance of God herself, had struck Crowley: not only as amusing, but as endearing. It had been a long time since he’d been endeared (as that was typically an emotion demons didn’t truck with), and he’d found the sensation novel. And then, to his very great surprise, it had started to rain - and Aziraphale had sheltered him. Him! A demon, the sworn enemy of all angels. But that hadn’t mattered to Aziraphale, and to this day, when Crowley thought about standing under the angel’s wing, watching the first humans set out into the wide world, he felt a kernel of… something.

Much to Crowley’s surprise, that kernel had taken root and grown: very slowly, but steadily, until he realized somewhere during the latter days of the Roman Empire that he very much enjoyed spending time around the angel and was even fond of him. Some centuries later, he realized he wasn’t just fond of the angel, he loved him. The knowledge had shaken him to his core, and he’d retired to his bed for nearly fifty years. When he’d awakened, there had been no change in his emotions, and he was floored to find himself in such an unnatural state for a demon. He’d managed to hold out for only three years after waking before searching Aziraphale out for a visit. To his delight, they’d come up with the Arrangement.

He’d noticed over the millennia that the gaps of time between seeing his angel had grown progressively shorter - mostly due to his own initiative. At first, after the Garden, they didn’t see each other for fifteen hundred years. The next gap had been quite long, as well, nearly nine centuries. But eventually, that dwindled to two centuries. Then one. Then a few decades. Then a couple of decades. Then just a few years would go by between times the demon and angel saw each other. By the end of the eighteenth century, shortly after his near-miss with the guillotine, Crowley had simply taken to watching over Aziraphale from afar, deciding him to be too jeopardy-friendly to be left on his own. The bloody idiot was on track to get himself discorporated - or worse - if somebody didn’t keep an eye on him. For a bookish sort, he was awfully prone to trouble.

But Crowley hadn’t let on that he’d kept watch over him. He’d kept himself well hidden, only making his appearances when he had to - or when he just couldn’t stand to wait any longer and needed a top-up of Aziraphale. The angel had never had any idea that he was being guarded by a demon, and the demon had been able to love the angel from afar.

That had worked quite well for nearly two centuries, but then Adam had been born and they’d been forced to work together much, much closer than they ever had before. Not that spending more time with Aziraphale was in any way a hardship - it most certainly wasn’t. In fact, Crowley was quietly grateful for the looming calamity. Other demons were excited about the prospect of war. He was just thrilled for the excuse to spend time with Aziraphale.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow, he found himself falling even deeper in love with Aziraphale over the course of the last eleven years, and was struggling mightily with it. On one hand, being in love was exhilarating, the most amazing feeling Crowley had ever had. On the other hand, that love was one-sided - that was the only way it could ever be. Aziraphale was a being of love, created to love all God’s creatures, and his affection for Crowley was almost certainly just that, mixed with a healthy dose of familiarity. Nothing more. That knowledge was agony, but agony was all he deserved, as a demon. He certainly didn’t deserve Aziraphale.

Crowley had felt a burst of pure jubilation when Adam had restored Aziraphale’s body, and had had to restrain himself from dashing forward to hug his friend - which would have been a most undemonly display, particularly given that they had been facing the Four Horsemen at the time. He’d known in that moment that no matter how long they had left on this Earth - be it twenty seconds, twenty years, or twenty centuries - he wanted to spend that time with Aziraphale. Now that he had his angel back, he never intended to let him go.

But the apocalypse had been averted (thanks in large part to him and Aziraphale), they had managed to thwart the punishment that their respective Home Offices had wanted to mete out, and now they had the rest of time yawning in front of them. The euphoria over his and Aziraphale’s success had been intense - in fact, he was still basking in it - but it hadn’t shaken him from his realization that he wanted to spend the balance of eternity in Aziraphale’s company. Crowley was certain nothing - divine or otherwise - could ever shake him from that determination.

They’d gone back to the restored bookshop after they closed down the Ritz, to the little flat Crowley’s angel maintained above the store, and Crowley had struggled for a minute to maintain his composure. The last time he’d stood in this place, he’d been surrounded by what he thought was hellfire, screaming for Aziraphale, horror and terror and unbridled grief washing over him in tsunami-strength waves. Adam had put everything right again: the bookshop was fine, Aziraphale was fine, and Crowley did his best to brush aside the memory of the time he’d almost lost the one being who truly meant something to him. It hadn’t been easy, but the angel’s reassuring smile had comforted him, and he eventually relaxed.

Aziraphale had miracled up several bottles of fantastic wine to celebrate with. Crowley didn’t understand why the angel used a miracle to procure good wine, particularly when he already had several bottles of it stashed away for special occasions. Aziraphale just looked at him with a glint in his eye that Crowley would have called ‘devilish’ on anyone else and said that after the day they’d had, he rather liked the idea of sticking it to Management. Crowley certainly hadn’t argued.

They’d toasted to Adam, to Agnes Nutter, to Anathema, to Newt Pulsifer, to Shadwell, and to anyone and everyone they could think of, getting progressively drunker as the evening wore on. They’d reminisced about old times - situations when they’d been at odds, and other times they’d worked together. Finally, on their seventh bottle of wine, they’d sloppily toasted each other.

The drunken angel’s cheeks were ruddy, his eyes were twinkling, and his lips were curling upward just so in that way that made the demon feel warm - all over, really, but certainly more concentrated in certain areas. His cream-colored suit was rumpled and his downy hair was in disarray and it was just undeniably …endearing. (It was also devastatingly gorgeous, but Crowley was too deep in his cups to let that thought bubble too close to the surface.)

So there they sat, two immortal beings, one celestial and one occult, who had averted the end of the world over the last week. Crowley’s mood was higher than it had been in centuries, millennia, possibly ever, and he was pleasantly drunk with his best friend - the only friend he’d ever want or need. Hell would be leaving him alone for the foreseeable future, and he was no longer answerable to anyone - save Aziraphale. They were on theirside.

Life was good; as close to perfect as he had any right to expect. He was elated.

He had just cracked open the eighth bottle of wine and was pouring it into their glasses when Aziraphale’s look changed. His white-blond brows were knitted slightly and he was looking into the middle distance at nothing, as if trying to puzzle something out within his own mind.

“Something on your mind, angel?” he asked lightly.

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away, and Crowley set the wine bottle down. His own brow knit and he felt a flash of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. I’ve just had a thought.”

“Care to share with the class?”

Aziraphale turned back to him with a questioning - but pleased - expression. “What if we’re ineffable?”

Crowley picked up his full wine glass and took a sip, smacking his lips and asking, “What do you mean?”

“You and I. Together.”

The demon considered him for a moment. “Well, I’d say that if there were an Ineffable Plan - and it seems now that there was - we were definitely meant to be working together to achieve it.”

“Yes, I know that, but surely Her plan didn’t just stop when Adam defied his father and the Earth was saved. There must have been more. Don’t you think?”

“So you think She’s still pulling the strings?”

“Not exactly, no. I just think She’s fully aware of everything that happens, and nothing happens that doesn’t meet with Her approval. Ergo, She’s fully aware of you and I - and approves.”

“Approves of what?” Crowley scoffed, raising his glass to his lips again. “Getting pissed in a flat in Soho?”

“Of the fact that I’m in love with you, and you with me.”

Crowley choked on his wine, spilling some down his front and feeling the hot burn of the alcohol that had been snorted into his nose. Aziraphale tutted and waved his hand distractedly, clearing up the mess (and Crowley’s sinuses).

“Really, dear, you must be more careful. That’s a waste of perfectly good bordeaux.”

The demon just gaped at him, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “What the… what are… What??”

Aziraphale gave a bland little smile. “What’s tripping you up, dearest?”

Crowley’s mouth worked soundlessly, and his mind struggled to come up with an answer. In six thousand years, he’d never been so shocked, and felt utterly out to sea, with no idea what to say. Had Aziraphale actually said…?

“I don’t… I’m not…” he stammered, then closed his mouth before it engaged and said something abysmally stupid - or lied to the angel.

“Oh, but I am. Don’t you know? Have been for ages.”

“You… What?”

Aziraphale gave an exasperated but fond roll of the eyes and another wave of his hand. The kitchen table and all the detritus of their evening vanished, and Crowley found himself sitting on the couch in Aziraphale’s lounge, the angel right beside him. He looked around the room, still feeling rather tipsy, taking a moment to get his bearings, then felt something cover the hand he had resting on his thigh. He looked down to see that it was Aziraphale’s, curling around his own. He looked down at it, completely at a loss and unsure what he could possibly say, still not entirely sure that he’d heard correctly.

“Angel, I don’t…”

The angel stopped whatever foolishness he’d been about to say with soft lips pressed against his mouth. Crowley froze, entire body stiff, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Aziraphale’s lips moved against his so gently, so softly, that Crowley felt his heart stutter. The temptation to surrender, to give in and let himself get carried away, was almost overpowering. He’d wanted this for so long...

He was almost surprised when he placed both hands on Aziraphale’s chest and pushed him back gently but firmly. “We can’t,” he said, his voice somehow simultaneously rough and squeaking.

“Whyever not?”

Crowley felt a burst of exasperation. “Whyever not? Where do I even start!? Bloody hell, I literally don’t know where to begin.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were twinkling and there was a small, serene smile on his face, as if indulging Crowley’s foolishness. It was cute, and that irritated the demon further.

“Why don’t you start with the first thing that comes to mind?” Aziraphale suggested.

“My mind is a damn jumble,” he muttered, then straightened his shoulders a bit. “But yeah, alright. First things first. You’re drunk.”

“And?”

Crowley glared at him, certain he was being purposefully obtuse. “And… decisions like these - conversations like this shouldn’t be had under the influence of alcohol.”

Aziraphale looked delighted. “Well, that’s easy enough to sort.” He screwed up his face in a look of intense concentration, eyes shut tight and mouth curled in a grimace. Crowley didn’t have to be in the kitchen to know that all the formerly empty wine bottles in there were now half-full.

After a moment, the angel opened his eyes and relaxed, letting out a small sigh. “There. No longer drunk, and good thinking on your part. Well done, you.”

Still feeling somewhat dazed, Crowley gaped in the face of Aziraphale’s smile, realizing that now, he was the drunk one. He muttered a foul word under his breath, then screwed up his own face, concentrating on willing away the alcohol. Once he was done and had vacated the wine from his system, he opened his eyes to find Aziraphale still looking at him almost expectantly.

“You were saying?”

Despite having cleared the alcohol from his system, Crowley still felt somewhat fuzzy. Deciding to test the waters (and to buy himself some time), he said, “Do you even recall what you said?”

Aziraphale looked pleased. “Perfectly, darling. I merely speculated that you and I coming together - being together - was quite probably all part of the Ineffable Plan.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Come now, Crowley. You know as well as I do that She is all-knowing, fantastically fond of grand plans, and terribly secretive. Why, even Her archangels didn’t know about the Ineffable Plan!”

“Because we pulled it out of our arses!” Crowley burst out.

Aziraphale gave him a pointed look that communicated his thoughts clearly. Crowley tried not to let his gaze linger on the angel’s pursed lips.

“As I was saying, God knows all, and nothing in the universe happens that She doesn’t allow to happen. Approve of, even. She was bound to know that putting the two of us together for millennia to enact Her Plan would result in us falling in love.”

He’d said it again. He’d said it again. Something wild and hopeful flittered in Crowley’s chest, but he pushed it down viciously. Hope was dangerous and should not be entertained. Surely he was misunderstanding somehow.

Crowley did his best to make his voice hard when he spoke. “I’m incapable of love. You know that. I’m a demon.”

“Yes, but we all know what a shoddy excuse for a demon you actually are, my love. You never have been especially committed to the nastier aspects of being an agent of Hell.” Crowley started to protest, to say that he was truly very wicked, but Aziraphale cut him off by raising his hand, then laying that hand back over Crowley’s again. He basked in the touch - but tried not to let on. “Whether you should be able to or not is irrelevant. You’ve proven yourself quite capable of loving for several millennia. Not just me, either. I happen to know that you love humanity, in your own way. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have worked so hard to thwart the apocalypse. Try again, darling.”

“I don’t love you,” Crowley said urgently, the lie burning his tongue and tasting like ash.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue and smiled knowingly. “I believe that just as much as you believed me when I told you we weren’t friends and I didn’t even like you the other day. Which I am terribly sorry for, by the way. It was a blatant lie. Can you ever forgive me for hurting you?”

Crowley looked away and muttered something. Demons weren’t meant to forgive - but then, demons weren’t meant to be sitting on a davenport with an angel, on the cusp of professing their undying love, either. Aziraphale was right: he was - and always had been - a shoddy demon.

The angel continued. “If it’ll make you feel better not to admit that you love me, I can live with that. But I know the truth. The truth is in your actions, dear. It’s in you swooping into a cell in Paris to save me from beheading - and then taking me for crepes after. It’s in you coming into a church - a church, darling! - and burning your feet to save me… me and my silly books. Your feet must have been blistered for days, you poor dear.”

They had been, but Crowley wasn’t about to admit to that.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to need him to. He went on, in a softer voice. “It’s in you asking me to run away to Alpha Centauri. It’s in you telling me that we’re on our own side, not anyone else’s… willing to defy Hell for me. You can deny it if you feel compelled to do so, but I know better. You love me, and I love you back with equal fervor. Possibly even more.”

“You can’t.”

“Of course I can,” Aziraphale said with a squeeze of Crowley’s hand, which was terribly distracting.

“No, I mean it. You can’t. You love me, yes, but you’re an angel. You’re made to love all God’s creations, and that’s why you love me. It’s in your blood.”

Aziraphale smiled indulgently again, running his thumb over the back of Crowley’s hand in a gentle caress. “No, Crowley, my darling, That’s not why I love you. Nor is it how I love you - not entirely. There’s much, much more to it than that.”

“How - how do you love me, then?”

“I love you with Philia, the sincere love of a friend. You are my best friend, surely you must know that.”

Crowley nodded, looking down at their joined hands. Friendly love. That was all. He felt like crying - and demons didn’t cry.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand again. “I love you Ludus, the playful, teasing love. There’s no one I enjoy playing with more than you, dear. My love for you is also Pragma - everlasting and longstanding, like those redwood trees we saw a documentary about, remember?”

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed, wondering how far he was going to take this.

“But my love for you is Agape, too - selfless and unconditional. I don’t expect anything from you, beloved. I have hopes, certainly, but my love is given without demand or expectation of reward. I simply love you because I love you - and there’s nothing you could do or say to make me stoploving you. And there’s no one else in my heart that way, Crowley. No one else compares - no one else even comes close. They never have.”

Crowley stared at him, still completely stunned. He wanted to believe what he was hearing, wanted to so desperately, and aside from his declaration that they weren’t friends, he’d never known the angel to lie to him. Could it be true? Could this be real?

Aziraphale looked almost sheepish and his voice was low. “There’s another way my love for you is different.”

“H - how?”

“Eros,” he said simply. “Love of the flesh. I want you desperately, beloved. Have done for ages and ages.”

“But you can’t,” Crowley argued, desperate to make this foolish angel understand. “Lust is a sin - a cardinal sin. Especially for an angel.”

“What I feel for you could never be sinful, Crowley. Lust when accompanied with pure love is not a sin, it’s a beautiful thing. And my love for you ispure, my darling. As pure as the driven snow. It’s not wrong to love you. It could never be.”

“You’ll Fall,” he beseeched Aziraphale. “You’ll Fall from Grace and I - I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “If I were going to Fall because I lusted for you, I’d have Fallen years and years ago. I wouldn’t be able to touch you like this,” he said, stroking Crowley’s hand again. “I wouldn’t have been able to kiss you. I’d have discorporated at once and my soul damned to Hell. But it didn’t happen, dear. As you can see, I’m still right here, still as much an angel as ever, and I think that simply proves my original point: You and I - we’re ineffable. We’re meant to be. This is meant to be.”

Crowley was silent, his mind reeling. His heart was absolutely overflowing with love, simply bursting with it, and he had so very much he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Besides, they’re going to leave us alone now.”

“But what if they don’t?” he implored without looking up at Aziraphale’s beautiful face, still afraid of the consequences of what the angel was saying - and that he may surrender to them. “What if they change their mind and come after us - you? Gabriel is a spiteful bitch, you know that. He can’t be pleased with what’s happened.”

Aziraphale snickered. “I think you took excellent care of that when you spit hellfire at him. And I certainly did my best to frighten all of Hell when I was there. They’re terrified of us now, dearest. We’re safe. But Crowley…”

There was something in his voice, some soft entreaty, and Crowley couldn’t help but look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Even if I’m wrong, even if they did come after me, even if God herself suddenly turned Her wrath on me… I wouldn’t regret a moment of this. I’d gladly Fall for you, if that’s what it takes.” He gave a cheeky little grin. “Truth be told, I already fell for you once, about eighty years ago.”

“Bit longer than that for me,” Crowley muttered, then flushed at what he’d revealed.

Aziraphale reached up with his free hand and turned Crowley’s face towards him, then pulled gently at his sunglasses. No being had ever removed his glasses before, and he suddenly felt terribly vulnerable. Exposed. But he didn’t stop the angel from removing them, folding them neatly, and turning to lay them on the end table. When he turned back to Crowley, he smiled. “There. That’s better. I do so love your eyes.”

“You do?”

“Of course. They’re part of you, my darling, and I love every part of you.”

He tried to speak, to bare his soul to this miraculous creature he loved so much. “Aziraphale… angel…”

“Yes, beloved?”

I love you.

You’re everything to me.

I’d rather be discorporated over and over again for eternity than be apart from you for even one day.

I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you.

I love you so much, angel.

No words would come, but it didn’t matter. His daft, beloved angel seemed to understand perfectly. After a little while of silence, Aziraphale smiled warmly and leaned forward, his free hand covering Crowley’s cheek and holding him steady. Crowley thought he might discorporate on the spot out of sheer anticipation, and he drew a sharp, shuddering breath. His eyes fell closed and he felt warm breath ghost against his lips, then the press of Aziraphale’s kiss. This time, when lips slid across his, he responded. The kiss was slow and gentle, tender and sweet - everything countless authors and songwriters have insisted throughout history that a first kiss should be, and Crowley felt something inside him unfurling, opening up, becoming whole.

“That was very nice,” Aziraphale breathed against Crowley’s mouth when the kiss broke a few minutes (or hours, or days) later.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, eyes fluttering open. “That was… heavenly.”

Aziraphale smiled at the little joke. “I hope to be doing a great deal more of that, for a long time to come.”

Crowley just nodded. He wanted that, too. More than almost anything.

“Aziraphale,” he whispered, like a benediction: the holiest word he knew.

“Yes, darling?”

He struggled, still wrestling with the words.

“You know, angel. You have to know how I love you, that my blackened heart and damned soul are yours… You carry them around in one of those bloody snuffboxes you like so much.”

Aziraphale kissed him, slowly and gently. “I love you, too, my darling.”

#good omens #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale x crowley #good omens fic #my fic #my writing #I cannot be convinced that Crowley is not a huge mess of gooey emotions for his angel #this is the hill im dying on #if you like it #please send me prompts!!#thank you for reading <3

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