#of course Chris will catch up with this victim and drink all the blood that is in this body | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chanluster · 4 years

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non ducor duco | {m}

oneshot | historical! au | gang! au | 15.2k words

“The most notorious gang leader in Victorian London can gouge out the eyes of men, steal from the corrupted rich, and terrify an entire city, but cannot figure out a few complicated feelings with you.”

s u m m a r y >> the leader of the sons of seoul, the wanted criminal mastermind, christopher bang, has the courage to commit any deed save for confronting you, his most trusted accomplice, about his feelings. however, when opportunity arises, in the shape of an invitation to a grand seasonal ball, to take down his fated enemy, he takes you to the heart of a lavish estate, both of you unaware of actions that occur inside, and after the mission.

w a r n i n g s >> gonna be using chris instead of chan cause it’s set in 1860s london, chan is a dom of course, jisung and changbin are dumb and dumber, are also massive cockblockers, some cliché scenes cause i’m a sucker for them, sexual! tension!, gore, foul language, making out, dirty talk, aggressiveness, semi-public fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, chan has a thing for being called his korean name, whack spelling for ‘cum’ as ‘come’ cause technically that word didn’t exist in 1860s, there is a plot so there will be build up

a / n > > so i went way over the 10k originally planned lmfaoooo but i hope y’all enjoy this oneshot! i worked my ass off on it and hopefully y’all can appreciate gang leader chan in 1860s london cause honestly i’m a 100% whore for that concept

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IT WAS A UNIVERSAL LAW THAT ONE MUST NEVER FUCK WITH CHRISTOPHER BANG. EVER.

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn. Whatever he had done to you — robbed you, murdered your son, destroyed your entire existence — it did not matter. There were always limits, and trying to challenge this specific criminal would only result in your undoing.

It seemed the target, cornered before you and the very man himself, did not fully understand this order.

Chris Bang, in all his midnight suited glory, took a step towards the cowering man, the ends of his longcoat trailing him in the air. His gloved hands locked behind his back, a grave curve of his lips as he addressed his next victim. “Mr. Shaw, we know you have the documents.”

This said Mr Shaw hastily shook his head, raising his hands in immediate surrender. “Please, Mr. Bang,” he whimpered. “I have no inkling of what you speak of!”

“Don’t you dare lie!” You interjected, sliding out your knife, pointing it towards him. “We received reports of you. Don’t you dare forget the monthly checks we’ve sent for its safekeeping!”

“I was taking care of it, Miss!” He backed further, until the wall of his office stopped his escape. “They came to the office though.”

“Who did?!” You demanded, but the way Chris’s hand fisted in irritancy answered your question.

The Mayor had taken their shares. Once again, the tyrant had robbed them off their fortune.

“Mr. Shaw,” the man beside you started. The raw, dark matter in his voice had the owner’s eyes widening in pure fear. “Who was it specifically?”

“A really large man, about seven foot for sure…God, he had cuts all over his face, slight stubble,” he answered, knees slightly shaking. “Please, Mr. Bang, I have a family, children who have not grown—”

“Why is it that whenever man is at his weakest he mentions his loved ones?” A few stray locks escaped from Chris’ raked hair, caressing the ragged scar from his brow down to his cheek. “Why do you think that I’ll suddenly take pity because you have others who will mourn your existence?”

These questions had the man collapsing, leaning completely against the wall for support. You stole a glance at Chris, wondering if he was now capable of extracting the very souls from men. “Do not keep toying with me, Shaw,” he warned, leaning in slightly. “I know you have information.”

A soft, helpless whine escaped from the owner of the building. “Then-they'll kill me,” he mumbled, looking up at the criminal with desperation. It was a shame that never worked on a man with no sympathy.

“I can kill you too,” Chris countered, and in a flash a sleek, pocket knife appeared in his gloved hand, and hovered it right under Shaw’s chin. “So how about you tell me what you know, and I can prolong your imminent end, hmm? Does that seem fair enough?”

You almost felt sorry for the man. “H-his men…” tears formed in his eyes. “His men kept calling him Carter.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. ‘Scar’ Carter, the Mayor’s link to the crime world, the dirty dealings of London. Carter, the lapdog of the socialites. The most irritating, disgusting son of a bitch you had ever encountered.

“I see.” The knife stayed, caressing the manager’s skin. “Now I know they’re to sell the documents. The bastard is greedy.

“Question is, Shaw, where is the transaction going to take place?”

Dear God, the man looked as if he was about to piss his trousers. “The ball.” He tried to gulp, but felt the curve of the blade. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a masquerade ball in a few days, and Carter already had a client. They’re going to do the dealing there, I swear on my children!”

A harsh scoff emitted from the criminal. “You better hope for the sake of your sons that you aren’t lying.”

“Did you get the invitations?” You asked, eyes darting around the dirtied room, the messy desks and chairs lopsided from your searching.

“Yes, yes!” He pointed to a set of drawers. “There are two in there!”

You walked towards the destination, opening the drawers and sure enough, finding the gold-edged enveloped, addressed to Shaw and his wife. “Are your names inside too?”

“No, just the envelope, but that is not important! I promise!”

You pocketed the invitations inside your coat pocket, joining your leader’s side again. Chris, after a minute of heart-wrenching silence, stood up, freeing Shaw’s neck from the knife, sliding it within his belt.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” His eyes were still upon the man when he said, “Let us return.”

The both of you were ready to leave when you heard Shaw’s sudden protests.

“The Sons of Seoul, everybody!” He declared, almost hysterically. “Coming in, fucking everything up, and leaving as if nothing had ever happened!”

Chris paused in his tracks, a quiet stillness passing over his whole figure.

“What are you going to do now, Mr. Bang?” He hissed, slowly sliding up. “Are you going to infiltrate the biggest ball of the season? Create a bloodbath on the dance floor? It’s what you love to do so ardently, no?”

You heard the harsh spit smack on the office floor. “Stop meddling with the business of the British socialites. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of.” The next words overflowed with hatred. “Go back to where you really came from, you slit-eyed prick.”

Your eyes flashed in shock, swerving around to see the raging expression on Shaw’s beady little face. Fisting your hands, you were ready to knock him out when you felt the man beside you move.

Chris whirled around, eyes promising a horrifying future as he pounced upon the manager.

A yelp was heard as Chris’ fingers dug at the corner of Shaw's eyes, and relished the cries of terror as with a roar of his own, he squeezed with his thumb and forefinger, swelling the balls of vision from their sockets. With a loud pop! the two eyes tore from their origins, gooey residue trailing down his face as Christopher Bang palmed the two organs in his hands.

He observed his victim bellowing in pain as he fell to his knees, hands covering his bloodied sockets. A ghostly smirk accompanied his lips. "Better slit-eyes than none at all."

You had to suppress the severe shivers that threatened to break your stance.

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

He flung the eyes upon the owner, and turned on his heel, eerily cool as he walked out of the office, blood and goo still on his black gloves. Not a hair ruffled upon his pretty head.

You spared a look at the victim, crying out in infinite pain, hands on his sockets still. “Do not fuck with Christopher Bang,” was all you said, before following the devil out of the building.

The afternoon London heat hit you as you exited the offices, Chris waiting as he examined the filthy streets surrounding you. People of all classes strolled by, beggars on the street asking for two-pence, children selling newspapers down the corners, and carriages riding away on the wide roads. The man still did not clean his gloves from the mess, and you pointed this out as you arrived at his side.

“It does not bother me,” he waved you off, but you brought out your leather skin.

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered.

Chris scowled. “I said I’m alright,___.” He began walking forwards, towards your humble abode, not far away from your starting point. “Besides, whoever strolls past us, they’ll second guess their evil intentions against us.” You glanced over the strange looking fellows, scattered across the roads. “Shows I am not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

You felt daggers glaring into you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” you said, turning a corner, already catching sight of the docks. “I expect this behaviour from Jisung. Perhaps even Changbin, but not from you.”

“Enough with this,” the man ordered, irritancy clear in his voice. Grumbling, you walked beside him in silence, the Thames entering your vision. You wished it would have radiated a rich, clear blue body of water, but from the stench which even reached your nose, it would be impossible. The river, a dump for the sewers, the rubbish disposed daily, was a toxic mass of water, and the cause of thousands dying from drinking its contents. When you first joined the Sons you nearly drank from the river, being saved only by Chris’ rough hand slapping the cup away. You remembered you received a harsh scolding from him that day, immediately providing you with clean water after to quench your thirst.

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

You perked your head up to see his filthy, gloved hands out. “What is it?” You asked.

“The water.”An irritated sigh escaped him. “I’ll clean the bloody gloves.”

Your smile grew as you handed him the leather skin. “But only because I don’t ever want to be associated with Jisung and Changbin,” he added, and you only laughed, watching the man rub the mess off his attire as you both arrived at the docks.

The first sounds heard were not of the boats bellowing at port, nor the waves lapping in underneath the stilts.

No, all you were welcomed with was a string of curses, spat by Seo Changbin.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

“Here we go again,” you caught Chris muttering, who quickened his pace, thundering to where the two of his sidemen fought, caught in a scrap.

Han Jisung’s whines were carried through the river air, burning into your eardrums. “Bin, no, I said I’m sorry—!”

When you caught up to Chris, he opened his mouth, exasperation clear in his voice. “Boys!” He exclaimed.

Immediately the fighting ceased. The boys addressed, Changbin atop Jisung, ready to throw the final punch, turned back to see his leader scowling. Jisung let out a yelp, throwing the former from him and scrambling to his feet. Changbin followed suit, a little more slowly after rubbing his side in agony.

“Why the fuck,” Chris started, pointer finger darting between his two men, “Are you both fighting again?”

Changbin, fixing his ruined locks with his hand, shot his best friend a glare. “He took my fucking scones again.” He groaned, much too loud. “God, I specifically stored them in a place where no one would find them, but this greedy pig still managed to snuff them out!”

Jisung, a slender and more comical figure, crossed his arms, raising his chin in stubbornness. “I did not see a bloody name on them! Tell me Bin,” he matched his opponent’s stare. “Did you write down your name with blood-red ink across the scones? Because I certainly did not see the words Seo Changbin scrawled on the surface!”

“Argh!” The elder of the two turned his raging gaze towards the leader, who was watching his subordinates with slight distaste. “Chris, permission to cut off his tongue for being the bane of my existence?!”

Chris only stepped past them, heading for the big wooden table situated near the gang’s warehouse. The sounds of ships sailing in the dirty waters thrummed to the port, shouting heard all around over new, imported goods. “Another time, Changbin,” he only said, bringing out a chair and sitting down, propping an ankle over a knee. “I have encountered enough organ slicing for the day.”

Jisung’s face twisted in awed curiosity, settling himself down beside Chris. “Without me?” he let out a disappointed whine, turning to you. “I trusted you, at least!”

“I was surprised myself, Ji,” you argued, raising a hand towards the aloof man as you sat opposite your friend. “I didn’t know Chris gouged out Shaw’s eyes until they were in his hand!”

“You truly are a selfish man,” Changbin complained, plopping himself on the last seat. “Alway keeping the fun for yourself and ____.”

You did not really know why your face flushed a little at his charge, but you made sure to whack Changbin in the gut, earning a pained groan from the boy.

Chris locked his hands upon the table. “Well, gentlemen, then it is time for you to join in on the entertainment.”

The two boys exchanged confused glances. On cue, you brought out the pair of invitations within your coat pocket, tossing them to the table. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a ball,” you explained, rolling your eyes at the boys tearing open the envelopes, yanking out the oblong, cartridge paper, details inked with a precise hand. “Since it does not have names, anyone can enter the estate.”

Jisung let out an excited yell, grabbing onto Changbin’s arm. “Binnie, we can actually have some fun!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Chris said, tightening his gloves. “The invitations are not yours.”

Changbin’s face immediately fell. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

The elder held out a finger, silencing the complaints, but not the quiet grumbling of his members. “As I was saying,” he continued, hands interlocking once more, “____ and I will use the invitations to get inside, with the two of you as our bodyguards.”

“Marvellous!” Jisung exclaimed, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. “Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Jisung,” Chris warned, “How about you clean the shit off the docks instead?”

“Chan,” you murmured, causing him to glance at you. His sour expression almost softened at the word, the name which only few have ever said to him. You pondered at the time the two boys, sat to your right, tried teasing him with this name, and nearly earned an ass-beating. You, on the other hand, rather liked the way the name sounded on your tongue.

Perhaps, you wished dearly, he liked the way it sounded on your tongue too.

The man, after a pause, averted his eyes from you, focusing them on his comrades. “You both can still enjoy the festivities, but you have to keep a low profile, because while ____ and I are socialising and distracting the guests, you both need to find Carter.”

“Is he at the party too?” Changbin propped his elbows on the table. “Lord above, I’ve been wanting to kick his arse for a while.”

“So you both just frivol away, then?” Jisung whined. “I want to drink and dance!”

“And you both will,” Chris persisted. “We all will keep a lookout for Carter and his dealings, and if any of us find him first, you report to me. At my signal, you and Changbin will break through their trade. I will be behind you as long as I slip away without anyone discovering our motives.”

You look to your leader. “There’s another problem.”

The three all turned to you. “If we are to go to the most lavish ball of the season, we certainly need to dress for it.” Suddenly, you sounded like a little girl when you pointed out, “I do not have a gown to wear for the evening.”

An eyebrow raised upon Chan’s face, while Changbin and Jisung snickered, puckering their lips. “Aww, poor little ____ has no lace to woo the rich men!”

You made to slap the pair’s arms and narrowly missed, glaring. “As if you animals have any decent attire to wear for the ball! When was the last time you wore a proper tailcoat?”

That was enough for their teasing to cease, but Changbin was adamant. “Don’t throw me in with Jisung! He doesn't even bother to shower!”

“Oi, you bastard!”

The pair were ready to fight once more when Chris cleared his throat.

“You’re right,____.”

A glance at the man who said it. “I have only seen you in stealth gear and rags, the first time I met you.” He leaned back in his creaking chair. “Perhaps it is time to flower you up a little.”

Jisung and Changbin were about to chuckle once again when you shot them a dirty look.

“I will order evening attire tomorrow,” Chris decided. “They will arrive on the day of the ball, which is adequate enough timing.

“Now,” he declared, standing. “Are we all aware of what we have to do?”

The two boys turned sheepishly to you, who sighed and addressed the leader. “You and I attend the ball with these two fools as our bodyguards—”

“Hey!”

“____!”

“We maintain a believable facade and enjoy ourselves while also looking out for Carter and the documents. Once we find out where he is, Changbin and Jisung take him away, and we slip out of the party unnoticed.”

Chris, after a pause, nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he left the table, your eyes a little wide and heart a little raced.

When Chris retreated into the warehouse, the two boys turned their malicious gazes towards you, smirking much too wide for your liking.

“Do not,” you snapped, cheeks burning deeper, earning a smattering of laughter from the bastards.

“Whatever you say, good girl,” Changbin simpered, Jisung repeating the damned endearment until you hastily stood from your chair.

You rewarded them both with your middle finger before storming back into another warehouse, Chris’ words still engraved in your mind.

Just as Christopher Bang had predicted, the new attire arrived on the day of the ball.

More planning had been explained, more additions to the grand scheme of the evening which was mere hours away. The gang was ready, but you can never be perfectly anticipated for any ideas gone amiss.

You even taught Jisung and Changbin to dance, ranging from the Polka to the Viennese Waltz, which was popular amongst high society in the growing years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They were terrible at the start, both of them always falling on each other, but with hard effort they learned quickly, almost perfecting the art of leading your partner on the ballroom floor.

You had not bothered asking the other if he wished to learn. There was something about him which made you think that he could do anything. Not once had he ever doubted your theory.

It was as if there was nothing in the world he could not know like the back of his gloved hand.

Thoughts like these were what filled you with such awe for him. Such deep-rooted pride that you worked under this man. Those thoughts did, however, curve into darker corners — when his midnight-lined eyes and raven figure haunted you in restless nights.

You aggressively shook your head, swinging your legs over the dock. Sitting upon the wood, you watched the sun descend slowly, the stark yellows and whites of the sky beginning to darken. Ships docked and stayed, men with their filthy language and filthier intentions flocked outside, and strange women with too-tight corsets and lips too rosey, smirking at the newcomers, carrying out their own ways of living.

Sometimes, you’d watch this run-down life move on in this exact same spot, thanking the lucky stars for not being one of the boys with the weights on their backs, nor the girls with the untied top corsets. You thanked the same man, who brought you out of that hell, giving you the chance to fight all this wrong embedded in London.

You also thanked him, especially that day, for calling you that endearment.

God. The man was a criminal, yet you were the one being imprisoned.

“____!”

You turned, heaving to your feet when you see Jisung running to you, packages in his hands. “Your gown’s inside!” He exclaimed, gummy smile lighting up his entire face.

Throwing you the box, you caught it just before it flew into the Thames, shooting the boy a wary glare. “Careful,” you said, looking over the silk ribbon tied into a perfect bow upon the middle. Although there were greater happinesses in life, small ones such as new dresses had you in near giggles.

“I’ve got my very own tailcoat now,” Jisung yelled, ripping open the packaging, about to whip out his new clothing when you waved him to stop.

“Do it inside, Ji, or you’ll ruin your outfit!”

“Trust him to fuck up a perfectly new suit before trying it on,” Changbin’s voice drawled through the dock, who held a box of his own. “Also, the boss is saying to quit dallying and start dressing!”

You obliged, holding onto your box tenderly as you entered a little building beside the main warehouse, consisting of everyone’s rooms and privies. Your eyes glanced to Chris’ bedroom door before pushing open the door to yours, stepping inside to the small, yet decorated space, filled with a board of knives and bows displayed upon one wall and an erratic strokes of paint brushed along the textured surfaces, courtesy of Jisung and Changbin’s lack of motivation to finish your room. An undone bed was tucked into the corner, and a large mirror stood on its curled railing in the other corner, revealing yourself, hands underneath the package.

The sun fell further, sky being painted with dark oranges and purple and pinks, staining your bedroom the colours of soft autumn as you put your package on the bed, untying the ribbon and unboxing the whole treat.

The first glance of the dress had you smiling in pure incitement.

You brought the dress out of its box, letting it trail free right down to your toes, holding it to arm’s length to examine the details : it was a mysterious, dark red, a colour which instantly attracted attention within the golds of the ballroom. The neck line was low, dipping just enough to tempt until it swelled over for the openings for the arms, black ruffles on the fabric to accentuate off shoulders. The intricate, midnight detail was stitched to perfection, creating a network of swirls upon the bodice before flaring out into the wider skirts. Dear God, you had never seen such an exquisite dress on any noble lady in this damned city.

Your smile grew a little wider. Christopher Bang, once again, has not disappointed.

You turned it on it’s back, mouth parting in surprise at the silk lacing, undone and trailing down the dress, waiting to be tied and admired. Realising that we’re you to wear this, the entire ball would see your back half-exposed. Even the man you’re to be escorted with.

The thought alone made your insides sing.

Chris had ordered this dress. He knew what he was acquiring for you, what he asked you to dare.

Well, you were happy to oblige. Something within you wished to see his eyes blaze at you in the gown.

Closing the curtains of your room, you quickly lit up a metallic lamp, orange light leaking onto your dresser and walls. Setting the source upon a stool, you began shedding your coat, tossing it on the bed before going to the dresser.

You spent about ten minutes on your hair, lifting locks upward and curling them into a messy bun. You brought out clips of pearls, attaching them at the back of your hair, letting the few stray curls bounce along your ears and neck.

After finishing your hair you began shedding your clothing, excitement rushing in your gut at the thought of wearing the ballgown. When you were adorned in nothing but your underthings, you grabbed onto the arms of the new dress, entering one leg into the opening before sliding the other. You raised the gown, fitting the bodice upon yourself and the short sleeves cuffing just under your shoulders.

Looking over your shoulder at the back, it was bare before the mirror, saving your rear only with a small dip which was edged with more black lace. The laces for tightening the back still hung uselessly, begging to be entangled with their partners.

And you tried to oblige. You truly did, straining your hands behind your back and trying your hardest to tie the laces with the opposites, of creating a pattern adequate enough for the ball and announce your preparation. Unfortunately for you, your fingers refused to assist you that moment in the evening.

Letting out an irritated sigh, you called for your friends.

“Jisung!” you shouted, hands endeavouring still. “Changbin!”

Your back still to the door, you waited for the two fools to arrive, but no one came. Again, you called their names, but to no avail, only silence answering you.

“I swear to the Lord,” you muttered, arms now starting to hurt from the stretching. You were about to bring the warehouse down with your roar when you heard the door quietly creak open, the sound of boots emitting against the floor.

“Ah, finally,” you began as you turned around, hands clutching the bodice of the dress, ready to be irritated by your comrades when all words abandoned your tongue.

There, standing by the door, in all his midnight-tainted glory, was Chris Bang.

You hated how your eyes widened at the sight of him.

The man always took care of his appearance, but that evening he had truly outdone himself - His infamous woollen longcoat was hung over his arm, exposing his black tailcoat, shining slightly in the flickering lamp light. His waistcoat underneath fit snug, and his white cravat tie peaked just above the lapels, caressing his Adam’s apple. His raven locks were slicked back, a few stray flyaways drooping over his forehead. The gloves were worn still, skin never exposed.

You caught his eyes flicker, something within stirring at seeing you, holding onto your dress in case it fell to the floor. The prolonging silence was shattered when you forced yourself to speak.

“Chris,” you said, because his name was the first thing, the only thing you could comprehend.

He, too, inhaled, slowly. “Jisung and Changbin...they’re outside, so they could not hear.”

“Oh.”

Another round of silence. God, you wished you could just say something to him, anything which wasn’t a single syllable—

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

Blinking, you stumbled, “I, I just needed help with…” your hand gestured to your back. “...with the laces.”

There was an indecipherable undertone in his next words. “You could have called me.”

“You’re here now.”

Again. The world-heavy pause upon the both of you.

A few more seconds ticked by when Chris set his coat upon the dresser chair. His eyes never left yours.

“Turn around.”

You dragged your gaze away from his as you complied, baring your back before him, laces dangling. His footsteps sounded from behind you, and his presence was felt, large and magnetic.

Leather sliding from skin, you sensed his eyes on you, taking in your illuminated skin. You had the greatest urge to shiver, but suppressed it, waiting for his next move.

A small breath hitched in your throat when Chris grabbed onto the first pair of laces and tugged them back, pulling you to him.

Almost too conveniently, your rear backed against his crotch, and a minute noise escaped you before putting some distance between you two again. You instantly regretted the action, already missing the mere caress of what lay underneath his trousers.

“Stop fidgeting,____,” he ordered, and you immediately stilled, the tug still adamant at your back. Almost disgraceful how quickly you listened to him.

Slowly, he tied the first bow, right to the small of your back. When he started on the second, though, the first touch of his fingers against your back threw you off guard.

You should have expected this. You should have known from the start of his task that his fingers would graze your skin but each caress was like a lick of fire, threatening to singe the skin. Your breath caught in your throat, each time Chris touched you.

Those damned fingers skirted upwards, tying up the laces with such delicacy it nearly softened your stance, if only you didn’t notice his growing warmth. You realised with no small amount of pleasure that he, too, was possibly flustered.

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

You almost gasped when his hands brought a few stray curls over your shoulder, the dip of your neck exposed as he began the final bow of your gown. The process was excruciatingly slow, each little caress enough for you to turn around and—

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out.

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood.

“It is done,” he whispered, and you shifted at the sigh which kissed your skin. God, he was so close, you were scared that if you turned around his lips—

You did not need to worry when you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, whirling you around in a sudden fashion. Your eyes widened at the close proximity of his face, his beautiful fucking face, and the warm, slender hands on your naked shoulders.

“Chan,” you let yourself say, and you swore the criminal’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened.

Perhaps he would have closed the distance, saved you from desperation when someone knocked on the goddamn door.

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

You yelped at the sound of your friends bellowing behind the door. Even Chris looked a little surprised, a slight tick in his jaw as the noise grew louder.

Grabbing onto your skirts, you thundered towards the door, furrowing your brows as you twisted the knob, opening to see the same two idiots, shooting you irritated glares.

“Is Miss Fancy-Shmancy finally ready?” Changbin drawled, propping a hand upon his hip, tails of his coat dangling behind him.

“Madame certainly took her time,” Jisung went on, sauntering into your bedroom without a care. “Might as well not attend the ball at all—”

His incessant rambling was instantly ceased when he saw Chris standing before you, putting on his gloves. His face was impassive as ever, save for the jaw still tightened.

“Oh, Chris,” he said, and started backing away to the door. “The carriage is outside.”

“Let us go, then,” he only replied as he grabbed his longcoat, strolling out of your bedroom, leaving your skin tingling and heart confused.

Changbin watched Chris exit the building, turning to you with a raised brow. “What was the Mr. Thorns-up-his-arse doing in your room?”

You scoffed at the nickname, picking up the invitations from the dresser. “He was just helping me.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a smirk. “Helping you…?”

“Stop it!” You demanded, but both of the boys could see the blush on your cheeks, even from the dim lamp light.

“Come on, now,____,” Changbin said, holding out an arm, and hitting Jisung’s arm to do the same. “Let us follow Chris before he shouts at us for keeping you here.”

“Don’t say such things,” you cooed, looping your arms with the two boys. “He will kill you outright instead.”

Laughter emitted from the two, leading you out of the room, down the halls and soon the building.

The carriage was waiting at the entrance of the dock, horses neighing softly at your arrival. Jisung opened the carriage door, letting you climb inside. Chris, inside already, held out a hand, you taking it as he had you sit beside him. His hard figure brushed against your shoulders, reminding you of his fingers on your back not too long ago.

Just like that, you slumped against the seating. That man was truly going to be the death of you.

When the two boys scrambled inside, Chris’ hand thudded against the roof, indicating it to start riding. The carriage obliged to his command.

The small, interwoven streets widened as the carriage rode upon the main roads, going faster with each signal of Chris’ hand. The inside was alive with Jisung gloating shamelessly over his checkered waistcoat, with Changbin giving reassurances for his “ugly face ruining the clothing.” You laughed at every jab the two threw at each other, but would tense at the erratic touches Chris’ knee would send with every shake of the vehicle. Although the many layers of skirts cushioned these brushes, the blood rushing to your cheeks was evidence enough - everything he did made you so unhinged.

Soon, the big roads led from filthy, back-to-back housing to larger homes, the further the dirty central city strayed from you. A few touches of countryside teased your view when you saw mansions, estates the size of neighbourhoods gracing the surroundings. The carriage began to slow down, as more people adorned in fine attire entered your window view, no doubt going to the same destination as the gang.

The most illuminated estate welcomed you as the carriage stopped right before its vast, colourful gardens, smattering of couples taking intimate walks along the hedges. Chris, noticing the destination, opened the door, Changbin following suit. As the former got out he held out his hand to you. Surprised by his sudden manners, you took his hand, stepping down from the carriage, careful of your skirts as they brushed against the pavement. Jisung and Changbin were right beside you, uttering the driver to come back within a couple of hours.

“Now,” Chris began, bringing your hand to his arm. “You both stay behind me and ____. You wouldn’t need invitations if you both act like our bodyguards.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Jisung chanted, counting his knives inside his coat pockets. Changbin took one of the weapons from him, sliding it up his trouser sleeve, securing it with a leather ankle strap.

“Right.” the gang all looked at each other, silent understanding passing between all of you.

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

With your hand still on his arm, the leader of the Sons of Seoul led his gang inside of the massive estate.

Guards at the entrance shot you grave looks as they stopped you. “Invitations,” they said. You obliged, bringing out the golden paper. They looked over, convinced, and gave them back to you.

You and Chris were about to enter when Jisung and Changbin were stopped behind you. “Protection,” Chris said, but the guards were unconvinced.

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

Dread, slight yet present, began to fill your stomach. Has the mission failed before it could even begin?

“I suggest you let them in, too,” Chris only said, black eyes piercing the two men with a glare. “Or my friend hosting this party will hear of this inconvenience.”

That seemed to stir the guards, for they said nothing more, letting your friends enter the estate. Jisung and Changbin made sure to smirk at the men before sauntering inside behind you.

Your eyes, upon stepping inside the main hall, were welcomed with paradise.

Gold. gold upon gold was painted, lined, moulded everywhere, upon the walls, on the floor, on the painted ceiling, hypnotising you with its kaleidoscopic pattern. Swirls of white and silver journeyed along the walls, and the floor bore solid treasures, sculpted into the ground and shining exquisitely from the chandelier lighting. Hundreds of lords and ladies, businessmen and escorts populated the manor, either being moved by the orchestral band, dancing, helping themselves to food from the lines of dishes or simply mingling among others.

It was the chaos of the rich. A place you didn’t quite fit in.

You stole a glance at the man beside you. Even though he looked contained as ever, you felt his arm tightening all over. Perhaps he knew he did not belong in this world either.

The grim understanding was cut off when Changbin’s shrill gulp sounded from behind you.

“Scones!”

The man immediately dashed towards the food section, earning blatant laughter from his friends as Jisung stepped beside Chris. “Once he’s done stuffing himself, we’ll get into positions.” He skirted his eyes over the buzzing crowd. “I have already spotted some of Carter’s men in different corners of the hall, so we can see where they’re going to go.”

“Any signs of Carter?” you asked, already feeling suggestive eyes on your body, the dark red curves of your figure.

“He’ll show himself soon,” Chris promised, beginning to take a step forward. “The bastard thrives in attention.” He turned to Jisung. “Make yourself scarce.”

He then saw Changbin making himself much too comfortable with the jam scones rapidly declining in his wake. “And for God’s sake, control Changbin.”

Jisung shook his head, mocking a salute before strolling to his friend. You and him were left to your own activities, and soon you felt the tug of his body, leading you further into the hall.

You looked up to see him scouring the room. His brows furrowed slightly, that stiffness felt underneath your fingertips. “Chris,” you called to him, and were answered with an uncertain stare.

“I’m alright,” he said, walking along the lines of the dance floor, looking away when he gave you the false assurance.

You did not know what was going on. In other missions his composure would never falter — this was what he was so notorious for, being calm despite the anarchy around him. Never before had you seen him so tense.

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he hissed, raking his hand through his hair. “Looking at me that way. Like I’m about to snap.”

A pout formed on your lips, looking up at him underneath your lashes. “I can sense you’re distressed.” You squeezed his arm in comfort. “I cannot help if I worry for you, Chris.”

With small surprise, you found him soften, only slightly. “I just…” he sighed in exasperation. “I hate parties.”

You understood the connotations. Wealthy parties. The men and women who throw them.

“And I, too,” you agreed, earning a soft snort from the man. Your heart warmed a little at the sound, and thankfully the tension faded between the two of you, not necessarily from each other but from the socialites around you.

Your heart, however, received no such rest, beating much too loud for your liking.

The two of you took another turn of the room before a low, arrogant drawl paused you both in your tracks.

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously.

Turning, you tilted your head upwards to none other than ‘Scar’ Carter, smirking ridiculously down at the the two of you. He was something out of a children’s book, the grotesque villains with wanned skin and beady looks, ready to pounce and make you disappear without you ever realising. Although young, he looked to be in his mid-forties, unkept locks and curled moustache, being played by his fingers.

He held out his other hand, extending the smile to the man beside you. “Always a goddamned blessing to see you.”

Chris assessed his hand for a moment before he let go of your grip on his arm, slipping off his gloves. His own olive coloured hands were roughened, no doubt from years of manual labour. He took Carter’s hand, shaking the greeting in place, and the latter turned his enemy’s hold, looking over at the new image inked upon the hand.

“What is this, Chrissy?” He mused, the nickname causing the said-man’s lips to twitch. “Some flowery poetry?”

Your eyes strayed to what he meant; just under his thumb, where the joint began, was a tattoo, inked deeply in a cursive hand. It was a phrase you had never knew the meaning of, nor had you asked, but the Latin was beautiful on his textured skin.

NON DUCOR DUCO.

“Not poetry, Carter,” he only said, tracing his sole tattoo with a finger. “But something I live by.”

Despite Carter towering over the man, Chris Bang pinned him with a piercing glare. His signature phantom smile appeared on his lips.

“I am not led. I lead.”

The giant’s shit-eating grin faltered. You could not help but let a small chuckle escape at his reaction.

And maybe you shouldn’t have shown amusement, because when he focused his animalistic gaze upon you, you had the sudden urge to hold onto the man beside you again.

“Ah, Miss ____,” he jeered, mocking a deep bow which you did not return. “Chris’ little...protégée.”

He then held out his hand to you, and you knew it was not to shake the gnarled fingers. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with you?”

You scoffed, anger bubbling within your veins. How dare he even ask you, after all the trouble he had caused for the gang? Smirking as if it was all a little game.

Your mouth parted, ready to reject him outright when a warm hand settled on your back.

Chris’ fingers stroked the exposed skin, skirting over the lacing, and despite the heavenly feeling, you knew what this signal really meant.

Distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity to divert Carter’s attention while Chris joined in the other’s search. Listening to the instrumental, you realised that would spare them another five minutes.

Reigning in your fury, you offered the bastard a thin-lipped smile before taking his hand, already missing the mere touch of another seconds before.

Carter led you to the dance floor among the other dancers, you hardly radiating the same enthusiasm as the others accompanying you. The man’s other hand, one still holding yours, snaked around your waist, and you hated how it felt against your back, pure distaste staining your features as he tried to impersonate the idle lace curling that Chris did.

As if it physically hurt, you propped a hand upon his shoulder, and when the music began, the game started.

The giant kept ogling at you as the sly grin appeared on his lips. “I must say, I am very envious of Chris.”

You matched his stare. “Of course you would,” you only said, trying your best to sound like your leader, who was an embodiment of calmness. “You can never be the man Chris is.”

“Oh, I did not mean by what he is, my lady,” he corrected. “I meant by what he has.”

He pulled you to him, much to close, and you hissed as the fingers behind you played on your back. “He is much too lucky to possess a creature like you, Miss ____.”

Good God. If he endeavoured to make you as uncomfortable as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You regretted ever listening to Chris, but for the plan, you will do what is necessary.

As if on cue, you felt dark, piercing eyes on you. By the little hairs which stood at the back of your neck, there was no doubt who watched over you, murmuring progress with Jisung as he sipped wine on a tightly held flute.

“Tell me, sweet,” he began once more, making you lose your thoughts, turning about the room as the music went on. “Why do you work for a man like him?”

You sighed at the question. Truly this man did not know how to initiate small talk. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Because I’ve seen you in action,” he answered, and you could not mistake the awe that threatened to expose in his voice. “You have incredible potential, my lady, and it pains me that Chris does not use you properly. You waste your efforts in a silly gang.”

His condescending speech made you dig his nails in his hand. “Careful, Carter,” you seethed, watching his face crumple in pain from your action. “The silly gang you speak of will not hesitate to obliterate your entire organisation. And neither will I.”

Rage flashed in his eyes as he grinned at your claim. “I doubt the esteemed Christopher Bang would even let you participate,” he drawled, grazing his fingers against your back. “You being his whore is enough for him.”

You parted your mouth in slight shock. The reaction quickly evaporated with pure, unadulterated fury. A lot of people speculate your true relationship with Chris, but your own demeaning always struck deep. How dare people think that you only have the power you have because you slept with the greatest criminal in the city?

With your head raging, you sent your low heel down upon Carter’s boot, a yelp escaping the man as his dancing faltered, grip on you loosening. Fortunately for you, the orchestra smoothed their music to a close, and small applause rang around the room, you joining as you smiled at Carter’s slight groaning.

When the giant looked at you again, all his arrogance was gone, instead a face of wrath. “You bitch-”

You were sure he was going to strike, despite hundreds in the ballroom. Even your smug demeanour dampened when you saw his bear-like hand raise when its journey was paused.

Ceased completely as Chris’ hand wrapped around Carter’s wrists.

Your leader’s smile was sharp, like a decorated dagger. “Are you already creating a scene, just when you finished the first dance?”

Carter, dumbfounded by his enemy’s sudden presence, waved off the foreign grip on his hand. “You are never going to find the documents,” he crowed, glaring at the two of you.

Chris, the magnificent bastard, only kept his magnetic smirk as he took your hand, enveloping his fingers with yours. “We shall see about that,” he promised, and dipped his head in adieu, turning on his heel and taking you with him.

You felt your heart flutter when his grip on you stayed, even when Carter stomped off into the crowd. “Bastard,” you hissed. A hum of agreement followed.

Soon, music began to play a sensual tune, and you looked to the couples joining in the main circle of the floor. You made to leave that area when you felt the man refused to be led.

You looked back, noticing an uncertain emotion swirling in his eyes. “The dance is about to begin.”

“So?” he merely said, hands still clasping yours. The people around you began to take positions.

“Chris,” you got out. “You do not dance.”

A small smile enveloped his mouth at the claim. He answered in wrapping a hand around you, making you suck in a breath. You caught sight of the tattoo inked on his skin as he raised his hold on. NON DUCOR DUCO.

I am not led. I lead.

“You’re right,” he admitted. As the first tune of the violin settled in the ballroom, the man took a step. “But I let it slide on special occasions.”

You did not reply, only staring at him as you happily let him turn you about the dance floor.

Your assumptions were correct - Chris Bang was a wonderful dancer. The man already possessed a natural smoothness in his usual movement, but the way he led you across the room gave fluidity another meaning entirely. His hand on your back was an anchor to reality, keeping you from dreaming away in the skies above, and his fingers, interlocked with yours, were a silent promise that he was never letting you go.

You were so caught up in your fantasies that you did not hear what Chris said until he called your name.

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

“Did Carter say anything to you?” His fingers on your exposed skin began to caress you, and it took a lot within you to stay calm. “You were seething while you both danced.”

Oh, so he was watching you. The information didn’t help your nerves. “He was being his usual, charming self,” you drawled, careful of your feet.

He paused a bit at your unhelpful answer. “I see,” he got out, index curling with the ribbon of your back. You let out a shuddered breath, not going unnoticed by the man.

You changed the subject, focusing on the mission. “Are Jisung and Changbin still searching for the documents?”

Chris, on the note, twirled you delicately, and brought you back into his arms. “They have discovered the hideout, and have taken down half the men,” he informed, and you sighed in relief. “They’ll find what we’re looking for soon.”

“I hope so, too,” you murmured, listening to the music ascend in its pitch.

So much finery radiated in this room. As your eyes drifted to the surroundings once more, you became slightly envious of the family fortunate enough to reside in this estate, and drink in the liquid gold splattered everywhere in the vast hall. Complaints were heard from a rather nasty woman, who screamed at a young servant for spilling wine on her oh so expensive dress, and the jewellery which glittered upon necks and ears.

This. you hated this. Despised the wealth which accumulated in this ball, this entire neighbourhood. Not months ago you were about to die from the lack of food in your stomach. No doubt these people simply relished another one of these many balls, occurring every season.

It was the only reason the Sons of Seoul existed in the first place. To battle the ranks of the rich, and establish a sense of justice which had long faded from London.

Perhaps Chris sensed your growing disgust at the environment, for he sighed. “I hate these people.”

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

His touches still had you nearing closer to him as he continued, “I hate how everyone here can simply enjoy themselves without a care in the world. I hate the Mayor for letting this chaos happen as he sits back on his arse, corruption spiking under his office.”

His anger grew. “I hate that pig-headed prick Carter and all the trouble he’s brought me. I hate that he stole those documents and constantly fucks with me as if we two had not crawled out of the same hellhole.

“And God,” he snapped, pure venom now lacing his tongue, “I hate how he was touching you as if you were no one but his.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

He groaned out in frustration, fingers tightening on your hand. “I hate how Jisung and Changbin walked in on us this evening. Despise that the moment I was about to close the distance they burst through the door, leaving me helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.”

You did not know what to say, what words to comfort him with. Not when you were thinking the exact same thing, and felt the exact same agitation, particularly at your core.

The man leaned in, eyes heavy lidded. “You know what I hate the most, ____?”

Gulping, you let out a little, “What?” afraid of what he was going to reveal.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, fingers continuing their teasing.

“I-” he seethed, gripping your back tightly. “Fuck, I hate how ravishing you look in that dress.”

You parted your mouth in shock, blushing the colour of roses. “Why do you hate that?” you only asked, breath almost lost in your lungs as your blood began to thrum beneath your skin.

His eyes lost all dreamy light when a small curve enveloped his lips. “Because, my dear ____,” he muttered hoarsely, each breath ragged, “It makes me think of all the things I want to do to you.”

The strong hand on his back was felt much more, fingers playing with the laces of your dress. You nearly cried out in front of a hundred people over their idle play, and his bold, bold statement.

Chris relished in your whimpering reaction. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he whispered, leaning in till his mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you not want to know what I wish to do to you?”

“What,” you rasped out, grip tightening over his neck. “What are you going to do?”

His husky chuckling nearly sent you over the edge. “I’ll find a nice little space, away from Carter and all these people,” he began, breath caressing your skin. “Then I’ll kiss you slowly, like so.” he pressed a chaste kiss underneath your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “These hands of mine will roam all over, but they will gladly trail up your legs, ____.

“And God, when my hands stop at your sopping cunt, I’ll make it cry with my fingers.” He drummed his fingers on your back. “One.” Tap. “Two.” Tap. “Three of them.” Tap. “Perhaps you’d like more.”

You whined into his shoulder, feet stumbling as you clung onto him tighter. “M-more,” you pleaded quietly, so careful to keep dancing, move along to the music.

“Of course you would,” he only cooed in your ear, and you were scared you would collapse over his words. “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t be finished with you either.”

Your hand, clasped in his his, squeezed at his words. “Chris, please—”

“Yes, just like that,” the man mused, whirling you on the dance floor. “Just like that, you’ll beg me to send you over the edge, but I won’t let you be satisfied so easily.”

On God and all his subjects, if he did not cease his filth you were going to come onto the floor by his mere words. You could tell Chris noticed, almost reading your mind as the ghost of a smirk widened. “Already afraid, love?”

Love.

Dear, fucking God.

“You see, ____,” he muttered, leading you to the final round of the song, the steps of the dance going faster. “I won’t let you be satiated with just my fingers.”

And as he broke his hold on you, twirling you with his tattooed hand, he pulled you to him, one last time, crushing you against his granite chest.

His eyes bore into yours when the last string of the violin wailed around the hall. All you could see was pure, unadulterated desire.

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

Your eyes never left Chris’ as the music finally came to a close, gaze blurring at the dark promise. Applause scattered around the ballroom, yet your hands stayed upon his arm, the other enveloped in his.

You caught the words once more under his thumb. NON DUCOR DUCO.

Indeed you do.

“Chris,” you breathed out, waiting for him to let you go. He did no such thing.

Feeling a few suspicious eyes on you, your feet backed away from the man, hands escaping the feeling he emitted underneath your touch.

A whine threatened to escape you when you saw his desire had not dampened. His hands shook, only slightly, and your stomach erupted into a million butterflies, journeying lower and lower.

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly you feared you would faint on the dance floor.

Excusing yourself, you hastened your footsteps, sending a few smiles to passerbys as you picked up a flute of champagne, hurrying down long hallways, catching a few couples leaning towards each other. When you found a grand wooden cabinet beside another door, no doubt a guest room, you slumped next to it, breathing loud and ragged, too affected by a certain man’s eyes and the hidden intentions underneath. You drank the entire champagne in one gulp, propping the flute on a servant’s tray as he rushed by.

“____!”

Gasping, you turned to the source of the voice. The voice which filled you with such unexplainable hunger you had to clench your thighs as it drew nearer.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet, and you squirmed at the sight of Chris Bang, storming towards you with a ferocity which had your knees near buckling.

“Where,” he began, voice an octave lower as he stood not a foot from you, smacking his hands against the wall, caging you with his presence. “Were you trying to lead me?”

“Somewhere where they cannot see us,” you responded, excitement clear in your voice. The ballroom chatter was still within your range, so technically, anyone could wonder down these halls, look over the cabinet and catch you both.

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care.

“And what do you want me to do,____,” he murmured, and his voice was glazed with pure lust, “Which the world cannot see?”

“I…” slight shame tried to course through your body but the overflowing desire was too strong. Not when your tongue was not afraid to voice what was in your heart the moment you first saw him. “I want you to do all those things you said. I want you to ruin me.”

And perhaps that was all he needed, when Christopher Bang pressed his lips against yours and answered your prayers.

He was instantly rewarded with your surprised whine, drowned out by the movement of his mouth as his hands left the wall, holding onto your face. His thumbs caressed your cheeks as he led the fiery kiss, opening your mouth to let the little noises escape.

“Chris,” you tried to rasp out, but his lips refused once more as he tilted your head, gaining full access and truly discovering the sheer pleasure oozing from the swell of your lips. God, he had gone through every experience which gave him a sense of thrill, but the kiss he shared with you brought him a new, foreign high — as if he tried the drugs he had seen on the streets for the first time, and becoming addicted on the first dose.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air as the two of you shared a carnal gaze, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm. Chris was ruthless, only sparing you for a few seconds before pouncing back in on your mouth, this time tongue playing along, asking to be let inside and slide along the inner workings. You would have been a fool to refuse him.

The moment you opened your lips for him his tongue slithered inside, sliding it along the roof of your mouth, while his hands left your face and instead gripped onto your waist, driving you further against the wall, snuffing out any distance which dared come between you and him.

A slightly moan bubbled within your throat when he began to roughen your lips, capturing your tongue before closing the seam of your mouth within his own, repeating the action until you didn’t know whether you were sane or absolutely fucking crazy.

You were sure straight after when one of his hands began sliding down. Down. He hurriedly broke the kiss, letting out an angry groan at the never ending skirts which met with his fingers. “Fuck this dress,” he cursed as he descended a little, peppering kisses upon the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, trailing until he found the hem of your skirts.

Bunching them up with his one hand, he lifted the fabric, baring your legs to the dimmed chandelier light from the main hall. His hand trailed right up to your core, a single layer hiding it from Chris’ fingers. The poor, soaked fabric could not ever compete, when the criminal, with a single finger as he scattered kisses upon your face, hooked under the lacey underwear, sliding it down your thighs. So much desperation lurked he did not even bother to slide it down to your ankles, a chuckle rasping out of him as his fingers skimmed your upper thighs to find them dripping with the suppressed arousal.

“My poor, poor, darling,” he whispered in a menacing tone, the other hand caressing your face, “Couldn’t contain yourself for me?”

“Ch-chan,” you heard yourself say, because at this point your soul was not present, probably lurking in seventh heaven where this man was taking you.

Hearing his name on your slurred mouth only had him plunging the first finger inside you.

You let out an obscenely loud moan, which was immediately followed by hushing. “Don’t make a sound,” he demanded, smiling slyly at your whimpering, “Or else I stop. Understand?”

You could not nod fast enough, and he huffed out a laugh before sliding the second finger in, rubbing against your slit, drawing circles upon your throbbing skin, testing the rather sticky waters of you and your fucked out state.

Satisfied, he delved the two fingers in deeper, pulsating against your walls until they hit a certain spot which had you crying out in pleasure. Chris’ heavy lidded warning flashed in his eyes.

You nearly cried when he began to slide his fingers out over your moaning, your hand immediately stopping him from pulling out further. “Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, pleaded like the whores you heard on the docks, but you didn’t care, did not give a single fuck when those fingers needed to be inside you again. “Chan, please, I’m sorry—”

“One more fuck up, ____, and these—” his fingers plunged back into you once more, hitching you upwards with the sheer force, “—will be back out.”

Nodding hastily, you left your hand on his wrist. Chris continued to work so deliciously inside you that it took every ounce of strength left in you not to bring the manor down with your moaning. The whimpering could not be contained, but the criminal let that slide, finding great contentment every time you begged for more.

He curled his slender fingers, acquainting himself with that same bloody spot which had you seeing stars. Your hands gripped onto his neck for stability, nails digging into his shirt. How you wanted it off, along with all the damned layers he adorned.

The way he played with your sweet spot had you feeling heavy, a pleasured ball of pain forming at your lower back. You knew you were being led to an edge, an edge you could not, did not want to escape, and when you pulled away from Chris, looking into his eyes, he instantly understood.

“Oh my, love,” he simpered, his free hand thumbing your cheek. “Does someone want to get fucked against the wall? When I’m not even finished with them yet?”

Tears lined your eyes, cunt throbbing almost painfully around his fingers. “Chan, I’m going to—ah!” you cut off, closing your eyes as you barely held on to your last grips of sanity. “Chan.”

Your weakened, fucked out demeanour had the most dangerous man in London fearing for his own senses. He wished nothing more than you screaming his name for the whole city to hear, and with you, looking at him like that…

Oh, he was definitely going to drive you over the edge.

Christopher Bang nearly carried out his promise when a shrill call interrupted you two.

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

Your lust-glazed stare cracked as you blinked. “Chan,” you said his name, but the man let out an enraged roar. You felt the hollow emptiness when those golden fingers were pulled out of you, sticky residue coating his skin. The footsteps grew closer, the volume of the shouting increasing.

Chris brought out a white handkerchief, cleaning your mess on his fingers rather aggressively. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he guttered out, making your legs tremble. To your utmost misery you felt the orgasm, so close before, fading from existence, and you made a silent vow to break Jisung and Changbin’s legs the moment all of this was over.

Speaking of the Devil, the two hastened, opening all doors and closing them till the two stumbled upon the both of you, infuriated and worryingly turned on.

Changbin looked at the deflated expression on both of yours faces. “Chris? ____?” His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the reasons for the slight electric atmosphere he suddenly entered in. “Are you both...alright?”

“Perfectly,” the man answered in a ragged hiss, sliding on his gloves again, smoothing over his raven locks. “Now why the fuck are you both here?”

The two boys did not understand their leader’s anger. Choosing to let the snipe slide, Jisung said, “We’ve caught Carter.”

That seemed to send you and Chris back in reality. Well, not really, when your core still throbbed, the pleasure fading with each passing second.

“Where is he?” Chris flattened out his coat. “Where are the documents?”

Changbin brought out a small file from inside his waistcoat, holding it out for the former. “Right here.”

Chris took the file, skimming through the contents. His previously angered expression relaxed, just a fraction, and he held onto it as he set his powerful gaze on you all.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The four of you managed to slip away easily, you trying your hardest to fix yourself after the whole fiasco in the hallway. Your heart was still running a mile per minute, refusing to calm as your mind relived the events. The original carriage which you all arrived in was now accompanied with another one, with a dark figure hunched over from the window’s view.

“We threw the giant fucker in another carriage,” Changbin said, laughing as he recalled the takedown with Jisung. “Man could not believe he was failing!”

Chris ignored his story, turning to you all as he stood before Carter’s carriage. “You three, take the free one,” he ordered, his eyes rooted on you. “I will journey home with him.”

“But Chris,” you began, taking a step towards him, “Let me come with you.”

You caught a glimpse of the desire which swirled in his eyes, not long ago, and perhaps that was why he held your arm in his now gloved hand.

“Go,” he only said. “I have a few things to say to him alone.”

After letting you go, nodding at the boys behind you, Chris Bang stepped inside the first carriage, slamming the door shut. The metal wheels screeched as the whole thing began to move, accelerating away.

You watched the carriage fade from view, Jisung and Changbin stepping beside you.

“What happened, ____?” the former asked, the other trying to comfort you with his gaze.

Silence was their only answer, as you turned on your heel, climbing inside your designated ride and watched the stars twinkle from the window.

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

As you all journeyed home without your leader, the pair told their tale of how they took down Carter and his men, Jisung adding exaggerated gasps as Changbin demonstrated each kill he thrust upon his victims. You offered them a few laughs, giving them your attention, but really your mind was somewhere else, specifically a midnight-tainted criminal who nearly brought you your undoing.

You were insane. Insane as you thought of him, insane as you remembered how wonderfully he had you writhing over him, just by his fingers. The mindless pondering alone had your cunt pulsating, and you deserved an award for how unaffected you acted with your friends.

Soon, the carriage slowed to a stop, and you perked up, not realising you had already arrived home.

You waited for the boys to exit before you stepped out of the carriage, the only light on the docks emitting from lamps and the night sky, reflected on the surface of the river. The first carriage was already there when your feet met the concrete floor, and when you turned to the man who reigned in your mind he had his signature expression, an aloof distaste as he walked over to his gang.

“Jisung, Changbin,” he called, and the boys responded. “Lock the carriage door,” he ordered, jerking his chin towards his transport. “We will bring him out in the morning.”

“Chris, should we not throw him in the cellar?” Changbin glared at Carter’s direction. “Bastard might escape.”

He only slid his hands in his pockets, you catching the dried blood on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, striking a step towards the building. “He’s not going to disturb us tonight. I can promise you that.”

Jisung cursed low along with you, only watching the man walk back to the bedrooms. Bidding goodnight to your friends, you followed Chris’ trail, opening the door and stepping inside the hallway.

You saw him before his bedroom door, bringing out a rusted key. His eyes slid to you as your feet brought you to your entrance. You looked back, waiting as Chris unlocked his room and began to enter.

He turned back, something dark and twisted still lurking in his eyes.

You waited, so patiently at the words you wished to hear, of him finally ruining you.

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped.

Fell to the floor, and shattered under the criminal’s bloodied boots.

The light of the hallway flickered as you stood rooted to the doorway, eyes staring at Chris’ door as if looking at it hard enough would get him to change his mind.

What did you know. The man is not led by exterior forces. Only by his own will.

When you gathered up the strength to the slam the door shut, you slumped against the wood, hating yourself for the tears which threatened to break the lines of your eyes. This was pathetic — utterly disgusting that you were about to cry over his decision.

But you could not help it. You were so enraptured by him. Hell, you were ready to throw yourself in the fires of damnation for him, as he whispered filth all the while rutting against you. Why had that suddenly changed?

“Argh!” You screamed, stomping over to the lamp, light now long extinguished. You relit it’s spark, illuminating the room once more, and set it on the stool before recklessly plucking out the pearls in your hair, a few tears daring to trail down your cheeks.

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you so rattled. Fuck him for having that effect on you.

You looked into your mirror and cursing yourself for the disheveled appearance. Again, the consequences for letting yourself fall for him.

“To hell with you Bang Chan,” you cursed.

You were about to untie your dress when your bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges.

Flinching, you grabbed the dagger on your dresser, raised to cut down whoever stupid enough to barge in on an assassin at midnight.

You were met with Christopher Bang.

And the disorder he brought with him.

Chaos reigned in his figure; his tousled locks, his star-struck expression, his rolled-up sleeves and his pandemonic eyes, all working together and against each other to create the man you had never seen in your life.

Good God. What had happened to him?

“Chan?” You got out, dagger now brought down. He said not a single word in response as he slammed the door shut, hard enough for the entirety of London to hear.

Instead, he imprisoned you with his stare, almost giving you his chaos. The chaos you had always shared with him since the moment he picked you off the streets.

No, he said not one word — only took the steps needed to march towards you. You could only watch with widening eyes when he grabbed your face in his rugged hands and collided his lips against yours.

You did not even hesitate to comply, hands grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him as close as you possibly could, so afraid that he would disappear from your grip if you dared let go. With the way he moved his mouth along yours, however, already opening up the familiar workings, you had a feeling he was not going to abandon you now.

When he broke away, breathing already erratic, his hands slid down to your neck, thumbs caressing the length of your throat. “I couldn’t,” he started, and he was sprinkling kisses all over your face. “I couldn’t leave.”

“I was scared, Chan,” you confessed, fisting the material harder. “I thought you truly did.”

His eyes focused on you. Within the turmoil, there was a promise. “Never,” he whispered, leaning in. “Never again.”

And suddenly his lips were on you, and the desperation was so rooted he nearly stole the very breath from your lungs. The sheer intensity, the longing implied broke your heart to the point you attached yourself to him, wrapping your arms around him and refusing to ever let him go.

The rather soft kiss began to heat up, as Chris broke the seam of your lips, swirling your tongue in his, already receiving incoherent praise from deep down your throat, making the man smile against his lips as he continued.

His hands slid further down, right to the small of your back, where he began to untie all the little bows he created for you at the dawn of the evening, the little touches of fire singeing you still. It was fascinating how effortlessly he loosened all the laces, fingers sliding through the patterns until one by one they fluttered down, until the dark red dress slackened around your chest.

A small gasp escaped you as Chris, while creating a trail of kisses down your jaw, right down to your neck, grabs the dress from your sides, hitching it down until it falls to the floor. Leaving you practically naked save for the scraps covering your dangerously soiled underwear.

Chris paused from his ravishing, taking a much too long look at your skin, glowing from the lamp light, and before he could stare any longer you brought your arms to your chest, suddenly becoming a little too embarassed to let him see you at your most vulnerable.

The supposedly unfeeling criminal, however, nearly broke into a smile at your flustered nature, and grabbed onto your wrists, opening the lock to your breasts, peaked by his actions, and the thought of what was to come.

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

“You’re exquisite,” was all he said, making you almost burst into tears at the praise. You pressed a long, heart shattering kiss upon his mouth, and he responded perfectly, hands sliding to your naked waist, each drum of his fingers like a tug towards a dangerous edge.

Things began to take a turn, open mouthed kisses being plastered on the skin of your throat as the man pushed you back, further and further until the back of your knees hit the bed, stopping you in his tracks. His grip on your waist directed downwards, planting you on the mattress as his mouth descended to your collarbone, down and down until he licked your peaked nipple in a way that had you moaning obscenely loud. His husky chuckle resonated along your skin, still not pausing his trail until he hit the end of the dip of your cunt, barricaded by the fabric.

The moment he looked up at you, that alone made you nearly undo yourself. By the increasing volume of your breathing, Chris seemed to realise so too.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he got out, watching you whimper at each touch caressing your hips. “Already about to come when I haven’t even done anything?”

“Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, wishing for those damned fingers of his to plunge inside of you. The son of a bitch was taking his time, making you wait knowing it pained you to stay like this. “Chan—”

His name on your tongue had him gritting his teeth, hands on each of your side grabbing onto your lace, and sliding your underwear down, all the way till it fell free from your legs and threw it across the room, forgotten when Chris parted his mouth at the moistened treasure between your legs.

Those roughened hands steeled their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer till you sat right on the edge of the bed, cunt mere inches from his face. You could not even comprehend the insanity of this situation, that the hidden fantasies you dreamed of shamelessly were morphing into reality right before your eyes.

“So, so pretty,” he murmured, blowing a little air on your slick folds, earning himself a sucked in breath from his truly. “So pretty and wet, and all because of me.”

You let out a ragged breath, words of filth sounding so foreign on his tongue. It was not like he didn’t talk like the sailors living near you on the docks, but these dirty words and dirtier intentions, now all directed at you, made you feel so flustered, in a wondrous way you could not possibly describe. All you wanted was for him to keep singing this filth till you blacked out.

Chris, with the force of his hands, spread your thighs a little wider, and without warning broke his tongue from the seam of his lips, planting it upon your slit and moving it slowly over the surface.

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

But that was only a test, a taking on of foreign surroundings before truly welcoming himself, and by God, did he welcome himself in as more than a guest, when that tongue slid deeper and performed strokes which had you seeing all the stars in the universe.

What was first slow teasing then became a starved hunt, tongue relishing in the sweet arousal you emitted, lapping it up brazenly as if he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time. Your blubbering grew louder with every lick, fisting the sheets behind you with such ferocity you were sure they’d tear.

And if that wasn’t painstakingly enough, the man spread your legs a little wider, his tattooed hand, two fingers out, sliding straight inside you, making you mewl at the way they tightened they walls they journeyed in. Curling, just like they did earlier in the evening, they took their time finding the certain little spot which had you bringing the house down with your cries.

“Ch-Chan, please, please, I’m going to—AH!” You rasped out, when the said-criminal found the sweet little undoing of yours and stroked your fingers along the sensitive spot, making that bundle of pleasure resonating in your back appear once more, like a low throbbing begging to be released.

His tongue had not given you any breaks, still working ruthlessly along your clit and you cried for him to give you that sweet release, to just let you come but he had not let you be satisfied this easily. No, he wanted you writhing underneath him, wanted the final ruination to be from underneath his trousers, angered as it outlined against his leather.

You craned your head back, screaming out his name because you knew all else had abandoned you. “Chan!” Looking down, his mouth very much occupied with your cunt. Your orgasm was reaching, was on the very edge, and if he kept working on you like this he was on his way to taste the consequences of his actions.

Something about that image made you want it as a reality with a worryingly strong intensity.

“Chan, I’m going to—” you were about to warn but were interrupted by a squeeze of your thigh, done by yours truly as if he knew. And as if he knew, the two fingers began pumping much faster, harmonising along with his tongue, and the two actions at once, fucking you with that rapidity was so pleasurable that, with the first earth-shattering cry of the night, you were driven over the edge, releasing your orgasm straight into the criminal’s face.

You felt the work of his fingers slow down, along with his tongue, that with one, final lick, he retreated from your cunt, fingers still inside you as they comforted your aching core with slow, soothing strokes.

When he looked up at you, though, with your residue mostly upon his mouth, scattered on his cheeks, and basically a bit of everywhere, that sight alone nearly caused you to come all over again.

Perhaps that was his intentions.

Because when he licked his lips clean of your mess, ever so slowly, as if enjoying your orgasm like a man starved, you instantly saw in his eyes that this night was not over yet.

“Already so good, so wonderful,” he mused, slipping his fingers out, both hands now resting on your thighs. “Coming so quick even though I had been saving for the last.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but still had the nerve to ask, “The last?”

He raised a groomed brow, and that gesture was so breathtaking, more so when he raised himself slightly, so he knelt eye-level to you. “Don’t act oblivious, love,” he mused, leaving your thighs to your disappointment, but quickly diminishing when his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping upon, each patch of skin being revealed like a show of your own. “We both know this isn’t how it’s going to end.”

Shivers crawled down your spine, but you only watched as the man finished undoing his shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it amongst the other clothing. You nearly let spit trail down your chin at the sheer finery of his muscle alone, sharpened at his arms, his chest all the way down to his v-line, which dipped dangerously low. With no small amount of pride, you also noticed the large, angry outline of Chris’ cock, begging to be set free.

The man caught you blatantly staring, and a shit-eating grin twisted his glistening lips. “You may do the honours if you’re so keen.”

Blushing, you mumbled a shut up, but was captured by Chris’ lips, tasting your own arousal on his tongue, as his grip on you led you further into the bed, while you fumbled on the buttons of his trousers, popping them open one by one when you broke from the kiss, your turn to shower him with more along the veiny expanse of his neck as you pulled his trousers down, tossing them among the pile.

When you saw the slight-stained underwear of his, you felt the familiar throbbing again, so affected by how you affected him. Noticing your apparent pride, he pressed his lips upon you in a searing kiss, peeling off any last scrap of clothing and forgetting that too among the other clothing.

And by God, when Chris Bang’s cock escaped from his underthings your mouth actually watered at the sheer size it bore. Husky laughter resonated in your ears, and you flushed the colour of blood when he caught you staring much too audaciously than he would have imagined.

“Already fantasising about my cock?” He slurred, the tattooed hand curling stray hairs from your sweat-slick, flushed face. The way you scrunched your nose, clearly flustered by his comment, melted his stone cold heart, as he caressed your cheeks with his fingers.

You did not answer him, only whispering his name along his skin, waiting and waiting for the man to drive that force home inside you. “Chan,” you murmured, and the name you kept saying like a religious chant, like it was the only word that mattered, was what brought him to grip his cock, directing it against your entrance, the still slick folds which grew more wet every time the tip caressed the sensitive skin. “Chan, please—”

“Please what?” He demanded, demanded because he needed to hear you precisely want you wanted. The words he practically prayed would be on your tongue the moment he kissed you for the first time this evening.

Obliging him was like second nature. “Please fuck me, Chan,” you breathed out, holding onto his shoulders, knowing you were going to need a hell of a good grip for what was about to arrive. “Please, just ruin me with your cock.”

A malicious smile curled upon his lips. “Good, good girl,” he purred, and began the descend which you dreamed of the very first night you realised you were ridiculously attracted to him.

His cock slid inside you, and with a soul-wrenching whine, was perfectly snug as the journey went on, and on, and on, until you were certain you could not take anymore, despite the man retaining a few inches. He was slow at first, making sure you were not going to be pained by this action. Although your nails dug into the granite muscle of his shoulders, you only egged him on. “M-more,” you only said, and he readily obliged, until you felt him all around you in your body, as if he had filled you up to the brim.

“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he rested his forehead against yours as gently, he began to pull out.

You nearly whined at the lack of inches filling you up, but then he brought his cock back in, creating this hypnotic rhythm which was so unimaginably ethereal you felt yourself float amongst the clouds. Each thrust out and thrust in was a drive in and out of reality, with Chris Bang holding the tether of your survival, pulling you in and out of his mercy.

Gradually, he began to fasten, panting as his drove into you with more force, and when the momentum hardened, you felt your soul leave your body. His cock created wonders for you, having you scream in unimaginable pleasure, and driving your nails into his back was not enough, your lewd moaning not enough given to his sheer skill, his pure simplicity in bringing his cock back and front which had you seeing stars. Hell, Christopher Bang showed you undiscovered universes, leading you across galaxies and unfamiliar cosmos, each thrust in a different vision, and when he lifted your leg a little higher for more access, you feared that you would wake the whole docks with your groaning, for this criminal, this heartless criminal provided you with the whole universe with the simple strokes of his cock inside you, and all you could offer him were screams.

Even your reactions were pure Beethoven to his ears, relishing in your fucked out state as he gave you all he asked, driving you to the edge of the world. You, finally, clashed your lips against his, offering him sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck, and that alone had him greeting his teeth, knowing his own release was near. You were going to die if he was not given the same pleasure as you, so you reacted with each of his touches, each of his thrusts, him practically pistoning you upon this bed which very much would break.

“Ch...Chan…” you grated out, eyes blurring, vision completely fucked, “I’m...I-I—”

“I—fuck,” he too got out, for your last love mark painted onto to the curve of his neck nearly had him ruined. “I’m going to come, too, love—”

“Chan!” You whined, because the throbbing was there, and was so close that if the man did not send that last thrust home then it was all for nothing, everything that had ever happened will all be for nothing.

But he listened. The man who did not listen to anyone or anything listened, and pounded his cock so hard in approval that it had you crying out to the cosmos as you finally let go, orgasm spilling out from whatever space the residue could find between his cock. Your own release had Chris groaning louder than he had even done this entire time, praising you unconditionally, until the filth was cut off by a low curse, with his own release barrelling into you, some joining your spilled mess upon the sheets.

Chris let out a shuddering breath, slowly crossing his movement inside you. Carefully, when you stopped digging your nails into his shoulders, he pulled out, reaching for the blanket untouched and bringing it over you and him before collapsing beside you. Both of you breathed as if you had held your oxygen for a thousand years, chests rising unevenly.

A silence hung over you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable, lingering in your bedroom. Chris sat up a little, using your pillows behind him as comfort as he raked his hair back, sweat-slick all over, much like you. You held the blanket right up to your chest, hair in disarray, much like your heart. The poor organ threatened to collapse at the events.

Sneakily, you caught a glance at the greatest criminal in London, staring off at the distance, mouth set in a concentrated line. He looked dashing even in his post-sex state, the lines of his chest still stark against his sweat. You truly had never seen a man this beautiful in your life.

He turned his head to you, catching your staring, and when you tried to look away he captured his chin with his fingers, making you meet his fierce stare. Although dark, the lust had satiated, and instead held passive affection. Well, you hoped it did.

“Why do you still look away?” He demanded in a low, tired voice.

You tried to slide your gaze to the lamp, but was too bewitched by his midnight eyes. “Because you’re beautiful, Chan,” you answered, feeling the blood rush to your face.

He cocked his head, damp curls sticking to his face. “You say that as if you are not,” he countered.

You did not say anything then. Even so, he received your answer.

“____,” he said in a low tone. The grip on your chin loosened, and the hand went to your cheeks, cupping your face. “You are truly flawless. Don’t make me have to make you believe that.”

A small smile hinted at your lips. “And what if I still don’t?”

His answering smirk sent butterflies tumbling once again. After a moment, as if hesitating, he then snaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You were surprised when his one hand fully encircled you, while the other hand, the tattooed hand, rested upon your head, stroking your hair with his slender fingers. You did not pull away, was never going to, only wrapping your arm across his chest.

It was the first time you had ever seen Christopher Bang hug someone in his life.

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He paused for a minute, never ceasing his fingers intertwined in your locks. After a small sigh, which you felt beneath your own fingertips, he said, “It is simply something I live by.

“Non ducor duco. No one will lead me, love. Only myself.”

You pondered over the roots of this phrase, of the significance for the man you lay with.

“Good,” you said after a while. “I wouldn’t want anyone leading you either.”

With that, you gave into the soothing movement of Chris’ fingers, working lazily in your hair. And while you dozed off to sleep, the criminal mastermind of the biggest city in the world pondered some more, specifically over his motto.

NON DUCOR DUCO. A phrase which had stayed true for so long no one could ever change it.

But after tonight, as you slowly dozed off under Chris’ caresses, he wondered whether there isn’t one person he wouldn’t mind being led by.

And as he stole a soft glance at the specific person beside him, he knew.

He knew that although he will be led by no man, there is one woman who he would, to his own shock, happily be led for.

So, with that new, and slightly terrifying revelation, Christopher Bang went to sleep, knowing that someone had fucked with him and gotten away.

And he was willingly going to let it happen.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids oneshot #kpop imagines #kpop smut #skz imagines #skz smut #chris bang #christopher bang #skz dark hours

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asset35-maya · 3 years

Note

Since it's your birthday, a prompt came into my mind. "Birthday Prank" it can be any character. Anyways happy birthday again Maya :D

Yo thanks Blaire! Wasn’t initially planning to, but looks like I’m doing it. Thanks for kicking off:

MAYA’S BDAY WEEKEND ASK EVENT

Send me whatever writing requests or nosy asks you want. Go bananas, my good people.

🎆TINA’S 30TH🎆

Tina Chen was a super lowkey kinda girl. She was definitely fun and easygoing, but to be honest, she was the kind of person who enjoyed celebrating other people’s birthdays more than her own.

Suffice to say, she didn’t expect any grand celebration for her thirtieth. Everyone said it was the big one… but to her it was just another day. Another year over. Same old, same old.

Her mother didn’t seem to think so.

Mama Chen insisted on smothering her in kisses and making an elaborate breakfast and getting all their relatives to speak to Tina over the phone. It was very unlike her family to have such overt displays of affection. Perhaps they were all getting sentimental with age.

By the time she extricated herself, she was almost an hour late for work. She wasn’t too worried though. Hank was an extremely understanding boss.

But when she arrived at the station, Tina discovered utter chaos had broken out.

Nines came running up to her anxiously.

“Where on earth have you been, T! We’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages!”

She grabbed her phone and found a long series of missed calls and angry texts from Gavin and Hank and Fowler and apparently everyone in the department.

“Shit! I didn’t get any of these!! I’m so sorry! I don’t know how! I had my ringer on-”

Nines grabbed her by the elbow and steered her into a briefing room before she could finish. There was an intricate map on the projector screen and Hank was deep in the middle of an explanation.

Gavin impatiently tugged at her to sit down and shoved the case file into her lap. She opened it guiltily. All pleasant birthday thoughts receded to the very back of her mind.

Apparently a dormant serial killer had just resurfaced. His thoroughly unique MO had been identified on a body found the night before, and the DPD had reason to believe he was active and about to strike again.

Tina’s heart raced with fear and anticipation. She paid rapt attention to Hank’s instructions and soon found herself behind the wheel of a police cruiser.

She absently noted that it was the very first one she’d driven as a rookie patrol officer. Out of sheer habit, she popped open the glove compartment to retrieve her shades.

Tina kicked herself when she remembered that she’d lost her favourite rayban aviators on a recent mission… and that it would make no sense for them to be in this car anyway… but then her fingers curled around a very familiar shape. A suede leather case.

She opened it to find shades identical to the ones she’d loved and lost. Before she could think any deeper, Gavin got into the passenger seat and barked at her to drive. Tina put the sunglasses on and floored the accelerator.

At the location, Nines and Connor had already begun scoping the building and scanning evidence. Both gave her brief but tense smiles. She’d hoped Connor would at least wish her a happy birthday, but her boyfriend was busy knocking on floorboards and looking for hidden compartments.

What had she expected? Human or android, all the men she dated had turned out to be as obtuse as her father. With a sigh, Tina got on her knees and joined him.

“What do you think made him do it again?”

“You tell me, baby. You’re the one with the criminology degree.”

Their eyes met and the warmth of his chocolate brown irises made her irritation fade away. They fell into an easy pattern of swapping hypotheses while scrubbing for evidence. The whole thing was incredibly reminiscent of the first case they’d worked together on, and fallen in love while solving.

After searching the house from top to bottom, they ended up with an impressive stack of evidence. Gifts from a secret admirer intended for a hapless victim. Jewellery, red-bottomed shoes, perfume and a lot of other trinkets that were strangely to Tina’s exact liking.

The killer’s purported next mark was a mystery woman who seemed to embody Tina’s personality entirely. A shiver went down her spine as she contemplated the idea.

Just as they were about to leave the house. Nines came hurtling down the stairs with the ultimate clue. A midnight blue dress with no back. It was draped beautifully over a wire hanger, with a note attached to it.

Gavin seized the note and read aloud the place and time indicated. That very night. At the swankiest jazz lounge in Detroit. The elusive killer would make an appearance.

After ten years spent trying to catch him in vain, the DPD would finally have a clear, undeterred shot. Tina could hardly believe it.

Gavin thrust the dress into Tina’s hands. The implication was clear.

She looked at the others. Hank shrugged. Nines smiled apologetically. Connor cocked his head to the left and arched an eyebrow, as if to say… chicken?

Officer Tina Chen was many things but that’s one thing she wasn’t.

So it came to be that on the evening of her thirtieth birthday, instead of celebrating with at least a quiet glass of wine at home, Tina was squeezing herself into an evening gown and getting ready to play killer’s bait.

She considered throwing her hands up and walking away, but then her phone buzzed with a series of messages from Captain Fowler. After showing up late to her shift, she wasn’t about to risk getting into his bad books.

Tina took a deep breath and slipped on the sparkly heels found in the house… put on the big golden hoop earrings… slipped the Swarovski chain around her neck… and spritzed the expensive perfume all over her body.

She made her way into the lounge and found a place to stand. Discreet, but obvious to anyone looking. Right at the edge of the bar. As the music began and other patrons began to dance, a false sense of calm flooded her. Tina had to sharply remind herself to focus. This was an undercover mission. A big one. The whole team was counting on her.

A drink slid towards her. A lychee daiquiri.

Simple, but quite specific. It was her personal favourite. Her eyes widened but before she could ask, the bartender pointed along the bar.

Tina’s blood turned to ice.

It was time.

She went over the mission brief again and again in her head. She revised every protocol, every bit of police scenario planning, every word of caution from her senior officers.

Tina steeled herself and turned slowly.

The man was standing closer than expected. Before she could react… either fight or flight… an arm curled around her waist and warm lips pressed against her own.

Her eyes fluttered shut and Tina sank into the familiar sensation.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Tina opened her eyes and found herself Connor’s embrace. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in relief.

As she looked over his shoulder, she spotted his fellow conspirators. Nines, Gavin, Hank, Fowler, Chris, Person, Sixty, Allen, the whole damn DPD it seemed… all her childhood friends… and of course… Mama, Papa and Grandma Chen. All dressed up and smiling mischievously.

Connor swiftly manoeuvred her onto the dance floor, and so began a night to truly remember.

Tina’s thirtieth.

@blaireunstable

#maya bday ask event #dbh tina chen #dbh connor #dbh tina #tina/connor #rarepair #dbh gavin #gavin reed #dbh nines #rk900 #dbh rk900 #hank anderson #captain fowler #dbh fanfic #dbh writing #my writing

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1994sunflower · 4 years

Text

locked out of heaven. ii (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 23.9k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, being a bit dirty in public, dirty talk, daddy kink, choking, size kink, face slapping (consensual), spitting kink, praise, degradation/name calling, innocence kink, corruption kink, violence, blood, language, mentions of infidelity, light self-deprecation, mentions of drugs, drinking

summary: months after the breakup, michael has been a wreck. not only in his mind but to everyone else on campus. he’s unmanageable without you. you weren’t faring much better. you’d lost your light and you find yourself trying anything to forget the betrayal. but will a reunion with the very man you had fought against even yourself to avoid be what you needed to fix everything and go back to the happiness you shared with him or will it be just what you needed to finally move on?

part one

Whispers had followed Michael for months.

Different from the whispers he had become accustomed to hearing for the majority of his life. No, these whispers had very little to do with him and everything to do with the sudden breaking of his relationship.

People had become used to seeing the short girl hanging by his arm next to him. They’d finally just started to stop staring every time they saw the colorful clothes and the kind, smiley face next to his glares and dark, chained clothing. But suddenly that was gone and it was all anyone could talk about.

It got even worse when rumors started spreading about the reason of the jarring split. Hushed voices, surprised gasps, disbelieving eyes were everywhere Michael went. Even whispers of the girl’s name, the one he refused to acknowledge, started trailing him. That didn’t last for long though. He went through great lengths to show just how little he wanted to hear of the person that helped him destroy the best thing in his life. And God help whoever tried to bring her, or it, up. It just served to remind him of the night he had began to think of as the ‘night when it all ended.’

Ashton wasn’t really shocked when Michael had started to hole up in his room. Without you to persuade him to go to class, Michael had no reason to. He skipped class and had sworn off parties for the rest of his life. In fact, there were times when he would spend days without ever stepping foot on campus. At that time, he only ever went out to get food. And even then, it was in the late afternoon just to a fast food place or the Union and then right back home. Ashton didn’t even know what he could do in that house, alone all day for days at a time. But Michael managed to do it faithfully for nearly two months now.

After weeks of trying to talk to you, Michael seemed to finally lose his hope. It was over and it was all his fault. He had hurt you, as if he had ever even deserved to have you in the first place. He figured leaving you alone was the least he could do for you to give you a chance to be happy again, to forget him and move on with your life. Even if it killed him.

And boy did it feel like it was killing him. He was a mess without you, miserable. You were on his mind constantly. Not an hour went by when your beautiful face didn’t enter his mind and he had to clutch his phone painfully in his hand to keep from running out to find you and beg you for just one more chance. He didn’t even sleep the same, not without you. He kept a picture of you as his lock-screen, one he had taken back when both of you were still happy, and a part of him knew it was just to punish himself, forcing himself to look what he had lost. You were it. You were the one.

But he blew it and you were gone. He wasn’t sure he could move on without you, wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Because what was the point of dating if he wasn’t dating you?

Michael had stopped crying a few weeks after your breakup. In fact, to Ashton, the only person to see him on a regular basis, it almost seemed like he had gone empty. No emotions whatsoever. But to Michael, it just felt like he was suffocating with a permanent knot at his throat.

You were gone. You were gone. He hadn’t taken you for granted ever, but even with that, not having you around felt like his heart had left with you, leaving just a cloud of anger and loneliness in its wake with nothing to calm it.

The times Michael would go back on campus, it was just to wreak havoc. He had had a bad reputation before you but it was worse without you.

“He’s worse now.” Was the talk of the campus. It made the seriousness of the situation obvious when it wasn’t even the students that were saying these things. It was the administration and professors. “I thought he was bad before. He’s just out of control now, it’s like there’s nothing holding him back anymore. I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.”

Before, Michael hadn’t completely stopped his violent streak. But he had restrained himself a lot more than he would’ve without you. And that was just because he wanted to be good for you, keep you happy and unafraid of him. And because, with you, he was a lot happier himself. He had less outbursts because how could he be anything but content when he had you. Now, however, he had that extra anger he wanted to get rid of (granted it was anger towards himself). He wanted to erase what he had done, he wanted you back, but that wasn’t possible. Now he was even angrier and more frustrated than he ever was before.

It only took a look now for Michael to pick his next victim. He had stopped trying to hide his tirade of violence and blood, as well. In fact, it hadn’t become so out of place for a student to be leaving their class building and see Michael beating up some poor soul a few feet away.

Everything made it very evident that he was his best self when he was with you and without you, he was his worst.

♔

It was considered almost a miracle when Ashton finally got Michael to leave his house, in the middle of the day and for a reason other than to go release his anger. And he got him to even go to the Quad, in the middle of campus. It felt like hell was freezing over.

Now, Michael didn’t do it gladly, of course. It took a lot of persuading and an eventual screaming match that resulted in Ashton physically pulling him out of the house. Michael didn’t crack a smile the entire way there. But he hadn’t been smiling much at all lately anyway. Instead, his gaze kept sweeping the area around them silently and while Ashton didn’t ask and he knew Michael would never admit it, they both knew he was trying to catch a glimpse of you. Anything that could make his cold heart finally start up again. But you were in class.

Ashton knew that because he had started keeping tabs on you. Both for Michael’s sake, looking out for you when he couldn’t, and for your sake, to keep Michael away from you because he didn’t want to see you go through the pain you seemed to relive every time you saw him.

Ashton kind of resented Michael for hurting you in the way he did. He had considered you his friend too, and it was hard to see you hurt. Of course he felt bad for Michael and he knew he would never have done it purposely, but you were such a light in his best friends’ life and to see it be gone, snuffed out by his friend’s own stupid actions made him want to shake Michael. Yell at him for sabotaging his own happiness.

But he didn’t. Instead he watched with barely hidden worry as Michael leaned his head back to rest against the brick wall behind him, holding the cigarette tightly in his hand, the smoke pillowing out of his lips in a rising cloud. His eyes were closed as if this was the only place he received contentment (that nicotine always provided him) recently.

Calum and Chris stood in front of him, their eyes flicking over to the silent Michael ever so often in nervousness, standing apart just enough to give Michael a clear opening to look at the Quad’s center. They were in the shaded part of the area, thanks to the building in the corner they were directly under. Ashton had invited them over just to give Michael more people to be around, he knew he needed it.

Even if Chris and Michael weren’t exactly friends and even if Michael tried everything to not look at Calum; his face reminded him too much of that night, of what he had done and what Calum had stood by and let happen. But he was too good of a friend for Michael to hate, especially when, at the end, the fault fell on Michael’s shoulders. So instead, they just stood silently.

Calum looked intimidating, even in his sweater, and short trimmed hair. He fit right in with Michael and even Ashton but even he eyed Michael with uncertainty. Unsure of what would happen with such a broken boy in front of him. Especially a boy that placed at least some of the blame on him. Not that he had any loyalties to you in the first place, he barely knew you. But still, even he felt a little off every time he saw you on campus. You had lost the bright aura you always carried with you, everyone could see it. Your wide eyed enthusiasm for the world was gone. But you still managed to give him a (now strained) welcoming smile every time you saw him.

So while he had met you only once or twice, he definitely felt a sort of guilt inside himself that his friend had been the one to snuff it out. Which, subsequently just made his own friend get worse in his temper and feelings.

Maybe if he had been more attentive he could’ve, should’ve, stopped it. But he didn’t see it happen. One minute he had gone to get a drink and stopped to chat up some girls, the other Michael was gone. He’d like to think he would have stepped in, snapped Michael out of it, spared you from the humiliation you went through because even he knew you didn’t deserve it.

Chris was the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in the group. A part of him was excited that he was invited to be a part of such a select group but the other part cursed that Charlie was in class and he was left alone to handle such a sensitive and explosive Michael - and situation.

And that inner turmoil was obvious by Chris’ complete lack of understanding in what okay to talk about in front of Michael and what wasn’t. The topic of you, was definitely on the not okay list.

To be fair, Chris was hesitant to speak but he pushed through the nerves to talk. “Did you hear that Luke asked Y/N out yesterday?”

Ashton shut his eyes in dread at what his friend’s reaction would be and Calum delivered a sharp elbow to Chris’ side.

It was stupid of him to think it was okay to say that. But in his defense, the only real link between him and Michael had been you. So it was the only thing he could talk about with him, really. And that didn’t change even when you broke up just as his yearning to be Michael’s friend hadn’t changed either.

Michael’s eyes sprung open wide as if he had just been punched. “What?”

Ashton’s eyes silently yelled at Chris to shut up, to not say anything more because he knew that if he did, Michael wouldn’t be controlled. He had given you up but that didn’t mean he didn’t still love you, a love that could be deadly in order to protect you and keep you safe, even if he did it quietly so you didn’t realize it. A love that was still fiercely possessive over you because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t imagine a present where you weren’t his.

Luke was everything he wanted to keep you away from. Especially now when you were at your most vulnerable, when he couldn’t be right there to protect you. A handsome football player that seemed to be stuck in his high school glory days, he was a slime-ball through and through. Rumors of his conquests weren’t like Michael’s, no his rumors were started through his brags and disgusting cat calls. Michael’s were earned. Luke was more well known for his borderline aggressive and down right misogynistic behavior with his prior ‘girlfriends'.

He seemed to have found a one-way rivalry in Michael, though he failed to notice that Michael couldn’t care less about him or his body count. But at the mention of his and your names together, Michael finally felt that burning rage that Luke always seemed to want to induce in him. He couldn’t imagine you, sweet and moral as you were, with someone that would treat you like trash, someone that didn’t deserve you. Though of course, who was he to judge when he obviously didn’t deserve you either, with how much he had hurt you in the end. His fingers all but crushed the cigarette in his hand.

Chris kept his eyes on Ashton, nodding in understanding and was going to stay quiet. Say nevermind and end it there but Michael had his dark, dangerous eyes set on him. “What did you just say?”

Michael was not to be ignored, everyone knew that and unfortunately, Chris was not Ashton, who was the exception. It was the first time Chris had heard that tone Michael was famous for, the threateningly low one that promised pain if ignored. So it was no wonder Chris chose to listen to him over Ashton.

Chris’ eyes were shaking when he answered, “W-well, they’re in the same physics class and I guess he’s been asking for her for help during class and he finally asked her to a movie yesterday.”

And there was Michael’s heartbeat, racing. His eyes flickered every which way, unsure of how to process that. In fact, his mind literally seemed to reject it. You couldn’t have said yes. Even if you knew how much it would hurt Michael, you wouldn’t have. Right? He couldn’t handle it if he destroyed you so much, destroyed your self-worth so badly that you would say yes to be with someone even worse than he was. You were always out of his league. Now, without him, you deserved the world, the happiness Michael couldn’t give you, not to find someone so below your league it was a whole different ball game.

Michael’s mouth ran dry at the thought of you on a date with that bastard who was only doing it to get under his skin. And it was working. Luke Hemmings was finally achieving what he always wanted, to hurt Michael as much as possible - to win.

He could imagine your trusting smile and modest eyes soaking up all the bullshit lies he would throw at you to convince you he was a good guy. His heart constricted at the thought of his hands on you, wrapping themselves around your body like only his were meant to, his words that would surely offend you more than making you feel complimented, ignoring your thoughts and opinions that had always meant the world to Michael (in fact not much mattered more to him). The way he would completely disregard your boundaries and fail to give you the respect you deserved because that was just the way Luke was with women, controlling and dismissive.

It might’ve been luck or it might’ve been the universe’s cruel way of finally making karma catch up with Luke and all his sins. But just as Michael felt like he couldn’t deal with what he was just told, Luke himself walked across the Quad.

Two of his friends trailed behind him, both of them wearing similar shirts declaring which Athletic Department they were a part of. Luke’s blond hair was done up in a quiff and his blinding, charming smile hid well the fact that he was a bad person with an even more tainted heart than Michael.

Michael saw them first, staring at the leader, Luke walking just a few steps ahead of the others. As his eyes followed him, like a predator would look at a prey, he thought about his options. If you had said yes (his heart prayed for the first time in his life that you didn’t), and he beat Luke up, he knew it would hurt you. And Michael didn’t want to hurt you more than he already had. He could put aside his pride for you.

But Luke made the choice for him. And he made it extremely clear.

Luke’s eyes met his and his smile turned into a full blown grin. One filled with taunting malice. His hand went up in a faux friendly wave. “Michael, my man! Asked your girl out yesterday, don’t worry I’ll take real good care of her.” He was practically yelling to make sure Michael heard. He had stopped walking and now stood directly in front of Michael, granted several yards away, right dab in the middle of the Quad. “I bet she’ll be able to take it like a pro too, might have to break her in a bit though.”

He was laughing and his friends chuckled beside him.

Ashton shot his hand out, “Michael don’t.”

But it was too late. Michael had thrown his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it as he began striding angrily towards the smug blond.

It only took a few steps before Michael was close enough to grab the collar of his shirt and punch him square in the face. And once he got that first punch in, he didn’t stop. Punch after punch after punch. He didn’t stop when he felt the blood on his hands and he didn’t stop when he felt the hands of Luke’s friends try to pry him away.

Luke disrespected you. He felt disgusted at the way he sexualized you, like you were nothing but a hole to fuck. When you were Michael’s life, when you were goodness personified, someone who only saw the good in everyone even after the world, and Michael, disappointed you so much. You deserved to be praised, adored.

“Don’t you ever talk about her again. Don’t ever disrespect her like that, you piece of fucking shit.” His angry screams sounded through the now silent Quad.

And then it was the images Luke had planted in his head that bothered him. The thought of your small tight body underneath Luke, moaning his name, blushing beautifully as you made all the small noises you made during sex that he loved so much, calling him daddy, being submissive and letting him do whatever he wanted to you, degrade you, like you always let Michael do, giving yourself to such a piece of shit.

He didn’t want to imagine you that way with anyone but especially not with Luke. The fact that Luke thought he even deserved to talk to you let alone have sex with you. Michael wasn’t ready to think of you moving on in that way, letting someone else have you in a way only Michael had had you before, in a way Michael had planned only he would ever have you. No one knew your body like he did, he had taught you everything and he couldn’t imagine you using that with anyone else. You knew exactly how to please him. Only he knew your body, knew what you liked. No one else. His possessiveness had taken over him.

“She’s mine, you’ll never get to have her like that. You don’t…..deserve……her.”

Each bone crunch that his fists caused wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger like it usually was with others. No, each time he heard Luke’s pathetic sounds, he only got angrier. His fists punched his cheek, his nose, his stomach. Anywhere and it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted to get those imagines, those thoughts out of his head. He wanted you to have said no. He wanted Luke to never even look at you again. He wanted you back in his arms, with him.

You were his. You were still his. Even though he didn’t deserve to think that.

He had ruined that. And that just made him angrier, punch harder. Maybe if he hit Luke enough, all of his regrets would finally stop haunting him. His frustration and self destruction driving him now.

Ashton’s hands were in his hair as he watched his best friend. He watched as Michael kept punching, leaning down further as Luke’s body lost more and more energy, slouching him closer to the ground. His face was almost completely covered in blood.

“He’s going to kill him.” Those were the words he’d always feared he would end up saying.

A few professors had come out of the woodworks, moving closer, calling out for Michael to stop, as if he cared about authority, and of course, to no avail. One professor, a short psychology professor, attempted to pull Michael off but Michael was stronger and just pushed him away.

Ashton didn’t dare try to stop him himself. He was Michael’s friend but Ashton knew his limits and Michael was way beyond his. There was no doubt in Ashton’s mind that he would get beat up quickly if he tried to step in and stop Michael, especially from beating up someone that dared talk about you. Everyone knew when you started dating that you were off limits, you were Michael’s limit. No one was to talk about you, be mean to you, or say anything even resembling degrading to you or they would face Michael. It was the one thing that made him angrier than anything else, even more so if they were to directly attack him. It was a type of anger that didn’t seem to end or be quenched by anything. The rule still applied even well after your breakup. It was worse now, coupled with the anger and turmoil of losing you. Ashton couldn’t number the amount of kids Michael had pummeled after hearing your name spoken in a ridiculing or perverted manner after the break up became well known.

When Michael was beyond his limit, there was no telling what he was willing to do. It was like he had become blinded by rage. He wouldn’t hesitate to fuck everyone up that was in his way.

Well, not everyone.

Ashton cursed under his breath, digging out his phone quickly to find the schedule of the one person that he’d been secretly looking out for, the one person that could stop Michael, if you were up for it. But if it meant you could help someone while simultaneously keeping Michael out of jail for murder, he didn’t doubt you would be. You were too good of a person to say no. Even after everything.

He was still looking down at his phone, ignoring the disgusting sounds of Luke yelling through the gurgling blood in his throat and Michael’s angry grunts only a few yards away when he ordered Chris and Calum. “Try to keep him from killing Luke, okay? I’ll be right back!”

He was running when he called back to make sure they got it, “Stall him!”

He’d gotten your class building and room but to find you and get you there was a race against the clock. Or against Michael.

♔

The whispers that followed you were haunting.

They were worse than the whispers that happened when you and Michael first got together. Because now most of the time, people were talking more about Michael than about you so they didn’t bother to quiet down when you entered the room or walked past.

Instead, you were forced to listen to students and professors alike talk about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend now. It felt like you couldn’t have a minute of peace without hearing his name and remembering what he had done to you.

“It’s gotten so bad and no one can calm him down. He used to be a lot more restrained, wonder what happened.” You heard as you entered your small recitation classroom. One of the girls next to you had turned her entire body back to talk to her friend. She was talking animately while her friend listened coolly.

The blonde girl shrugged easily, “I don’t know but he’s literally so scary. Have you seen him walking around campus? He looks like he wants to kill someone all the time. One time I saw him push a girl out of his way. Can you imagine?”

You closed your eyes, willing any and all images of Michael to leave your mind. You knew from experience that many of the rumors of Michael’s angry and aggravated actions were just that: rumors that served to vilify him even more. But you also knew by how much you knew him, that a lot of them were true.

You never saw what everyone else spoke about, though. But you knew Michael’s new actions were a common occurrence just by the sheer amount you heard about it, everywhere. You sometimes wondered if he purposely acted out where he knew you wouldn’t be, to keep you from having to see that violence that he never liked you to be a part of when you were dating.

A part of you felt bad for him because you knew this out of control anger had emerged because you were gone. Especially when he had been trying so hard and working to manage his anger better. And you hated yourself for feeling that way.

You hated that you were the one who felt bad for him, that a part of you wanted to go back to calm him down like you knew you could. Because he was the one who fucked up, who took your heart and stomped on it. But you couldn’t help but know that you were the one who helped ground him and his emotions a lot of the time when you were still together. You knew this outburst was at least partially because you weren’t there anymore.

The worst part was why did you want to help him? You wanted to be with him, you wanted to help soothe his anger and his hurt behind that. It hurt to know he was in pain, to know that, even though you knew he cheated on you, he must’ve felt at least something. He wasn’t completely heartless to your pain. Maybe he had loved you enough to at least regret it. He was making it obvious.

If it wasn’t by how long he had tried to talk to you, gone out of his way just to catch a glimpse of you, it sure was by how he had lost control without you, how his emotions were all over the place with regret and longing for you. But that too stopped after a while. Part of you was thankful for it, you could finally put him behind you, but the other part was hurt even more now that he was giving you the opportunity to forget him. But how could you do that so easily when you had spent so much of your years loving him, seeing a part of him no one else did. The kind, accepting, loving version.

You weren’t sure how much of it was real love and regret and how much was from being caught and losing just a constant in his life he was used to having, a comfort. Any benefit of the doubt and patience that you usually gave Michael had dried out.

Even if it was real, it wasn’t enough to erase what he did, erase your memory of it.

The girl was still ingrained in your thoughts. Michael had made it quite clear that he resented her or maybe associated her with his mistake that he hated so much to remember, avoided all whispers of her name, her face. Avoided her like the plague since then. Even went as far as to warn everyone that mentions of her were to be met with pain, and a lot of it. At least that was what the rumor mill had brought you. You didn’t know who she was and while, at the center of Michael’s wrath, she decided to stay silent, underground and pretend nothing happened, you couldn’t forget. She knew you were dating Michael, everyone on campus did. But she didn’t care and she chose the moment Michael didn’t either.

He didn’t respect you enough, didn’t give a regard to the consequences, what you could have felt in the aftermath. Maybe because he had never intended for you to find out. You had always been okay with his past but maybe that was just a naivety of your part, one he took advantage of. You wondered just how long he had been betraying you while you followed along like being pulled on a string. Maybe that was what had him so messed up, he had still wanted to keep you along for the ride. Just a toy to pick up when he didn’t have other plans. Maybe the Michael you knew wasn’t the real Michael. Just an illusion he wanted you to believe to keep you around.

You hated yourself for still loving him. Despite everything your mind was conjuring up about him, images and thoughts that clashed so violently from the Michael you had known. You still remembered how much he meant to you, how beautiful your relationship was, full of love, protection, acceptance and opening each of you up to new parts of yourself, more adventurous and centered parts. Tainted only by the giant gash at the very end.

You were tainted with it as well. And not in the titillating way Michael had always promised to corrupt you with during sex. No, now, you weren’t the bubbly life loving girl you had been since before you met him. Now you were irreparably different. Life felt gray, as if nothing was what you thought it was. If the man you thought was the love of your life, the one you trusted everything to (including your love and your life), the one you would have been willing to marry, to mother his children, betrayed you in such a painful and humiliating way, what was stopping the rest of the world from doing the same.

The worse thing was that he had given you ever indication of being just as equally devoted to you. How could a man that had been planning so many beautiful things for the two of you end up being such a cheater, a liar?

The relief you felt when your strict TA waltz into the room, forcing the girls into silence was unmeasurable. In fact, you were almost happy to learn about calculus and have only that occupy your mind for the remainder of the hour.

But it seemed like the world didn’t want to give you that happiness, especially when the door behind you was yanked open. The whole class jumped in surprise and swiveled around.

You wished you hadn’t when you turned and saw an out of breath Ashton, grabbing onto the doorway in a sort of panic you’d never seen on him before. His curly hair bounced dramatically as he stepped inside the room.

Even your TA was silent, confused as to what exactly was going on.

Ashton’s eyes search the rows of desks before his gaze finally landed on you. He had definitely ran there as his words came out breathless. “Y/N. I…..I need you to….come…” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees as he tried to even out his breathing. “I need you to come with me right now.”

Your eyes watched him, unamused. You hadn’t seen him since the breakup and you couldn’t deny the hurt you felt at him icing you out, as if you were the villain for breaking it off with Michael and sending him into a spiral of hurt and regret. Especially when you had considered him your friend as well.

“Ash, I’m kind of busy right now.” You gestured to your almost frozen TA at the front of the classroom, standing in front of the whiteboard.

But Ashton was already shaking his head, “No, you don’t understand. Michael, he’s-”

At the sound of Michael’s name, everyone turned away from Ashton and towards you, staring at you in awe. You were Michael’s ex-girlfriend, the one who broke up with him and had started his reign of terror on the campus. The one who made it scary to even just walk to class without the fear of getting beat up or threatened.

Ashton, for his part, looked like he was shaking with how almost afraid he looked. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What was going on?

You shook your head before he could finish, just the sound of Michael’s name had your breath catching. “Ashton, we broke up. I don’t want anything to do with whatever he’s is involved in.”

Ashton looked at the pleadingly door like he was debating if he should just carry you against your will. You were the only one who Michael would listen to, he knew that.

“Michael’s about to kill Luke.”

You blinked, your blood running cold. “What?”

“He’s beating him up at the Quad right now, he’ll only listen to you, you know how he is.”

You knew Michael was mad, that he was hurting, but you never thought it would get to this point. And that feeling of sadness for the man you had cared so much for just spread further.

You were silent for a moment. Unsure if it was that you couldn’t process what you were being told or if you didn’t know what to say.

“Y/N we have to hurry before he does something he’ll regret. I can’t let my best friend ruin his life…again. Please. I know he fucked up - he’s been suffering because of it - but he loves you and you know that, he’d do anything for you. Please.” Ashton was talking fast but none of it registered in your mind.

Because as soon as you understood the gravity of the situation, the very real possibility that Michael had lost himself so much that he could do something he couldn’t take back, you were up. You got up off of your seat quickly, running to Ashton and, when he ran out of the room, guiding you to wherever Michael was, you ran after him too. You didn’t think, you left all your stuff, you left your TA yelling out your name. All that was going through your mind was Michael.

The fact that this would be the first time you saw him in months was very present in your mind. But the dominant thought was his angry face, hitting someone without pause just like you’d seen multiple times before but this time, so much worse. Because this time he had nothing to lose.

You hated yourself a little for caring so much. After what he had done to you, you should hate him. But you tried to convince yourself that you did and that you’d do this for anyone, it was the right thing to do. It was for Luke’s sake too, save him and his health.

But as you finally reached the Quad and saw the back of Michael’s looming figure, it was hard to deny the increasing thumping of your heart beat, the way your breath was taken away at seeing him again. In all his glory.

From afar he looked great. His arms were toned, decorated perfectly with his tattoos, that still made your cheeks flare up in a light blush. He looked as gorgeous as always. In fact, you would’ve appreciated him and his appearance a lot more if his muscles weren’t flexed due to the current beating he was delivering to the boy in your physics class.

If Ashton hadn’t told you it was Luke, it might’ve been hard to recognize him with all the blood. And the fact that he was basically lying on the ground, held up only by Michael’s tight grip on the boy’s shirt.

The sight stopped you cold. You saw everyone else in the Quad, frozen and staring, at the fearsome sight as well.

You’d seen Michael being violent, but Ashton was right to be panicked, you’d never seen it be this bad. Maybe you had a little do to with that; you hated violence and would preach peace religiously, especially to Michael (though he never quite understood your position, he definitely respected it enough to restrain himself). Could this outbreak really be because of your break up? Was he really this uncontrollable without you? A part of you couldn’t imagine him caring so much about something he caused that it would drive him to this point.

But the evidence was right in front of you. As Michael’s face was scrunched up in pure fury and as professors and students alike yelled out his name to no avail. Nothing was stopping him. The only thing that was restraining him from fully exploding was a very strong Calum grabbing around his shoulder blades pulling him back and successfully slowing the assault down as much as possible while Ashton arrived. It wasn’t much, just slowed Michael down but it was enough to possibly stop a tragedy.

You had no idea what Luke could’ve possibly done to him to cause this. They’d had a few run ins before but Michael never seemed to take an interest in him, let alone allow himself to be bothered by his existence.

Ashton stayed behind you and you realized that you were meant to do something. But as you watched the much bigger, both physically and in authority, people surrounding Michael, unable to do much of anything you weren’t sure what. What were you meant to do? Especially as the ex-girlfriend who he obviously didn’t have much respect for. Not enough to stay loyal to anyway.

You took a few timid steps forward, still really unsure of what your purpose was. A part of you felt stupid for running to him as soon as he needed help, when he never even asked for you. What if he didn’t even want to see you?

But as you stared at the violent scene in front of you, you had to do something. You felt sick at it, there was no good in violence even in anger and you knew that wasn’t a feeling Michael reciprocated but when you were together, he had at least started to adopt similar thoughts. He always stopped when he was going too far. But perhaps that was more for your benefit than it was his beliefs. It was hard to believe someone you loved so deeply was capable of being violent to this point.

“Michael!” You yelled out, loud enough for him to hear you over the other voices and his own angry, incomprehensible yelling.

It was magical, almost, how quickly all of his actions stopped. How he froze up at the sound of your voice. You could hardly believe you were the reason, the one who held that power over him.

But it was undeniable as he let go of Luke abruptly, causing the poor guy to drop to the ground with no strength to hold himself up.

Even the professors next to Michael stared at you, wide-eyed. Unsure of how this short, scared looking girl managed to stop the angry giant in front of them. You were just as surprised as they were.

That surprise quickly turned into a deep set concern, one you couldn’t turn off no matter how much you wanted to, when Michael turned around. He turned slowly, almost as if he was afraid his ears had deceived him, given him something he had so desperately wanted to hear: your sweet voice saying his name again.

But it wasn’t a mistake. There you were, in front of him again. You looked gorgeous, though you always did to him. You were finally starting to wear colors again, a light pink dress with small cherries decorated over it. Michael’s heart constricted and his airway felt just a little tighter as he stared at you. You were actually there, for him.

You, on the other hand, furrowed your brows as you looked at Michael’s beautiful face. It was marred with blood (you weren’t sure if it was Luke’s or the blood from his knuckles) and the hints of frustration were still there, along with his red, tear rimmed, eyes. He looked tired, an almost ghostly pallor colored his face. It looked like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. You’d never seen him look this destroyed. You wished you didn’t feel that yearning to throw your arms around him, kiss him and make him feel better.

“Y/N…” Michael’s voice was hesitant yet gruff.

Then he moved forward, quicker than he had in a while, and enveloped you into a tight hug. He wrapped around your entire body and seemed to engulf you entirely. Your head was at his chest and you could feel him nuzzling his face into your neck as much as he could, inhaling your scent. He was finally touching your skin again and that alone let him feel connected to you. Reveling in everything he had been deprived of for months. He missed you so much.

He couldn’t even tell you everything he wanted to say. The million ‘sorry’s he had wanted to say to you since you walked out of his life, the ‘I love you’s were lost to the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness. Grateful that you were there for him, that you didn’t even go to check on Luke. No, the first thing you said was his name.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in his arms. You didn’t move, didn’t reciprocate the hug. In fact, you felt your lip start to tremble. You felt suffocated. Having him this close just reminded you of everything you had lost, everything Michael had thrown away. For a girl who he never even looked at again (he made a point of that).

Wiggling, you hoped he would get the message and let you go. But he was too mesmerized by the situation, wishing to never let you go again to notice. You had a small nagging sentiment that urged you to just let go, enjoy this moment. But the painful hurt that you still felt at just the thought of Michael had you pushing firmly against him.

This time he did loosen his grip on you, giving you opportunity to step back out of his arms. He didn’t want to, you knew it from the pained expression on his face, an expression that told you the last thing he wanted was to let you go.

“Y/N…” He started but your sharp eyes cut him off.

You looked much more sure of yourself than you felt. Your expression was stern and your voice was level. You were really proud of yourself for that.

“We’re over Michael. Don’t.”

How sad was it that even at your harsh words, he took solace in the fact that you had finally spoken to him. Your beautiful voice was finally being directed at him again.

And it was such a small thing compared to your sentence as a whole, but when you called him Michael, he felt a part of him break. Ever since your relationship had gotten serious, you called him Mikey. Such a cute little name for a boy that was anything but. If anyone else called him that, he would hate it and probably hurt the person saying it so they’d know just how much he hated it. But it was a nickname from you, something no one else called him. He’d come to love it just as much as he loved you, because it was something the two of you shared and embodied just how different Michael was with you. He was Mikey.

But it appeared he had destroyed that the moment he had destroyed the relationship.

Sure, you had called him by his full name plenty of times. But never quite with the betrayed and angry eyes, the ones that looked at him as if he was a stranger, as if he was a monster that brought nothing but destruction with him.

His heart felt like it was being constricted to the point where he was afraid it would burst. You walked directly past him without even looking twice at him, as if him having you so close to him for even just a millisecond didn’t kill him inside. He wanted to drop to his knees when you squatted down to check on Luke.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This shouldn’t have happened. He should’ve had you with him forever, loving each other for the rest of your lives; never worrying about you getting asked out by another man, always feeling loved and needed because that was just how you always made him feel, never missing you because you’d always be there and never feeling alone because all those feelings of abandonment and loneliness he used to feel had disappeared the second he met you.

“I’m so sorry…” He heard your chiming voice say down to Luke, your hands hovering over his face but not touching because of the amount of blood, you didn’t want to hurt him more than he already was.

Michael had to look away. Couldn’t handle seeing your worried eyes, your cutely concerned face directed to the jock. His entire body felt electrified with regret but he wasn’t sure if it was regret at what he had done to you or regret at having beaten Luke, because if he hadn’t, maybe Michael wouldn’t have to witness first hand you solidifying just how much he ruined everything. His entire body was slumped, drained of any energy and any anger he had moments ago. Now all he felt was a deep set longing and regret.

He didn’t think those feelings would ever go away. It felt like they were eating at him.

So when Ashton stepped forward, taking a hold of his shoulders, and began pushing him away; away from you, from the trouble he’d caused, the blood (and away from the responsibility as he knew no one would testify against him), he allowed it.

♔

Your fingers were tapping the edge of your phone nervously. You weren’t really sure what you were thinking, if you were at all. But you had sent the message anyway, forgoing any of your usual overthinking.

You flipped the phone over to illuminate your face in the dusk sky when you felt the vibration of a notification. You held your breath as you opened the text from the man you had been texting nonstop for months now; your sense of security and understanding.

justin

Are you sure? I thought you didn’t like parties much.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. He was right. You didn’t like parties and since Michael cheated on you, it had grown to a full blown hate. You didn’t tend to hate things, it wasn’t who you were. But every time you thought of what happened, the way Michael took a girl home from a party, the way he forgot completely about you because of it, there was no other way to describe the cold feeling pulsing through your body.

So when the invite to a frat party was airdropped to your phone, your first desire was to delete it, throw your phone across the room and cry (or scream, or both). But then you thought about it. Maybe facing the very thing that made you sick to the stomach, made you want to vomit, would be the closure you needed. It could help you finally get over the misguided love and care you still felt for the guy that broke your heart. Even if it didn’t, you were willing to try anything. Maybe you could finally get him out of your mind, get rid of the soft spot, the love you had for him once and for all. Maybe you’d finally be fully happy again, feel like yourself, then.

I don’t. But I think it might do me some good to go to one, especially right now. I know you don’t like that scene either but since you’re in town…do you want to come with me?

In town he was. He had flown down for the long weekend and a part of you wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that he had booked the flight right after you told him about what happened with Michael and Luke.

It wasn’t something you liked to think of much. It was jarring to finally see Michael again in that way. To see the man you had been with for so many years, the one you still loved, be so violent and aggressive. You’ve seen him mad, you’ve seen him fight before, but never to that extent. You couldn’t quite get Luke’s bashed face out of your head. You wondered exactly what Luke had done to deserve that, if anything, considering just how much more short tempered Michael had become. At least he was alright now.

It was also a little frightening to see the power you held over Michael, confusing as to why. Who were you to be able to stop him when no one else could, it wasn’t fair to feel as though you were important to him when he had shown you very vividly that you weren’t. That you were replaceable. It was scarier even to have been in his arms again. You hated the way your body betrayed you by longing for it so much, the way you felt instantly calm in his arms, never wanting to leave. The way you still loved him and wanted to go back to him. You pushed those thoughts away as deeply as you could.

When Justin told you all those months ago that you could text him for anything, you took it very literally. And it made you feel so accepted that he didn’t mind you texting him at 3 in the morning to rant about whatever was on your mind. It was what you normally would’ve done with Michael but it felt just as good to do it with Justin. Better even because your memories with the blond boy weren’t tainted. The kiss hadn’t made anything awkward because he was just that great of a guy to know it was something that you did when you weren’t in your right mind. Justin had given you a safe space, one where you could let out all your feelings without being judged or pitied. And you appreciated him for it.

Justin wasn’t one for parties, just like you. In fact, in high school, the two of you would often be together talking about exams, college and homework while the rest of your friends were out celebrating life. And neither of you minded one bit. You were still like that and you definitely knew he was as well. Which is why when his typing bubble came up, you were worried he would deny you and you would have to go by yourself. You’d have to face the shame of going to the scene of the crime alone.

justin

I’ll be right over.

You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling that was erupting in you.

♔

Michael stared at Ashton incredulously.

“No, I don’t want to go to a fucking party.” He growled at the brown haired boy standing in the doorway of his dim room. He preferred to keep the lights as low as possible, if not off. The last time his room was fully lit was when you were in there. And he wasn’t quite sure he could take that piece of memory and replace it with this much lonelier reality.

Michael had sworn off parties and stopped drinking. In fact, he refused to even hear about it. No one invited him to parties or handed him drinks anymore either because they knew just how sensitive of a topic it was for him. It might’ve been misplaced anger. But it was there nonetheless. As much as he blamed himself, he blamed that culture for what happened. And he refused to be a part of it anymore. Especially when he couldn’t even pass by a frat or sorority house without being hit with the fact that you weren’t his girlfriend anymore and that the reason happened right there. He couldn’t even have a drink in his hand without wanting to chuck it across the room - preferably at someone’s head.

He wasn’t only on a party ban but also on a girl ban. It wasn’t something he was consciously doing but he couldn’t imagine doing anything other than that. And celibacy was not something Michael was used to doing, before or with you. But his body was physically rejecting any girl that came near him, anyone other than you. Not like he went out to find girls, in fact with the way his mind was constantly on you, remembering the good times (before everything went to shit), other women never crossed his mind. Michael only remembered that he was still attracting attention when they approached him and even then, nothing they said ever processed in his mind. All he saw was someone that wasn’t you and he moved along.

Ashton sighed, the only light coming from the living room behind him. He understood where Michael was coming from, he did. Which is why he never forced him to go anywhere, even if he thought it could cheer him up, just like this Epsilon party - his favorite. But after the thing with Luke, it had been hard to get him out of the house at all. It was like he was traumatized from the whole thing, he couldn’t even step on campus.

It had nothing to do with Luke, of course. In fact, when Ashton filled him in that you had in fact, not gone on a date with him, Ashton saw a look of relief on his friend’s face that he had never quite seen before. But it had everything to do with the feeling of drowning, suffocating, coming back after seeing you again; after seeing you and being frozen out of your forgiveness and love. He really fucked up.

Ashton considered his next words. He didn’t want to give his friend false hope, only for it to be snuffed out again. But he knew Michael wouldn’t get up off of his bed if he didn’t, he would stay in that position, listening to angry, sad music alone until he fell asleep and was able to dream of you, dream that everything was like it used to be. He needed out of the house and to confront his sins, instead of wallowing in them.

“Y/N might be there.”

He’d never seen Michael sit up as fast as he did then. And all his hesitancy in giving Michael false ideas had gone to waste, it was evident in the way his face lit up, the way his eyes had the far away look that showed all the what-ifs running through his mind.

“How do you know?”

“Cal invited her.” Ashton murmured, hoping that if he spoke soft and slow, then Michael’s hope might pop, he might come back to reality. “It’s at his frat, Epsilon so he sent her the flyer. I’m pretty sure he said she was interested.”

Michael was already standing up, “What are we waiting for then.” He could put aside his aversion to parties, especially greek life parties for you. He’d do it because of you. If it meant he could see you again, talk to you. Maybe even be able to beg for forgiveness like he’d always wanted to. Like he had been unable to fully do after the fight because he had been too stunned by your presence, at having your beauty in front of him again. It had rendered him too useless to even think.

Ashton struggled to find the right words when Michael pushed past him in the doorway and headed to the front door.

“Right…but, dude, remember she still probably won’t-”

“Don’t say it.” Michael didn’t stop walking but his words were warning. His tone didn’t pack the usual punch though, it was too tinged with choked back sadness to be as threatening as he wanted.

He glanced down at his phone, didn’t unlock it, just stared for a moment in silence. Ashton wished he didn’t see the flash of Michael’s phone before he put it in his pocket, didn’t see your smiling face reflected back at him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have a pit in his stomach at what exactly he was taking his friend to and bringing to you. More heartache?

♔

Michael’s heart was beating a million beats per minute. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt nervous but this was definitely it. Just the thought of seeing you again just for you to brush him off, say you were over him, for you to have finally figured out you were too good for him that entire time. All of that was enough for him to want to go back home, try again some other time. Because he didn’t know if he could handle you not forgiving him and finally losing you for good.

He didn’t care about the calls of his name as soon as he entered the room. He slipped right past Calum who had waited up front to greet Ashton and Michael. He had one goal in being there. To find you. Everything else was irrelevant

He just didn’t expect to find you against the wall, a drink in your hand and Justin standing in front of you, talking to you animately. In the same position you and him had been in multiple times. Justin was leaning down so you could hear him better; the music was so loud. Your lips were slightly parted, your big eyes sparkling like they used to when you looked at him as you nodded at whatever the blond boy was saying to you.

You looked beautiful. You were wearing the short, white dress that contrasted so beautifully with your skin tone. The one he always said made you look like an angel. The one he loved to fuck you in especially, to really solidify him taking away that pureness. But now you didn’t wear it for him.

Michael was already broken hearted. But nothing compared to the feeling of his heart being ripped out of his chest when he saw you with the one man Michael had always felt insecure next to. The one you knew so well, the one who was perfect inside and out and wanted you the same way Michael did though not nearly as intensely and deeply. He hated the blond boy. Why did he always have to be around?

To add insult to injury, Michael watched with frozen horror as you raised the alcohol to your lips and sipped. Your face scrunched up at the taste so at least it hadn’t become a vice of yours. But still, you had slipped into something you never wanted to before. Even if it was just to give you the extra push to let loose, to give you the comfort in a setting that brought you so much pain. Michael pushed you to do something you had been so against. His sweet pure girl. It was his worse nightmare, being such a bad influence in your life. But he had succeeded. And he felt like everything was wrong in the world.

Michael felt a bad taste in his mouth as he saw Justin move closer, too close, so he could whisper in your ear. He wanted to rip off the hand he had on your bare shoulder. When he saw your red cheeks, he wanted to kill something. Your blush was one of Michael’s favorite parts about you, it made your already cute and innocent face look even more so and it did wonders for Michael’s libido and ego, a fact you were very much aware of. A fact that was still true now, even if it wasn’t directed to him. No now, you were blushing for him. For the man that Michael had to fight against in order to keep his relationship in the first place. You had rejected Luke but now it was Justin in front of you. Had he just pushed you back into the rich boy’s arms? Did he give him a free space to finally win your heart?

The bastard was too much of a pussy to even keep that stupid drink away from you like he knew you wanted. He couldn’t protect you like Michael could.

His only solace was when he finally watched Justin move away from you. He watched with jealous eyes as he rounded a corner to find a quiet place to take a call. His phone was already at his ear and his free hand covered his other ear to help him hear the line better.

Michael hadn’t even moved when Ashton and Calum came up beside him, patting his shoulder. “We got you, bro.” And then they followed Justin out of the room, giving him the security that they would buy him some time.

His heart accelerated again, coming alive. Here was his chance, you were alone, right in front of him and he had all the time in the world. But if he didn’t move now, he might lose you forever to the persistent man you came with.

♔

It was so hot.

You weren’t sure if it was the amount of people in the packed house or the drink in your hand. Granted, you’d only taken a grand total of 2 sips and while you definitely figured out it was not for you, the ability of it to help you forget your misfortunes was still to be determined. You were sure it was because you weren’t drunk, if just a bit buzzed, but you had no intention of getting to that level anyway. So for now, it would just be a decoration in your hand.

You touched your cheeks a little after Justin left. They felt burning and you had no doubt you were blushing wildly. More than half of it had to be because of Justin. He was standing so close with those kind blue eyes. He made it so easy to forget.

“Y/N.” But it was impossible to forget completely when you were always within the same campus as the man you were trying so desperately to get out of your head.

It was disheartening the way your stomach dropped at his voice. Especially because this could only mean one thing, he was still partying. Even after what he did, he was still attending, still finding other girls probably. While you were trying hard to forget, he had already forgotten you.

You felt your lips quiver and your ears burned with heat and humiliation by the time he stood in front of you. You were backed into a corner already so there was no way to escape. That didn’t stop your eyes from looking around you from some sort of exit, for Justin to come back, anything. As if his body didn’t block the majority of your eyesight.

So you were forced to just look up, your neck craning to fully look at him. You’d almost forgotten how tall he was, you had stood so far away from him at the Quad it didn’t give you the time to fully appreciate his height.

He looked just as different as he looked at the Quad. His hair was a mess, as if he had just gotten up from bed. Deep purple circles ran alongside the bottom of his eyes from lack of sleep.

But, wearing a black bomber over a black t-shirt, his silver chain contrasting perfectly against the dark fabric, he still looked great. And then you saw them. The tattoos encircling his entire neck were shadowed just right so you could appreciate their dark colors. Then one of his hands moved, allowing you to fully see the artwork that traveled from the edge of his sleeves to the edge of his finger, the ones that drove you especially crazy. Particularly when they were holding your much smaller hand gently, so different from what would be expected. Or when they were around your neck.

You blamed the alcohol for how your body stiffened, a pooling of wetness between your legs. Had it really been that long, were you really so sex-deprived that even just a look at him had you horny? He really had corrupted you. Before, you didn’t think of sex much but you’d gotten too accustomed, spoiled, with the way he made you feel, something that happened so often that just a few months without had left you feeling more lonely than ever.

His eyes explored your face, trailing especially onto your full pink lips before they met your eyes. It was like a trance you were both in and you weren’t completely sure you were breathing.

He took the gross cup from your hands, tossing it aside as if it didn’t contain liquid.

“Who the fuck gave you that?” His words were so familiar and for a moment, you could almost imagine that nothing had happened. That he was still the protective boyfriend you loved so much. “You don’t drink.”

Normally the drink would never reach your hand, Michael would make sure of it. He always wanted to preserve your innocence from any hard substances he partook in. But Justin was just as out of his element as you were, just as nervous. So when you were handed a drink, Justin didn’t do anything to stop it besides looking at you nervously. You wished you didn’t feel the bit of disappointment at just how different he was from what you wanted, from Michael.

The trance was broken as soon as he lifted his hand to your face, to touch your cheek like he had always done without question. But this time you pulled your head back before his fingers could touch your skin.

“Don’t touch me.” Because you were still very aware what him being there meant. The humiliation and betrayal he caused you was still a very fresh wound.

You wished you could take pleasure in the pained look that flashed across his face. His face dropped, much like it did in the Quad, and settled in your neck. He wasn’t touching you but this was his only chance to get you to listen and he wasn’t going to throw it away. Right then, it felt like his entire future was hanging on by a thin strand. He didn’t care what he looked like to anyone watching, didn’t care if he looked weak or whipped. He’d go down on his knees to beg for you back if that’s what it took.

You were blushing again as soon as you felt his breath on your skin. You had to close your eyes and force yourself to breathe, otherwise the breath would be stuck in a knot at your throat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered so only you heard, his voice was dripping with sincerity. It almost sounded sad. “I was drunk and I thought it was you. I would’ve never….fuck, if I was conscious enough to know, it wouldn’t have happened. It meant nothing. She was nothing. I love you so much, baby girl.” He felt you flinch at the name. “I love you. Too much to do that knowingly and too much to want to. You’re it for me. I know I fucked up, but I’m sorry.”

He repeated his love for you as if there wasn’t enough times that he could say it that would come close to encompassing just how much he did. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure you could hear it. He inhaled your scent, taking pleasure at being so close to you after so long. He finally felt at home again, his heart and body felt like they were buzzing with electricity. You made him feel alive.

“That’s not an excuse.” And then his heart deflated in a way only you had the ability to make it. “If you couldn’t handle your alcohol, that’s your fault. It doesn’t matter if you love me if the way you act the minute I’m not beside you shows the complete opposite. When I did nothing but support and love you, when I was fine even when I knew that you had screwed half of the girls on campus, I trusted you even then. I didn’t deserve that. You humiliated me, Michael, to the entire campus. You betrayed me. I’m not sure you know what love is. Because you’re not the man I thought you were.”

You pushed him away at that point and took solace in the way he let himself be pushed away. Now there were a good couple inches between you and you finally felt like you could breathe again, the fuzziness in your mind at having him so close was fading slowly. Your quick heartbeat, which had started racing the moment he said I love you again, three little words you thought you’d never hear again from his mouth, was still going hard.

Your eyes were watering over, tears threatening to fall but your face screamed anger. The anger you had felt for months finally letting out. But it was an anger mixed with a sad frustration which couldn’t be taken out of your expression. And that was what hurt Michael the most.

Seeing you look so in pain, so broken when all you deserved to be was happy and loved. He had done this. But even when his heart stuttered as he looked at you, he wanted nothing more to hug you, kiss the pain the away. He was selfish. Too selfish for you. But he loved you too much to let you go. You were the best thing thats ever happened to him, the best thing in his life.

His hand moved again, this time, taking a hold of your upper arms. He only meant to hold you, test the waters to see if maybe his touch could bring you back to him. But he didn’t expect the gasp that escaped you as soon as his cool fingertips grazed along your warm skin. Michael watched with wonder as your eyes widened and your blush deepened. You were a goddess.

A goddess with a reaction that Michael knew more than well. Michael watched you carefully, the way your teeth caught your bottom lip, the way your pressed your thighs together as you attempted to step back. He had missed the way your body reacted to him. How could he have ever mistaken you when you were so obviously awe-inspiringly beautiful and magical to watch unfold. Just watching you was enough to get him off.

Sex was what got him in this mess in the first place. But it was also the one thing he knew you would still want him for, need him for. And he was desperate enough to fill in that role, even if it would just result in more hope and heartbreak for him, even if, for you, he would only act as a means to an end. Anything to have you in his life for a little while longer. Anything to hold back to inevitable and nonreversible separation you no doubt wanted. He would take what he could get.

He had said to you once that he would ruin you for all men so that eventually you would always need him, always run back to him, even if it was only to get off. Neither of you had expected to get to the point where it would come true. But here you were.

Michael knew you so well, knew what you liked, what you reacted for. So it was no big surprise when he closed the gap between you two, pushing you against the wall with his lips directly at your ear, taking advantage of your state.

“Missed you, little one.”

The way he ducked down, the way his hands were trapping you in place. Everything made you feel so small, so dominated that you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your mouth. And he loved it too, seeing your small frame so tiny and fragile, helpless. His for the taking, his to break. His.

You hated feeling this weak in front of him but it’d been too long, you needed it, you needed him. Because no matter how much you hated him at that moment, there was no doubt that no one could make you feel as good, as satisfied as he could. Not that there was anyone else you trusted or loved enough to try.

“You’re still so good for me, bet your body has missed me, missed my cock. Do you remember how good it feels?” You were sure he chose his words carefully. Saying what he knew had you weak to the knees so you couldn’t deny him.

Michael watched your small figure, looking up at him with innocently hungry eyes. His hand on your arm trailed tantalizingly upward and downward. Your skin burned wherever he touched. His other hand rested firmly on your hips, holding you as if you would disappear if he loosened his grip. All he could think was that he was actually touching you again. It was like he could breathe for the first time in a long time.

But this was wrong. You were giving in and you could feel your self control slipping from you. It was replaced with an urge to let him do whatever he wanted to you, to let out all your pent up emotions through one night that you knew would blow you away.

Michael’s eyes focused on your lips, his thumb moving up to them and this time you let him. His thumb played with your bottom lip while the rest of his fingers rested on your jaw. You felt his thumb move into your mouth superficially. Your gaze never left his as your tongue slid on the pad of his digit before he brought it back out, using it to drag your bottom lip down.

You were ethereal and he was nothing short of hellish. But it was the type of destruction you couldn’t seem to stay away from.

“It’s been so long, baby girl. I’ve wanted you for months, missed your tight little pussy taking my cock so well. Jacked off so much thinking about it.” Michael’s words were filthy, too filthy for a public party where the only thing between you and the rest of the partygoers was Michael’s large frame draped around you. In fact, you weren’t sure anyone could even see you as Michael’s broad shoulders covered you entirely. It just seemed as if he was standing hunched over nothing. That particular thought drew a moan out of your mouth.

“Bet you’ve been needy. My spoiled girl wanting to get her pussy wrecked by my big cock like you’re used to, but your fingers just don’t feel the same, do they?” Michael nipped at your neck slightly making you nod out desperately.

You’d missed this so much, the feeling of complete domination over you, the way he treated you so roughly yet lovingly at the same time. That feeling was complete when his lips found your neck while his hand came down to the base of your throat and squeezed. He didn’t kiss your neck, not yet, not without your words. But his lips feathered over your skin like a ghost, enough for you to just get a taste. Enough for you to want more.

“Come on, little one. Let me help. Let me make you feel good.”

Michael groaned out as he saw your blush deepened and one of his knees came up between your bodies, prying your legs open just enough for the fabric of his ripped jeans to touch your damp panties. One of his hands tugged sharply at your hair.

“M-Michael…” You couldn’t think straight. You were turned on in a way only he was able to do. All you could think was of his scent, the way his strong shoulders felt when your hands finally touched him for the first time in months. His muscles felt firm and powerful, the intimidating and possessive aura that seemed to scream at everyone to stay away was held there and as you squeezed them, feeling his body, the fire burning beneath your heart and your sex was scorching hot. You were clenching helplessly around nothing. You needed him.

But then you saw him, the boy you had come to the party with. The one you had invited. The one who had stayed by your side and cared for you. Justin was staring at you with wide eyes. His hand was in his ruffled hair, unsure of what to do or say as he watched you come undone just by Michael’s presence. Calum was right behind him, flustered at having him slip away.

It was almost shameful to think of what you must look like to him. Weak, desperate, lustful, submissive. You felt bad, even after everything, you were choosing Michael again. Even after Justin comforted you, even after that kiss. And he had front row tickets this time. Your face burned as you breathed out for Michael to stop.

Michael moved away, his focus entirely on you, his large hand entwining in yours as he pulled you back from against the wall. “Let’s go.”

Your heart was stuttering when you stared at Justin. There were so many mixed emotions in your mind. You were desperate for Michael at that point, if you hadn’t been gazing at Justin’s hurt face, you would’ve left without question. But Justin was there and worse he was there for you. You were the one that invited him, you were the one who took him out of his own life so he could be there for you. And now you were abandoning him for the guy that hurt you in the first place.

You hoped your eyes translated all the regret you felt at how you were making him feel at the moment. You didn’t meant to play with his feelings or lead him on, in fact you were sure your own feelings were starting to be messed with in the process. But you were too far gone to reject Michael, to think logically. You needed something only he could satisfy you with and you needed that gratification.

When you saw a small nod come from Justin, you almost sighed in relief. You didn’t need his permission but his understanding, or at least acceptance of what you were doing made you feel less guilty when you nodded up at Michael. Not for the first time were you struck with his beauty, he reminded you of danger in a way. But you weren’t scared. Instead you were letting him lead you wherever he wanted. His dark hair swept across his forehead perfectly. His deep eyes still stared at you with the same adoration they always had and the secretive smile that was only for you was still there as well.

It felt especially familiar when he pulled you into his side, wrapping one arm protectively around your shoulder, keeping you there and proudly showing off who you still belonged to, to the entire party. He knew that in the state you were in right then, the horny mess he had left you in, you wouldn’t resist. Michael was on cloud nine. He was finally getting what he wanted, had been desperately needing this whole time. You were back in his arms like you were always meant to be, where you belonged and after finally claiming you again, getting to feel your body again, you could finally listen to him, forgive him even. But you found it ironic; how you came to the party to get closure but you were leaving in his arms.

You didn’t miss the stares your little reunion was getting. It was no secret on campus the breakup had been messy, so messy Michael had become unmanageable. So to see your small figure right next to him again was surprising, even more so to see him looking so content in a way no one had seen him look in months.

The only thought that could make you feel less pathetic was the knowledge that this wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t mean anything. You weren’t docile, he was just a good fuck. Once you got it out of your system, once you got him out of your system, you could officially move on. Just one more night for the books. That’s what you told yourself at least.

♔

Michael pushed you against the corridor walls as soon as he closed the front door. He had his hand where your jaw met your neck, holding your face up to him. The chain around his neck dangled between you due to the height difference of him having to very much lean down and over to reach your lips. You were so small. But you fit so perfectly with him. The kiss was hot and heavy. It was mixed with everything: longing, regret, desperation and lust. He held your jaw still so he could control the pace and you were more than happy to let him. His tongue explored your mouth expertly and you moaned against his lips. You had missed him. He felt like he was in a dream, getting to kiss you again. You wished you didn’t still feel the completeness, the security you always felt with him.

“Missed you so much.” He said as he pulled away, pecking your lips once more before stepping aside. “You have no idea how much I love you, princess.”

Your breath was taken away at the sound of the loving nickname. You could almost cry at how good it felt to feel his love and sincerity again, coming right from his mouth. You had lost so much.

But you didn’t answer, you weren’t there to forgive him. So you didn’t. Instead you walked to where his door met the living room. He let you, following behind you closely but not without the setting of his jaw. But still, he couldn’t shake the disbelief he felt that you were finally back home. He was finally back home with you.

The house felt like you were coming back home. Everything was just as you left it, if not just slightly messier. It was bittersweet walking the familiar corridor to the living room.

That is where you stopped cold. The couch. The stupid couch.

There it was, the black, cracked old couch where Michael had cheated on you. It was still in the living room and you felt as you did when you first walked in on them. To think he didn’t even care enough to get rid of it. Probably sat on it everyday without even caring what happened on it. Physically recoiling, your mind cleared up just a bit to scream at you to leave. What were you even doing back there? Hurting yourself more.

You wanted to run, to go back home and cry your feelings out but you were frozen in place. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sofa. You’d never hated an inanimate object more. You were humiliated all over again.

You didn’t realize you weren’t breathing until you felt Michael slide his arms around your body from behind. One of his hands moved down to hold your hand while the other arm was around your waist. You felt his upper body on you, his chest touching your back. You even felt his hardness poke your thigh. He hunched down enough to place his chin on top of your head. You didn’t want to be comforted, not by him. But you couldn’t help but close your eyes and take in a fresh breath at the security his embrace provided you.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated and you almost wondered if he was going to say anything beside that the entire night. “I’m going to get rid of it, I promise.”

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t care.”

His grip on you tightened and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered, “Don’t say that. I can’t even look at that thing without hating the memory of it.” His thumb drew circles on your hand, “I barely leave my room so I won’t have to pass by it.”

It felt like your heart skipped a beat. You could almost bring yourself to believe that he regretted what he did, that he ever loved you like he claimed. But you weren’t there for that.

So you stepped out of his grasp easily and moved to go into the room that you had come to know so well but had become nothing more than a memory. You had a feeling that, as you turned the lights on in his otherwise dark room, it was the first time in a while his room had been illuminated with light. His room was messy, strewn with cigarette buds on every surface, some blunts laid out in the open. Unidentified pills strewn every once and a while. You stopped looking after a while, it hurt too much to think of just what exactly he had been resorting to without you. You had used academics to take away the pain, Michael had evidently chosen a different route.

Michael did not miss a beat following you into his room like a lost puppy (a way he would only be like when following you), closing his door behind him in anticipation. He didn’t want to risk losing the mood, the spark that was currently burning bright between you two.

When you reached up and, by his neck, pulled him down to kiss you again, he let you. He let himself be guided back to his bed until he fell on top of you. Holding himself up with one hand, the other traveled down to push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. A part of him wondered how hot it would be to fuck you in that dress, to see you coming undone for him in such a unblemished design. But he needed to see your body, see you bare and vulnerable for him after so much time.

And the sight was everything he remembered it being. The way you were so responsive to him, the small whines of pleasure leaving your kiss-plumped lips. His lips traveled down your familiar body, basking in the fact that you weren’t pushing him away but instead begging for more. You had gone home with him, you had abandoned Justin for him. He was feeling much like a starving man getting his first taste of satisfaction in a while.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

When you first felt Michael’s tongue on you, your back arched involuntarily, a gasp leaving your lips. It’d been so long. You had almost forgotten how good it felt, how good he was at everything. But your body hadn’t forgotten, it had been yearning for him and now that it had him back, you couldn’t help the way you reacted so easily to him.

“Yours, daddy” The words came to naturally to you even then.

Your words were a lot for him. You were submitting to him so beautifully in a way he wasn’t sure you would anymore. But you felt so blissful with him again, more than you’ve felt in a while, you couldn’t help it. To hear you call yourself his again had his stomach in flutters. He hadn’t lost you. Even more so to have you letting him dominate you like he deemed fit again.

You felt his tongue flick up your slit, between your folds. Vibrations sounded pleasurably as he moaned at your taste. He swirled his tongue around your clit as his open mouth encased it, sucking it at just the right moments that felt your eyes almost rolling back into your head.

Your moans were high pitched and desperate as you grabbed onto his dark hair and kept him right where he was. Not that he would’ve tried to stop anyway. He was at wonder with how good you tasted, your body’s sweet reaction to him, and how wet you were - for him. The bulge in his pants was infinitely bigger and more strained than it was before, if that were possible.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping your writhing form still so he could stay in between your legs. And it wasn’t something you wanted to be thinking about but seeing his tattooed hands and fingers around your own untouched skin, a sight you had missed so much for so long, had you whining, pushing your hips against his face.

Michael took his mouth off of you only for a second. Using his index and middle finger, he spread your lips to leave you completely exposed to him. In the way you only ever were with him.

His glance at you had you biting you lip, “You’re soaking, baby girl. I missed this cunt so much.”

And then his lips were back on you. His tongue licked your hole and your back arched when he dipped inside you just a bit. But it was enough for you to be pulling at his hair roughly and for you to hear him hiss and curse out in pleasure at the hint of pain.

He teased your entrance just a bit longer before going back to your clit, nibbling it in the slightest way. And you wish you could have the decency to be embarrassed at how quickly you came all over his face afterward.

But you didn’t feel embarrassed. How could you when all he did was lick up your juices before coming back up to his full towering height over you, taking a hold of the back of your neck and smashing his mouth to yours. You tasted yourself as his tongue explored your mouth. Michael’s eyes were dark with his pupils almost blown out with the euphoria of not just having you back with him but having you just cum again because of him. It was like all his dirty fantasies he had dreamed of since the breakup, but this time he wouldn’t have to get off with his own hand, annoyed and alone. This time it was real.

His hand found its way your neck, choking you just so. Both on your knees, your smaller figure had to look up at him by craning your neck. He was still fully clothed while you were in front of him, completely naked. You felt one of his fingers prod your lips open and as he stared down at you, his hand squeezing your neck a little more, you knew what he wanted to see.

“You taste so good.” You opened your mouth easily, trying not to think of the way you were too turned on by what was going to happen. When he spit in your awaiting mouth, you saw him rubbing himself through his jeans at the sight of you swallowing. You were still his. “Dirty girl.”

His words, your submission, it was almost like nothing had changed. Your small hands even reached out and unbuckled his belt and seeing that, coupled with your shy eyes staring up at him, made him sigh in bliss as he helped you get his pants and boxers off.

His dick was harder than it had been for months and he almost forgot the feeling of your tight walls around him but he had definitely still remembered the overwhelming need to be inside you, to be connected with you in such an intimate way that he only ever experienced with you.

He wanted to cherish the moment as much as he could because he wasn’t sure what time would bring after it. But at the same time he wanted to completely ruin you, fuck you until your mind was only filled with his name, until you could barely walk, so much that you wouldn’t leave him, if only for the pleasure he brought you. And you made those dark needs easier with your innocent wide eyes and cute whines leaving your writhing body.

But it was as if the delicate moment was broken the minute Michael laid you down completely and moved on top of you, held up only by one of his hands. Both of you naked, you couldn’t help but stare up at him and only see what that other girl saw the night of the party. You thought only of the same words Michael was using with you tonight being directed to her. She experienced something that was only ever meant for you. And suddenly you felt dirty. His hands trailing up and down your body, the same ones that had felt the blonde’s body, felt as if they were burning you.

“Wait, stop.” You laid your hand on his shoulder before he could even start lining up to your entrance. And a part of your heart melted in appreciation when he did stop, without question. You had lost a great boyfriend that respected your boundaries, consent and wishes. But then you caught yourself. He lost you.

Michael’s eyes snapped to you immediately, looking for any sign of what he did wrong. An apology was already at his lips when your eyes started watering.

“I ca-I can’t. I’m only picturing what you did with…with her.” Michael felt his shoulders sag at the way his actions were breaking you apart, preventing you from even feeling the love he had always been able to translate through to you with sex. “This isn’t special anymore Michael, you-you gave this to another girl, I feel gross.”

But Michael was shaking his head, his eyes never leaving yours. He felt a sense of urgency and sadness strike in him. Sadness that the girl who he loved, the only one who has ever owned his heart more than even himself, felt like she wasn’t special. As if Michael didn’t need to breath you in to feel alive, to feel anything but the anger swirling in what seemed like a constant storm within him. And urgency to get you to see that he didn’t give what you and him had to anyone. No one has ever and will never experience what you experienced with him. How could they? Nothing feels right when it’s not with you.

He leaned as close as he dared, “I didn’t…I didn’t touch her or talk to her like I do when I’m with you. I’ve never done that with anyone else…I’m only like that with you. You’re the only girl I’ll ever show that side to because you’re my girlfriend, you’re the only girl I’ve been with that I love. No one else.” It was the first time you’d heard him stutter. You weren’t his girlfriend, not anymore. But you didn’t correct him.

You felt Michael’s lips on your neck, kissing right where your pulse was. One of his hands moved your hair out of the way gently and that felt more intimate than anything else you had just done. His lips trailed to your ear.

“It was only one time.” He continued and both of you cringed at that. Once or not, it didn’t matter and he knew it. The deep, soul wrenching regret he still felt was proof of it. But still he continued, “And it was a mistake, I regret it. It’ll never happen again. I fucking went soft halfway through because even when I was drunk out of my mind I couldn’t be like that with anyone but you. She’s nothing to me. I haven’t touched anyone else. I haven’t wanted to.”

It was hard for you to wrap your head around; that something that seemed so intimate and special to you, could mean practically nothing to him if it wasn’t with you.

Despite your best efforts to deny his effect on you, his affection had calmed you. Your breathing had evened but you still looked hesitant, “But you still go out partying…” You wished you didn’t sound so jealous when you said it. You wished you could even look him in the eyes.

He nipped at your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms. “I don’t. I only went tonight for you.”

Your eyes set on his at his confession. “You’re more than special.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, or if you even wanted to consider his words and their implications to everything you had thought was true during your breakup; was he actually just as in pain as you were all this time? It was such a break from what you expected him to be, the player who just saw you as another notch in his belt. Either way, your heart felt as if it fell still at the sincerity and intensity in his voice.

When you pressed your lips against his again, it wasn’t in forgiveness. It was a kiss that was more for you. Whether he truly believed it or not, you were going to make him see just what he had given up, just how irreplaceable you were. Because after years with him, you were no longer inexperienced, and you were Michael’s only girlfriend. He was able to teach you everything he liked, in vivid detail.

“Just fuck me.” You whispered through your heated kisses. You allowed his tongue to explore your mouth further as you moaned.

Michael had no issue giving you just want you wanted. How could he not with the way your naked body clung and rubbed deliciously against him. He had the sneaking idea that it was impossible not to be hard around you, constantly. He missed you so much.

He loved how easy it was to control your small frame, throwing you under him without much effort. He dominated you so easily. It was one of the things he most missed about you. The memory of your little body had been enough to get him off during the lonely nights but the real sight was so much better. He cherished the way you gasped slightly as your body bounced after being dropped.

He almost felt giddy as he ran his tip over your wet slit. But that couldn’t compare to the feeling of completeness he got when he finally slid into you raw. He was finally home. After so many months without feeling your pussy around him, he leaned over you as he groaned out. His hand had been nothing compared to this. It took a bit for you to take him in all the way. It’d been so long since he’s been inside of you, your body had grown accustomed without him.

You already felt so full of him when he was only halfway inside of you and he didn’t know what was hotter, the way your small body looked stuffed already with just half of his cock or the way you were still begging for all of it. He pushed fully into you, enjoying the way you mewled and pressed closer to him, finally being relieved a bit of the ache you’ve had since the break up. This was exactly what you needed. He was right, you would always need him to find that release.

It had been too long.

It was punishment to have forgotten just how it felt to be inside you, how tight you were, how you hugged him so deliciously that it almost felt like he could cum right then and there. His hands twisted the bedsheets next to you as he tried to control himself. He needed to relish this, he didn’t want to finish too early.

But then you started whining under him and he gladly began thrusting into you, his hips bucking at the feeling of being squeezed while he fucked into your warm and wet hole. He couldn’t prevent the pleased moaning and growls that escaped him at how good you felt. It was obvious in his mind that nothing was better than this, nothing was better than you. And he felt like a fool, more so than he had felt for months, for having lost you, for fucking up. He was addicted to you.

He hoped you realized that this was so different from anything else he could’ve experienced without you, that you shouldn’t feel gross or unimportant because the way he was touching you, the hands he held you with, the way he fucked you was so different than he was with anyone else. He almost felt like a teenager having sex for the first time, the feeling of wonder and nervousness at finally being able to be with you again, the self doubt, desperate need to please you and of course, the hope.

Your beautiful gasps and moans called him to pick up his pace. He felt his heart constrict at having you moan for him again. Your noises were like music to his ears and he was desperate to keep you making them, get you louder for him, make you feel as good as possible. Because for that moment, seeing your face washed in pleasure because of him, he could almost imagine that you were still his. That you didn’t feel those negative feelings of betrayal, distrust towards him. That you didn’t see him as a monster like everyone else did. This was what you still needed him for and he would make sure he wouldn’t disappoint. That this wouldn’t be a one time thing. Even if that’s exactly where your mind was.

You had forgotten how much of an expert he was at this. How his thrusts seemed to be timed just perfectly that they always reached so deep and rubbed against your walls just enough that your hips were moving alongside with them without you even realizing. You felt stretched out, filled to the brim with his girth for the first time in a while, it almost burned. But it was the perfect sort of feeling. It was a feeling that had you wanting more, begging for more.

At your responsiveness, he seemed to have gotten back the confidence he had always had when having sex with you. He had one of your legs in his hand, spreading you more open for him in a way only he had ever been able to control your body. His eyes never tore away from your withering body under him. He needed to see everything, everything he had been missing so badly. Your innocent little body being tainted by him once again.

“Fuck me harder.” You whimpered out. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. At each thrust, you felt a pit of pleasure pooling hotly in your stomach. You were already moaning loudly, holding on to Michael as you finally felt the delicious drive of him into you after months of deprivation. Each time his skin slapped to yours, at each glance you saw him take to the point where you two were connected, where his dick was currently disappearing into you, you were nearly spasming at the heightened feelings. He was looking at you like he worshipped you.

“You’re taking me so well, little one. You’re so fucking tight.” He murmured, his voice strained as he gripped your hips tightly. He followed your orders, his thrusts became faster, more punctuated and so rough you were clenching onto him. Michael growled under his breath at the feeling of your already tight grip get even tighter. Your skills certainly weren’t lacking, even with your lack of recent practice. He wasn’t sure just exactly how long he would last with you.

You were amazing, and he had been so lucky to be able to not only have you like this now but have had you for so many years beforehand. “Missed it, didn’t you? Haven’t had a cock in you for so long, right? Wanting my dick in your tight cunt. Haven’t been able to get what you wanted without me.”

Your back was arched and you couldn’t answer him. Your moans had increased with his rough thrusts, broken as your body moved in sync with his, bouncing with each thrust. You felt the tip of his cock brush your g-spot and you jolted in his arms before grinding as he bottomed out into you again, desperate for everything he was making you feel. It was hard to breathe. You couldn’t even moan anymore, your mouth just open uselessly at the stimulation.

“Yes, Michael, yes.” You weren’t sure if you were answering his question or his actions.

Either way, Michael wasn’t satisfied. His hand went to your neck immediately, choking you just enough in warning. “Tell me you haven’t been with anyone else. Tell me I’m still your only.”

It was downright sinful for you to see the visual of his tattooed hand encircling your neck. It adorned you perfectly, like you belonged right there in his palm and you spread your legs further to get him deeper inside of you. Your moan was a mixture of his name and a desperate whine.

When you didn’t answer, he slapped you once on your cheek. The sting was so familiar and it was what had you remaining silent knowing what would happen, begging for more. As if he could sense that, Michael chuckled darkly under his breath. He slapped you again, harder this time. His aggressive thrusts never faltered.

“You’re still such a fucking slut for me, still mine. Even your body knows it. Say it.” He needed you to say it again. After so long, he wished he could draw you to say that forever.

“H-Haven’t been with anyone else.” You whimpered, “Fuck…so good…Y-you’re still the only one who’s ever had me. Still yours.” Your hand was on his wrist, keeping his hand to your throat, choking you so mouth-wateringly.

It was so easy to forget with him thrusting into you like that. So easy to pretend that the nightmare of the past few months had never happened and that you were still together, still happy. That this was just one of the many times you had sex that happened so often during your relationship.

“Even Justin?” He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“He could never have me, couldn’t make me feel as good as you can. No one can.” Your words were cruel. But your head was so clouded that you didn’t care. All you cared was telling Michael exactly what he wanted to hear, to please him like you couldn’t help but want to. Besides, you couldn’t deny that your words were true. Justin was kind and he had a big role in your life and heart but you didn’t feel that magnetic connection with him that you felt with Michael, that all encompassing love and desire. Michael really had ruined you for all other men, no one could come close to him. You needed him. At least for this.

The sigh he let out was of unexpected relief. His smile nothing short of devilish. He hadn’t doubted what the answer would be but he loved to hear you say it. Especially when he had you like this, it fed into an animalistic pride, a possessive pit in his being that had his grip on you tightening and his mouth leaning down to take in one of your tits, licking at your nipple before circling it with his tongue.

“You’re mine.” To hear you say that about the man who had been causing him so many issues, insecurities, felt more than good. He would never get the chance to have you like this, touch you like Michael had just done. Your body would only respond to Michael. The only thing you could do was push your chest up to give him more access, moaning loudly and wantonly.

Your legs were nearly bent all the way back and he went deeper and harder than before, if that was possible. Your hand went down to your pussy but all you did was feel each driving thrust under your hand as you screamed out obscenities to the air. You wondered briefly how you had been able to go so long without him when it felt this good.

You were both so sweaty already. The heat of your reunion, the entanglement of your bodies, had you frenzied against one another and breathing hard. Somehow he, glistening, looked even hotter than before. His tattoos on full display stuck out even more and you whined, moving to help him move deeper into you.

“Say my name.” His voice was barely a whisper but there was an edge to it. One that screamed to not be defied. Because he needed to hear his name from your mouth while you were under him and moaning for him again. Needed to feel like you had come back to him entirely. His hand was kneading your boob, still glistening from his spit. He loved the way he could do whatever he wanted to you. That you were letting him. Hope blossomed in him uncontrollably.

He stopped his thrusts for just a second before going back to slamming his hips into yours into an unrelenting vigor. And you were sure he did it on purpose to hear how broken and weak your voice sounded when you spoke his name. It ended up being a scream with much more added syllables to his name than necessary.

“That’s right…moan for daddy.” He smirked.

Your cheeks were dusted pink but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was the look of complete submissiveness that Michael loved to see. His hips stuttered at the sight of you. Blushing and ruined.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. “Such a good girl.”

You shouldn’t feel so happy at his praise, especially after everything. But your heart soared regardless. Because at the end, you still yearned for him and that included pleasing him.

“Look at how perfectly you fit with me.” You felt his hand in your hair, pulling it harshly to pull your gaze onto his cock thrusting into you. Your mouth fell open and you could only moan at the sight. The way you were spread open, the way his cock was glistening from your wetness each time he pulled back. His pace seemed to have quickened impossibly so as you watched. “You were made for me.”

You were gasping, your head tilted back again, a particularly loud moan leaving you as he hit just the right spot inside of you once again. You were unashamed at the noises you were making for him. You didn’t care if it made you seem weak, desperate. You were being pleased like you hadn’t been in months, in a way you had once been accustomed to being pleased, a way only Michael could do to you, and your body was helpless but to respond to it. Only he stretched you out so completely, filled you out perfectly as if he were your missing piece. Your body only responded to him. He was right, your body was made for him. You were made for him.

When he hit that spot again, you came around him almost instantly. It was a shattering orgasm, one that rocked your body until you felt it at the very tips of your being. You finally reached a release, in a violent shake, that has been evading you nearly since the time you broke up, one you couldn’t quite reach by yourself. The one only he had ever been able to give you because he had been right at the party, your fingers weren’t enough. Not when you had already gotten a taste of him and what he could give you.

And this was it. This was exactly why you had given into him tonight and you didn’t regret it one bit. Your body pulsed. Your second orgasm of the night and as he kept thrusting through your release, never slowing down, you felt your third just a few moments later. You were whining against him at the overstimulation but he held on to your weakening figure.

“Where…” He grunted at the feeling of you clenching around him, your juices painting both of your thighs messily. The feeling of you breaking down under him, the feeling of your walls tightening around him impossibly and your cum around him was too much. “Where can I cum?”

He hadn’t said that to you in years. It brought you back tearfully to your first time together. How had things gotten so wrong?

“Cum in me.” You didn’t hesitate to answer. You hadn’t stopped taking the pill, mostly out of habit. Maybe you should have, not giving him the chance you knew he desperately wanted, to claim you completely again. To cum inside you, taint your walls with his cum and watch with possessive fervor as it trickled out of you once he pulled out. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, you wanted it just as badly as he did. You wanted to feel his cum in you, get the feel of him entirely which you had been missing for so long, feel as if he was still yours just for a while. It was one of his favorite things in the world. Even more so knowing he was the only one to have done that to you, to leave you in that glistening, weak, submissive mess. To fill you up.

It was what he had been wanting you to say, needing to hear from your mouth. He didn’t know if you were still on the pill. Frankly, he wouldn’t have cared either way. He’d be more than happy with filling you up even with the likelihood of getting you pregnant, maybe even more so. If you wanted that.

You weren’t surprised much at the deep, pleased groan that erupted from deep in his throat. He leaned down, careful not to crush your little body under him, and buried his face in your dark hair. “God, I love you so much.” His elated, adoring voice was raspy at your ear.

He came as he said it and you moaned lowly at the feeling as you milked him completely until he finally pulled out of you. And the feeling of emptiness you felt without him inside of you had you whimpering.

Michael pulled out slowly, regretfully almost. He would stay inside of you longer if he thought he still had that right. But he didn’t so instead he tried to be satisfied with just watching the way his cum oozed out of you, covering your inner thighs and cunt so beautifully he almost felt himself wanting to get hard again. His cum inside of you, it made him feel like you were his again. As if he had ever stopped considering you his.

You didn’t answer him. Even if your heart flopped at his words, his tone. You still loved him, you couldn’t deny it. Especially after all this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not when thinking to all he had put you through, what he had done to you. It wasn’t fair that he could say it so freely while you had tears in your eyes just thinking how you used to trust him, love him and where that had gotten you. Hurt, betrayed and alone.

It was bittersweet when he cleaned you up and laid down beside you. His hands were gentle on your skin, as if you would break. Despite everything, you felt your heart warm at the knowledge that you were the only girl he cared enough for to treat so sweetly. The only girl he had enough regard for.

When you felt his lips at your cheeks, you shot up. This wasn’t what you came for. You came for the closure the party hadn’t been able to give you, to cross off that final vice he had left you with. Not to forgive him or pretend like what he had done never happened. You tried to ignore the ache in your legs. “I should go.” Your tone was wavering.

You didn’t regret what you had just done. It was amazing and being so close to the man you loved made you feel alive again. But you shouldn’t have done it. It had just made everything messy. All the progress you’d made without him, the closure you had wanted so badly was even further from your grip because now all you wanted was to stay in his arms and love him freely. You cursed your weakness. You should have walked away at that party. But instead you had ended up in his bed. Now, you felt like another one of his quick conquests at the end of each party. When, once upon a time, you had been so much more. Or at least that’s what you believed. You weren’t sure anymore.

“What? No, stay.” His hand caught your arm as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. His tone was panicked. You couldn’t leave. He couldn’t watch you leave his life again, this time, likely forever. Not after he finally got to have you again.

You swallowed through the knot at your throat. But still you stood up and threw your clothes on messily. “You don’t like it when your one night stands stay over.”

Your words were mean and you didn’t mean to sound so bitter when you said it. But you had gone years being okay with his past just for it to have been the exact thing that had come back to destroy your relationship.

Michael’s eyes widened and you saw him rear back in surprise. “That’s not - this isn’t…You’re not a one night stand.”

How you could compare yourself to those other girls was lost on him. He didn’t want to believe that he had really ruined everything so much that you couldn’t see your value in his life, how much he loved you. You were his everything, his heart, his home, his life. Tonight felt like his world was finally coming back together. So much more than one night.

“But I am. That’s what this was Michael.” You said, suddenly angry. “Because we’re not together and this was just something to help me finally get over you. It won’t happen again.”

He put on his pants in a hurry, following you quickly when you walked through the doorway of his room. His limbs felt cold from the anxious feeling numbing his body. He was going to lose you again and he might just go crazy if he did. It was hard for him to breathe.

He caught you right at the corridor leading to the door. The same one you had been making out in at the beginning of the night. You stayed in place but your eyes looked in pain.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I don’t go to parties anymore. I haven’t been to one since we…broke up.” He hated saying it out loud. “They never really mattered to me anyway, I always rathered a night in with you over them. I only went tonight because Ashton told me you’d be there. There’s been no other girls. No one could replace you. I-I stopped drinking too because that’s the shit that lead me to fucking up. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, I love you too much to even want to. But I promise you, I don’t forget you or cheat on you the minute you’re not around like you think. You’re it for me, once I met you, I stopped sleeping around. I stopped everything because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It never happened before and it won’t happen again. I just hadn’t gotten that drunk in so long and I really thought you were…”

He took a deep breath, stopping to gather his thoughts. He needed to say everything right. It all came out in a rush because he felt as if he didn’t get it all out, everything would unravel. This was his last chance. You’d never heard him sound so worked up. The great Michael, the one the entire campus feared, was coming undone in front of you.

“I regret it. I’ve never fucking regretted anything more. I wish I could go back and stop everything so that you would still be with me and we’d be happy together, like we were meant to. I thought it was you. I couldn’t even fucking see straight enough to know it wasn’t. I’ve never even thought of other girls because you make me feel more than happy and pleased. I know you’ve always been insecure about that but you don’t have to be, no one else has ever made me feel so good. I don’t need or want anyone else, never did. As soon as I found out what I did I kicked her out, I haven’t seen her since. You have to believe me. I’ve been shit without you. I’m angry all the time, I feel alone without you. I need you.”

You weren’t sure what to think of his words. Whether or not you believed him. You wanted to. So badly. You saw firsthand just how badly he had treated himself since the breakup. He didn’t look like he slept much, he isolated himself and he had taken to smoking and fighting so much, you worried for his health. He no longer went to class, he stopped caring a lot about bettering himself or keeping his temper in check. You had heard rumors that he stopped partying but you never thought it was because of you.

He repeated the same story; he was drunk, he wouldn’t have cheated on you if he was in his right mind. The thought was only a bit comforting. Because it meant that his mistake had nothing to do with you or how much you did or didn’t please him, how pretty you were. You hadn’t been wrong about him all along. He did love you and he did regret it. More than you could imagine. None of your relationship had been a lie. He wasn’t that cheating player you had convinced yourself he was. He wanted his girlfriend back. He missed you, he wanted to live his life with you.

You missed him. The laughs, the love, the safety, the warm feeling in your belly every time he was with you.

But you didn’t want to be with someone that you couldn’t trust anymore.

Somehow though, the thought that he had given up everything he was known for because it was something that hurt you, that took away his relationship that he cherished so much, made you long to wrap your arms around him. Even more so because he hadn’t continued his wild behavior with girls when he could have, his heart and thoughts still remained on you. If he had stopped drinking and partying for you, you could believe everything would be different, be the way it had always been before. That it wouldn’t happen again. At least now you were sure that you still knew him enough, knew how much he loved you, to know that. He loved you.

You felt the wavering of your heart as you stared at him. It was impossible not to be reminded of the good times or to feel yourself yearn for him. His words filled in the puzzle pieces you had been missing, the ones you had filled in for yourself in the worst possible way and had brought you a final piece that showed you the Michael you had known from the beginning, not the evil one you had conjured up in your head. One you could almost forgive.

But that didn’t stop the pain you had been through. It didn’t erase the memory of walking in on him.

“That doesn’t take away what you did, Michael.”

“Stop calling me that!” His voice rose and you cringed back. Your reaction was the only thing that had him softening his tone. He didn’t want to scare you, that was the last thing he wanted. “Mikey. You call me Mikey…I’m Mikey to you.”

His voice sounded so broken, so sad that you felt tears spring up to your own eyes. You wished you could put everything aside and hug him, allow him back into your heart easily and go back to how happy, secure, not alone you had been before everything blew up. But you shouldn’t feel bad when you were the one he had wronged. So you stayed in place.

“You cheated on me. I walked in on you getting dressed while she sat there on your couch! I still think about it every day.” You were crying, tears running freely down your cheeks. The satisfaction you had from your night together was wearing off. “How could you do that to me? I loved you, I trusted you. I was planning to have a future with you. You hurt me.”

Michael took hold of your arms and you let him. “I only found out what happened when I woke up, you walked in before I could even figure everything out. You never should have seen that. I looked everywhere for you after. I tried talking to you, fuck, I would do anything to even just get a glance at you going to class. Anything to just see you again.” He moved closer to you, holding you against him and willing your eyes to his light ones, glistening just a bit with unshed tears. His knees were bent, lowering himself to your height. “It will never happen again.”

When you didn’t answer, when you looked away from him and eyed the door, he grew desperate. He had to bring you back to him. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Do you want me to get the shit beat out of me? I’ll find the biggest guy on campus and let him pummel me. I know I deserve it. Do you want me to go on my knees? I’ll do it. Just please, don’t leave me.”

His voice cracked at the sheer vulnerability of his voice. The sadness, regret and begging seeped in his words so intricately you wondered how you could have the strength to continue fighting him and his love. Because the truth was, even now, you had him wrapped around your finger. He would do anything you asked.

“I want for it not to have happened!” You did anyway. You snatched your arms away from him and took a step backward.

Michael flinched. He actually flinched at your words because it was the one thing he couldn’t give you, no matter how much he wished he could.

“How would you feel?” You asked, “What would you do if it were you in my shoes. If you walked into my apartment and saw a guy getting dressed while I lay there naked next to him?”

Whether he regretted it, understood how wrong it was, whether he even still loved you and did it by accident was irrelevant. He had to understand why, despite your love for him, you couldn’t forgive him so easily. What exactly he was asking you to forget and let go of when he asked you to take him back.

And that’s exactly what your question did. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened and his shoulders stiffened. Just like with Luke, the thought of you with anyone else, worst that he should be there to see the remnants, had him shaking. The anger that had been swirling inside of him since the moment you left seemed to multiply to a level he didn’t know it could get. He didn’t want to imagine the anger, pain, hurt, betrayal that he would feel. To know the woman he loved more than anything else in the world had gone to someone else, let him have something, experience you and your responsive submissiveness and innocence, that was only meant to be between the two of you. He couldn’t imagine the way his body would completely shut down the moment he opened the door and saw. His body went cold at the thought.

But it was what you experienced. And he felt his heart break all over again at what he put you through. Again, he felt the flash of resentment at himself. How selfish he was to be there, demanding you back as if he had any legs to stand on.

“I’d kill him.” It was almost scary, the sincerity in his voice and the dark angry look in his eyes at just the thought. He was so different like that than he was with you. Than the boy currently desperately begging for you. Why had he let himself slip? You could have been so happy right then if that night never happened, if he hadn’t gotten drunk, if he hadn’t gone to the party.

Your resilience was breaking. The happiness you had felt with him was all that was running through your mind. He finally understood you, at least as much as he could. You had convinced yourself he was a lying cheater but as he told you everything, poured out his feelings and regrets, made the changes necessary while still yearning for you even while being ‘free’ and single, you couldn’t help but rewrite what you had classified him as. You were tired of fighting him. You wanted to walk into his arms again and work to move forward, see him fight for you.

“I kissed Justin.” You didn’t know why you said it. Maybe it was to hurt him, one final attempt to fight against what every fiber of your being was screaming at you to do: take the leap of faith, give him another chance, go back to him, be happy and loved again in the way you had only experienced with him. If it was, then your words definitely hit the mark.

Michael felt his throat close up and dry out. Those three little words made his world feel like it was caving in. The room was spinning. So he hadn’t been just jealous at the party, there had been something in the air between you two. Justin had been given a little taste of you, a taste Michael had given him access to. A taste he never should have had. Michael wasn’t the only man who had felt your lips anymore. There would always be Justin, the boy that seemed to be the perfect fit for you. The one Michael knew would probably be better for you.

“When?” He was breathless. A deep pain ran along his chest. He should have driven Justin away once and for all when he had the chance. Instead, he drove you to him.

“After I caught you.” You whispered back. “It was just once.”

You had meant to make him feel bad but at seeing him look so defeated, so utterly sad at your words, you wanted to cushion the blow. You still loved him too much to hurt him, even if he hadn’t given you the same consideration.

It didn’t work. But, you watched in wonder as, instead of blowing up, getting angry and going after Justin, he just hung his head. He looked repentant, guilty, self-accusing. You saw a tear rolling down his cheek. He was crying. You’d never seen your ex cry, never thought he would even be capable of it when he was so strong and so defiant. It almost looked wrong on him, when his body art screamed ‘scary’, ‘obscene’, ‘aggressive’ to have him look so powerless, so defenseless, exposed. But the knowledge of what you had suffered, what he had done, how much he finally understood your side of it had him being vulnerable to you.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured softly. Because it was his fault. He knew it. He drove you to drink, to kiss Justin, to everything that wasn’t who you were, to self destruction. Because he had destroyed your trust, your happiness. He ended up bringing you down just like everyone warned. And he would blame himself for it everyday.

He was mad, of course he was. His temper was flaring and he had his fists clenched tightly at his sides, shaking just slightly to know that your soft lips, your pure smile after a kiss, had been experienced by someone else. If he felt as if he had the right to, he’d go back to the party and show Justin just how much that kiss didn’t matter because you were still his and he’d never get that chance again. But maybe, despite his efforts, despite tonight, he really had lost that right.

It was that vulnerability, that putting aside of his pride, his temper and anger because he put first your feelings, your hurt, that had your knees feeling weak, your heart and mind finally connecting again to the possibility of going back to him. He had hurt you, didn’t consider your feelings when he did, but it was becoming apparent that it wasn’t from lack of caring or love for you. Because when he was himself, when he could think straight, you were the only thing in his mind. The only thing he cared about, and the only person he was willing to submit his being and heart to. Even in the face of the one thing that hurt him most.

The large, scary, cold, and sometimes cruel, man in front of you would go to his knees and accept anything for you. This man wanted a future with you, wanted to have a family with you, love you ’til death do you part, he always had. He had never stopped. And he always will.

Your hand reached out and cupped his cheek hesitantly. You were shaking when you did. Michael leaned into your touch as soon as he felt it, his eyes fluttering closed and you felt your heart constrict even more. Right then, he seemed so harmless. He wasn’t a violent man, he wasn’t a cheater. You weren’t sure if it was at the sight of him or the pain that you still felt, probably would always feel at least a bit.

But you didn’t doubt Michael would fight for you, work to make that pain go away as intensely as if he felt it himself. He would work to show you his love, his complete devotion to you. He’d take the pain for himself if he could, he would shield you from any memories, any whispers, any doubts, any insecurities that you ever might have had. He resented everything he had done already so much more than you could ever imagine, he’d never add to it. Because he was so sure you were it for him, that he’d never do anything to hurt you or pull you away from him again. He loved you too much, he’d never want to cheat, never want to do anything that wasn’t to worship you entirely. He adored you.

“It’s going to take me some time to be completely okay.” It wouldn’t be an easy road, the sting of betrayal will be a shadow following you for a long time. But you were willing to take the time, the effort, the risk of future pain. Because, staring at the man who stood in front of you, the one who resembled the man you fell in love with, you didn’t think you would have a problem. He loved you, he was patient, kind, with you. He’d do anything to keep you at his side, the girl who loved him despite his flaws. He would protect you, now knowing what he’d lost already, he wouldn’t hurt you again. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you again.

What he had done was a choice he would still have to be confronted with, still pay for, but it was one he could learn from, one he would cast aside and never experience again because he wouldn’t let himself ruin his relationship again. He was devoted completely to you, had never stopped. Even still, even this heart broken version of him.

Michael’s eyes snapped open at your words. His eyes were swirling with impossible hope, his mouth open in surprise. He was too afraid to ask but he had to anyway, had to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. “Does that mean-”

“Just one more chance. One more and if it happens again, Michael, I swear I’m gone. For good.” It wouldn’t be the same either, for a while at least. He would have to keep fighting for you. But he’d at least have that opportunity.

It was a strict condition. But one you wouldn’t have to worry about. Because while you knew Michael regretted his actions, you’d never really know just how much that regret ran. Enough that, if you had even a hint, you’d know just how much of a mistake that girl, that night was. One he never wanted to even think of again, let alone repeat. He wouldn’t even dream of it when he had you and no one else could compare to how you made him feel, both in and out of the bedroom. No one could feel as good, respond as well, make him so happy, loved and as if he finally had a home.

“It won’t. Never again.” You could barely hear what he said before he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly. He held you like his life depended on it, like this would turn out just to be a dream if he let you go.

Maybe you were making a mistake. But as you closed your eyes and breathed in his scent, allowed yourself to relish the feeling of being in his arms, you didn’t think so. You’d missed him so much, and right then you felt the warmth, adoration and complete safety you always felt with him. You finally felt calm and happy again at the prospect of a future with him at your side again, not on edge completely and sad all the time. You didn’t feel apprehension of what you had just done, at forgiving him.

You felt hope. Hope that things could be different, that you could go back to the relationship and man that had given you so much, including a feeling of home, belonging and love. And this time learning without the shadow of the past behind you because you’d eventually move past it, he’d show you only your present and future. He’d make you finally understand that despite his past and his awful mistake, you’d never have to compare yourself to other girls. Because your experience with him was unique and no one else would see or feel the mean, violent, tattooed boy in front of you the same way you would.

“I love you so much.” He murmured again and you could hear the pure emotion through his voice. The gratitude. The awe. You were so forgiving, such a good person. And he still didn’t deserve you.

This time you took a deep breath before conceding what you had tried to keep hidden for all these past months, even from yourself. To no avail because it had never wavered, never withered. Just hurt the more and more you tried to cast it aside.

“I love you, too.”

You felt the sigh of relief pull through his body and when he pulled away from you, it was just enough for him to place his forehead against yours. His eyes were still closed as if he was trying to ingrain this in his memory, the feeling of your merciful forgiveness, your body against his against, your love back on him. He would never let this go again, he’d never take it for granted (he never did).

“But no more drinking so much.” You said, half joking, as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. Michael wanted to cry out at the feeling he thought he would never get to experience again. He had more time with you, more chances to have you in his arms, be vulnerable, be happy without the cloud of anger swirling in his heart because he could never be angry with you around.

His laugh was good natured, one he had lost for a bit without you. His eyes and smile brighter than they had been for a while. He looked alive, happy. The way he’d only ever been with you. Your eyes were still strained with hurt, but you were sure your expression matched. His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, shielded by your dark hair.

“I promise.” And you’d have to learn to finally trust his word again. But you could, especially when he would prove his loyalty, his love like never before. He’d work for your trust back and he was willing to do anything to do so just like you were willing to let him. “I’ll prove to you that you never have anything to worry about ever again, that you can trust me. You’re the love of my life, princess. I’ll never let you go again. I want a life with you, forever.”

When his lips found yours in a slow, loving kiss, you let his hands cup your face, one in your hair. And you kissed back. It was a kiss that translated his disbelief of having you back, his repentance and his adoration of you that transcended everything else in his life. He picked your small frame up, holding you so he could reach you and kiss you as deeply, hold you as closely, as he wanted to. You weren’t looking at him like he was a bad guy anymore. You looked so cute and happy with that big smile he had missed so badly, held up by his arms, your white dress hanging off of you loosely and contrasted starkly against the black tattoos lining his arms. He was the luckiest man in the world.

The very thing he now held a deep resentment for was what had brought you back to him. If you hadn’t gone to the party, if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be his girlfriend again. And while he was determined never to look back at them, he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that you were back to him, back in his arms. Everything felt just as it was meant to be.

It was still there. The overwhelming chemistry between you. The click that sounded whenever you two were together because you were just so right together. You were soulmates.

You would be alright.

♔

the end.

♔

thank you to everyone who has read and followed this series! i loved it so much and bringing the story out of my mind and to life has been so exciting. i can’t say how happy it makes me that you have read it, liked it, shared it, and even talked to me about it. i appreciate you all so much.

i loved their little world and following their relationship & dynamic so much and leaving it makes me so sad.

hopefully we can see more of it in the future (am i hinting at an ash story…..maybe)

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

What kind of drunks are your OCs?

(Angry, Honest, Happy, Sad)

Do any of your boxies talk about life before WRU when drunk?

Pre-captivity, Danny was a loud, chaotic, happy drunk. He was the kind of guy to get absolutely hammered and go throw himself around a mosh pit until he was bruised-up, sweaty, and content with life. He was boisterous and chatty and always had a hilarious story at parties that would rapidly become less hilarious the next day when you realized his funny story was actually just him talking about his incredibly traumatic childhood.

Post-captivity, Danny is a quieter drunk, when he does drink. He's careful. He watches everyone in the room, is slow and shy to make conversation. With trusted people he'll become shy and giggly and chattier again, but in a room with strangers he'll tend to stick to himself, stay to corners or walls, and try not to be led into too much conversation. With VERY trusted people, the flirt in him will come back out.

Pre-captivity, Nate was a talkative drunk, if a quiet one. He was the guy who would start giving impromptu talks on his favorite books, would argue over minutia in tv shows or movies he liked, would be there with a small crowd at the grad student bar having a great time.

Post-captivity, Nate is also a quiet drunk, but nearly a silent one. Alcohol with Bram usually meant hurting Danny in one way or another, becoming complicit, being used as a weapon or a tool against the person he loves most. He tends to get morose and somber now when he drinks, start thinking over all his mistakes, his chances to save Danny that he didn't take. His weakness and perceived cowardice.

Every once in a while, he can be roused to anger.

Ryan is a chatty, flirty, physically affectionate drunk. He gets huggy. He gets touchy. And he's the fucking life of the party. Of course, he can drink an enormous amount of human liquor without feeling much of the effects, so usually he's mostly sober, unless he breaks into his Dad's whiskey, which is, well... different.

Post-captivity, Ryan is the exact same... outwardly... when drunk, or feigning drunkenness. But to be honest, it's all a facade, a show, a mask of how recovered he is that he wears. In truth, he's simply pretending to be the same person he was, and he isn't that man anymore.

Ora was a quiet, sarcastic drunk. The kind of person who would speak in a voice so dry no one could tell if they were joking. They would mostly hang around the party while Penny was the more social one. Post-captivity, Ora can't get drunk anymore. Not really. Unless whoever they drink from has a high blood-alcohol level. When that happens, Ora is still a quiet drunk, but they are much more likely to lose control and drink too much from the next victim.

Bram and Ashley don't get drunk. But they like the burn of alcohol down their throats anyway.

Jake is an immense lightweight for his size and muscle. A few drinks and he's already giggling and slurring and laughing at the dumbest old vines you've ever seen. A couple more and he's asleep. He has wicked hangovers, too. Something about his body just refuses to metabolize alcohol well.

Kauri gets flirty and giggly and slurred but it's mostly on purpose, he rarely totally loses control. But he finds it useful to seem drunker than he is. He's flirty and touchy and inclined to go home with whoever catches his eye. Only when he's having a bad night does he really just absolutely stop caring about his own safety and drinks to serious excess. Then he turns weepy and tends to cry himself to sleep on whatever park bench he finds himself sleeping on.

Chris... doesn't usually drink enough to get drunk. When he does, it rarely goes well. Sometimes he gets sad, sometimes he shows a rare burst of anger, but drinking reminds him of Oliver, and his past, and watching the others he's in school with drink reminds him of the differences between them in ways he can't quite shrug off.

Antoni has yet to get genuinely drunk. His liver seems able to metabolize a startling amount of alcohol. He keeps a bottle of Russian vodka in the freezer only for himself. When he is lightly tipsy, he is very slightly more talkative, and it's a little easier for him to touch people. His skin crawls a little less.

Nat is a "get drunk and watch old 80's movies while giggling and/or criticizing everything about them" drunk. Or, sometimes, a "look up old music videos and talk about how much better music was then" drunk. But mostly movies.

None of my BBU OCs talk about their time as pets when drunk, usually, except for Chris, who has... sometimes told Laken far more than he ever meant to when trashed.

#oc asks #alcohol use tw #drunkenness tw

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years

Text

Bad Blood - Chapter 20

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

___________

On Friday at around ten a.m., after a night spent in yet another rat-infested bolthole, Peter takes Laura and Derek to the John’s house. John has been working late, and is still asleep when Peter cases the place to make sure nobody is watching it, and then lets them in through the back door.

“Shower’s upstairs on the left,” he says, pointing.

Laura gives him the side-eye, but not for long. Her misgivings are slim indeed in the face of the promise of hot water.

Peter hums as he loads their laundry into John’s washer. Derek leans awkwardly in the doorway and watches him.

“Are we allowed to do this?” he asks when he catches Peter’s look.

“We’re not not allowed,” Peter decides at last.

Both the kids are showered and the laundry is on the spin cycle by the time John treads downstairs wiping sleep from his eyes.

“I need better home security,” is all he says when he takes in the three Hales at his kitchen table. “Is the coffee on?”

Peter winks and slides him a cup.

It’s… it’s temporary, this weird teasing thing between them. It’s the same game Laura and Derek played with their bickering about chocolate and hair dryers. It’s a forced distraction. There’s no foundation to it, Peter thinks, and there never will be unless he can deliver John’s son to him, safe and sound. If he can do that, if they can kill the Argents and save the people they want to save, maybe there will be something there to build on. At the moment it’s a crutch, and Peter knows both he and John can use one of those.

John sips his coffee and eyes them critically. “Did any of you sleep last night?”

“On and off,” Peter says, although it was more off than on. Being in an unfamiliar place made it hard enough to settle. Being in an unfamiliar place with the threat of hunters hanging over their heads? Well, the less said about that, the better.

“The sofa in the living room pulls out,” John says. “If you want to catch a few hours. And there’s a spare room upstairs.”

Peter looks to Laura.

She’s still for a moment, and then she nods.

Good. She’s read John’s heartbeat. She’s got the measure of him now. She knows he’s an ally, and possibly even a friend. Peter only wishes that he’d seen it years earlier. He knows John was right—there was nothing the Hales could have done to help him get Stiles back before now—but at least he wouldn’t have had to drink alone.

“Are you working today?” Peter asks.

“A late,” John says. “Starting at four, unless I get called in before.”

Peter pauses at that. He hasn’t asked John directly about the official investigation into Scott McCall’s death, but the murder of the teenager in the woods has been on the front page of the local newspaper every day since it happened, and Peter wonders how John intends to handle it. Or perhaps he intends to just ignore the speculation until some other lurid crime takes its place in the local headlines, and most people just forget all about Scott McCall.

John can hardly arrest the Argents for murder, can he?

As if they’d let that happen anyway.

John jolts as his phone buzzes. “Speak of the devil.” He takes it out of his pocket and quints at the screen. “No. It’s from Chris.”

Peter tenses.

“Gerard has brought in six mercenaries,” John says, reading from the screen. “The hunt is scheduled for Monday night.” His mouth turns down. “The warehouses on Elm.”

He sets his phone on the table.

“They know where we’ve been hiding?” Laura asks, her eyes flashing red.

“Process of elimination, probably,” John says. “It’s not a big town, and that Camaro you drive is pretty damn distinctive.”

Derek’s brows tug together worriedly.

“Okay,” Peter says. “We knew it was coming. Nothing’s changed. That’s six unknown hunters, plus Gerard and Kate, plus Chris—who hopefully won’t shoot—plus Stiles, who probably will if Chris won’t get him out of the way before then.”

“Three against ten,” Derek mutters.

“Four,” John says. “And I know a few tricks still.”

“So does Deaton,” Peter says. “He’s bound to have something up his sleeve to balance out the odds. We can do this.”

Laura and Derek don’t look convinced.

“We’re the Hale pack,” Peter tells them fiercely. “We’ve got this.”

***

They don’t have this.

John’s phone rings a few hours later, and he answers it. His expression tightens as he listens.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, and ends the call. “That was the station. I’ve got deputies responding to reports of shots fired at Gerard Argent’s house.”

Shit.

Peter feels the colour drain from his face.

They don’t have this.

***

The wail of the siren pierces Peter’s nerves all the way to Gerard’s house.

There are already two police cruisers in the driveway when John pulls up.

The front door of the house is open, and Peter follows John inside.

There’s a deputy kneeling on the steps leading upstairs. He’s kneeling over someone fallen there, and the steps are slick with blood. Peter sees a massive smear of it along the wall, as though whoever has been shot was trying to get upstairs, a bloody hand out for balance, when they fell.

There’s a firearm lying at the bottom of the stairs.

“Parrish,” John says. “What have we got?”

“Two gunshot victims,” the deputy says, twisting around slightly to look down at them. His gaze lands on Peter and his brow furrows, but if he doesn’t know what the hell Peter is doing here he also doesn’t ask. “We’ve got a male victim here, and a female in the kitchen. Don’t know yet if we’re looking for a perp, or if it’s one of our victims.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Nobody in the house,” Parrish says. “Our only witnesses are the neighbours who called it in, and they didn’t see much. There are guns all over the scene, sir. A hell of an arsenal in the basement too.”

Peter cranes his head to see.

It’s Chris Argent lying on the stairs. Peter can hear a faint tachy heartbeart, but the man’s eyes are closed and his face has a sickly greyish pallor.

“You’ve cleared the house?”

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says. “And we’ve got EMTs en route.”

John leaves Parrish and Chris on the stairs and walks toward the back of the house. Peter follows.

The scene in the kitchen is much the same. There’s blood everywhere, and a body on the floor. Peter can hear the sounds of wet, laboured breathing.

There’s a female deputy kneeling over the body on the floor. She’s applying pressure to a wound. Her blue gloves are stained with blood.

“Sheriff,” the deputy says. “We need the EMTs.”

“They’re on their way,” John says. “Go and help Parrish. I’ll take over here.”

The deputy obeys.

John crouches down beside Kate Argent. He reaches into a pouch on his belt and pulls on a pair of gloves. Doesn’t press his hands to the wound in her chest. Just crouches there and stares down at her, as her eyes weakly try to regain their focus.

Peter growls softly, approvingly.

“Hello, Kate,” John says softly. “Where’s my son?”

She sucks in another wet breath. Blood bubbles out of her mouth on the exhale.

“You came into my house, and you took my boy,” John says. He’s almost whispering, and he sounds more dangerous now than at any time Peter has known him. “Where is he?”

Kate makes a small sound, her mouth twisting into an ugly smile.

“I suppose you can’t talk,” John says. “I suppose that even if you could, it’d be a fucking lie. You’re dying, Kate. You’re done.”

Kate’s eyes narrow, and her mouth moves as she slurs out the word: “Traitor.”

“Maybe so,” John says, “but at least I’m not a murderer.” Then he hums thoughtfully. “Well, up until now.”

He puts his gloved hand over Kate’s mouth and nose.

Holds it there.

Peter glances behind them to make sure the deputies are keeping busy with Chris.

In the distance, he can hear more sirens. Ambulances.

He looks back at John. He’s a million miles away from the man Peter flirted with earlier today, and Peter thinks: Yes. Peter is a left hand, but John? John is fucking avenging angel.

Kate grunts weakly, and her legs thrash. She raises a hand and clenches her curling fingers around John’s wrist in an attempt to pull him away.

John doesn’t even flinch.

By the time the paramedics arrive, Kate is dead, and the sheriff of Beacon Hills is crouching over her, shaking his head as he tries uselessly to perform CPR.

***

The Preserve is beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight. Peter has always thought so. The light filters down through the trees at the edge of the parking lot, leaving dappled glowing spots on the ground. Inside, where the trees thicken, the Preserve will be cool and damp, and Peter’s skin itches with the urge to transform and run on four feet.

He squints down at the screen of Chris Argent’s phone as he hears the Camaro rumbling nearer. Of course Chris Argent is the sort of father who tracks his daughter’s phone through his. How useful.

Allison Argent’s phone is a few miles away, and it hasn’t moved in an hour. Peter’s too much of a pessimist to believe that means that Allison and Stiles haven’t moved in an hour. Most likely they’ve ditched the phone. But it gives them a starting point to catch their scent.

He walks over to the Camaro as it pulls up and Laura and Derek climb out.

“Kate’s dead,” he says.

Derek closes his eyes briefly. A breath shudders through him. When he opens his eyes again, a faint, cautious smile is playing around his mouth.

“Chris isn’t,” Peter says. “Yet. The neighbours saw two teenagers running from the house, and shortly after that the shooting stopped and Gerard’s SUV left as well.”

“Do we know what happened?” Laura asks.

“Seems like Kate and Chris had an argument,” Peter says. “Chris appears to have won. But there’s no sign of Gerard, and Stiles and Allison have bolted.” He holds up Chris’s phone to display the map. Allison’s phone is a pulsing blue dot in the middle of the green space of the Preserve. “Allison’s phone is here. Let’s go and see if we can bring the little Argents home, shall we?”

They head into the Preserve.

#steter senior #sterek #bad blood #discontentedwinter #my fics

18 notes · View notes

shotsbyshae · 5 years

Text

The Family Business

Summary: A Lexi Wilson story set after the beginning of Season 15. Monsters check under their bed for the Winchesters and now monsters are everywhere, so at the top of their priority list would naturally be Sam & Dean, but what happens when they underestimate the fiercest hunters.

Word Count: 2612

A/N: This is set to take place sometime after the start of Season 15. So, if you've not watched the Season 14 finale, small SPOILER ALERT. Reviews are welcomed, and as always, appreciated.

OC CAST:

Lexi Wilson:Chloe Bennet

Evan Clarke:Chris Evans

Sometimes it is the way things end that is beautiful.

Even when things are raw and aching, the endings are magical. -Nikita Gill

Sam and Dean Winchester have saved the world more times than anyone can count. They've been the real heroes of the stories people share late at night after too many drinks at the bar. They've been saving people and hunting things their entire life, but what happens when the day comes, and they aren't here anymore. What will their legacy be? Who will carry on?

Legacy.

It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. -Hamilton

The burly man stares at the bearded, blue-eyed man in front of him, the sound of the chaos from the fighting behind him fades away as he charges ahead, raising a sword up to defend himself with. Evan can see the anger and hatred in his eyes, but he quickly flings the man off his feet with a wave of his hand and throws him backward.

"Heads up!" Evan calls out to his friend as the man flies through the air.

Lexi turns quickly to see a body soaring through the air in her direction, she takes a small side step out of the way as the man lands a few feet in front of her and slides through the dirt, coming to a stop right beside her. She twirls the angel blade in her right hand as she very dramatically drops down to one knee while driving the blade into the heart of the man.

Girls like you were born to tame dragons, to fight wars, to lead armies. -Nikita Gill

The girl pulls her blade back out with one hand, while she grabs the sword from the dead man's hand with her other as she rises to her feet. She strides over to Evan tossing him the sword, "Know how to use that?"

He smirks at her question, "I think I can manage."

She nods and turns away making eye contact with Jody, who now has blood splattered across her face from the werewolf she just killed. The girl then glances back to her right to see Donna pull the trigger on a female charging at her while Claire runs a silver dagger through the heart of the monster she's fighting.

"What's the plan boss?" Alex questions as she makes her way beside Lexi, a sawed-off shotgun in her hands.

"They asked for a fight," Lexi glances over at the girl with long dark-hair beside her as she twirls the angel blade in her right hand, "I'd hate to disappoint 'em."

Alex fires off a round into an approaching werewolf, sending it flying several feet backwards as Charlie comes running towards them with a smirk on her face.

"All set," she states in a rushed tone as she holds up a small transmitter with a red button.

"You do the honors," Lexi responds as Charlie smirks.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" the red-head calls out to the other hunters around her and everyone turns away from the door of the warehouse as Charlie pushes the red button in with her thumb.

A loud boom comes from the door and when they turn to look, there's a giant hole where the deadbolt lock used to be on the door and it now swings open freely. The door on the second story balcony of the warehouse suddenly flies and a large man comes out with a pistol, hesitating on who to aim at first, but Charlie has her gun drawn and fires a round into him before he can decide.

"Charlie," Lexi states, "you and Alex take the second story, the rest of us will clear out the first floor. Jody, Donna, you guys want to circle around back, make sure no one tries to escape? Claire you're with us."

The two older women give their nods of understanding as they split off from the group.

"Got it," the red-head responds, then turns back to look at Evan who's just decapitated one of the monsters with the sword, "Hey Clarke, mind giving me us a lift up there?"

Charlie grabs Alex's hand as Evan smirks and uses his free hand to levitate them up to the balcony, before moving to stand beside Lexi while Claire walks a few feet past them. The dark-haired girl looks up at the man beside her.

"I'll take point, watch my back?" She questions, as she cuts her eyes to the blonde girl in front of her then back to Evan.

He catches her signal and nods with a reassuring smile, "Always."

The man standing before Sam comes down hard across his face with another punch before he says, "They'll never get past the soldiers I have outside. The only hunters we were concerned with were you two, all the rest are either dead or useless."

A slow laugh escapes Dean's lips as he closes his eyes and his brother glances at him, as he too begins to laugh. The two of them are tied to chairs, both are bruised and bloodied from being beaten, and they both are laughing almost hysterically.

"You think this is funny?" the man before them questions angrily and suddenly an explosion blows a hole in the warehouse door.

He has several men on the second story walkway rush toward the door leading outside, while another group head to the door that has been compromised.

"You pissed off the wrong hunter," Dean says smugly as his laughter subsides.

"Yea," Sam remarks with a devious smile, "she can be a real witch."

Gun fire rings out as Charlie and Alex make their way across the top catwalk, making easy work of the werewolves, while Lexi, Claire, and Evan force their way through the front door. Evan's relying on his swordsmanship to take out the men who are coming for him, while Claire's knifing any werewolves who get close enough to her, not realizing that the man behind her also keeps one particularly agile monster at bay with quick flick of his wrist. Sam sees this though and smiles in appreciation at Evan's subtle protection maneuvers.

Lexi uses a combination of hand to hand combat on one guy before she manages to get an angel blade through his heart. She glances up at the second story cat walk, watching as Charlie and Alex fight their way through, noticing a dark-haired female is trying to get the drop on the red-headed hunter, but Lexi raises her free hand, quickly twisting her wrist sharply in the air, and like the reflection in a mirror, the female's head jerks around abruptly, the sound of her neck snapping causes Charlie to glance back. Realizing what's happened, she gives Lexi a small appreciative smile and nod. The dark-haired hunter goes back to the monster before her and she jerks her angel blade back out as a large man from behind her grabs her right wrist in mid-air and rips the angel blade from her grasp. She quickly spins around to face the man; she can see both Winchester brothers just past him and they are both tied to chairs and looking as if they've been run over by the same truck.

If you want to know the secret, if you want to know the truth,

there is nothing more dangerous than a girl who is aware of the flames inside her,

and all the damage she can do. -Nikita Gill

The dark-haired girl can feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as the sight of her friends angers her. She has her fists down to her sides and she looks up at the man menacingly as she swiftly moves her fists together in front her, keeping her arms straight down, then with a quick fluid motion she jerks her arms back out to her sides, twisting her wrists outward as she does. The two brothers watch in amazement as silver daggers magically manifest in each of her hands and she gives the man in front of her a devious smirk before she lunges at him with one of the daggers, slicing his throat first, then ending him with a fatal stab to the heart. Dean's not witnessed Lexi's powers in action much since she has gained control and he glances over at his brother.

"What was that?" Sam whispers in shock.

"I don't know," Dean replies, trying not to smirk, "but I'm impressed, slightly unnerved, and a little turned on."

"Dean," Sam hisses, and the green-eyed hunter shrugs his shoulders, a playful grin plastered to his bloodied face.

Two females charge Lexi, and she flings both her daggers into them before she turns to look at the Winchesters expectantly, "Hi guys."

Both men give her boyish smiles as Jody and Donna kick in the back door, making work of the few men back there. Lexi tilts her hands back towards herself causing the daggers to pull out of the victims and return to her hands.

For a moment, it's as if time slows down for the two Winchester brothers, as they watch Lexi take a smaller man down to his knees, grabbing him from behind in a headlock, while she swiftly flings one dagger across the room into another monster who's just picked up a dropped shotgun and is aiming it at Evan. That monster falls, dropping the weapon as Lexi shoves her other dagger into the man still in her grasp. Evan's dropped the sword and currently besting an equally sized werewolf in some hand to hand combat. Claire stabs a man without hesitation swiftly and then spins quickly to take out another one approaching her from behind. They look up and see Charlie elbow a female hard in the face before she stabs her with an angel blade, then she looks back at Alex and tosses her the weapon for the dark-haired girl to use on the monster she's currently fighting, both having tossed their guns to the side after running out of ammo. Jody and Donna come up beside them firing their pistols like trained assassins taking out the four werewolves they have in their sights. Sam glances to his brother and they share a proud brotherly moment at what they're witnessing. They were the reason these strong women were together, and in that moment, they felt a sense of peace for the first time in a long time. They knew the world would keep spinning, even when they were no longer there to protect it, but one question was always in the back of their minds, who would keep saving people and hunting things?

They would. The wayward souls they brought together, the family they created. Those people they left behind; they would be the ones to carry on the family business. Winchester wasn't just a last name, it was a way of life, and these women had chosen it.

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice.

These are girls made of dark lace and witchcraft and a little bit of vice.

These are damsels made of flawless fearlessness made of more bravery than knights have ever seen.

These are princesses made of valor and poison alike and they are here to hold courts as your queens.

-Nikita Gill

"I thought we had a date," Lexi states in mild irritation, looking at Dean, bringing them both back to the present situation.

"I was tied up," the green-eyed man responds, then gives her a smile, "I tried to tell that douchebag, he didn't listen."

The man who had been standing in front of the Winchesters tries to slip through the shadows, hoping to go unnoticed in the chaos, but his movement comes to an abrupt stop as he feels the blade of a sword at his neck.

"Don't think so pal," Evan whispers to him.

Jody's cutting Dean loose from the chair, while Donna is doing the same for his brother as Lexi approaches. Evan leads the werewolf in charge back over to where the Winchesters are as Lexi flips one of her daggers over in her hand to grasp it by the blade, offering the handle out as Sam and Dean both stand up.

"He's all yours," she says, and the brothers share a glance.

Sam gives his older brother a nod of approval and Dean takes the blade from Lexi's hand before approaching the werewolf with a malicious smile. Evan takes a step back, lowering the blade to his side as Dean grabs the man by the front of his shirt.

"We're not the only ones coming for you," the man snarls at him.

"Is that so?" Dean's voice is almost a growl, "Let 'em come." He says, then shoves the dagger into the man's heart before he releases his grip on him, allowing him to collapse to the floor.

"That's all of them," Jody states as Charlie and Alex come down from the second story catwalk.

"You called in the cavalry," Sam says with a grin, accepting the quick side hug from Claire.

"Bet your ass I did," Lexi responds, "so, what, monsters are rising up now? Banding together in like...factions...since Chuck brought them back and went all dark side?"

"I guess," Sam says with a shrug of shoulders, "we need to get the word out to the rest of the hunters."

"I'll start making some calls," Jody states.

"Me too," Charlie agrees.

"Let's get out of here," Donna suggests, nodding her head toward the door and everyone begins moving in that direction.

Dean flips the dagger in his hand, offering it handle first back to Lexi. When she reaches to take it, he pulls it away, just out of her grasp and she narrows her eyes at him, while everyone else leaves the two of them alone.

Jody and Donna are the last to exit the building, both sharing child-like smiles as they see their two friends, both filthy and bloody, standing in the middle of a warehouse full of dead monsters. To an outsider it would look like a scene from a horror movie, but to these two women it was a clip from their favorite love story.

"How'd you do that?" He questions her, "The trick with these knives."

The green-eyed man lowers his hand so she can reach the dagger again and she takes it from him saying, "One of the perks of being a monster I guess."

Dean tilts his head in disapproval at her comment, "You're not a monster."

"I think the verdict's still out on that," she replies, "depending on who you ask."

"I don't have to ask anyone," he replies with a smirk, "I think I know you pretty well."

"Think we should go?" She questions, "They're probably out there making bets on the 'will they, won't they' Dex pool as we speak."

"Dex?" he looks confused.

"Donna," she confirms, "it's our ship name."

He looks amused, "Well, your 'date' comment was only fuel to their fire."

"We did have date," she gives him an offended look, pointing a finger at him, "the season finale of Doctor Sexy is not something you miss."

He can't help but laugh as the girl turns to leave and he smiles as he says, "Hey Lex."

She stops and glances over her shoulder at him expectantly.

"Thanks," he says appreciatively, "for the rescue."

"Anytime," she smirks.

Not all heroes wear capes, some wear darkness, some wear wounds. -Nikita Gill.

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crashdevlin · 6 years

Text

Hearts Part One of Three

Author’s Note: Catch up on Geometry here,

Summary: Y/n ends up on the same hunt as Sam and Dean when she reads about a couple who literally ate each other. She’s usually really good at keeping her feelings in check but for some reason she’s rapidly losing control.

Pairing(s): Dean x Reader (mention of past), Sam x Reader, Cas x Reader (slightly), Lucifer x Reader

Word Count: 6411

Story Warnings: 18+ HERE BE SEX, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!, fingering, dirty talk, biting, blood play (slight), public groping (slight), dirty alley sex, Famine gettin’ y/n all achy for cock...

You walked up the stairs to the crime scene, smoothing out your dark blue skirt suit. As you approached the door, it opened and Sam walked out, thanking the victim's roommate. You stopped, wondering if you should turn around and run before Sam saw you, but he looked up before you could and smiled. "Hey." He said, closing the gap between you in three gigantic steps.

"Hey." You said, with a polite but nervous smile. "Should've known you guys would be here. It was just too weird to pass up."

"You really are avoiding us, then?" Sam asked, hurt. "I mean, Bobby told us to stop trying to call you, but I thought you were just upset about us leaving you in Carthage."

"It's... not that, Sam. My world is kinda complicated, right now, and I didn't want to add to that."

"Is it because of what Lucifer said when you were in the future?" Sam asked, quietly.

"No. It's because of what he said in Carthage." You whispered. Sam's eyebrows stitched together. "'Cannon fodder'. He called Ellen and Jo and me cannon fodder, and then the Harvelles died. And then, you left me there. It just... seemed like a good time to step back... way back."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "I'm so sorry. We didn't mean to..."

You shook your head at him. "Don't. It's not a huge deal, just needed to get over it. Um... you mind if I tag along for this one? This seems like it's gonna be a good one."

Sam smiled. "Of course. This definitely seems like a good place for a witch. Come on, Dean should be back at the motel by now. Diamond Jack's. I'm gonna stop and grab some burgers. I'll meet you at the motel?"

"Okay." You turned to lead him out of the hallway.

"Hey. You look really nice in that suit, by the way." Sam said, making the effort to walk slowly to keep pace with you in your low pumps.

"Oh, right. I forgot. You guys haven't seen the Scully suit. Yeah, I had to buy this when I started hunting analog."

"Are you hunting analog again?" Sam asked.

You swallowed, the rhythm of your walk faltering. "Um... no. I'm still a witch. I just... stopped bending wills so much."

"I'll meet you at the motel."

"Diamond Jack's, right?"

"Yeah. See you in a few."

*****************************************

You pulled the Charger into the motel parking lot and sat, waiting for Sam to pull the Impala in. You weren't exactly sure why you'd decided to stick around, but something was very appealing about being around the brothers. Your brain pulled you back to what Lucifer said. Stay in bed with Dean. Get in bed with Sam. Your mind was just settling on an image of you blowing Sam while Dean took you from behind as the Impala pulled in next to your Charger. You shook away the thoughts as you climbed out of your car and followed Sam into the motel room. Dean looked up from his spot at the table just inside the entrance.

"Hey. You picked up a witch." Dean muttered. "Must've been hard. What, with her not answering the phone."

"Hey, I'll apologize for ditching your calls if you promise to never leave me behind again, even if you think I'm dead." You said, sitting at the table.

"All right. Promise." He said with a smile.

"All right. I apologize."

"How'd it go?" Dean asked, turning his attention to Sam.

"Um...No EMF, no sulfur. Ghost possession and demonic possession are both probably out."

"Hmm. That's where I was puttin' my money."

"Nope."

Dean rubbed the back of his hands over his eyes. "Well, then, what then? Oh, dude! At the coroners, you didn't see these bodies. I mean, these two started eating a-and they just... kept going. I mean, their stomachs were full. Like, like... Thanksgiving dinner full. Talk about co-dependent." Dean said before taking a sip of his beer.

"Well..." Sam started, taking his seat at the table. "I mean, we got our feelers out. Not much more we can do tonight." Sam sighed and grabbed his laptop. "All right. I'm just gonna go through some files. You can go ahead and get going."

"Sorry?" Dean questioned.

"Go ahead. Unleash the Kraken. See you tomorrow morning."

"Where am I going?" Dean asked.

"Dean, it's Valentine's Day. Don't hold back on my account. Even I know it's your favorite holiday." You said, grabbing a burger from the bag.

"Right. Yeah, what do you call it? Uh, unattached drifter Christmas?"

Dean mouthed the words as Sam spoke them, before standing and turning to the green cooler on the counter. "Oh, yeah. Well... be that as it may..." Dean pulled another beer out and twisted the cap off. "I don't know. Guess I'm not feeling it this year." He threw the cap behind him.

"So, you're not into bars full of lonely women?"

"Nah, I guess not." Dean said, taking a drink of his beer. "What?"

"It's when a dog doesn't eat." Sam said, turning to you. "That's when you know something's really wrong."

"Remarkably patronizing concern duly noted. Nothing's wrong. We gonna work or what?" Dean asked, retaking his place at the table. You rolled your eyes and pulled out your own laptop from your bag.

*******************************************

You looked over at Dean's sleeping form and sighed. You were certain you weren't the reason he'd stayed in on his favorite holiday, but you were kinda wishing you had been. You were really feeling a desire for physical attention. You ran your hand down your face and stood. "You want a beer?" You asked Sam, who was still hunched over his laptop.

He leaned back and stretched. "Yeah. Sounds great, actually. I'm hovering on the edge of incredibly frustrated, so now's a good time to take a break."

"Why don't we pull up a movie on Netflix and call it a night? Dean's already out and we aren't finding anything useful, so let's go lay back on the bed and enjoy ourselves for a little while." Part of you hoped he'd say 'no'. I mean, lying in bed together was about as far away from taking a step back and ignoring everything as possible, but... you really needed to be close to someone right now and Castiel wasn't an option around the guys and Dean was already asleep.

"Sounds good." Sam said, standing with his laptop and grabbing the beer from your hand. You followed him, kicking off your pumps before you climbed into bed next to him. "What do you want to watch?" Sam asked. It felt like he was trying to force it to sound nonchalant. You leaned forward, your hand brushing his leg as you started to scroll through Netflix. Sam took a deep, calculated breath and groaned deep in his chest. "God, you smell good." He said, low and husky.

You swallowed thickly, before turning to Sam. His eyes were dark with lust. He leaned forward and took another deep breath. You reached out and closed the laptop, turning yourself to snuggle against Sam's chest. His hands came to your biceps, pulling you up to meet his face. The look on his face reminded you of how he'd looked at Ruby, and that should have scared you, but instead, it fueled the fire suddenly burning between your legs.

His lips crashed into yours, so roughly that your teeth bit into the inside of your lips. You rubbed her core against him, needing friction, wishing you weren't caged in by clothing. Sam pulled away from the kiss, pushing you backward onto the bed, your head bouncing next to the laptop. His mouth attached to your collarbone, his hands pawing at your breasts. Your hands went to his waistband, pulling the button open and pulling the zipper down. His teeth came down on the crest of your left breast as your hand pushed into his boxers and wrapped around his length. You fought the urge to cry out, acutely aware that Dean was less than five feet away. You focused on Sam, running your hand up and down his dick, enjoying it getting harder and larger under your touch. Sam's tongue snaked out to lick the bite and when he sat up, you noticed a bit of blood on the corner of his mouth.

Your mind flashed to Dean, "Their stomachs were full, like Thanksgiving dinner full". "Wait. We can't... This isn't..." Your words fell away as Sam pushed your skirt up, his fingers ripping through your pantyhose, pushing aside your thong underwear to slide inside of you.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna eat you... unless you ask." He whispered, curling his finger to rub the calloused pad of it against the wall inside.

"More. Sam, please." You whispered.

Sam teased his middle finger down your lips as the first finger began to pump in and out. "You know, your future Lucifer was right. I have been dreaming of this since I saw you at the steakhouse. We went home that night and I had the best wet dream of my teenage life. Dean said you were a lesbian, but when you came over for the party, I knew. You were all flushed..." He added his middle finger and picked up his speed. "... and when Chris sat next to you, started whispering in your ear, I knew you wanted him. And that meant that maybe, one day, you'd want me, too."

"Oh, Sam. Fuck. Don't stop... talking or... just don't."

"When we walked in on you in Campbell, you were wearing that halter top and those low-rise jeans, oh and when you rode off on your Harley... Christina, if I could have taken you on the table at Biggerson's, I would have. Everything about you turns me on, even your scars. Tokens of your strength, symbols that you can't be beaten." His other hand came up to stroke the place on your trachea where the scar was hidden. "I fucked Ruby while I was high on your power and all I could think about was how good it would feel to make you whimper, how it must feel inside you. I thought I hid it so well, how much I wanted you, but Lucifer knows. He dangled you in front of me, promised you to me if I said 'yes'. I told him I could get you eventually, once you let go of Dean, once you realized he was just using you."

You had your eyes closed, the feeling of Sam's fingers sliding in and out of you, the sound of him telling you how much he's wanted you bringing you closer to the edge. Your hand had stilled on his length. It was all you could do to concentrate on keeping yourself quiet. "You feel so good on my fingers, Christina. You gonna feel that good on my dick?"

You moaned in response. A little too loudly, because Dean rolled over at the sound. That movement seemed to break whatever spell the two of you were under. Sam pulled his hand back like it was on fire, and you rolled off the bed, pulling your skirt down once you got there. "Uh.... I'm gonna go take a quick shower." You whispered, before running to the bathroom.

The warm water rolling down your body took the stench of sex with it down the drain and it helped you think straight again. This was a problem. Usually, you could control yourself. Usually, you could keep it in your pants... you'd been able to stay back from Sam since you got back from the future, but that had been out of your control. You just wanted to be full. You felt so empty. You hadn't been with Castiel in several weeks and you couldn't reconcile the feeling of hollow. You wrapped a towel around yourself and smiled when you saw that Sam had left one of his tees on the sink for you.

"Hey." Sam whispered, from his spot on the bed.

"Thanks for the nightgown." You whispered back with a smile.

Sam patted the mattress, pulling the comforter back. "You can go under the blanket, I'll sleep on top. That way, Dean doesn't..."

"Get possessive." You finished, quietly. You pushed into the bed and flipped onto your side. "Sammy... I..."

"Don't. We can talk about this when my brother isn't right next to us." He whispered.

You nodded, settling in to close your eyes and fall asleep. Your dreams spoke to your mental state, flashes of Lucifer and Sam pounding into you, your screams filling the room until Castiel showed up to silence you with his dick. Just as Dean showed up in your dream, Sam shook you awake. "You were... moaning." He whispered, his eyes shooting to Dean's back in the bathroom.

You nodded and sat up. "We got more bodies?" You asked, noticing Sam had put his suit back on.

"Yeah. Another couple."

"They eat each other?" You asked, your hand going to the bite mark on your breast. Sam took a deep inhalation at the movement.

"No. These ones shot themselves. Went a little Romeo and Juliet." Dean said, walking out of the bathroom. "So, uh, you're wearing my brother's shirt, sleeping in my brother's bed. You tryin' to tell me somethin'?"

"You were starfishing." You lied, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "And I didn't want to sleep in my suit. Which is helpful because now it's not wrinkled."

"Yeah, all right. Get dressed." You grabbed your clothes and retreated to the bathroom. You were twisting your hair into a bun when you came back into the main room. Dean's eyes fell to your bare legs. "Where's the hose? You were wearing those cute sheer hose, yesterday."

"Um... I put a hole in 'em when I got undressed last night. Sucks, but... whatever." You lied, stepping into your three inch pumps.

***********

You followed behind Sam and Dean, watching their asses as they walked. A bald man in a black suit passed them, slightly swinging a briefcase. His eyes flicked from Sam to you. Sam took a deep breath, just like he had with you the night before, like he was smelling something delicious. Sam turned his head and followed the man with his eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Sam said.

The ME was cleaning up as they walked into the morgue. "Agent Marley, you just can't stay away."

"Heard you tagged another double suicide." Dean said.

"Well, I just finished closing them up." The doctor said.

"Dr. Corman, this is my partner, Special Agent Cliff." Dean said, gesturing at Sam.

You extended a hand. "Supervisory Special Agent McIntire. It's nice to meet you." You said.

Doctor Corman took your hand and shook it quickly, before shaking Sam's hand. "Agent Cliff, SSA McIntire. I've finished my prelims." He said, moving around them to a coat rack and taking off his lab coat. "I pulled the organ sets and sent off the tox samples."

"Great. You mind if we take a look at the bodies?" Sam asked.

"Not at all. But like I said..." He opened the refrigeration unit. "Their good-n-plenties are already tupperwared."

"Super." Sam said, unhappily.

"Leave the keys with Marty up front." Corman said, tossing the keys to Dean. "And please, agents... refrigerate after opening." He placed his hat on his head and walked out of the morgue.

You stepped forward, pulling the refrigerator open and handing a plastic container to each of the boys. "Ooh, I think I'm gonna take the chick kidneys." You said, grabbing a plastic box of your own and sitting down across from Sam at a sterile steel table. You grabbed a pair of purple nitrile gloves and snapped them on.

Dean smirked over a heart and slid it across the table to Sam. "Hey. Be my Valentine?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second." Sam said, opening the box of the woman's heart. "These hearts both have identical marks. Check this out." He pulled a large lighted magnifier over to the hearts.

"How'd you even see that?" You asked, standing to look at the hearts. "It looks like some kind of letter."

"Oh no." Sam groaned.

"What?"

"I think it's Enochian." You and Sam said, simultaneously.

"You mean like angel scratches? So you think it's like the tagging on our ribs?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I don't know."

"Ah, Hell." Dean said. He walked away from the table as he pulled out his phone and pulled off his glove. "Cas, it's Dean. Yeah, room 31-c, basement level, St. James Medical Center."

You smiled as Castiel popped up in front of Dean. "I'm there now." He said into the phone.

"Yeah, I get that." Dean said.

"I'm gonna hang up now."

"Right." The guys both put their phones away at the same time and turned to the table.

"Hi, Cas." You said, breathy. You looked down, embarrassed, as Sam raised an eyebrow at you.

"Um, we've got these two hearts. They both have these marks on them. Might be Enochian. Can you take a look?" Sam asked.

Castiel walked over and picked up one of the hearts, not bothering with a glove. "You're right, Sam. These are angelic marks. I imagine you'll find similar marks on the other couples' hearts, as well."

"So, what are they? I mean, what do they mean?" Sam asked.

"It's a mark of union. This man and woman were intended to mate." Castiel put the heart back into its box and flicked the blood off of his fingers.

"Okay, but who put 'em there?" Dean asked.

"Well, your people call them 'Cupid'."

"Uh, what?" Sam asked.

"I remember this." You breathed. The men of the room turned to you as you stood, suddenly very hot, but trying to power through whatever was wrong with you. "Um... what human myth has mistaken for 'Cupid' is actually a lower order of angels. Technically, it's a cherub, right, Cas, third-class?"

"Cherub?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, they're all over the world. There are dozens of them." Castiel answered. "How do you know that?"

"I... looked up everything about angels when you sprung Dean from Hell. Remember?"

"Wait, you mean the flying fat kid in diapers?" Dean asked.

"They're not incontinent."

"Okay, anyway. So, what you're saying..." Sam started.

"What I'm saying is a Cupid has gone rogue and we have to stop him... before he kills again."

"Naturally." Sam said, incredulously.

"Of course we do."

"Sounds good to me." You said, staring at Castiel. You pulled out your phone and quickly tapped out a text. Castiel pulled his phone from his pocket and shot a look at you. "You guys go ahead. I have to hit the ladies room." You said, before heading out of the room.

"I have to find the Cupid. I will call you... when I... find it." Castiel said, before disappearing.

Castiel was in the restroom before you opened the door. You locked it behind you and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Are you..." He pulled away from you. "What is this?"

"Babe... I haven't... Cas, babe, I've missed you. And I'm just so... horny. Please." You begged, quietly.

"I don't feel this is an appropriate time for..." Castiel began but stopped when your hands grabbed at his belt. His hand came down on yours. "Stop. This isn't the time. It's like before we went to Carthage." His voice was harsh, hard like a parent scolding a child.

You stepped back, feeling stung. "Right. Not the.. not the time." You whispered to yourself, before walking out of the bathroom.

*********************

You felt that Dirty Devil's Nightclub seemed more restaurant than nightclub, but you weren't going to complain. You couldn't concentrate enough to. To say that you were horny was the biggest understatement of your life. You'd been wet for hours, your pussy was literally aching by this point. Sitting at a table in a bar with hearts and Cupids hanging from the ceiling, so close to Dean and Castiel, it was making you nostalgic for your shed by the river. But then, there was Sam. Sweet, gigantic Sam. Sam could probably slide right into you without prep, how wet you were. You had ordered a steak, but as the waitress set the food down, you were much more interested in the hunk next to you than the hunk of meat on the table.

"So, what, you just happen to know he likes the cosmos at this place?" Dean asked.

"This place is a nexus of human reproduction. It's exactly the kind of, of garden the Cupid will come to, to pollinate." Castiel seemed as distracted by Dean putting ketchup on his burger as Sam seemed by your hand creeping up his thigh. It took him a minute to realize that Dean had pushed his plate away from him.

"Wait a minute. You're not hungry?" Sam asked.

"No." Dean said, nonchalantly. "What? I'm not hungry."

"Then, you're not gonna finish that?" Castiel asked, grabbing the plate. As he went to take a bite, Castiel noticed a couple across the room. "He's here."

"Where? I don't see anything." Sam said.

"There." Castiel said, looking pointedly at a couple that had just begun to kiss.

"You mean, the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?" Dean asked.

"Meet me in the back." Castiel said, before disappearing.

Dean shrugged and headed for the back and you sighed deeply before standing. "You're gonna have to keep your hands to yourself, Christina. Neither of us are going to be able to concentrate if we've got our minds in the gutter." Sam whispered as he stood and pulled on the front of his slacks.

"Sweetheart, I'm trying. Just... having issues with that... since last night." You whispered back, as you walked into the back room.

"Cas, where is he?" Sam asked, looking around the room.

"I have him tethered. Zoda Kama Mahrana. Manifest yourself." He ordered, his hand hanging in the air. He turned his head, looking for the cupid.

"So, where is he?" Dean asked, before a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind lifting him up in a hug.

"Here I am!"

"Help!"

"Oh, help is on the way. Yes, it is. Yes, it is. Hello, you!" The cupid dropped Dean and walked over to Castiel.

"Naked angel." You mumbled, closing your eyes against the rush of heat between your legs. "Naked angel. Fuck, what's wrong with me?" You rubbed a hand over your face, then pushed past Sam, walking out into the main restaurant. You sat down at the table and started to cut into your steak. Something was wrong. Desperately wrong. Maybe another witch hit you with a lust spell or something. Maybe it had something to do with the way Crowley put you back together, or maybe it was Lucifer's fault. Whatever the actual problem, it was definitely a problem.

"What's up?" Sam asked several minutes later, walking up from the back.

"I'm compromised." You muttered.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. I just... I am having some issues with... everything. I can't think straight."

"Because of last night?" Sam asked, his voice low as he eyed Dean through the bay window at the front of the bar. Dean wrenched the driver's door open and flopped into the front seat of the Impala.

"I think last night might've been a symptom, not the cause."

Sam sat down next to you. "What are you saying?"

"I think maybe I got hit by some sort of... mojo. A lust spell or something. I drank a potion like this once... but this is way worse." You whispered, thinking back to the party when you were seventeen.

"So, you think last night was... the result of... supernatural interference?" His voice was sad.

"Sam... I... I don't know. I just know that... I feel out of control. I'm usually very good at keeping this shit to myself."

"What? Keeping what shit to yourself?" Sam asked, quietly.

"Sam... It's hard to... look, I..." You closed your eyes and tried to clear your mind. "I can't think right now, but I need you to know that I... whatever this is, it's not the reason I wanted you, it's just the reason I let myself do anything about it."

"So... you've thought about it before?" Sam whispered, hopefully.

"Of course, but... can we talk about this some other time?"

"Yeah. We're gonna head back to the motel. You coming?"

"I'll meet you there." You whispered, opening your eyes. Sam nodded and walked toward the door.

******************************

You pulled five candles out of your trunk and climbed onto roof of your Charger. You placed the candles evenly around you and lit them. "Termatisteí aftí i lagneía." You chanted, over and over. You sighed as a wave of cool energy washed over you and the candles blew out. You slid down the windshield and grabbed your candles, tossing them into your back seat.

Sam walked out of the motel room and smiled at you. "You okay?"

"I'm better. Took a little magic, but... better. Can we talk now?"

"Actually, I was just on my way back to the hospital. Dr. Corman called with another weird death. We can talk after."

"Okay." You said, pulling open the passenger side door of the Impala and getting in.

********************************************

"You said you wanted to hear about any other weird ones." Dr. Corman said, leading you into the morgue.

"Okay."

Dr. Corman pulled back the sheet over the body to reveal a hairy man with a severely distended belly. "Lester Finch. Pulled his records. Looks like this gentleman used to weigh 400 lbs or so, 'til he got a gastric bypass, which brought down his weight considerably. But then for some reason, last night, he decided to go on a Twinkie binge."

"So, he died from Twinkie overload?" You asked.

"Well, after he blew out the band around his stomach, he filled it up 'til it burst. When he could no longer swallow, he started jamming the cakes down his gullet with a... with a toilet brush, like he was ramrodding a cannon."

Sam pulled at the collar of his shirt. "So, what do you make of it?"

"I'd say that it was a very peculiar thing to do." The doctor said, before taking several gulps from a shiny metal flask.

"We're gonna take this report with us." You said, taking one last look at Lester Finch before walking out of the room.

Sam followed you out, dialing Dean on his cell. He put it on speaker and held the phone up as you stopped and turned around. "Hey. So, uh, this guy was not marked by Cupid, but his death is definitely suspicious."

"Yeah, well, I just went through the police blotter and, counting him, that's eight suicides since Wednesday and nineteen ODs. That's way out of the seasonal batting average."

"Yeah, if there's a pattern here, it ain't just love. It's a hell of a lot bigger than we thought." Sam said, his hand going to rub his temple.

"Yeah, all right. I'll see you in 10."

"Yeah, okay." Sam said, hanging up. He turned his head and focused on the entrance of the medical center. The bald man in the suit was walking out, another briefcase in hand.

"Sammy, you okay, sweetheart?" You asked. Sam didn't answer, his eyes focused on the bald man as he walked toward an alley. You followed behind as Sam rushed to the other end of the alley to get ahead of the man. Your eyes widened as he pulled out the Kurdish knife.

Sam rushed the man, pushing him into the alley wall and putting the knife to his neck. "I know what you are, damn it!" He brought the knife up and cut the man's cheek, causing his eyes to go black and the skin there to burn. "I could smell you."

"Winchester." The demon said it like it was an accusation. Sam seemed to lose focus, his breath coming in short. The demon seemed to notice, pushing against the large hunter and swinging the briefcase at his head. Sam jumped backward, slashing at the demon with the knife. He got the demon in the arm, who screamed in pain as he dropped the briefcase. Sam rared back to stab the demon, but he ran out of the alley at full speed. He took several deep breaths. He looked down at the knife in his hand, covered with the demon's blood. You could see the desire in his eyes, and he seemed to recognize it himself, because he turned to the dumpster beside him and grabbed a piece of newspaper, using it to wipe the blood off of the blade and throwing it on the ground.

"Sammy? Sweetheart?"

"I'm okay. Let's just... get this briefcase back to the motel." Sam said, bending down to pick up the case.

***********************************************

"What the hell does a demon got to do with this, anyway?" Dean asked, looking down at the briefcase. You rubbed your eyes. Your magic lust fix was starting to wear off and you were on edge just being in the room with the Winchesters.

"Believe me, I got no idea." Sam answered.

Dean examined Sam's face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be all right." Sam answered.

"I'm fine, too. Not that anyone cares." You said, irritably.

"Oh-kay." Dean shot a look at you, before focusing on the briefcase. "Let's crack her open. What's the worst that could happen, right?"

"Wonderful idea." You mumbled, sitting at the table and leaning your head on your hand. Each brother took one part of the lock and clicked it open. A blinding light erupted from the briefcase. "Holy-"

"Whoa!"

"What the hell was that?!"

"It's a human soul." Castiel's voice came to them from the area by the window. You perked up again at the sound of his voice. "It's starting to make sense." He finished, before taking a bite of his burger.

"Now, what about that makes sense?" Sam asked.

"And when did you start eating?"

"Exactly. My hunger, it's a clue, actually."

You stood, walking toward them. "For what?" The brothers asked as you pushed between them.

"This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect." He walked forward, stopping a few feet in front of them. "It's suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact. Specifically, famine." Castiel explained.

"Famine?" You asked, your voice going a bit high. Castiel nodded.

"As-as in, the Horseman?" Sam asked.

"Great. Th-th-that's freaking great." Dean complained.

"I thought famine meant starvation, like, as in, you know, food." Sam gestured at Castiel's burger.

"Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something. Sex, attention, drugs, love..."

"Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that Cupid shot up." Dean said, as you closed your eyes again. Famine. Your famine was sex? No wonder your spell hadn't lasted very long.

"Right. The cherub made them crave love and then Famine came and made them rabid for it."

"Okay, but what about you?" Dean asked, stepping toward Castiel. "I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?"

"It's my vessel, Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect."

"So, Famine rolls into town and everybody goes crazy?" You asked, still not opening your eyes.

"And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty, and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he is hunger. His hunger will seep out and poison the air. Famine is hungry. He must devour the souls of his victims." Castiel quoted.

"So, that's what was in the briefcase? The Twinkie dude's soul?"

"Lester Finch." You mumbled.

"Lucifer has sent his demons to care for Famine, to feed him, make certain he'll be ready."

"Ready for what?" Sam asked, his eyes flicking to you, still standing next to him with your eyes closed.

"To march across the land."

You opened your eyes and took a deep breath. "I need a drink."

"What, is your famine booze?" Dean asked.

You scoffed. "My famine is most definitely not booze." You said, pulling a beer from the cooler as Sam walked into the bathroom and turned on the sink.

"Famine?" Dean asked, turning to Castiel.

"Yes." Castiel responded with a mouth full of cheeseburger.

"So, what, this whole town is just gonna eat, drink and screw itself to death?" Sam asked from the bathroom doorway.

"How do you screw yourself to death? Like, I mean, how does a healthy, normal person... assuming you and your partner don't go all cannibal erotica in the middle of it?" You asked, breathlessly. Dean shook his head at you.

"We should stop it."

"Yeah, that's great idea. How?"

"How did you stop the last Horseman you met?" Castiel asked.

Dean walked over to his jacket on the coat rack and pulled out the ring. "War got his mojo from this ring. And after we cut it off, he just tucked tail and ran. And everybody that was affected, it was like they woke up out of a dream. You think Famine's got a class ring, too?"

"I know he does."

"Well, okay. L-let's track him down and get to chopping." Dean suggested.

You looked around the room. It made sense. How you were feeling, this desire to fuck everything. All you wanted was to put each of these men inside of you. You flooded with heat at the thought of taking all of them at the same time. You gave a final look around the room, before putting your beer on the table and walking out of the motel room. You ran to a quiet alleyway to the right of the room and took a deep breath of cold dumpster-tainted air. "Okay. So... Sex-crazed witch needs someone to fuck her senseless. I need someone who won't be affected. Someone who won't go to far, someone I can't go too far with. Calling him when Sam and Dean..." Their names came out as a moan. "Oh, fuck it! Lucifer, I've been touched by Famine's effect and I need you. Now." You prayed.

"The words every man loves to hear from the mouth of a beautiful woman." Lucifer said, appearing behind you. You were on him in a second, your left hand pulling his head down for a kiss and your right hand going to the button of his jeans. He pulled back so you could breathe. "Your famine is sex? You don't get enough of that from Dean and Castiel?"

"Uh-uh. You said, last time, you said no questions. Just show up and fuck the hell out of me. I need that, now."

"And when they come looking for you?"

"I will deal with that, Lucifer. Just fuck me. I can barely think. I need someone in me, and it needs to be someone Famine won't touch."

"What I hear, Famine hasn't gotten to Dean. Why call me?"

"Because he's not hungry for anything right now. And I'm not a cheeseburger, so, Cas won't give me the time of day. Sam would drain me dry of my demon-laced blood before I ever got to cum and right now, I really need to cum. Please, Lucifer. Just fuck me." You begged in a harsh whisper.

Lucifer smirked, leaning down to put a hand behind each of your knees and lift you, pressing your back into the wall as your legs wrapped tight around his waist. Your skirt pushed up to your waist as Nick's jeans fell to the gravel at his feet and he slid inside you, easily. The moan that fell from your mouth was unnatural and it forced a chuckle from Lucifer. As he began to pound into you, your back scraping against the brick every time his hips met yours, he bent his head next to your ear. "Are your boyfriends not satisfying you, Christina?"

An orgasm rolled across your body at the sound of his voice. It was relief only for a second, but the need was back almost immediately. "No. Cas is... too busy... looking for God. And De... fuck." Your hands went to his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt. "Harder... please." You whined.

"Y/n!" Dean's voice called, likely from the door of the motel room.

"Don't stop." You whispered, your hands going to Lucifer's face, changing Nick's features as another orgasm rolled, uselessly, across you.

Dean stepped to the edge of the alley as Lucifer leaned his head forward to take your earlobe between his lips. "Y/n, what the fuck?!"

"Dean, just... ah, go! Find Famine. Fix this. Oh my god, right there."

"Your Famine is sex? Really?!" Dean shouted, starting down the alley.

"That's what I said." Lucifer whispered in your ear as Dean walked, face first, into an invisible barrier.

"Dean, go. You aren't getting over here. You can't stop me."

"I can chain you up with Sam!"

"What, so Sam and I can attack each other? No, just go end this!"

"Y/n/n, this is- you don't even know this guy!" Dean's fist thudded against the barrier.

"Go away, Winchester! You're wasting time!" You shouted. "I don't know how long before this consumes me, I need you to go."

Dean punched the barrier again, then stalked angrily out of the alley. Lucifer pulled his head back, catching your eyes. "An invisible wall and a glamour. Clever girl. You think he can hurt my Horseman?"

"Hnnnn, I know he can. I know he can. Oh, my... fuck! More, I need..."

"Shh. It's okay. Let's go." Lucifer whispered as he pulled out of you and suddenly the alley was replaced by a motel room. He dropped you onto the bed and snapped his fingers, causing your clothes to disappear. "Hands and knees, dear."

You flipped over without protest, propping yourself up on your hands and knees. Lucifer grabbed your hips and slid you backward to the edge of the bed, entering you in one swift movement. He leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head backward as he hammered his hips forward.

"You feel amazing, so wet." Lucifer whispered.

You moaned, another useless orgasm hitting you. "You're making it worse."

"I'm not here to make it better, Christina. I'm just here to enjoy the effect."

#cassie writes stuff #spn #spn fanfic #sam/reader #reader-insert #lucifer/reader #famine

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