---

It was near closing time, well, for you, that is. Everyone had left, and you were picking up the slack per usual. You might as well be promoted to manager with how you had been doing.

You were cleaning off the counter when the bell above the door rang. You sighed for the hundredth time that day as you went to pick up your notepad.

You stepped up to their table, pencil in hand, ready to take their order. “What can I get you?”

When the person didn’t answer, you lifted your head and had to hold in your shocked gasp. The man sitting in the booth was beautiful, to say the least. The thing that stood out to you, however, were the prominent purplish eyebags and cuts he sported on his face. His ocean blue eyes were bloodshot eyes and it looked like he had been crying for hours on end. His blonde hair was matted as if it hadn’t been washed in days, if not weeks.

You shook your head, silently berating yourself for staring, “Sir?”

He, too, seemed shaken from his reverie, turning to you with a sullen look. “Anything is fine.”

You nodded before turning on your heel and walking behind the counter. You wanted to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t want to intrude on his personal life.

You fixed him up a burger and fries along with a cup of water. The old woman, who took reservation at the counter, flashed you a smile when you came to pick up her empty plates before handing you a $10 tip for keeping the doors open so late.

Well, at least something good came out of today.

You made your way over to the man and set the food and drink down. Looking around, you took note of the fact you and him were the only people in the diner and sat down across from him.

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t say anything, eyes still downcast to the glossy tiles on the table.

“Do you want me to leave you alo-?” Before you could finish your question, he spoke.

“No.” His voice was raspy, probably from disuse. You nodded, settling back down in the booth.

“You should eat your food.” You said gently, pushing the plate over to him some.

“I don’t deserve to eat.”

“What do you mean?” You were confused. What happened to make him feel that way?

“My mother hates me, my grandmother killed herself because of me, the only person who cared about me was killed, and my father left me.”

You stared at him in shock. He had said it so… bluntly. You cleared your throat before speaking, “Wow... I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t matter or that you should take care of yourself.”

He shrugged measly, body slumped in what looked like complete defeat. He looked so tired, so ready to give up on everything.

You bit your lip, contemplating what you were about to say. When you came to a conclusion, you looked over to him, “Why don’t you finish your food and maybe… only if you want to.” He raised his head, the light gone from his eyes.

“You could come home with me? I can let you take a warm shower. Maybe some comfy clothes? And a bed?”

He didn’t respond, only eyeing the glass of water in front of him. You looked down, shaking your head, “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I’ll- uh I’ll leave you alone now.”

“You can stay.”

And after that he didn’t say anything, only slowly eating his food and taking small sips of the water with trembling hands in between.

Once he was finished, you took the plate and cup into the kitchen before walking back out and shutting off the lights.

You came back over with the keys in hand. “Hey, you ready to go?” He nodded, standing up slowly, and that’s when you noticed the torn shirt on his body and the crooked, dirty tie on his neck. You walked him outside, turning to lock up.

On the drive to your apartment, he didn’t say anything, looking out the window with a distant look on his face. He looked so broken, and all you wanted to do was help him.

You dropped your keys for the third time, and a curse left your mouth. Hearing a huff of breath, you looked up to see a very tiny smile on his face.

Once you made it inside, you directed him to the bathroom, telling him that you’d find some spare clothes for him. You had never been happier to have a plethora of oversized shirts and baggy sweats.

The shower had stopped running a while ago, but he had never come out, so you knocked on the door softly. “Is everything okay?”

There was a muffled sound coming from inside. You placed your ear to the door and could hear quiet sniffling. “I’m going to come in, okay?”

Cracking open the door, you took in the sight of him hunched over, sitting on the floor, only wrapped in a towel. His shoulders shook as tears silently rolled down his face. You got on the floor beside him, wrapped your arms around his body, shushing him.

A few minutes had passed, and he had stopped crying. He looked over to you, eyes bloodshot, “Why am I not good enough?”

“You are good enough.” He shook his head, “No. No, I’m not. If I was, no one would leave time and time again.”

There was so much hurt in his voice. You grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But you are good enough. And I know we just met a couple of hours ago, and I don’t even know your name, but I want to help you, help you not feel so… broken.”

There was silence for a bit before you gave him privacy to change. He came to your room, standing in the doorway. You smiled at him, patting your bed.

“You can sleep here. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” When you turned to leave, a hand shot out and grabbed yours. “Don’t leave. I don’t…” He looked down at the floor, “I don’t want to be alone.”

You climbed into bed with him, making sure to leave a good distance in case he didn’t like contact. The sound of the clock on the wall filled the room along with the sounds of a car passing by now and then.

“Michael.”

You turned on your side, facing him, his tired, blue eyes meeting yours. “What?”

“Michael,” he repeated. “That’s my name.”

“Hi, Michael. I’m Y/N.” He cracked a very tiny smile at your introduction. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I just want to make you feel better.”

“I think I’m too broken for that,” he chuckled dryly. His face dropped as he averted his gaze, overcome with sadness.

“Being broken only means you’re not complete yet. All you have to do is find the right pieces.” You placed your hand on top of his under the blanket, “Just because you’re lost doesn’t mean you can’t find your way home.”

Just before he closed his eyes, he muttered under his breath:

“You’re starting to feel like home.”

—

Walking barefoot in the woods was probably your most ridiculous hobby, but it was probably your favorite as well. 

There was always something to discover in the woods.

You tried to take a forest walk at least once a week, on Sundays. You would be gone for hours, wandering, feeling the ups and downs of the universe all around you.

There was always something to discover in the woods, and it was always something different.

Often you would stop in sunny patches and meditated. Sometimes you could feel the musings of something greater than you, running through you. 

Occasionally, you would find a wounded animal, typically just small things like squirrels or sparrows, although sometimes bigger creatures, a deer, an owl, a fox, things along those lines. You felt a responsibility to them, to help them, to clean them up and help them heal and get them better enough to go off on their journeys in life. 

On this particular walk, you found a type of wounded animal you’d never dealt with before. 

Michael Langdon. 

You found him wandering the woods, bleary eyed, coated in scratches and sunburns. 

“Are you alright, sir?” You moved slowly closer to him, not worried for yourself but afraid to startle him. 

The man was beautiful, you could tell he was beneath the dirt that covered him. 

You had startled him, it seemed, as he looked up at you with wild, piercing eyes, raising a hand and sending you flying back against a tree, pinning you there by the throat. 

Well, fuck. 

Your hands clawed at your neck in spite of yourself, trying to pull at something that wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have tried at all, if you were capable of rational thought, would have let it happen as you had great faith that the mystery man was going to let you go, but of course when one loses the ability to breathe, one’s body tends to panic in spite of what the mind may wish for. 

After a few seconds, you dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Breathe in...Breathe out...Breathe in...Breathe out...Breath in..

“I’m sorry,” You stood up, keeping your gaze on the ground but taking a step towards him.

Although you still didn’t look him in the face, you could tell just from his voice that the man was confused, wandering closer to you, “Why are you sorry?”

Shrugging, you lifted your head from the ground, although you still kept it below eye level, “I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I,” He frowned, and you focused your eyes on his mouth, “I attacked you.”

“Because I frightened you. I was trying not to, but I did, and I’m very sorry for it.”

“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?” He sounded curious, and his mouth curved into a funny little smile, “Because you’re sorry?” 

“Because direct eye contact can be intimidating,” You explained, “I don’t want to upset you again.” 

Biting his lower lip, the man extended his hand, “It’s okay. I’m... my name is Michael. I’m sorry for...what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You took his hand, feeling a zip of electricity shoot through you, and finally looked into his eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve been hurt worse. Wasn’t a big deal. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Brows scrunched together over his crystalline blue eyes, Michael cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for bothering you, I- I should let you go.”

You weren’t quite sure whether he meant that literally or figuratively, as he was still clutching at your hand like a lifeline. 

“Hang on,” Drawing him closer, you reached a careful hand up to his face, hesitating at the way he flinched, then stilled, his eyes flickering to the side anxiously, but allowing you to cup his cheek and examine him, “How long have you been out here?” 

Michael looked unsure of himself, leaning into your hand ever so slightly and seemingly not even conscious of it, “A few days, I think. I was doing a, well, I was doing something, but it didn’t work, and then I tried to make my way back to the city, but I kinda got lost.” 

“You must be starving,” You pulled away from him, straightening up, “I can take you back to the city, and you can come to my place for a little bit.”

You were already walking, and after a moment you heard Michael hurry to follow you, “What do you mean?”

“You said you were lost. I don’t think you just mean physically. Besides, you must be hungry, and no offense, but you’re kind of a mess right now,” You glanced back at him, giving a small smile when you saw his shocked expression, “You need help. I’m happy to give it.” 

“Why?” Michael moved to your side, walking in step with you, “Why would you help me? What if I’m a murderer?” 

“Even if you are, I don’t think you’ll murder me. If you do, I’d ask that you do it quickly, that’s just a little personal preference of mine, although of course if you’re some truly evil serial killer then I doubt you’d care much about my preferences,” Shrugging, you grasped his hand in yours and pulled him behind you, feeling another volt of electricity crackle through your veins as you led him back to the city. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a nice place,” Michael told you hesitantly as you made your way up the front steps of your apartment building. 

You almost laughed at that, but when you glanced back at him he looked so genuine in the compliment that you paused, pulling him inside, “You... you know this whole place isn’t mine, right? It’s an apartment building. My place is pretty not nice, actually. I mean, I like it, but it’s small and not very fancy, y’know?”

“Oh,” He looked a little embarrassed, and you could tell that he had thought the whole building belonged to you. He looked like someone who was used to money and big houses, or at least he looked like he would look like that if he didn’t currently look like he’d been attacked by some sort of weather monster and was now on the verge of passing out. 

“Sit,” You said simply, gesturing to the couch, and you hurried to get a glass of water, handing it to him, “Drink.” 

Bustling your way back to the kitchen, you looked back to see him staring at the cup, and you repeated, “Michael. Drink the water. Come on,” You turned to the plants on your windowsill, grabbing your kitchen shears, “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind drinking water?” Michael asked, confusion evident. 

“Not you,” You turned to him with a smile, nodding, “You don’t have a choice there. Drink the water. I was talking to Tennyson.”

“Who’s Tennyson?”

He had finished the cup of water, and you took it and refilled it before gesturing to the aloe vera plant that you had just trimmed a stalk off of, returning the cup to him, “The plant. The full name is Aloe, Lord Tennyson.”

“You name your plants?” Clearing his throat, Michael took a sip of the new cup of water, “You... talk to your plants?” 

Shrugging, you split the long leaf in half, scooping some of the gel inside onto your fingers, “Yes, and yes. Now this may hurt a bit, just a warning.”

You pressed against his forehead as gently as you could, where a large pinkish red sunburn rested, and Michael let out a hiss and suddenly you were flying across the room, hitting the wall. He didn’t hold you in place or choke you this time, at least, and in a moment he had leapt from the couch and hurried over to you, “I’m so sorry. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it, I-”

“It’s okay,” You let Michael pull you to your feet, holding onto his hand ever more tightly as you looked at his ashen face and downtrodden expression, “I should’ve given you better warning. Listen, I’ll doctor you up later. Let’s get you in a bath, first, okay? You can bathe and I’ll make some food and then, after, we can take care of your sunburns and scrapes.”

“I keep hurting you,” Michael pulled his hand away, looking at it as though your touch had burned him, “And you keep being nice to me.” 

“If you were doing it on purpose, I’d be less nice. But you’re not, I can tell. Now, follow,” You led the way to your small bathroom, starting to fill the tub with water. 

Michael sat on the edge of the tub, watching you adjust the temperature and light the candles that lay at the corners and pour in some bubble bath. He stared as you moved, humming to yourself, and when you stood and started to step away, “I have some old clothes that I think will fit you. They’re not particularly fancy, like what you’re wearing now, but they’re clean. I’ll drop them off once I get some dinner started, okay?” 

Nodding, Michael began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you hurried out of the room. 

He was still lost, even though he wasn’t in the woods anymore. And you were determined to help him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Michael called, cracking the bathroom door open, “I’m dressed and everything.”

“Great! Hop up on the counter for me, okay? Just hang tight,” You grabbed the bowl of aloe gel that you had scraped from the plant and a box of band aids and hurried back to the bathroom.

He was perched next to your sink, and you tapped at his knees. Michael frowned but opened his legs so you could stand in between them, “Why am I on your counter, exactly?”

“Because it’s time for me to play doctor. I’m going to touch your face, okay?” You cupped his cheek in your hand and tugged him down, beginning to dab gel onto his sunburns and clean the long scratches that streaked across his features, “Are you comfortable? Do the sweatpants fit okay and everything?” 

“They’re fine,” Michael mumbled, flinching when you pressed a band aid to one of the deeper cuts on his forehead, his hand curling into a fist. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his other hand rest gently on your shoulder, “I appreciate you letting me borrow them. And letting me use your bathtub, and well, and everything else.” 

You nodded, taking in a deep breath and finally moving your attention to notice that he was staring at you, smiling at him, “You used my shampoo.”

“Oh, yeah,” He turned pink, “Yeah, is that okay? It smelled like strawberries and it was right there so I just...”

“Of course! Not a problem at all. You smell nice,” You were looking straight at him now, and he continued to stare, and just when you’d tilted your head to the side, trying to discern what exactly Michael was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. 

The hand that had rested on your shoulder came up to stroke your face, and then as quickly as it had started, it was done, and he had pulled away from you, turning his head sheepishly to the side. 

Clearing your throat nervously, you stepped back, “Do you like tomato soup?” 

“Yes,” Michael hopped off the counter, following you to the kitchen, although he stayed about four steps behind you. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at each other over bowls of soup and large dinner rolls. 

Your lips still buzzed from the memory of him against you, but you tried to ignore that. Michael scarfed food down for a while, and you simply kept refilling his bowl until he finally started to slow down, and then you asked carefully, “So, Michael. What’s gotten you lost like this. Tell me where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”  

“There isn’t much to tell about them,” Michael turned red, and he steadfastly refused to make eye contact with you, “My father abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me. There’s only one person who’s ever really cared, who hasn’t abandoned me, and she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” You said earnestly, letting your hand reach out just far enough to brush against his, “Humanity is unkind, often especially so to those who need kindness the most.” 

Michael had a curious way of frowning, his confusion always quite evident. His eyes would widen and his brows would move, displaying everything he was feeling. It was cute, honestly. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He said finally bluntly, having been staring at you in silence, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re just...I mean... I was gonna try to just not mention it, but you’re so nice and I feel bad.”

“You should’ve asked first,” Drawing your hand away, you tried to make eye contact with him, but now he was avoiding your gaze, “For a lot of reasons. But I’m not mad at you.” 

“You’re not? I know I should’ve asked, I’m just... I’m not used to having to ask for things. I know that’s not a good excuse, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m just sorry,” Michael was frowning even deeper than before. 

Shrugging, you reached back across the table, this time allowing your fingers to stroke along his jaw, “The fact that you’re sorry is enough. Just... don’t go around kissing strangers with no warning, okay?”

“Okay,” He smiled, leaning into your hand, a strange rumbling noise emanating from deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, you felt a bolt of desire shoot through you, seemingly out of nowhere, and you shifted a little in your seat, “Are you done eating?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for the food. I can find somewhere to go, I’m sure,” Pulling away from you, Michael started to stand, and you rushed to stand too.

“What do you mean? Why would you go anywhere?” You grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place even as he brushed you away. 

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden? 

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. Spend the night,” Squeezing at his wrist gently, you moved to stand in front of him.

Michael looked utterly taken aback by this, “Really? Are you sure?” 

You tugged him along behind you, to your bedroom, bringing him to sit on your bed and collapsing down next to him. 

“I’m sure,” Turning towards him, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re the opposite of a burden, and I can prove it.” 

Michael’s breathing hitched, and he moved closer to you, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, “I really wanna kiss you again.” 

“You can,” You said simply, wanting to kiss him very badly, but having decided that he needed to be the one to initiate it.

“But you said-”

“I said you should ask first,” You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling something crackling in the air, his skin soft against your own.

“Y/N,” Michael leaned into you, and another rumble rolled from his chest, “May I please kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than that. I want to show you that you’re not a burden. You deserve to feel good,” And then his mouth was on yours, and something deeper than electricity was running through you. 

He kissed you like a teenager, not pulling you closer to him but pushing his upper body forward, and you let out a giggle in spite of yourself.

Pulling back suddenly, Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry. Did I... did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t be sorry!” You rolled your shoulders back, wishing that you two were still touching, a wave of regret hitting you when you saw the wounded look in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Michael, I just... I feel a lot of things right now, y’know? But they’re all good things! I’m just, well, shit, I’m rambling. I’m going to stop talking now and, uh, and take off my shirt. Take your shirt off? Please?” 

Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately when he saw you slip off your shirt, fumbling with the fabric of his own, letting out a shout as it got stuck over his head. 

“Fuck!” The fabric had bunched around his face, his voice slightly muffled, “Dammit, fucking, Y/N, help me!” 

Choking back a laugh, you climbed into his lap and assisted him in wrestling off the shirt, letting another giggle slip out at his look of relief once it was free, which instantly transformed into one of shock as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself starting to blush in spite of your best attempts not to, “Okay, you good?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes trained on securely on your breasts, covered in a lacy white bra, “I’m much more than good. I’m fantastic. Can I... I mean... can I kiss you again? Can I maybe touch you?” 

“I want you to feel good, Michael. Yes,” You gave him a quick kiss on the tip of the nose, smiling at the way he scrunched it up in response. 

Then Michael was kissing you again, and fuck it felt good, his skin ever so slightly prickling against you, and then he raised a tentative hand to your chest, swiping across your left nipple briefly. 

You let out a moan that you hadn’t expected, and he froze for a moment, beginning to slowly swirl his thumb around the covered bud. Suddenly his lips were gone from yours and wrapped around your right nipple, flicking his tongue against it experimentally, and he pulled back with a grin as you let out another breathy moan.

You sounded like a fucking porn star, what the fuck?

“Wow, you’re sensitive,” Michael teased, bringing his other hand up to replace his mouth, “Can I take your bra off?”

“I’ll get it. And I’m not this sensitive, not normally,” You panted, grinding down against him without thinking about it, reaching behind your back to unclasp, and letting out a high pitched whine when his hands were finally on your bare skin, “I mean, not like this. This is... this is you, I think.” 

You could already feel him hard underneath you, but at your words his erection became even more prominent, pressed firmly against your inner thigh.

The rumbling noise came from deep in Michael’s chest once again, and you decided that it was in fact a purr, or something damn close to one. He was beaming now, and there was something almost childlike about him when he looked so joyful, and there was an obvious note of pride in his voice, “Really? Me? Do you think I could make you cum doing this?” 

He pinched lightly and you gasped, head rolling back, “Probably, but not right now, okay? I wanna-fuck-I wanna-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, and carefully you gripped Michael’s wrists, pulling his hands away from you and sliding off of his lap. 

With a pout, Michael watched you move between his legs, an eyebrow raised, “Was it really that intense?” 

“It was,” You glanced up at him from where you now lay, pressing a soft kiss to his cock through his sweatpants, your mind still strangely fogged, “It was... weird. Good weird, but weird. Are you secretly magical or something?” 

He barked a short laugh just a little too quickly for it to sound natural, but you figured that was maybe because you were mouthing along the outline of his dick, his hips bucking up every so slightly, and he was perhaps a bit too distracted to act like your terrible joke was funny. 

Just as you were sliding the sweatpants down his hips, Michael threaded his hands in your hair, tugging gently so that you’d look up at him, a blissful smile on his face as he watched you, “You’re so pretty, do you know that? You’re beautiful.” 

His dick had sprung out of his pants then, bouncing up to his stomach, and you weren’t able to respond at first because fucking hell, it was the most perfect dick you’d ever seen. Thick, veiny, a nice shade of pink although the tip had turned an angry red, and fuck it was big, probably too big, but you weren’t planning to complain about that. Finally, you snapped yourself out of your daze, looking back up at him with a laugh, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.” 

“No!” Michael looked shocked by the very thought, his hips bucking again, ever so slightly, at the feeling of your breath on his skin, “No, I’m serious. You’re so gorgeous, I-fuck-” You licked a line up the length of his cock, and he grabbed desperately at your shoulders, making you pause, “Dammit, I really want you to sit on my face.” 

Your thighs clenched, and you looked up at him, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “I, I mean, no. I told you, I want to make you feel good. Not-”

“But it will!” Michael tugged at you, bringing you up until he could press a fervent kiss to your lips, “I want to. So bad. Please, Y/N, please do it. Please let me. Please.” 

Fucking hell, was he trying to kill you? 

“But I... I wanted you to feel good. Don’t you want me to...” You trailed off, trying to think as Michael kissed your neck. 

“I do, believe, me, I really do, but I also want this.”

“I’ve never done that before,” You admitted, feeling your face get hot with embarrassment, “Honestly, I’m afraid I’d end up accidentally smothering whoever I was with.” 

“That wouldn’t happen,” Michael assured, kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and you find yourself peeling your own leggings off even though you still weren’t sure of what you were doing, and he hooked his fingers into your panties, a smirk on his face, “And even if it did, I can guarantee you that there would be no better way to die.” 

“Okay,” You let out a deep breath, letting out a contented hiss as he brushed his long fingers over your clit, “But I still want to give you a blowjob, okay?” 

“You can. Just face that way,” Michael grinned, ripping your panties off with one sharp tug. 

You were about to scold him, but then his fingers were pressing into your folds, and you gave a quiet gasp, “Michael, fuck.”

He laid down, hands tapping away at his stomach as he waited for you. Hesitantly, you crawled up the bed, turning so that you could look down the length of his body, and knelt over his face. 

You bent down, lifting his cock up and running your fingers along the underside of it, kissing the tip, and you felt him let out a shaky breath beneath you. 

“Fucking hell, you taste amazing,” Michael whispered, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down against him completely. 

He made the purring noise once more, sucking fervently at your clit, and you let out a shriek at the feeling of it rumbling through you. Pulling your legs even further apart, he buried his tongue into your folds, and finally, you opened your mouth as wide as you could and sunk down over his cock until his tip brushed the back of your throat. 

When he moved back to your clit, giving it careful kitten licks, you buried your finger nails into his thighs. At this, he groaned, thrusting up into your mouth, and you gagged. 

This was... what? The third time today he’d accidentally choked you? You hadn’t been angry during any of the other times, but this was the time that probably bothered you the least. 

“Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” He rasped, and although you could hardly hear him, between the feeling of his words vibrating against you and the intense presence of Michael Langdon that filled the air around you, you knew exactly what he was saying. 

Babe.

It was such a gentle word from him, the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally making butterflies start fluttering in your stomach. 

Well, that, and the fact that the feeling of Michael against you was extraordinary, and you were feeling the tight, delightful bubble that signaled your impending orgasm beginning to form. 

You sucked harder. 

It took only a few minutes of this, of you licking and sucking, running your teeth over the pulsing vein that streaked along the side, before you felt him flex his thigh muscles beneath your hands, his salty cum splashing into your mouth. 

It was sweet alongside the salty, a strange mixture of the two, not unlike a chocolate covered pretzel, and you swallowed every drop you could before licking frantically along to make sure you didn’t miss anything. 

“Fuck,” He growled, something authoritative, almost dangerous, flooding through the air. 

Michael lifted you off of him as though you weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and tossed you down onto the mattress on your back, his lips suctioning around your clit once again, two fingers buried deep inside of you. 

You held onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored inside you, squeezing your legs tight around his head unintentionally. You felt him chuckle into your folds at that, and he removed his fingers from you momentarily to pull your legs over his shoulders. 

“Michael!” You mewled, your hips straining to jolt upward, and then he was moving faster, faster, adding a third finger that brushed a spot deeper inside you than anything else had ever reached. Your entire body clenched, and then suddenly you felt the waves of your climax wash over you. 

When your head was fully back, Michael had straightened up, examining his fingers, which were coated in your juices. 

“Fucking hell, Michael, I didn’t need to finish just then. You could’ve waited until you were fucking me for real,” You sat up on your forearms, laughing as you looked down at him. 

“Sorry,” Frowning, Michael pulled away, “Was that too much?” 

Why was he so goddamn sweet?

Moving to your knees, you pulled his face up to yours and kissed him, the taste of yourself that lingered on his tongue mixing with the salty remains of Michael on your own tongue, and you let out a low groan, pulling back to give him a smile, “No. It was wonderful.” 

“Okay. Can we... I mean,” He turned red, looking away from you, “Would you possibly consider riding me? Or do you want to stop now?” 

You rolled to the side, gesturing for Michael to move up the bed, and after a moment he did, sitting up against the headboard. Climbing into his lap in one swift movement, you let out a quiet moan at the feeling of him against your folds, his tip pressed against your interest. He swiped his hand between the two of you, gathering the fluids that had spilled from you and rubbing it onto his cock, lubing himself up with the remnants of your last orgasm. 

“Do you mind going slow?” You asked meekly, burying your face against his chest as you rocked against him, “I’m sorry, just, you’re really big.”

“Of course,” He cooed, running his hands through your hair, and finally you began sliding down the length of his cock. Burying your teeth into his neck, you tried to concentrate on how good this would feel once you got used to the stretch, the burn, and he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good. You-shit-you take my cock wonderfully, do you know that? It’s okay, I know it hurts, but you’re doing great.” 

When you had reached the end, and you were filled to the hilt, you gave a careful roll of your hips, testing the waters. You were feeling better now, running your tongue over the spot on his neck you had bitten, before beginning to suck another hickey into his soft skin. At this, Michael bucked into you, his cock hitting all the way up against your cervix, and you let out a shriek. 

You almost laughed at yourself. You had thought his fingers were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the sheer, masterful feeling of Michael inside you, his hands splayed against the small of your back, holding you in place as you leaned into him, taking one of your nipples into his mouth once again. 

“You feel so good, Michael,” You cried out, and Michael made that damn rumbling noise again, “Fuck, do you know that you purr? I love it.”

Although he continued to hold you, he seemed to be trying to hold back from fucking you too harshly, instead occasionally letting himself thrust into you, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you moaned each time. He paused, looking up at you with a frown, “I don’t purr.” 

You giggled, although it quickly turned into a whimper as he began sucking hickeys into your breasts, and you squeezed his shoulders tightly to concentrate, “You do. You make lots of pretty noises. It makes sense, too. You’ve got such a pretty mouth, such a pretty face, such a pretty cock. You’re so pretty, it’s infected everything you do. And-fucking hell, that feels good-you move so well. Fill me up so well.” 

Michel lolled his head back against the headboard, the purring noise coming out again as you began to grind down harder. You kissed him quickly, watching as his eyes opened suddenly, drinking you in. 

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that? You bounce so well on my cock, and your tits are so fucking perfect,” He paused, clearing his throat, “Was that the right thing to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful. I respect you, too, and all that. You’re just, fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.” 

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, looking at his face to see that it was glistening, and it took you a moment to realize that there were tears running down his face. Kissing each one away, licking up the salty trail they had left, you resolved not to mention it or ask why, exactly, he was crying, “I’m not gonna last much longer either. I want you to cum for me, okay? Please, Michael.”

“Should I... should I pull out?” He panted, helping you roll your hips. 

“You don’t have to,” Gasping, desperately, you buried your nails into his shoulders, trying to contain the climax that was beginning to boil through you, “Just, fuck, please finish soon, Michael. I’m going to-”

Nodding, Michael’s thrusting increased. Although he was still cautious, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, you could tell that he was close to his end, as well. 

And he was, and he did, his cum flooding you once more just as you felt yourself boil over, heading hanging back. You couldn’t keep it up anymore, couldn’t concentrate on controlling your body and finishing, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, stars dancing through the air just in front of you. 

Michael held your hips tightly as you came down from your high, and then you had buried your face against his chest once more, arms wrapped around his neck. 

Christ, that took a lot out of you.

You leaned back to see that his eyes had drifted shut, and you leaned forward to press soft kisses against the lids. 

When Michael blinked them back open, his mouth had curved into a sleepy smile, another purr rumbling up from his throat, “That was... wonderful.”

“I agree,” You smiled too, tilting your head to the side as he peppered gentle kisses along your throat, “Now, you’re tired. Do you want me to leave, so that you can get some sleep?”

Michael tensed, clutching at your hips desperately, “Please don’t leave. I mean, I do want to sleep. But please, stay.” 

“Okay,” Mumbling softly, you leaned closer to his ear, “And by the way, I know a place you might wanna check out tomorrow.”

Looking curious at this, Michael brought his nose to your jaw, brushing along it softly, “Where?” 

“Church of Satan. It’s a few blocks away.”

“What?” This snapped him to attention, and he stared at you as though you’d grown a second head, “You’re... are you a Satanist?”

“No. Not a fan of organized religions. I believe in nature, and kindness. In caring for the ones around you who need it. But,” You folded his ear forward, kissing the three small scars behind it as delicately as you could, “I think that it would be beneficial for you to go.” 

“How did you know?” He shifted back so that he could sit more upright against the headboard, and you felt your sore walls pulse around his cock, still buried deep inside you, as you moved. 

You shrugged, “Lucky guess. Now, that’s all. No more talk. You need some sleep.”

Michael looked like he was about to argue with you, but then you pressed your head into his chest once more, and he rested his chin contentedly on top of your shoulder. 

You were almost asleep when he finally spoke up, hands rubbing gently along your spine, his voice hoarse, “Y/N? I just... I wanted to say thank you. I don’t normally say that, but you’re, well, I haven’t been treated with this much kindness, this much care, in a long time. Don’t say anything, I don’t want you to say anything, I just needed to tell you. Thank you.” 

Fire&Reign!Michael: Price of Loyalty

Your knees quivered against his hips when he came to stand between your thighs. Michael had you caged in as you sat on the table, one hand pressed flat on either side of you, and he leaned forward until your noses nearly touched. His spearmint breath left his lips and flitted through your nostrils. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into those cobalt eyes. Not when you knew the violently raging storm clouds within them were because of you. The increased heat of his body’s clouding your senses with the taste of embers and chaos and rage was because of you.

“Say that again?” Michael’s voice was low and clipped. His eyes were on you even though you couldn’t manage to drag your gaze from one of the polished double buttons of his coat. You felt his gaze in the way the hair at the base of your neck stood. The fight or flight instinct was screaming for you to take wing and flee from the beautifully enraged man, even when your body remained leaden on the table’s edge.

“Mr. Nutter and Mr. Pfister have been watching you. Everything you do, everything you say. They’re playing you. They have an uplink inside of Ms. Mead.” You swallowed heavily and braced yourself for whatever retribution you would have to face on behalf of the men. They were the brains behind Michael’s grand, apocalyptic plans. You...you were replaceable. Any number of other Kineros employees would clamber over your body to be the Antichrist’s new little mole.

Quiet pops sounded in front of you. He was angry enough to be grinding his immaculate teeth. You were so screwed. The barely repressed rage left him shaking from head to toe, his golden curls shimmering in the harsh fluorescent lighting, and one of his hands balled into a fist that slammed down into the table next to you.

Your startled cry brings Michael’s eyes back to yours. This time you meet him, glance for glance, silently begging him to let you leave. Were you afraid of him, or the way he made your skin feel too tight and too hot around you? The way his anger leached from his body in warm waves your body absorbed and converted to arousal wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to want this man to use you, use his hands on you, his lips on you, to want him inside of you…

The touch of his fingers curling around your chin had your thoughts slamming to a halt. The caress was as soft and warm as a summer breeze; the sensation it brought you suffocated you like a tropical monsoon. Those beautiful ocean eyes you loved and feared roved over your features, and you couldn’t help but fear what he might uncover. You swallowed hard, and the motion of your throat drew his eyes downward to your lips.

“You are so good to me. So loyal.” Michael leaned closer until the tip of his nose brushed your cheekbone. His eyes were hooded, heavy with thought and intention. The hand still on the table moved to hold your hip in place and prevent you from backing away. “I chose well when asking you to be my eyes and ears here.” Like his entire presence, his hand was large--large enough to swallow your visage whole--and he used that to his advantage by palming the side of your face to keep you locked in his gaze. “So good…”

His praise made you whimper, and you bit your lower lip to force down any other sounds that might try to rebel against your composure. The last thing you needed was for him to see a weakness in you, any weakness. Michael’s lips brushed your cheek when he spoke and sent your pulse threading wildly.

“Kiss me,” he breathed against you. Your head turned so quickly to look at him, to look for any sign of jest, that you nearly knocked your forehead against his. “Kiss me,” he repeated more firmly, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Instinctively, the tip of your tongue slid along your lips. He couldn’t be serious. The small smirk on his luxurious lips said otherwise. After a moment of searching his sinfully beautiful face, and determining that he was very much serious, you straightened yourself up and took a steadying breath. You couldn’t look away from your new destination. Those lips that spilled promises of greatness and lies of grandeur, spoke poetic justices against humanity, whispered tantalizing ballads of sacrifice and sin. They were suddenly meant to be yours. With more determination than you had expected of yourself, your head tilted and you pressed your lips to that devilish smirk of his.

His arms were around you the second your lips touched. One wrapped possessively around your waist to bring your body flush against his while the other sank into your hair. Buzzing filled his ears as his lips moved along yours with a natural pressure that increased with your joint desires. This was all he needed right now. You were sure he could feel your heartbeat against his chest, or was that his against yours? Your legs wove around him, holding him as tightly to you as possible. If this was all you’d have of him, you were not about to let the moment slip through your fingers. You would sin and sin again if this man asked you to.

Bonus Sojourn!Michael: Enough

“My Ms. Mead is gone.”

Those were the first words Michael had said to you. Soft and sad, and as hollow as his tragically beautiful eyes looked.

Michael Langdon seemed beyond broken when they dragged him to your apartment above the Church. Why? You had no clue. You weren’t a doctor or a nurse. Sure, you were certified in CPR, but the most medical care you’d ever provided was cleaning up a neighbor kid’s sidewalk scrape when he fell. There was no way that you could provide what Michael needed, as much as it broke your heart to admit it.

You looked up at Madelyn when Michael spoke from your sofa, his arms wrapped around his chest and tears dripping down his dirty cheeks. What did they expect you to do?! They’d barely even told you what had happened, and now you had the Antichrist sat on your hand-me-down couch. He smelled of dirt and salt and defeat. She wanted you to “make him presentable” for their next Black Mass...in three hours.

He didn’t look healthy at all, nor did he look like he wanted to be alive much less healthy. His hair was dry and greasy, his face unshaven and unwashed. His clothes looked like he had been caught up in a tornado and spit out into a swamp. With a heavy sigh, you sat down with a cup of tea and offered it to Michael. Madelyn loudly shut the door behind her when she showed herself out.

“I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? Gently, you cupped his cheek and brushed away the tears streaking through the dirt on his face. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes flickered for a moment up to yours.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. And now I’m all alone…” The way his face slowly disintegrated from sadness to pure grief brought tears to your eyes. His whole world was collapsing around him, and you could feel it taking his breath away. You could see it in the way his chest hitched with each uneven breath. A bubbling urge rose upside of you. The need to stay with him, to comfort him.

“You’re not alone, Michael. I promise. Madelyn will give you a place to stay, she's going to get you something to eat right now, and you’re welcome here any time.” You pulled him into a tight hug, your hand rubbing soothing circles into his leanly muscled back. Tight fists clenched into the back of your shirt. His face remained buried in your shoulder and you let him cry, whispering soft words into his ears. Whispers of better times and companionship.

For the next two weeks, Michael stopped over for a couple hours every few days. Each time he visited, he brought a light and a warmth to your home that you didn’t know had been missing. Like a fireplace without the cozy warmth of flames. Sometimes his mood was improved. Sometimes, he just needed to feel safe and to be held.

Today was one of the latter.

He sat on the same sofa, with the same body language, as the first night he’d been brought here. There were no tears this time, and that provided a spark of relief. Once again, you handed him a cup of tea and settled next to him on the sofa. Your arm hugged his close as you cuddled against his side, and your head dropped to his shoulder while you softly hummed whatever song had gotten stuck in your head that day. His head tilted until it rested atop yours.

“The Church wants me to start the Apocalypse.” Your humming quieted at the revelation. “But I don’t know what they want me to do. I-” He cut himself off and looked down at you. “I feel so lost and so alone. Ms. Mead would have known what to do,” he sighed. You smiled softly and ran your hand through his revitalized and healthy, yet currently unkempt curls.

You had learned over the time you’d spent together just how much Ms. Mead had done for Michael and how much he had loved her. She’d cared for him like no one else ever had. Your soft smile made Michael frown, and you chuckled.

“Well then, let’s think about what Ms. Mead would say. How would she make you feel better right now?” Michael ran a hand over his face and simply shook his head. He was declining again; you could tell from the shadow of stubble coating his cheeks and jaw.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to feel anything right now. I can’t feel anything.” He was afraid to. All the feeling he’d had only ever led to hurt. Your teeth worried at your lower lip when he turned away from you. He’d never turned away before. The silence between the two of you grew heavy. Maybe...you were no longer enough.

"Michael…" He only seemed interested in looking outside the window where the moon was glowing brightly, his eyes locked on the silver orb.

"Everything just feels...numb." Slowly, he turned back to you, tears glistening on his lashes. "Help me feel something. Anything besides this pain. Please?" His voice broke you, and you cupped his sculpted cheeks in your hands.

"Will you-" You swallowed down the question and decided to make it a request; you would be strong for him. A brief cough cleared the quiver from your throat. The words came out in a quiet, rushed breath when you spoke.

"Kiss me." Your eyes pleaded with him. Please, let me be enough.

Lustrous curls fell into his eyes from the speed with which he turned himself to face you. The lack of hesitation surprised you. There was only a moment until his hands seemed magnetized to your face, and then he was pulling you into him. Suddenly, he had you in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist like he thought you might try to leave him. You'd already given your promise. You would never leave him alone again.