「𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚌 𝚗𝚘.𝟷」 · wolf by the tail: act ii
❝𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞.❞
➥ Bang Chan x Reader (f) — 18.7k ⁞ Read Act 1 here
➥ Prison, Inmate x Doctor, Crazy in Love
➥ Contains: Chris as the neediest dom you've ever seen and his graduation from Machiavelli's Ph.D. program, no intention to be factually accurate, Jakey Jakey, Rosa Diaz shoutout, Regina diss, dramatic angst leading up to enough cum to repopulate a small country, so much yearning that "I burn for you" can never
➥ Reader discretion advised: See the masterlist for the general warnings about this collection. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk.
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Delusional and distorted sense of reality caused by extreme intense devotion, themes of revenge, violence, off-screen attempted assault, crimes of passion, sabotage of birth control, fictional aphrodisiacs, sex in a(n unused) chapel
*a/n: If you haven't read Act I, this will feel like starting a show from the second season, and some references will not make sense. Watch Season 1 first to catch up with the events up to this point, then enjoy the show! 🐺
𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝙻𝚒𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎. 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛. 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚣𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚜.
Say it, and I’m yours.
Thoughts have a way of popping into your head whenever they damn please, which is why they don’t count towards your tally of sins. If they counted, no one would be able to pass by the gates of heaven, let alone earn a residency permit.
To emerge victorious from your battle with guilt, that was how you justified obsessively touching yourself to Chris. At ungodly hours of the night. Sometimes first thing in the morning.
But it should not matter, should it? A fantasy was just a fantasy. Nobody could be chastised for it because it just popped into your head whenever it damn pleased. So what if it involved an inmate? So what if it involved a patient? The star of your steamy daydreams was nobody’s goddamn business as long as you didn’t act on it.
But you did.
When you crossed that forbidden line, Hippocrates wasn’t the only man you had broken your promise to, and your loveless imprisonment didn’t make the facts any less true. You had still cheated on your husband. With an inmate. A patient.
And it tasted so fucking delicious that you would do it all over again.
Say it, and I’m yours.
How could you not? Nobody had ever asked to be yours before.
Nobody but Chris.
A bunch of stale words that didn’t mean much, but when he whispered them into your ear, they meant everything, possessing you to do things you wouldn’t even do to get out of death row. Barely a taste, and you were already addicted. Just one touch, and it was like you were the one convicted. Seventeen counts of soulslaughter for each lick on your most neglected corners with ferocious lupine abandon.
Yes, you had counted it.
You knew there was nothing absolvable about it. You knew goddamn well it was a mistake that should never be repeated. Then why did the mere thought of his skin on yours incite an uncontainable fire inside you?
Why did you keep catching yourself trying to make it happen again?
The ulterior motive was hidden under such innocent layers that it was invisible to the eye that wasn’t looking for it. Just painting your nails black because he mentioned he loved the color one time. Just putting on jewelry because he “joked” you’d be matching if you wore silver. Just wearing stilettos because he said in passing they would look “fucking fantastic” on you. Just picking certain dresses because they were long enough to wear at work but short enough to make him stare at your legs and drool… You knew he liked it. He fucking loved those little treats you were feeding him, whether he was being a good boy or not. You knew they were driving him crazy, and nothing got you wetter than enticing him to the point of torture. Watching him sweat, cheeks flushed, thickly gulping, spacing out imagining god knows what with those gorgeous lips parted, licking them, biting them, baiting you into kissing them… But not like a coy, flustered lamb.
Outrageously brazen like a werewolf in rut.
He wouldn’t even blink as he stripped you bare just with his gaze, devouring you whole, his eyes all hooded. He wouldn’t even pretend the touches he stole from you were an accident. Fuck, he didn’t even feel the need to hide the strain in his pants anymore, spreading his legs wide open as the perfect frame for the mouthwatering exhibition. You know, for you to… admire.
With that size, it was damn near impossible not to imagine a belly bulge when he buried himself into you to the hilt.
The days he felt particularly adventurous were the best. He would make sure to find an excuse to gently press himself against you like he was showing homework. If you listened close enough, you could almost hear the crazed monologue inside his head.
Look at what you do to me. Do you like it, huh? Do you fucking enjoy torturing me? Is this big enough for you? Does it make you salivate? Does it make you wanna sit on it? Would you suck it off? Can I cum on your face? Can I cum in your mouth? Can I cum in your pussy? Can I cum in your ass? Can I slather your entire body with my cum? Can I lick it off of you all night long? Will you have my children? Please? Please? PLEASE?!!!
He wouldn’t even dare have any hopes, but maybe, just maybe, you would decide to reward him, who knows? Maybe you would take some responsibility for his misery. One day. Just one of these days. And you were going to.
Because Chris never got his own hands dirty.
He would push it to the limit, but then back off, leaving you to seethe in your fiery avidity, and it was getting a little harder each day to keep your dignity. All these seduction games you played, but he still wasn’t doing… that.
And he knew you’d turn up the heat until he fucking snapped.
Less and less subtle every day. No longer coincidental brushes of your arm on his, but deliberate presses. No longer heaving tired sighs, but letting slip tiny moans under the guise of fatigue. Sexier scents, bolder colors, tighter clothes, all strategically revealing. All for the wolf who riddled your mind with fatally dangerous thoughts. All for the siren who sang the forgotten songs of your womanhood. All for the man who made you feel wanted, desired, lusted after in the most barbaric sense possible, and you welcomed it. You encouraged it. You not only craved it, but wanted it to get so much worse. You wanted to see him on his knees. You wanted to hear him beg. You wanted to taste his desperation. You wanted him to mindlessly devote himself to you. You wanted Chris.
It was all for the devil you had sold your soul to on a whim.
All for him…
Chris had been losing sleep over you for quite some time already, but this time it was different. This time, he didn’t have to use his imagination at all. He still couldn’t believe it wasn’t a fever dream, but he knew what you tasted like now. What you smelled like, what you felt like, what you sounded like, and all he wanted to do was drown all his senses in you.
You.
You.
You.
You.
You.
“Chris…”
The best part of the day. Falling asleep cumming to the visions of his angel.
He soaked his palm and imagined how he would stretch your tightness inch by inch, lazily stroking his length. God, he just knew you were the perfect fit. Maybe you would struggle to take him at first, but no matter; he had nowhere to be other than inside you. He would be so so gentle as you took your sweet time. He would let you adjust. He would let you breathe. Kiss you wet. Caress you open. He would make love to you if that was how you liked it, of course, but…
What if under your layers of grace lay a nasty little freak that came out only for him?
What if you were down to fuck because he would love to drill you into the nearest surface and call you names only he was allowed to while pulling your hair. Fuck, it would take his entire self-control not to cream you if he heard you beg. Fuck, he might just draw his last breath if he fucked the smartest woman he knew dumb. Fuck, he might be the one turning into a needy, clingy sub if you wrapped your fingers around his neck and ordered him to get on his knees. Oh, fuck…
Fuck.
FUCK!!!
He closed his fist tighter and picked up his pace.
Either keep me inside you forever or just kill me already.
The way you reacted to him… So eager. So intense. Ain’t no fucking way you weren’t just as touch-starved as him, amazed by the maddening levels of gratification a simple wet touch could give you. It felt good, didn’t it? It felt great to melt in his mouth. It felt fucking incredible to be selfishly pleasured for once, and he got to be the first one to show you that. He got to be the first one to open the gates of hell for you. He got to be the first one to discover your flavor, and he would do anything to acquire the exclusive rights to your taste.
As far as Chris was concerned, you had lost your virginity to him, and the only way to make it right was to give you his last name. As any gentleman should.
You were perfect for each other, and he was born ready to dedicate his life to serving you. Learn all your hotspots. Study the angle of your arched back. Carve the bible of your pleasure into his brain so he could induce a climax on command. Satiate you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Anytime you want. Any way you want. Anything you want as long as he gets to absorb you under his skin.
His strokes suddenly turned much faster.
Do you want me as bad as I want you?
And faster.
Do you think of me when you touch yourself, too?
And faster.
Nothing I’ve ever felt was this true.
“Touch me, Chris.”
God, I love you. I fucking LOVE YOU!!!
Chris had lost count of how many times he came to the thought of you in his bed, in bathroom stalls, in the shower, wherever and whenever he got a minute to himself. Up until that moment in his life, he had ejaculated in different holes of different people just for the fuck of it.
But not once, never once, was he riddled with the venom of jealousy when the clarity hit.
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, throwing an arm over his forehead. If it weren’t for a certain waste of oxygen, his reality would be a lot different. That jerkoff was the only thing standing in the way of your love, but it was at least not an un-get-rid-of-able nuisance. The chink in the armor of lowlifes like your husband was always the same.
But Chris wasn’t about to just sit around and wait for the happy ending credits to roll.
As the sole possessor of the newly-found kryptonite between your legs, he had every intention to abuse it until he turned you into a fiend. Until you were numb to the feeling. Until you begged him to stop. You know what, maybe not. Maybe he would conveniently forget how to stop; he hadn’t decided yet. He was too busy obsessing over finding excuses to taste you again.
As much as you were obsessing over getting him hungry enough to jump you on sight.
You weren’t even doing it willingly anymore—every second your mind was idle, Chris was popping into your head to star in extremely X-rated scenarios. At the gym. By the sea. In a fucking alley. Naked, sweaty, panting down your neck, moaning into your ear, addicted to your taste. It was impossible to stop these red-hot visions once they started playing, and OF COURSE a certain somebody would notice the way you were wriggling in your place for no reason at all, fanning yourself in a room that was 12 degrees Celsius.
The hearts in his eyes were so comically large that it was an enigma how Chris still had 20/20 vision. Well, complete tunnel vision on you, but still…
Of course he would get cocky when his girl enjoyed the view this much. Of course he would put his body more on display for you every chance he got. Of course he would let you admire his figure when he carried huge supply boxes on delivery days, fixed stuff around the office, or walked around topless when “the room got too hot” at 12 degrees Celsius.
The jury was still out on whether that last one was premium quality porn or pure fucking torture.
Listen, it was for your viewing pleasure, okay? You didn’t need to know how he produced his live show for you. So what if he was occasionally messing with the thermostat? He just needed an excuse to shed a few layers, and that was it. It was never his intention to get you to do things—he loved you too much to disrespect your modesty with cheap, underhanded means.
But the days you took off your lab coat were lucky ones. Who wouldn’t enjoy the accidental curly fries, right?
That afternoon, at the fifth minute of watching you press your legs together like you were itching, Chris finally pierced the thick silence encapsulating the room.
“You okay?”
You turned to him, staring daggers as if he said something egregiously offensive, because as far as you were concerned, he had.
Okay? OKAY?!
No, you weren’t okay—you were wet. Soaking wet. Fucking dripping, so much so that you had to change your underwear twice a day lately, HOW was that even possible? You had never felt anything like this for anyone, and it was getting embarrassing that your body was reacting to Chris as if it had just gone through spring awakening.
“Yes. Why?” you returned his question as nonchalantly as possible.
“Nothing,” he responded with an annoying grin. “You just look a bit… antsy.”
Antsy, huh? Antsy.
Yes, I’m fucking antsy. I’m antsy because of you. Do it again. Don’t make me say it, just fucking do it again. Put me on this desk again. Kneel between my legs again. Put my pussy in your mouth. Kiss my clit. Lick it good. Suck on it until you make me seize. I’m gonna DIE if I can’t find out what it feels like to cum in your mouth!!!
You kept your silence, but you might as well have yelled all of it at Chris’ face. Your pupils were blown so wide that if anyone saw you right now, they would think you were high out of your ass, which… well, wouldn’t be entirely false considering you stared at Chris the whole day. The intense heat you were exuding was as scorching as a desert afternoon during peak summer. The sighs you were heaving were becoming sharper, taking a turn from yearning for something to homicidally irritated.
But his absolute favorite sign telling him that you were writhing in frustration, merely a light breeze away from falling apart in his hands, was your scent.
It had sweetened again, just like it did every time you got wet, inducing this weird urge in him to drizzle you on a stack of pancakes. Or a pile of waffles. Or his throbbing cock, whichever tickled your fancy.
Chris knew you wanted him, so desperately that he could mold you into any shape he wanted right now should he so wished. He loved you too much, but he could smell it in the air that you wanted him to disrespect your modesty using cheap, underhanded means or otherwise. The bottom line was, you wanted him.
Almost as desperately as he wanted you.
“Tsk, but you’re working too hard,” he swiveled his chair towards you and pulled yours closer to him. “If something happens to you, who’s gonna take care of us?”
ME. He meant, Who’s gonna take care of ME? Who’s gonna kiss ME? Who’s gonna love ME?
Out of nowhere, he gently reached for your bare legs and rested them on his lap under your curious gaze. He wasn’t necessarily doing anything obscene, just undoing the straps of your shoes with unrushed movements, but it somehow felt full-on pornographic when he was doing it.
“Just look how tense you are,” he pressed his thumbs on the soles of your bare feet, drawing firm circles on your pressure points.
It could very well be because he knew human anatomy, or because he practiced wizardry, but in any case, the neural wiring of those points seemed to be faulty. Chris was doing one hell of a job massaging you, but instead of relaxing, you were getting tenser. The tension was draining from your feet, but it was pooling between your legs instead.
You were imagining each one of those circles on your clit, masterfully performed by his tongue because how could you fucking not?
“Oh, wow, you’re… You’re really good at this,” you tried your hardest to keep your cool and not completely melt into your chair, then jokingly asked. “How much do you charge for weekly appointments?”
First of all, rude.
Weekly? He was offering you comatose pampering all day everyday, and you only wanted it weekly?
Were you allergic to pleasure, by any chance?
“For you, free of charge. Obviously,” he replied rather seriously. “I wanna do things for you, not to you. You don’t owe me anything in return.”
The kick in your chest was so hard that he must have heard it. As the burning sensation on your cheeks was intensifying, the tingles between your legs were multiplying. How could they not? Nobody had ever asked for nothing from you in return.
Nobody but Chris.
“I just want to…” he heaved a deep, deep sigh with a straight face, “make you feel good.”
That was a lie.
Well, not entirely. Of course he wanted to make you feel good, but that wasn’t just what he wanted. At that moment, he didn’t want to fuck you, either. He didn’t want to have sex with you. He didn’t want to make love to you.
He wanted to crawl into your ribcage, hug your heart to sleep, and give you the most brutal orgasm of your life just with a kiss on it. He wanted you to want him. He wanted you to crave him. He wanted you to get anxious when you couldn’t touch him. He wanted to worship you till the end of his days.
He lifted his head up and locked eyes with you, and all of a sudden, something shifted. Seeing you watch him with bated breath like that, awaiting his every move, thickly swallowing, lips parted… Chris lost all control of the steering wheel of his willpower, and something within him violently snapped.
Remember the thing you’d been goading him into with your black nail polish, the cute dresses, the silver jewelry, and the fucking stilettos?
That.
Forty hours. You owed him forty hours. And in his universe, one second passed in a hundred years.
Time turned viscous all of a sudden.
Stilettos on the floor, bare legs on his lap, tense feet in his hands, his eyes locked with yours… You were too scared to breathe. You were too scared to blink, but not because of some imminent danger. You were scared the slightest flinch would make Chris come to his senses, and he’d back off.
And you couldn’t have that.
You had been waiting too long for this. You had been working too hard for this, and if this moment didn’t go the way you had pictured it to be, you were going to make it go that way because even a woman of your poise had her fucking limits.
Look into my eyes. Hear what they are saying to you. Come closer. Kiss me again. Touch me again. Feel me again, but feel me like a starved man.
Guilt? What guilt?
Chris was too scared to move, just staring at you with his breathing slowed way down. He knew that there was no turning back from this. The second he moved, he was going to be at the mercy of his suffocating longing for you, which was no mercy at all. It had been looking for the tiniest crack to infiltrate his mind and declare a coup. This was it. This was that moment.
The only thing that could stop his sanity from capsizing would be your explicit command to back off, and if you didn’t give that order right fucking now… If you didn’t give that… If you…
Five seconds, you weren’t giving it.
Ten seconds, you weren’t giving it.
The ship was sinking fast, and you were just watching it!
On the thirtieth second, Chris Bang from Crown Street no longer held the reins of his free will. He closed his eyes and embraced the fact that his fate was to drown in the waters of you.
What an honorable way to die…
He meant every word when he said he wanted to be the floor you walked on. Because then you would have to feel him at all times. Because then he could kiss each of your steps to thank you for gracing him with your touch.
And he was finally going to know what that would feel like.
He turned his gaze to your foot in his hands, his face expressionless, and slowly brought it to his lips. His eyes fluttered close like he was going under as he placed feather-like kisses on each of your toes, extremely softly like he was trying not to spook a gazelle. The kisses alone were more than enough to quicken your pulse, but when he wrapped his lips around your toes and started sucking on them…
“Fucking flawless…” he uttered barely above a whisper.
Your gasp came out stuttered. Your breathing got a lot heavier. You couldn’t help how your eyes rolled back feeling his tongue on your skin again, and something was poking your other foot resting so close to Chris’ crotch.
The gentle sucks turned into wet kisses on your ankles. Then up your legs. He was gradually making his way to his preferred deathbed that was your thighs, but you still weren’t stopping him.
From this moment on, the arrow was out of the bow, and he was not going to accept any responsibility for the things he was about to do to you.
“I know you want it, and you know that I know,” he pulled your chair even closer towards himself. “Why are you playing games with me, angel?”
Your entire body was covered in goosebumps. A name. A bespoke name for you. A loving one. Something nobody had ever given you before.
Nobody but Chris.
“Do you really want to hear it? Is that what this is?” he asked, his eyes half-closed like he was drunk as he spoke into your lips. “Is this why you are dragging me through your hell, angel?”
You had long lost the ability to talk. You were just staring at him, loving the way he was quietly spiraling, but he still wasn’t touching you. His hands hovered over your skin, your lips, your cheeks, your arms… They eventually landed on your knees like two autumn leaves barely alive, almost weightless. His breath hitched in his throat when he started sliding them up your thighs, the sheer feeling of your soft, warm skin driving him to the absolute limit of his insanity.
The way he was struggling to keep his greed on a leash was like watching a wolf go into heat in a glass cage.
He silently got on his knees before you, then looked up. The anticipation that dripped from your eyes, your lips slightly parted, your body all tensed up begging for its release, inviting him, enticing him to come be one with you… His gaze never once leaving yours, he licked his lips, hooked a finger behind your underwear, and started dragging it down. Unrushed. Languid. But terrifyingly dangerous.
Like a mute starved man.
“Just let me fucking die between your legs,” was the last thing you heard before Chris buried his head into your cunt, sending your soul booking it towards the emergency exit out of your body.
FUCK, your taste…
Just one drop of you dissolving on his tongue, and he was already losing it. So intense. So sweet. So juicy. So so so fucking juicy… You reminded him of the fresh peaches of his hometown that he missed so much. You reminded him of the pure sandy beaches where he could make love to you all night.
You reminded him of a possibility where he could spend the rest of his life with you.
His tongue still hard at work, he freed his rock hard cock from its tight confines and let it hang to leak, never once touching it. Then he wrapped his arms tighter around your thighs to lock you in place, licking you deeper and deeper and deeper.
What better music to his ears than the moans of the woman he’d die for in a heartbeat?
Oh, how he wanted this to be real. Waking up next to you every morning. Having breakfast in bed. Breakfast under the kitchen table. Breakfast in your car while you’re driving. Oh, he’d be the happiest man. And he’d make you the happiest woman. At the very least, a very fucked out one.
But you’d always smile at him the same nevertheless.
“Put your leg on the desk. There you go,” he instructed you in between his obscenely loud slurps. “Now watch me.”
“Faster. Faster!” you urged him, terrified you’d get interrupted again, then held his face in place to ride his mouth as fast as you could. “Yes. Ooh, yes, don’t stop. Don’t— YES, like that. Keep doing that. That. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop! CHRIS!!!”
Chris. You called him Chris.
And as he made your toes curl hard to the point of spasm, Chris came untouched to the taste of the woman he’d die for in a heartbeat.
You knew a thing or two about addiction, and this was exactly how it started forming. Intense pleasure, explosive release, leaving a dense fog of satiation and euphoria in its wake. Every morning, the first thing Chris did as soon as he saw you was have a second breakfast, and his portions were getting bigger every day.
Of course it would go from compulsion to a survival need lightning fast.
“God, I love these cute dresses you wear for me,” he mumbled in the middle of munching.
“Sh–Shut up!”
“Make me,” he smiled, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. “Put something in my mouth so I can’t talk.”
No lie there—they were for him. He just loved embarrassing you with it for the severe cuteness aggression, watching you try to defend yourself in that state, eyes out of focus, slightly drooling, unable to form one coherent sentence. It somehow made you taste even sweeter to him.
But strangely enough, that was all he would do.
He couldn’t even bring himself to finger you, let alone fuck you, as if you were an untouched virgin. He didn’t feel deserving. Not yet. Maybe that was why he kept overdoing it with the eating because he had to get his fill so his dick wouldn’t get any ideas.
Like… really overdoing it.
He tested his limits and pushed it as far as he could, and you didn’t even notice it. First, it was three times a week. Then it became every day. Then twice a day. And now he wanted your pussy in his mouth almost by the hour like he was fiending for heroin. Not even asking for it, just crawling between your legs and helping himself like this was his own house.
Because it was. You tasted like cinnamon cookies to him. You smelled like home.
It comforted him so much.
“One more. Just one more. For me.”
“M–My dress… Gonna… Gonna stain…”
“Shh, I’ll lick that clean, too.”
“I can’t concentrate!”
“Of course you can, baby. Just ignore me.”
But he didn’t want you to ignore him, no. That wasn’t even the last thing he wanted. Your attention had to be on him at all times. All of it. All of it. Whenever you calmed down, he would lick you deeper, suck you harder, moan a bit louder so you would be reminded of his presence again.
“Fuck, I’m gonna…”
“...cum again,” he whispered into your cunt, lovingly kissing all over your soaked folds. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for your man.”
At one point, he wondered if he should just keep eating until you passed out. You were working so hard; you would at least be forced to rest for a little while. He could make the most comfortable bed for you on the gurney, and you would sleep like a baby in his arms. And if you gave him permission to slide inside you when you were asleep, he would even meet you in your dreams. Maybe you’d see him in your dreams. Maybe you would say yes to him in your dreams, and he would whisk you away to your dream honeymoon the second you said “I do,” so he wouldn’t waste a single second he could spend loving you. He would build you an entire life in that honeymoon suite if you wanted so that you could have it forever. Amazing, wasn’t it? Your “honeymoon phase” would never ever end.
On second thought, though, that was for mortal randos. When two people had as strong of a bond as you had, no one would need honeymoon phases and whatnot. That would be an insult. That would be a fucking blasphemy because you and Chris were forever.
Further than forever.
Fucking timeless.
Nevertheless, even a man living and breathing for his woman was only a man. One day, the inevitable finally started rearing its ugly head.
Of course he was content with only being your pleasure plug, but he just couldn’t control the pain, and it was worsening. The thought of you wrapped around his cock kept popping into his head at the most inconvenient times. God, he just knew you felt like heaven inside. Dripping for him, calling out to him, desperate to hug him tight and never let go. He kept wondering if that would be the right moment to ask you for your hand in his. Would you say yes? Maybe he could time it so you had no choice but to say yes. Right in the prelude of yet another earthshattering climax, he would ask you to marry him, and involuntarily or not, you would say yes. That was all he needed anyway. A yes from you. A yes to bind you to himself forever. A yes to let him devote himself to you. To serve you. To love you. To be your gladiator and crush everything that stood in the way of his having his Roman Empire, FUCK!
He was losing control, and he fucking hated himself for this, but he was only a man. He was sick of being only a man. He wanted to be your man.
And if Chris Bang from Crown Street was known for one thing, it was his knack for diabolical scheming.
“Thank you so much for helping me with this. I swear it was right there just yesterday!”
Creativity is a must if you are to survive prison. Intimidation only gets you so far.
Every other Thursday, you spent the night at the infirmary for on-call duty, and somebody was of course aware of that. But this chip was not to be cashed in so recklessly. What chip, it was the fucking golden ticket, and Chris had to pick the day to visit the chocolate factory just right. He only had one shot at this. So he waited.
And he waited.
Then he waited some more.
He waited until a Wednesday to hide your precious report for the warden six feet under your computer, just two days before it was due. Diabolical, yes, but don’t you think devilish charms are a little sexy?
Per his estimations, the freakout was going to kick in on Thursday morning, and that was when he’d gladly be your rock—calm you down and selflessly volunteer to retrieve all your hard work. If worse came to worst, he could just pull an all-nighter with you to recreate the entire thing from scratch, no worries.
He didn’t enjoy your hyperventilating, panicked state one bit, okay? Honest. But he had to make you think you had lost the file for good. Can you imagine how it would look otherwise? He’d rather die than have you think he was forcing his way into spending the night with you. He would never force you into anything.
But he could sweetly persuade you. So sweetly that you would fall in love with him all over again.
The production value was just the attention whore showman in Chris itching to be put in the game after months of forced retirement. Wasn’t it so romantic, though? You and him, on lockdown in the infirmary because of the blackout that came out of nowhere, no patrol guards to disturb you, a few aromatherapy candles as your only source of illumination. He just needed a few more minutes of pretending to finish the work before the laptop’s battery completely died, then he could focus all his attention on your cute little first date.
Did you like the candles? He had them specially brought in for you, you know.
“Tsch, please,” Chris spoke while typing lightning fast. “It’s my job to help you.”
You smiled, being reminded of the moment you told him something with this exact gist. To think that he would remember such a minuscule detail… Nobody was ever good at remembering stuff about you.
Nobody but Chris.
“It’s like you had a premonition that a blackout was going to happen,” you looked at him in awe. “The candles couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“I wish. Then I would have brought a generator with me instead,” Chris chuckled. “Sorry we’re already wasting them; these were supposed to be lit by your bedside. I’ll ask my sister to bring new ones from the next batch she makes.”
“For what it’s worth, I am relaxed,” you took a long whiff from the pleasant scent. “Please say thank you to her for me.”
Worry not, you were going to be something else very very soon.
It was a gamble to bring these “magic” candles here to a confined space, but Chris didn’t have the patience to wait until he could light them up on your nightstand before making love to you all night. He was dying to see what you were like with all your filters disarmed, purely yourself, zero inhibition, blurting out all your secret thoughts to him exactly as they popped into your mind no matter how obscene. It obviously meant he could hear things he’d SO rather not, but it also might never happen. Even if it happened, you would help him forget with kisses all over his face anyway, right? But all over his face. Cheeks, lips, forehead, nose, eyelids, the whole spiel.
The payoff was so much superior to the risk that it would be stupid not to take it. Stress was good. Stress was nice. The tighter you wound the coil, the harder it snapped, no?
“Though I have to say, I’m a firm believer of positive reinforcement,” he knowingly smirked. “You should reward me for a job well done.”
“Will you stop?” you landed a light punch on his shoulder.
“No, I won’t,” he turned the computer off after his final Ctrl+S and looked up at you sitting on your desk. “I’ve missed dinner for this, and now we’re locked in here. You gotta make it up to me.”
He slowly scooted the rolling chair closer to you, then he rose to his feet to be on eye level with you, tucking your hair behind your ears. Your eyes closed on cue. It was like a learned reflex at this point—whenever Chris leaned in, you braced yourself for the impact on your lips. Soft. Wet. Crawling with desire mixed with spoonfuls of longing.
But this time around, something was… odd.
His kisses were the softest they’d ever been, yet it was inducing something rabid inside you. You had this urge to crush all these walls into dust all of a sudden. You were convinced you could open that dungeon gate of an iron door with your bare hands.
“I’m… I’m gonna ask you something,” you suddenly stopped him. “But um… I don’t know… like… like how to…”
You looked distressed, breathing slightly heavier, like you were nervous about something. Your fever was spiking, and your eyes were slightly out of focus.
Nice. The candles had started to kick in.
This right there was his reward for a job well done, and he was going to enjoy the shit out of this moment.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to weigh your words with me,” he smiled at you so wholesomely that you almost disintegrated into your atoms when you saw those dimples. “Just say it.”
“Why won’t you fuck me?”
SHOOT HIM RIGHT BETWEEN HIS EYES, WHY DON’T YOU?!
Goddamn, even he wasn’t expecting that much directness from the get-go. Your voice almost came out as a whine like you were begging him to do it rather than asking a question, and Chris might have gotten a bit weak in the knees.
“B–Because… you never asked me to,” he answered, slightly stuttering with how off-guard he was caught.
“You’re lying,” you furrowed your brows. “That’s not the reason.”
“What other reason could there possibly be?” he asked, legitimately aghast.
“You don’t find me hot enough.”
“Enough?” he raised his voice even more.
“And your compulsive eating habits have nothing to do with me either, does it?” you derided with a disappointed huff. “I’m the only woman you see around here, and you’re just killing time.”
“Baby, I invented contraband. You think I can’t smuggle an entire brothel in here if pussy was all I wanted?” he started laughing.
Your mouth opened and closed, but all that came out was air. Meanwhile, Chris was aggressively endeared, VERY highkey enjoying your small-scale tantrum. He wrapped his arms tighter around your waist and pulled you closer, speaking right into your lips.
“That delicious curve of your waist, this spot on your neck, your little habit of licking your lips, the way you crease your brows when you’re focused, the way you smile at me when you say good morning, the way you close your eyes when you moan my name, the way you hold my face and look at me with begging eyes when you’re about to cum…”
“W–What are you talking about?” you asked, super flustered.
“Things about you that make my cock twitch,” he declared.
Without taking his eyes off of you, he held your hand and curled your fingers around his girth. You let out a tiny gasp when you realized just how painfully hard he was.
“Feel this? This has everything to do with you. I can’t fucking remember what it feels like to stay soft anymore. I’m like this every minute of every day because of you. Fuck ‘enough’, it has to be illegal to be this hot. You should be locked up in here with me,” he grunted in a single breath through his teeth. “Of course I don’t find you hot enough. I find you so concerningly hot that it takes insane amounts of effort to behave myself around you, otherwise I swear to fucking god, I’m gonna fucking jump you one of these days.”
He closed his eyes and took a very deep breath to calm himself, then continued with a much saner voice.
“I never attempted anything because…” he trailed off, “I thought you didn’t find me hot enough.”
“WHAT?”
“It’s okay!” he reassured you with a smile. “I’m content even if you’ll just let me ho—”
There was probably someone hiding in the room, because Chris was sure he had just been struck on the back of his head with a blunt object. Otherwise why would he suddenly feel concussed?
Unless he hadn’t blacked out, and you had actually unleashed yourself on him.
This was by far the hardest you’d ever kissed him, so heated, extremely wet, biting into the flesh of those full lips. You jumped him. You literally jumped him, and you were now harshly dragging him towards the bed at the back of the office, discarding layers and layers of clothing along the way like a basilisk shedding centuries’ worth of skin to rebirth itself. Lab coat off, your blouse off, his tank top off, your shoes off, his pants off…
Off.
Off.
OFF!!!
“If I don’t find you hot enough…” you licked a stripe on his neck.
“Oh…”
“If I’m not about to go crazy if I don’t feel your cock inside me…”
“Ohh, baby…”
You held his hand and placed it between your legs, slick coating all over his fingers.
“Then what the hell is this, huh?”
“Fuck, I–I don’t know!” he whined. “Maybe you love making me miserable.”
“I’m driving you up a wall to make you miserable,” you scoffed with a lopsided smile. “Not to get you to jump me, or anything.”
Chris looked at you with wonder in his eyes, completely awestruck, like he was directly looking at the angel responsible for processing his most heartfelt prayer.
“Y–You want me to?” he asked through his labored breathing. “Really?”
“Fucking jump me, Chris.”
Chris. You called him Chris.
So it was true. Under your layers of grace indeed lay a nasty little freak that came out only for him. You didn’t want him to make love to you. At least not right this second. You were down to ‘fuck’.
It was as if a switch had turned on inside his head.
“Why don’t you get down there and let me feel those lips around my cock for once, baby?” he held your chin, pulling you into a soft kiss.
And it was as if you no longer had something called free will.
His wish was your command.
As Chris watched you kiss your way down, he bit into his smile, arms tucked under his nape, aroused out of his damn mind but also strangely moved. Even this right there was proof to him that you were so meant to be. You were slithering down his body like the most enticing snake, and he was your charmer, the only man ever to lure you out of that dark basket you were abandoned in. All he needed to do was to blow the right whistle, and you came into the light again, albeit ominously hissing. Ready to strike. Ready to bite. He hoped you would curl around his throat and choke the shit out of him so he could die in your hands.
Chris couldn’t have asked for a better consummation night than falling victim to your venom.
He kept flinching in his place as you placed wet kisses all over his crotch, his thighs, his balls, relishing the way you were teasing him. He was lovingly stroking your hair as if he wasn’t looking right at his demise, and when you finally took him inside your mouth…
“Ooofff, baby…” he squeezed his eyes close, slightly arching his back. “Fuck, you know my body so… well… GOD!”
It was never not going to make you shiver every time he called you baby, but knowing his body?
Oh, this man was out to kill you.
“God, yes. YES, like tha— h–hhaa that’s deep!”
You know what, maybe so were you.
You fucking loved how he was responding to you, losing his whole damn mind right before your eyes. Nobody had ever reacted to you like this before.
Nobody but Chris.
You never thought blowing someone could be such a pleasurable experience for you, but turns out you needed the right man for the job. The way he hissed with every bob of your head just made you want to take him deeper, hold him a little tighter, make out with his balls until you entirely soaked him with you. And while Chris was dying in your mouth, an overwhelming sense of pride started taking over him.
Nasty little freak. But only for me.
“DON’T! Don’t make me cum,” he suddenly stopped you. “Come up. Come here.”
He drowned your face in kisses, loving the way his precum tasted on your lips, and lay you down on your back. You weren’t thinking straight. The only thing you knew was that whatever he would ask right now, you would do, and even if you did it for five hours straight, it wouldn’t be enough to sate your hunger. Feeling him seemed to have the opposite effect—the more you tasted him, the more you wanted him. The more you craved him.
The more you wanted to own him.
You wanted Chris so carnally that you were scared you were about to transform into a full-fledged black widow.
“I’m gonna show you a magic trick, but need you wet as shit for this,” he descended between your legs, kissing everything he ran into on the way. “Close your eyes. I’m gonna paint you a picture.”
You did as he said, and Chris prepared his canvas with his kisses, easel with his licks, and palette with his gentle sucks. Once he was finished with his sketching that put you in a comatose state, he sat down on the stool and hit the first stroke with the boldest color he had in his arsenal.
“Nighttime,” he quietly began. “It’s our first date.”
Even the hypothetical thought made you throb so hard it squeezed a soft chuckle out of him.
“Mm, where did you take me?” you reached for his head to caress him, melting on his tongue.
“We’re at my place.”
How strange. Chris did have a life outside, but it had never occurred to you until that moment. You didn’t even know where to start if you wanted to picture it.
Who knows, maybe he was aware, and that was exactly why he was doing this.
“Where do you live?” you asked.
“Easton Park.”
“Fancy,” you giggled, thinking of all the high-rise buildings in that area.
“No, fancy would be the penthouse.”
“Which floor are you on?”
“The penthouse.”
Your soft laughter was like rolls of velvet in his ears, tickling him in just the right places. The blurry picture behind your eyelids started taking a clearer, more concrete form with each detail he drew with different brushes, some narrow, some wide, some thinner than a string of hair.
Not gonna lie, though, a penthouse did scream Chris.
“First, I make you amazing food,” he prodded your entrance with a finger, pushing it just a single knuckle deep. “We have a really nice dinner. Killer wine. Great view.”
“A chef, too, huh?” you sighed dreamily. “Hot.”
“And I’m the best. Getting wet yet?”
The quiet laughter you shared in between felt even better than his kisses. You were getting warmer, but it had more to do with a swelling feeling in your chest than arousal.
“We get a little tipsy,” he licked into your hole. “Then I take you to the roof.”
“What’s on the roof?”
“I have a heated infinity pool. It’s really pretty with the neon purple lights I installed in it,” he smugly bragged. “You’re all naked, sitting at the edge. Your legs are in the water. You look so relaxed already.” He placed three kisses on your clit back to back, “I dive from the other side and swim my way to you. Then I spread your legs apart. Slick everywhere.”
“Fuck…” you breathily moaned.
You felt very small licks on your folds, nowhere near enough to even feel friction, but you knew you were ruining the sheets under you. You could no longer tell where his spit stopped and your slick began. It was a complete mess down there, and if Chris could ask for a last meal, it would be exactly this.
“Then it’s time for dessert,” he wrapped his arms around your thighs, “but only for me.”
“Oh, fuck… FUCK!”
This wasn’t anything new. Chris had been sliding between your legs for a while now, and frankly a bit too frequently, but for some reason, it had never felt this intense. You felt each lick in your bones, and your clit was so swollen that you could tell you were just a few flicks away from detonation.
“Ah, Chris…”
The happy humming stopped so abruptly that you opened your eyes. You watched Chris crawl up, chin thoroughly drenched with your arousal, and settle between your legs. He lifted them up and pushed them as far back as he could, drooling at the sight of your glossy cunt.
“And that’s just the beginning,” he smiled as if he was uttering the wholesomest thing while pressing his leaking tip against your sodden entrance. “There won’t be a single surface in my house you haven’t been fucked on!”
“GOD!”
The impact was crushing, and neither of you could process this moment as your reality. You felt so full. Chris felt consumed. You were so wet that he easily descended into depths that no one had ever reached, and soon enough, he was pressing somewhere that made an unfamiliar pressure build inside you.
“W–What is this?!” you widened your eyes.
This? Couldn’t you tell from the mating press?
This was where he was gonna cum. Where he was gonna breed you. Where he was gonna be yours forever. Hold it. Hold it in. Be a good girl, and hold it in for your man, yeah? Sure, there was always a risk of you taking a Plan B, but there was no fucking Plan B, only Plan A, and that was you as the mother of all his future children.
Oh god, he could die right now.
“Chris, please!”
“How the fuck am I gonna say no to this face, huh?” he grunted, squeezing your face with a single hand. “How am I gonna say no to this voice?!”
“God, have me,” you held onto him tighter, eyes barely open. “All of me. It’s yours.”
He started hitting even deeper at a much faster pace, and the pressure on your bladder intensified tenfold. If he kept going like this, you were… you were actually…
And before you could think of a way to block that looming embarrassment, you were squirting all over his dick. You came so hard, your legs shaking like you were having a seizure, clawing at his shoulders, and Chris changed dimensions with you in his arms.
One hell of a fucking magic trick…
“I’m sorry,” he pressed his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help it. I’ll do better. Just, please, don’t hate me. Please.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” you giggled and placed a kiss on his damp forehead. “That’s what the pill is for. Never really been a fan of condoms myself.”
He intertwined his fingers with yours and placed a kiss on your hand, then collapsed next to you, lovingly caressing your face. As your breathing returned to normal, a cozy silence cradled you both. The room was drowned in darkness; you couldn’t see anything except for what the candles illuminated, and they illuminated only the most important things. You and Chris. At this very moment, you didn’t feel like you were in a prison.
It felt like you were in bed with the love of your life.
“You came pretty fucking hard,” he proudly grinned at you. “I reckon I did a good job this time?”
“This time?” you smiled through your creased brows. “You’ve done what you’ve always done.”
“How come I’ve never seen you seize like that before then?”
“Because for the first time in my life, I came with the man I’m in love with.”
Chris’ endearment levels were fucking nuclear. He was so overcome with emotion that he was about to cry. He held you tighter in his arms and pulled you into a kiss, and you kissed him like you had only been with one man your whole life.
And he tasted like nothing but freedom.
When the first lights of the daybreak came knocking on the barred windows, the candles had melted away completely, and you had spent each other to depletion just like those candles the whole night. You hadn’t slept a wink, but you weren’t tired. In fact, you had never felt this alive. When the lockdown ended, you were sent home to rest, and Chris was sent to his wing, excused for the day from his work detail. There was an unerasable smile on your face when you got into your car. You decided to stop by your favorite diner on the way home to get some breakfast and look up divorce lawyers.
After reluctantly saying goodbye to you, Chris went to have a stale breakfast as a changed man. It had never tasted this delicious to him before, and he just couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. Once he finished eating, he made his way to the library, whistling a cheery tune to himself. Nobody ever came in here, which made it the perfect stash storage. He removed the ventilation grates behind the third bookshelf, took out a certain cellphone he had stolen from O’Connell long ago, and placed a call.
“Hey, Liv, it’s me.”
“Fang?!”
“I don’t have much time,” Chris checked the door to see if anyone was nearby and lowered his voice. “I have a job for you.”
“Anything for the Crown. What kind of a job?”
“Your usual, but for really wholesome reasons this time,” he smiled to himself brightly. “I need an obstacle removed so I can be with the mother of my child.”
“Aww, congrats, man! You’re finally gonna be a father?”
“We started trying,” he sheepishly scratched his nape. “So? Are you my girl?”
“You bet your ass, I am. Send me the guy’s info, we’ll make death do them part,” Liv responded, “but I call dibs on being the maid of honor at the wedding.”
“You got it. I also have a side quest, but you will do this no questions asked. Deal?”
“What is it?
“At an address I’ll give you, I need you to look for some medication and swap the contents with condensed flour. Make sure the shape, the weight, the packaging, everything is exactly the same,” Chris explained as fast as he could. “It’s a delicate job, but I’ll generously pay you if it’s well done, no worries.”
“Odd as fuck choice even by your standards, but I don’t judge,” Liv tsked on the other end. “What am I gonna look for?”
“Birth control pills,” Chris answered, scarily expressionless.
“Jakey Jakey~” Inmate 8MS3HF92 spoke into the receiver in a singsongy voice, greeting his guest behind the plexiglass. “Are you behaving?”
When Chris was asked to provide a visitors list on his very first day at this prison, he refused to submit one. Not because he didn’t have anybody that cared for him; he was the one strictly instructing his crew to not even think about visiting him. He was doing just fine white-knuckling it through his sentence, and the awkward attempts of comfort were only going to make him feel pitied. Besides, if anyone from Crown Street walked in here, there was no guarantee that they could ever walk out.
But special circumstances required some exceptions.
“Are you?” Jake grinned, seemingly delighted by something. “I heard something through the grapevine, and the entire Crown is shook.”
“No, we’re not switching to sex trafficking,” Chris responded flatly.
“Quit joking, mate. Is it true you’re getting married?”
A smile emerged on Chris’ lips in slow motion. Hearing it out loud from a third party made it all the more real, and he could not control the butterfly invasion in his stomach.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, uncharacteristically abashed, eyes turning into hearts with each word he uttered, “and I kinda need you to be my best man.”
“BANG ON!”
“Visitors, keep it down,” the guard firmly warned.
“Geez, fine,” Jake mumbled to himself as he side-eyed the guard. “Good news is fucking contraband here apparently.”
“Obviously the spot comes with a few responsibilities,” Chris continued. “You up for it?”
“Name it, brother,” Jake replied with zero hesitation. “If I have to get blood on my tux, you’re paying for the dry cleaning, though.”
“Might just have to, but I’m willing to go as low as cum,” Chris disclosed his starting bid. “I’m gonna need you to fuck Regina.”
Jake’s face immediately fell. If anyone saw how aghast he was, they’d think he was asked to shoot his own brother or something.
“Bro…”
“You said ‘anything’, didn’t you? Bitch needs to get off my dick,” Chris spoke, eyes and voice equally dead. “It’s either that or the grisly alternative, and I’d rather not turn my honeymoon budget into a dry cleaning trust fund.”
“Ask me to change the sky to green and it’s still more doable, but that one,” Jake made a rotating motion right by his temple with his finger, “is not.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, man. You got rizz for days,” Chris flashed a sleazy smile.
“I know, motherfucker, it’s not that,” Jake scowled. “Did you know she took a VERY public chastity pledge that only expires when you get out? She draws a knife at anyone who even just says hi to her.”
“The choice is yours, Jakey. You either become a daredevil and seduce her, or send me the dry cleaning bill,” Chris’ eyelids drooped with sheer disinterest in these banal details. “I thought it was obvious, but you kinda fucking owe me.”
Right at that moment, his eyes landed on something behind Jake in the distance—the woman clad in a white coat receiving some documents from a guard. When you locked eyes, Chris smiled so fondly, turning into a shy schoolboy with rosy cheeks. All that was missing from the scene was him actively kicking his feet.
“That’s the sister-in-law?” Jake followed Chris’ line of sight, spotting the target of his silent affection.
“Beautiful, my angel, isn’t she?” Chris longingly sighed as he watched you leave the visiting area. As soon as the door closed in the distance, however, he switched back to his demon mode in the blink of an eye. “Which is why you will take care of this. I got a fucking wedding to plan here.”
“Does Noah know about this?”
“He doesn’t need to know the fine print.”
“Fang,” Jake spoke a little more sternly, his sharp gaze popping the heart balloons manifesting over Chris’ head. “The land is on the horizon, man. Don’t fuck this up.”
“How do I put this?” Chris idly tapped his nails on the plexiglass, seemingly pensive. “You know you’re no different than a brother to me, right? I’ll do anything for you.”
“So will I.”
“Try and stand between me and the love of my life, and I won’t even blink when I kill you, Jake. I’m not fucking around with this,” he declared, scarily calm, then quickly rose to his feet to report for duty for the day. “So do what I say, and bring me the good news, yeah? I don’t care which way you do it, just get it done.”
With one more thing checked off his wedding planning to-do list, Chris was in the highest of spirits, whistling the tune to ‘All I Do is Win’ to himself as he made his way to the infirmary. What a great day. Fuck great, it was a spectacular day. And on top of that, he could finally breathe the same air as you again after a looooooong time.
Well, 72 hours to be exact, but still…
“You’ve been gone forever,” he hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to take a few days off?”
“Well, excuse me for not informing you of every damn step I take, Your Majesty, fucking CHRIST!” you spat, frantically going through some documents.
You had never snapped at him like this over anything, so of course uneasiness would sprout in the pit of his stomach. Were you stressed about work? Did the warden give you an impossible task again? You would tell him if you were upset with him, right? Right?
Right?!
“Don’t be mad. I was just so lonely without you,” he nuzzled against your neck, slowly turning you around towards himself. “I barely last a night when you’re gone for the day. I miss you too much.”
Maybe part of Chris’ morning routine was injecting passiflora into his lips because his soft kisses immediately started raining on the clamorous irritation parade inside you. He held you close, running his hands on your back as if to comfort you, and when you opened your eyes again, you felt significantly better.
Witchcraft.
“I’m sorry, I’m…” you averted your eyes, embarrassed to realize that your outburst might have been a little excessive. “I just had to take a sick leave. Nothing important.”
“What? WHY?!” Chris immediately panicked, eyes blown wide with alarm. “W–What is it? Are you okay? Do you feel faint? Do you need—?”
“I’m fine,” you held his face and slowly uttered the words. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then don’t scare me like that!”
His knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the rolling chair, heaving a sigh of relief. He pulled you into his lap and hugged you tight, burying his face in your chest. The warm and fuzzy swelling of your heart lasted only a few seconds because when he inhaled a lungful of your scent, it gave you a proper hot flash.
“I was wondering where that sweet scent was coming from. Turns out it was you,” he observed, looking up at you. “New shower gel?”
“Greyhound much?”
“Hmm, honey and…” he sniffed around your chest, “...vanilla, right?”
“Good job, wolfie,” you chuckled, patting his head.
“Are you trying to entice me by any chance?” he bit into his mischievous smile, hearts bursting out of his eyes.
“That’s a bit presumptuous of you,” you sneered.
“Don’t give me attitude. I told you it’s my favorite scent,” he grinned. “God, it’s mad sexy when it’s on you.”
“Stop it,” you playfully punched his shoulder.
“Mm, you smell like cookies,” he pulled down the bust of your dress just a little. “Huge craving for milk all of a sudden.”
He was melting you with each kiss on your cleavage, each one turning wetter than the last. His bulge was growing bigger under you, making your clit buzz every time it throbbed. He freed your breasts from your bra, salivating at how firm and perky they looked, and closed his mouth on your hardened nipple almost on instinct.
But before he could suck even once…
“NOT—!”
You jumped with a gasp as if you were pricked by a needle. Chris looked up at you with huge eyes, resembling a wolf cub more than ever.
“What’s wrong?”
“Er erhm, I uh…” you cleared your throat. “I’m afraid not today.”
“But why not?” he protested with a loud whine, legitimately sad, and gently cupped your breasts with his thumbs hovering over your nipples. “Was I too harsh wi—?”
You flinched again when he rubbed them. It was barely a brush, but you were reacting like he was overstimulating you to tears.
“Chris, please, today’s really not a good day,” you attempted to climb off his lap.
“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.”
He hugged your waist tighter, intently examining your face, his brows knit together. He knew something wasn’t right, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. You seemed… distressed, almost.
“Not that I don’t enjoy it, but first, you bite my head off, then you’re fidgety as hell. What’s happening to you?” he asked with concern. “Are you on your period or something?”
When silence followed his question, a smile began to grow on Chris’ lips. His worry was rapidly melting into excess enamorment, and he was seconds away from biting you hard.
“Wait, are you?” he started laughing in earnest, endeared out of his mind.
Your mouth was opening and closing, but for some reason, you couldn’t say anything. Well, yeah, it was a mundane occurrence that repeated periodically, thus the name, but that wasn’t why you didn’t want to say it out loud. Meanwhile, Chris was about to bust out the fireworks because he fucking knew why. It wasn’t because you were in pain, was it?
It was because you were horny!
“Oh, my poor baby, did your cramps get too painful? Is that why you took the days off?” he caressed your face, about to die of cuteness aggression. “Is that why you’re trying to stay away from me?”
“I’m not trying to stay away from you,” you pouted with a frown, getting ticked off again.
“You should have just told me,” he tenderly pecked your lips. “I got your remedy. Don’t you know that?”
“What remedy?”
“You’re the doctor, you tell me,” he knowingly answered. “Aren’t orgasms known to help with period pain?”
“I— That’s— HUH?”
“Am I wrong?” he continued with the results slide of his informal research presentation. “You feel good, your body relaxes, and it swims in so much endorphin that it forgets to communicate pain. I’m basically walking Advil for you.”
“Adv… Advil?”
You couldn’t fucking think straight!
Your entire mind was infested with thoughts of Chris. Only Chris. Those full lips. That flawless skin. The heat exuding from his body. His sweat dripping on your chest. The way he moaned. The way he licked. The way he fucked… You were riddled by this intense urge to tackle him to the ground and ride the shit out of him and…
GOD, YOU WERE SO HORNY!
“You really thought a couple of drops of blood could stop me?” he pulled you closer harshly, eyes darkened to pitch black. “I don’t give a fuck. I’ll eat your pussy all day.”
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?”
“Yeah, but I thought you knew that by now.”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
“Shh, shh, shh… Calm down. Deep breaths. I’m not asking you to kiss me afterwards or anything,” he giggled, extremely entertained by how scandalized you are. “Though you’re so on edge if I so much as kiss your clit right now, you’ll fucking explode.”
“S–Stop saying things like that!”
“And I kinda like it when you’re desperate for me. Gets me fucking horny,” he grazed his teeth on your jawline. “Tell you what, call in sick for the whole week next time, and I’ll take care of you. I’ll be your personal attendant at your beck and call. I’ll kiss your cramps away. I’ll massage every single spot of your body. I’ll make you anything you wanna eat. I’ll feed you with my own hands; you won’t even have to lift a finger. Then I’ll make you cum. I’ll make you cum over and over until you’re spent. You’ll sleep like a baby in my arms.”
He placed his hand on your bare thigh, loving the extra warmth on your skin, and started sliding it up.
“But when you’re ovulating,” he hissed in delight, “you’re fucking mine.”
“PHONE! The phone is making sounds!” you jumped at the landline, trying to keep him on a leash with a single hand. “H–Hello? Yes, thank you! I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t go,” he whined, clinging to your waist.
“I just need to pick up a package,” you finally managed to peel yourself off of him. “You’ll survive.”
“You don’t know that!”
You burst out laughing as you headed towards the door. Right before you pulled on the handle, however, something suddenly occurred to you, and you turned around.
“Wait, how are you even supposed to take care of me all the way from here?” you narrowed your eyes, residual smile still clinging to your mouth.
“Who said anything about here?” he pursed his lips.
“W–What do you mean?” your face drastically changed, anxious and hopeful all in the same breath.
“My parole verdict came back today,” Chris looked at you with the most loving eyes, for once with no traces of rascality in his voice. “I’ll know what you look like under sunshine soon.”
It was never a pleasant experience to be called into the warden’s office because it was always about something grim. Casualty numbers, assault reports, some other bleak headline… Naturally, your heart was thumping in your chest as you made your way down the hall first thing in the morning, trying to make a bet with yourself on how many times he was going to say blood this time. The gen pop manager’s presence in the room was an unfamiliar addition, though.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news, Doctor.”
A part of you was relieved this didn’t have anything to do with your little fling with a certain inmate. It would definitely be grounds for a disciplinary hearing, if not getting your license revoked altogether.
But no way in hell were you expecting the news of your husband’s passing in a hotel room.
Your ears were ringing so much that the voices were suddenly muffled. You could pick out words, but your brain wasn’t processing any complete sentences.
Heart attack.
Party crowd.
Fake ID.
Amphetamines.
Sexual activity.
And among all that word salad, you heard three that suddenly shocked your existence back to reality, spiking your blood pressure to the point of a headrush.
“...s to the Crown Street Cartel.”
“I’m sorry, what?” you shook your head as the full audio feed was restored in your ears.
“The persons instigating the event. They are found to have ties to the Crown Street Cartel,” the warden repeated. “My connections from the DA’s office told me they might be looking into murder charges.”
That whole string of information landed like a nuclear bomb in that dark room, rendering you completely numb. You didn’t know what to be appalled over first. Your husband gone. Being divorced by death. Debauched adultery involved not that you were pure as the driven snow. And the cherry on top…
Crown Street.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss. Please take as much time as you need and let me know if there is anything I can do for you,” the warden solemnly nodded. “Officers will be giving you a ride home.”
The following days were all a blur. You refused to give a eulogy at the funeral because any words of affection coming from your mouth would be a bald-faced lie. What else were you going to talk about anyway? How you hastily got married over a pregnancy scare, and how things were never the same after your miscarriage? How he didn’t even make one attempt to maybe reconcile things? How he either spent his nights out or on the couch, forcing you to drown yourself in impossible amounts of work so that you didn’t have to think about it all? How he died right before you actually mustered the courage to tell him that you didn’t wanna live like this anymore?
WAS THAT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO TALK ABOUT???
People kept telling you to take time off to properly grieve, but what did that even mean? Grief was for loss. Could you even lose something that was never there? Maybe you had been grieving for years; why did no one think of that? The loss of your unborn child. The loss of your youth. The loss of your happiness. The loss of your trust.
The loss of your hopes to be loved one day.
Nevertheless, sitting in the eye of the storm wasn’t going to change anything. There was still a confrontation to be had, and the closer it approached, the antsier it was driving you. It approached. It approached.
And finally arrived at your office door one morning.
“You’re back!” Chris beamed up at the sight of you and attempted a hug. “Were you on sick leave again? I was wor—”
“FUCKING SAVE IT!!!”
You had resolved to do this the adult way. Calmly, with room temperature volume. But as soon as you saw Chris, something jumped out of your body like you wanted to get into a physical altercation with him.
“I’m gonna ask you point-blank,” you pointed at him with a trembling voice, eyes already welling up with angry tears. “Do you or do you not have anything to do with my husband’s death?”
Now, why would you word it like that, huh? Why would you put a possessive adjective in front of it as if it meant something to you?
“Your husband?” Chris creased his brows, looking like he was genuinely confused. “The last I checked, you were roommates with a ghost.”
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”
“WHAT HUSBAND? I AM YOUR MAN!”
For the first time ever, Chris scared you. You had never heard him raise his voice before. Those beautiful eyes that looked at you with endless affection and longing were filled with something else now.
And it was anything but sane.
“You thought I was fucking around just trying to get some pussy? I never joke about devotion,” he started walking towards you with slow steps, eyes psychotically widened. “You said all of you is mine. When you were in my arms. When I was fucking balls deep inside you!”
“You can guess why I became a doctor, right, inmate?”
Your deadpan voice made it infinity times worse. As detached from emotion as it could be. If you just aimed a gun right at his forehead and pulled the trigger, it would have been a lot more preferable for Chris.
Inmate. You called him fucking inmate.
“Didn’t I save your ass every time you fell down? Didn’t you tell me you owe me your life?” you met him halfway and stopped right in front of his face, pushing his chest with all your might. “WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO PLAY FUCKING GOD?!!!”
His expression was unreadable. It could very well be interpreted as upset, angry, sad, or whatever the fuck he claimed to feel.
If he could feel anything, that is.
“You didn’t love him. You… You love me,” he started breathing erratically. “You belong with me. We belong to each other!”
“And that was your way of expediting things instead of waiting for my divorce to be finalized,” you started laughing hysterically, your eyes constantly switching between blank and neurotic. “Do you even know what it means to love someone? It means you want to make them happy, not fucking traumatize them.”
“Do you know what it means, doc?” Chris countered you.
Doc. What a cold, impersonal address. It was the very first thing he called you, long before you even knew what each other tasted like, but it somehow felt even more distant than that now.
“You’ve been trapped in a prison of your own for god knows how long,” he read the epitaph of your marriage’s tombstone. “I set you free so that you could be happy!”
“At least I fucking know not to take lives as I see fit and call it devotion,” you scoffed.
“Then maybe you’ve never been in love before.”
Chris was breathing heavily through his nose, trying so hard to find the right words to appease you so you wouldn’t do something that was going to kill you both, but he felt just like the day your hand brushed against his for the very first time. At a complete loss. Of words. Of his mind.
And now, of you.
“Angel, I—”
“Go,” you turned away, clenching your jaw as hard as you could to suppress your tears. “We’re done here.”
And that was exactly what Chris did. He watched your back like he was witnessing you evaporate into thin air like smoke, then he turned around and left.
After that day, you started paying frequent visits to what used to be the old prison chapel, now just an unused space with all its decorations still intact. Not to pray, just to be by yourself. Maybe it was the pretty stained-glass windows, but you found a piece of peace in that quiet, very unlike the deafening silence crawling all over your house, driving you to the brink of insanity. Every day during lunch, you went in there, locked the door behind you, and sat on one of the pews. Just breathing. Breathing. Breathing. Trying to hear yourself think. Trying to hear yourself think about something other than Chris. Anything but Chris.
Every day, you lost yet another battle against yourself.
After that day, you kept waiting for the grief to kick in. It was probably just the shock of a sudden death. Any day now. You were waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
But it still wasn’t coming.
You weren’t grieving, nor were you turning Chris in. You kept denying. And denying. And denying. But to your infinite misfortune, it wasn’t because you didn’t have anything to pin the crime on him. You had basically heard a confession directly coming from his mouth.
It was because… you didn’t want to. You just couldn’t bring yourself to.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
Not only could you not prevent it, but it was well on its way to metastasizing in your heart.
Chris was still losing sleep over you, but the tossing and turning no longer had anything to do with counting down the minutes until he saw you again. The butterflies in his stomach had turned into moths that reeked of death, rotting his insides with restlessness. The last unprotected touch you shared burned like hell on his chest. It was as if you had divorced him and told him to get the fuck out of the house.
Fine, could he pay the alimony in the form of a trillion kisses now?
Bouncing a ball against the cell wall, he kept thinking of ways to extend his stay here a little longer without completely burning his parole. If he got in a fistfight with a guard, would it at least grant him a few more weeks? He would massacre half this prison to upgrade his sentence to life if he knew you would be there forever, but how could he even make sure you wouldn’t just resign and walk away one day? Was there an option where your medical license wouldn’t be valid anywhere but in a prison, for example? What other prisons could you go to? Was the location contingent upon you having family members in the area? Just asking so he could initiate his paperwork for a transfer, no biggie.
When his work detail was reassigned to the kitchen, he attempted to take a few pages from his old playbook, inflicting relatively minor but absolutely-needing-medical-attention-from-your-healing-hands injuries on himself, and he almost had a heart attack when he saw some other doctor tending to people at the infirmary instead.
A man, for that matter.
“Where’s the chief attending physician?” he asked as casually as he could manage.
“Bedrest,” the stranger doctor flatly responded.
“WHY?”
“None of your goddamn business,” he held his gaze, stern stare filled with suspicion to the brim.
Bedrest? What bedrest? Was it a cold? It had better be a cold. Did you have anyone taking care of you? Could he bribe Officer Langdon into sneaking him out just for a few hours at night? Or at the very least bring him intel on you? Where the fuck was this man anyway?!
One day. Five days. Nine days. Pacing. Worrying. Craving. Yearning.
Yearning.
Yearning.
“Fang, doc wants to see you.”
“MOVE!”
Chris hated hospitals. He hated the color white. He hated that antiseptic smell, and yet he was dashing to the infirmary at lightning speed like he was gunning for a record. Yes, he would change his permanent residence to a hospital for you. Yes, he would move into an all-white cell for you. Yes, he would inhale antiseptics instead of oxygen from now on, just… Just let him see you again. Let him touch you again. Let him hold you in his arms again. Please. Please.
PLEASE!!!
“Thank fuck, baby, I was going crazy without y—”
“WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!!!”
When you turned around to face him, Chris didn’t know whether he should drop to his knees or go on a killing frenzy. There were bruises on your face. Scratches on your arms. Your lip was busted, and it was killing him that you were looking at him with eyes turned vermilion with acrimony.
“Wh–What happened to you?!” he shrieked, face all convoluted with a mixture of shock, worry, and rage.
“Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t unleash some fucking lunatic on me?!”
“A WHAT?”
“He was one of you, too, wasn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Don’t lie to me, I saw the goddamn crown necklace.”
“On WHO?”
“God, you’re such a self-absorbed fucking lowlife who will stop at nothing until he gets his way!!!”
Chris was on the brink of tears, but even he couldn’t tell what emotion was trying to crack open those floodgates. Was it sorrow? Anger? Resentment? Yes, he had some imperfections, and yes, 97% of the time, he was guilty of everything you just said. But how could you collect them all and throw them at his face with full conviction about something like this?
How could you even think he could ever wish any harm on you?
“I swear I don’t have anything to do with this,” he pleaded, reaching for your hands. “I’d die before I let anything happen to you!”
“Then fucking DIE!”
Oh, the hatred… The unmitigated loathing crawling in your eyes… As if you didn’t swear yourselves to each other once upon a time. As if you didn’t tell him all of you were his. As if you never once loved him. He didn’t even know he had one, but for the first time in his life, Chris heard his heart break.
Completely crushed to dust, never to become whole again.
“Fine.”
He walked to the cabinet behind you with quick steps, picked up a 15-blade, and handed it to you.
“Kill me.”
Unable to comprehend his request, you just stared at the blade, your features visibly softening, then looked up at him in utter disbelief. It made you want to throw yourself at the blade when you saw those bloodshot eyes welled up to the brim with tears. It hurt. It hurt so much to see him like this, but… But why did it hurt? This man was a monster, just why did it hurt?
WHY DID IT FUCKING HURT?!!!
When you didn’t take the blade, Chris put it in your hands and pressed the tip on his chest.
“If in your heart of hearts, you have a grain of doubt that I don’t live and breathe for you, that I wouldn’t thrust myself deeper into this blade just to be a few inches closer to you, that I’m not going to annihilate whoever laid a finger on a strand of your hair, then fucking kill me right here, right now,” he declared in a single breath, voice trembling, lips quivering, face drenched with tears, but still with a straight face out of sheer pride. “Call Brad in here. I’ll tell him where to dump the body and how to get you out of it without a scratch.”
A torrent of questions flooded your head, making the room spin. Why would a man who didn’t even flinch while confessing to a hit job feel the need to lie about an ambush? Why wasn’t he just telling you something along the lines of ‘What did you expect for crossing me?’ Why was he crying over his magnificent handiwork? He got what he wanted, didn’t he? Then why?
Why?
WHY?!
“NO!”
When Chris actually attempted to walk into the blade, you pulled your hands back like you were electrocuted, and the sound of metal hitting the floor made your ears ring. He looked down at what could just save him from his misery and then up into your eyes, and what he saw in there immediately summoned the butterflies to chase away the moths with flaming pitchforks because…
Why didn’t you just let him walk into it? Why didn’t you just let him take his last breath in your hands? If you hated him so much, he was right there, giving you a chance to get rid of him for good.
You couldn’t, could you?
He took a vigilant step towards you, extremely careful not to spook you, and when you stayed in your place despite him getting closer, he found the audacity in himself to feel your warmth on his fingertips again.
“If anything were to happen to you, I’d kill whoever dared lay a finger on you, and then myself. You’re my everything, angel,” he gently held your face. “Hate me, loathe me, despise me from the bottom of your heart, I don’t care. Nothing can make me want to harm you. Nothing.”
He tenderly kissed the corner of your lips. Right under your eye. All your bruises one by one. Unbeknownst to yourself, tears had started running down your face, as if they wanted to soothe the burn that came from deep within you.
Everything was hurting ever since you told Chris to go.
He enveloped your hands in his, moments away from wrapping you in a tight embrace to shelter you from whatever demons were after you. He didn’t give a fuck if you wanted to curse him to the bottom circle of hell. Curse him, he didn’t care. Just let him hold you in his arms. Feel your warmth. Inhale your scent. Have your heart beat on the other side of his chest in the exact same rhythm.
Anything for you.
“I’m begging you,” he caressed your hair, looking at you with so much longing that you were getting crushed under its weight. “Tell me what happened.”
“Bribe whoever you need and make sure he ends up here. I don’t care if it’s millions.”
After you pressed charges against the culprit, Chris had been relentlessly pursuing his person of interest, planning everything down to the finest detail. No hit job for this scum of the earth, oh no. He was going to scrape him with his own hands and look straight into his eyes as he watched the light drain from them.
And after what felt like forever, the lamb finally walked through the front door one fateful morning.
“Cooper, right? Welcome to the den, mate,” the wolf greeted his prey. “What are you in for?”
“Judge rage, brother. Wasn’t anything that big to land me here if you ask me,” the guy slapped a crooked grin on his face. “Took a little field trip to a house I thought was empty. I should have just left when I emptied the safe, but a hot piece of ass lying in bed like that? Would be a dumb fucking move not to hit that, you know what I mean?”
“Did you…” Chris forced a sleazy smile while killing this guy five ways in his head. “Did you get to…?”
“Nah, man, bitch had an iron bat and damn did she know how to use it,” he cackled, touching the bruise on his nape. “I was actually fucking turned on by it.”
“Better luck next time, huh?” Chris slammed his hand on Cooper’s shoulder, a lot more like a punch fully intended for assault rather than a friendly slap. “Stay strong.”
“The rest will follow.”
“You’re goddamn right it will, cocksucker,” he mumbled under his breath as he headed to the kitchen. “They’re called consequences.”
Fuming out of his nose, he slammed his fist into the refrigerator, suddenly alerting Paco tending to his carrots in the corner.
“No disrespect to Crown, Fang, but that Cooper asshole gets on my last fucking nerve,” he complained. “It hasn’t even been 24 hours, and the fucker already acts like he’s the king running this shit.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Chris stared at the shelf of glass jars, and then at Paco’s nauseated face. “And I’m happy to report that our interests are suddenly aligned.”
Of course this waste of oxygen didn’t deserve a quick exit. Remorse didn’t just manifest out of thin air, did it? One had to realize the weight of their sins. They had to walk a few miles in those thorny shoes and see how they liked it.
Then stand before the public with their bleeding feet and let this be a lesson to all who even thought about doing the same thing.
Chris wrapped a towel around one of the empty jars to suppress an alarming crash sound and slammed it on the metal counter, making Paco’s brows arch.
“You’d legit take out one of your own?” Paco asked, utterly incredulous.
“He’s NOT one of my own!” Chris threateningly pointed at him, eyes as wide as a madman’s and teeth chattering from pure rage. “My own would never disrespect me like that.”
Paco dropped the carrots in his hands and walked towards Chris still panting out of sheer rage.
“Doc isn’t your girl, brother.”
“Just because I haven’t put a ring on her finger yet doesn’t mean she isn’t.”
“As if she will say yes to a convict when you do.”
“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!”
“Get a goddamn grip, man! The dude didn’t even know who she was!”
“Then he should’ve had a fucking premonition, Pac,” Chris spat, frothing at the mouth with revenge vision.
He grabbed a plastic pickle can and started rolling it on the broken glass like he was rolling out dough, crushing it into fine dust.
“We use a different kind of seasoning in my hometown for kings, you know,” Chris spoke, suddenly way too calm. “Especially if they happen to run this shit.”
“You’re one sick motherfucker, Fang,” Paco maniacally smiled.
“That’s some god-tier compliment, mate. Appreciate it,” he psychotically smirked back.
Chris had to summon the patience of a thousand monks to convince Cooper they were now ride-or-dies while constantly battling the urge to put a pillow in his face in his sleep. He listened to his dumbass stories with scarily genuine interest. He not only let him in on the drug ops, but put him in charge of the meth line. Every meal, he served him bigger portions as a “special treatment”, seasoned perfectly with a side of charming smile. The heartburn and the stomachache were just the horrendous oil they had to use, man; he’d get used to it soon enough.
Not that he was well on his way to a massive internal hemorrhage or anything.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
When the body came to you for an autopsy, you first checked the tag attached to the toe. Cooper Walsh. So it had a name. You thought the sight would give you some form of satisfaction, but it was as if the lights had gone out in your brain. You weren’t feeling a thing.
When you removed the sheet to get to work, however, you saw a small envelope resting on the chest. Inside was a hurriedly scribbled note along with what looked like crushed pieces of a crown pendant. You felt something reading those words, but admitting what it was out loud would mean you were now officially under the category of the infirm.
Anything for you, my queen.
“Brad?” you called out towards the door.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Can I bum one?” you pointed at the Marlboro pack peeking out of his pocket.
You weren’t particularly feeling by-the-book-y that day, and turns out being employed at a shithole where no one knew how to spell “accountability” had its perks. The guard walked into the cold room with a half-confused, half-surprised smile and sat by the small table in the corner.
“Didn’t know you smoked,” he opened the pack and offered you a cigarette.
“I don’t,” you pulled one out.
He lit your cigarette, then lit one himself. You smoked in silence for a few seconds, your blank eyes fixated on the lifeless body.
“Do you know what happened?” you asked, nodding towards the table.
“No,” Brad pursed his lips.
“Sorry, I meant did you know how Chris was going to kill this piece of shit?”
His earlier pleasant surprise melted into mild shock as he looked at you with something akin to awe.
“You know why he did it, right?”
“That wasn’t the question,” you tilted your head.
“Yes, I knew,” he acknowledged after a brief pause.
“There’s dried blood around the mouth. I’m assuming something didn’t agree with his stomach,” you observed. “What am I gonna find in there? Poison?”
You already had an idea just how loyal Chris and Brad were to each other—just the fact that Brad’s name came up in the most grim scenario you ever heard was proof enough. Sitting right across you, he was sizing you up, clearly trying to decide how much he could divulge without getting Chris in irreversible trouble.
It put a faint smile on your lips.
“If you turn him in, you’re gonna burn his parole, you know,” he gave you an alternative answer instead. “He might get life.”
“I know,” you said calmly. “I’m asking so I know what to lie about.”
Brad heaved a deep sigh. Maybe it was relief, maybe it was the helplessness of having to do a leap of faith, but he finally confessed, hoping against hope that this could only help Chris.
“It’s glass. He’s been feeding him crushed glass three meals a day for god knows how long.”
Fucking diabolical. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified, to be frank, but somehow it didn’t even surprise you. Only Fang would think of something that could never be traced back to him, wouldn’t he?
Because he never got his own hands dirty.
“Does anyone else know?”
“One other guy, but he’d never snitch on Fang,” Brad replied. “They are tight.”
“Good.”
You blew out the smoke and stood up, crushing the cigarette butt like a roach under your heels. You moved to the table and quickly examined the body for any obvious signs of foul play, and unsurprisingly, there were none.
“Is this guy known to use anything at all?” you asked without looking at the guard, closely inspecting the arms.
“Haven’t seen it myself, but he dealt meth for Crown.”
“Bring me one of the shakedown syringes you’ve confiscated,” you firmly ordered and threw him a pair of latex gloves. “Wipe them clean. I don’t want your fingerprints on it.”
As Brad stepped outside, you picked up a sponge and started cleaning the dried blood around Cooper’s mouth. Carefully. With bone-chilling tranquility. Replaying in your head every terrorizing moment in the alleged safety of your own house, of your own bedroom, chuckling to yourself when you remembered how your late husband scoffed at you for wanting to keep a bat under your bed.
Oh, karma, you beautiful, beautiful bitch…
Brad was gone a long time. By the time he returned with your order, you had cleaned out the stomach to get rid of any residual remains of glass. You took the syringe from him and emptied the contents on the floor first. With zero expression on your face and lips pursed with full focus, you placed it in Cooper’s hand, making sure his fingers were located just at the right spots, and punctured his left arm with the needle. Throughout the whole macabre marionette performance, the guard stayed quiet so as not to disturb the sanctity of your witchcraft, watching you completely mesmerized.
You and Brad stayed in that freezing-ass room for god knows how long, Cooper’s body slowly rotting away in the corner. You listened to his story. You listened to how he was as astray as you were at that moment before becoming a guard. How it wasn’t that bad to be one once he learned how to get by. He didn’t have any kids, but he was married, and he didn’t see any problem with taking bribes as long as it meant he could put food on the table for his lady. He wouldn’t shy away from violence if it meant protection for his lady. He didn’t care if anyone called him a corrupt murderer; he would do anything for his lady. He had killed three people so far, and he would do it again.
“You don’t feel any guilt?”
“You know how polarized this cesspit is, but even the raging lunatics here agree on one thing, doc,” Brad answered in a stone-cold voice. “You kill a man, you’re a hero, but if you even think about harming a child, you don’t deserve to live.”
Once you decided enough time had passed, you rose to your feet and started wrapping things up.
“It’s really poetic, actually,” you spoke with a serene smile as you put the syringe in a bag to send with your report. “Being able to choose his death is a prisoner’s last taste of freedom, isn’t it?”
“I thought you were going to inject that in him,” Brad nodded towards your hands.
“No need to complicate our lives,” you uttered while filling in the label, then gave him his final instructions. “If anyone asks, you saw him steal from his own stash, and these are the track marks to prove it.”
“Aren’t they gonna ask for proof of drugs in his blood?”
“There is proof of drugs in his blood,” you responded flatly, handing him the fake report for a preview since you weren’t going to submit this for a few weeks. “Because I said so.”
Brad didn’t understand anything in the document, but the very last line with your whole signature right under it put a content smile on his face. Turns out the destination of the leap of faith was the fluffiest clouds he could ask for.
Cause of Death: Perforated ulcer due to acute methamphetamine toxicity
You had completely lost your sense of time. It felt like days were passing, but you couldn’t tell how many. Was it even days? Or were hours just stretching on to forever?
You found yourself in the chapel again, but after locking the door behind you, you didn’t hide inside the darkness of the confessional this time. You tried. God knows you tried. Even if there was no priest to absolve you on the other side, you wanted to believe your heart would feel less heavy if you confessed out loud. Things no one should hear. Things you had the hardest time confessing to yourself.
Even if there wasn’t a single soul around to shame you, you still choked every single time without fail.
You wanted to try your luck at the altar this time. If you lit some candles, maybe, just maybe they could absorb some of this unbearable heaviness. Nothing that happened as of late felt real. You kept waiting to feel bad. To feel some remorse, but it just wasn’t coming. You did despise yourself, but not because of what you’d done. It was because of this fire that just wouldn’t stop smoldering deep within you.
You were missing Chris terribly, and you were a horrible person for it.
You couldn’t find solace anywhere. Your home was no different than a grave. Even the vast ocean felt two sizes two small. The gigantic knot in your throat had no intention of dissolving. It was turning into stone instead, suffocating you, getting too heavy to carry around day by day. You had no one to talk to. You had no one to turn to. No one would understand why you did what you did.
No one but Chris.
I will not be ashamed to say “I know not”...
But you were ashamed. You were ashamed not because you didn’t know what it was you felt but because you did. You were ashamed because nothing you did was enough to erase it. You were so ashamed that you couldn’t even bring yourself to give these crushing feelings a voice.
Turns out one does not love Fang by choice.
Burden after burden piling up on your shoulders finally collapsed on top of you, and you started uncontrollably sobbing. Just letting it out as loudly as you could, begging for the venom to drain even if it was just by one drop. How was this even possible? How could you love a man who had blood on his hands? How could you not even blink walking all over your dignity, your integrity, and for what? To wash his hands off blood but getting it on yours?
You were complicit in fucking murder now, how were you even going to LIVE WITH YOURSELF?!!!
“God, please,” you pleaded, your face soaked with tears, voice already hoarse with your wails of anguish. “Please, please take these feelings out of my heart. I CAN’T LOVE HIM!”
“Would that really be the worst thing?”
Your sobs were suddenly cut in half with a knife. You swiftly turned around, knowing damn well what you were going to see, but it still felt like you got sucker-punched.
“W–What are you doing here?” you hurriedly wiped your face with the back of your hand as if it was going to magically make you uncry. “W–When did you come in?”
“Today or since the first time you walked in here?” the wolf approached closer with slow steps, scared that maybe you would want to run away from him.
One beautiful man fucked up beyond repair looking at you with the saddest eyes, wearing his broken heart on his sleeve, his soft voice snowing on your charred heart to pacify it in its soothing embrace. He finally stood before you, holding your face in his hands ever so gently, unable to stop himself from welling up a little bit.
“I will burn this world down for a drop of your tears, please don’t cry anymore,” he kissed your forehead, pulling you into his chest to take shelter in him. “It’s over now, baby. It’s all over.”
You wrapped your arms around him, clutching at the fabric on his back, and let his heartbeat drain the rest of your venom. You cried. You cried. You cried until you had no more tears left to cry, and even though Chris died a little more with every sob, he just held you in his arms. He caressed your hair. He kissed the crown of your head.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please. I’m nothing without you,” he kept quietly begging. “I love you, angel. I love you with everything I’ve got.”
Something tried to jump out of your chest so hard that your ribcage almost cracked.
Thinking it was something, but hearing it was something else. The very first time the 143 spilled from his lips. It made it real. Oh, it made it so real, and now you were fully convinced that you indeed belonged with the infirm.
An absolute lunatic confessing his love for you should terrorize you. It should make you want to bolt out of there without looking back, take on a new identity, and change continents. NOT make your heart swell to the point of bursting and splattering longing everywhere!
“Love me. Love me back. Please love me back,” he held your face, directly appealing to your eyes now. “Have me for the rest of your life. Be one with me. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just… Just love me, baby.”
God, you had fucking enough of your decades’ worth of solitary confinement.
“I’m so insanely in love with you, I fucking hate myself,” you blurted out.
Chris could die of overdose euphoria when you pulled him into that kiss. Your hands were all over him. You were wrapping your arms and legs around him, pressing his body against yours as hard as you could like you wanted to merge into a single entity, and if you didn’t cut it out soon, he was not going to take any responsibility for what he might do to you. So much adrenaline was pumping through his veins that, unbeknownst to him, he found himself lifting you up and setting you down on that altar.
“Closer,” you panted against his neck, inhaling his scent to fill your lungs with him to the brim.
“I’m here, baby,” he soothed you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m right here.”
“YOU AREN’T CLOSE ENOUGH!!!”
You almost ripped his top off, and when your eyes landed on his tattoo, your movements came to an abrupt halt. You reached for his arm and traced your finger over the ink, then brought it to your lips and kissed it lovingly. You kissed it again, and again, and again, then ran your tongue on it from beginning to end.
And that was the last straw for Chris.
He gently pushed your chest and lay you down on the altar. You looked so beautiful under the soft candlelights that it made him want to cry. He rid you of every piece of fabric hiding you from him and spread your legs wide, kneeling before you to pay his respects to your body. You propped up on your elbows to see him better, and he took one last look at your face before dipping his tongue into your wetness.
Your eyes immediately closed with a loud exhale.
His arms tightly wrapped around your thighs, he dragged his tongue all over your folds to at least attempt to quench his insatiable thirst for you, but the more he sipped, the thirstier he was getting. The obscenely wet sounds mingled with your moans echoed in the empty space, ricocheting off the stained-glass windows to come back to his ears like a love song you composed just for him. You tapped on his arms to hold his hands, staring deep into those eyes you wanted to get lost in as he bombarded the bars of your solitary cell with a loud crash, one lick at a time. You didn’t talk. You couldn’t talk even if you wanted to. You just hoped he could translate what you were trying to say with your shaking legs, your swelling moans, your fingers sinking deeper into his flesh…
All punctuated with a piercing scream of his name at the climax.
He didn’t waste one second and jumped back to his feet, freeing himself from his own chains, his breathing stuttering when he merely pressed his tip on your soaked entrance.
“I miss you,” he let out a moan bordering on a whine. “Baby, I miss you.”
“I’m right here,” you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist.
“BUT I MISS YOU EVEN RIGHT NOW!!!”
His features shattered beautifully with that first thrust, and his pace immediately went berserk, craving all of you but clueless as to how to have it all. He dove into your lips headfirst, trying to cling to the last drop of his sanity before he took his last breath in your hands, but those very hands running all over his face were just making it worse.
“Have me,” he panted against your mouth, thrusting as deep as he could like he wanted to spend the rest of his life in there. “Have me, I’m begging you, just have me forever.”
What a strange sense of familiarity like you had known each other through several lifetimes. What an eerie feeling of completeness every time he disappeared deep inside you like he had always belonged there. Just one look into his eyes, and your world would stop. So would your heart. So would all logic because there was simply no explanation for why you would willingly let a snarling wolf hold your heart between his fangs.
But maybe there was no need for one in the first place.
“Fuck, I’m g— Kiss me. God, kiss me, please!”
As Chris’ breathing quickened, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and kissed him like you had only been with one man your whole life, your whole existence rejuvenated with his warmth spilling inside you. It had happened again. He tasted like nothing but freedom.
That just could not be a coincidence anymore.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
The morning sun had not been awake enough to shoot its sneakily scorching arrows, letting the pleasant chill from the night before hang around a little while longer. Sitting on the hood of the black Corvette was a woman scrolling through her phone, her attire rendering her completely unrecognizable to the employees of this prison.
They were used to seeing their former chief attending physician in smart dresses, a lab coat, and heels—not in a leather jacket, combat boots, and jeans.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
The heavy front gate opened with a loud alarm, and a man appeared behind it like he was about to go on stage, dressed in his civilian attire for the first time in months.
Silver. Silver rings on long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, and silver tongue in his mouth home to all kinds of sins…
Ask anyone who that guy was, and they would roll their eyes over how he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about his healer.
You may not have been able to prevent the disease, but maybe it didn’t have to be the disaster everyone thought it was. Antidotes were made out of venom, too. Loving Chris this much may have permanently changed your status to infirm, but if you had such special obligations to your fellow human beings for years, why not have them for the only person that truly mattered from now on?
Yourself.
I will not be ashamed to say “I know not”...
When you handed in your resignation, you didn’t think so far ahead. All you knew was that you wanted to open a new chapter in your life, and you had no idea what the future held for you. And maybe you didn’t need to.
You hadn’t planned on getting your heart stolen by some lupine charmer, either, had you?
You locked your phone and put it away in your pocket, a smile blooming on your lips as you watched Chris walk to you with steady and firm steps. As soon as he reached you, he dropped his bag on the ground and sneaked a hand around your waist, kissing you deeply like you hadn’t seen each other in forever.
His kisses still tasted like freedom, but for good reason this time around.
“What do you wanna do on your first day as a free man?” you asked him as he settled in the passenger seat.
He brushed his fingers on the crown necklace you were wearing, his fond smile deepening his dimples.
“I want to die in your arms, baby,” he made his wish, knowingly smirking.
“Then turn off your phone,” you started the car, setting the destination to Easton Park. “You’re off the grid for the next forty hours.”
Funny how happiness can change a person. A tunnel of nightmares you had passed through, yet your conscience couldn’t have been any lighter. All you did was love each other—that was the only thing you had done wrong. Everything that happened in between felt like some made-up tale in a forgotten song. It may have taken way too long, but you no longer felt like you didn’t belong.
The rest indeed followed; you were the miracle Chris Bang from Crown Street had been praying for all along.
Stay strong.
Kia Kaha.
「𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳」
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Chris burn this world down for you.
WBTT CREDIT ROLL SOUNDTRACK (Mandatory listen for full aftertaste immersion)
AUTHOR'S NOTE
And they lived maniacally ever after 🫠
Jillion years later, it's finally finished 🙌 In my defense, the full OG story was 12k in total whereas this rewrite went north of 30k, but at least now it truly aligns with my original vision for MANIACS ^^ If you were here in 2022, I hope you've enjoyed this transformation, and if not, I hope you've enjoyed the story! Should you have any questions about any part of WBTT, you are encouraged to spam my inbox because I LOOOOOOVE discussing lore!
Since I already have open HJ wips and there was only 0.5% difference in voting, the next MANIACS rewrite will be Minho's. Hope to see you there~
「© 2022-2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」
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If you heard me screaming and kicking my feet at 2am, you need to mind your own business.
“I AM YOUR MAN” Yes sir, you are.
God take these feelings out of my heart- Kick me in the stomach, it would hurt less.
