#destroyer chris

[mickimoo1409]

Time for a Sebastian Stan one! ❤️

Your birth month is your new husband!

Nick fowler for me! Can't complain 🤤🫢

[sebstansource]

SEBASTIAN STAN as CHRIS ↳ DESTROYER (2018), dir. KARYN KUSAMA

[sashaisready]

Feel The Burn: Chapter 22 (Final)

Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Series Masterlist

Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.

Wordcount: Approx 7.2k (oops)

Here we have it - the final part! This story has been such a ride, it's the longest I've ever taken to write a fic and it's really pushed me. I'm so glad I kept going with it. Thanks again to all of you who have read, reblogged, commented and supported me. It means so much, thank you. I hope you like how it ends.

Chris arranges for the cab to take you both to your place rather than his. Mercifully, Lance had remembered to bring the bags in from his car to the hospital waiting room and thank God, because you definitely forgot about them. After you pull up and slump out of the car, Chris drags them inside and leaves them neatly by your front door.

You find yourself moving into the kitchen almost on instinct, like some sort of muscle memory. It’s very late now and your body sags with exhaustion, but your mind is firing at a mile per minute – you feel wired, slightly crazed. You make yourself a mug of chamomile tea without even really thinking about it, Chris follows behind and you wordlessly make him a cup too – even though you both know he doesn’t really like it.

The Uber ride from the hospital had been in silence. You’d both stared straight ahead, no sound or movement apart from a fleeting instant when he’d held your hand – then dropped it again like he’d been caught doing something wrong. You neither corrected him or reprimanded him because, frankly, you weren’t sure which you should be doing.

You’d endlessly played through what you wanted to say to him in your mind, but you couldn’t keep much of a coherent thread. You kept dramatically oscillating through what you thought you should do. Part of you knew it was best to just cut ties now, unable to forgive him for what he’d done and the gaslighting leading up to it, but you also knew now that he was clearly struggling and had been for some time. Would it be right to just abandon someone you care about during the hardest time of their life? To have your actions suggest that addiction is shameful and so that person should be ostracised? That didn’t feel right. You weren’t sure if you were able to let him go, but you couldn’t just carry on like nothing had happened, either. Your relationship with Chris would never be the same again.

So…what should you do?

Each time you thought you had made your choice, those niggling doubts from the other side would seep in and cloud your judgement. It felt like you were seeing this all through a thick haze, unable to grasp the whole picture and find the clear path.

And what about Lance? The two of you had shared some sort of ‘moment’ at the hospital, whatever that was. Was it a fleeting need for comfort in someone else, or something else entirely? You couldn’t deny that he’d consistently showed up for you when you needed him, both when asked and not asked. Was it possible that some old feelings for him were stirring up again?

But he’d also hurt you badly, throwing you away at the drop of a hat. Even if you broke up with Chris and did allow yourself to feel that way about Lance again, who’s to say it wouldn’t implode the next time his own feelings wobbled? Could you really put yourself through all of that again?

You look at Chris as you sip your tea, he looks back at you expectantly as he swallows from his own mug. Despite it all, your heart aches looking at his face in this moment. The fatigue, the weariness, the uncertainty about what was going to happen next. Not just with you, but with everything. You wonder if you mirror the same in your own expression.

“Shall we go sit?” you ask. It’s awkward, like you’re a tour guide directing a stranger rather than talking to the man you’re in an intimate relationship with.

He nods and follows you into the living room. You seem to move painfully slowly, as if your body is trying to postpone a conversation that you’re still not ready for. You reluctantly sit on the couch, and he drops down next to you.

Now or never.

You decide to just start. Just go for it. Hope that your heart will take the lead while your gut and brain fill in the gaps.

“Chris, I…” you croak.

“We should break up,” he says quietly as he stares into your eyes. His tone is firm, but kind.

You recoil from him in shock, blinking for a moment as you check you definitely heard what you thought you did. That was the last thing you ever expected him to say.

“No, wait, I wasn’t necessarily, I didn’t…I wasn’t definitely going to-” you splutter as you try and get your words out. It was hard before, now it’s impossible.

“I could see you battling with what you should do,” he rubs his hand comfortingly up your back. “Could see you all torn up trying to make a decision. Your thinking face is never discreet,” he chuckles thinly. “So, I’m making it for you. We should split”.

His voice is so gentle, so kind, but it doesn’t soften the blow. It’s a strange feeling, there is a sense of relief - but at the same time you fear that your heart might simply split in two.

“Chris…let’s not be hasty,” you choke out, “you’re gonna need support, help to get through this. I know it’s hard and we can’t just go back to how it was…but, I don’t know if I can just leave you,” you squeeze his hand tightly, like there’s a chance you might be able to pause all of this if you touch the right spot, the right combination to open the safe. But looking into his eyes you just know it’s all futile, they’re the eyes of someone who has made up their mind.

“I know, Princess,” he sighs and runs a calming finger along your chin and jawline, “that’s because you’re a good person. But this is the right thing, for both of us”.

“Don’t…don’t you want me anymore?” you ask, cringing at how pathetic you sound but unable to hold it back.

He chuckles lightly but it’s not cruel, not malicious. It’s warm, reassuring.

“Of course I do, Princess. Of course I do. But I need space to work on myself, to really beat this thing. I can only do it alone, it has to be for me – not for anybody else. And you need space too, you need time. You shouldn’t be in a relationship with someone who put you at risk like I did. And I shouldn’t be in a relationship with anyone, at least not right now.”

You know he’s right, as painful as this all is. You’re in awe of how mature and emotionally intelligent he’s managing to be. He has his demons, but you know deep down that he’s a good man. A good man who needs help, who made mistakes and is doing his best to atone for them. But the only person who can help him is himself. You already knew that, but you needed him to show you. You look at him, and he looks back. You seem to silently communicate this between the two of you. He nods with melancholy as if confirming it.

It’s really over.

“I’m sorry that this ended the way it did,” you smile sadly at him, leaning your face into his hand.

He hums, rubbing a thumb across your cheek and collecting your tears. You see the mist in his own eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry, for everything. Maybe it’s cowardly, but I just don’t know if I can look into your eyes again and not think about what I did. The guilt would eat me alive”.

You nod, swallowing painfully, “I understand”.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, knowing that this is likely the last time you will ever see each other. You soak up the moment the best you can, thinking about the better days. You lean your head onto his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you.

“Thank-you,” you tell him softly.

“For what?” he asks, he looks genuinely surprised.

“For helping me pick myself up. Helping me find my confidence,” you swallow. “I guess it’s too late to be candid but it’s still better than never. I know this didn’t end the way we wanted, but you’ve supported me so much. You’ve…allowed me to find myself, to not doubt myself and my potential. You’ll always have had that impact, no matter what. I suppose if I’m honest with myself, I had a sort of idealised version of you in my head, so I only saw what I wanted to see.”

He smiles wistfully, tugging you closer and kissing your crown. “You did all that, not me. You just needed a little push, that’s all. But yeah, in the spirit of honesty…I think I maybe I had a similar problem. I liked the way you looked at me, liked how it made me feel. I felt like a better man through your eyes. So, I suppose the ugly truth is that I was too scared to tell you about my drinking in case that all changed. But real relationships are meant to be about managing the good and the bad, not just the fluffy highlights. It’s much easier to see that now. I guess hindsight is 20/20, like they say”.

You take a beat to absorb what he’s saying. He’s right, it all seems so obvious now. It was staring you both in the face this whole time. You had both found what you needed in the other, but it was an image, an idea – you can’t gloss over the ugly parts and expect it to feel whole. Love can be beautiful, but it can also be messy, can be awkward and unpalatable. It means navigating life’s challenges together, allowing them to see all of you – your flaws, your failures. Being with someone should mean being with them entirely, not just cherry picking the parts that make you feel good.

“I do love you, you know,” you tell him in a small voice.

“I know. I love you too”, he replies quietly.

The two of you sit on your couch together long after your tea runs cold. You hold his hand, and he holds yours. There’s nothing more to say, no new words – you’d only be circling the already covered ground. Maybe it’s for the best. You don’t know if your heart could take any more.

Eventually, and it’s hard to pinpoint when exactly, he will kiss you one last time and slip out into the night. You’ll stay on the couch and sit there for a long time just reflecting, before you finally drag yourself into bed and collapse into your sheets. There will still be a faint smell of his cologne lingering in your home, a cruel reminder that he was here once – but won’t be again. It’s right then that you’ll begin to grieve as everything starts to sink in. Start to mourn the loss of Chris, mourn the loss of the illusion you once shared with him, and mourn what your relationship could’ve been. You’ll think of how unfair it all is that you didn’t meet a few years later, after Chris gets clean and is in a better place. But fate doesn’t always work on your timeline. Maybe you needed to have met him at this point in your life, maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn.

You’ll know that in time you will be okay, you’ll know that you will come back stronger and that this chapter in your life will change you forever.

But for now, you’ll grieve your loss, the tears will flow until you finally fall asleep.

🌎

Chris always follows through and does what he says he will, and this is no exception. He checks himself into a rehab facility upstate the very next day, leaving Curtis in charge of the auto shop while he completes his treatment. He sends you a text to let you know, explaining that he must hand his phone in as part of the program. ‘Gotta unplug. Focus on only existing in the moment, apparently. So no Candy Crush’, he jokes in the message and you crack an unexpected smile. He tells you that he’s not expecting to hear from you, but wanted to let you know in case you try and get in touch and think he’s ignoring you. You thank him for letting you know and wish him well, but you’re not sure if he’ll even see it - maybe he’s already turned his phone in. You hope he knows either way.

As for you, you initially exist in a strange, in-between daze. You sleep most of the next day and drift into the next, grateful that you at least have the weekend booked off from work. You don’t really want to talk to anyone, dreading the reaction from your friends when you break the news about Chris. You know they’ll only mean well, but the thought of navigating their shock and concern feels overwhelming. You don’t want them to pity you, especially after how it ended with Lance. Logically, you know they’re your friends and won’t judge you – but you can’t help the spiral. The break-up seems to reveal the edges of old habits.

You eventually bite the bullet and send a message to the group chat explaining what happened. Almost immediately your phone begins to blow up with notifications from them all contacting you directly, worrying about you, wanting to come by. Kat even threatens to cut her trip short and to come back to see you. You refuse, of course, but are moved by her commitment. You have a strong urge to turn your phone off and hide back under the blankets, but you push through. One by one you respond to them, grateful for the support even if it all makes you feel a little woozy. You’re proud of yourself for not just hiding away. Baby steps.

You consider getting in touch with Lance, but don’t really know what to say. The moment with him at the hospital feels simultaneously big enough that it should be addressed, but also so big that you aren’t really sure how to manage it. What do you want from Lance exactly? Do you want anything? You know you need to establish that before you speak to him again. There are so many tangled threads in your life at the moment and he’s just one of them.

You know you should know better after seeing Chris’ self-destruction up close, but you have a few glasses of wine that evening to self soothe. It feels nice to numb the pain somewhat. You just know you can’t go too far, and that this can’t become a nightly ritual. That’s probably how Chris started, a few beers after work to unwind…becoming five beers. Then seven. Then ten. Then not being able to sleep without them…Maybe a shot of whisky after a bad day, then three after his next bad day. A glass of wine out at dinner becoming a full bottle. And so forth.

You pour a final glass and dump out the rest of your bottle in the sink before it becomes too tempting.

The drink puts you in a pensive mood. What exactly do you want? What are you looking for? You don’t know. Have you ever, really? No. That’s not true. You wanted to start your business, and you did it. Fought tooth and nail for it. Worked dizzying hours for a meagre wage, missing out on social activities and fun while you slaved away to turn a profit. But you’d done it. You’d wanted it and you’d got it.

You’d wanted to meet someone. Wanted more than Lance could give you, although apparently that had changed (but who really knew with Lance?) Had wanted someone to really see you. Not just as a fun fling to warm a bed, but to be with you fully. No wonder you had grasped onto Chris’ attention with both hands, he’d caught you at your lowest – picked you up and dusted you off. Helped you to remember that you had something to offer, that you were always worth more than a situationship and a late-night text. Obviously, you’d never in a million years have wanted it to end the way it did, but at the very least your time with Chris had shown you that you were worthy. That you didn’t have to settle. And you never would again. Now, you knew that if you met someone you liked and they enhanced your life, you’d happily pursue it. But you didn’t need to seek it out right now. Didn’t need anyone else to be the best version of yourself. Another person could complement you but never complete you.

So, what else did you want?

One final glass of wine later, feeling emboldened by the alcohol, you found yourself logging into your online banking account and moving money from your savings. Those amounts that you never liked to touch, the numbers on screen serving as a security blanket, bringing you assurance you’d be fine financially if everything went downhill.

But if the car crash and break-up had taught you anything, it was that life can change in the blink of an eye. And what good would security blanket money be then?

How often did you ever really spend money on yourself?

And what was something you’d always wanted to do, but had been too scared to try? Always finding a reason for why it wasn’t the right time, or why it was better to hold off. But what if there was no right time? What if you could make it right?

You didn’t move it all of course. You weren’t reckless. But you moved enough. And before you could stop yourself – the flights were booked. London. Eurostar to Paris. A stopover in Barcelona, then Lisbon. Through Italy, up to Germany and then the Netherlands. Copenhagen. Stockholm. Oslo. Then over to China. Nepal. Thailand. Cambodia…Vietnam…

Some hostels booked. Some hotels. Some you’d figure out while you were there.

You sat back and gawped at the long list of confirmations in your inbox, your hands shaking. Your head span, anxiety bubbled. You, the solo traveller. The thing you’d been wanting to do since college, planning the whole trip on your phone during down time at the café. Endlessly googling landmarks and drafting fantasy itineraries.

You smile.

🌎

Marina and your team were excited for you. Practically blasé that they had been left in charge of Filter & Foam while you went on your trip. They frequently told you that you should take more time off, they knew (and loved) the place just as much as you did. They could handle it, they’d stay in touch, you could dial into some of the meetings remotely if required. You felt like the worst boss in the world suddenly disappearing like this, but they had been almost aggrieved when you dared suggest you could cancel or postpone. This was your time. Maybe they wanted to prove they could do it, too.

Your friends were also excited for you. They threw you a surprise goodbye party with a cake and a homemade Bon Voyage banner in your favourite colours, they’d even got foods from the places you were going to with their home country’s flags on toothpicks. Your heart had been so full, you were surprised that it hadn’t burst. You had wiped away your tears as Kat held you and told you how proud of you she was. You wondered how Chris was getting on, hoping that he was engaging with the treatment plan.

There had been a noticeable absence at the party.

The National Gymnastics tournament had been that same week, so Lance was needed there to back his girls. You were surprised that you felt his absence, pulling your phone out a few times at the party to text him – but slipping it back into your pocket again, not really knowing what to say.

You’d finally sent something after a few dozen drafts, basking in the afterglow from the party as you sat back at home on your couch, recharging your social battery after a beautiful but somewhat tiring evening.

Go Team!

Maybe a little cheesy, but casual and informal. You hadn’t expected a reply, knowing how busy he was likely to be at the competition. But you saw those familiar typing dots float onto the screen almost right away, his response following a few seconds later.

Thanks. And Go Cupcake! ✈️ Heard about your trip, sorry I missed your party. Have fun. Don’t miss me too much.

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Your fingers hovered over the screen as you got stuck on a reply. Nothing felt right. It would be weird to start talking about that night, but weirder to act like nothing had happened at all. You didn’t really have the bandwidth for it, and he probably didn’t either – most likely trying to get his competitors in the right headspace for their events. Nothing you wanted to say was right for a text message, anyway. Let alone a few days before you started travelling the world…

You put the phone down.

At the airport later that week, you lazily watch a muted TV screen at the bustling sports bar as you nurse your lunch. The food isn’t exactly gourmet, but it was one of the few terminal venues with available tables. You’re surprised to see a brief highlights clip from the USA Gymnastics Championships, a group of young women clutching their trophies excitedly as they embrace each other, bright eyeshadow shimmering under the stadium lights. Their red lipstick frames their wide smiles as the text below them reads NEXT STOP: TEAM USA – OLYMPICS!

Lance Tucker moves into frame, fist pumping and jostling the girls as he high-fives each of them. You see his mouth shape expletives as he flings a water bottle into the air in excitement. You beam to yourself as you pull out your phone and cash for the bill.

🌎

It had been everything you thought it would be and more.

A pint overlooking the Thames as Big Ben chimes. The best damn hot chocolate you’d ever had at a small café in Montmartre while you watched an artist paint. Paella and sangria on the beach in Barcelona. Dancing with the locals in Lisbon, more pastéis de nata than you could count. Beautiful Italian waiters recommending pasta so good that you briefly thought you’d died and gone to heaven. Museums. Art galleries. Walking tours, bus tours. Beach walks. Hillside treks. Sleeping in tiny bunk beds with snoring roommates. A horrific but memorable twelve-hour bus worth it after you finally arrived in Mutianyu.A long-tailed macaque that nearly gets away with your phone. The most generous and fascinating people from all walks of life, transcending language barriers with laughter and gestures. Delayed flights and confusing directions. Seasoned travellers showing you the way, entitled tourists giving you second-hand embarrassment. Your translator app working overtime. One stolen purse by skilled pick pocketers, many shed tears, many belly laughs. History so rich and tragic it makes you openly weep. The relentless resilience of humanity, the horror of our cruelty and the violence. Oceans so vast that it almost makes you nihilistic. Beaches so beautiful that you could fall to your knees. You are just one of many, but you have so much to give, so much life to enjoy.

You think of Lance more than you expect to. Wonder what he’s doing, picture him rolling his eyes with his hands on his hips as he coaches and pushes his students. You wonder if he’s at the bar with your friends, ignoring the stink eye from the next table when he’s too loud at trivia night. Sometimes, you see something you think he’d find funny and chuckle to yourself, snapping a photo and moving them all into a separate folder. You’re not really sure why you do that but find yourself unable to stop.

Throughout the trip, you send long, handwritten letters to Chris after looking up the address of his facility. Some are surface level reports describing what you’ve seen; others help you feel less lonely and homesick on your difficult days. You also tell him you hope that he’s doing well, that you’re thinking of him and rooting for him. Sometimes you just mail a novelty postcard that you think he’d enjoy. He can’t reply, you don’t stay in one place long enough for him to write back. But that’s okay. It’s better this way, the one-sided nature of the letters means that it’s easy for you to be candid, to be honest. It becomes therapeutic to put your thoughts to paper like a journal. There’s something very redeeming about finally being the authentic version of yourself you previously didn’t fully allow him to see.

A few nights before your final return flight, you put pen to paper one last time. The hostel is noisy and crowded, a few guests enjoying the complimentary beers a little too enthusiastically. But it’s alright. It doesn’t stop you. You tell him that you forgive him for the crash, for hiding his addiction from you. There will be parts of you that can never fully let it go, but you no longer feel the anger you once did. He did a terrible thing, but you understand. You won’t allow yourself to hold onto it any longer, and you hope he doesn’t, either. Life moves on, so will you. You thank him for setting you free, hoping he will give himself permission to do the same.

🌎

And so, you come home.

Months have passed. Much has changed, but much has stayed the same. You aren’t naïve, you know that travelling doesn’t magically change everything. But you now have a perspective that you didn’t before. You’ve seen things you never thought you’d see, witnessed many ways to live life, to play the cards you’re dealt. You chased a dream and lived it. And you’ve got so much more living to do.

On the long flight home, you begin a business loan application. Nothing fancy, some bullet points hastily typed into your Notes app. It doesn’t need to be polished yet, that’ll come later. Progress over perfection. You lay out your rationale for expanding the business, pull some of the numbers from your emails and leave gaps to fill in the rest later. Profits, gains. Your suggested location for the new premises, up and coming – an opportunity for growth, getting in on the ground floor. You have a great staff member, Marina, who you are confident will lead a team to success. You’ll tweak and finesse it after you get home, coming back to it once you’re over your jetlag. You start researching suppliers to expand your tea stock after developing your palate on the trip. You ask one of your old college buddies to look it all over, and he tells you that you’re onto something good. You submit it.

Back home, all is well. Filter & Foam is thriving and you’re excited to hear about Marnia’s ideas to grow the business, even more excited to tell her your own plans. Your apartment is untouched, everything how you left it. You have a newfound appreciation for your beloved bed, and for not sharing a bathroom with strangers.

Amongst the small mountain of accumulated mail is a letter, the handwriting on the envelope you recognise immediately. You tentatively tear it open.

Princess,

Thank-you for your letters. They helped keep me sane for my stay, it was great to hear about your trip – and to feel like I had a friend with me throughout.

I know that no number of apologies will ever be enough, but again I’m sorry for what I did. It was inexcusable, and I’m doing everything I can to never put anyone in that position ever again. Not even myself. I feel good, strong. I know I can beat this thing. One day at a time.

I don’t deserve your forgiveness but receiving that letter from you helped to begin healing me in ways you’ll never fully understand. So, thank-you. I hope you know how special you are, and I want you to be happy – however and whoever that might be with.

Until we meet again,

Chris

You wipe away your tears, holding the letter close to your chest.

🌎

On a whim, the day after you get back, you head over to the Barrel & Horn to join your friends at trivia night. You are still jetlagged and reorienting yourself, but you missed them! You want to see them! You don’t tell them you’re coming; it’ll be a fun surprise.

That’s the only reason you’re going.

Right?

And it is a fun surprise, when Kat spots you she screams and rushes over – practically jumping into your arms as the others follow and excitedly ask questions about your trip. A drink is thrust into your hand and a small circle gathers as they usher you over to their table and practically interrogate you about how it all was. As lovely as it all is, you suddenly feel the weight of your jetlag. But you’re back and have never been more grateful to be here with them.

Your eyes dart around the room as the discussion slowly evolves into other topics and smaller conversations break off. You don’t see him. Which is fine, because you didn’t come here to see him, anyway. Even if you feel strangely sad about it. You sip your drink and smile in the right places at your friends’ anecdotes, offering your own when appropriate. He’s probably out on a date anyway, there’s no point dwelling on it.

But then a booming voice, a door slamming open cuts through the bar’s buzz followed by a dramatic sigh.

“Sorry I’m late, damn cab wouldn’t fuckin-”

Your head whips around, your mouth falls open. Lance Tucker stops in his tracks at the exact same second you do, and you stare at each other for a moment before your faces both break out into twin smiles. His blue eyes sparkle despite the dim bar lighting, his grin so big that his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches. He’s wearing the damn red Team USA jacket again, but you barely register that. There’s a warmth in you that blooms when you see him again, something unnameable but powerful. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed him.

You’re home.

“Cupcake,” he struts up to you, his smile never faltering.

“Tuck,” you beam back.

“So, you’re back. Buy you a drink?”

“I already have one,” you shrug, holding up your almost-full glass as your finger taps on the rim.

He frowns, then snatches it out of your hands and dumps the contents into Matt’s glass on the table. “No, you don’t…” he winks.

“Hey…” Matt protests weakly as he stares down as his now-ruined beer.

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh in spite of yourself. “You’re such a dick”.

He shrugs, unbothered. “A dick that’s buying you a drink. I’ll get Matt a new one too. C’mon, get that cute ass up and tell me about your trip. What did you bring me?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you allow him to pull you out of your seat and accompany him to the bar. Your friends exchange pointed looks, Kat smirks at Matt.

You head towards the bar with him. “I didn’t get you anything, sorry”.

“Nothing?” he mock-gasps as he leans on the granite. “Well…I’m rethinking the drink…”

“What did you want? A souvenir? A little Eiffel tower statue or something?” you giggle.

“Yes. Exactly. Since when did you get so rude?” he sighs dramatically as he signals to the bartender.

“I learn from the best,” you shrug.

He shoots you a wink and you begin to tell him about your trip. He smiles as he listens, asking questions and making occasional comments and teasing you gently, like he always does. It’s all so…easy. Like you haven’t even been away. Like you do this every week. You don’t feel overwhelmed or tired like you did holding court with the larger group. If anything, you feel like you have more energy.

You really missed this.

He carries on asking questions even after you’re sitting back down and the first round has started, ignoring the chastising from the staff member who can barely get the trivia questions out without being distracted by Lance asking you about Thailand.

“We’re gonna get kicked out!” you nudge him, whispering through your teeth as you shoot the Quizmaster an apologetic smile.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Fine, let’s play. God…what a goody two-shoes…”

And you do. The dream team back together. The two of you quickly find your groove with the quiz, flying through the questions as Matt struggles to keep up scribing your answers at the speed you give them.

“The Treaty of Versailles!”

“April 14th 1865!”

“Bruce Springsteen!”

“Matisse!”

“You two are scarily good at this,” Matt scoffs as he hands the scoresheet to staff during a break between rounds.

“I’m scarily good,” Lance shrugs and sips his drink. “Cupcake is okay too, I guess”.

“Hey!” you jab him in the ribs with your elbow. “I saved our asses in the music round. And I’m jetlagged here…doing very well considering.”

“Excuses, excuses,” he sighs as you titter.

This is nice. Being home again, being with people you love and who love you. Doing the silly trivia night like you’ve never being away. Even being with Lance, it’s all familiar and comfortable. But not dull. You were worried it might be awkward with him after time had passed, but it’s not. Not at all. It appears you’re picking up exactly where you left off, ignoring the elephant in the room of course. But you know you can’t ignore it forever.

The group dissipates during the break as people go for bathroom breaks and the bar to replenish their drinks. It’s warm in here, the many bodies in the room making it stuffy and close. The bar’s humidity feels heavy. You take the opportunity to slip outside for a second just to get some air, relishing the cool breeze as you feel instant relief. You stand against the brick wall of the building, grateful for the fresh air and moment to yourself.

You suddenly feel anxious about Lance. What does it all mean? Is this just your normal schtick, or something more? You know you came here looking for him. You know that you thought about him a lot while you were away. But what does he think? Is this just a bit of fun, a way to kill time at trivia night and stroke his ego? Yes, he’d confessed his feelings to you once, but it was never really clear if that was only spurred on by your relationship with Chris. And so much time has passed since then…

“Hey,” Lance suddenly appears from around the corner, making you jump.

“Whoa,” you clutch your chest after the surprise subsides. “Creepy much?!”

“I can be,” he smiles. “Saw you disappeared. Thought I’d check it out. What you doin’ out here? Studying for the next round?”

Of course he was paying attention and saw you leave…

“Just needed some air. Kinda hot…” you sigh, your cheeks warming at more than just the heat of the bar.

“Yeah, you are,” he grins as he stands next to you and leans his own head back on the wall.

You chuckle, but it’s followed by an exasperated exhale. “What are we doing here, Lance?”

“Trivia night. Remember? Jet lag that bad?”

You turn your head to look at him, your body language immediately telling him you’re no longer playing.

“Ah,” he smiles as he looks back at you. “Gotcha. What are we doing here…”.

A beat of silence between you seems to stretch endlessly. All the jovial teasing and silliness from a short while ago has suddenly evaporated, leaving you both exposed and without your armour. You can’t hide behind the dumb jokes and banter anymore.

“He went to rehab,” you whisper. “Completed the program. He’s doing well, apparently”.

“Well. That’s good,” Lance nods. “You spoken to him?”

“Only in letters. I forgave him, though.”

Lance nods again. Another never-ending beat.

“I thought about you a lot when I was away,” you find yourself telling him, maybe just to break the silence.

That grabs his attention, he straightens up, his brows furrow. You look away but feel his eyes on you like heat-seeking missiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah”.

“You could’ve texted, called. Sent a postcard,” he shrugs. You can tell it’s meant to be light-hearted but there’s none of the usual humour is in his tone, he almost seems…hurt.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if…”

“Yeah,” he finishes for you. “I get that. I felt the same. Look, if you don’t want me to be here…”

I want you to be happy – however and whoever that might be with. Chris words flash through your mind.

You think for a second and pull out your phone, thrusting your photo albums under Lance’s nose.

“Weird time for a selfie, Cupcake…”

“No. Shut up. Look…”

You pull up the album you made on your trip. The one where you kept photos of all the things that made you think of him.

“I took this after seeing you on TV at the airport,” you tap the first blurry photo that you took at the airport bar. A vague red outline of a person that could be Lance Tucker is framed by a large TV.

He doesn’t say anything, and you can’t bear to look up, but you hear the tiniest intake of breath from him.

“And this tourist’s slogan cap, I thought you’d find it funny,” you swipe onto the next, “…this dog that I saw, his name was Tucker…” swiping again, “I know you would’ve mocked this little beer glass…”

You show all of them to him. You tell him every stupid anecdote, every funny little thought. You don’t let embarrassment hold you back. Because this is a man who is far from perfect, but he also carried you out of a ravine on his back (literally). He dropped everything to come rescue you after a car crash. He took you to the hospital and waited for you, even waited with you for the man he despised. He brought food for you unprompted because he knew you hadn’t eaten, and he consistently showed up. He has continued to be there for you, even after you turned him down. He has seen the ugliest, worst parts of you. The cruel parts of you.

But he still comes when you call.

So, you do what you always feared doing in front of Lance Tucker - expose your vulnerability to him. A piece of it captured in every single one of those pictures. It’s like you’ve made him his very own digital scrapbook of your heart. No matter what happens now, at least you’ll never again live in the purgatory of ‘what if’

You finally find the courage to look up at him. He stares back at you awestruck, mouth agape and eyes round. He looks at you as if you’d just turned water into wine. He tries to form words, but no sound leaves his mouth. You smile back at him, unable to resist.

“Wow…wait, are you speechless for the first time ever?” you tease.

That seems to wake something up in him. His eyes focus again and his jaw tenses. You feel a shiver at the intensity in his eyes.

“Shut up, Cupcake,” he chastises. “I really need to kiss you now…And when I start, I’m not stopping. I don’t care who the fuck sees. I don’t care if I get banned from trivia night. And I’m not letting you out of my sight after this. You’re stuck with me. That shit you just pulled? You’re not coming back from that, ever. I am locked the fuck in.”

You break out into a huge grin. “Sounds like you’re all talk and no actio-”

He cuts you off with a kiss. If you can call it a kiss. A ‘mphh’ escapes your mouth but he swallows it immediately, pressing you into the wall as his hands find your face and you melt into him. It’s messy and imperfect, lips and teeth bumping as urgency dominates the technical. Your eyes close and you hold him tightly, your fingers in his hair and your tongue against his. He kisses you so intensely that your knees wobble, grateful for the steadying arm that he pulls around your waist.

“Get a room, ew!” some girl mutters as she wanders by.

Lance flips her off without breaking the kiss.

You pull away from him briefly, your lips swollen, your breathing heavy.

“What? Oh fuck her, she’s jealous!” Lance exclaims as he attempts to pull you back in.

“No…no, not that” you manage, practically panting. Your eyes narrow as your tone becomes stern. “If we’re gonna do this…I mean really do it, you need to know that I’m not going to let you pull anything like the shit you did at the party…I want the whole deal, dates, romance – not just texts and late nights.”

He pauses, holding his hand over his heart like he’s about to pledge allegiance.

“Cupcake, you can get everything you want and more. I’ll bleed roses and candy if that’s what you want. I’ll put Shakespare to shame with my poems and bullshit. And if I pull anything like that shit at the party again – I will personally frogmarch myself into the fuckin’ ocean with concrete boots on. I’d be a complete moron to fumble you a second time, you got that? I will let you keep my dick and balls in a jar. I will shove my gold medal up my own ass. I will go the freeway and just lay down. I will-”

You bury your head into his shoulder, laughing. “Oh my god, stop, freak…”

“No, I will not stop. I need you to know I’m serious. Because I love you. Yeah,” he suddenly pulls back – looking back and forth as he bellows across the property. “I LOVE THIS WOMAN. I FUCKING LOVE THIS WOMAN, AND I’M THE LUCKIEST SON OF A BITCH IN THE GODDAMN WORLD!”

A group of smokers gawp at you and Lance in horror.

Your head drops into your hands, the mortification overwhelming. “Oh. My. God. What have I done?” you shriek, unable to stop your laughter. What a ridiculous human being.

But he’s yours. You don’t know what the future holds, but you know that you can’t hold back anymore. It’s time to live fully, and if you make a mistake? Well. You’ll survive. You’ll move on. But you can’t stay imprisoned in ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’.

“I love you too, Tuck,” you sigh as he proudly walks you back into the bar.

“That’s great, Cupcake. Still going to whoop your ass at trivia…”

“You’re on”.

THE END

If you liked this story, please considering support me using my Ko-Fi link 💐☕

[gremlin-girly]

Sold

Part of @saiyanprincessswanie 's challenge! 💖

Pairing: Destroyer!Chris x f!reader x Curtis Everett

AU: Biker

Quote(s):"You can keep pretending you hate me, but I see it in your eyes. You’re mine—even if you won’t admit it."

18+ Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: SMUT, MDNI, dub-con to begin with, threesome (MFM), unprotected sex, oral (m recieving), p-in-v, spit roasting, facial, degradation in a sun dress 😌, creampie (no pregnancy), spit, (brief) anal play, what plot???

Summary: Your boyfriend owes money to the Destroyers and instead of offering himself, he offers you.

Word count: 2.4k

Divider: @/cafekitsune

Next part

Curtis Masterlist | Other SebStan Characters | Masterlist

"You can have her as payment!" Your boyfriend pleads, nose bloody. "You can do anything to her!"

You stand in the corner of the room, aghast at the sight and the promises your boyfriend - or you should say ex - makes about you.

He owed money to a biker gang. Typical. You didn't realise you were dating a moron. Again. But this moron had done something unheard of, unspeakable, in fact.

Unable to pay what he owed with interest, he'd brought you with him to the biker's garage under the guise of hoping a "pretty face would make them more sympathetic."

You didn't realise that the moment he'd be punched - repeatedly - by the lower ranked members that he'd so willingly offer you as a trade. Now, you felt like a fool.

"Ya hear that, Curtis?" Chris, one of the two leaders with bright blue eyes and a trimmed beard, asks his co-leader Curtis; a surly man with a thick, dark beard with piercing cold blue eyes who looks as fierce as he is imposing. Chris leans back in his chair, blowing cigarette smoke into the air as he looks to his friend. "He said anything."

Curtis' eyes don't leave your ex- boyfriend, and you watch him shift uncomfortably under Curtis' gaze.

"Yeah, I heard."

Chris sits upright with a sigh and looks at you. His eyes roam over you, lingering at your thighs and hips, then your chest, then your face. You want to take a step back his gaze is so intense but there's nowhere for you to go.

He stamps out his cigarette and holds out a ringed hand beckoning you closer. "Come here, honey."

You really don't want to but you step forward out of sheer terror, shrinking in on yourself slightly and looking at the floor. You want to cry but no tears form and you slip your palm into Chris' outstretched one. Everyone's eyes are on you, and you suppress a shiver as Chris' cool rings touch your skin and he pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it gently as he watches your expression change from fearful to nervous.

"Aren't you just the prettiest thing." His eyes are softer than Curtis' but no less intense and he smiles up at you reassuringly. "We'll treat ya better than that prick. Promise."

Chris and Curtis stand in unison, Chris grasping your hand tight as Curtis jerks his head to the two men keeping your ex in place.

"Take him out back. I don't care what you do to him but keep him alive." Curtis grunts and you watch soundlessly as your ex is dragged from the room by his hair before you follow behind Curtis with Chris by your side, still holding your hand.

"We'll show you the bikes, hon." Chris says sweetly, guiding you through the garage until you come to a plethora of bikes. Two that stand out most are pale blue and fire engine red bikes that sit at the forefront of the rest.

They're tall bikes, with leather seats but the blue one has wider handle bars for someone with broader shoulders. You don't need to know whose bikes it is you're looking at.

"Why don't you try one?" Chris suggests and you laugh nervously.

"They're twice my size. I couldn't even get my leg over it." You tell him with a shake of your head.

Chris snorts. "You're gonna have to get used to things twice your size."

You shuffle your legs, squeezing your thighs together as you blush and catch Chris looking over at Curtis with a small smile.

"Besides we can lift you onto it."

"O-okay." You mutter quietly.

As soon as the words leave your mouth your feet are off the floor and Curtis' gruff voice fills your ears. "Which bike sweetheart?"

"Th-the clos-closest!" You squeak, gasping when your warm cunt presses against the cool leather of the seat, the skirt of your dress billowing around your legs.

The closest bike happened to be the red one and you thought you were imagining Chris looking a little smug. Both men stand either side of you on the bike; Curtis on your right, Chris on your left.

"Alright..." You can feel heat crawling all over you as you're watched intensely; Chris' hand on your tailbone, Curtis' palm between your shoulder blades both of them keeping you steady. "Now what?"

"Lean forward," Curtis instructs, pushing you forward lightly until you're cheek presses against the freezing metal of the gas tank.

You glance up at Curtis, eyes wide and lips pouty, knowing that something was about to happen with the two of them but you can't bring yourself to fight it. You were angry at your ex, sure, but there was also something incredibly alluring about the two men either side of you that made you want them to take you apart.

"Chris was right," Curtis smiles down at you, running a thumb across your bottom lip. "You are a pretty thing."

You mumble a thanks and Chris let's out a breathy sigh and tells you to throw your leg over the bike towards him. You do as instructed and swing your leg around but their hands keep your torso in place across the bike. You yelp when you feel your dress bunch up over your waist and a warm palm against your ass.

"Fuck." Chris breathes, a large hand groping one of your lace clad cheeks. "Lace? Really sweetheart? Tryna kill us."

Curtis crouches down so that he's eye-level with your face and peeks up at Chris, his thumb tracing over your cheek. "What colour?"

"White." Chris snorts from behind you and you can feel your face heat with embarassment as his fingers trace the curve of lace that disappears between your thighs. "Real cute."

You press your lips together when a whimper threatens to escape as Curtis groans in response to Chris' observations. Curtis' blue eyes meet yours and you want to shrink back from the intensity but instead wiggle your hips on the motorbike seat, spreading your legs a little wider for Chris.

"You gonna be good for us?" Curtis murmurs, leaning closer to your face. His breath is hot against your lips, a kiss tantalisingly close, but your answer is a gasp as Chris' fingers dip under your lacy underwear and drag along your damp slit and plunge into your cunt without warning.

"You gonna let us take care of you, sweetheart?" Curtis presses, his nose gently bumping yours as Chris' fingers pump in and out of your tight hole and you're left gasping for air.

"Christ, your cunt's so tight." Chris moans, dragging his sticky fingers out slowly, flexing them to watch your hole squeeze against them. "Did your boyfriend never fuck you properly? You're gonna strangle our cocks."

You mewl then hiccup a breath, allowing Curtis to slip his thumb into your mouth and press down onto your tongue. His thumb-pad tastes like tobacco and grease and your face scrunches as you go to move away but Curtis' fingers under your chin to make you stay put.

"Ah, ah, ah," Curtis taunts. "Answer first. You can still speak right? We haven't made you cum yet."

"I -" You begin shakily around his thumb, feeling Chris' fingers retreat entirely from your pussy. You almost want to whine from the loss. Anger at your now ex spills over into eager compliance and you shake your head. "No. He didn't."

Curtis removes his thumb and grins at you, smearing grease and saliva across your cheek. "Thought so. Y'hear that, Chris?"

"I did. Man, he did not deserve this." Chris sighs, dragging his fingers from you slowly.

You shriek with surprise when you feel cool spit land on your folds, soon followed by a low moan when Chris smears his spit all the way to your clit with skilled fingers.

"Fuck, this pretty pussy'll get ruined." Chris half scoffs, teasing your clit with his index finger. Your cheeks burn as you try and stifle whimpers of pleasure, your legs twitching over the other side of the bike. "We're gonna break you and put you back together again, sweetheart."

You try to glower, emphasis on try, but Chris' fingers pinch at your clit gently to coax free the moans you were keeping from them, making Curtis chuckle.

"There we go," Chris sighs as his fingers slip back into your pussy, curling onto that spongy spot your ex-boyfriend could never quite find. "That fuck-wit that gave you to us never could make you feel this way, huh?"

Heat spreads everywhere. To your cheeks with embarassment of the truth and straight to your pussy at Chris' comments.

"You can keep pretending you hate us, but I see it in your eyes. You’re ours—even if you won’t admit it yet." Curtis states firmly, at your pussy clenches around Chris' fingers. They're moving faster now, and you can hear the beginnings of soft splashes of your cum against your thighs.

You're going to cum over Chris' fingers and you can't stop it.

All sound is muffled as your eyes roll back on the summit of your orgasm, so you miss the sound of zippers and belts clanking to the floor. Curtis grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head up to meet his hard cock, tapping it against your lips and smearing pre-cum against them with a smug smile until you open your mouth with a gasp when Chris' fingers retreat; leaving your cunt hollow and empty, and you desperate to cum.

Curtis bullies his cock into your mouth but not so far that you gag. He allows you to adjust, waiting patiently, watching your glassy eyes decide whether to be an active participant or a fuck-doll for the two large men either side of you. When your tongue presses against a vein on the underside of his cock, Curtis' tight grip on your hair loosens and he rocks back slightly, letting you catch some air before slowly moving in and out of your mouth.

Chris groans at the sight of you, bent over his bike, wet and ready, sucking his best friend's cock willingly.

"Gonna fuckin' kill me." He huffs, placing a large hand on the small of your back. You shiver and yelp as the cool of Chris' rings touch your skin and the two men chuckle.

"So jumpy. Maybe we should call you bunny instead?" Curtis' other hand drops down to your neck. You panic for a moment, thinking he may try to choke you but his hand gently cups your chin to support your throat. He curses when he feels the slide of his cock against his hand. "So perfect. Can't wait to try your pussy too."

Your legs kick involuntarily at the idea and you can feel yourself blushing again. A moan from your own throat surprises you when Chris' rubs his cock along your folds before pushing into your dripping cunt. He bottoms out easier than the three of you expect and Curtis huffs a grin when you and Chris groan.

"Fuckin' filthy girl." Chris breathes, both hands now gripping at your hips. "Perfect fuckin' fit."

Your moan is muffled around Curtis' cock and the drag of Chris' makes your eyes roll, your pussy clamping down to milk the orgasm Chris' fingers had promised you. Your fingers tear at the leather seat of the bike, leaving tiny half-moon indents from your fingernails, as Chris' hips snap against yours and you choke on Curtis' cock. The bike wobbles with each thrust but is strong enough to take the weight of you plus the slams of Chris' cock repeatedly filling you to the brim.

Your moans become more desperate and strangled as your orgasm begins to build itself to a peak again. The hand Curtis had knotted in your hair strokes your scalp, soothing and gentle as he starts to rock his hips into your face.

"That's it baby, you're doing such a good job." Curtis praises as you gag around him, throat constricting as wildly as your cunt around Chris - who moans a curse and grabs a handful of your ass so hard you whimper.

"Taking us like a fuckin' pro." Chris coos tauntingly from behind you. "And this ass is to die for."

You yelp away from Curtis when a harsh smack lands against you left ass cheek. It stings but Chris is still pumping you so good you're breathless. However, you half-shriek in surprise when you feel cold spit land on your tightest hole. You wriggle forward, gagging on Curtis as panic surges but Chris yanks you back by the hips, rutting into you again.

"Oh no you don't sweetness," Curtis rumbles. "No running away now."

"I bet this ass has never been touched huh, sweetness?" Chris taunts, swirling his thumb around your tightest hole, massaging his spit into your skin and you whine around Curtis' cock.

Curtis pulls his cock from your mouth, pumping it right in front of your face as he forces your half-lidded gaze up to his. "Answer him, bunny. Tell us the truth."

"N-no." You gasp hurriedly. "I've... I've never-"

"Oh fuck - but I can feel that you want to." Chris chuckles with vicious delight. "Your pussy tightens at the thought and you're practically sucking my thumb right in."

"Really?" Curtis puffs at Chris with a smile and seeing the other man nod, he groans. "You're gonna be a fucking delight to keep around, bunny."

Keep around? You thought you were just going to be used for payment; clearly they had other plans.

"Shit. I'm gonna cum." Chris heaves, choking on a breath as he coats your insides and his hips stutter to a halt.

"Fuck - me too." Curtis grunts before pulling himself from your mouth and holding your hair as he pumps himself, ropes of hot cum painting your face.

You struggle to catch your breath, half slumped looking at Curtis' boots. You can feel Curtis' cum running down your face and Chris' between your thighs, cooling sticky against your hot skin. You peek your eyes up at Curtis who drags a microfiber cloth that stinks of some cleaning chemical over your face to clean you up, crouching down to make sure you're looking at him when he does.

"You're ours now," He says firmly, holding your chin. "Say it."

You dont see much point in arguing, opting for a quiet and meek, "'M yours."

Chris gropes at your ass and you squeak. "Good girl."

End

Taglist - add yourself here

@stargazingfangirl18 @steviebbboi @late-to-the-party-81 @brianochka @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @irishhappiness @alicedopey @looking1016 @pandaxnienke @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @winchestert101 @sebastians-love @shamrockqueen @waywardwifey @peaches1958 @dontbescaredtosingalong

[dauntingdaydreams]

THE ERAS (SEBASTIAN‘S VERSION)

[navybrat817]

For valentines ficlets: eyes locking across a room with Chris? He’s so precious hehe.🥺🥺

Syd, I love this man!

Across the Room

Pairing: Destroyer!Chris x Female Reader

Summary: You didn't really want to go to the party, but you were glad you did.

Word Count: Over 730

Warnings: Love and lust at first sight, tension, slight feels, Destroyer!Chris (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The party was in full swing when you arrived, music pounding through the speakers as you made your way to the basement bar. Grabbing yourself a drink, you felt the lively energy flow through you when you looked around. A few people were dancing, and others were scattered in small pairs and groups, laughter and chatter spilling over. You recognized just about everyone, and you didn’t plan to stay long, but it would’ve upset your best friend if you didn’t make an appearance.

“There you are!” Shauna yelled, nearly knocking the drink out of your hand when she went in for a hug.

“Here I am,” you smiled. You could smell the liquor on her breath, and she’d probably make you do at least one shot to catch up a little. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, you showed. All that matters,” she said over the music.

You sighed inwardly. Parties like this used to be so much. Drinks flowed, excitement felt contagious, and nights felt endless. Something changed along the way. The more parties that ended with you going home by yourself made you realize how lonely you were. There was no one to wake up beside you in the morning, and no one came home to you at night. It hurt.

One thing you refused to do was settle. You wouldn’t just drive yourself into the arms of someone you knew you shouldn’t be with just to take away the loneliness for a night. You just wondered when things would turn around.

As if by some divine voice who heard your heart crying, you turned and locked eyes with a man across the room. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen and they pulled you in. If you drowned, your dying words would’ve been to thank him. Everything made sense, and nothing made sense at all when he softly smiled.

“Who is that?” you asked, still tangled up in his stare.

“Oh, that’s Chris. He’s new to the area,” Shauna replied, giving you a gentle shove forward and making some of your drink spill over this time. “He’s totally checking you out, so go.”

He kept smiling when you glided across the room. No one seemed to touch you or block your path, almost like they knew not to interfere. And as luck would have it, there was an open spot right beside Chris. You expected half the party to be vying for his attention, but maybe they were put off by him being an outsider or his dangerous aura.

It drew you in like a moth to a flame.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he smirked.

His eyes were somehow brighter up close. Your fingers itched to reach up and trace his goatee. Glancing down, you spotted a few rings on fingers and wondered what they would feel like grazing or digging into your flesh. You managed to give him your name and hoped he was sticking around, but he had his jacket on like he wasn’t planning to stay long either.

“I’m Chris,” he said, clinking his bottle against yours in lieu of a handshake.

“Nice to meet you.” Taking a swig, his eyes went to your lips when you licked a drop away. “You’re new around here.”

“I am,” he confirmed, your stomach twisting in a delightful knot as his eyes swept over you. “Not a bad place, but I don’t know my way around just yet. Wouldn’t mind showing me sometime, would you?”

It thrilled you that he asked, but you didn’t want to appear too eager. “I may be able to do that.”

“May?” He raised an eyebrow. “How can I turn that into a ‘yes’?”

“Step outside with me so we can talk away from the noise and I’m sure you can find a way to convince me,” you smiled, knowing full well you’d show him all the best spots and hidden gems.

He smirked and took a swig of his own beer. “Lead the way.”

Slipping your hand in his, you winked at Shauna watching across the room. The voice in the back of your head said not to rush into his arms just because you felt an instant connection, but you had a good feeling about him. Even if you didn’t take him home tonight, there was always tomorrow.

And for the first time in a long time, you were glad you went to a party.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[societyfolklore]

Sure It’s Me?

Title: Sure It’s Me?

Pairing: Destroyer!Chris x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit Content, Minors DNI, 18+  smut, implied drug use, cow girl, lazy morning, finger sucking

Words: 295 words

A/N: Entry for January Jumble Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles

Prompt: Jan 3rd “You make it very hard to think.”  

The early morning haze made the room seem blurry or maybe it was the gear.

You wiped at your nose half-heartedly, brushing away the left over powder residue. It didn’t matter. Not when you were perched on top of Chris, bare thighs straddling his hips, breath catching as your fingers slid up his stomach. Pressing open-mouthed kisses over his chest.

A low sound rumbled in his throat, a laugh or maybe a groan. You weren’t sure.

"You make it very hard to think," you murmured against his skin, lips dragging over the rough plane of his pec.

Chris looked down at you, one brow raised, half a smirk playing at his mouth. "Sure it’s me? Not whatever just went up your nose?"

You grinned, dazed but pleased. "All you, baby."

He was already getting hard beneath you. You could feel it, the thick weight of him rising, pressing against the heat between your legs. Your hips shifted instinctively, grinding slow and lazy as his hands slid up, palms rough as they cupped your bare chest. The scrape of his stubble was coarse where he kissed your neck.

Skin tingling, nerves flaring awake, you moved just right, angled yourself so you could slide down onto him. The stretch was deep and slow, your moan caught halfway between a breath and a cry.

Chris swore under his breath, voice gravel-rough. His eyes gleamed in the golden light streaming through the broken blinds.

You took his hand from your chest and brought it to your mouth, sucking his fingers one by one. The cold press of his rings clinked against your teeth. Metal on tongue. Filthy and perfect.

With each slow roll of your hips, you sank deeper into him, the warm buzzing getting louder. 

"All fucking you.."