You stared at Michael, frozen in shock, and still unable to process what just happened. You were scared to find out what it was you hit.

"Come on, get out of the car," Michael urged. He unbuckled his seat belt and you followed suit, exiting the vehicle.

When you walked close enough to see exactly what you hit, or more like who you hit, you gasped in horror, your hand reaching to cover your mouth to stifle the scream that ripped through.

Your ears were ringing, and your hands felt clammy. You couldn't breathe.

No. Oh god, no.

Ice flooded your veins and your heart clenched at the sight. No, it couldn't be. You didn't just...

It was Mallory.

Mallory was on the cold ground, her body curled up as blood spewed from her mouth, trickling down her chin, a broken shell of a witch. The warmth of her blood welled up and pooled onto the ground around her body.

Red. There was so much of it.

You ran Mallory over.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," you repeated to yourself, absolutely hysterical. You ran over to her, stumbling forward on your way. You knelt down on the ground, tears streaming down your face. You looked her over and noticed that a bag had flown not too far across from her. It only took you a moment to realize that it was your bag. You couldn't believe it. Why weren't you paying attention? You let your emotions get the better of you.

Mallory must have ran outside to give you back your bag. That's right, you didn't pack your stuff, you just upped and left, ready to leave it all behind like you had done so many times before. She was being a good friend and wanted to give you your things back. That was the kind of person Mallory was, always good, always wanting to help others.

You didn't feel a pulse. She wasn't breathing. Her chest ceased to rise and not even the gentlest breeze stirred her palms with warmth and life. Lifeless eyes stared back at you, lips parted and stained in crimson. She was a goner.

Michael was next to you, unsure of what to do, what to say.

You were trembling violently and tears were clouding your vision but still the sight before you was clear as day. You had killed Mallory. No, you had to take it back. You had to try. You had to try and heal her, save her.

"Mallory, no, no, you're going to be okay. You're going to be okay, I can fix this," you choked out brokenly, reaching your shaky hands out over her, trying to harness the energy inside of you, focusing on the magic thrumming through your veins.

"You have to stay with me, I need you to stay with me," you begged, your words broken up in sobs as you lamented for your sister's life. The acrid stench of her blood burned your nostrils and made you dizzy. You felt the bitter burn of bile rising in your throat, forcing you to swallow it back down.

You kept at it for a while but when that proved successful, you clutched onto her hand, somehow believing that the close contact could do wonders for the spell you were trying to bring to life. You closed your eyes and gripped tighter onto Mallory's hand, releasing a deep breath in an attempt to soothe your rapid heartbeat. Your teeth was gritted and when you started to feel like your efforts were in vain once more, you tried again, harder this time. Fear and sorrow gripped your heart but you pushed on.

Still nothing. Nothing was working.

"No, no, no, please work, please. Mallory don't give up on me, please, you hear me? Don't give up on me. I'm so sorry," you cried, still trying to bring her back again and again, a strong sense of denial willing you to continue, to persist, but it proved fruitless. "Mallory, please, you have to get up," you stuttered out, choking off at the end.

Michael reached out to offer a reassuring caress upon your shoulder, stroking your quivering skin.

You weren't strong enough. You couldn't bring her back. It wasn't within your power. Your lungs felt frozen, and you couldn't force yourself to calm down.

You turned to Michael, sheer hopelessness in your woeful eyes, and your breath was caught in your throat. Your cheeks were stained with wet tears and you didn't know what to do.

Though, perhaps, the one that could save her was right next to you. Perhaps, this was how he could redeem himself, in the eyes of the Supreme.

"Michael, please save her, please try," you begged Michael, tugging on his shoulder repeatedly as if your words weren't enough for him to see how desperate you were at this point. "We can't give up on her!" you cried, your voice peaked high with panic.

"Okay, okay," he replied, kneeling down closer to where Mallory's body was lying. He allowed her eyes to fall shut with his fingertips. He released a deep breath and started to concentrate on the magic thrumming inside him. He tried to remember everything Cordelia had taught him about healing and how to focus on that energy. His eyes drifted shut, hands hovering above Mallory, and you watched, panic-stricken, holding your breath as your chest heaved.

You couldn't lose her over your incompetence. Mallory deserved better than that. She was the reason you were able to go back and help Michael in the first place. She was your friend. She was your sister, part of your coven.

You waited, giving Michael as much time as he needed centering his focus wholly on the task, the magic within him lighting his veins and flowing through his body, it was just a matter of being able to bring it forth, to bring it to life.

After what felt like an eternity, Michael pulled his hands back to himself. You looked back at Mallory, eyes full of hope, waiting for the moment that she would wake up and her eyes blink back open.

You waited for what must have been several long moments. Still nothing.

"Michael... Did you... Could you... Were you able to-" you were unable to find the words, it was as though saying them out loud would make it true, that she was really gone, and you couldn't bear that. A sound escaped your chest, and then you released a deep exhale.

You could feel your heart sink in your chest and tried to gulp down the lump that formed in your throat. Cold dread settled in your stomach. You opened your mouth to speak, lips parting to form words that never came. Instead they were replaced with a myriad of hard, painful coughs, followed by a trembling groan that wormed right down to your core with an ache that throbbed throughout your body. That hopeless feeling had returned, swallowing you whole, it was all so consuming, and you were sure that you lost her.

Silence settled over you two like an uneasy blanket, suffocating in the stifling air, making the queasy feeling inside you worsen within the fresh air outside.

But then a miracle happened.

Mallory awoke with a jolt, eyes wide open, gasping sharply as she took in lungfuls of air, before a series of coughs racked her body.

It worked. Michael saved her. She was dead and then Michael brought her back to life. It was truly a miracle. Michael saved someone.

"W-Where am I?" Mallory asked with a dazed expression, confused as she looked about her surroundings and then back at you and Michael.

"Oh thank goodness you're okay, Mallory!" you cried, embracing Mallory in your arms and holding her close to you. You smiled, bringing your lips to her forehead, a gesture of affection that was only the tip of the iceberg. You desired so much more, to leap with joy, to cry and scream and praise Michael because Mallory was awake and alive. You tried to contain yourself, not wanting to overwhelm Mallory so suddenly. "You're safe, you're okay."

"What happened? I-I don't understand," Mallory questioned as she awkwardly returned the hug.

"Michael saved you," you told her, tears staining the shoulder of her dress and you felt as if you never wanted to let her go.

"Thank you, Michael," Mallory said, still baffled about the current situation and in a state of shock. Her lips tilted up in a small relieved smile, it was barely present, to those not familiar with the witch's expressions, it could be easily missed or mistaken for a grimace.

Michael gave a knowing smile and a nod her way.

You pulled back and released a shaky breath as your fingers trailed up to the undamaged side of her face, stroking gently across her cheek and up into her hair. The familiar motion reassured you that this was real and Mallory was still by your side, still in your life, breathing, with that infectiously delightful smile that beamed brighter than the sun.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she tilted her head into the touch, nestling her cheek against your palm as she released a less raspy breath. Your hands continued their gentle stroking motions through her hair, combing across her scalp as you felt the warmth of her presence and admired the spirit that burned within, a fire that was uniquely Mallory.

It was a shocking turn of events. In the erased timeline, Michael wanted to kill Mallory, he was going to kill her. He wanted to kill all the witches, burn every last one of them, but here he was, saving one, bringing a witch back to life. You looked back at Michael, with nothing but love and adoration in your eyes. He was rebelling against his genetic code, resisting what others believed was in his DNA. He was the spawn of Satan, but all you could see right now was an angel of light. Someone who wasn't just trying to be good, but rather was just simply good. You had never been so proud.

When you and Michael returned to the academy with Mallory with you, Cordelia was shocked to see you back so soon. But that wasn't the only thing that shocked her. She wanted to know the full story.

"What happened? How did she die in the first place?" Cordelia asked after you had told her that Michael brought her back.

You were about to tell her the truth, that you ran her over (accidentally), that you were the reason she was kissed by Death itself, but then Michael spoke up.

"We were driving away from the academy when we saw that a car was speeding and the driver hit her. The driver hit her and then drove off," Michael lied.

"Did you see who the driver was?" Cordelia asked, raising her brows.

"No, we didn't see the driver. We just knew Mallory needed help," Michael continued to lie.

"Is this true?" Cordelia turned to you, looking at you with a perplexed expression.

"Yes, it's true," you lied, too.

"Mallory? Do you remember anything?" Cordelia questioned.

"The last thing I remember is trying to give her back her bag because she had forgotten it and the rest is all a blur. I just know that Michael saved me. If it wasn't for him, I would be a goner," Mallory turned to look up at Michael with a warm smile and he returned it. "My head feels like a ton of bricks, though."

Mallory had no recollection of what happened. That was a good thing and probably for the best, for your sake.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Cordelia said, rushing over to Mallory to wrap her arms around her securely. "Thank you, Michael, for bringing her back," she told Michael.

"I'm glad I was able to. It was all because of you, Cordelia, you're the one we all should be thanking. You're the one who was able to help me and in turn, I was able to help Mallory," Michael explained.

Cordelia nodded, processing his words and taking it all in.

You and Michael exchanged a look when nobody was looking. You two were in the same boat now, lying to protect the other.

Cordelia allowed Michael back into the academy.

Cordelia tried harder this time. Because the warlock who saved the exceptional witch Mallory deserved a second chance. She decided that maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to give up on him. There was light, humanity in Michael, and he certainly proved it when he saved Mallory.

Cordelia continued to coach him, teaching him the laws and the ways of magic, how to harness the light inside of him, how to help those in need. Michael had followed her advice to a T, he was under her supervision, paying close attention to anything having to do with the craft and how to channel his magic ability for good.

You could see the light in his eyes whenever he performed a spell that he learned from Cordelia, how it filled him with joy. You were proud of him, so very proud. You had turned things around and it was working in his favor. He was deemed a hero by all the witches now. They believed he belonged here. He was a part of their coven. Even the witches who had disapproved of him before wanted him around all of a sudden. He earned their trust.

He was flourishing at the academy, even more so than before, because this time Cordelia wasn't going to give up on him. He was completely in his element and Cordelia loved to watch him work. His movements were always grateful, fluent, and extraordinary. He was a sight to be seen, excelling in any task that was given to him. She believed in him. She saw his potential. She wanted to beckon him into the light.

Many months passed, and Cordelia found that the darkness inside of him was diminishing, to the point where she could hardly recognize that it was even there, just barely, close to nonexistent, which was a miracle in itself.

"Now that you can feel your magic, I want you to grab it and channel it. Feel it course through you and send it towards your hands. Feel it form and mold it to whatever you wish," Cordelia coached.

Michael would always do as Cordelia instructed, somehow he had become the perfect student.

He felt settled, glowing with Cordelia's compliments and regard. And for the first time, he truly felt like his feet were walking a path that was his own.

Some witches even looked to him for guidance, he knew more than any witch in the building when it came to the art of magic, and while some simply believed they shouldn't ask for help from a man, there were plenty of witches that wanted to learn from him.

Cordelia approached you one day with a bright smile on her face. "I wanted to personally thank you for bringing Michael here. He's been doing really well," she told you.

You nodded your head and listened with a proud grin.

"He saved Mallory. She's a very extraordinary witch and I couldn't imagine this coven without her, and it's all thanks to Michael why she's still here," Cordelia started. "I wanted to give my most sincerest apologies for the day I told you that Michael couldn't stay here. I was wrong. I should have tried harder. But I'm so glad to have him back, to have both of you back."

"Me too," you replied. "Thank you Cordelia, for everything," you said, a slight quaver to your voice, reaching your hands out and clasping them over her own.

"And thank you," Cordelia returned proudly. "Thank you for everything you've done for this coven."

You were doing it. You were saving the Antichrist. It was possible. Things were looking up. You hadn't felt this happy in quite some time. You could have Michael. You two could be together. He didn't have to die like Mallory and Cordelia previously believed. The world didn't have to end. Michael didn't have to endure the horrors of the Murder House. Michael wasn't raised by your Satanic mother and exposed to all that devilry. You were able to take that all back and still be with Michael.

Michael was being good. He was good. He was no longer the Antichrist, but a man that cared for you, a man that loved you.

The sunlight filtered in through the slivers of space left by the curtains as the material fluttered away with the breeze. Michael curled in on himself as the slight chill passed through the room. His brows furrowed in sleep, arms instinctively tightening around something warm and plush and solid that brought him comfort and peace.

He shivered from beneath the blanket, tugging whatever warmth was in his grasp even closer to his chest.

The small squeak that sounded off in his ear, however, sleepy and amused, made him groan more, the world starting to come into a hazy kind of focus, still all too blurry at the edges. His fingers dug into the softness of what he was holding, resulting in a small giggling and a "Michael," that was more affectionate than anything else.

You and Michael were staying at a hotel to get away for the weekend. Michael wanted to spend some time away with you and you were more than happy to oblige him.

He pressed himself nearer to you, reveling in your heat. You tugged on his hair slightly, calling his name out with the syllables stretched as though to bring him to the waking world, and he shook his head, denying the inevitable.

It was a losing battle. His eyes fluttered open, immediately settling into a squint. He made a sleepy sound in the back of his throat as he tucked his head down, hiding away from the world, and you giggled once more, your hands stroking down his spine.

"C'mon, sleepy. Rise and shine," you said, all the while lifting your chin so he had room to nuzzle beneath your jaw, closing his eyes to the morning, basking in the comfort of your body. After a few moments you stood up from the bed and started to pick up your clothes from the floor, slipping your panties back on, but once Michael realized what you were doing, he yanked you back to the bed with an arm hooked around your waist, snuggling with you once more.

"Get back here," he mumbled out, somewhat playfully, making you laugh. "Ten more minutes," he bargained, but he found that he had already awakened, his mind starting to chug along. He started to run his hands over your skin, more interested in lazing in bed for a few moments than rising from the warm cocoon of comforter and multiple pillows. One of your legs, silky and bare was dragging up his calf, as though to tease, before you nudged him.

"We need to be at the academy soon," you informed him, arching when he let his fingers play over your lower back, ghosting his nails over your skin.

"Let's just not go, let's just stay here," was the only solution he offered, finding that he much rather stay with you on the bed and be lazy.

Your hands ran over his shoulders and he hummed, remembering how the nails bit in the night before, the way you bucked and had to use him as leverage. His smirk stretched across his face and he pressed his cheek against your neck, nuzzling. He felt like jelly, relaxed and warm and comfortable, and he supposed you must have felt the aftereffects of the natural release of endorphins, too, because you only shook your head, saying "Michael," more in amusement than exasperation.

Slowly, he shuffled downward, settling his ear against your breast and cataloging your heartbeat as he brought his palms lower, cupping your ass. You hummed, squirming slightly as his hair tickled your jaw, but you seemed to cuddle to him, one of your legs between his, the other pressed against his outer thigh. Slowly, you let one hand tangle in his hair, playing with the messy strands, and he moaned lowly as he kneaded your flesh, arching like a cat and nuzzling between your breasts. He felt comfortable, at peace, happy, and he rubbed his cheek against the softness of you, particularly enjoying the cushion of your chest.

You smiled and started to rub a small circle between his shoulder blades. "Someone's affectionate this morning," you commented, yelping when he squeezed your ass, pulling you to his frame.

"I'm just happy, happy to be with you," he replied, his mouth muffled by your skin, and you tipped your head back as he ran his hands over your thighs, stroking over you, warming you up before settling his hands on your backside once more, fingers digging in slightly.

He wanted to be close to you, near in multiple ways. In every way. He just wanted to be with you, to hold you. He felt your warm exhale move some of his hair and he could note how you were breathing against him, your plush, soft frame pressed so flush to his skin that he could feel your lungs expanding, pushing your ribs out slightly.

He knew you were smiling without even having to look up, even as he set a kiss to your sternum, feeling you stroking over his arm. Your naked form against his was a reminder of what you two had done the night before.

His eyebrows went up and he finally looked at your face, chest warming at the serene expression he witnessed, and you scratched at his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Someone's affectionate this morning," he threw at you, almost dryly, but he knew you could see the slightest gleam in his eyes because your smile grew.

"I'm just happy, happy to be with you," you responded, giggling even as he smirked, rolling you onto your back and coming over you in a straddle.

"That so?" he asked, untangling your legs and settling onto his knees, one between your thighs and the other trapping your left leg.

"Mmmm," you hummed, fluttering your eyes closed.

His smirk softened as he looked at you, first at your face, planting a kiss upon your forehead. When he pulled back, it was just enough so that his eyes could skim over your bare form, previously obscured to him by the blanket wrapped around you both. He was looking over each mouth-shaped bruise on your body, the marks he left behind on your delicate skin, on your collarbones, the tops of your breasts, wanting them to always serve as little reminders that you were his.

"Mine," he said, kissing over your side, leaving a burning trail as he worked up to your breasts. "All mine."

The kiss over your head was more delicate than the rest, and his hand had slowed down to a butterfly of a touch, slowly circling your damp flesh, considerably further south. You arched against him, grinding down on his fingers to entice more friction, asking for sweet mercy.

"Oh god, Michael, stop teasing!"

He smiled wider at the memory, lowering his lips to your throat where a particularly dark hickey was marking your carotid artery. He'd suck at the flesh atop it particularly hard when he was losing himself in you, he remembered, feeling each quickening thump of your pulse on his tongue had undid him. You sucked in a sharp breath when he kissed it, and he could feel your heartbeat growing faster as a result. His knee gently ground against you and your hands came up to his shoulders once more, nails biting in, so familiar.

Slowly, pulling away once again, he hovered over you, supporting his weight on his knees, which forced him to grind against you all the harder. Your body thrummed in pleasure, your temperature rising as he smiled down at you, purposefully stopping all motion. He watched as your brows furrowed, your eyes fluttering open, confusion and irritation evident in your orbs.

"Michael?" you asked, raising a brow, and he only shifted his smile into a twisted smirk.

"Angel? Don't we need to be at the academy, soon?" he threw back, echoing your morning greeting. Instead of huffing, as he expected you to, you brought one of your sinfully soft legs up to drag against his other thigh, hitching it higher and higher until your foot pressed into his lower back and you tugged him closer to you, grinning.

"Ten more minutes," you bargained, your head lowering slightly as you kissed him on the nose, running your hands over his body, drumming your fingers against his rib cage and then down, down, down, until you grabbed his ass, grinding against him.

He groaned, tilting his head to meet you at a better angle. "Let's just stay here," he insisted once more.

When you kissed him, biting at his lower lip, he assumed that this time you agreed.

His fingers started stroking the smooth skin of your stomach and you arched up to him, to his touch. You let out a soft cry when he pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead on your own. He smirked, taking note of how swollen your lips had gotten, shining and moist.

With the radiance of the sun outside, your body was glowing. It was that tinge to your skin that guided his hands, lazily drawing out words on your skin, even as he bent his head to lick the line of your exposed, vulnerable throat, which you bared to him so easily.

He felt your contented hum against his lips as he laved down to where your collarbones dipped. You could feel his smirk as he trailed his mouth down, smug at the fact that you were squirming, trying to get more than just a brush of his lips over your hot skin. You wiggled beneath him as he left red marks on your breasts and especially between them, listening to your moans.

He cupped one breast as he licked at the other, circling around your areola and softly sucking. You arched into his mouth and he pinched your nipple, making you jump. When he noted your shivers, he rubbed your side as though to keep you warm. He smirked while he made his way downward, slowly licking a line toward your navel.

He slowly lowered his head and laid a kiss on your hip, stroking you. When his nose bumped your hip bone, he made sure to take a deep inhale before he bit down slowly until you bucked.

Michael sucked on the skin of your hip bones, lightly scraping his teeth until you whimpered, stroking his hair. You whispered out his name, rubbing his scalp and he closed his eyes to your affections, his breath hot on your flesh.

"You're so perfect," he whispered hoarsely. "So beautiful."

You sucked in a harsh gasp at his words, and he noted how your thighs rubbed together, slightly. He dipped his head so he could kiss along your waist, his fingers gently rubbing invisible shapes into your skin, making your tender ministrations falter.

"Michael," you murmured, and something in your voice had changed, gotten more ragged. He hid his smirk by moving his lips down to the line where your skin was hidden to him by fabric. His touch went up to your sternum, tracing the underside of your exposed breasts.

He looked up, once more and you stared down, the warm flush over your face deepening. You took in another jagged breath and he was ready to open his mouth and tell you that you smelled amazing. With how turned on you were, already, he didn't have a hard time catching your scent considering all you had between you two was a pair of thin white panties.

There was something hot and natural about it, about you, and he thought he could find himself between your legs for longer than most would deem appropriate, already looking forward to seeing you unravel around him. He had begun gently scraping your skin with his fingernails, barely butterflies of touch, but it made you shiver, and when you moved to cup his face, he found himself leaning into your touch.

He wanted to see you dazed. Dripping. Able to say nothing but his name.

Michael made sure to lift his face enough to show you his smirk and he dragged his hands down your sides. Still holding your gaze, he kissed the underside of your thighs, before he gently bit down. With a sly hand, he lightly stroked you through the thin cloth off your panties and you jolted at the feeling, shivering with how sensitive you were.

He brought a forearm to the back of your knees and he sucked on the flesh, leaving mouth-shaped bruises over your legs, dragging his tongue from one to the next as he made his way to your pelvis. You were crying out softly, legs kept in the air, hips swiveling as though asking for attention. His lips tipped up when he mouthed the inner flesh of your thighs, your eyes looked daze when he spared you a glance, your pupils so blown open. You were arching your back, trying to find more friction since his stroking had gotten firmer: smooth, long motions that teased you through the fabric of your panties. When he stopped the motion, you whined, already having started rocking into his touch. Michael set another kiss to your thighs, atop one of the hickeys he'd left you with, and you whimpered.

He pushed your legs open so the back of your knees came to his shoulders. When he looked up at you, his eyes were strained, but the flush on your face, your mouth open and panting, it was too good of a sight to pass up. With a final smug grin, he lowered his head. You must have thought he was going to remove your panties, perhaps with his teeth, but instead, he gently parted you through your panties, pressing an open mouthed kiss to where your clit was through the underwear, leaving you to gasp at the surprising, blunted sensation.

Dragging it out, he slid his tongue to the spot, saturating it in spit and pressing forward as far as possible through the material to wet you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you panted, taking in the feeling. Pulling away only slightly, Michael blew on the wet spot and saw how you shivered, the white fabric going somewhat transparent from the saliva. He did the same to where your entrance was through the cloth, ignoring the texture of the cotton as the taste of you came through, his tongue applying pressure. He saturated the cloth with spit, pulling back so he could hook his thumbs under the fabric to spread you further.

"Oh!" you squeaked out, feeling yourself open slightly at the motion, throbbing. Even though he couldn't see how you were being gently exposed, the sound you made more than made up for it, and he went back to tongue you through your panties while you clenched your fists, yearning for more direct contact. Almost carelessly, he bunched the fabric and pushed upward, rubbing you with your own panties. You bucked to no avail, since Michael brought his palm to your hip, keeping you immobile. His fingers barely settled over the flesh of your hips, softly rubbing as though to tease you further. You set your hand atop his, your voice coming out high and breathless.

"Please?" you asked, trying to move his touch lower, but he gently pushed your hand away, encircling your wrist and pressed it to the side. The restraint made you cry out while he used his other hand to further move your panties aside, nuzzling you. You made a sobbing sound, arching to his mouth as best as you could. "Please, Michael?"

You could feel his self-satisfied smile as he tilted his head, kissing your labia and carefully swirling his tongue around your entrance, making you gasp, your wrist twisting under his hold. You were so wet because of him, and he made a low, wanting noise when he finally got access to how slick you had gotten. Your sigh was one of relief as he tenderly rolled his tongue against you, seeming to take in the taste of you. He let go of your hand, pulling back only long enough to slip your panties off before sliding his palms beneath you and cupping your ass, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh and enjoying how you squirmed. He carefully tilted your hips up so he had better access.

The scent of you alone had already started to get to him, but having you on his tongue, hot and slippery, was enough to have him throbbing. Your soft sounds in response to what he was doing, circling your entrance before gently sliding his tongue into you, deftly thrusting a few times before going back to swirling around, were getting louder, though it seemed like you were trying to hold down your pleasured sighs. When he glanced up, he saw how you were biting your hand, muffling yourself, and when your eyes met, you seemed to gush. The hand he'd released his hold on came to card through his hair, urging him on.

You were slick, pulsing, and he dragged his tongue over you as slowly as he could, as though memorizing your taste before he found your clit, feeling your jolt. You were so sensitive. His thumb came to your opening, mimicking the motions he'd been maintaining earlier, using your slickness and gently dipping into you as he softly sucked. You wailed, your thighs twitching up and around his ears, your hips circling.

Your panting got faster, the cry sharpening when he only sucked on your flesh harder, licking at you at the same time. His thumb swirled around until he withdrew it, instead slicking up his middle finger and slowly pushing it into you. Your eyes closed, body tensing as he found your sweet spot and rubbed, tapping. You clenched around him when he hummed, as though amused, your body arching up sharply before leaning back, calves twitching each time he stimulated your clit.

You must have been getting close, your voice breaking off. There was nothing in his ears but your light, needy whimpers and drawn out hisses of his name. Your very breath was shuddery, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. At that, he moved his face away, pressing his finger against your walls more firmly.

"Angel," he called, to which you only responded with a high whine, circling your hips more aggressively. "Angel," he said, again, this time more urgently. "Look at me," he demanded.

Your eyes fluttered open and you seemed dazed, but your gaze settled downward to where he was between your legs, still pleasuring you. You moaned when you saw him, panting hard. He locked onto your eyes, kissing your clit before licking at you once more, lips forming a seal and sucking, again. You cried out, throwing your head back, but his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass slightly, as though warning, and you squirmed, forcing yourself to look back at him, maintaining contact.

Looking into his eyes as he pleased you made your toes curl, your voice coming out as a keening whimper. He ran his tongue in circles, matching how you were swiveling your hips, but it was looking at him, how focused he was on your face, how turned on he looked, that made you feel dizzy. Your world narrowed to him and the rising tension in your body, your ankles hooking behind his head. He tilted your hips more and you gasped, brokenly telling him to keep going.

He was tempted to close his eyes, surrender to the overwhelming urge of taking in how you felt. The only thing in his mind was you, your scent in his nose, cries echoing around him, the taste of you seeped in his mouth. And he was so hard, aching for you. You'd abandoned trying to be quiet, and your hand had come to your breasts, playing with your nipples as you panted for him. You were pulsing heavily around his finger, it was as though you never wanted him to leave. He kept it up, though his jaw had started to protest, his wrist likely angry at him come tomorrow. You called out loudly, jaggedly, your "yes!" and whimpered his name in a string of stutters.

As he looked at you, he could see the exact moment when things started to tip over, when you popped your mouth open with a sobbing breath, your body tensing entirely before your legs reared up and your back arched higher. Your hold on his hair tightened but you held his gaze as best as you could, even though your eyes were rolling, head being thrown about. He didn't ease up, all but moaning at the sound of your high pitched wail even as he stimulated you through your orgasm, your trembles continuing for long, drawn out minutes.

He waited until your throbbing softened to flutters before he carefully pulled his finger out of you, instead gently lapping at your opening as you softly called out for him. You made breathy noises, broken squeaks as you squirmed with each swipe of his tongue, and he finally allowed his eyes to close as he laved over you. Your hips bucked as he licked you clean and he released his hold on your ass, instead soothing the outside of your thighs with hands that only knew how to destroy, before.

When you weakly pushed at him, still so hypersensitive to touch, he pulled away, and his damp face caught the cool breeze. When you looked at each other again, your expression was vulnerable and open. He kissed each of your hip bones as he made his way back up to you, your legs coming off his shoulders and back to the ground with a thump. Slowly, he brushed his lips over your stomach, each bump of your rib cage, between your sternum, until he got to the hollow of your throat, scraping his teeth over your collarbones. You made a muffled squeal when he worried the skin between his teeth, leaving a mark, and then kissed over the line of your throat until he was finally back at your face.

You were so close to each other, he could have gone cross-eyed. You were still breathing hard, and your arm came around him, almost bonelessly.

"Oh, god," you said, and he realized that you'd been whispering it the entire time, still dazed from your orgasm.

He couldn't help the smirk that played on his lips at that. Frankly, he didn't know when you got so religious. He cupped the back of your neck, bringing the finger that was still wet with you to your lips and tracing over your cupid's bow. You shivered, but you were pliant, your eyelashes batting at him without meaning to. There was still a heavy flush over your face, your shoulders: you were flushed from throat to knees, the deepened hue collecting most prominently over your hips.

You were still puffy.

Still grinning, he dipped his head down, kissing you and licking your lips. You made a low sound at the action, opening your mouth to him immediately and he shared your taste with you. It was heady and he had barely pulled away from eating you out, but being reminded of how you tasted immediately made him want to go back, listen to you lose yourself because of him, cum because of him. You were so strong you could decimate whole buildings to rubble, could argue your way out of each fight, and he'd turned your eloquence into an incoherent babble, calling out for him and his hands and his mouth.

He bumped his nose against your own, pulling away enough that he could look at you but still so close you were sharing breath. He pulled you closed to him, and when you breathed out, "Oh, god," again, he was tempted to joke that he preferred 'Michael'. Instead, he only rubbed his thumb behind your ear, kissing the corner of your mouth as you collected yourself. Then he grabbed you around the waist with his arm so he could being you closer to the head of the bed, straddling you. You bent your knees so he could settle between them, lifting your neck and pulling him toward you so you could kiss him. He licked your lip, and when you opened your mouth for him, he knew you could taste yourself on his tongue.

You lifted your hips, rubbing against him and feeling his erection press into your thigh. You made a pleased noise, lowering yourself enough to grasp him, and deepening the kiss while you adjusted yourself until he was positioned at your opening. You sucked on his upper lip for a moment before you pulled away, blinking at him. His hand came to your cheek, still damp fingertips caressing your skin.

You gave him a look, as if silently asking if he was ready. He nodded, bracing himself before you let him inside of you, your eyes fluttering shut when the head sunk in. From there he could do the rest, and he pushed into you, watching you to see how you wanted it.

He maintained deep, rhythmic motions, slow to the point of strain, but you were whimpering, enjoying the feeling of him taking his time, building you up. He brought his mouth to your neck, sucking at the delicate skin there while you massaged his back. He was sweating with the effort, going so slow it made his head spin. You clenched around him purposefully, and the breath he took in was shaky and harsh, his eyes hazy and mind fogged. You wrapped your arms around him and wiggled your hips as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, cradling your cheek while he supported himself on an elbow. He ran his other hand down your side, over your hip, sliding it underneath you so he could cup your ass.

Your eyes opened, locking on him again when he didn't stop, instead, trailing the underside of your thigh until he hit the back of your knee, purposefully tickling the sensitive flesh. You squirmed around, which felt more than a little amazing, but he didn't let up until you were giggling at the sensations and it made him smile.

You stroked the back of his neck while he rubbed the side of your knee with his thumb for a moment, hitching your leg up and around him. You shifted, helping him to bring it higher until your ankle was against his lower back.

He started to circle his hips and you bucked as he angled up. The serene expression on your face gave way to pleasure, warming him, which only intensified when you brought your other leg up, your silky skin rubbing over his flesh until that one, too, wrapped around him. When he looked down at you, you were just so vulnerable, your head tossed back while he rocked in you, throat exposed and breasts bouncing with each movement. He finally let go of your knee in order to pull back, slightly, enough to slide his hand between them until his fingers parted you, again, gently stroking your clit. You gasped, your hold on him tightening while you clenched in response and he laved over your collarbones, thrusting into you. You throbbed around him when he angled higher, forward and up, as though to inform without words that, yes, there.

"How is that?" he asked, already losing composure, hips stuttering. You were swollen and soft, wet and warm and so good around him, and when he lowered his gaze further, seeing how the flush collected over your hips. You nodded frantically at his question and he rubbed you a little harder, which prompted an uninhibited "mmm" followed by a "Yes!" that was so high and delicate, he could do nothing but kiss you again, still caressing your cheek.

You two were breathing together as a single entity by the time he was fully sheathed. He rested there for a moment, quiet as you two held each other.

Where he was fire, you were ice, but in this, you two came together in a perfect sort of harmony. You were everything Michael has never been, wearing your heart on your sleeve and fighting for the good of all those around you, and perhaps it was what drew him to you in the first place. You came to him when he was broken, defeated by his own mistakes and sins, and it had only been through your hand – your careful touch, your patience, your faith in him that he had begun to heal.

Now he held you, half of his entire world. The woman who completed him and made up for everything he lacked; the one he never thought he deserved. In your arms, he felt safe in a way he never does anywhere else in the world.

He slid a hand under your shoulder while the other rested on your hip, making sure he had a proper hold before he started to move again. The slow slide out from your warmth nearly did him in, but he held on tight and thrusts his hips forward again, making a low sound as you moaned again. He set a brutal pace, and he kept close, intent on holding you through the whole thing.

Things were always blurry in these moments, as the two of you were reduced to your most basic forms; a man and a woman, locked together in an intimate moment. Flesh slipping against sweat-slick flesh; fingers leaving bruises in delicate skin; quiet, visceral noises punched out of you both as you moved together, quickly finding a rhythm where you worked as one, fused at your centres.

Michael leaned down and claimed your mouth in a wet and sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his tongue sliding over yours as he kept moving. Your eyes fell shut and you moaned into it, the edges of your mind going pleasantly hazy and blank.

His hands writhed as they gripped your hips, and your fingernails trailed down the tightly flexed line of his spine to catch at his waist, hesitant and pleasing, and that was all it took for him to unravel. His control frayed and split and he couldn't rein in the violent cant of his hips, rocking into the cradle of your thighs hard enough to push you both up the bed. His heart half in his mouth, scared that he would frightened you with the fury of his desire. Powerless to stop himself all the same.

He should have known by now that you were anything but afraid of him.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him and welcomed and weathered the storm of him like you always did, taking in everything he was. The food with the bad, the beautiful with the scarred. The realization swept him away. Tumbled him over and over like a shell caught in the tide, polishing away all the rough edges of his doubts and fears and left him clutching a beautiful, perfect truth.

When he spoke he whispered, as if he was sharing a secret, "I love you," he intoned, his mouth traveling across your cheek to your jaw, down your neck and over your throat. "I love you," he repeated, stroking a harsh counterpoint to each gentle word as you fluttered around him.

Your eyes flew wide, and your lips parted – perhaps on a response, but he didn't give you the luxury of one. He surged forward on another hard thrust and caught your mouth, hips and tongue undulating softly in mimicry of each other. He was drowning in your soft wet heat, everything about you taut and lax and satin and harsh, all at the same time.

You met his every move halfway, your body bowing beneath him, clinging to his back and shoulders tightly as he clung to you. As if the other were the only shelter in this tempest you two unleashed together. Your fingernails raked down his skin that rang through his blood as he strained deeper, chasing the released that roiled within him, watching as you bloomed, blossomed, unfurled with your pending crescendo. The smell of your lovemaking was intoxicating, the heat enough to make you feel faint.

He sped up, losing rhythm as everything in his mind narrowed just to you and the feeling of the head of his cock brushing the particularly swollen part inside you. You wailed, your thighs hitching higher around him, adjusting your angle enough so that he was hitting the mark perfectly. You choked out "Harder!" against his lips, squeaking when he complied.

His rubbing was getting frantic, but you were pulsing around him, hard, the fluttering getting faster and faster, calling his name out, entire body in spasms as you threw your head side to side, climaxing around him. The rush of his seed, throb of his cock, and sound of his shattered moans were enough to bring you over the edge once more, and you clung to him with all your remaining strength to ride out the sensation. His hips slowed to a shuddering standstill, cock rooted deep inside.

Together you wrecked each other, crashing back to earth in a glorious fall, the fluttering of your walls around him squeezing him and wrenching a hoarse cry from his mouth as he jerked haphazardly, spilling his pleasure in your depths. He pushed into you once more, deep, and your walls thrummed over the entirety of his cock until he followed you, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, mouthing at a hickey he'd made earlier to muffle his moans of your name, his hand finally stilling. His head was spinning, eyes rolled into the back of his head as he panted, trying to catch his breath as he twitched.

It took a while for him to come down from his high, but even when he did, it seemed as though you were still working your way through your own, shaking. He couldn't help the pride that swelled at that, that you were still clutching him, arms and legs holding him tight as though he were your only buoy. You trembled, making involuntary squeaks and whimpering fragments of his name, eyes clenched shut.

Michael's whole body just wanted to collapse forward, boneless, but he ran kisses over your neck, the warmth of his breath caressing your breasts and laving over the tops until you were settled, and he pulled out when your breathing evened, your legs falling from around him.

The strength leached from his muscles, and with a last effort he held himself up a trembling arm, wrapping the other around you to roll onto his back, drawing you with him and arranging you atop his chest.

With a tiny, contented sigh you burrowed closer and laid your cheek over his thundering heart, your hair pouring over his rib cage and arms like a bolt of damp satin, and he found his fingers buried in the fall of it, stroking the smooth strands again and again. Lingering in this strange moment outside of time, measured by the warm curl of air that washed over his sweat-damp skin each time you exhaled. Your eyes closed and idly you stroked his thick head of hair, and the corner of your mouth curled up in a small smile as your heartbeats seemed to synchronized, steady and even.

He was half-asleep when you stirred, shifting to press your lips to his collarbone. One kiss turning to two, to three – until you'd braided together a length of them that seemed to tug at something deep, deep within himself. Slipping yourself around him with a few murmured words that knotted tight, bound yourself to him inextricably.

"I love you too," Michael."

"Of course you do," he scoffed, proud that his voice managed to come out steady, and he felt your shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

Tenderly, he guided your face to the crook of his neck and you nuzzled at him. He closed his eyes, settling your body against his more firmly. It was so quiet when you were here. And he had gotten so sick of noise.

You laid the most loving kiss onto his throat, and though he found it difficult to trust almost anyone, his body instinctively bared to you, chin lifting up to make room. You smiled, moving your hands up his chest until you could feel his heart beating. You sighed almost dreamily, at peace as you two shared body heat.

It wasn't long until you two went at it, again, and again and again and again.

Many hours had passed and you were passed out on the bed. Michael was still awake, watching you sleep, watching the way your chest heaved up and down, watching the way your lips parted, watching the way you would curl up closer to him. It would all make Michael smile. He was content, happy. It felt like everything was going right.

He was lost in a daydream when there was a loud knock on the door.

Michael rolled out of bed, albeit reluctantly, slipping his clothes on quickly before reaching the front door and opening it.

There stood Miriam Mead, Anton LaVey, and another cardinal. A group of Satanists.

The crows were singing, worshiping from above.

They introduced themselves to Michael before bowing down.

"I'm in the presence of my Lord," Anton said, in complete and utter awe.

"We've been waiting for you. We're here to help," Miriam said with a sinister grin.

Michael looked them over curiously.

Little did you know, Michael, your sweet, sweet Michael, had killed Tyler. Michael killed him shortly after he left, in the early hours of the night when you had finally fallen asleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Michael went to threaten him, in his house, and even as Tyler squirmed and writhed to get away, even as Tyler begged for mercy, Michael wanted to hurt him, to make him truly sorry.

"You're never going to see her again, you hear me?" Michael threatened. "You're no good for her. You're only going to hurt her."

He started by choking him, but that quickly escalated and he couldn't help himself. He wanted to see him suffer. He reveled in the way his face contorted in pain and misery.

"You're pathetic. She doesn't want you anymore. There's nothing you can do for her. You can't make her happy like I can," Michael spat.

He didn't want there to be even a sliver of a chance of him returning and bothering you again or you crawling back to him. He needed to find a permanent way to get rid of him, for good.

Michael watched him burn, cry and scream as he flailed with the dancing, merciless flames that consumed him whole. Michael permanently expelled his soul from existence.

Little did you know, your sweet, sweet Michael was already gone, long before you could even do anything about it.

Perhaps it was always true. He was a prophesied abomination. The bringer of the end times. Satan's son.

Michael was created by evil. It was in his genetic code, in his blood, in his DNA. He couldn't stray away from the darkness. A leopard cannot change its spots. The Devil would somehow always reach him, one way or another. There was no escaping it. Michael truly wanted to be good. He tried to be good. It was a sad truth, unfortunate too, because a halo would have perfectly matched Michael's angelic beauty, but the reality was that inevitably his horns were going to sprout up from his head. The Mark of the Beast was permanently tattooed onto his scalp, always serving as a reminder of his true nature. Michael would always fall victim of the Devil's plan for him. The game had been rigged in his favor. It wasn't possible for you to reverse that.

You should have remembered that even the Devil was once an angel.

You shifted upon the bed in the sheets, opening your eyes to look over at Michael through heavy-lidded eyes. His back was facing you and he was still standing at the doorway.

"Who is it, Michael?" you slurred, your voice soft and unsuspecting.

"Nobody, just room service. Go back to bed, angel, I'll be right there," Michael told you, turning back to look at you.

"Okay," you said, rolling back on the other side of the bed and closing your eyes, thinking nothing of it, and wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. Little did you know that your mother and her fellow Satanists were outside the hotel.

Michael turned back around to the Satanists at his doorstep who were anticipating an answer from him, their eyes hopeful and full of awe.

Michael smiled knowingly.