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For some people, parting with their exes was an easy and amicable thing. You’d heard about people continuing to be friends once the relationship was over and the relationship being stronger than ever as friends. But for you, it was a little difficult. Your ex was a guitarist in Repugnant, and you were the band’s stage hand.
For you, it wasn’t as simple as putting the past behind you and moving on. Not when you were still tethered to him by work. Every night you had to be there, watching from the wings as he took the stage with his swagger, shredding through the set with that unmistakable talent that first drew you in. It should’ve been easy to admire from a distance, but it wasn’t. Not when you knew what he was like offstage, how he’d smirk and brush you off as if you’d never shared anything meaningful.
The worst part was watching him with other people. The casual hook-ups, the groupies fawning over him, and how easily he fell into that role, playing the rock star stereotype to perfection. It stung, seeing him give attention to anyone but you. Sometimes he’d catch your eye across the room and give a knowing grin, as if he knew it still bothered you. He was always a bit of an arsehole like that—charming when he wanted to be, cold when he didn’t.
Working together only made things worse. You had to be professional, had to pretend like it didn’t hurt to see him living as though you’d never existed in his world. Every time you set the stage, every time you handed him a guitar or managed the lights, it was a reminder of how things had changed between you. He got to move on. You were left behind in his wake, still tied to the band, to him, in ways you couldn’t quite escape.
You weren’t the only one he acted up with, though. He had a way of getting under people’s skin, pushing buttons just for the hell of it. He’d pick fights with the crew, argue over the tiniest details—like how the amps were set up or whether the lighting was too harsh. It was never really about the work, though. It was like he thrived on chaos, needing some sort of conflict to keep him going. You’d seen it before, back when you were together, but it was easier to brush off then. You could laugh it off, make excuses for him. Now, though, it just grated on you.
And the way he treated people… It was like everyone was disposable. One night he’d be wrapped around some fan, whispering sweet nothings, making her feel like she was the centre of his universe. By morning, he’d barely remember her name, if that. You’d watch it unfold, see the hurt in their eyes when they realised he wasn’t the person they thought he was. But he’d shrug it off, like their feelings were just another casualty of the rock and roll lifestyle.
It made working with him unbearable at times. You couldn’t get away from it—the arrogance, the carelessness. And the worst part was, there was still a small part of you that remembered what it was like when he wasn’t such a prick. When it was just the two of you, before the band, before the stage lights turned him into someone you barely recognised. That was what made it so bloody difficult. You had to stand there, night after night, and watch him become everything he promised he wouldn’t be.
The lead of the band, Mary Goore, was also getting angrier and angrier with your ex. You could see it in the way he tightened his grip on his microphone stand during rehearsals, his knuckles white as he tried to keep his temper in check. Mary wasn’t one for outbursts, but there was a tension building between him and your ex that couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t just about the usual rock star antics anymore; it was affecting the music, the shows, everything.
Your ex had always been a bit of a loose cannon, but lately, it was like he was trying to push everyone to the edge. He’d show up late, hungover or worse, and then breeze through sound checks like none of it mattered. Mary wasn’t having any of it. There were more and more moments where he’d snap mid-rehearsal, his voice tight with barely concealed frustration. “Get your shit together, dickwad, or you can fuck off,” he’d warn, but your ex never took it seriously. He’d just smirk, like it was all part of the game.
But it wasn’t a game anymore, not to Mary. The tension was bleeding into their performances, and it was starting to show. Missed cues, half-arsed solos, your ex playing up to the crowd instead of focusing on the music. You’d catch Mary shooting him glares, his patience wearing thinner with every passing day. You could tell that something was going to give, and it was only a matter of time before Mary finally snapped.
Working in that atmosphere wasn’t easy. Every rehearsal felt like walking on eggshells, waiting for the inevitable blow-up. And with you caught in the middle, it made it all the more unbearable. You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction when Mary called your ex out—he deserved it. But at the same time, it only made the work environment more toxic, more volatile.
You knew it couldn’t go on like this forever, but the question was, who would break first?
The answer: Mary.
It didn’t take long for him to reach his breaking point. After another long night of your ex screwing around on stage, barely caring about the performance, Mary was seething. The whole band could feel it—the weight of his frustration, simmering just beneath the surface. He’d had enough, and so had you. The tension was unbearable, and Mary, never one to let things fester, decided he was going to do something about it.
It started small, a look here, a comment there. Nothing too obvious, but enough to catch your attention. Mary had always been magnetic in his own way, his dark, brooding presence commanding every room he walked into. And now, there was something extra in the way he spoke to you—something laced with the intent to provoke.
He caught you alone one evening, just after the gig. Your ex had disappeared with some groupie, as usual, leaving you to pack up the gear. Mary strolled over, leaning against the equipment case, his eyes flicking up and down as if he was weighing his next move. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him one of these days,” he grumbled. “Watch this space.”
“What’s he done now?” you asked, not even looking up from your task.
Mary huffed, pushing off from the case with a forceful shove. “What hasn’t he done?” he muttered, pacing as if trying to bleed off his anger. “Shows up late, screws around during rehearsals, barely plays his parts anymore—he’s killing the band with this shit.” His eyes met yours, dark and intense, and you could see just how close he was to snapping. “And you’re still stuck cleaning up after him, aren’t you?”
You gave a small shrug, more out of resignation than anything else. “Someone has to keep things running.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be the one picking up the pieces.” He stopped pacing and stood in front of you now, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him. There was something different in his eyes—anger, sure, but also a spark of something else. Something dangerous. “You deserve better than that prick.”
You glanced up, meeting his gaze. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, Mary. I work with him.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe you should stop letting him get away with it. What he did to you…” His voice trailed off, his frustration palpable. “He doesn’t deserve your time, or your energy. Not after how he’s treated you.”
It was the closest Mary had ever come to acknowledging what your ex had put you through, and for a moment, the weight of his words hung between you. He wasn’t just talking about the band anymore. He was talking about everything—the late nights, the heartbreak, the way your ex flaunted his conquests in front of you like it was some kind of game.
“I know,” you said quietly, finally setting down the gear you were packing. You felt the anger rising in your chest, not just at your ex, but at yourself for letting it go on for so long. “But what can I do about it?”
Mary’s lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a shiver down your spine. “You want to get back at him, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a growl. “I can help with that.”
You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. “What do you mean?”
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s give him a taste of his own medicine. You and me, right in front of his fuckin’ window. Let him see what it feels like.”
Your heart raced, a mix of shock and excitement flooding through you. The thought was reckless, petty, and completely out of character for you. But in that moment, with Mary standing so close, the scent of his leather jacket filling your senses, you couldn’t help but be tempted. After everything your ex had put you through, didn’t he deserve a little payback?
“Are you serious?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
Mary pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Dead serious. He’s been messing with your head for too long. Time to mess with his.”
The idea was insane, but you couldn’t deny the thrill it sent through you. Maybe it was the months of pent-up frustration, the anger at your ex for treating you like you were nothing. Or maybe it was just Mary, with his commanding presence and the promise of something dangerous in his voice. Either way, you felt yourself leaning in, your heart pounding as the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.
“Alright,” you said, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Let’s do it.”
Mary’s grin deepened, and he stepped back just enough to look at you, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and intent. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges, sending a spark of heat through you. “Let’s make it worth his while.”
The idea of being that bold—of doing something so brazenly reckless—wasn’t exactly in your nature. But tonight, with Mary coaxing you into his wicked plan, the lines of caution blurred. Your ex had treated you like dirt, and there was something deeply satisfying in the thought of getting your own back. The fact that it was with Mary made it even more exhilarating.
The two of you walked together through the quiet backstreets until you reached the edge of your ex’s flat, a small, dimly lit place that seemed miles away from the noise and chaos of the gigs. His room, on the second floor, had the curtains half-drawn, and you could see the faint flicker of light from the telly inside. Perfect.
You were almost holding your breath, the thrill of what you were about to do swirling in your chest. Mary paused, glancing up at the window with a smirk. “Right there,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with anticipation. He turned to you, and in the soft light of the streetlamp, the hunger in his eyes was undeniable. “Let him watch.”
Without hesitation, Mary backed you up against the rough stone wall of the building. His body was pressed firmly against yours, the hard leather of his jacket cool against your flushed skin. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You could feel the tension in his touch, the restraint he was barely holding on to.
“You ready for this?” he asked, his voice rough and deep.
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as the realisation of what you were about to do hit you full force. It was thrilling, intoxicating even.
Mary didn’t waste a second. He crashed his lips against yours, hard and demanding, his kiss filled with all the pent-up frustration you’d both been carrying. His hand slid down your body, gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer, his hips pressing firmly against yours. You gasped into his mouth, the heat between you growing unbearable as he dominated the kiss, his tongue teasing and tasting like he couldn’t get enough.
He broke the kiss just long enough to turn your body, pushing you against the wall so you were facing the window, your hands braced on the cold surface. “Let’s give him a good show,” he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.
You were panting, the thrill of it all making you light-headed as Mary’s hands moved over your body with practised ease. His fingers hooked under the waistband of your trousers, tugging them down over your hips in one swift motion. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, and you shivered, more from anticipation than the chill.
Mary’s hand slipped between your thighs, finding you already wet, and he let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Knowing he might be watching?”
You moaned softly, your breath hitching as Mary’s fingers teased you, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow. He kept you pinned against the wall, your back arched, his body pressed tight against yours. His other hand slid under your shirt, rough fingertips tracing your skin as he worked you open with his fingers, every movement calculated to drive you wild.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice dark and thick with lust. “He’s gonna hate every second of this.”
With one smooth motion, Mary unzipped his trousers, freeing himself as he positioned himself behind you. The anticipation made your pulse race, and when he finally pushed into you, the stretch and fullness was overwhelming. You gasped, your body instinctively arching back into him as he filled you completely, the intensity of it almost too much to bear.
“That’s it,” Mary grunted, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, teasing you with the friction. “Let him see what he lost.”
Each thrust was harder than the last, the sound of skin against skin filling the night air. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way Mary was fucking you, hard and relentless, his hands tightening on your hips as he drove into you over and over. Your breath came in short gasps, the pleasure building with every rough snap of his hips.
You glanced up, catching sight of your ex’s window, half expecting to see him there. Whether or not he was watching, it didn’t matter anymore. This moment was yours and Mary’s, and the thought of your ex knowing—of him seeing you with someone else, with someone better—only fuelled the fire inside you.
Mary’s pace quickened, his thrusts growing more erratic as he pushed you closer to the edge. His hand slid down your front, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles. You cried out, your body tensing as the pleasure hit you all at once, wave after wave of sensation crashing through you.
Mary’s grip on you tightened as he kept up the relentless pace, his fingers expertly teasing your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your already trembling body. You were teetering on the edge, every nerve on fire, but he wasn’t ready to let you fall just yet. He slowed down, his thrusts becoming deep and deliberate, pulling you back from the brink with a wicked chuckle.
“You don’t get to come just yet,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and control. “Not until I say so.”
You whimpered, your body aching for release, but the way Mary took charge—his hands roaming your skin, his voice in your ear—made the denial almost unbearable in the best way. He pulled out of you slowly, leaving you breathless and wanting, and you couldn’t help but whine at the loss of him.
He chuckled darkly, turning you around to face him, his eyes locked onto yours with that same predatory gleam. “We’re just getting started, love.” His lips curled into a smirk as he pushed you back against the wall, this time lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist. The new angle had you gasping as he lined himself up again and pushed back into you, slow and torturous, making sure you felt every inch of him.
You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal rhythm, thrusting into you hard and deep. His breath was hot against your neck as he muttered filthy praises, telling you how good you felt, how perfect you were, all while keeping a tight hold on your pleasure, not letting you tip over the edge just yet.
The rough scrape of the wall against your back, the cool night air on your heated skin, and the overwhelming sensation of Mary pounding into you—it was all too much, too good. You couldn’t help the small moans escaping your lips, the desperate sounds of someone on the verge of breaking. But still, Mary held you on the knife’s edge, his thrusts driving you insane with need.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Think he’s watching us now? Think he’s sitting there, wishing it was him instead?”
The thought sent a shiver down your spine, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside you. You couldn’t form words, couldn’t even think, only nodding as Mary kept fucking you, his pace unrelenting, his cock filling you so perfectly you felt like you were going to explode.
“Good,” Mary growled, his hand tightening on your thigh as he drove into you harder. “Let him see exactly what he’s missing.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you panting and desperate, the frustration of being denied release clear in your eyes. Mary smirked, clearly enjoying how wrecked you were, how much control he had over you in that moment. His hands slid down to your waist as he spun you around again, this time pushing you forward, bending you slightly over a low railing just beside the building.
“Hands on the railing,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You complied immediately, gripping the cool metal as Mary positioned himself behind you once more. He took his time, teasing you with the head of his cock, running it between your folds, until you were practically begging for him to take you again.
Without warning, he thrust into you hard, and you cried out, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you once again, stretching you in all the right ways. This time, his pace was relentless, each thrust driving deeper than the last, pushing you harder against the railing as he took what he wanted. The intensity of it was dizzying, and you could feel your legs shaking, the pressure inside you building to an unbearable height.
“Tell me how much you want it,” he commanded, his voice rough and low as he pounded into you. “Tell me how badly you need to come.”
You could barely speak, the words caught in your throat between gasps and moans. “Please,” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling. “Please, Mary, I need it… I need you.”
A satisfied growl escaped him, and his hand found your clit again, rubbing in tight circles that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his breath ragged. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Right where he can see you, falling apart on my cock.”
You nodded frantically, your body strung tight with need, the promise of release hanging just out of reach. Mary didn’t slow down this time, his thrusts growing more erratic, his hand working your clit until you were trembling with the effort of holding back.
Mary’s pace quickened, his grip on your hips firm and possessive as his thrusts became more erratic, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure inside you building, every nerve in your body on fire as he pushed you relentlessly towards your breaking point. The intensity of it all—the feel of his body against yours, his hand working your clit, the filthy words falling from his lips—it was overwhelming, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.
Then, all at once, it hit you.
Your orgasm tore through you with a force that left you gasping, your body arching into Mary’s as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, the sound swallowed by the night air, your vision blurring as the world around you narrowed down to the feeling of Mary inside you, the unbearable ecstasy of finally letting go.
And then, as your body shook with the aftershocks, you looked up—and locked eyes with him.
Your ex stood frozen in the window, his face twisted in a mixture of shock and rage, the flickering light from the telly casting shadows over his features. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, time seemed to stand still. The thrill of being caught, of him watching you fall apart in the arms of someone else, sent one final pulse of pleasure through your already trembling body.
Mary didn’t miss a beat. He chuckled low in your ear, clearly aware of your ex’s presence, and doubled down on his pace, thrusting into you harder, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. “Look at him,” Mary growled, his breath hot against your neck. “He’s fucking furious.”
You couldn’t look away. The satisfaction of seeing your ex so helpless, so defeated, only fuelled the fire that still burned inside you. He’d lost you, and now he knew it.
With one final, rough thrust, Mary grunted, his release tearing through him as he spilled into you, his body pressed tight against yours as he rode out his climax. He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “He’ll never touch you again.”
Slowly, Mary pulled out of you, leaving you panting, your body still humming with the aftermath of your orgasm. He turned you around, his eyes locking onto yours with that same dark, dangerous glint.
“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Now he knows what it’s like to lose.”
You glanced back at the window one last time. Your ex was still standing there, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief, his fists clenched at his sides. You gave him a small, defiant smile before turning back to Mary.
It didn’t matter anymore. This was your moment, your victory.
And it felt fucking amazing.