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forcemeanakin · 1 year

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ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴀ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʜᴀʏᴅᴇɴ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴇɴꜱᴇɴ

Okay so this is a alternate of @hanasnx starlet!reader but with my own little twist because I just love the scenery and the glamour of the shows <3 So I present to you: VSangel!reader x Hayden Christensen (let's ignore the fact that I've been working on some of these scenarios for YEARS now).

This is hella long and nsfw, so beware. 3K.

Previous inspo: Link

BACKGROUND:

Hayden has probably seen you in a big billboard before, maybe an ad on TV, but didn't remember your name. He thought you were hot though. A pretty little thing that was probably out of an old man's league anyway.

You are in your 20's, so you grew up with the Star Wars prequels and without a doubt Anakin Skywalker was your childhood crush. Posters on your walls, watching other movies Hayden was in just to see him. Most of your classmates probably made fun of your Star Wars obsession because you were only into it because of the hot guy in Revenge Of the Sith. How wrong they were!! It was also because of the hot guy in AOTC!

Also you're like a total SW geek, but we'll talk about it later.

THE BEGINING: How did you two meet?

Considering that both of you are from different areas of show business, you had to meet in a common ground. I don't see Hayden going to a fashion show before you (and then that's the only place paparazzi can catch him for sure <3). So after a lot of thought, you two met at an Award show (my mind goes automatically to the Tiff Tribute Awards). Or more specifically, the after party.

I picture Hayden saying hello to a couple of people he knows before heading to the bar and sticking around there, just sipping on his drink and greeting whoever comes along to shake his hand and pat his shoulder.

You already saw him back on the red carpet, making your best effort to not get your drooling face captured by a paparazzi. Your stunning dress and detailed makeup made you look like a million dollars !!!

And he noticed. Fuck, did he notice.

Walking by the bar, after pep talking yourself into talking to him for like half an hour, you pulled up right beside him to order yourself a drink. A cosmo or some shit like that. Very fancy and pretty, like you.

He was hypnotized by you the second he saw you up close. Actually, the second he saw your ass swinging his way.

That was it. You two were done for the moment your gazes crossed.

He made the first move, saying a polite "hey" and offering to call the bartender for you.

You were batting your eyelashes, grazing his biceps with your long nails and giving those "fuck me eyes" that worked every time. Someone so much more mature and wise, you didn't think he would want you for something besides fucking, so why did it matter if you were a bit sluttier than you were used to?

But you started talking and it was an actual good conversation. He seemed interested in getting to know you and his jokes actually made you laugh. He was all smooth with his compliments and subtle stares at your dress.

I feel like he would give you a nickname from the very first night. Something related to your attire or the sparkle of your eyes, accentuated by the glittery eye shadow.

It would be a downright shame to let that amazing chemistry go to waste for a meaningless hookup. Luckily he didn't let that happen.

Like a true gentleman, he walked you to your car, using the back door and called it a night. Not before asking for your number and teasing a goodnight kiss.

The next day, while you were getting ready to shoot a campaign, you receive a text from an unknown number, but you immediately knew who it was.

"Hey, starlight." There's a whole other version of this with them meeting over a smoke break, but I know that's not everyone's cup of tea.

BEFORE AND AFTER YOU:

Okay so let's set some things straight. Hayden's not a public guy. he hates having his private life printed on newspapers and he's not a fan of social media. At all. Heck. he doesn't even like to leave his house on weekends. But after you? He had to get used to it. You're this generation very own Gisele Bündchen. You're everywhere. You're everything. You are the fashion world. So paps are very much included in every moment of your life.

BEFORE GOING PUBLIC:

You tried to keep it hidden as much as you could. It was not very hard with you traveling almost every day and him living in LA, at his new house. And whenever he could, he escaped to his own little paradise in Canada.

So texting was basically everything you could do.

He even learned new lingo just to keep up with you :)

But you both craved more, so the next time you were in LA, you were going to grab dinner.

The damn paps got a few pictures of you and that's when the rumors started.

At first not many people recognized him, mainly because the pictures were taken from behind him, but the curls and the outfit ratted him out to a few observant fans.

But media didn't believe them, I mean, why? And the selected group that decided to run with that narrative used headliners like: "how the fuck did the awkward guy from SW pulled y/n's ass?"

After weeks of trying to be low-key for his sake: going on coffee runs using his caps and sunglasses so people wouldn't recognize you, having dinner dates at his house and/or choosing far away locations to stroll with a bit of privacy; you gave up. Your already public life was catching up with you two. So it was better to ride the wave than to escape it and fail in the process.

BUT BEFORE ABSOLUTELY GOING PUBLIC, I love the idea that interviewers were trying to drag the information out of you. Maybe at a red carpet or at an interview with a digital magazine, people would throw you some questions to see if you bite the bait:

"So, Y/n, who's your favorite SW character?"

And you would grin knowingly but never backing down. Your answer would vary from Obi-Wan Kenobi (to mess with Hayden) or R2 when you felt like sharing some of your SW passion.

But right before you two decide to go full-on public, you decide to mess with them, for your own entertainment: "You know, I do have a soft spot for Darth Vader."

PEOPLE GASPED AT THAT CRUMB OF CONFIRMATION.

GOING PUBLIC:

It was at a red carpet

You two went in separate cars

Hayden walked first, having his picture staken and signing autographs while you barely arrived at the event

The second you entered the carpet the cameras went off on you, total focus on getting pics of your designer dress

You were posing like an absolute goddess, answering some questions with wit, trying to spot your boyfriend with the corner of your eye

Finally you locked eyes and he raised a dubious eyebrow, like saying: "Are we seriously doing this?"

And you gave him a bright beam, stretching your arm to him as he walked to you, taking your hand and kissing the inner side of your forearm before placing it on his shoulder. Fingers dropping to your waist and pulling you to him while you laugh, his mouth lowering to your ear to whisper: "You always get your way, huh?"

You chuckled and kissed his cheek, you two turning to face the cameras, just for a few seconds before moving on.

DATING:

I'll not get into the heavy details of how you two managed to make your relationship work, with your traveling and photoshoots, because fuck that. I'll only say that there was a lot of sexting and he was a fucking natural at it. Mile high club as well.

You two would still try to remain unrecognizable by the paparazzis but more chill this time.

That meant having more pictures of you on your candle lit dinners or your fun Sunday mornings in the park out there.

I JUST KNOW THERE'S A PICTURE OF YOU KISSING IN THE PARK. YOU ON YOUR TIPPY TOES WHILE YOUR ARMS ARE AROUND HIS NECK. BIG GRIN ON YOUR FACES, LIKE IT WAS TAKEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR LIPS MADE CONTACT.

The media would still release some mean headliners but thanks to the dilf culture cultivated in social media, some were actually rooting for you. Oh, and fans were torn between you; hating you because you were clearly fucking him and loving you because since your relationship started, you gave them more Hayden content.

The SW questions were constant in the interviews and talk shows, to the point that you were always brought some type of SW merch: a Grogu plush, a kids lightsaber, a little R2 replica. Whatever it was, it was always pulled whenever the question about you and Hayden was brought up.

You still kept answering "Obi-Wan" with a laugh and no additional information. "He has the high ground." You shrugged your shoulders, shaking your head with a cheeky smile.

Later in bed, when Hayden was giving you your daily dose of healthy cum :))) pounding into you with an admirable expertise, he whispers: "Who has the high ground now, baby?"

CLICHE BUT LET ME HAVE THIS

You never revealed to Hayden that he was your childhood crush, I mean, you could have mentioned it the first night but you didn't want to approach him like a fan. And then you didn't want to look psycho so you just let it be. And now it was too late.

But then

In the middle of an interview, a girl that actually gained your honest trust, asked you the anticipated question:

"How does it feel to date Anakin Skywalker?"

And... (the next bit was written by Indy during a brainstorm and I just wanted to share the exact words <3)

"in the interview you’re visibly nervous, rubbing on your knee, leaning forward, adopting a slackened posture. “yeah..” big grin, “he was actually my childhood crush.” “no!” the interviewer says in awe. “yeah! yeah,” you kinda laugh and cover your mouth. “i didn’t tell him. is that bad?” you put your nail in your teeth to fidget, putting on a little lovable twist to your face"

And then he sees the interview and he shots you an immediate text with the link like: "Oh???"

You know what you'll come home to

He's sitting on his usual chair, reading a book when he hears the door creak. You showed up with a shy smile, his arms opening up to let you crawl on his lap. Knowing that he'll bring it up, you hide on his neck, blush all over your cheeks. Hayden is caressing your thigh up and down, while he hugs you with his other arm and snorts: “did you keep that from me on purpose?” with a little swat on your ass (Indy, 2023).

THE REACTION OF PEOPLE ON SOCIAL MEDIA AFTER THE INTERVIEW. you cackle at the comments: "Not Y/n admitting she is dating her childhood crush!! She's one of us!!!" “HE WAS NOT” “bro no 😭 i thought she was single” “darth vader. you win again” (Indy, 2023).

Also dragging you to hockey games <333 you start to love the sport because of him but at first you didn't understand shit

He laughed at your reaction when you saw the first fight in the rink

"Do they just... start beating each other up and the ref let them?" You winced exaggeratedly.

"Yup." He laughs, drinking a sip of his beer.

KISS CAM KISS CAM KISS CAM

Also opening the car door for you after a date night, protecting you from the paps???? That's a head canon I'll take from starlet!reader and apply it here because YES YES YES

FASHION SHOWS AND SOCIAL MEDIA

ofc he goes to your fashion shows !!!!! front line baby !!!!!!!! And he is so fucking proud of his beautiful girlfriend.

So motherfucking supportive it hurts.

He comes home and peppers kisses all over your face, praising you for a job well done.

"I would buy all the clothes you sell, baby"

Or if you wore something he particularly liked, he would be desperate to get home and show you just how much he loved your teeny tiny dress on the runway.

He even learned how to dress appropriately to match with your outfits. NEVER LEAVING THE CAPS BEHIND OFC !! But his personal style improved so much, we are proud of him :)

ALSO whenever he is out and spots an ad of yours he takes a picture of it and sends it to you. Maybe with a little heart or smile, or a little text like: "so proud of you baby." Sometimes he takes a selfie with the campaign!!! such a dad selfie, his head tilted back and kind of blurry because he's trying to get the right angle !!!!

also social media with him !!!! again, he doesn't have any active accounts but you do. For his sake, you don't post a lot of things about him, however, some things are too adorable not to share. And fans love you for the little crumbs you give them

A list of photos I think would be posted on this reader's insta stories:

A photo of him in the garden, checking his tomatoes. I KNOW HE HAS TOMATOES

A photo of your shadows during a coffee run. Bonus points if it's Tim Horton's and it has the Canada location tag

A photo of his back while he's making breakfast

A photo of the view from his house. Bonus points if it is from the bathroom window. Extra points if it has any indicators that you two were previously fucking in there, like steamy doors.

A casual photo of you on his couch and you can see the famous chess game

a video of you two watching the prequels and you can hear yourself saying: "omg who's the handsome guy?" when he appears and he laughs.

A photo of you with one of his caps. Bonus points if it's the Toronto Maple Leafs one.

VS FASHION SHOW

OH YES. THE GOOD PART. THE FUN PART.

He never thought he would be in this position. Front line at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. But he is. And he's there to support his girlfriend. Heck, that still sounds funny to him-

You're out there, strutting your gorgeous figure for the world to see: with your six inch heels, your pretty wings and tiny lingerie- You're a fucking dream. His dream.

He's there at the front line with the Proud Boyfriend club, along with Adam Levine (I know but he got us fooled for half a decade) and Caleb from Kings of Leon.

His heart is pounding hard when your face appears in the initial video where they present all of the models walking

The first time you walk, he stands up, cheering loudly and smiling brightly at you. You were opening the show!!!!! how huge!!!

You focus on the cameras and getting the pose right but when you turn, walking on the side he's in, you point at him, even blow him a kiss.

The other two times you walk, because the initial pressure is off, you can focus more on him, and shoot him a playful wink and/or wave at him. He's grateful that you're giving him that attention, now he can brag around with hard evidence. :)

They dressed you up in a very flirty little piece, a pair of panties with a black bow on your rear side. When you get to the end of the runway, you turn around and show it off, maybe even playfully shake a little.

You know you'll pay for it back home

You will also pay for flirting with the music guest in the middle of the runway

I mean, you were not flirting, just doing the regular thing of pointing at them and dancing with them for mere seconds. But the music guest really focused on you and your strut. Maybe you did take advantage of the moment to get him all jealous and get some angry sex out of it

He could understand that part of your job. It didn't mean he liked it. He made sure to send some backhanded comments in the after party to make sure the musical guest got the picture. That you were taken.

It was so fucking hot.

He loved loved loved your police woman outfit, offering to pay for it himself so you could take it with you.

He was a fan of your angelic look with the enormous big, white wings. Almost drowning you in feathers but making you look like a real life angel. You were to him at least :)

You take such cute pictures on the pink carpet <3 he's looking like arm candy, an absolute accessory of yours. And he was happy to do it ! It was your night and he couldn't be any happier to be there with you !

Although the paps did catch him while he was staring at your spilling boobs. But could you blame him? That dress was TIGHT.

Hayden also has a photo of one of your VS campaigns in a giant frame in his office <3 you were so ashamed at first but you secretly loved that he paraded you around like that <33333333

you can catch glimpses of it during online interviews

LAST BIT

You are in a talk show, talking about the VSFS 2025, when the interviewer gets all serious and jumps:

"Last question, Y/n... is it true you and Hayden Christensen are engaged?"

You open your mouth in bewilderment, scoffing loudly.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Rumors are all over the place... but is it true?"

"No! Of course not." You squealed, acting offended before cracking a sly smirk. "We are married." And you show off the rock on your left hand.

PEOPLE GO WILD.

AHHHHHHHH- I could do this forever but I need to shut up :) also let me know if you want more nsfw content about this couple :)

Also some of these are stolen from my hockeyplayer!Anakin Skywalker / hockeyplayer!Hayden Christensen private headcanons. :)

Last pic because this is how I imagine this reader and Hayden backstage:

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hometoursandotherstuff · 29 days

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Who doesn't love a perfectly preserved time capsule? This 1968 beauty in Rockford, IL is like stepping back in time. 4bds, 4ba, $450K.

The small entrance has tiled flooring to protect the carpet that runs all through the house.

Why is it always green? This was a dramatic home when it was new- stone fireplace, sunken living room, and wrought iron railings were the height of fashion.

The living area is huge. Note the large stone bench matching the fireplace and the cornice boards that discreetly hide the unsightly curtain rods.

The fireplace stone continues and has a huge mirror. In the corner is shelving and 2 steps up to the dining room.

The dining room has dated curtains that the buyer will inherit. I love the kitty-corner table. That was a common placement in mid-century style.

Next comes the kitchen. Actually, they must've updated it b/c I don't think that 2-tone cabinets were a thing yet. But, the ditzy, small, busy print of the wallpaper with matching shades was definitely the style. Note the original avocado dishwasher and dust shelving above the upper cabinetry, that was later replaced by soffits.

Wait a minute, I'm seeing props here- there's a new dishwasher and new ovens, but they kept the old avocado ones. I wonder if they work or, if it's just nostalgia. There are also 2 cooktops. Wow, they really preserved everything.

Look at the green glass.

Large laundry room off the kitchen.

Oh, look, an avocado washer/dryer set. This is amazing. And, look at the old sink. I hope someone who loves it, buys it, b/c it was so lovingly cared for.

Nice large everyday dining area has a pony wall separating the family room. So much green everywhere. I wonder if this set came that way or if they painted it.

Another stone fireplace flanked by shelving. Knotty pine walls, and folding shutter doors- all fashions of the past. I can't believe that they have the Colonial furniture that was so popular at the time. Even though it was all the rage, you don't see it around anymore. According to the listing, there is going to be an estate sale, so this furniture will be available.

The primary bedroom is pretty big. Geez, there's carpeting everywhere and some of it is looking gnarly.

It has an en-suite, which is unusual. Look at that fancy cabinet. Green laminate counter, too.

This bedroom is also pretty big. Look at the consummate girl's white bedroom furniture of the mid-century.

The den has a big old map probably with countries that don' t even exist anymore.

More bedrooms on the 2nd fl.

Oh, look at that! A hope chest! They were popular for a teenage girl to receive as a gift. Then, she would put in blankets, etc., in the hopes of one day getting married and using them. I can't get over the historic furniture in this place.

And, then they've got a big family room up here. Wow, this house has so much furniture and tchotchkes.

Winter? No problem. Just set the lawn furniture up in the basement.

There's also a finished part of the basement. This is a craft room, and there is also a canning room.

Look at the antique freezer on the right. This place is a museum.

This part of the basement isn't finished even though it has a brick fireplace. No matter, they still used it as a family room, anyway.

According to the listing, this is a 2 car garage, called a "cottage garage," b/c I guess it looks like a residence.

This cool log cabin on the property is used as a playhouse, according to the listing.

Yeah, but look at it, it's really a residence.

There's a lot of land, 3.50 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6151-Newburg-Rd-Rockford-IL-61108/5537324_zpid/

#time capsule homes #time capsules #mid century modern homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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fandomwritingbit · 8 months

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Curious

journalist (f)reader x William Afton

warnings: non con/rape, oral, p in v, threat, force, violence, murder/child murder, William is just vile the whole way through.

synop: you're tasked with researching the 'missing children's incident' and you have no idea just how dangerous that is.

A/n: mostly but not entirely proofread, because this is a fucking long one boys.

The moment your boss gave you the assignment, it pretty much engulfed your life. “The Missing Children Incident” as it was dubbed by the papers, referred to multiple child disappearances at a well-known children’s restaurant. You were excited with the task, thinking that finally you might have your name at the bottom of an article that actually means something. But you quickly figured out the reason you ended up with this story. The research was gruelling, nothing upon nothing turned up after hours of reading and talking to the parents. Well, the few that were willing to face a reporter. Your shovel hits rock every time forcing you to conclude that there’s nothing to be found.

That didn’t mean you were off the hook though, your boss was still up your arse with deadlines, telling you over and over how he ‘needs you to get this sorted’ within the week.

So here you are, your last thread of a story pinched between your fingers, the business side of it. You’re standing outside the restaurant in question, the name lit up in front of you with the r in Freddy’s constantly flickering, clinging onto the hope that the owner would be willing to entertain you. At this point you’re just going to transcribe the discussion and send it to print, as you’ve come to learn something is better than nothing.

Stepping inside you’re instantly greeted with the overwhelming smell of pizza, it’s hot too, the many bodies milling around inside forming a wall of heat that makes you ache to take your jacket off. You stop for a moment to just look at the scene, children laughing in that piercing screechy way that all kids can muster, running around with foam swords or handfuls of the coloured balls from the ball pit. You want to take a photo but it doesn’t miss you how weird that would be without permission.

As you walk around you begin to realise that it wasn’t anything special; tatty all over, the smell of grease and fast-food clinging to the faux velvet booths and garish carpet that laid in some areas of the restaurant. It was so painfully a kid’s place. You’re searching faces for anyone who looks like they have some sway around here, there’s the guards and the service staff but that’s not who you’re looking for. You know the names of the gentlemen who owned the place but there was a lack of photos available at the library, so right now you’re fully reliant on the powers of deduction.

Then finally you reach the Show Room and truth be told, you were impressed. It was the only part of the Godforsaken place that wasn’t caked in crushed crayons or old unremovable stains. It looked somewhat cared for, rows of perfectly aligned seats in front of a large stage, those hanging lights, speakers and all.

And the animatronics? Well, they were... unnerving. You couldn’t help but stare at them, they were much bigger than you’d have thought, crazily so. And good God, their eyes. You find your face twisted in disgust. Talk about uncanny valley, these creatures were fucking chilling. You can’t believe that the children are so comfortable with them, when you can hardly even watch their ‘show’ without a heavy feeling in your chest. You quickly avert your eyes, remembering that you’re here for work and feeling glad the very moment you can’t see the animatronics anymore.

It’s then that you finally catch sight of a lead, a tall bloke in a shirt and tie emerging from a staff only door. He has the bearing of someone higher up than the waitress he stoops down to talk to, so you take that as your green light, squeezing past a gaggle of children in your way.

You catch the end of the conversation as you approach, the man leaning on the counter with a face like a storm. “Oh okay, Mr Afton. I’ll do that now.” The server says anxiously, looking like they want the ground to swallow them up, they go to move away and the owner scoffs.

“Should have been done two fucking hours ago.” The waitress turns but doesn’t say anything else, quickly scurrying away to whatever task they’re being bollocked over. You wait a little awkwardly to be noticed, standing close enough that it should be obvious you’re waiting yet he doesn’t catch on at all, just continues staring sharply after his employees. So eventually you just sigh, changing position to be right in front of him.

“...Excuse me?” You try, feeling anxiety cool your veins. He glances at you equally as harsh, the annoyed expression on his face not shifting but dulling enough to be customer friendly.

He looks you up and down trying to figure out what the hell you want. You look too young to be a parent and too old to be a kid, his brows raise as he thinks about how young adults aren’t exactly his target market. “What?” It’s about as blunt as you’d expect and you smile awkwardly, feeling the pressure to be overly pleasant and steer this conversation to a habitable place.

“Are you…” You look down to the notebook in your hand wanting to make sure you get his first name right, “William Afton, the uh owner?” He smirks a little, trying to look down at the paper as well, and see what you’ve got written down that is clearly about him. He can’t manage it from the angle and you soon turn the paper to your skin anyway.

“Depends. Who are you?” That’s a yes, then, you think to yourself, though you already knew from your eavesdropping. This is beginning to feel like a bad idea, the vibes off this man are sceptical at best and the last thing you need right now is to be manhandled out of here. He raises his hand in an impatient shrug when you don’t answer quick enough, making you fumble for your work lanyard around your neck with your paper’s logo and then you give him your name.

He hums in such a way that you can’t tell if it’s good or bad, so you try to explain yourself just to fill the silence. “I was hoping to ask you some questions. About the missing children who were last seen here.”

At the phrase “missing children” his eyes swiftly find yours and you gulp, if he’s trying to scare you off it just might work because right now you not only wish that you weren’t here, but also that you weren’t assigned the story, Hell that you didn’t take journalism at uni. Your face must have betrayed you because he laughs, standing up straight.

“And what questions do you have for me, huh?” There’s an accusation to his tone that backfoots you even more. He’s struggling to keep the amusement from his expression because you must be a pretty shitty reporter to get spooked this easily. But that'll just make you more fun to play with.

“Just about how the uh events have affected business…” You’re barely sound professional and the owner still doesn’t look convinced, so you continue, “It won’t take long, 15 minutes tops, I can see you’re a busy man.” You smile at the end in an effort to sell the flattery a bit more, and as sweet as you look, he knows you’d probably jump out of your skin at the word boo right now.

He shakes his head slightly, not necessarily at you or himself, just at the situation overall. Course you didn’t come in an hour ago and catch Henry, obviously not, but at least this will get him away from work for a little while, which he needs before someone gets on his nerves enough to get fired. You stand waiting for him to answer, your lip pinched between your teeth, it’s that nervous habit that props him to say yes.

“This’d better be an interesting 15 minutes, sweetheart.” You sigh in relief, hopeful that you’ll finally get something to put in an article, but that relief soon evaporates when you realise that the work isn’t over yet. “Through there.” He nods to the staff door he entered the room through and you smile politely, walking over to it with him.

“Thank you, Mr Afton, I really appreciate it.” You quickly blurt out your gratitude as he types in a code to open the door, then holds it open for you, but all pleasantries dry up on your tongue when you notice his knuckles are skinned and badly too, it looks recent. Because you’ve stopped dead he looks down at you with a cocked eyebrow, grinning when he notices what you’re staring at. You shake your head at your obviousness, panicking to play it off somewhat cool.

“Accident at work?” You ask as you fully enter the much darker corridor, which only gets more dim when the door closes behind him.

Your smile is noticeably strained as you look at him for a response, he meets your eyes and just says, “No.” in a menacingly matter of fact way. God, you think to yourself, this guy is scary, how the fuck does he work with kids? You mouth ‘oh’, playing with your hands to try and steady the growing worry nestling in your gut. 99% of your brain is saying to just leave it and face your boss’s wrath, but the foolish 1% arguing that it can’t get any worse is much too vocal.

“Keep going. We’re going right to the back.” He pulls you out your thoughts and you obey, skin prickling under his gaze as you walk ahead of him down this staff hallway that seems to be very much lacking staff. The two of you continue until you run out of corridor, a choice between a room on the left or right making you halt. William chooses before you can ask, opening the left door and again propping it for you.

You smile some gratitude his way as you step through the gap, the close proximity between his bigger frame and yours making you shiver in something akin to fear.

“Are you cold?” He asks and you get the feeling that he’s mocking you.

Ignoring it you move on. “Uh a little. Cold and dark back here, huh?” You answer, happy that you did wear your jacket after a toss up about leaving it in the car.

“And quiet.” He adds, walking past you to take a seat on the chair at the desk in the centre of the room. This office is sparsely decorated and as intimidating as the man it likely belongs to.

You hesitate to sit yourself, your internal dialogue finally voicing your doubts about this conversation. “... You know, if you’d rather not have this conversation, it’s okay. I’d hate to think I've put you out…” You trail off but the man doesn’t say anything, just continues looking at you, a slight smile grazing his face. At his lack of reaction you shrug, exasperated.

“What gave you that impression?” He speaks with amusement, and you very nearly scoff. What gave you that impression? He can’t be serious, he’s been evidently unhappy with your intrusion since the beginning and it’s starting to feel like he’s just trying to scare you off.

So you say as such. “I don’t know, you don’t seem happy.”

William chuckles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He’s been enjoying making you uncomfortable, the widening of your eyes has made his cock hard and he sure as hell isn’t finished yet. But he’ll reel it in for now, lest you try and leave. “That’s just the way I am, sweetheart. There’s a reason why I don’t do the radio ads.” He flashes you a business smile, sitting back in the chair.

You visibly relax a bit at the half joke, satisfied with the explanation that his odd behaviour is just an eccentric personality but you still feel on edge. The only thing keeping you in the room is your work, after all this you need something to show for it, and this guy feels like a golden ticket.

“I take it, that’s your partner’s role… Henry Emily?” You ask as you pull out the chair on the other side of the desk, hoping that sitting down will force him to look anywhere else other than your body.

He scoffs a little, “Sure. You didn’t have to look at your notes for his name.” He observes, with an accusatory tone to the words. Sensing bad blood you present him your palms in some kind of surrender.

“I’ve just never heard of anyone with Emily as their last name. Stuck with me.” You explain, thinking about how much of a nightmare this ballbuster must be to work for.

Looking at him, you find it difficult to read the stern expression on his face, having to look away when he meets your gaze head on. Only looking back at the shuffling sound of him moving the seat back and thudding his shoes on the desk, resting his feet there in a very unprofessional way.

“You’re lucky you caught me today, Henry can be… funny with pretty young lasses like you.” He considers the word funny and you catch the meaning straight away. If the other guy is “funny” you don’t know what the hell to call this.

“Lucky me.” You mutter, sarcasm dripping from the words. You didn’t exactly want him to hear that but the grin on his face tells you that he did. It doesn't miss you that this is a pretty handsome bloke, a silver fox, some might say. But the only silver you see is the glinting of a metallic tooth.

At the beat of silence, he interrupts your thoughts. “You gonna ask me your questions or not?” You blink, quickly reaching for your notepad and pen, fumbling all the way. Whilst you do he smirks to himself at how you probably should have done your shirt up another button because he can see the fabric of your bra peeking over. Not that he minds.

You eventually manage, getting your papers sorted and glancing up to find that the bloke’s eyes had been on you the entire time. “The uh 26th of June, the day the five children went missing, were you there?” You’ve rehearsed these questions a bunch and they’re written down in front of you, but you still struggle to get it out, sounding pathetic and uncertain. And whilst that may be how you feel, this guy doesn’t have to know that.

Amusement doesn’t leave his features for a second, “Course I was.” He answers bluntly.

“And… Did you know any of the victims?” You glance at the sheet with the five names on it, ready to give him them if he needs prompting.

“Victims?” You curse the choice of words, technically no crimes had occurred, no individual had been found, these kids might not be victims at all. Well of anything more than complete and utter negligence from parents and restaurant staff. But you know as well as him that five children don’t just disappear without anyone having seen them.

You stumble, “The children. Gabriel, Susan-”

He cuts you off, speaking somewhat meanly. “I don’t make a habit of befriending little kids.” At this point he’s trying to make you feel stupid, and it’s working enough that you glare at him. Poor thing must be getting whiplash, he thinks to himself, you react so plainly to everything he says it’s just delightful. You’re about to give up and move on but he continues, “But I seen them on the day. Recognised some of the pictures the police shown me.” Well that’s the answer you were looking for in the first place, the smug bastard.

Nodding you veer off track, curiosity spurring your question, “You were interviewed by police?”

He laughs incredulously, not liking the implications of your questioning. “We all were. Hell, I was fucking liable for it, had to hire more security staff.”

You continue through your list of questions; what other measures did you put in place? Has the incident affected business? How do you personally feel about the events? And your staff? Each question is answered nonchalantly, a mixture of apparent boredom and sharpness to his responses. You long to ask him if he was this compliant for police, ‘this’ being the bare fucking minimum. Which you suppose could be down to him having to answer all this many times by now. But for some reason it still doesn’t sit right with you.

After about twenty minutes you’ve got enough to finally put this assignment to bed, which you thank god for at this point. Now you can get away from this man and the gross feeling you get when he locks eyes with you.

“I think that’ll do it, Mr Afton.” You try to smile politely, though it probably comes off wobbly. “Uh, thank you for your time.” You add, not wanting to irritate him anymore than you likely already have.

William nods, taking his feet off the desk and standing. You assume he’s going to get the door for you or something, so you gather your sheets up and push your chair back. Or you try to. Because you instantly bump into his figure behind you, his foot catching the wheels. From above you he can see how your brows immediately knit, confused, scared whatever it is.

And when you turn to see what he’s doing he angles himself so you’re eye to eye, so to speak, with the bulge in his trousers. Physically jolting in your chair, you almost feel sick. You knew something about this was very wrong and like a fucking idiot you went along with it. And now you’re all alone in a back office with a scary bloke and his fucking boner. You open your mouth to speak, forcing yourself to not turn again, but you let it die when he gets there first.

“So we’re all done? I’ve given you what you need.” The way he speaks is loaded with intention and it has your legs pressing together, you want to shiver but force yourself into stillness, “But you've not given me anything in return. What are we going to do about that, huh?”

Your mouth is dry, making it hard to form some words. “I-I think you’ve got the wrong idea-”

“Really?” He asks with heavy mock surprise, sucking air through his teeth in a pitying way. You go to continue but a harsh hand suddenly finds grip in your hair, jerking your head to the side so the tent in his trousers is shoved against the side of your face. His body heat is the first thing you register and you instantly repel, pushing your chair back into him hard and panicked.

He lets you rive yourself free, watching amused as you almost violently turn round, bumping into the desk behind you, your chest heaving with shaky breath. “I had no idea you thought that… that’s- No. No.” You babble excuses trying to de-escalate this futilely, hardly even noticing the cruel way he laughs at you.

“Uh huh.” He nodded in faux understanding, god the way you look right now, ravaged by panic, makes his cock twitch. William steps close to you and you quiver in response, you’d give anything to be at home, hell anywhere else really, anywhere away from the reality of the dark look in the eyes of the man invading your personal space. “Come on, love. I’ll make it good for you.”

As he speaks his hand roughly cups your breast, your bra doing nothing to disguise the harshness of the touch and you exhale staggeringly from your nose. You try to pull away but his body keeps you there against the desk, his other hand firmly groping your arse. Your body is responding to him but your mind is screaming, it just feels dangerous and wrong and no fluttering in your core can make up for that.

“Please…” You mutter, your hand pulling at the wrist whose fingers are so intent on prying under your bra.

He chuckles, easily flicking your hand away and pushing you back on to the desk behind you, forcing you to prop yourself up briefly. It feels like you exist in slow motion because all of a sudden you’re patting along the desktop searching for something to defend yourself with, instinct fully kicking in. Eventually your fingertips brush the spine of a book and the realisation of what you’re about to do is electric in your veins. It comes easily, the movement fluid as you grip the book and slam it hard between his ribs, using your feet to push him away in his vulnerable state. The pained grunt from him is all the confirmation you need to get to your feet and run to the door, throwing yourself out of the room.

“Jesus… fucking…” He winces, turning himself to see the door close behind you. That hurt like hell, winded him even, you crafty little shit. It’s as he’s trying to get his bearings back, he realises that he probably went too far. Fuck, you won’t get very far without the doorcode, he’ll have to follow you out there.

You get halfway down the corridor before you see the keypad illuminated by the red LED above it, you can’t go back out there, but what fucking else are you suppose to do? You turn around quickly, desperately scanning the hall for anywhere else to go, a fire door or something but no. There’s only the other internal rooms. It takes you a moment to think clearly over the thrumming of your blood but you finally decide on hiding, getting yourself inside one of these rooms and playing the waiting game. This is a restaurant after all, someone else will have to come down here eventually and you can have them open the door for you. It’s the only option.

You try a few of the doors but find them locked, your frantic searching making the tightness in your chest worse and worse, until you see a heavy metal looking door with a ‘private’ sign on it. The keys are still sticking out the lock.

By the time he can breathe comfortably enough to go after you, you’re nowhere to be found. He expected you to be standing by the door, perhaps holding another weapon, but no, you’re not there. He frowns, confusion washing over him before he realises that you must seriously be hiding, it makes him laugh. Come on, it’s not like he was going to hurt you. Much.

The room you’re in is completely pitch black, so much so that you can’t tell if it’s huge or just the illusion of the dark. You stay close to the door, watching the tiny stream of light peeking out from under the door, you watch it like a hawk, waiting for that psycho to walk past. His footsteps are light, but you can just catch them, what’s more suspect is the jiggling of door handles, exactly what you did seconds ago. The thought scares you into action, you’ll have to hide more, there must be somewhere in this room you can stay out of view, so you feel around in the darkness, hands outstretched so you don’t bump into anything. You find shelves separating the room into two halves and as you go around them your fingers brush something big.

You can feel the presence of something huge in front of you, you trace the cold metal shape, your hands shaking as you feel the dip of an arm. The fright of it makes you flinch away, catching something sticking out from the shelf and it clatters noisily to the floor.

The sound echoes, your pursuer flinching at the suddenness of it, he turns to the direction it came from and scowls. He’s a fucking idiot for leaving it open, but you, you’re more of an idiot for going in.

As soon as his hand touches the door handle you cower behind the shelves, hoping the dark will be to your advantage but, knowing the place so well, WIlliam finds the light switch easily. And just like that your plan crumbles to fucking dust.

Straight away you begin imploring him, stumbling to your feet and distraughtly babbling when his tall figure shuts the door, the metal clanging of the keys immediately following.

With wide eyes you beg him, “Look… I’m sorry, okay? I really am- I don’t want any trouble-”

“Well, you’ve fucking found it.” He says jeeringly, a visible tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there before making your hands clammy. “Don’t you know better than to trespass in private areas? You never know what you might stumble across-”

“What?” You interrupt, your voice frenzied and threatening to drop any ties to sensibility you have left, “An old store room? The secrets of the trade? I don’t care- I didn’t-” Your barely sensicle plea is cut short by the starling way he moves towards you, fiercely grabbing your arm and spinning you round to look at the half-formed animatronic you had touched. You stare perplexed, before he sighs and a grip takes root on the back of your next, shoving you across the room in front of another decommissioned suit. There he forces you down on your knees and the very second the concrete bruises your skin, your airways are filled with the most vile stench.

The smell is wrong and your body rejects it instantly, making you gag as you fall back onto your behind, scrambling to get away from it. If you were scared before, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror you feel now. Your eyes are watering from the stench but even through the blurr you make out the dull copper pool that the suit is sitting in. You retch again, this time making him laugh, you stupid little girl.

“You get it now?” He speaks in a snide way, a sharpness in his tone forcing you to readjust to the gravity of this situation.

“...What is that?” Your voice trembles, hand coming to cover your nose. You know what it is, somewhere in your gut, deep-set in your dna you know. And it’s incomprehensible. The list of names you abandoned in his office flickers in your mind, making you dizzy.

The man above you scoffs, palming the erection in his trousers that was probably the hardest it had ever been, and he briefly thinks about how fucked up that is. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, watching how you stare at the evidence in front of you, your whole body shaking. Before eventually breaking it, “How’s that for your article?” He sniggers, the words dripping with venom.

You look up at him dumbstruck at what he was almost admitting, before panic-driven getting to your feet, struggling to stand anywhere near this disgusting man or the suit in the corner. The danger surrounding you feels suffocating, making it hard to speak. “I- fuck my article.” You laugh but it's touching hysteria as you step towards William before stepping back again, “I don't- I won't write anything, I want nothing to do with this. Just, please, let me leave.”

You search his face for any trace of humanity but it’s void, in its place a sadistic look that only amplifies at the horrified look on your face. As you continue glaring at him, he snickers, “Go on. Keep selling it.”

It feels more than impossible to keep yourself together, tears of futility are pricking your eyes as you think about whether people would look for you if you never leave this room. You gulp, “I just- want to go home.” You start slow but the words cause a landslide of begging, “I didn’t mean to offend you- I had no idea. I had no idea what would happen… I just wanted to do my- my job.” By the time you’re finished, you’re fully crying.

“Offend me?” He laughs meanly, “And to think you could have just spread your legs for me and you’d be home by now. But no,” He stops chuckling, as he looks you up and down in the most predatory way. “Now, you’re in here with me, wasting my time talking like I could just let you walk out of here.” He shakes his head.

“Please.” You try, but the unmoving look of resolution on his face shows you there’s no hope. He doesn’t feel sorry for you. He doesn’t want to give you mercy. You wrack your brain trying to think about what he does want and it settles on what landed you in here in the first place.

You step closer to him, praying that your knees will be strong enough to keep you up. He can practically see the cogs turning in your head as you look up at him, your mascara trailing down your cheeks. “I’ll-” You swallow, “I’ll do anything.”

“Oh yeah?” The sarcasm is palpable.

You nod frantically, falling into your last hope. You reach for him, hand shaking as you touch the hardness in his trousers. He watches you, finding immense joy in how weak you’ve become, all you needed was to see a little blood and your resolve shatters. You see his chest settle as he exhales, so you continue, grabbing him over the fabric and trying not to think about what you’re doing.

“That’s fucking pathetic.” He jeers, loving the way your lip trembles.

“I’ll do better.” You try, moving to his belt and pulling at the buckle. You’re taking too long to undo it, so he grabs you by the hair, pulling you away so he can do it himself. It makes you wince in pain, but you grit your teeth and bear it, moving with his grip onto your knees before he pulls again.

Your knees are bruised from earlier, yet that’s the furthest thing from your mind when you’re confronted by his dick, rock hard and big. He’s gifted and you wish you’d just gone along with him earlier, this is 1000x more dehumanising than a skeezy fuck in his office would have been. That thought must register on your face because he jerks your head towards him, roughly. Remembering the bed you’ve made for yourself, you wrap your hand around his length, quickly joining in your other hand and stroking him, forcing yourself not to look at him. He makes a noise you take as a good sign, so you continue.

Bringing your head closer to him, you run your tongue over his tip, struggling not to grimace at the salty taste of the precum on his cock. The enthusiasm you’re showing him is completely false, a plea for life on the flimsy idea that sucking him off well enough will be your freedom. Slowly you take his head in your mouth and he hisses, grinning in the victory of having you try so hard. You use your tongue to tease him, swirling it around as your hands stimulate him at the base, his groan involuntarily stirring your core. His grip on your hair flexes, impatient at your provocative action and you obey, hollowing your cheeks and taking as much of him as you can, gagging when his tip presses hard in the back of your throat. As you do he holds your head right there, revelling in the way you involuntarily contract around him. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the intrusion, straight away using your mouth like a toy, shoving his cock in and out in a rhythm that has you desperately clinging on to him silently begging for respite.

It’s brutal and when he finally pulls back, you gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the saliva trailing down your chin in the most humiliating way. Your jaw aches from the size of him and the moment for breath is near heavenly. He rubs himself on your lips and you’re not sure if the stickiness is him or you, but you take it, sticking out your tongue in a degrading manner that you assume is what he wants. You must be right because he grins.

“You’ve done this before, huh?” He sneers, his voice thick with restraint because he doesn't want to be done, not just yet. Not before he’s had a taste of your tight cunt.

You nod as much as you can not wanting your silence to be interpreted as insolence, still giving his cock your full attention, sucking him like you really really want it. But it must not be good enough, because he yanks your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks sharply.

“Get up.” The command is so firm that you don’t react for a moment, but once it’s registered you trip over yourself trying to obey. You know in your gut that the worst is yet to come.

You stand in front of him uncertainly, waiting for your next order. It comes in the form of a rough grip on your face, shoving you towards the wall and holding you strict there. William feels like a god with the terrified awe you look at him with, and he is a fucking god, he choses whether you live or die. Whilst mentally praising himself, he pulls your shirt open, ignoring the pop of the buttons and jerks your bra down, exposing your tits to the chill of the room, your nipples are peaked so nicely he can’t resist pumping his dick to the sight of them.

You stare transfixed at the view before you, too scared to even notice him tugging at your waistband, meanly pulling your trousers from you, set on having you completely vulnerable to him. Some kind of whimper leaves your lips when the clothing hits the floor, only becoming more pathetic when he cups your pussy, nastily pressing his thumb over your clit, it makes your body jolt with unwitting pleasure. You hate yourself for it, after what you’ve come to know how can your core be willing? It’s sick.

No, he’s sick, you force yourself to think and he keeps up stimulating you, eager to have you fall apart on his cock. You’re going to cry for him and you’re going to fucking love it. He forces your legs further apart and you shiver seeing him lined up with your hole, your slick is a mercy but you still resent it.

He grips your hip as he forces his cock inside you, making your walls accept him all at once, it hurts and you cry out as he sinks fully to the hilt. You feel full of him, not just your cunt but your blood, your head, like he owns you. The sizzling pain of the stretch fizzles down to a static ache once he starts moving, the difference in height forcing him to lift you up slightly, your weight nothing compared to the tight grip of your pussy.

You’re whining like an injured animal, letting him selfishly fuck you, his pace soon becoming as cruel as it is deep. Partially disassociating all you can think is the rough snap of his hips, punctuated by the clinking of what you assume is his belt. He tilts the angle of your hips so you’re squeezing around him more, rubbing your bundle of nerves maliciously as his tip bruises the part of you that makes you see white.

“There she is.” He hisses in your face, not relenting for a moment. “That’s how you fucking like it.” As vile as his taunting is, it's based in truth because you can’t deny the unwilling knot in your core that’s strangling you with the need to snap. And it does, your body going stiff with the intensity of it, it’s all-consuming, inescapable as it seizes you entirely.

He can’t help but explode inside you at the feeling of your walls grasping around him, you go limp in his grip as he fucks you through his end, shoving his cum further and further into you.

Your ears are ringing as you come to your senses, well, what’s left of them. You’re full of him, his filthy release trickling down your leg. William looks to the side as he gets through his climax, keeping himself wrapped in your heat, his eyes narrowing as a dark thought rears its head: he’s got bigger suits… maybe you’ll fit.

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf william afton #fnaf movie #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #tw non con #cw non con

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impala-dreamer · 1 month

Text

The Beat Of Your Heart

A Supernatural Story

~ Friends become lovers who turn into the darkest evil that one can endure... ~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader; Michael!Dean x F!Reader

8,587 Words

NSFW, Fluff, Cute Banter, Friends To Lovers, There Was Only One Bed!?, All the Sex, Passionate Love, Hope, *record scratch*, Extreme Angst, Violence, NonCon, Torture, Blood, Major Character Death

For @jacklesversebingo “Friends to Enemies to Lovers” square

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

She wasn’t bound by metal or rope. He hadn’t held her down with force or threatened her obedience with a blade. He had simply invited her to sit in the plush white armchair in front of the large wall of windows and she’d complied.

As the sky darkened over the Chicago skyline, she sat with a blank expression, utterly frozen by fear. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and she held her hands clasped in her lap. She waited for him to speak, to move, to attack- she had no idea what was coming and it terrified her more than the icy flight he’d taken her on.

Ripped off her feet in the middle of the street, he’d wrapped an arm around her middle and taken to the skies. The air was frigid; his grip unyielding. She’d hid her face from the cold, cringing into the lapels of his coat, and held on as tightly as she could.

Minutes? An hour? A Day? She had no idea how long they moved through the clouds, but it was long enough to say a prayer and beg for help.

There was no answer except his callous laughter in her ear.

“They’re not coming to save you.”

Those were the only words he’d spoken before and since.

Y/N watched as he got comfortable. He took off his cap and carefully shed his coat. The ensemble was strange and only added to the unease in her gut.

Dean would never wear something so tailored, so proper.

Michael wore it well.

He paid her no mind while walking around the posh suite. He hung his coat in the closet and placed his cap on the empty shelf above the rail. He checked his countenance in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair, setting it back in place after the long, windy flight.

Y/N let her eyes turn to the room. Despite his seeming familiarity with the area, the place seemed untouched. The bed was made with crisp corners and perfect lines. Every fiber of the white carpet was fluffed and in place; every pillow on the couch was plump. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany wood, interspersed with calming muted blue trim and highlights. Prints of black and white cities hung catty corner on the walls by the door, and dual vases of tall white orchids framed the large bed. Everything was in perfect order, fit for a celebrity in residence.

The seating area she occupied held a bar to the left and Michael busied himself there, filling two crystal glasses halfway with scotch.

He held one up to the window, letting the evening sun shine through. He turned it slowly and a tiny rainbow swept across his cheek.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, or him.

Michael’s eyes turned to her and narrowed. He rounded the bar and offered her the glass in his right hand. She hesitated but ultimately took it. One last drink for the doomed.

“I’ve never had a taste for alcohol,” Michael said, settling into the chair opposite her. “But Dean’s… tongue seems to enjoy it.”

She shivered at the name, at the idea that Dean was sitting there but not. That Dean’s voice was speaking to her but not. She raised her glass and mustered up the courage to go down without giving him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

“To your health,” she toasted.

He grinned and lifted his tumbler. “To yours.”

Michael took a delicate sip, but Y/N drank hers down in three hard gulps, hoping the sting would clear her head and the alcohol would steel her nerves.

“Gluttony… How quaint.”

Michael never seemed to blink. His eyes stayed clear and focused on her face no matter how she reacted or moved.

“Yeah, well, I was thirsty.” She clung to the glass as if it were the only thing holding her together. Her fingers tensed so tightly over the intricate designs cut into the sides, she wondered if she would bleed. “So, this is your… lair or whatever?”

He laughed gently at the term. “It’s just a room.”

Y/N nodded and looked away as if scanning the decor. “You bring all your victims here?”

Michael took another drink. “Only the special ones.”

“I’m special?” Y/N managed an impressed laugh. “Well, at least I got that goin’ for me.” She went to take another sip and remembered she was out of scotch. Holding up the glass, she shook it a bit and nodded towards the bar. “You mind?”

Michael nodded slowly and Y/N managed to peel herself off the chair and walk on shaky legs to the bar.

“Do you not think you are special?” he asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder at her.

“Not at the moment, no.” Y/N unscrewed the bottle and tipped it into her glass. She drank it down quickly and refilled. Drunk was better than feeling the pain of whatever was coming.

“Dean certainly believed that you were. He… begged me not to harm you.”

His words stung her deep and she knocked back a third shot.

“Oh?”

“He’s… struggling even now.” Michael rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “He’s screaming… beating his fists… ordering me to set you free.”

Y/N swallowed back the hurt and guilt. “Yeah, that sounds like Dean.” A fourth pour filled her glass. “He probably won’t stop, so maybe you should just vacate and go about your business in another suit.”

Michael exhaled sharply and the lights flickered. His hand opened and closed over the arm of the chair, tensing over the fabric in an attempt to calm himself.

He growled. “Come sit, Y/N.”

She grabbed the bottle and followed his command.

Michael set his unfinished scotch on the glass coffee table next to them and sat back, his spine straight, his face a cool mask of authority.

“You need to contain your… attitude.”

The sharpness in his voice forced fear to coat her skin. Goosebumps rose on her arms and chest as she sat down, pressing as far into the back of the chair as she could.

“Hard not to be sassy when you’re on your deathbed.” She hid her shaking hand by gripping the glass and taking a heavy sip. “Kinda wanna go out with a bang.”

She expected anger to follow, but Michael tipped his head to the side, curiously staring at her.

“You are special, aren’t you?” He leaned forward a bit, peering deeper into her soul.

Y/N could feel the prying gaze as if he were methodically peeling back her being layer by layer. A tightness closed around her heart and she held her breath for fear of crying out.

“Dean was right in that assertion.” Michael dipped his chin and his eyes glowed a faint blue as a trickle of his Grace seeped free. “I have no concept of physical beauty, but… your… soul is quite intriguing. Your mind…”

The intrusive feeling worked its way up to her head and Y/N felt as if her brain were swelling. A migraine-like throbbing began at her temples and she shut her eyes tight.

“...Very impressive…” He licked his lips slowly as if tasting her essence. “Not overly intelligent, but you do make up for it in… what do they say? Personality.”

She wanted to snap back with a witty dig, but the pain worsened. His Grace prodded her mind and the throbbing grew worse, spreading across her scalp and localizing between her eyes. The bottle and glass fell to the floor as she grabbed her head. The amber liquid ran free, soaking into the pure white carpet.

Pain spread like fire through a labyrinth, following the pathways between the gray matter of her brain. “S-stop!”

Impressed, Michael’s mouth turned up in a half smile, and he dug in deeper.

“The way your human brains work is so… fascinating.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, unable to focus. She clawed at the sides of her head, desperate to ease the pain or at least divert it.

“Electrical impulses shoot through every cell, keeping the brain alive… controlling the body… but the real you- your… soul… is in there as well.”

Nausea struck her and Y/N doubled over, dry heaving with her head between her knees. “Please! Stop…”

“What you perceive as ‘You’ is crammed up in the folds and crevices of your physical brain and yet… If I take you away… The brain still functions.”

She hit the floor with a trembling cry. The vice in her head was tightening and she was sure she’d be gone in less than a minute.

“So what good is your soul, Y/N?” he asked, falling to one knee and hovering over her. Curled in the fetal position, she had no defenses against his hand, or the Grace he pushed harder into her skull. “What are you if not a heavenly battery?” Michael traced a finger slowly down her cheek and the pain stopped.

With a gasping breath, she sat up and scrambled away. She coughed hard, blinked to clear her vision, and tried to stand. Her legs were numb, her arms practically useless. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, barely a whisper above her tears.

Michael spread his hands in a holy gesture. “Because I can. Because it’s slowly killing your lover.”

Her eyes went wide. Tears stung but she refused to look away. “Dean?”

“Yes.” Michael smiled softly. “He’s fighting me. Clawing at me.” He sighed. “He wants you safe but… I think this is more fun.”

Her stomach churned. “This is fun for you?”

He shrugged. “Not really, but it is amusing hearing him beg for your life.” Michael closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Dean plead and threaten. “So sad.”

Panting, Y/N fell forward onto her hands and knees. She was as close to him as she dared get, and she grit her teeth, hoping Dean could hear her.

“Fuck. You.”

Michael laughed.

“You pathetic excuse for an archangel.” Her body ached but she pushed on, watching the twitch in his jaw as his anger surged. “I’ve met angels. Hell, I fucked one once. But you- you are no angel…”

Electric blue flashed through his eyes and Michael sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

Y/N pushed herself up, rising as he did. “Oh, I am. You distorted, alternate universe, bland Xerox copy of an angel.” She swayed on her feet but defiance kept her upright even as Michael towered over her. “I’m amazed you can even possess Dean, you weak excuse for the Commander of the Holy Hosts.”

Having had enough of her, Michael lifted his left hand and sent Y/N flying back towards the window with a burst of ethereal strength. Her scream echoed through the room, covered only by the sound of glass as it shattered around her.

Pushed through the window, Y/N felt a moment of pure weightlessness before gravity took hold. Her body was pulled by the ground and she began to plummet the twenty-seven stories to the cement below.

She held her breath against the rushing wind and the sting of a million shards of glass cutting into her flesh.

She stared up into the pink dusk of sunset and said goodbye to the world, to Dean, to everything above and below.

“Holy shit!” Y/N doubled over, hands clutching her knees as she panted, amazed and out of breath from the fight. “That was insane.”

Dean rushed up behind her. His boots came into view and Y/N looked up in time to see him collapse against the Impala’s hood. He leaned back and exhaled heavily. His face was splashed in blood; the left pocket of his green canvas jacket torn by fangs.

She cringed and reached for his pocket. “Did it bite you?”

Swallowing hard, Dean shook his head and reached into the canvas. “No. Just took a chunk out of my damn phone.” He pulled the useless thing out and flashed her the screen. It was punctured by a single hole that shattered the glass in a thick web.

“Well, it’s… just a screen,” she said hopefully. “They can replace it.”

With an annoyed brow lifted, Dean flipped the device over and showed the three additional holes piercing through the phone.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed.

He rolled his eyes and shoved the ruined cell back into his pocket. “Fucking dogs.”

Y/N’s initial shock returned and her jaw dropped. “Right? Have you ever seen a pack of demon-possessed dogs before? How- What?”

Dean laughed this time. “I have not.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and pulled away a glob of fur and blood. “Ew.”

Y/N tried to politely hide the fact that she nearly gagged as he flicked the muck aside.

“You’ve got a bit…” He pointed at her throat and then gestured to his own, showing her where to search.

“Oh, come on!” She beat at the side of her neck and smacked the mess away. “So gross!”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

Dean looked from her to the house they’d left behind and shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

Laughter trickled between them.

“I’m glad you called,” Dean said offhandedly as his gaze returned to her. “I’d hate to hear through the grapevine that you’d been ripped to shreds by a pack of wild purebreds.”

Y/N ran a hand over her hair and tugged at her ponytail, tightening the elastic. “I’m so confused. Why purebred poodles? Why?”

Dean shook his head and bit his lip, just as confused. “Wish I could tell you I understood this shit. I don’t. I just kill it.”

She let out a heavy breath and lay a hand on her chest. “Fuck, my heart is beating so fast!” Amazed, she took a step closer to Dean. “Feel it-” Taking his hand, she covered her heart.

He could feel it pounding, racing to restore blood flow to the proper areas while her muscles relaxed. “Damn…”

He didn’t move to pull back and she didn’t cringe. They stood in the newborn quiet for a moment, just enjoying the fact that they were alive and the problem had been solved.

When awkward struck hard, Dean smiled shyly and took a step back.

Y/N coughed a bit under her breath and looked away.

He cleared his throat.

“So, yeah-”

“You wanna-”

He froze. “I’m sorry?”

She laughed. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go grab some food. I’m strangely starving.”

Dean exhaled away a breath of worry and licked his lip. “As long as you’re buyin’ I’m eatin’.” He fished the car keys from his pocket and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Me?” Y/N followed to the car, yanking open the passenger door with a loud creak of metal on metal. “I saved your life in there, man. I think you owe me.”

He paused with one foot in the car and squinted over the roof. “Who saved who now?”

“I saved you,” she said again, hopping in. “That hair-bowed bitch had you by the short an’ curlies before I got to you.”

The leather crackled under his weight and the door eeked shut. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did.”

He turned the key and shot her a look over his shoulder as she settled into the seat. She was sassy and cute, and only slightly annoying. He liked hanging out with her, so he’d give her this one.

“Well…” The engine roared to life and he cranked it into gear. “Thanks.”

Y/N rolled down the window and took a breath of fresh air. A smile lit her lips and she sighed happily. He was fun. Annoying and stupid at times, but brave and kind. She liked being around him, so she decided not to push it too far. But a little never hurt anybody.

“You can thank me with extra cheese.”

Dean laughed. “Deal.”

Y/N woke with a gasping scream, finding herself safe on the plush mattress and not splattered like a bug on the Chicago pavement.

Michael was nearby, tinkering with something on the dresser by the foot of the bed.

She cleared her throat and felt each rip her screams had caused. “What happened?”

Michael turned his head, slowly looking over his shoulder at her. “You were angering me, so I stopped you.”

Her heart was racing, terror pulsing through her limbs. She sat up against the pillows. “You- You pushed me out of the fucking window!”

The glass-less window showed her the truth, letting in cold streams of air and the faint sounds of traffic below.

“I did warn you.”

The icy air hit her skin and Y/N looked down to see that she was naked. A hundred tiny cuts marred her arms and neck, but they no longer bled. Michael had healed them enough to keep her alive. He’d saved her from being crushed by gravity and concrete, but for what?

Y/N hugged her chest and crossed her legs, hiding her body as best she could.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, calmer yet trembling.

Michael turned around and she saw that his clothing had been reduced to a simple white t-shirt and plain white boxers. She shivered at the sight. Dean’s broad shoulders, muscular arms, thick thighs- but it was wrong. So wrong.

“I wasn’t finished with you,” he replied simply. “I’m not through… examining you.”

Her stomach flipped. “Examining me?”

“Studying… observing… experimenting.”

The word dried her mouth, tugged at her heart, flashed horrific scenes behind her eyes. “What- what are you going to do to me?”

A bit of metal flashed in his hand as he approached. He held the scalpel tight between two fingers and knelt on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight and Y/N cowered higher up against the padded headboard.

“I’ve looked into your mind, Y/N.”

He came closer and fear blurred her vision.

“I’ve tasted your soul.”

Unexpectedly, he reached over and set the blade down on the nightstand. Y/N held her breath as he bridged over her body, refusing to sully the memory of Dean’s scent.

“Now I want to know the rest of you.”

Her brow furrowed with question but it was soon answered. Michael lay his palm against her cheek and Y/N shivered at the cool touch. Slowly, he dragged his fingers down to grip her chin and lift it upward.

“I want to know… why Dean thinks you are so… incredible that he’s willing to trade his life… for yours.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”

Michael grinned devilishly and pressed his lips to hers.

The intimacy was torture.

She remembered the push of Dean’s lips, every line of his chapped skin, the rhythm, the taste. Michael’s kiss was different. There was no swift breath escaping to float across her cheek; no desperate pressure behind it, no hunger. It was clinical, as if Michael had studied a textbook explaining the basic mechanics of the act.

When he pulled back, he cocked his head and peered down at Y/N as if she had done something wrong.

“It’s… rather… pointless, isn’t it?” he asked.

Y/N stiffened and tried to squirm away, but Michael placed a heavy hand on her stomach, halting any movement.

“What is?”

“Kissing,” he clarified. “It’s crude and unsanitary.”

She couldn’t help but laugh under her breath. “If you think that’s unsanitary, you should try oral.”

His eyes widened with the sparkling idea and Y/N shook her head quickly.

“No. No. It was… just a joke. You’re so right. Kissing is disgusting. I hate it. I hate kissing.”

“Dean recalls that you enjoyed it.” He bent down again, this time letting his breath coast across her lips. “He has many memories of your body, your… lips… the way you kissed him. He appeared to savor it.”

Again, he kissed her. This time, he drew from the memories he had stolen from his host, and the kiss was warmer, deeper. She shuddered when his tongue pushed through her lips, cringed when he licked the roof of her mouth. She wouldn’t engage, refusing to kiss him back. When he wouldn’t relent, she shoved at his chest and he pulled back, eyes bright with rage.

“Did you not learn from your skydive earlier?” He grabbed the offending hand and twisted her wrist. The bone cracked and Y/N screamed as he shoved her arm into the pillow by her head. “Do not resist me.”

Pain splintered up her arm and heat swelled around her wrist. She had felt worse before, but it had never been his hands, never been his face.

“Please…”

She cried through a heavy sob but Michael was unmoved by her pain.

Continuing his investigation, Michael licked at her lips once more. His lips trailed across her jaw and settled on her throat. “You will not fight me,” he warned. He pressed his lips against her pulse and closed his eyes, listening to the artery work. “You will submit.”

Y/N’s skin crawled and rebellion raged inside her. Dean wouldn’t want her to lay there helplessly whimpering. He’d tell her to fight no matter what.

“If you gotta go, go down swinging.”

She took a breath and brought her knee up as fast and hard as she could, jamming it into his crotch.

The angel fell back, not in pain, but surprise.

He straightened up and grit his teeth, seething. The lights flickered and Y/N braced herself for whatever punishment she had coming.

Instead of widespread pain doled out by invisible force, Michael balled his fist and swung at her. Unprepared, Y/N didn’t even attempt to move out of the way, and his knuckles sunk into her cheek.

Another jolt of pain, another snapped bone. She screamed behind the hand he closed over her mouth.

Leaning back down, Michael inched close to her face, green eyes twitching over the skin, watching as the blood vessels ruptured and oozed beneath the surface.

“Miraculous…”

It wasn’t just the pain, she could handle that.

It was the way his eyes ticked over her face. The eyes that she loved, now utterly corrupted.

It was the way his knuckles broke through her bones. The knuckles she had so often kissed, now brought devastation.

It was the way his face contorted with clinical interest; the way words fell from familiar lips with otherworldly cadence. The voice she had loved her whole life, the lips she had kissed a thousand times, the face she dreamt of every night: it was infected with all the evil that Heaven could produce.

Sick with pain, but flooded with spirited, dumb courage, Y/N pulled back her lips and sank her teeth into Michael’s palm.

The punishment was severe.

Another broken bone, another prodding investigation as the welt blossomed on her nose and her right eye sealed shut.

“You will behave.”

Out of hope, Y/N agreed. “Yes. I’m- I’m sorry. I’ll behave!” Her voice sounded foreign, so defeated and raspy she barely recognized herself.

Michael’s eyes glowed a bright, piercing blue. “I know you will.”

She felt it again, that startling and somehow arousing burst of sensation as his Grace flowed into her. It worked on her instantly: stretching her arms out across the bed and spreading her legs wide. It locked her head in place and pulled her jaw slack. Not a muscle could move by her will, not a sound could be made except the quick, panting breaths that left her lips.

She was frozen, held captive by his heavenly magic.

Her eyes filled with tears as he straddled her hips, making himself more comfortable now that she was agreeable.

The blue faded back to green, but the Grace stayed inside of her, holding her still. Without her resistance, Michael was free to inspect every inch of her body, inside and out.

He reveled at the length and thickness of her eyelashes, plucking one from each open lid and tested them against each other.

He pulled her lips further apart and ran his fingers through her mouth, feeling each minuscule bump on her tongue, the cut of each tooth, the strands of muscles lining her throat.

Horror flashed through her eyes, unable to swallow or gag as he forced his hand deeper down her esophagus. With the passage obstructed, her breathing became heavy and labored. Her heart struggled and Michael counted each tick of the muscle.

“So… intricate.” His wet fingers traced her collarbone. “So mechanical, every bit of you.” Scooting down, Michael set his sights on her chest. He ran his palm across her right breast and marveled as her nipple hardened at his chilly touch. “Humans truly are works of art…” He toyed with it, pinching and flicking, tugging hard and rolling gently.

Y/N couldn’t shy away or even close her eyes as his unwanted touch continued.

Fascinated, Michael swirled his tongue over her nipple. Her skin warmed and he felt the faint increase in temperature. Moving to the left side, he bit down on her tit and watched as blood met the indentation. He groped both breasts, kneading and pinching like he’d seen Dean do in his memories.

Y/N couldn’t help the automatic flush of her body or the way her pussy throbbed and leaked. She could only pray that he wouldn’t notice, that he wouldn’t understand.

Michael felt everything. He heard the blood as it rushed to her sex, smelled the arousal, and sensed her heat rise.

“I have watched humans for eons… but never have I observed a body so… closely.”

Her eyes burned. She screamed inside.

Michael slid a hand down her body and pressed it flat between her thighs.

If she could have moved, she would have fought. She would have raged and kicked and thrashed at him. She would have fought until her body gave out and she had no choice but to jump through the broken window. She would have fallen happily.

His touch was worse than death.

The wetness he touched made his eyes widen and his lips curl into a rapt smile. He dipped his fingers into her cunt, pulling out the warm slick and examining it closely.

“How… wondrous.”

Falling down, Michael jabbed his tongue between her folds and lapped at her hole, sucking the wetness and swallowing it down. His angelic mind calculated every molecule, sorting out cells and mapping its creation. As he licked, he saw her pussy respond. Blood filled her clit, making it hard. The skin of her lips darkened. He watched the muscles clench and heard the blood pump.

“Blood… is everything, isn’t it?” He floated back up to look into her paralyzed face. “It is in every part of you, controlling your muscles, allowing your mind to churn, your cunt to ache. It’s… the perfect fluid.”

Y/N prayed for release. She called to Castiel, to Gabriel, to any and every angel she’d ever met and those whose names she’d only read on the thin pages of her father’s bible.

Michael wiped a tear from her cheek. “They cannot help you, Y/N.”

She called to Rowena; she screamed for Jack.

“No one can hear your prayers. You’re with me and I am hidden from all.”

He held her gaze, listening to her thoughts. In one final, pathetic attempt for help, she cried for Dean. If he was in there, if Michael could see Dean’s memory, then maybe Dean could see through his eyes.

Help me…

Michael laughed softly and kissed her forehead. “Nice try.”

Her heart beat against its cage, thrumming faster and harder as she realized there was no end to the torture and no cavalry on its way to save her.

Distracted by the pounding beat, Michael dropped his hand to her chest, covering her heart. He closed his eyes and felt each thump, heard the valves opening and closing, allowing the sacred wine to flow through.

“Blood…” he whispered, entranced by the rhythmic palpitations. “Each beat keeping you alive… and for what?”

“I’m so glad you called, Dean. It’s really nice to see you.”

Her whisper invaded his senses, making him temporarily forget that they were trapped in a closet together with death tiptoeing beyond the door. Dean held his breath when she looked up at him. In the dark, she looked so small and delicate, like a thing he needed to cradle and protect. The light streaming in through the seams of the door struck her face in the most beautiful ways, highlighting the curl of her lashes and the turn of her upper lip. She pressed in closer, simply trying to readjust herself in the cramped space, and Dean found himself against a rock and a soft place. His blood surged south and he had to shake the idea away lest she feel it too.

He cleared his throat gently and stood up straighter, hoping to give himself an inch or seven. “Yeah, well, you could have ignored the call.”

She let out a faint laugh. “I could have. But then where would we be?”

“Not hiding in this closet, that’s for sure.”

Y/N bit her lip and stared up at him as he squirmed. The light was hitting his chin and the long line of his neck. She could see the hint of a scar by his ear and the shadow of a beard creeping up. He looked so big like this. So broad and muscular, safe. She swallowed hard and prayed he couldn’t feel how hot she suddenly was.

“Jokes aside,” she whispered. “I am glad. I missed you.”

Her smile was soft and he wanted to press the tips of his fingers to her lips and feel the pull.

“Me too…”

Realization struck them both like lightning and for the first time in years, they were on the same page. Attraction hit like a tidal wave and they both jerked back as far as they could, taking to the tiny corners of the dusty old closet in the back of that long hall in that big house on a hill in Tannersville.

“Um… Dean?”

He breathed in deeply, instantly regretting it as the sweet perfume of her shampoo flooded his brain and made his mouth water. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking, maybe- I mean if we ever get outta here-”

An inconvenient fact reared its face and broke the moment. The witch they were dealing with threw something against a wall nearby and the closet shook. Her wretched screech echoed through the darkness and Dean jumped, pressing one hand to his ear and the other to his gun.

“How ‘bout we, uh- put a pin in this. Yeah?”

Y/N winced at the sharp pitch of the witch’s scream and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Murder first, chat later. Gotcha!”

“Hey, it’s not murder if she’s an evil bitch.”

“Let’s debate semantics later, shall we?” Y/N gripped her blade tight.

He grinned and reached for the doorknob. “After you…”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Always.”

The witch went down with more than a bit of a fight and the friends were too tired later for anything more than a drive-thru burger and a side of aspirin.

They stuffed their faces with grease and questionable meat; washed it all down with a few warm beers.

Dean managed to somehow smear ketchup on his ear and Y/N wiped it clear with the only remaining clean napkin.

Y/N burped so loud that it shook the bed and sent Dean into an impressive fit of laughter.

They took turns showering, and when Y/N was done, she found Dean setting up the couch like a bed, spreading out a spare blanket, and beating a pillow into submission.

She rubbed her hair with the shitty motel towel while watching him. He was down to a single layer of light blue boxers and a tight black tee. His hair was still damp from the shower and spiked up on the top like an early 2000s flashback. She stared a bit too long and was startled when he turned around.

“Have enough hot water?” he asked.

Y/N shrugged. “You didn’t quite use all of it. Most. But not all.”

He grinned and let his eyes fall down her body. She was ready for bed- braless in a purple tank top and loose cotton shorts. She flipped the wet towel onto the floor and Dean realized he was staring too much.

“You sure you don’t wanna get another room?” she asked, moving over to the bed and tugging the sheet down. “You shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

A dangerous idea sparked in his brain, but he pushed it away. Sure, he could insist on sharing the bed, but there was a line he was too afraid to cross. They’d been friends for so long, sharing thoughts and dreams over text messages. There had been hundreds of video calls late at night when the world was crashing down around them; casual meet-ups when monsters brought them to the same part of the country. Despite how he felt, she’d never given him a hint, so he kept his feelings to himself.

If he shared the bed, he knew he’d try something.

If he tried something, she’d have to respond.

If she rejected him- well, he wasn’t ready to ruin a friendship over a shitty motel room with only one bed.

“Nah,” he replied, turning back to the sofa. “I’ve slept on worse.”

Y/N shrugged as if she didn’t care where he slept, but inside she crumbled a bit. It was dumb to assume he’d want to share a bed with her, but she had hoped he might. Hope wasn’t a bad thing, just an annoying inconvenience that generally left her unsatisfied and listless. Hope kept her dreaming that someday he’d finally recognize the chemistry between them. Dreams made her long for his touch, praying that he’d rush at her, scoop her into his big arms, and kiss her so hard the whole world would fade away. Sure, she could make the first move but rejection was worse than hope.

“Cool.”

Dean hung his head. “Cool.”

Sleep was a lofty goal that neither could achieve.

The alarm clock on the nightstand was buzzing slightly as if electricity was leaking out of it and sizzling in the air. Y/N tried to ignore it, but the irritation kept her from shutting her brain off.

She rolled onto her left side and tucked the blanket between her legs. In the darkness, she could see Dean stretched out on the sofa. He was facing the door but she could make his perfect profile in the shadows. One hand was tucked beneath his head and the other rested on his stomach. Y/N watched it rise and fall with each breath, wondering what he was dreaming about.

She sighed and he shifted a bit, readjusting his hips.

Her exhale rang in his ears and Dean chewed his bottom lip as he stared at the ceiling. He’d fallen asleep twice, but each time his imagination pushed him awake. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream or his mind running wild, but he saw Y/N lying in his arms, face shimmering and lips wet. He felt her legs quake as he tasted her sweetness. Each time, he’d wake up with an aching cock and unrequited desire.

He huffed gently and she sat up on her elbow.

“You up?” she whispered, squinting at his silhouette.

Dean smiled to himself and waved at her over his head. “Why are you?”

“Dunno. Brain won’t shut up.” She threw back the blanket and the bed creaked as she swung her legs over the side. “Why are you?”

“Same.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and scratched at the tiny hairs on his jaw. “You wanna get a dr-”

Y/N was at his side before he knew it, biting her lip innocently as she knelt on the sofa.

His eyes went wide and he sat up a bit. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi.”

Without asking, she turned and moved to lay down beside him. Dean shifted, pressing himself into the back of the couch to give her room.

“This OK?” she asked, already settling down.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh. Yeah…”

She grabbed his hand and tugged his arm to fit around the curve of her waist.

“And this?”

He lay down and curled up behind her. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It took a moment for their bodies to relax, for their brains to interpret the closeness or register the meaning. Y/N nearly kicked herself for taking such a chance, but when she felt Dean relax against her back, she smiled. He pressed his face into her hair and took a breath, nearly moaning when he exhaled.

Y/N rolled her ass back just an inch, but it was enough to set him on fire. His mind was racing with a thousand imagined scenarios, all ending with her brilliant smile and his name on her lips. His fingers tensed on her stomach and she let out a tiny whimper.

Slowly, Dean dared to press his cheek against her ear. His hand moved up a fraction of an inch and Y/N dragged a finger across it, caressing his hand and up his arm.

He kissed her cheek.

She threaded her fingers into his.

He breathed hot against her ear.

She dragged his hand up her stomach, leading him up higher.

He sucked her earlobe between his lips.

She shivered and closed his palm over her breast.

He moaned.

She twisted her neck and found his lips, breaking their friendship with a deep kiss.

Dean licked into her mouth and his blood boiled, pushing every sensation into hyperdrive. Her lips felt like heaven, her touch was like fire. He palmed her tit, rolled her nipple gently, nibbled on her ear.

Y/N melted for him. Her body went soft and pliable; her pussy dripped, her breath grew heavy and fast. She could feel how hard he was, pressing into her ass. She snuck a hand between them and rubbed at the tip of his cock.

Dean hissed and groped her tits a little harder.

Her fingers snuck into his boxers and she traced a gentle line down his shaft, teasing him. He pinched her nipple hard and her gasping moan filled the room.

“Fuck, Y/N…”

Her fingers closed around his thick cock and she arched her back, laying her throat bare for him.

“You know,” she whispered, “the bed is bigger…”

Dean turned his wrist and dragged his hand down to her shorts, gently teasing at the elastic hem. “True, but then we wouldn’t be so close.” He kissed her neck.

Her jaw dropped when his warm hand slid down, covering her pussy with light pressure. “Good point.”

She stroked him slowly as he rubbed her cunt. He licked at her pulse while she caressed his sack.

When his breath grew hot and fast, Y/N spun around and attacked his lips. She held his face in her hands and pushed every late-night dream, every lonely fantasy into her kiss. She wanted him to feel it. Wanted him to know how long she’d waited to touch him like this; how desperate she’d been to feel his hands on her.

Dean tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to remember every second and sear it all into his memory, but her lips tugged them closed. Her kiss was so deep, so devastatingly perfect that he couldn’t hold on. His will vanished in a rush of lust and he grabbed at her soft flesh, plucked at her sensitive spots, rolled his hips against her wetness.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he groaned, fingers digging into her ass while she bit down on his shoulder.

Y/N hummed and licked at the bite marks she’d left. “Me too. Fuck, Dean…”

He pulled her closer and she sat up, straddling his hips as she pulled her tank top off. Dean gripped her hips and stared in awe at her beautiful body writing above him. She rocked down onto him and he had never hated cotton so much. The layers between them prevented his cock from sliding in, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She rubbed her slick cunt up and down his shaft, driving them both insane.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, Dean sat up and wrapped his arm around her back, holding her tight. He tried to stand but stumbled and Y/N laughed softly while fumbling for balance.

They made it to the bed without injury; shed their clothes without hesitation.

Dean pushed her onto her back and licked deep into her mouth. She moaned into him and scratched a hand through his hair. Her legs spread wide for him and Dean kissed his way down her body. She held her breath when his lips pressed into the softness of her inner thigh.

“Always wanted to taste you,” he breathed, running the tip of his middle finger down her slit.

Y/N’s legs shook and her fingers tensed over his scalp. “Please…”

Dean smiled and exhaled gently while slipping his finger into her. She was wet and warm and he hummed darkly.

“So fucking beautiful…”

His tongue pressed flat over her pussy and then slid inside, swirling around her clit like a spiral that entranced her body and mind. Y/N squirmed against his mouth, held her breath when the pleasure spiked, tugged on his hair. It was as if her dreams were seeping into reality and God was answering every blasphemous prayer.

Dean was ravenous, licking her hard and pushing his fingers deeper with each thrust of his wrist. He closed his eyes and listened to the hitch of her breath, the exquisite moans she set free. Every pulse of her cunt on his fingers made his cock twitch. Every buck of her hips made him suckle harder. He wanted to drown in her juices, happy to let this be his last act on earth.

She came hard and fast, leaking pleasure onto his tongue.

Dean pushed back enough to see her face. He kept his hand in place, fucking her through the throbbing orgasm even as she tried to push him away.

“Dean… please…”

Her brows creased and her lips pushed out in a pout that nearly broke his heart. He floated up to her, climbing up the mattress and shifting his right thigh between hers. She pressed down on the thick muscle and rocked hard as he kissed her again. She tasted herself on his lips and moaned.

“You’re amazing…”

Dean��s heart raced at the whispered praise and he kissed across her jaw and down, lapping at her throat and sucking a tiny mark on her shoulder. She scratched a hand down his back and grabbed his ass, tugging him forward. He fell down, his full weight crushing her into the bed.

Y/N wrapped herself around him, arms and legs holding on tight. With every bit of strength she could muster, she rolled him onto his back and popped up, sitting on his stomach.

Wide green eyes fell down her body, soaking in the perfect view.

With the tables turned, Y/N followed his previous trek, laying kisses down the length of his torso and biting his inner thigh. Dean jumped at the sting and then relaxed into nothingness as she licked the head of his cock.

She kissed and hummed at the peak of him and a drop of precum zinged her taste buds. Enthused, she took him in until she gagged and then pulled back with tightly sealed lips.

Dean let out a moan that she’d remember until the day she died. His big hand fit against the top of her head, gently guiding her up and down until he was curling in on himself and fighting to hold back.

“Fuck, Y/N/N… Ya... ya gotta stop or I’m done…”

She retreated with a loud pop of her swollen lips and Dean reached for her face. He dragged her up and kissed her hard while rolling her back onto the pillow.

“Want you, Dean…”

He hummed and shifted between her legs. “Yeah?”

She nodded quickly and clung to his broad shoulders. “Yes. So fucking bad…”

He nudged at her cunt, dipping his cock in only an inch. She shuddered and her nails sunk into his arms.

“You OK?” he asked, watching her eyes flutter and her mouth go slack.

Again, she nodded; her face washed in frustrated agony. “Please…”

He kissed her gently and then set his arms aside her head.

When he pushed fully in, they both stopped. Time froze around them and for a long moment, there was nothing else in the world. She could feel him trembling and lay her hand on his cheek. He turned towards her hand and kissed her palm.

There was no banter, no salacious teasing, no further begging. Dean fucked her slowly, taking his time to wind her pleasure back up to the highest point before they both gave in, breaking in each other’s arms and stealing the air from the rest of the world.

When his pulse steadied, Dean rolled onto his side and held his head in his hand. He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop smiling.

Y/N felt a wave of shyness as he stared but it was the good kind. She wanted him to keep watching. She reached for his free hand and brought it to her lips, carefully kissing the pads of each finger.

He sighed happily. “You know… I really think… I mean…” His stomach flipped with nerves and he bit his lip, holding back everything he needed to say.

She laughed gently. “What?” She kissed his middle finger again.

He took a deep breath. “I think I could really fall for you.”

A soft smile turned her lips. “I’m pretty sure you already have.”

His cheeks burned. His soul felt at ease. Dean laid his hand over her heart and felt the steady beat.

“I’m pretty sure you’re right…”

Y/N felt each swipe of the scalpel, every drop of blood that leaked from the wounds. Locked and awake inside her immoble body, she tried to think of other things, to keep her mind away from the torture. She called up old dreams, sacred poems, and blissful moments with Dean.

Whenever she drifted, Michael pulled her back.

He kissed her again and again, breathing more Grace into her body to keep her alive. The deeper he cut, the harder his magic worked. The wounds lay open and he dipped his fingers or tongue inside, learning her flesh, tasting, feeling everything.

His expression was crazed but childlike. He truly wished to understand everything about her, to figure out why she was so important, why God loved his pathetic creations more than his firstborn sons.

Most of all, he marveled over her heart. He listened closely to the flow of blood, trying different techniques to make it quicken or slow. If he stopped her breathing, her heart would race and then halt. If he cut an artery, it would slowly pump her life force out onto the crisp white sheets, staining the bedding in deep crimson. If he stimulated her sex, it would race and skip, meeting his touch.

Twice, he’d killed her only to bring her back. He wanted to hear the absolute death of her heart and before kicking it back into motion.

Y/N remembered every second, felt the pull of his Grace waking her back up. She had long ago given up on prayer, and sank into the pain, letting it consume her soul. She deserved to bleed. She couldn’t save Dean, couldn’t help him in any way. She deserved the torment.

“Human skin is so… delicate,” Michael mused, running the razor edge down the length of her chest, splitting the flesh wide. “So… easily broken…” Again, he dragged the blade through her, deepening the gash until he saw a peek of white bone. “Like your hearts.”

Y/N screamed as intense pain shot through every bit of her.

Michael pushed the bleeding meat aside and exposed her ribcage.

She felt every touch and her vision faded. Consciousness was slipping away and she welcomed the darkness like an old friend.

“No, no, Y/N,” he whispered, laying a hand on her cheek. “Stay with me.”

Grace jolted her awake and she cursed him with everything she had. He heard her silent blasphemy and smiled.

“Don’t you understand? You’re doing a good thing. You’re helping me.”

Digging into her chest, Michael wrapped two fingers between the fourth rib on each side.

“You’re teaching me.”

He pulled his hands apart and her sternum splintered. The cage tore open and Y/N felt the terrifying sensation of cool air on her lungs.

“You’re teaching Dean that I will always win.”

He ignored her screams and pressed his fingers to her exposed heart, observing the blood pumping from the source.

“No matter how he screams, how he… begs, claws, fights… I will always win.”

On a whim, Michael shifted to sit between her legs. Watching her heart, he pulled his cock free and tapped her clit with the tip.

Y/N struggled to break the spell, to move, to scream, but there was no escape. Her fate was sealed.

“Interesting…”

The muscle pumped faster. Michael narrowed his gaze on the aorta and slipped his stiff cock into her vagina. Blood moved quicker, the aorta swelled, the beats quickened. He grinned.

“How exquisite.”

The faster he fucked her, the harder her heart beat. He watched like a scientist, tracking individual blood cells as they moved through her system, rushing through the expansive highway of veins to visit every part of her body. When they returned to the heart, he chose another part to focus on until he had learned all that he could.

There wasn’t much left of her mind, only a fading memory of her first kiss with Dean. That single, exhilarating instance when friends became more, and this vile moment was far, far away.

Michael knelt between her thighs and straightened up, fully filling Dean’s impressive form. He looked deep into Y/N’s frozen face and felt a surge of pride and understanding.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Inside, Dean was fighting. He tore at his cell, screamed and cursed until his throat filled with blood and then started all over again.

Michael leaned close and kissed her lips, retrieving his Grace and setting her free.

Her shrieks shook the room, but Michael had no pity for her. She was simply a thing to him now. A toy made of cells and air and blood.

He snapped his fingers and her neck, finally giving her peace.

Dean had seen every moment, felt his hands digging into her chest cavity, tasted her blood on his lips.

Insane with grief and enraged beyond what he could truly feel, he let out a surge of strength that tickled Michael’s insides.

“Calm down, Dean. It’s over.”

You fucking monster!

“Now, now… Relax.”

I’m going to kill you. I’m going to rip you apart.

Michael wiped the blade clean on the ruined bedsheet and smiled.

“Good luck.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester x reader #dark fic #michael!Dean x reader #angst #spn fanfiction

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alltimefail-sims · 6 months

Text

I think I made Celebrazioni D’amore kinda sexy...😏

I'm gonna ramble now!!! ↓

HOLY CRAP this lot has been a HUGE challenge. Every time I'd think I was close to being done, this freaking lot would provide me with an even more bizarre and questionable feature than the one previously conquered... but despite nearly throwing in the towel, here we are! Phew!

I changed so. much.

The biggest change I made is that I shrunk the building down quite a bit to eliminate the excessive, gaping, empty spaces that were quite literally everywhere and serving no function whatsoever. I also moved and downsized the mega stairs, fixed all the visual balance issues (like one side of the build being heavier than another or tables being off-center from the stage and etc.), made the bottom floor's main area an actual room (yes... that was an issue in the original build), removed the heinous carpeting (goodbye random cheetah print patches), landscaped basically from scratch, and so. much. more. I'm relieved to say that when I look at these pictures though I still feel like I'm looking at the same lot... just a more functional and aesthetically pleasing version of it.

The OG build made a good attempt at something adjacent to "character," and even though it was a bit of a swing and a miss, I wanted to maintain that intention. I never do nightclub or lounge lots so this became a great exercise in pushing myself to build in a style I don't typically gravitate toward. (Using neon, colored lighting and modern fixtures in the same build?? Unheard of for me!) Some of my favorite parts aren't even pictured, so I'm really excited to share the whole thing. Although I'm not done (fingers crossed that I'll wrap it up tomorrow...) I am pretty damn close, and that's a win in my book! I have two things left to do: first I need to decide if I'm going to keep the exterior paint colors (currently a combo of dark purple and magenta) or swap one of the colors out for something like a plain "base" (such as brick). After that I just have to... *gulps*...playtest it (yes I am shuddering and crying profusely. Ask your god to give me mercy). TLDR: I will probably post this lot by Monday at the latest, so keep an eye out for it!

One last thing!!! I promised it would be extremely DLC-lite... and it is!!! It uses less DLCs than every single one of my shell builds. Woohoo! Goal met!

Okay, I'm officially done talking now! If you read all of my rambling... you have my undying love and appreciation. You are also probably entitled to financial compensation for your time (note: we at B.B.R.U.* are not taking cases and claims at the moment, unfortunately). But might I say that you are cooler than the other side of the pillow? 😎 Hopefully that will suffice.

Byeeeee friends! ❤

*B.B.R.U. stands for "Broke Bitches R Us," in case you were wondering. It's my company and I'm the CEO, bless

#ts4 #simblr #the sims 4 #sims 4 #the sims community #ts4 screenshots #ts4 build mode #ts4 tartosa #ts4 my wedding stories #tartosa #in progress #personal #update #*V chats

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fuzzyclink · 16 days

Text

Rules and Regulations

A self indulgent one-shot Ceo!Au fic to celebrate the launch of Keir and Cirrus's second chapters tomorrow!

Tags: Cirrus/Reader, degradation, unethical office relationship, abuse of power, power dynamics, spanking, glove kink, pain and bruising, bad BDSM etiquette, gender neutral reader, reader body not described.

Link to AO3 version

You had been so desperate to find a job in your new city that you hadn’t been especially picky. You’d moved here as a last option, relocating because of the world-renowned hospitals in this area. There was an experimental study opening soon that focused on your life-threatening condition, and you knew that it might be your only option. Certainly, the bemused expression of the so-called “experts” in your hometown had discouraged you from staying. Your condition didn't even have a WebMD page. So it hadn’t mattered to you much at the time that all your funds went into renting a moving truck, paying the deposit on an apartment, and boxing up all your belongings. You had arrived, penniless, and sought jobs as quickly as possible - applying to everything and anything that you could convince a recruiter you’d be good at. You just needed some income while you waited to hear back about whether you were eligible for the medical trial.

Applying to Crescent Consulting had been surprisingly easy. You’d uploaded your resume online, answered a few questions that MAYBE were some kind of personality test (the question “What does the full moon mean to you?” had definitely seemed a little strange at the time), and were offered an interview a few days later.

You pressed down your nerves as you approached the company. You were dressed in your least-wrinkled interview clothes, pulled out of a cardboard box the night before. There hadn’t been time to unpack everything. The exterior of the building was grand. Silvery glass extended high above you, the blue sky reflecting mirror-like off of the eighty floors of windows. The interior matched the prestigious exterior. All around you were gleaming stone floors, elevators that smelled like new carpet, well-groomed and refined staff, and chandeliers that likely cost as much as your apartment.

Crescent Consulting was on the third and fourth floors of the building. You speak to a receptionist near the entrance and she ushers you into a small, private office to the left of the door. You smile politely as the hiring manager seated inside looks over your resume, asking about your experience, your career goals, and previous successes and difficulties. Pretty standard stuff. The pay and benefits seem good too. You try to recall the information you’d read about the company, peering down at the job description you’d printed out and brought with you.

“From what you’ve said, I think this company would be a good fit for me,” you say, trying to infuse your words with an air of confidence you didn’t really feel. “. . . but the job listing was a little sparse on details. Would you mind going over exactly what this position would entail?”

The routine atmosphere of the interview dissipates. The interviewer grows far more serious, fixing you with a stern look over the rim of their tortoiseshell glasses.

“This position is essential to the success of our company. Crescent Consulting is directed by Mr. Cirrus. As our CEO, he leads us, guides us, and makes decisions that keep us at the forefront of consulting in this city. He’s an exceptionally talented man.” She regards you with her steely gaze as if you would dare challenge her statement. You nod at her meekly.

She shifts in her seat. “But he’s also exceptionally busy. Too much of his time right now is taken up by scheduling things, answering emails, filing documents…we’ve all tried to help where we can, but eventually, it became clear that it was time we hired someone to do it full-time. So, that’s where you come in. The job position is to work as his assistant. He has exacting tastes, and expects the finest work.”

You can practically see the job opening slipping away right before your eyes. The words spring from your lips.

“I assure you, I am someone who is deliberate, detailed, and focused. Crescent Consulting is my top choice and it would be an honour to assist Mr. Cirrus as he continues to lead such amazing work.”

She nods at that, relenting a little. “We’ll hire you for a probationary period. Let’s see how you do after a week on the job. If your work is satisfactory - and Cirrus takes a liking to you, we’ll offer you a full contract.”

After that, the first week goes by in a blur. You’d seen Cirrus’s emails and calendar plenty of times, but hadn’t even met him face to face. They gave you a cubicle in the corner of one of the floors and you toil away diligently, working your way down a seemingly endless list of tasks. The hiring manager was right - there was plenty to do. You spent your time reading the employee handbook, completing new employee training, learning about the different clients, trying to remember which employee names and titles, and archiving documents that hadn’t been looked at in years. You’ve just started working on a summary of consulting projects completed in 2017 when you feel a presence just over your shoulder.

You jump in your chair as you spin around looking up to see a man looming over you. He’s tall and lanky, even taller from your current position. Long white hair slinks down over his shoulders, stopping near the waist of his suit. His accessories stand out against his dark clothes - a gold metal snake that encircles his finger, two chain bracelets that glimmer from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and thin hanging earrings. A tailored waistcoat highlights the way his broad torso narrows at the waist. The man’s arm rests casually against the wall of your cubicle, a thin pen between his fingers. He's undoubtedly handsome, imposingly so. You finish taking him in and meet his gaze, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Hurriedly, you introduce yourself. “I'm very sorry, I didn't notice you there! I’m a new hire, I’ve only been working here for week, I don't believe we've met?”

Surely, you'd be able to remember someone who looks like THAT.

“I thought it was about time I came to meet you,” he says politely, watching you through nearly translucent lashes. “You've already begun to prove yourself useful to me.”

“Oh, are you… Cirrus? I'm really thankful for this opportunity, sir, the company seems great and everyone has gone out of their way to be helpful…” flustered, you’re immediately thrown off your game. So this is the man you work for. You had to admit, you'd assumed that Cirrus was some older, stodgy executive- someone thoroughly unattractive. It was shocking to be confronted unexpectedly with someone so… well, different!

“I'm glad to hear it. It's important that Crescent Consulting cultivates a welcoming environment towards newcomers.” He spins the pen between his fingers a little, playing with the clip on it. “How are you finding the work so far?”

“It's been easy enough,. It seems like it's just a matter of checking over everything carefully and making sure that -”

His pen falls from his hand with a clink, sharp and startling against the waxed tile floor.

You bend in your chair, leaning to pick it up without a delay. You hand it to him, reaching up. It's hard to miss the way that his eyes flick from the pen in your hand to your face, but he takes it without comment.

“Please, reach out if you have any questions. And ask the hiring manager you met with earlier for the full employment contract. You're a good fit. I look forward to our work together.”

And just like that, you're officially hired. ------

The next Monday, you're at your desk for only a few moments before his shadow darkens your screen. Cirrus, the same outfit as you saw before - dark and stately in the fluorescent-lit office. His placid smile is at odds with the weight of his presence, a heavy, frozen thing that spills out through the weight of his shoulders and the cant of his head. It urges you to bow to him. Or grovel, your mind unhelpfully supplies. You end up half jumping out of your chair before settling back into it and dipping your head in acknowledgement. Embarrassing.

"I emailed you a list of tasks on Sunday for you to begin this week. We're entering into our busiest quarter of the year, so I'll be depending on your work. As always, please reach out to me if you have any questions."

"I've already skimmed through it to familiarise myself with the tasks before I arrived today." You smile up at him a little. There's no need for him to worry about your accountability. You want to do well. Especially for him.

…But only because he’s your boss, of course.

He responds with a gentle nod towards you. "Good. Eager to get started, hmm?"

“I'll send you an update on what I've accomplished by the end of the day. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to meet your needs, sir."

His hand falls onto your shoulder for only a moment, fixing you into your chair. His golden eyes dart towards yours, serious. “Let’s start with the list for now. Don’t want to exhaust you before the end of the second week.”

With that, he leaves, returning to his office. The firm press of his hand lingers on your shoulder. You raise your own hand to it, fingers ghosting over the sensation. Would meeting his needs really be exhausting? You’re determined to dispel any doubt he may hold about your capabilities.

As you adapt to your job, your list of duties starts to expand. The hiring manager wasn't kidding. Cirrus seems to be particular about everything. He cares about the scent of the soap in his bathroom (lavender), the way he takes his tea (no sugar, one and a half creamers), and the height of the window blinds in his office before he comes in each morning (lowered to the height of your knees, raised to shoulder level after lunch). Rather than resenting the numerous rules, you find joy in the structure they give your day.

And he certainly is gracious. He’s kind to you, thanking you for the tasks you complete. Polite, yet reserved. Always controlled and professional. His occasional praise makes you glow a little. It's proof that he notices and cares about the effort you put into your work. It's a little addictive. It drives you to be increasingly exacting, hoping to impress him. You find yourself wondering whether there’s something hidden behind that polished facade of his. He reminds you of a Greek statue. Beautiful, unyielding, and with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

You find yourself staying late at the office recently, struggling to get everything done during the day. Eight hours doesn’t seem like a lot of time when it’s stretched over so many tasks. But Cirrus stays late too. Your coworkers file out of the office one by one until it’s just you and him in the building. The light shining through the frosted glass of his office door there to keep you company. You remember the first time you stayed late. You had sat in your mesh desk chair, bones stiff and weary from their long hours of inactivity. The sound of his office door opening had been a welcomed interruption. Cirrus wore his coat, warm wool fitted closely to his body, and was in the process of pulling on leather gloves. He hesitated on his path out the door, clearly surprised to see you.

“I hadn’t realised you were still here,” he had said, coming around to your desk.

“Oh, I’ll be heading home soon, sir. Just finished summarising the documents I received this afternoon so you can look them over tomorrow before your morning meetings.”

“Such a devoted employee.”

His smooth, rich voice sent shivers down your spine. You laughed it off.

“It’s no trouble to me, sir, I like to be kept busy.”

“You’re not keeping anyone waiting at home…?” Sharp eyes had betrayed his interest in your response.

“I’ve just moved to the city, so no - living on my own for now. I can stay as late as I need to. Haven’t really had the time to try and meet anyone.”

“That’s a shame. We’ll just need to make the work here worth your while then, hmm?”

You nodded at him, and he had left, sliding the gloves the rest of the way on his hands.

His questions made you wonder if he cared about your dating life. That was the first personal question he’d asked of you. You’d certainly wondered about his - but no wedding band was seen on his hand, and no family pictures in his office. You kept your ears and eyes open for information after that night. You would ask a coworker but given the speed of the office rumour mill, you were sure he’d learn about your prying questions. After days pass without clues, you doubt it. After all, he spends the most time with you out of anyone. With the long hours he keeps, he’d struggle to find the time to meet a partner, just as you have. You can practically imagine his response. I’m married to my work, he’d say. That is, if he wasn’t offended by your impudence.

As the month goes on, you shadow Cirrus more and more during his daily tasks. He started by requesting that you take the minutes for his meetings with clients. It's simple enough and you enjoy getting a better idea of the actual objectives of the company. Plus, during quiet moments, when he or the client refer to documents about their work together, you get the chance to really look at him. The slender line of his neck. The way his muscled back can be seen beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, shifting as he leans over the table to read. The soft pink of his lips, through which you can see pointed canines flash as he speaks. You see why everyone at Crescent Consulting has such a reverence for him. It’s electrifying to be swept up in the energy and admiration that surrounds him. He's impeccably focused on his tasks and clients are thrilled with the work he does for them. Good thing that you’re kept busy. Spending so much time near him is becoming increasingly distracting.

You're just coming out of one of these meetings, a little breathless. The client had spoken exceptionally quickly, stuttering and prone to long tangents that left your head spinning. You’d done your best to take notes, but you’d definitely have to edit them later on in the afternoon. At times you'd just slumped over the table, desperately listening and typing as best you could as the conversation ricocheted between the two of them.

“My office, please,” Cirrus requests, as controlled and peaceful as ever. Immediately, your pulse jumps, anxiety spreading through your body. Cirrus hardly ever asks to speak with you privately - he’d email you, or casually drop by your desk to discuss business. Even confidential matters about his work were discussed between the two of you during your meeting together every morning, not off the cuff.

You step inside after him, pulling the door shut. His office is a place you’ve grown familiar with, though never comfortable in. It was always too quiet. The decor is utilitarian and minimal. One side is entirely windows, partially covered with blinds. A coat rack near his door has a few discarded wire hangers from dry cleaning. There are etched glass awards on his mostly barren bookshelves. A whiteboard is fixed to the wall with a scribbled timeline on it. Cirrus’s desk in the middle of the room, empty except for a few folders and a chair across from it. You choose to hover awkwardly in the doorway. It feels safer, like you could escape if you needed to.

He takes a seat behind his desk, the expansive piece of dark wood now separating the two of you.

Cirrus regards you coolly as you start to pick at your fingers.

“I've been quite happy with your work up to this point, don't be mistaken. However, as my assistant, your conduct and decorum reflect directly upon me.” He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Clients notice if you have poor posture. Clients notice if you wander ahead of me in the hallway or speak out of turn. Clients notice-” his gaze falls to your fingers, picking nervously at the edge of a nail, “-when you fidget”. Your hands still immediately.

You knew that he was aware of you. But you hadn't realised that he paid such close attention to the behaviours you displayed. Had you really acted so unreasonably? Had maybe a client confided in him, or expressed their displeasure with you? Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

“I'm sorry sir, I haven't been on my best behaviour as of late. I'll work on improving my posture and habits in the office. I hope it hasn't negatively impacted your work…”

A smile streaks across his face. Sharp, furtive, misplaced, and gone as you peer at him nervously.

“Please see to it that you do,” he replies. There's a lightness to him, an excitement that pulls at the edges of his expression. Something dangerous. “That’ll be all.”

Your hands, sweaty with nerves, pull open his door and you exit quickly. It's the first time you've really been reprimanded by him. How could you have let yourself grow complacent? Still, it seemed unfair. You drop down at your desk and pout a little, staring unseeingly at the backdrop of dolphins on your computer monitor. You already do so much for him and follow all his silly little rules, and now he’s getting on your case about fidgeting? What is this, finishing school? Your thoughts swirl as the day goes by. It was embarrassing to be called out on your behaviour. But moreover, it was embarrassing that you had become increasingly reliant on him and his praise. You hadn't fully realised it up until he withdrew it this afternoon. You'd become dependent on him too quickly. He’s just your boss. Nothing more beyond that. And why did his expressions in that conversation seem so… odd? It was unsettling.

After that conversation between the two of you, Cirrus’s expectations skyrocket. Every day there are new rules. New subcategories that emails need to be sorted into, preferences on the alert sound for his calendar notifications, the type of lightbulb for his desk lamp, the way you structure your notes for him. It feels endless. And at times, when he gives you feedback - always in that same controlled and polite tone - you catch a glimpse of that same fleeting expression you had seen earlier. You're diligent, dutifully noting down each preference as they come. You walk two paces behind him in the halls. You mind your tone, your facial expressions. You sit at meetings rigidly, still and quiet unless addressed. Your frustrations at his restrictions, once something small and easily cast aside, grows by the day. The amount of care that you direct towards your work is immense. Cirrus is polite to you. Often kind. But the structure from the rules that once felt supportive now feels like a tangled net, restricting your every move. You feel taken for granted. The majority of his requirements are silly preferences that you're sure have no influence on his (or the company’s) success.

When he interacts with others in the office, however, things seem easy between them. They fawn adoringly at whatever he says, and he replies to them - always calm and kind. You find yourself a little disgusted with their eagerness. And it's quite simple for them, isn't it? They do their basic job responsibilities and he praises them, values them. That same response from him requires such an extreme amount of effort from you. You scoff to yourself. They might not admire him as much if they ALSO had just gotten an email that read: “In the future, please only order Oleander Co.’s organic fair trade oat milk creamer in low fat. I prefer it over the brand you currently purchase.”

You are capable of the work he asks you to do. But your sense of justice rankles at it. It's not fair that he asks such an astronomically higher level of work from you. At times you wonder if he delights in messing with you. It seems inevitable that one day you’ll forget one of his many rules. You're not sure exactly what makes you decide to do it. The last sliver of your pride, perhaps.

You order a different type of soap for his bathroom. Your courage wavers a little when you go to order, so you decide on lilac as a replacement. Suitably similar to lavender if you need to defend yourself. It's silly how nerve-wracking it is. You've never directly gone against anything he’s asked you to do. And it’s just soap, after all. You doubt he’ll even notice.

—---

You place the soap in his bathroom that next Monday after it's been delivered. You look at it, where you’ve set the bottle neatly by the sink, evenly spaced from the wall. You spin the label to face away from you before you leave. Cirrus and you have your morning meeting, as usual. He’s just the same as ever and you find yourself both relieved and disappointed. You’d expected some kind of reaction from him… some reprimand maybe, or a reminder. Something to show you again that he sees you and your work. Something to break the pattern that you’re in with him. But the meeting ends quickly and everything remains as it did before.

You’re seated at your desk, about to head to lunch, when Cirrus stops by.

“A word, please. Now. Follow me.”

He’s very still. Nothing about his face was kind or gentle.. A coworker at the neighbouring desk glances up at you, startled, before they catch themselves and pretend to be engrossed in their salad.

You stand abruptly, silently, fingers fumbling with the notepad on your desk for a moment before you decide to leave it.

You follow him to his office. Two steps behind him, of course, posture, impeccable. Your hands, forbidden from fidgeting, are held stiffly at your sides.

He shuts the door firmly behind you. The click of the lock is grimly final. The bottle of soap is on his desk. You exhale, shakily.

Cirrus leans back against his desk, the bottle next to him. His arms are crossed. You’re not truly afraid until you see his expression. His eyes hold a wildness to them, intense and sharp. The mouth, normally in a polite smile, is stretched wider, sardonic. Your unease grows when you see there's even a light flush across his cheeks. His finger taps rhythmically where it rests along the edge of the desk. His entire appearance has an electricity to it that arcs off of him in waves.

“Explain this to me.”

Your fear is tempered by the frustration at your mistreatment. “My apologies, sir, I seem to have made a mistake. There’s a lot of work I’m doing currently, I must have simply selected the wrong one.” Your voice is deliberately polite but you’re unable to hide your irritation.

His wicked smile grows. “You’ve never ordered the wrong one before.”

“Yes, well, I know others make mistakes here, too. I don’t see any of them called into your office over something like this, I mean, it’s, it’s - I do my best, sir, I apologise if it’s just not enough for you.” Your cheeks are hot from the defiance burning within you.

The tapping of his finger ceases.

“I'm quite certain it wasn't a mistake. No. Not from you, my star employee. Always obedient. Always careful. Attuned to my preferences, my rules for you. When I restricted your decorum in meetings, I wondered if I had gone too far. If maybe - you’d recoil. Hmm.. instead, you grew more pliable, eager to please. Desperate for my praise. Willing to be moulded by me. You question me, why I ask more of you than the other staff here. Well, my star. It’s because you enjoy it. And,” he draws closer to you, less than an arm’s length away, “because I can.”

All the blood in your body seems to leave you and you sag, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, everything becomes clear to you. The constant increasing requests. The minute details he requires you to remember. His attention to your posture, your every mannerism. Each of them feed into his power over you. And the part that makes your heart pound and ears ring is that he's completely correct. You crave it.

He takes in your shocked expression with something akin to glee.

"So eager for me. And now, acting out. Silly little ploy to try and catch my interest. You've already had it. Had it from the moment I met you, when you leaned down and handed me that pen. I wanted to see if you would. If you'd bend for me, right from the start. Don't I give you enough of my attention? Or would you like something more concrete - a reminder you're mine?"

It feels almost impossible to speak but you try, urging your breath back into your struggling lungs.

"Please, sir, I - I…" A reminder that you're his. You are his. The way you speak, the way you walk, every hour of every day, all in service to him. Intoxicating to learn that he's orchestrated it this way. Cirrus has seen you to your very core and it is paralysing.

He raises his hand to your throat, fingers soft, and pins you against the wall. "Don't worry, my star. I'll give you what you desire. Even if words have failed you."

His touch is nothing more than gentle pressure at the base of your neck, but the sensation makes you release a choked gasp.

"Something to remind you, hmm? I'll give you a gift then. Pretty bruises that you can take home. "

Cirrus's hand is tighter around your neck now. Your pulse hammers against his grip. All you can do is nod, the edge of his thumb sharp against your jaw. He releases you, taking a step backwards. His cunning eyes scan the room.

"Place your hands here."

He gestures to the whiteboard and you stumble after him, legs trembling. You place your hands flat on the surface, just below shoulder height, glancing at him questioningly. He traces around your fingers with a marker, outlining each hand in red. It reminded you a little of grade school art projects, and the absurdity of the situation makes your face flush. What if this was all some kind of cruel joke, just to see how much you'd agree to?

His voice breathes low in your ear. "It's in your best interest if you don't smudge any of those lines. Do so and you'll leave with more than just bruises."

Immediately, the levity drains out of you. "I'll try my best, sir."

His hand smooths down the plane of your back. "You always do."

Behind you, you hear him walk over to the coat rack by the door. You twist, your hands fixed in place, and watch as he pulls on his fine black gloves. The leather shines softly in the light of his office.

"Please attempt to be quiet. You know how much the office ladies love to gossip."

You grit your teeth and turn, facing the board once again. Watching him was too much. You close your eyes and exhale a long, shuddering breath.

He brings his hand down swiftly, your clothes and the gloves muffling the sound where he strikes your behind. It's ferociously hard. The force of the impact rocks you forward on your toes and your eyes fly open, checking the lines around your fingers anxiously. A dull ache answers the sting that spreads through you. Your desire spreads too, burning. You'd known he was strong, assumed it from the way he fills out his impeccably tailored dress shirts, but the power behind the slap surprises you. Your breath hisses through your teeth.

A second strike comes, placed right where your butt meets your thigh. It's harder than the last. It forces a gasping yelp out of you, barely stifled through your gritted teeth. Your hands curl just the slightest bit on the board. Your breath comes faster now, panicked. Legs twist where they stand, shying away from him, unable to fully move with your hands pinned.

"Excellent. You're doing well."

He has said that to you so many times before. When you’ve finished your work early, when you've taken minutes for meetings, when you've reminded him of some small important detail. You'll never hear it the same again.

Cirrus waits to deliver the third strike and you try to anticipate it, flinching at every small sound he makes from behind you. He laughs at that, watching you closely.

"Patience."

When he hits you, it spreads across your skin, burning where it lands. You bow forwards, leaning away desperately. The sensation after the strike is just as bad - a second wave of pain that makes sweat prickle at your forehead and brings tears springing to your eyes.

"In my haste, I forgot myself," he muses, stilling behind you. "How can I see when I've fulfilled my promise?"

He slides your clothes off your waist, the air of his office cool on your skin. They bunch tightly around your thighs. You hunch forwards between your arms, humiliated. You're sure that your behind is just as flushed as your face. One gloved hand traces over the reddened skin, the leather like a soothing balm.

The next strike is more targeted, hitting right where your skin is the reddest. The sweat on your hands causes them to slip just the slightest bit on the board and you rock back towards him, trying to lift the weight off your unreliable arms. The outlines remain complete for now. You throb, each heartbeat bringing with it another crashing wave of pain.

"Fuck."

"You know better than to curse around me. Haven't I made my expectations for your etiquette clear?"

He smooths one hand over you, just below the small of your back. Your skin sings at his touch. You feel the weight of him follow, the hard plane of his body pressed up against you. His hands grip your hips. One slides up the front of your chest, pausing for a moment at your throat. It continues, gloved fingers finding their way into your mouth. The bitter taste of leather follows. His other hand grips your hip tightly. He presses down on your tongue, making you gag. Your saliva slicks the material. Cirrus's breath is hot against your ear.

"I'll help you behave yourself."

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth, smearing the wetness across your face. When he moves to the side, you catch the first glimpse of him since you placed your hands on the board. His flushed cheeks are the only sign of his exertion. Not a hair is out of place. You watch through teary eyes as he bites the tip of his gloved hand, pulling the leather from his skin. The glint of his sharp teeth shine from between pink lips. Glove off, he presses his fingers cruelly into your cheeks, prying your lips open once again. His removed glove is pressed between your teeth, silencing you. The material is thick, forces your jaw to spread.

He hits you again before you're really ready, ungloved hand anchored on your hip. The force of the blow shoves you forwards while Cirrus's nails dig into your hip bone, leaving deep grooves. A muffled sob breaks free. Your hand slides down the board, erasing the lines surrounding it. You stumble forward, gasping. His hand creeps under your bent waist, supporting your weight.

Cirrus lays into you without any reservations. He spanks you, hand crashing down again and again. You thrash, hands clutching desperately at his supporting arm where it lays steel-like against your stomach. Twisting, flailing, as he brings you back in line. Drool spills down out of your mouth from around the fingers of the glove. He kicks your legs apart when they clench together before beginning again. The blow blend together. You are ablaze. Writhing in his arms. Needy with desire and aching all over. Your eyes are a mess of tears and you gasp desperately around the glove, nose running. Both of you breathing hard, he takes a moment to examine you before pulling the glove out of your mouth.

"I think you'll be pleased, my star. Once you've come back to yourself. Proof of my ownership pressed into your skin. You won't be able to sit without remembering whom you belong to."

Every part of you throbs. Pain, pleasure, and obedience all searing through your veins in equal measure. You're limp, resting nearly your full weight against him.. You cry softly, stuffy and worn out.

"Come here," he tells you, as he hefts you towards the chair behind his desk. As if you'd have the strength to deny him. He sits and reclines the chair fully, laying back. He holds you against his chest. A moment for you to calm down. You press your damp face into the safety of his shirt while his arms rest softly around your shoulders.

"You shine in your obedience to me."

His voice is quiet against your hair. You lay there, boneless, listening to the gentle thump of his heart. Feeling the solid ridge of the button of his vest imprint itself on your cheek. Gradually, you come back to yourself. Breathing in his scent as he continues to hold you. You test your limbs, achingly shifting them. Wipe your eyes softly against the back of your hand. A sharp cry springs from your mouth as your raw skin scrapes against the material of his pants. If the way you feel is any indication, you’re probably covered in speckled bruises, soon to shift into blooms of blue and purple. You flinch as you feel a scarlet bead of blood inch down your inner thigh. He shushes you, hand coming up to card through your hair.

“Does this mean things have changed between us?” Your plaintive question hangs in the air.

Cirrus’s hand stills. “It doesn’t have to. Continue to serve me. I won't mark you where others will see.”

You nod at that, accepting it without complaint. He was to remain your boss. At least for now, you find yourself thinking. You long for something more. And you suspect he might feel the same, though he’s reluctant to admit it. His rules, so many designed to constrain and rankle. The attention he pays to you. His satisfaction from putting you in your place. Those fleeting moments of tenderness. Nothing about it was casual. Perhaps, with time - and enough tactical disobedience - his commitment to professionalism will crumble. It’s a challenge. Rules and regulations then. A path to something more.

#obscura fic #cirrus x mc #cirrus obscura #obscura vn #cirrus #Ceo!au #cirrus x reader #cirrus x vesper #obscura visual novel #obscura #obscura cirrus #let me know ur thoughts! and i hope you all enjoy chapter 2<3 #giving jumin han energy #jaehee I'm sorry

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