Summary: Ash trying to flirt with Sam and Dean's sister is just... *chef's kiss* too good haha Protective!Dean activated too XD
"Ash!" Dean called out, bursting into the Roadhouse. "We're back! It's been—" he checked his watch, "—sixteen hours and 40 minutes! Just exactly what you said you needed..." he trailed off.
You followed your brothers in and strained your hearing, glancing curiously around the dimly lit bar. Sam sunk down on a bar stool next to you. There was a commotion in the back room and some muttered words and dull thumps before the door absolutely burst open and the mullet-wearing redneck genius strutted in. "Sam, Dean," he drawled, a crooked smile growing on his face. "Oh—" he started, suddenly seeing you sitting there with your brothers on either side of you. He flipped his long hair back over his shoulder and leaned on the counter. "And who might this be?" he asked, smiling right at you. "You're just about as fine as frog hair split four ways..."
You could only laugh a little and smile back somewhat awkwardly. "Is—is that a compliment?"
Ash nodded. "Of course it is. Can I get ya somethin' to drink?"
Dean snapped his fingers in front of Ash's face. "Hey! Take it easy Redneck Romeo! She's our sister," he said, his voice going down to its deepest register, his protectiveness adding an extra layer of gravel to it.
"Yer sister?" Ash asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Well, hell, boys. Seems like you forgot to mention that. If ya'd told me she was comin' I woulda gotten myself gussied up for just such an occasion."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Ash... about the case..."
"Right. Right... the case..."
Happy Supporting Character Saturday! I miss Ash and his antics <3 He deserved better than what he got... (like so many in the show *sobs*)
Summary: There is a balance between pain and pleasure, between life and death. Michael loves that you willingly walk that line with him. But when you both veer off into the harsh darkness, it is you that brings everything back into focus.
Forgiveness is a fickle thing. Elusive, yet frequently desired. Always needed but rarely gained. If there is one thing Michael was certain of before this point, never would he seek forgiveness. It is for the weak-willed, those that don’t have the strength to step on and over the bodies of their allies and enemies. It’s designed for those that hold hope close and humanity even closer.
No, forgiveness is not for Michael.
Power, on the other hand, was something he craves desperately. Much like the oxygen he relies on to keep his mortal body alive, it is the required element that he can not live without. He was born of it: the obsidian rage. And can now feel it vibrating, almost with an aching rattle, in his bones.
More and more he yearns for it. He finds tethers of it in the fear washing over those at Hawthorne. Michael finds that power looms heavy in the eyes of the waning Supreme and it drips from her word. Though she does her best to use it, each time they meet, it flows from her and seeps into his every pore. It’s everywhere he looks and he salivates over it like a rabid beast after its next meal.
“Michael.”
And even you, the sacrificial lamb before him, offer a source to the power that he seeks. Your moans and pleas spark desire, causing his nerves to crackle with electricity. The pain of your nails breaking the skin of his forearms as he pounds into you leaves him in exhilaration.
He’s dipped his cock into your fountain of power frequently and each time he becomes bathed in the liquid of your innocence. Soon that pool will be tainted completely, becoming a power of a different way. And for that, he waits in excited anticipation.
His fingers trace along the angles of your shoulders, slipping over the joints and following the muscles leading up to your throat. The back of your head presses into the mattress, tipping your chin upward, and exposing more of your neck to him. So open and vulnerable you are beneath him. You offer him more power, more control than any one person should have.
“Would you give up anything for me, (Y/N)?”
The pads of his fingers dip into the column of your throat. Just as quickly as his hand found a home there, it disappears. It is a test of your willingness, of your obedience. You purr in desperation, an attempt to draw him back.
“Yes.”
Michael stutters out a pleased groan when your hips roll back in time to meet his thrusts. How your back arches is sinful. Your movement provides a glimpse of your future endeavors, the ones where you have finally given in, body, mind, and soul, to the darkness. You may be washed clean of sin, but Michael knows for certain that the corruption of you won’t take long.
He rocks back onto his knees and then drives forward, making your back arch again at the harsh pleasure. Each thrust of his cock pulls at the hot cords coiling in your lower belly. The large hand settled on your throat begins to cut off your air supply. Your lungs constrict and the muscles of your chest jerk with your desperate attempts to suck in air.
The forward snap of his hips coincides with the flexion of his fingers. The pressure he applies continuously deepens.
In. Squeeze. Out.
There’s no relief and a heavy fog begins to close in on your mind. Michael watches as your pupils dilate; only a thin ring of color visible. Leaning down, his soft lips find your own, successfully sealing off any chance of oxygen sneaking through.
In. Harder. Out.
Your pussy flutters around his cock, squeezing him just as his hand does to your neck. It forces a satisfied chuckle from Michael and in playful retaliation, your airway is pinched off to the point of bruising. The cartilage and soft spongy tissues grate against each other with forceful friction.
Michael watches with peaked fascination as your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Pride wells somewhere in the darkness of his heart. Willingly, you have put your pleasure, your pain, your life into the hands of the devil’s kin. His cock twitches within you. The thought of owning your life makes the beast within him snarl and snap for release.
Mer...
A jumbled whisper sounds in the distance. It’s soft and low, too difficult to understand over the sounds of sex and the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears.
...cy.
He breaks his concentration to listen closer but finds the word is echoing in his mind. It’s spoken only to him.
Mercy. Michael, please. Mercy.
It is you reaching out, forcing your way into his mind. His body pauses, stopping mid-stroke, and observes your features. Your eyelids are slid shut, lips slightly parted with a tinge of blue around the outer edges, and your fingers once anchored to his body lay limply at your sides.
“Fuck! (Y/N)!”
A rushing train of panic barrels into him and seizes control of his body. Your name spills from his lips with frantic pleas. Smooth hands cup your jaw with a softness that strikingly contrasts their previous hold.
The room grows eerily still, only his rushed panting and your rasped breathing fill the space.
“Mi..Michael,” you smile at him. Like the gentle creature you are, you hold no animosity for him. Instead, you cradle him close to your chest as your hand smooths over the expanse of his back. Shudders escape his spine and snake along the entirety of his body. His lips move against your sternum, forming words that don’t reach your ears until he picks his head to stare you in the eyes.
“(Y/N), forgive me.”
Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. It means a lot when you do. Feedback is always appreciated!
AHS Masterlist • Wanna Be Tagged?
Tagging the Lovelies: @moth3atspussy @brithedemonspawn @annikathebananana @marilynmonroefanfics @whitemanshoe19
Requested by Anon: “...if you don’t mind doing the innocent reader x corrupt kink with Micheal Langdon, she had to use the safe word on him…”
HEY SO THEY DROPPED THE STORY TRAILER ON US AND SUDDENLY I HAVE BEEN STRICKEN WITH THE NEED TO WRITE FOR THIS BOY AGAIN
Reader is gender neutral
CW (CONTENT WARNING): None
- You were one of the kids in Denska that wasn't a dick to everyone trying to be nice. You and your father were scraping at the sea ports trying to catch fish for the markets but the dreary setting of the city seemed to make the fish stay away.
- You vaguely remember the quiet boy known as Ash when he sits near the docks. It wasn't that you were spying on him, it's just that there was something that shined within the boy's eyes. Not a lot of people found inspiration in the dreary city and you always hoped to take a peek at his sketchbook. One time you were close enough, he peered around as soon as you hid behind a dumpster.
- You definitely weren't a people person.
- Every time you try and strike up a conversation with the mystery boy, it never goes well. All of the time, the bullies that trashes the city comes in and just ruins his day. You had your fair share of the punks, them having to crash your father's workplace and leaving nothing but broken fishing nets and holes in the boats. It was one of the reasons why your father was slowly sinking into depression that you don't know what to do.
- It all started when paper scraps fell from the sky. A page fluttered by your room window as you were preparing for the day. The drawing was a furry animal of some sort, something clearly out of the imagination and yet it looked like it was real. Ash definitely drew this, but how did a page of his sketchbook flutter over here?
- So you set out after telling your father you were going out instead of staying in and repair the boating house. It wasn't really hard to find a red beanie amongst the dreary city but the boy was being elusive. How is it so hard to hide in a cramped city?
- And for some reason, you don't remember the walls of the buildings having moving plants or talking animals. And you definitely don't remember Ash waving a huge paintbrush around and playing basketball with another animal.
- He turned around and spotted you and this time you didn't duck behind a dumpster. You held up the page in your hands. "I found a page in your sketchbook."
- In a span of probably 1 hour, he explained everything that happened to him. The magic paintbrush, his mission to bring the city to life, and the hidden darkness that lurks the city.
- "Isn't Denska already dark as heck though?"
- "That-no, that's not what I'm saying."
- He was... Aloof to say the least. Maybe it was because he's never had a person being nice to him or maybe it was his creations edging him closer to you with a wink. You would have paid no heed if it wasn't for the pink blooming in his ears.
- He does know you, at least a tiny bit. He remembers you from the times he would sketch out near the sea as he watches you fish on a boat with your father. Ash sees how your father is acting up and he hopes that once he completed his mission, he would see your father smile.
- And hopefully you smile because good god his sketchbook has so many portraits of you and he honestly hopes to whatever deity that gave him the brush hopes that you never got to take a peek at them.
- When you see his creations write something on the wall, you pointed it out and read them to him: "Ash kept going to the ports because he wanted to draw _____ smili-"
- You never got to finish reading as he got his paintbrush and painted over the speech bubble. The distinguishable red on his face was something you wanted to see more of but he pushed you away from the animal as it howled in laughter.
- In any case, you gained a new friend and something else to do besides swimming.
Imagine Ashton coming up behind you and putting his hands over your eyes and saying "guess who?" And you giggle because how could it be anyone but Ashton but you know he loves it when you guess but you wanna mess with him a little so you snuggle back into his chest and let out a soft moan and go "mmm lukey" and you smile and he pushes you off and looks hurt so you kiss him lightly, giggling and telling him that you knew it was him all along :)
