Michael Afton X Fem Reader | In Tangles of Mangled Ecstasy
- Reads 340
- Votes 10
- Parts 7
MatureOngoing2h 5m
Last published Sat, Jul 8, 2023
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," you answer. "You?"
Skepticism reflects from the narrowing of his deep blue eyes, "Right..." He points, "What's that then?"
You follow the line of his finger to the word "paranoid" in splotchy red ink peeking out from under your gym shorts. You lie, "It's some dried paint from art class."
He blinks slowly, "You don't take art."
Your eyebrows crease. Why would he know that?
Far in the back, a decrepit old vanity stares back at you. Foggily reflecting your outline in its black spotted mirror. The floor creaks underfoot as you step into the shadows. You approach your obscured reflection, singing softly, "So distorted, deformed it was hardly a face. In that darkness. Darkness."
"Wow," a voice coos from the shadows, "you have a beautiful voice y/n."
The soft orange dress you're trying on is a little tight in the sleeves. You tug your arms back out of it, letting it slide down your back. The doorlatch clicks and the changeroom door swings open.
Your arms leap to cover your chest and you snap your head to catch the invader.
Michael's mask of nonchalance cracks for a moment. Eyes wide, head tilted back his mouth falling slightly agape. It's something familiar to you. Some taboo emotion that you know all too well. The choking euphoria of plunging into the darkness within.
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Eve thought finishing her first year of university would mean freedom. Instead, it feels like falling - fast. When she meets Michael at a summer party, everything she's bottled up starts to spill out: her fear of failing, her hunger for more, the dizzy pull of someone who finally sees her. He's older. Confident. The kind of man who makes rules just to break them - and now, he's her new boss. Between the chaos of the kitchen and the pull of a man she shouldn't want, Eve discovers what it really means to burn for something - or someone - too much. Sneak Peek: "You should wear your hair up more often," he murmurs, his breath skating across my skin. "It shows the back of your neck." His lips graze that exact spot. "I like the back of your neck, shortcake." The contact is featherlight but somehow burns. His arms bracket me, caging me in without touching. Except for his breath, warm and devastating. I shiver. "W-what?" I manage to say, already breathless. "You heard me." His eyes roam my face, unapologetically, like he's memorizing the shape of every reaction. "And you're allowed to talk to boys," he says, voice low, full of unfiltered intent. "But when it comes to anyone making you feel good-" He finds my hip with one hand. The heat of it steals the sound right out of me. "Say, laugh," he continues, "or come-" His fingers slide slowly up my side, and my eyes snap to his. He's not smiling anymore. He looks possessed. "You're mine." He grips both my hips now and, with ridiculous ease, lifts me onto the desk. His voice drops, primal. "Open."
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