#ms. mead
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Yeah, I guess it's sad Ms. Mead lost her girlfriend
But she did get her baby back
#ahs#american horror story#ahs apocalypse#michael langdon#ms. mead#ahs fandom#horror fandom#diary pages#ahs thoughts#come on now mead and venable were involved#cody fern#kathy bates#wonder if he killed venable because he was jealous his mother figure was paying attention to someone else
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Mead: If I were you, I'd be ashamed of myself.
Y/n: If you were me, I wouldn't be a virgin at 50.
*Mina looks at them from the corner amused by the scene*.
#ahs#ahs apocalypse#apocalypse#Wilhemina#wilhemina venable#wilhemina x reader#wilhemina venable x reader#ms.venable#miriam mead#miriam#ms. mead
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hii i know this is random but bear with me. ive never read the vampire academy books but i have seen the movie for the first time last week and ive been like COMPLETELY insane about it ever since. the absolute craziness of psychosexual obsessive girlbestfriendism has captivated me and now i live breathe eat roselissa. spent a lot. of time on vampire academy wiki...thinking abt reading the books even but that seems a little excessive plus i dont wanna read about rose dimitri relationship i dont condone it. BUT i am getting desperate ive seen bad fanart on pinterest ive even venturend into some bad fanfic territory theres nothing in the roselissa tumblr tag and your blog is the only light in the darkness. im so obsessed with them its really bad. NOBODY does it like them theyre so insane. okay so-> i was thinking you could use this ask to dump some roselissa opinions/headcannons/notes app essays etc or like literally anything🙏. also sorreee for how long it is & thank you & also should i watch the show? ok ok have a nice day byeeeee❤️
i am so fucking glad that it's 2023 and people are still watching this stupid perfect lesbian camp masterpiece of a film. okay first of all you are soooo real not wanting to read the books because of fuck ass dimitri like what a pathetic flop. *i* love the books like i would love my own children but keep in mind i did read them for the first time as a 12yr old and even now when i reread it's mostly to warmup before rereading bloodlines which i think is the most perfect magical romantic series ever written. heterosexuals won that round.
anyway i think everyone in the world should watch the show it's so much fun and the roselissa necromancy reveal goes soooooooo crazy like it's gay excellence. also a) australian rose hathaway is INSPIRED, b) the rose/dimitri of it all pisses me off significantly less in the show purely because he's like. not even a teacher he's just lurking and hanging around and i find that very funny. no friends no job he's just like me fr, and c) lissa wears funky little hats and that's so special to me she is my baby girl princess sweetie pie forever and ever and ever
okay moving onto actually talking about roselissa it is first of all very important to me that you know the 3rd book opens with rose inside lissa's head during a lissa/christian sex scene and she's very much like "i don't want to have sex with lissa..... BUT-" and it sends me every time especially because that was actually the first book i read so my literal introduction to this series was rose being weird and psychosexual about lissa which kind of coloured my view of them forever. roselissa above everything of course but i AM a roselissachristian throuple truther i think they're very fun and rose and christian best friendisms are very dear to me.
i do keep a running list in my notes app of songs that i would put on a roselissa playlist (like an insane person.) and the #1 entry is mitski's i don't smoke because well literally if you need to be mean be mean to me i can take it and put it inside of me..... that's literally their whole entire thing for a while there like rose spending an entire book like. siphoning off lissa's mental illness and making it her own SOUNDS like a joke but no it's #real and #devastating. bonus i also have a list of lissa songs which is topped by BRUTAL by olivia rodrigo because nobody has ever suffered the pains of being a teenage girl more than my perfect bisexual vampire princess.
my post-series thoughts /headcanons are often pretty depressing on the roselissa front but i don't want to get into depressing shit so i will instead talk about my current favourite idea which is that after they break their bond at the end of the series. you'd think they'd start being normal about each other. but NO they get even more freaky and codependent. i like to picture people coming to court and just sighing when they see them sitting in each other's laps on lissa's throne like not AGAIN. and dimitri idk dies in a fire or something. idk if you've ever seen grey's anatomy but there's this bit where a guy is like "my wife and her friend have sleepovers together in our bed with me in it" and TO ME that is soooo roselissachristian core. he's THEIR third wheel and he knows it.
also sidebar it pisses me off SOOOOOO bad seeing how people on the internet so fundamentally misunderstand lissa and her relationship to rose like for literal years now like they're always out here calling my girl self-centred and saying she doesn't love rose as much as rose loves her which is crazy because hello she brought rose back from the DEAD with her mind powers. her whole flop family was dead in that car and she brought back her girl best friend like what more can you even say about that. she's gay and she's insane and she's so completely Not Normal about rose
#okay i put a read more because this got long as fuck and i am so sorry for anyone seeing this if it didn't work sdkjdjd#THANK you for sending me this va is my favourite thing in the world i could talk about it for years#basically. absolutely watch the show it's perfect i have no notes#and i Won't tell you to read the books but. they are very fun and easy to get through if you do decide to#and while the rose dimitri of it all is. gags. i DO think roselissa is very clearly the core relationship#it's so funny that ms mead accidentally wrote a crazy gay masterpiece for the ages like. roselissa will ALWAYS be famous#answered#anonymous
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sneaking up behind him as he sits on the edge of the bed, lilly stops him from leaving by pulling him back down the moment he moves to stand up. slim fingers push his hair gently to one side so she can drag the tips of her nails down the curve of his shoulder, pressing kisses ( the soft, teasing kind, really ) against his skin. there are no words, only the warmth of her lips, the sound of each quiet breath she takes, and the way her other hand slips into his hair to tug his head to the side — wanting both more of him to kiss, and also to see how he'll respond. will he brush her off? there's a good chance he will. is she going to do it anyways? yes. — @asteritm
Enthusiasm isn’t exactly the mindset Michael woke up with today. Which had him contemplate just falling back into the sheets to give his prophecy and the world a symbolic middle finger. Being the embodiment of chaos, who can stop him? But somehow he still forces himself up. That is, ere a certain someone pulls him back down. Instead of protest, Lilly receives that quiet ‘hey’ perplexity lures from his throat like a reflex, although something of a roguish smile curves his mouth. It doesn’t last. She can’t see it from behind him anyway, busying herself with the caresses to his skin that he all too gladly receives.
Michael lifts one hand to brush over the knuckles of Lilly’s own until it sinks out of reach. Turns his head minimally for an attempted glimpse at her with an upturn of one brow. ❛ You know what? ❜ The first thing said since he’s opened his eyes, and he shifts on the bed’s edge to face Lilly, hooks the index finger of a hand below her chin and leers: ❛ Fuck it.❜ The comment trails off into a whisper against Lilly’s lips. ❛ They can stomach one morning without me.❜ Before he pulls her into a kiss that matches the gentleness of her affections prior. Someone say again he is the bad influence...
#⛧ 𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙋𝘼𝙂𝙀 // answers.#'I gotta go so my Ms. Mead doesn't give me the Look'#2 seconds later:#'ok nevermind'#Lilly's power!#thank you this was lovely ♥#asteritm
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Red Heart
Michael Langdon x fem reader
summary: At the end of the world, the Reader finds herself in Outpost 3 with nothing more than a name. With no memories of her life before, stuck living underground with strangers, and only ally seemingly being the militant Ms Mead, she's surprised by the instant connection she has with the member of the Cooperative that arrives one day without any prior warning. It's not long before her past and ties to him are revealed.
warnings: some of the usual dark content like murder and killing, I guess. Surprisingly no smut, just fluff and romance.
a/n: This is my longest fic ever so far! I combined a new idea with an old idea. There are 2 different endings, which is another first for me. With both endings, the story is roughly 28,500 words. I’m thinking about writing a smutty one shot for Michael soon. Thank you @ewokiee and @steeevienicks for the help.
“So,” Evie started, arching her brow. “You really have no memory of your life before?” She pressed, her eyes looking you over as she sized you up.
The two of you were sitting on one of black leather couches during cocktail hour.
“Afraid not,” you muttered with a slight shrug.
“Hm,” she looked away, taking a sip of her drink. “Must make adjusting to all this,” she gestured to the room and the other people present while sloshing her glass of mineral water around. “Easier… Nothing from your past to miss, no previous life to long for.”
“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.”
It was true, you couldn’t remember anything from your past. You didn’t even have any recollection of arriving at The Outpost. Two weeks ago, you had woken up in your room here, unable to recall anything except for your name. Ms. Mead was the first person you met, she had given you a quick rundown of where you were, what had happened, and the rules of Outpost 3 while she helped you change into a formal violet dress.
But Evie had a point, as the days passed the others became more strung out and restless, Coco’s hair changed daily, Gallant’s mood swings were more extreme, and they all complained from morning to night.
But, when they would speak of the world before the end, you had to admit you were a little envious. They’d talk about foods you’d never likely taste, weather you’d never feel, places you’d never see… having no memories was a blessing and a curse.
However, your curiosity was stronger than your envy, which is why you often found yourself sitting next to Evie, so you could listen to her stories. She was always happy to speak about herself and her past exploits.
Suddenly, two strangers entered the music room. You straightened out the skirt of your dress, your fingers running across the purple silk as you sat up straight. It didn’t go unnoticed that the two strangers were both dressed in purple as well.
You had quickly learned its significance in this new world. Purple meant you were part of the elite and that was your only clue to who you were before. You wondered if you had been an heiress like Coco or an actress like Dinah. But you had your doubts. Even Evie often commented that you were far too kind, too humble to have been anyone with any real clout or power. Which left you wondering why you were here, really, if you paid your way like the rest.
Eager to speak to new people, everyone stood up to greet the new meat. Gallant was quick to approach them and ask them questions about what the world above was like.
“It’s all gone,” the boy stated solemnly.
“Everything,” the girl added.
Ms. Venable soon joined the group, announcing it was time for dinner. Everyone followed her out to the dining room.
You took your usual seat and quietly waited to be served by the grays. You remained seated as Coco threw her fit over having to eat another cube. You jumped slightly when Ms. Venable struck Coco’s face. You hadn’t seen her lose her composure like that and it frightened you.
When Ms. Mead had shared with Ms. Venable that had no memory of who you were, she had questioned you repeatedly. You could see it in her eyes that she didn’t think you belonged. Ms. Venable believed you were unworthy of being a purple and hadn’t earned your spot here at this sanctuary. You were sure she was looking for a way to dispose of you.
Your eyes remained downcasted as Ms. Venable addressed the group. She shared that three of the outposts had already been overrun, there was only enough food for 18 months, and that the world above was beyond repair.
The Fist and a few other members of The Cooperative entered the dining room, The Fist whispered something to Ms. Mead.
“There’s a problem,” Ms. Mead shared. “We've detected a spike in the background radiation, centered in this room.”
Immediately Gallant pointed a finger at the newcomers who insisted they were clean.
“Place your hands on the table,” Ms. Mead directed, calmly. “And don’t move.”
Ms. Mead gave you a small reassuring smile as she came around with the Geiger Counter. Despite how the rest of the group felt about Ms. Mead, you found her presence comforting like you were safe with her around.
You watched wide eyed as Gallant and Stu were dragged away from the table. Moments later Ms. Venable dismissed you and the rest of the group.
You retired to your room and immediately started the shower to let the water heat up. Ms. Mead’s words about radiation and its effects were still swirling around your head. Stripping out of the dress, you left it on the floor as you bathed, washing every inch of your body.
The next day, you and the rest of the group learned Stu’s fate. Andre was inconsolable, sobbing as he mourned over the death of his lover.
At dinner everyone was surprised when instead of bland tasteless cubes, soup was served. Ms. Venable referred to it as bonne bouche.
You pushed the meat around with your spoon, you had to admit it smelled appetizing. Everyone else delved in, rejoicing over the flavor and taste. A few questioned the source of the meat and where the meat came from, but Ms. Mead insisted that it was chicken. Yet no one seemed truly convinced.
You were about to take a bite when Andre found a bone in his bowl. He quickly pushed his bowl aside, identifying the bone as a finger, immediately claiming that Stu had been served.
Most of the others reacted with disgust, silverware clattering on the table as they began retching and spitting the stew out. Andre leapt from his seat, swept up in an emotional outburst.
Ms. Venable attempted to reassure the group, stressing that there were some lines that should never be crossed.
Evie was the only purple unphased and continued to eat.
You calmly placed your spoon back down on your napkin, watching as the rest of the purples filed out of the dining room.
As you joined them in the music room, they were still talking about the strange supper, arguing over whether it had been Stu or not. Andre was still distraught as his mother tried to comfort him.
The arguing came to a halt as Emily shushed everyone when the music suddenly stopped. Gallant rushed to the radio as the song had changed. For two full weeks nonstop Karen Carpenter's voice had droned on and on, but now a new voice rang out.
‘There's got to be a morning after
If we can hold on through the night’
Gallant mistook it as a sign of hope, a message sent directly from The Cooperative that there was hope for the future, but 18 grueling months had passed since then.
Evie had run out of stories to tell. Andre’s tears had dried. Dinah’s advice had become stale and repetitive.
The days had all blurred together, then the weeks, then the months. Everyday was just like the last. You were desperate for something to change.
You often wondered, late in the night, if perhaps you had already died and this was purgatory or even hell, and that you were here to atone for the sins of life you couldn’t remember.
Ms. Venable tapped her cane.”This will be our last breakfast,” she announced. “We’re cutting back to one meal a day.”
You could feel the dismay and uneasiness in the room. Coco was first to share her complaints about the new arrangement, followed by Gallant. Both Evie and Dinah tried to be voices of reason, but it seemed to only fuel their frustrations more. Gallant jumped to his feet, and threatened Dinah with his fork.
Instinctively, you scooted closer to Ms. Mead as tempers rose. She looked towards The Fist, giving her a wordless order.
“I say we take our chances outside,” Coco’s assistant suggested.
“She’s right. We have to get out of here,” Gallant agreed.
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Ms. Mead stated firmly.
Gallant threw his plate, “What are you going to do? Shoot us all?”
The Fist made her way towards him.
You gripped your utensils tightly as the scene unfolded before you. You knew the members of The Cooperative wouldn’t hesitate to kill any one of you, the had done away with several people already.
Suddenly, red lights flashed accompanied with the blare of an alarm rung out, effectively catching everyone’s attention.
“Perimeter alert. There’s been a breach,” The Fist explained.
Ms. Mead sighed, giving you a curt nod, before following The Fist towards the stairs.
No one was sure what to expect. Most were thinking that this was it, that the outpost would be overrun like the others.
You probably should’ve felt worried as well, but frankly you were just glad something unexpected had happened, something to break the monotony. You stared up at the ceiling wondering who or what was up there.
That night you were restless, tossing and turning, legs tangled in your sheets as you tried to fall into a deep sleep that never came. Instead, your busy mind conjured vivid and unsettling dreams, full of unfamiliar people and experiences that you didn’t remember or you didn’t understand, almost like being in a foreign film.
Amongst all the nameless faces was a boy with blonde hair and striking blue eyes who appeared over and over again, catching your attention. As you watched him from afar he continuously changed from a child to a man.
You tried to get closer to him, reaching out with your hands trying to grab him, stop him, but each time he slipped away from your fingers with a pained look in his eyes.
When your eyes snapped open, your poor head was throbbing, pounding against your skull. You curled into a ball sobbing quietly over the pain and the new emptiness in your chest.
Everytime you closed your eyes you thought about that boy, it was almost as if you could feel his longing, his pain. You wished you could make out his face, but you could only recall pieces, like his fluffy blonde hair and the shade of his steel blue eyes.
…
He was beautiful.
He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen, not that you much to compare him to considering the only faces you could remember were residents here at the outpost. You knew you were staring as he strode into the music room, but you couldn’t resist. Even if you tried, you were sure that you couldn’t imagine anyone more perfect than the man standing before you.
Ms.Venable stepped aside as he turned and faced the survivors of Outpost 3.
“My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative,” the man stated, standing in the center of the room.
You were so engrossed with his appearance that you were unable to process his words, although you did notice the soothing sound of his honeyed voice, so sweet and rich. He exuded confidence and poise as he spoke of the horrors that had befallen the world and the few remaining survivors. There was a sort of haughtiness as he answered questions that you also admired.
It was unnerving, feeling attraction for the very first time. It was as if you could easily lose yourself to him, all of yourself, and that alone was very frightening. Surely, before the world crumpled, you must have felt this sort of magnetism towards people before, but you couldn’t imagine it was anything as powerful as this. Was this a crush? Love at first sight? Whatever it was, you weren’t prepared for how strong this pull would be.
Gallant volunteered to be interviewed first, obviously eager to earn his spot at The Sanctuary. Despite your immediate interest in Michael Langdon, you were not as eager to be alone with him.
How could you answer any of his questions when you didn’t know a thing about yourself?
But as the thought crossed your mind, Michael’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment it seemed as though his sauve and indifferent attitude faltered revealing something vulnerable and delicate beneath. Blue eyes that were cold and hard like ice were now swimming with emotion.
It only lasted for a second, his cool demeanor returning as he turned away from you.
“The process should only take me a couple of days,” Michael explained. “So you won’t be kept in suspense forever.”
“For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking,” he held up a vial containing white pills. “Down one of these. One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.”
“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you,” his eyes swept across the room, his eyes locking with yours one more time before he took his leave.
There was a heaviness in the air as the weight of his words sunk in. There was no survival without admittance to The Sanctuary. Staying here would inevitably lead to death, it was just a question of how, by feral cannibals or suicide.
As usual, the others erupted into a squabble, arguing over who was worthy and unworthy of going to The Sanctuary.
You rose to your feet as you felt your headache returning. No one questioned you as you made your way out, towards the comfort of your bedroom.
Your head snapped towards your bedroom door as someone urgently rapped against it.
“Ms. Venable has requested your presence,” Ms. Mead announced from the other side. “She has a few questions for you.”
“I’ll be right out,” you sighed as your fingers expertly finished buttoning your dress.
Ms. Mead gave you a half smile as you stepped out of your room. The two of you walked quietly through the halls as she escorted you to Ms. Venable’s office.
This happened about once a month, and you dreaded it every single time. At first she was reasonably pleasant, but as the months went by, she became more hostile, frustrated that your answers never changed.
You took a deep breath as you both stopped outside her door. Ms. Mead got the door and held it open for you.
“Thank you,” you whispered to her as you crossed the threshold.
“Of course,” she nodded, but as she closed the door, she gave Ms. Venable a stern look, who glared back in return. There seemed to be a sudden rift between the two women.
You looked wistfully at the closed door, wishing that Ms. Mead had stayed. Ms. Venable cleared her throat and motioned to the chair across from her.
“Ms. Y/n,” she greeted you as you took your seat.
“Ms. Venable,” you replied, with a polite but forced smile.
“18 months,” she began, chuckling dryly. “We’ve been here for 18 months and you still claim to have no memories?” She phrased it as a question but didn’t wait for a response. “It’s almost too convenient, isn’t it? The perfect little lie to hide behind.”
“It’s not a lie,” you insisted, locking your eyes with hers hoping to show her you were telling the truth, just like you had all the other times before.
Ms. Venable wasn’t convinced, of course, that’s why she continued with these monthly interrogations. She had been present for the arrival of all the others, except for you. You seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, standing beside Ms. Mead in a satin gown as she introduced you to the other purples.
“So,” Ms. Venable continued, barely able to hide her contempt while she feigned sympathy. “No changes? Nothing at all?”
You looked away, your fingers playing with the lace trim on your skirt. You hadn’t planned on sharing that dream with anyone, but maybe it would get her off your back for a while.
“I had this… dream recently, I can’t remember all the details, but there was this face, it’s not a clear image, but it lingers in my mind, of a sweet boy with blonde hair. I know… I know whoever he is, that I love him,” you admitted.
Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to picture him, but no matter how hard you tried it was like trying to see through fog. And there were all these feelings that emerged just at the thought of him, completely overwhelming you, making it hard to articulate any further.
“I-I need to go,” you sniffled, your vision blurry as you got to your feet and rushed out the office.
Your headache returned, bringing waves of nausea with it. The world around you was swirling and rocking, the light of the candles and lanterns were blinding. Holding your hand out you steadied yourself with the wall, using it as your anchor and guide as you tried to return to the safety of your room.
“Ms. Y/n?”
Even with you squeezing your shut, you recognized the voice belonging to Coco’s assistant Mallory. She immediately offered you assistance, helping you sit on the floor.
“Thank you,” you muttered, resting against the cool concrete wall.
“Of course,” she said, sitting next to you.
You bent your knees, pulling them up to your chest. “I keep getting these headaches along with these strange dreams,” you explained. “I think they might have to do with my memories.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” she consoled. “Ever since being here, I’ve felt off too, like I’m not all here or I’m missing parts of myself… I have a feeling there’s a reason for it all.”
The two of you sat there in a comfortable silence. You had never really spent time with Mallory before, the grays were always so busy compared to the purples, but she seemed much nicer than most of the people who’ve gotten to know.
Mallory accompanied you back to your room, once you felt well enough to walk again. You still had to prepare for your upcoming interview.
….
The grays pulled the doors open and immediately closed them shut as soon as you stepped into the office.
Michael was waiting by his desk for you. An eager smile formed on his lips as he watched you timidly approach him.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” He said, gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk before he promptly moved to his own seat.
You swallowed thickly, your hands folded in your lap, you had spent hours agonizing over this interview. You wanted to secure a spot at The Sanctuary just like everyone else, but what could you say to convince him?
Ms. Venable drilled you every chance she got about who you are or were, she was obviously certain that you didn’t belong with the rest. Even the other purples had made it a habit, regularly pointing out to you that if you had been anyone important than someone here at the outpost should’ve recognized you, but none of them did. You were no one.
Then, of course, there was the whole other ordeal of you being infatuated with Michael Langdon, you were completely bewitched by his charm and beauty.
Your stomach was already fluttering uncontrollably simply because you were in the same room with him, alone. Your gaze flickered to him, briefly taking in the sight before you. His body language spoke volumes as sat there like a young king perched upon his throne, radiating elegance and authority.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Michael mused. “ Unlike your…companions, who have all been so loud and obnoxious,” he rolled his eyes. “Constantly pestering me, pleading their cases, and offering deals and bribes thinking I can be swayed by their foolish promises but not you, not even now, why?”
You bit your lip, unsure how to respond.
“Could it be that you’ve already decided that you won’t be selected?” he speculated.
You looked away. “I’m nobody special or significant,” you explained, bunching your skirts in your hands. “I don’t even know why I’m here or how I even arrived at the outpost.”
“Ah, yes,” Michael hummed. “Ms. Venable has informed me that you have no memories of your past.” He gave you a hard look, before leaning forward, his fingers drumming on the desk. “Have you considered that perhaps you’re here because someone special, someone powerful, made these arrangements for you?”
You shook your head, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind at all, but it wasn’t an unreasonable idea. “If that were true then wouldn’t that person be here with me now?”
Michael shrugged, resting his elbows on the armrests as he leaned back and crossed his legs, “Unless they weren’t able to get here in time, perhaps they died on their way to the outpost or worse, survived… but who knows maybe they did make it, maybe they’re here and haven’t told you.”
“Why would someone do that?” Your eyes moved from Michael to the files on his desk, could it really be that one of the others knows who you are. “Do any of your files mention anything about why or how I ended up here?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” he replied with a mocking smile, laying his hand on top of the stack, a playful look in his eye as he stared down at the pile.
Your shoulders slumped, you had hoped that Michael would have some answers for you, but instead he just planted more questions and worries in your head.
“How do you feel about them, the others?” He asked offhandedly, casually changing the subject, while slightly swiveling his chair side to side.
You perked up at the question. “Oh, Evie has been a friend, someone to talk to, to confide in,” you said with a small shrug. “And Ms. Mead, even though she keeps her distance from us, she’s been a source of comfort for me, someone I can trust.”
Micheal snickered, shaking his head, “You’re the first to say anything remotely kind about the other survivors. The rest were all so quick to share with me the ugly and disgraceful truths they had gathered about one another. It’s… a refreshing change.”
He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on your face as his finger traced down the side of his face to his jaw. Your eyes followed the gesture, mesmerized, it seemed unfair to try to have to concentrate with him right in front of you. Every movement he made, no matter how small or fleeting, was alluring, like he was tempting you.
“Do you find me attractive?” He asked, his eyes lighting up with delight as he watched you squirm.
Your eyes widened, twisting your silk skirt with your hands, it was as if he could read your mind.
“Tell me,” Michael urged with a smirk, rising from his chair and slowly striding towards you. “What exactly do you like about me?”
He partially sat on his desk right in front of you, his hands clasped in front as he waited.
You parted your lips, licking them nervously. “Everything,” you answered in a small voice.
“Everything?” He repeated, lifting his brow. He leaned closer towards you, his long golden hair falling forward like a curtain, his face inching towards yours.
You nodded, your eyes locking with his as you craned your neck towards him.
“I believe you,” he whispered, his breath tickling your face as his nose touched yours. “Too bad we’re out of time.”
You blinked in surprise as the large black doors slid open.
Michael straightened out his posture, before turning away. “We’ll speak again, soon,” he added as he headed up the staircase.
You wandered the halls, head in the clouds, daydreaming of the kiss that almost happened between you and Michael. You were certain now that whatever you were feeling was more than a crush.
“Ms. Y/n?” Ms. Mead started as you almost walked into her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you gasped, feeling embarrassed as you suddenly returned to planet Earth.
“Everything alright?”
You giggled, “I’m fine, never better.”
She gave you an odd look, “Are you sure? This morning you didn’t look too well.”
You smiled warmly at her, “It was just a little headache, that’s all.”
She nodded, still not completely convinced. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you, Ms. Mead.”
She sighed, straightening out her coat as you both stood there in the middle of the empty corridor. You were about to ask what was on her mind, but suddenly she opened her mouth.
“Have you talked to him yet? Mr. Langdon?” She asked.
“I have,” you replied, trying not to smile too wide.
She looked down. “The others seemed worse off after talking to him,” she shared. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to my turn.”
“Why?” You inquired, voice laced with concern. “Surely your hard work and dedication to The Cooperative should guarantee you a spot.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“It’s the truth,” you assured her.
“What do you make of him?” Ms. Mead asked, unsure how to feel about the newcomer, he was with The Cooperative afterall and her loyalty to her employer was still strong. She had followed orders and had done the best she could in these circumstances. Perhaps, this Langdon did hold the key to salvation.
“It’s hard to put it into words,” you began to explain. “But I feel a connection to him.”
“Just keep your wits about you,” she advised, giving you a slight nod as she left.
…
You were moving sluggishly, having spent most of the morning in bed trying to recover from another headache. While the pain lingered, your head no longer felt like it was going to explode.
Slowly, you pulled open your wardrobe and shifted through your options wishing there was something comfier and easier to wear instead of all these complicated dresses.
You eventually settled on a simple tea gown which you were able to wear without a corset. As you were tying the back of the bodice, someone knocked on your door.
“Ms. Venable?” You questioned, stepping back as she invited herself into your bedroom.
“Close the door,” she ordered, standing tall with both of her hands clasping her cane.
You pushed the door closed, but remained far from Ms. Venable. She had never dropped in on you like this, and you didn’t like it. It felt too invasive, seeing her in your room acting as if she owned the place. You knew nothing good would come from this visit.
“I want you to tell me more about the boy,” she demanded, her dark eyes boring into yours.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Hiding something?” She probed.
“No,” you objected. “I’ve already told you everything I could remember.”
“Surely that’s not all,” she argued, giving you an incredulous look.
After what Ms. Mead shared with her about the beautiful boy, Ms. Venable was now convinced that the two of you were speaking of the same boy. The way you both reacted emotionally while speaking of your love for him made it obvious.
Now the big question was who was this boy?
Since the beginning, Ms. Venable had suspected that there was a connection between Ms. Mead and you. This only solidified her suspicions that you and her knew each other from before, most likely through The Cooperative.
This had to be why Ms. Mead had protected you, you were the one that should’ve been killed instead of Stu. But Ms. Mead had decided otherwise, despite the clear orders Ms. Venable had given her. No one would have cared or even noticed if you had died. You were an outlier, something unpredictable to the order she had created here. She wanted you gone.
“Think harder,” Ms. Venable commanded, glaring at you. “Who is the boy?”
“I don’t know,” you pressed your back against the wall.
She slammed her cane on the floor. “Worthless girl,” she snapped. “You have no idea what’s at stake here.”
You had to know something. The order she had worked so hard to cultivate was beginning to crumble, it was all in jeopardy because of the arrival of Langdon. He was pulling it all apart at the seams, revealing her lies and planting the seeds of disobedience. He brought chaos and disorder into her outpost while repeatedly undermining her authority. She needed to regain some sort of control, before it was too late.
“What?” You furrowed your brows, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. “I don’t understand, what does he have to do with anything?”
Ms. Venable practically snarled, “Liar.”
You jumped slightly as your door suddenly opened, revealing Michael standing on the other side.
“Ms. Venable,” he began. “I’ve been waiting in my office for quite some time…I still have questions for Ms. y/n,” he explained, folding his arms behind his back.
Ms.Venable glared at Michael, clenching her jaw tightly, her hands practically shaking with irritation over the sudden disruption.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he warned.
Ms. Venable didn't budge, she didn’t like being played for a fool, you knew more than you were letting on and she could see now that there was something going on between you and Langdon.
Micheal smirked, obviously amused.“I think it’s time for you to leave,” he stated, taking a step to the side gesturing for her to go.
She huffed, her cane tapping on the floor as she finally took her leave.
“Mr. Langdon,” you said softly, tilting your head.
“Michael,” he corrected.
“Michael,” you started again. “I wasn’t aware we were meeting again so soon.”
He smiled, directing his attention to you. “I wanted to continue where we left off yesterday. And now that Ms. Venable is gone, we can.”
Your face flushed as you recalled how your interview with him ended. You could still picture his face just inches from yours, his lips parted as you leaned in towards him. You had wondered if you had just a minute or two longer with him, what would’ve happened? Was he really going to kiss you?
“What are you thinking about?” He looked around your room, before approaching you, his hands wrapping around your elbows as he pulled you towards him.
“Nothing,” you answered in a small voice.
He laughed lightly, “I’m sure it’s not nothing.” His fingers curled tighter around your arms. “Let’s see… does it have anything to do with me?”
You bit your lip and nodded.
He smirked triumphantly. “You don’t have to be so nervous about that,” Michael mused. “I want you to think about me… to want me. Do you want me?”
You nodded again, not trusting your voice.
“Good,” he murmured. “Considering how we might end up the last two people on Earth.”
You furrowed your brow as Michael reached up, his knuckle running along your cheek.
“Which brings me to why I’m here,” he continued, lowering his hand making you immediately miss his touch as it left your skin. “I have important news, news that I wanted to deliver to you in person.”
He focused on your face with a serious look, “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room, do you understand?”
“Yes,” you promised.
Michael leaned down, his lips right by your ear. “You’ve been granted a spot at The Sanctuary.”
You looked at him with wide eyes. You couldn’t believe it.
He smiled, placing his index finger over your lips. “This is our little secret.”
His finger lingered on your skin for a moment before he reluctantly released you. Smoothing out his coat, he gave you one last look, before leaving you there speechless.
…
The complex multi-level underground structure of Outpost 3 was prone to creating strange moving shadows. It wasn’t dark figures following you in your peripherals. The fire and candle light that lit up each room and passage were unable to reach all the far corners.
It was eerie at the beginning, constantly feeling like you had to look over your shoulder, but eventually you got used to it, like you did with the cubes, the complicated clothes, and the same song that played every damn day. It just became part of your reality.
But lately you began to feel as though you were being followed by more than just the usual shadows, this new dark figure seemed more real, more solid.
At first you blamed your mind, thinking it was playing tricks on you or mistaking the shadows for a real person. Since you weren’t getting much sleep, because of the vivid dreams and the horrendous headaches, it didn’t seem unreasonable to suspect that you might be hallucinating.
You couldn’t shake the feeling, however. Unlike the shadows, it seemed to have more mobility, slinking along the walls or even the ceiling, watching you, but you were never able to get a good look at it. A few times, in the middle of night, you had jolted awake swearing that you had felt someone in bed beside you.
You felt like you were losing your mind.
Walking past the large fire in the atrium, you hoped that things would be better at The Sanctuary, less dreary and hopeless like the outpost had become. The change in scenery alone would be a welcomed change.
You sighed thinking about what Michael had said about it just being you and him, you wished he had elaborated.
Out of nowhere, you saw a dark figure move above you, against your better judgment you followed it, going up the stairs to a vacant room.
You stood there frozen as a shadowy figure stood across from you. It tilted its head, staring at you. Its body was covered head to toe in latex.
“Who are you?” You asked.
It didn’t answer.
“Michael?” You took a step closer, observing it more closely, wondering who or what it could be dressed like that. Your eyes wandered over its body, the tight fitting material left little to the imagination.
It moved forward as well, extending its hand and caressing your cheek similar to how Michael had done earlier, but the texture of the latex on your skin made your skin crawl. It lacked the warmth and comfort Michael’s touch had brought you. The same touch that had excited you earlier, the same touch you craved to feel again.
You squirmed as it laid its other hand on your waist. Desire radiated from its body as it pulled you closer.
Fingers drifted up towards your chest. Your heart began to race, panic settling over you as you speculated what the strange creature would do next.
The hand that had caressed your cheek trailed towards your neck. You inhaled sharply as its large fingers wrapped around your neck.
Firmly you pushed it away from you.
It tilted its head the other way, watching you attentively. For a moment you were worried that you had upset the person or creature, but it simply walked past you and out the door, seemingly satisfied.
You stumbled backwards until your back hit a wall, releasing a shaky breath you had been holding in.
The interaction was so odd and brief, that you couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. But something deep down told you it was a test. That Michael was testing you.
Breathing in deeply, you tried to regain your composure. You knew it didn’t have any sort of malicious intent, it was more that you felt repulsed by the idea of anyone other than Michael touching you like that.
You hoped you had seen the last of it.
…
You were in the library when you heard that Evie had passed. You sat there for hours, in silence, as you tried to process the news.
Gallant was at least courteous enough to find and tell you that she had died, emphasizing that she had died peacefully in her sleep. He held a somber expression, trying desperately to appear upset, nodding his head as he expressed that she had lived a long and fuller life than most. Too bad the crocodile tears he managed to muster were wasted, you were so despondent that you weren’t really listening anymore as he cried.
You weren’t sure how to feel about the situation, she had been a friend to you when you had no one, but you weren’t blind to her boasting and egotistical nature. You sure that in life she had more enemies than friends, even her own grandson barely seemed to tolerate her.
There would be no funeral, no ceremony celebrating her life or to mourn her, everyone would just move on without a second thought.
Your head shot up as you felt the couch dip beside you.
Michael crossed his legs and propped his arm up on the back of the sofa, resting his head on his hand, as he turned his body towards you.
“You’ve heard the news, I assume?” He asked, in a gentle tone.
You nodded as tears finally streamed down your face. Suddenly it all felt more real, now that Michael was here. Evie was really gone and your world seemed smaller now because of it.
He rested his free hand over yours as you cried freely, his thumb caressing circles on the top of your hand. It took several minutes before you were able to compose yourself.
“I know she wasn’t anyone’s favorite person,” you sniffled. “She rubbed people the wrong way, made everything about her, but Constance was my-“
You stopped speaking as you realized your mistake.
Constance?
The name had slipped from your lips so easily, like you had said it many times before, but that made no sense, you didn’t know anyone by that name, or did you?
Michael paused, his entire body becoming stiff as he peered at your face.
“I’m sorry,” you shook your head. “I don’t know where that came from. I’ve been getting these headaches and having the weirdest dreams.”
“It’s alright,” he reassured you, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Perhaps, it’s your mind preparing itself for when your memories return. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
You wiped your face, and inhaled deeply, “Thank you for being here with me.”
“Of course,” he murmured, shifting in his seat and taking the hand he was holding and moving it to his lap. He reclined his head on the back of the sofa as you scooted closer to him, laying your head against his shoulder.
Michael stared at the chandelier, watching flames on the candles flicker with a pensive expression, his hand holding yours tighter as his thoughts drifted back to memories he had forbidden himself from revisiting.
He had changed and grown so much over the past couple of years, but having you back by his side invoked so many emotions and memories. You were always there when he needed you, when he wanted you.
He felt like such a monster after Grandma’s death. It left him wondering whether people were incapable of loving him because he was so wicked, evil. But you stayed with him, comforted him, loved him. You had knelt down beside him on the wooden floors, letting him cry upon your shoulder as you held him close...
Michael blinked a few times, holding back tears. “You should get some rest,” he managed to say in an even tone.
You stretched your arms over your head and nodded. Your entire body felt heavy. Once you arrived in your room you collapsed on your bed, passing out, too tired to dream.
…
Michael closed his laptop and rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t focus on his work. The events from earlier had opened the floodgates, leaving him feeling like he was drowning inside.
It was becoming such a struggle to keep you at arms length. Even without your memories he could see that you were still drawn to him, that you still cared for him, and it was taking all of his self restraint not to take advantage of that.
There was nothing he wouldn’t give to have things like they were… to listen to you talk softly as you played with his hair or to reach out and hold your hand whenever he needed to.
But it was still too soon, he still had to keep you safe.
He glanced at the trunk that held the few belongings he brought with him to the outpost. Laying on top was a book of yours, your favorite book. You had read it to him so many times that he grew to love it as much as you did.
Closing his eyes Michael could picture the last time you read it to him, as clear as day, back in the old mansion. It was the middle of the afternoon, his head was resting on your belly as both laid together in his room, your nails were scratching his scalp. He had fallen asleep before you reached the end…
For nearly two years he tried to read it, but he never got very far, it was only a good book when you were reading it.
Michael was sitting in front of the fireplace, head resting against his hand as he gazed into the flames. A worn book sat on his lap, forgotten. Just a few more days he kept reminding himself, he had worked so hard to get to this point, but soon he’d have everything he wanted.
He turned his head as you opened the door and peeked in.
“You wanted to see me?”
“That’s right,” Michael nodded, rising from his seat and taking a few long strides towards you. “I’ve heard you’ve read most of the books available in the library.”
“Not much else to do,” you smiled slightly, shutting the door behind you.
“Would you like a new book to read?” He asked, looking down at you. “I have a feeling, you’ll really enjoy this one.” He dangled the book that had been on his lap in front of you.
You tilted your head, giving him a wary look, but as soon as you reached out to accept it, he pulled it away with a smug grin.
Micheal tutted, shaking his head. “Not so quick, there’s a catch,” he teased, holding it over his shoulder. “If you want to read it, you have to read it to me.”
“Read it to you?” You narrowed your eyes.
“Mmhmm,” he nodded, getting closer to you.
“I don’t understand,” you muttered.“Why?”
“So many questions,” Michael chuckled. “If you really don’t want to, I could ask one of the others, Gallant, maybe? Or Coco?”
“I’ll do it,” you blurted out, the thought of him asking someone else smacked you with a bout of anxiety, making your heart jump into your throat. Again you made a reach for the book, and this time he allowed you to take it. With a smile, he relinquished the hardback book to you, and headed back towards the fireplace.
Gracefully, he shucked off his black coat and laid it on the back of one of the chairs. As you were about to sit on the other armchair, he stopped you and offered you his hand, guiding you to the rug on the floor.
You knelt down on your knees first, before trying your best to get comfortable on the floor. The tight bodice and large skirt on your dress limited your mobility.
You were caught off guard as Michael joined you, resting his head upon your lap as stretched out on the carpet. His face looked up, his attention all on you as he waited for you to start.
Clearing your throat, you opened the book to the first chapter and started reading. Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his arms laying across his chest as you read in a soft and steady tone.
Michael was right, you immediately became engrossed in the story and attached to its characters. Time passed comfortably between the two of you as if this were a regular occurrence or activity. Absent-mindedly, you played with Michael’s hair, casually twirling the silky strands around your finger. He slowly opened his eyes gazing at the fireplace with the same vulnerable expression you had briefly seen before.
He snatched your hand, curling his fingers around your palm, with a firm grip he placed your hand on his chest holding it there with both of his.
You stopped reading, and looked down at him. His head was still turned away from you, long blonde locks covering the side of his face. You could feel his heart beating under your touch. Your fingers slowly grasped the front of his shirt. Laying the book down, you reached out and tucked his hair behind his ear.
Michael closed his eyes and gave a long drawn out sigh before immediately sitting up.
“Michael?”
He didn’t answer as he got to his feet.
Just then, two grays abruptly slid the large black doors open. Ms. Venable appeared heated, her lips forming a scowl as she stared daggers between you and Michael.
“It’s time for dinner,” Ms. Venable reminded sharply. “You’ve already missed cocktail hour.”
Michael stepped in front of you, protectively, blocking Ms. Venable’s view of you.
“My apologies,” he said, though his expression said otherwise.
Ms. Venable pursed her lips, her hand balling into a fist. Michael narrowed his eyes, standing tall, almost daring Ms. Venable to say something else with him present. Finally, she averted her gaze.
He lifted his coat from the chair and slipped it back on effortlessly. “I’ll escort her down.”
Michael waited until she left, before he helped you up. He still appeared irritated over the intrusion, acting unusually quiet.
You placed your hand on his upper arm, guiding him to face you. Michael raised his brow as he looked down at you, a faint smile forming on his lips.
Offering you his arm, he led you downstairs.
…
Ms. Venable gathered everyone in the music room, purples and grays, under the guise of an emergency meeting. All eyes were on her as she began to speak of the hardships endured by all during the past months.
“I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration,” she announced. “Which is why this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill, we will have a Halloween soirée.”
Gallant and Coco were the only ones to react with notable excitement. The rest of the purples seemed to question the real purpose of this masquerade.
You couldn’t help but notice the lack of Evie’s big personality in the room, the other purples seemed so dull by comparison. You missed her witty comments and humor. She probably had some interesting stories relating to Halloween.
Gallant, perhaps reading your expression, added how it was a shame his grandmother wouldn’t be present. However, he did a piss poor job of pretending to be sad. You wanted to roll your eyes at the comment, but resisted.
With everyone present in one room, with the exception of Michael, you were reminded that you had been selected for The Sanctuary. You were curious about who else Michael had chosen.
You glanced briefly at Ms.Mead, if it were up to you, you would pick her to join. She was far more useful and resourceful than the others, and could handle stressful situations with a cool head from what you had witnessed. To you she was simply one of the best this Outpost had to offer.
“I encourage you all to use your imaginations, to create what I am sure to be exquisite costumes,” Ms. Venable continued.
Once again the only ones who appeared happy about this whole ordeal were Coco and Gallant. It seemed strange for Ms. Venable to be acting so out of character, for her to care about something as frivolous as Halloween or making amends to anyone. There had to be more to it all.
Before dismissing everyone, she stressed, “Attendance is mandatory.”
The day of the masquerade, you had spent most of the day primping and preening hoping to look your best for the night. Even though it seemed unlikely, a part of you was holding out hope that you would see Michael tonight.
You did a little twirl in front of the full length mirror in your room. You were wearing a full length dark purple gown with an off -shoulder neckline made of silky ruffles.
Arriving in the music room, you spotted Ms. Mead who entered with a cart carrying apples. You felt a flutter of excitement, watching as she started to add them to a a barrel of water. They looked so appetizing. The others began to gather around, stunned that there was fresh fruit.
Looking at their faces as they stood around the barrel, you realized that you had left your mask upstairs. While they were all distracted with the fresh apples for the party, you snuck away and headed back to your room.
Lifting the skirt of your dress, you hurried back up the steps, but slowed down immediately when saw Micheal standing on the landing. His hand was resting on the bannister, as he gazed down at you.
“Are you heading downstairs?” You asked as you made your way up.
Michael chuckled, “Afraid not.”
“Oh,” you said with a sad smile, trying to hide your disappointment.
He offered you his hand as you took the last few steps up. Michael’s lips curled into a sneer as he examined you and your dress.
“Such an ugly color,” he criticized, his finger grazing over the dark purple fabric. “Doesn’t suit you at all.”
You glanced down at it, “There’s not much variety when it comes to color in my closet.”
He hummed, his hands undoing his scarf. He held it up to your face, before wrapping it securely around your neck, “Now red,” he murmured. “Red looks good on you.”
You could feel your face heat up over the small compliment.
Michael sighed as he took a moment to admire you, then leaned down, his lips close to your ear. “I bet you’d look even better in black.”
He pulled back. “Come with me,” he invited.
You bit your lip, looking back towards the stairs leading down to the music room.
He shook his head and reached for your hand. “No one will even notice you're not there.”
“But Ms. Venable said attendance was mandatory,” you whispered, playing with one end of the scarf.
Micheal frowned, his grip on your hand tightening, “I thought you’d want to spend time with me.”
“I do,” you said quickly.
“Then why are you hesitating?” He inquired, his voice steadily rising. “I can give you whatever you want, they can’t.”
You cupped his cheek, you hadn’t seen him become so emotional before, “I just wanted to try an apple, that’s all, but I’d rather be with you.”
He examined your face, his eyes practically staring straight into your soul. “That’s all?” He asked softly.
With a deep breath, his calm and confident façade returned. Lacing his fingers with yours, Michael led you to his room.
He motioned for you to have a seat on his bed, before he bent down and unlatched a black chest that was on the floor. From the chest he produced an apple.
Michael held it out towards you, it was a deep rich red color and unblemished. It looked perfect. You only hoped it tasted as good as it looked.
“Go ahead,” he urged, sitting by his desk and watching intently as you brought the apple to your lips.
You moaned as you bit into it, savoring the satisfying crunch and the sweet taste as juice dribbled down your chin. You took several more bites, giggling a little as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
You suddenly felt self conscious as you realized Micheal was still watching, his gaze firmly fixed on you.
“How is it?” He asked, shifting forward as he moved his elbows from his chair onto his knees.
You hid your mouth behind your hand as you swallowed, “Delicious.”
“Is that right?”
“Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“I can think of something that tastes better,” he leaned forward, tilting his head and stroking his hand against your cheek and down to your neck as he pulled you closer. “It’s time for you to come back to me, y/n.”
His soft lips brushed against yours, before parting. His tongue lightly trailed over your lower lip, tasting the juice from the apple. You melted against him, your apple slipping from your fingers and falling to the floor as you held onto him. You closed your eyes, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you from falling.
Who would’ve thought a kiss would be so powerful?
***flashback***
Micheal sat by the window, anxiously awaiting for your arrival. When grandma had shared that she was going out for the evening, and that you would be the one coming to watch him, he immediately perked up with excitement.
“How much longer grandma?” He whined.
“Not much longer,” she replied, patting the top of her grandson’s head.
Constance felt like she had hit the jackpot when you started sitting for her. After the last few babysitters, who had unfortunately met their demise here in her house, she feared that she’d never be able to go out alone or get a moment’s peace without having to add one death on her already guilt ridden conscience. But after that first night, when she entered her home and saw you alive and well with Micheal beside you just as happy as he could be, she honestly felt like the luckiest woman alive.
“Now remember to behave yourself, Micheal,” Constance started. “We both like Ms. y/n very much, don't we? It would be such a pity if she wasn’t around anymore.”
Micheal nodded his head, “I’ll be good.”
Now, Constance was no fool, she had her suspicions as to why her grandson made an exception when it came to you. The little dear had a crush on you, his first crush. It was truly sweet, watching him moon over you, almost made Micheal seem like a normal boy.
“She’s here!” Micheal shouted, jumping out of his seat to greet you at the door.
“Hi, Micheal,” you laughed as he wrapped his arms around your middle, squeezing you tightly.
“I missed you,” he mumbled, face pressed into stomach.
“I missed you too,” you rubbed his back as he squeezed you even tighter.
Constance smiled, grabbing her purse, “I’ll be back at 10. Have fun you two!”
“We will!” You replied, waving as she headed out.
You crouched down, onto your knees, looking Michael eye to eye, “Why don’t you go pick out a movie, okay?”
Micheal nodded, rushing into the living room, and grabbing the TV remote before flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the channels.
Micheal was by far the easiest kid you cared for, he followed your instructions, never had a tantrum or fussed, and always seemed so happy when you were around.
There had been rumors circulating around the neighborhood that made you hesitant about accepting the position. Everyone had heard about the deaths in the house, of course, but rumors were now spreading about how those nannies and sitters were actually murdered. However, after getting to know Micheal and Constance, you were glad you took the job. There was no way this sweet little boy could’ve hurt anyone.
He may have had some odd interests, but he just seemed so innocent.
“What movie did you pick?” You asked from the kitchen as the popcorn finished popping.
“The Omen,” he answered.
“Are you sure you want to watch that one? It’s pretty scary,” you warned.
“I’m sure.”
You shrugged, curling up on the couch beside him with a big bowl of buttery popcorn. You didn’t mind his interests, no matter how strange they might be to others. In your opinion, watching a horror movie was way better than watching The Wiggles or whatever else kids were into these days.
After a while, you grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and covered your legs. Michael’s eyes were glued to the screen, but he managed to snuggle closer to you as you shared the blanket with him.
You winced as the nanny jumped, the noose successfully snapping her neck. It had been a few years since you’ve watched this particular horror classic. Usually you weren’t so jumpy, but it took you by surprise.
Michael shifted in his seat and looked at you. “It’s not his fault, right?” He asked in a small voice.
You raised your brow, and sat up, grabbing the remote and turning the volume down. “What Michael?”
“Damien and the stuff that’s happening, it’s not his fault, right?”
You looked back at the TV screen and thought about it for a moment. It was an interesting question. Damien is the son of the devil, but he’s still a child after all, and children are innocent and still learning about right and wrong. The contradictory nature of Damien’s existence is part of what makes the film so captivating. Makes the viewer wonder about all the evil people in the world and where it all went wrong for them.
How much of Damien’s circumstance was his fault? He didn’t ask to be born, he had no control over who his father was… Does he understand that his desires are evil? Is he compelled to act on these impulses without choice? Does he have free will?
You could feel Michael’s gaze on you as you mulled it over. His eyes examined every little feature and movement your face made. His small hands gripped the knees of his pants as anxiety built up within him as he waited for your answer.
“It’s complicated, I think,” you said. “It’s not all his fault but some of it is.”
Michael laid back on the couch as he processed what you said. “I’d never hurt you, y/n.”
He didn’t want you to end up like the others before, they didn’t come back and he was fine with that, but he’d feel terrible if that happened to you. The thought of you being gone forever made him feel a lot of things, sad, angry, lonely… he would never hurt you.
…
“Well, don’t you look nice,” Constance complimented as she opened the door and invited you in. “If you had other plans, dear, you didn’t have to come.”
You laughed, shaking your head, “I wouldn’t call being stood up plans.”
“His loss, Honey,” Constance reassured you, giving you a small pat on the arm.
You had been waiting alone at the restaurant when Constance called you, you immediately accepted. You figured speanding time with Michael was better than going home alone to mope over some dumb guy anyways.
“Where’s Michael?” You asked, surprised he hadn’t already bulldozed you with a hug.
Michael peeked his head from around the corner, he was blushing bright red the moment he saw you. You never looked so pretty before. You were dressed up like a princess.
You tilted your head and smiled, “Why are you being so shy, silly?” You knelt down with your arms wide open.
Michael rushed over, looping his arms around you.
“Sorry again about your date, dear,” Constance consoled you as she grabbed her coat.
“I’ll be fine,” you laughed as she headed towards the door. “I’ve got Michael to cheer me up.”
He pulled away from you beaming, “I can do that.”
You smiled back at him and winked, “Why don’t we start our night with some ice cream?”
He nodded eagerly following you to the kitchen.
“So you were on a date?” Michael asked, hopping onto one of the stools at the breakfast nook.
“Sort of,” you shrugged, getting ice cream out of the freezer and setting it on the counter to soften. “It’s not really a date when the other person doesn’t show up.”
“Is dating like getting married?” He inquired, swinging his legs back and forth.
“No, not exactly,” you answered without missing a beat, juggling your conversation while opening the fridge and grabbing the chocolate syrup and whip cream. “Dating is more of a step towards getting married, people date to figure out if they want to marry the person.”
Michael nodded, “What do you do on a date?”
“Oh, all sorts of things,” you grabbed bowls from the cabinet. “Watch a movie, go out to dinner, walk in the park, just any activity where I can talk and get to know the other person.”
“Are we dating?” Michael asked with an earnest look.
You paused, still holding the bowls, as you turned around to face him. The question caught you completely off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we do all those things together,” he explained. “We eat together, watch movies, play at the park, talk…”
You laughed, “you’re right, we do do all those things together.”
“So we’re dating?”
You sighed, fishing through the drawer for the ice cream scooper. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we’re not.”
“Why not?” He asked, concern written all over his face. “Don’t you like me?”
“Of course I do,” you murmured, handing him a bowl and a spoon and ruffling his hair. “But when it comes to dating, you should pick someone that's the same age as you.”
“Grandma doesn’t,” he said bluntly.
You bit your lip, trying hard not to laugh or smile, he wasn't wrong. You took a moment to think about your next words carefully. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you have to be an adult.”
Michael sighed and nodded, picking at his food. He hated all those ‘when you're older’ things. “So will you date me when I’m an adult?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind dating an ugly old lady,” you teased.
“Don’t say that,” he declared, his blue eyes fixated on you, full of determination. “You’ll always be beautiful.”
You smiled and kissed his forehead, “Thank you, Sweetheart.”
…
Michael was overjoyed, his prayers had been granted overnight. He had gone to bed wishing, begging, to be older, to be an adult. He was so desperate to be with you, he never wanted anything so badly.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his fingers examining his older face, he turned his head side to side, wondering if you would still think he was cute.
Constance was still so rattled from the shock of finding a full grown Michael asleep in his small bed, that she hadn’t been able to stop shaking all morning.
Michael couldn’t wait to show you the new him. He bounced downstairs to find grandma, she needed to call you, invite you over right now so you could see.
When he first asked, she made up an excuse saying you were too busy, but as days passed he began getting more and more irritable, throwing tantrums, whining and crying for you to come over.
She disconnected the phone. That pushed him over the edge. He screamed, yelling that he hated her, while yanking the phone and cord off the wall.
But she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk Michael calling you or you calling the house.
Constance was worried for your well being, how could you accept what she couldn’t, if you refused him after what he did for you, how he grew up just for you, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to end your life. In a strange way, you represented the last small piece of humanity that Michael had. It would be a shame if he snuffed it out.
He couldn’t sleep, he was still so angry, why was grandma doing this to him. Why was she being so mean? He balled his fists, breathing fast. He didn’t want to listen to her anymore or follow her dumb rules or do anything she says…
Michael seemed to have blacked out after that, because the next thing he knew his hands were wrapped around his grandmother’s throat. He gasped, tears falling from his eyes as he finally let her go.
He didn’t mean to.
The next day Constance called the priest. She had no other alternatives. She had never in her life been so afraid. But when that fell through, and she saw the priest dead on the floor, she finally snapped.
…
All morning you kept looking at your phone, thinking any minute it would light up and ring. When you hadn’t heard from Constance, you became concerned. Typically you watched Michael at least three days a week, if not more. But by the time the afternoon rolled around, and you still hadn’t heard a thing, you decided to call.
You tapped your foot anxiously as you held your phone to your ear, but your stomach dropped when a robotic voice informed you that the line was no longer in service.
Dropping the phone, you immediately bolted out the door. Fortunately, you lived nearby as you began to sprint towards their house. Your mind was racing, as you assumed the worst had happened. You prayed that they were both safe.
You came to a sudden stop, as you stood across the street from their house, a young man emerged from the front door in a hurry. He seemed completely distraught, walking barefoot, tears streaming down his face, eyes bloodshot.
You jogged towards him. “Are you okay?” You asked, voice laced with concern.
He lifted his head at the sound of your voice. “Y/n?” The man gasped, immediately reaching out for you.
You took a few steps back, the poor boy looked like you had just punched him in the gut.
He started crying harder, “Don’t you recognize me?”
You narrowed your eyes, gently placing your hands on his cheeks, directing his face side to side, so you could get a look at him. He was beautiful, gorgeous even, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and clear blue eyes.
“Michael?” You whispered. Looking into his eyes, you knew it was him, even though it was impossible.
“Grandma’s mad at me,” he wailed, his hands clinging to your shirt as he buried his face against your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him, stroking his back.
“Will you take care of me, y/n?” He sobbed.
“Of course-“ you stopped talking as Constance came outside.
Her face was hard and stoic as she watched you and Michael before she motioned for you to come into the house.
“Let’s go inside,” you murmured, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
At first Michael didn’t budge as he looked over his shoulder back at Constance.
“It’s alright,” you encouraged him, taking his hand and walking back to the house.
Constance forced a smile as she greeted you, “You’re taking this better than I did.”
She gave Michael a cold look, who immediately looked down at his feet as he shuffled into the house.
Once inside, the reality of the situation sunk in as you sat across from a full grown Michael, who was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. He stared up at you full of adoration.
“So you’re older now…” you began.
He beamed, “Yep! I did it for you.”
“You… did this for me?”
Michael nodded, his eyes still red from crying.
“How?”
He shrugged, “I just wished for it really really hard. I never wanted anything more.” His face turned serious,
“So what do you think?”
“What do I think?” You repeated. You were still trying to figure out why he did this for you. You glanced at him and saw his hopeful expression. “I think… you look very handsome.”
“So you like it?”
“Of course, I do. You did it for me.”
The next day Constance invited you over. Michael was still in his room when you arrived. She seemed tired, distant, expressing that she wasn’t up to going out.
“Y/n, dear,” Constance laid a hand on your shoulder. “Mind taking Michael out for a bit? Could do him some good to get out of the house.”
“Sure,” you nodded, before heading upstairs. Outside Michael's room you could hear the TV, the sound effects gave away that he was busy playing a video game.
“Hey Michael,” you said, leaning against the doorframe to his room. “Want to go out with me?”
“Like a date?” He perked up like a little puppy, dropping his video game controller on his bed.
“Sure,” you laughed. You had never seen him move so fast as he scrambled to his closet and grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and a jacket, putting them on in record time.
“I’m ready,” he said eagerly, taking your hand in his and practically raced down stairs with you stumbling behind him. “Bye Grandma!”
It felt odd, not in a bad way, just different.
Michael was obviously adjusting to his older body. He wasn’t used to being so big or strong, and he was still behaving with the same amount of energy as a boy would, like holding your hand with all his might.
He blushed as you explained that he had to loosen his grip a little because he was so strong now, but you still found his enthusiasm endearing.
“So what would you like to do today?” You asked him.
“Let’s go to the park, then have milkshakes,” he said animatedly.
The two of you walked to the neighborhood park, taking a small stroll around the pond watching the ducks swim. Suddenly Michael bolted towards the playground, dragging you behind him.
“The swings are open!” He shouted.
“Michael,” you half laughed, half shouted, trying to keep up with him.
“Come on,” he said, letting go of your hand and grabbing the swing chains. “I’ll push you!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, embarrassed.
“Please,” He rocked the swing side to side. “It’ll be fun!”
You shook your head as you finally relented, unable to resist his puppy dog eyes.
He grinned, holding the swing steady as you sat down. “Hold on tight,” he whispered in your ear before he started pulling the swing back.
You giggled as you swung forward then back again, his hands catching you each time and pushing you higher and higher. Michael was busy enjoying himself, listening to you laugh as he pushed you harder, he forgot to pay attention to how hard he was pushing you and accidentally pushed you too hard.
You fell forward, landing on your hands and knees. Hissing, you moved so you could sit properly. You bit your lip, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you tried to bend your knee to get a better look. You had a large gash that stung.
“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he whispered, kneeling in front of you. Michael’s heart was hammering in his chest, he had never seen you upset before… your pain, your tears, hurt him more than the angry words his grandma had shouted at him yesterday.
“I’ll be alright,” you said, mustering up a smile for him.
Michael winced watching the blood drip down your calf. He thought about how the other nannies and sitters bled when they made him mad, they didn’t come back after that. Would you leave him now too?
You scanned the area, hoping there was a bathroom or drinking fountain nearby so you could at least wash some of the blood off.
“Here,” Michael said, taking a hold of your leg as he thought of a way to fix it. “I’ll kiss it better.”
“You don’t have to-“
But he pressed his lips to your knee before you could stop him. The kiss lingered longer than the quick peck you had expected him to give. His eyes were closed, deep in concentration. Lifting his head, he licked the smear of blood off his lips.
“All better,” he chirped.
You ran your fingers over your knee, the cut was gone leaving your knee looked as good as new. “Michael, how did you…”
You dropped the subject as you looked up at him, golden hair shining in the sunlight as he sat back in the grass. It seemed stupid to ask, healing your knee was probably easy compared to changing his age or any of the other strange things he had accomplished.
“Can we go get a milkshake now you?” Michael yawned. “I’m hungry and tired.”
“Sure,” you replied, still dazed.
He held out both of his hands to you, helping you up off the ground, and immediately laced his fingers with yours as he started leading the way.
Michael insisted on sharing a milkshake with you, explaining he had seen couples doing that on TV. The two of you found a table near a window by the corner.
“Want the cherry?” You asked Michael, using the tip of your straw to push it to his side.
Right away he plucked it from the cup and popped it into his mouth with the exception of the stem. “Thanks,” he grinned, still chewing.
“You’re very welcome,” you leaned forward taking a big sip.
Michael bounced, “This has been the best date!”
You chuckled, “It really has been great.”
Out of nowhere, he leaned across the table and kissed your cheek. It was a quick and innocent little peck, but his face was beet red when he sat back down. You bit your lip thinking about how cute he was acting.
Walking home, Michael smiled, a full genuine smile, his eyes lighting up as he gazed down at you. “I like being taller than you,” he laughed.
You smiled back at him, your hand clasped together with his, swinging them between you. As you entered the house, you immediately noted how quiet it was. Something was wrong.
“Constance, we're back,” you called out as you closed the door. You waited for a reply, but all there was was silence.
“Michael,” you said softly, turning to him. “Wait right here, I’m going to go upstairs. Your grandma is probably just taking a nap.”
Michael watched you as you went upstairs, he didn’t understand why you seemed so distressed. He tried to wait like you had asked him to, but Grandma was probably just next door. She did that sometimes.
He looked out the window towards the vacant house then back toward the direction you had gone. He could be back with Grandma before you’d even realize that he had left.
“Grandma?” Michael called wandering into the large old house. He furrowed his brow, running towards the couch when he saw her. “Grandma?”
His heart sped up when he saw her.
“Grandma,” Michael crumbled to his knees. “Hey, wake up.” With shaky hands he held her.
She didn’t move or breathe, her heart had stopped beating… Michael knew a dead body when he saw one, she was gone. This was all his fault, he drove her to this. There was something wrong with him.
“I’m sorry,” he cried, hugging her lifeless body. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh God,” you covered your mouth as you finally found Michael and Constance. “Michael,” you stumbled towards him, immediately taking him in your arms and cradling him against you.
“This is all my fault,” he sobbed, curling his knees to his chest, hands clutching your arm. “I’m a monster.”
“No, you’re not a monster,” you soothed. “You didn’t do this.”
You rocked Michael in your arms, your eyes surveyed the living room, there was an empty pill bottle left discarded on the nearby coffee table along with a glass of liquor. You couldn’t understand why she would kill herself.
“I-I should call someone,” you said, trying to hold yourself together.
“Don’t call the police,” a man’s voice advised seemingly out of nowhere.
You snapped your head around and stared wide eyed at the dark haired man who just appeared out of nowhere. He was sitting in one of the arm chairs, legs crossed with relaxed posture.
“They’ll just take Michael away. You don’t want that do you?” He asked you in a calm voice.
You shook your head, your sweet Micheal had been through enough already, “Who are you? I thought this house was vacant.”
The man blatantly ignored your questions and continued, “You should go pack Michael’s things, He’s going to be staying here with us for a while.”
Michael’s hands gripped you tightly. “Will you stay with me?” He croaked.
You could feel the man’s eyes on you, observing your reaction closely. Gently, you wiped Michael’s eyes, then tilted his head up. “Of course, I’ll stay with you.”
Michael sniffled, “Forever?”
You swallowed, glimpsing at Constance’s lifeless form then back to Michael. “Forever.”
The man stayed with Michael as you went next door. You felt like you were on autopilot as you folded his shirts and packed them into a duffle bag.
Your life was about to change drastically, but you couldn’t refuse him. You couldn’t just abandon him when he needed you the most, especially not after the only family he had killed herself.
You knew Michael was different, very different, but he still needed someone, someone that could accept and love him even with all the terrible and strange things that came with him… he needed you.
It didn’t take you long to piece together that Ben and the others in the house were ghosts, or perhaps they preferred spirits.
Living in a haunted house took some getting used to. Michael adjusted faster than you did, you were secretly grateful that he wanted to share a room with you, so at least you weren’t alone at night.
It was unnerving seeing them from the corner of your eye, only for them to disappear when you turned your head. Ben was the only one you had officially met so far, but you were aware that his family along with many others were trapped in the house.
Michael quickly began to view Ben as a father figure. They spent a lot of time together playing games and having long conversations.
You were happy that Michael was opening up to someone. From what you had gathered Ben was a psychologist, you hoped that he’d be able to help Michael, especially with the trauma of losing Constance.
…
You were doing laundry and other little chores around the house while Michael was busy with some father and son bonding with Ben.
As you were getting clothes out of the dryer and into a wicker basket, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Looking up, you saw a young man with blonde hair like Michael’s staring at you from the doorway.
Clutching Michael’s yellow t-shirt, you stared back at the man, who then sneered and simply vanished. You stayed planted there for several seconds as you wondered who he was.
“Don’t let him get to you,” a woman’s voice said gently. You whipped around to see a woman with long strawberry blonde hair.
“He won’t do anything,” she explained with a half smile. “Probably more curious than anything else.”
You furrowed your brow, “Curious about what?”
“You,” she answered. “And about why you’ve stayed.” Her eyes traveled to the shirt in your hands. “Guess some of us are just surprised you’ve stuck around.”
“Because Michael’s different from everyone else?” you questioned.
“That’s one way to put it,” she sighed and leaned against the washing machine. “He’s… he acts differently around you. You mean a lot to him.”
Looking at her sorrowful expression, it seemed like there was something she else wanted to say. You jumped as a baby began to cry.
“I have to go,” she said, excusing herself.
You sighed, shaking your head, living with ghosts was like having a bunch of eccentric roommates sometimes. You dropped Michael’s shirt with the rest of clean laundry in the basket, then knelt down to lift it up. Walking into the living room, you found Michael and Ben.
Michael sprung off the couch and darted towards you.
“So what did you and Ben do today?” You chuckled.
“We just talked,” he replied, taking the basket from you. You waved to Ben before you and Michael headed up stairs.
“Oh, about what?”
Michael shrugged, “Just stuff.” He paused mid-step and cleared his throat. “You look really pretty today.”
You bit your lip, face heating up a bit. Despite all the compliments Michael gave you daily, he had this way about him that made you believe every little one, even on a day like this where you were dressed in just joggers and a tee.
“Thank you, Michael.”
…
Ben was gone.
Michael sat there between the bodies, crushed as another parental figure abandoned him. Questions ran through his mind. Why did everyone leave? What was wrong with him? How could he do these things?
Sniffling, his eyes widened as you stepped in. His pulse spiked and he began to panic. He didn’t hear you come back to the house.This wasn’t part of his plan, you weren’t supposed to see this.
You were quiet, so quiet with a vacant look in your eye as you stared at all the blood on the floor.
Ben, Tate, grandma had all yelled at him, they called him a monster or a freak or a coward, but you didn’t say a word.
You had seen what he had done, seen the bodies for yourself. You looked at him with a sadness in your eyes that Michael couldn’t bear. You simply retreated back up to the room you and him shared.
Tears spilled freely down his face as he sat on the floor. Michael had never been so scared in his life. Were you in there packing your belongings? Were you going to leave? What would he do without you?
That’s why he had to kill them in the first place, because he didn't want to be separated from you. There was no other way. The new owners would call the police once they found out you and him were living there, and the police would take him away from you.
Michael had noticed how stressed it had made you too. He could sense your worry, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. From the very moment the realtor took the for sale sign down, you and him both knew everything was at risk.
He just wanted to keep that from happening, he was happy here with you, happier than he had ever been. So he killed the new owners and got rid of them for good, this was his home now.
He curled into himself, hands over his head as he wailed.
“Michael?” Your voice was so soft that he didn’t hear you at first when you returned. “Michael, you should change.”
He peeked up, surprised you came back. You kept your distance, not crossing the threshold as if there was an invisible barrier. “Y/n?”
“You should change out of that,” you said again, looking at the black latex suit he was in.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay,” he nodded, slowly getting to his feet.
Going into the bathroom, he noticed you had set out some clean clothes for him to change into.
Even though you were waiting for him in the room, the fear of you abandoning him hadn’t left. Michael hadn’t expected it when his grandmother left him. Were you just waiting for an opportunity to leave him? Lull him into a false sense of security then abandon him when he least suspects it?
Michael shook his head, you wouldn’t do that.
“She’s not going to leave,” he whispered to himself before he pulled the clean white t-shirt on and the pair of pajama bottoms you had picked out for him.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed when he emerged from the bathroom. You weren’t acting like yourself and it worried him. He noticed you hadn’t moved a muscle since he went in, you had just been staring at your hands the whole time.
Michael’s fingers curled and uncurled as he awkwardly stood there. Wishing he knew what to say or do to make things right.
“I’m sorry,” he started suddenly, falling to his knees in front of you. “I just didn’t want to be taken away from you. I didn’t want to leave this house.” He took your hands in his, looking up at you with genuine concern.
You nodded, you were able to piece that much together. Michael was scared and he handled the situation the only way he could, the only way he believed would keep you and him together. It was just a lot to process.
Michael was your sweet boy, you never would have believed he was capable of something so terrible, but what was even more frightening for you was how you seemed to just accept it so easily. You weren’t mad or upset at him. Logically, you should’ve wanted to be far away from him after seeing those bodies on the floor, but looking at his face, you still cared for him, loved him.
“We should get some rest,” you suggested.
Michael swallowed thickly, climbing into the bed beside you as you turned out the lights.
He couldn’t sleep, he was afraid that if he closed his eyes you’d take the chance and leave him in the middle of night. You felt both of his hands grip the back of your nightgown as he pressed his forehead against the center of your back.
His mind kept returning to the fact that you had seen the truth, what he was capable of. Why did things have to change?
“Michael?” You could feel him tremble against you as he started sobbing again. When he didn’t respond, you tried to sit up, but that only made him cry harder while his fingers curled tighter, trying to keep you from leaving.
“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.
He finally loosened his grip.
You rolled over onto your side. Laying face to face, you brushed away his tears.
Even in the dark, Michael thought you were the most beautiful person in the world. Always so kind and loving, he wanted to keep you forever.
“Come here,” you said, opening your arms to embrace him. He rested his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat.
“I’ve hurt people, not just the ones from earlier,” Michael admitted, swallowing thickly. “And I think I’m going to keep hurting people.”
Your fingers soothingly scratched his scalp as you held him close. He took in a deep breath, working up the nerve to finally ask the questions that were truly bothering him.
“Can you still love me?” He asked in a small voice. “Even though I’ve done bad things?”
“I don’t think I could ever stop loving you,” you answered without pause. “It’s a little scary for me to think about, that’s all.”
“You’re scared of me?” He asked, hurt evident in his voice.
“No, I’m not afraid of you,” you reassured him, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s just that loving someone this much is scary.”
“I love you the same way,” Michael explained. “I’ll never stop loving you, y/n.”
…
The house was unbearably warm.
The heat left you drained, barely able to lift a finger, even though you just woke up. You kicked the sheets off but remained in bed, even that small action left you feeling exhausted.
You laid there, still, listening to the hoarse caws of the crows that seemed to appear overnight. They lingered around the house, circling it at night.
“Y/n?” Michael called. You usually didn’t sleep in so late, it was almost the afternoon.
You smiled weakly at him, “Morning.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” you stretched your arms over your head on the bed. “And warm.”
Michael didn’t seem bothered by the strange heat that seemed to smother you. The air from the basement all the way to the attic was hot, there was no escaping it.
“Can you get me some water?” You croaked.
Michael nodded, heading downstairs and quickly returning to you with a glass of ice water. You shamelessly drained the glass, droplets rolling down your chin and neck.
“Thank you,” you murmured, handing him the empty glass, before falling back onto your pillow.
He stood there for a moment, wondering if there was anything else he could do. You looked so miserable, strands of your hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, your nightgown hiked up to cool your legs.
Going into the bathroom, he prepared a washcloth with cold water. The bed dipped as he sat next to you, tenderly he dabbed the washcloth over your face. You hummed appreciatively, extending your neck as he moved it lower. He stroked the cloth over your collarbone, then down closer to your chest.
He watched it rise and fall, hypnotically, your skin looked so soft, so tempting. Ben had talked to him about these kinds of feelings, about men and women and romantic love. He had said this was the kind of talk all fathers should have with their sons. He has seen Michael wanting to be closer to you, his desires to feel your skin against his. Ben assured him that it was natural and a completely normal part of growing up. But Ben had also made it clear that there were lines Michael couldn’t cross, lines that if he didn’t follow, he would end up hurting you.
Michael sighed, pulling his hand away. Folding the wash cloth, he laid it on your forehead before leaving.
…
Michael headed downstairs when he heard the front door open. You were still in a deep sleep as he tiptoed out of the room. He paused, finding three uninvited guests were standing in the entryway by the staircase.
“I am in the presence of my Lord,” the man gasped and bowed. The two women behind him followed in suit.
“Who are you?” Michael asked, tilting his head and rubbing the back of his neck.
“I am Anton LaVey, Black Pope of the Church of Satan,” the man introduced himself, then turned to his colleagues. “And there are my cardinals. I faked my death to prepare for this day.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michael walked slowly down the steps. “What’s going on here?”
“We followed a dark start from the west,” one of the cardinals explained eagerly. “The signs were impossible to miss: the temperature in this house, a home built over the portal to Hell, and the crows worshiping from above.”
“The omens are complete,” the other one added. “You’re the chosen one.”
“The time has come to remove the scales from your eyes, to show you your true power,” Anton stated.
Michael smiled, full of excitement, “Alright, just make sure you’re quiet, y/n is sleeping.”
…
You woke up to the sound of hail falling on the roof. It frightened you at first. Instead of the typical soothing sounds of rain or hail, this was louder, more violent, like large stones crashing from the sky.
You wondered if the storm was the source of the strange dreams you had all night, now you could only recall the screams from them.
Slipping out of bed, you walked to the window drawing the curtains. The night sky was a strange color, dark red clouds hung above the house coupled with a full red moon. You watched the bizarre weather outside, red rain mixed with rock sized hail. The storm seemed to at least alleviate the constant heat in the house.
Turning around, you noticed Michael’s absence from the bed. Wrapping a white sheet around your shoulders, you wandered downstairs to find him. Reaching the dining room, you found Michael with three strangers wearing black and red cloaks.
There was blood on the table and floor, but no body.
Michael beamed at you and offered you his hand, “y/n, I’ve got something to tell you.”
The Antichrist, it should’ve come as more of a shock, but with all the insane things that have happened lately, it made sense. It also should’ve changed how you felt, but it didn’t, Michael was still Michael. While there was no doubting the evil he was capable of, you still saw all the good, all the love.
How could you hold it against him?
Michael laid there, eyes wide open as you slept beside him. He knew his mother was coming, that she planned on ending his life.
The woman hadn’t bothered to speak to him, see him, and just like the rest of his supposed family, she was going to hurt him too. Sadly, he was no longer surprised by any of this.
He could feel her approaching, a knife held tightly in her fist as she prepared to bring it down and end his life. Without having to move a muscle, Michael conjured up flames that ignited around Vivien’s feet.
Her screams jolted you awake. Another spirit, the one you had briefly seen before, saved her while you tried to stop Michael.
“She was going to kill me,” he argued.
You saw the knife discarded on the floor for yourself. This house was no longer a safe place for Michael or yourself. The same day you and Michael left the old mansion.
…
Living with Ms. Mead wasn’t what you had expected. It was surprisingly wholesome with meals shared at the dining table and family outings every weekend. If it wasn’t for the satanic altar, you’d probably forget that she was a satanist altogether.
Ms. Mead treated you both well. Welcoming you into her home as if you and Michael were family. At first, you had been worried that she wouldn’t accept having you around, but she was just as warm and friendly with you as she was with Michael.
“What do you think?” Michael asked as he emerged from the bathroom in a black t-shirt and black jeans. Ms. Mead had taken him shopping for clothes. Michael was excited to show you what they had picked out.
You sat the nail polish on the nightstand as you sat up, giving Michael your full attention.
“Black looks good on you,” you approved, looking him up and down. The outfit definitely suited him, much better than his old clothes.
He smiled, obviously proud of his choices. “What were you doing?” He asked as he joined you on the bed, criss crossing his legs.
“I was just painting my toenails,” you shrugged.
Michael gently touched your calf, his fingers tracing over your skin down to your ankle, while he admired your freshly painted toes.
“Want me to paint yours?”
He yanked off his boots and socks, tossing them on the floor and causing you to laugh. You rearranged yourself so you were sitting on your knees. Michael’s pale boney feet rested on your thighs.
“What color do you want?” You asked.
“Black.”
He laid back on the bed, feet on the head board as he wiggled his toes while he waited for them to dry.
“Read to me,” Michael requested in a whiny tone. “Please,” he added quickly as you lifted your brow.
You grabbed the worn book, opening it to where you left off, but before you started reading Michael interrupted you.
“Here, lay next to me,” he offered, wiggling to the other side of the bed to give you room.
You stretched out beside him, side to side, and started reading. It didn’t take long before Michael’s head was on stomach and his arm draped over your hips as he cuddled against you. He closed his eyes listening to the sound of your voice as it lulled him to sleep.
You tucked the bookmark back into the book and sat it on the bed. Absentmindedly you ran your fingers through his hair.
Over such a short time, he had changed so much, and not just physically, he was acting older, demonstrating maturity and restraint, although he still had his moments like this where he wanted to be held and babied. But, you figured, everyone had moments like this even if they never ask for it.
You perked up when you noticed Ms. Mead standing in the doorway. How long has she been watching?
“Let him sleep,” she said softly.
Carefully you moved Michael and covered him with a blanket, then followed Ms. Mead into the kitchen. She had the tea kettle on the stove.
“You really do love him, don’t you?” Ms. Mead asked, looking at you curiously. While she had been courteous towards you, she was curious about the true nature of your relationship to Michael.
You tilted your head, wondering where this was coming from all of a sudden.
“I’m just surprised,” she explained. “Not many people could accept him for what he is, even more so, someone who isn’t a follower of his father. But I’m glad to know that you truly care for him.” She motioned for you to have a seat at the table, and placed a cup of tea on a little saucer in front of you.
You thanked her, before gently blowing on the hot cup and taking a sip.
“He obviously adores you, which is why I allowed you to come with him,” she continued, taking her seat across from you with her own cup. “Guess I just feel protective of him already, wanted to see for myself if you were just stringing him along.”
You laughed slightly and shook your head, “I know what you mean, I was worried about you too. But you treat him just like a mother would, and I know he loves you for it.”
You and Ms. Mead smiled at each other while you finished your cup of tea. Your smile grew wider as a sleepy Michael slowly staggered into the kitchen.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”
“Of course, dear,” Ms. Mead obliged.
…
Michael had been arrested, leaving you a complete mess waiting at the station with Ms. Mead. The police
refused to let you see him no matter how much you begged and pleaded.
You were sitting in the lobby, staring at the assholes who wouldn’t let you see Michael, when a man dressed in a fine suit with a black hat came in, he strode right past the officers and straight to the holding cells with one of the guards leading the way.
A few minutes later the well dressed man and Michael were heading directly to the exit. You immediately followed them out.
You cupped Michael’s cheek, thumb caressing the red swollen mark by his eye. “Did they do that to you?”
“It doesn’t hurt too much,” he reassured you, placing a hand on your waist.
Ariel cleared his throat, standing next to a black vehicle, “Michael it’s time for us to leave.” His gaze landed on you, a small sneer forming on his lips.
Michael nodded, opening the car door for you.
Ariel’s eyes went wide, “I’m afraid she can’t come with us. Our school is exclusively for warlocks.”
“Then I won’t be going,” Michael stated flatly, slamming the car shut.
Ariel’s jaw dropped, “I saved you… I’m offering to take you to a place where you can flourish… where you can reach your full potential. You’re going to throw that all away for some woman?”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “I’m not leaving her, ever,” he stressed.
Ariel scowled, grinding his teeth, he was considering using magic to force Michael in the car, but if Michael truly is the Alpha, like he suspects, then it would be suicide. His eyes darted to you, if he attempted to do anything to you, it would be safe to assume that the consequences would be even worse than death.
“It’s not like you’ll never see her again. A boy’s school just isn’t the right place for a young lady to be,” Ariel reasoned.
“The only place for her is with me,” Michael said, raising his voice. The two men stared at each other, it was clear that Michael wasn’t going to budge on the matter.
“Fine!” Ariel relented, yanking the car door open and getting in. It wasn’t going to be easy to get others to go with this foolishness, but he couldn’t afford to let the Alpha slip through his fingers.
Michael pulled the door open and waited for you to slide into the backseat before he scooted in after you. He placed his hand over yours, possessively, eyes fixated on Ariel as cold anger radiated off of him.
The school wasn’t what you had expected. The underground structure was large and warm, but despite the size and construction, you couldn’t help but compare it to a cave. Already, you missed fresh air and sunlight as you followed Ariel, Michael still holding your hand for comfort.
When Ariel introduced Michael to the group, he didn’t say a thing about you, just sort glazed over the fact that you even existed despite the puzzled gazes of the male students and staff.
After a short tour, you and Michael were led to the room you both would be sharing in. Once inside, Ariel finally addressed you, giving you a few simple rules, as he put it, to follow.
You were never to wander the school without an escort. You had to keep your distance from the other students and take your meals at different times than everyone else. Finally you had to wear a uniform, it was similar to the boy’s uniform, but instead of slacks, you had a full length skirt.
Ariel left the two of you to get settled in and gathered the others in his office to explain the situation.
“So,” John Henry mocked. “Our supposed Alpha, the one who will overthrow The Supreme and lead us to the top, can’t be without his little girlfriend?”
Ariel huffed, “I understand the girl is an inconvenience, but she’s just a minor obstacle. Michael won’t need her now that he’s here with his brothers.”
“Doubt it,” John Henry muttered, taking a quick puff of his cigarette. “Did you see the way he looks at her? She practically walks on water in his eyes.”
“We just need to separate them, wean him off her slowly,” Ariel explained. “Then he’ll discard her.”
“I don’t know,” Behold said, shaking his head, “Love and devotion is a powerful thing.”
John Henry rolled his eyes, “Right, because the 4 of us know what that’s like… none of us have ever cared about anyone but ourselves.”
…
You helped Michael straighten his bow tie, then brushed his hair out of his face.
“Perfect,” you chirped, taking a step back to admire how handsome he looked in his school uniform.
He smiled, fixing his lapel before his hands ran down the front of his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Ariel and the others are expecting me,” he started. “But they haven’t told me what we’re doing.”
It’s been only a month since your arrival, but from what you had gathered, Michael took to magic like a duck takes to water. Everyday he surprised you with a new trick or spell. Just the other day he surprised you with a beautiful white rose turning the petals pitch black right before your eyes.
“I’m sure whatever it is, you’ll be amazing.”
“Wish they’d let me bring you,” he muttered, pouting a little as he looked at his reflection.
You shook your head, “I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”
Michael brought your hand to his chest, Ariel had been keeping him so busy with classes and studying that he felt like he barely had time for you lately.
He didn’t appreciate being treated like a fool. He knew what his ‘brothers’ were up to, trying to keep him busy as if he’d just forget about you because he has homework. None of them could ever perceive the depths he’d go for you, hell, not even Michael fully knew how far he’d go to keep you by his side.
Grudgingly, he released your hand, he didn’t want to have to listen to some lecture about tardiness from Ariel. And knowing Ariel he’d figure out a way to put all the blame on you, while making some snide comment about women and their inability to be punctual. The whole battle of the sexes between the warlocks and the witches was getting old.
Later that day, Michael returned to you with a bloody nose and his body completely drained of energy. You rose from your seat at the desk as he collapsed on the bed still dressed.
First, you went to the adjoining bathroom, retrieving a damp washcloth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you gently dabbed the dried blood from his face.
“How did the meeting go?” You asked. “What did they want?”
“To evaluate me,” he explained, his eyes half lidded. “I passed,” he smiled weakly.
“I’m so proud of you,” you said, scooting you to the end of the bed and undoing the buckles on his shoes, before slipping them off his feet.
“Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and snuggling against his pillow.
…
You watched Michael, his body was completely tense, stockstill, except for the hand that was drawing rapidly without pause. It was like he was in a trance, listening to a voice that you couldn’t hear.
Michael couldn’t let the witches leave. Ariel and the others were useless, unable to convince the council, but Michael could, he would prove to them just how powerful he is.
He gasped suddenly, taking you by surprise. Looking down, he admired his work, the Hotel Cortez, the gaping mouth of hell.
Michael turned to face you, “I have to leave, but I won’t be gone long.” He smiled triumphantly, “I found a way to show them I’m the Alpha, that I’m the next Supreme.”
It was easy for him, of course, like taking a casual stroll through the park. One of the benefits of being the Antichrist, he figured, having dominion over hell and all evil places born from it.
First he rescued Queenie, freeing her from the hotel, then they made a trip to Madison Montgomery’s personal hell. With his proof in tow, he returned to the school.
Watching Cordelia pass out from the shock brought him more satisfaction than he anticipated, but hearing her admit that he could be the next Supreme was even sweeter.
He stood there holding his head high with you at his side. While Cordelia addressed the group, sharing her vision. It was ironic that a vision warning her of the end, was the final straw, finally convincing her to allow him to attempt the Seven Wonders.
“In two weeks' time, at the rise of the blood moon, you will take the test of the Seven Wonders,” she announced, eyes locked with Michael’s. “That is, if you still want to.”
Everyone turned to face him, awaiting his decision. He glanced at you, squeezing your hand tightly before letting it go as he approached Cordelia.
“I do.”
Myrtle Snow knitted her brow, it hadn’t escaped any of their attention that there was a woman on the side of the warlocks.
“My dear,” she began, getting your attention. “Why are you here? You’re not a witch, are you?”
“I’m not,” you shook your head with a polite smile.
“She’s with me,” Michael stated firmly, hands clasped behind his back as his gaze pierced Myrtle’s.
“Of course, he’s got a girlfriend,” Madison rolled her eyes.
Cordelia inhaled deeply as she returned to the matter at hand. “No male has ever made the attempt,” she warned, redirecting the conversation to the matter at hand. “And if you succeed, you will be the next Supreme, and it will change everything.”
On the cusp of the blood moon, the warlocks gathered to celebrate Michael. He almost threw a fit when Ariel informed him that you weren’t permitted to attend, adding that attendance for the ceremony was strictly warlocks.
Ariel’s hands balled into fists as you talked Michael down, convincing him that for this type of occasion it was polite to respect tradition.
Ariel was displeased that his plan wasn’t working. Michael’s attachment to you was still strong, the same as it was when he first arrived at the school. What good would it be to have an Alpha that bent to the will of a woman?
Michael insisted that tomorrow night you were present for the Seven Wonders, going as far as threatening to not perform if you weren’t there.
When Ariel finally relented, Michael followed him downstairs for the ceremony.
John Henry fled after the blessing. The following day when the witches had arrived to observe Michael’s abilities, John Henry still hadn’t returned. None of the other warlocks questioned his absence, instead they were focused on the daunting task at hand, hoping Michael could accomplish what no warlock had ever done before.
Michael passed each test with ease to the dismay of the witches and to the satisfaction of the warlocks.
Telekinesis, Concilium, Transmutation, Divination, Pyrokinesis, Vitalum Vitalis… Michael made them look like child’s play. With each challenge Michael impressed you more and more, accomplishing magic that you had never imagined. His eyes would lock with yours and he’d smile triumphantly after each task as you cheered and congratulated him with the rest of the warlocks.
Descensum was the final test and the most perilous. Michael was the only one who didn’t seem worried about the outcome.
Unexpectedly, Cordelia added an additional condition, Behold was the first to object, the others soon followed. She requested for Michael to retrieve someone from the depths of hell, someone who failed this exact test.
“That’s impossible. Those who don’t return from Descensum are gone forever,” Behold defended. “Property of the underworld.”
“No other Supreme’s been made to this, ever,” Baldwin added. “This is not only unfair, this is suicide.”
“Enough,” Ariel spoke up with some urgency. “Cordelia, I need a word.” The Supreme and the Grand Chancellor retreated into his office for a private discussion.
You tugged on Michael’s sleeve to get his attention, then guided him to the corner furthest from everyone in the room.
“What is it?” He asked gently, immediately noting the anxious look on your face.
“This sounds dangerous,” you started, fingers clutching his jacket sleeve tighter. “And now they’re making it even harder…”
He stepped closer to you, his hands cupping your face. “I can do this.”
“But what if you get trapped there like that other girl,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“That’s not going to happen. I’m stronger than she was,” Michael assured you. “Trust me.” He dried your eyes.
Taking your hand in his, he led you towards Ariel’s office. The doors opened revealing Cordelia and Ariel inside.
“It’s okay,” Michael smiled. “I’ll get your friend back.”
Returning to the music room, Michael prepared for the final test.
“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum it salutaret inferi,” he chanted laying on the floor. You were right beside him, on your knees, while everyone else stood in a circle around him. “Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum it salutaret inferi, Descensum.”
You stayed seated by Michael as his eyes closed and his spirit descended to the underworld. The others got comfortable, finding seats and idly conversing with each other.
Time seemed to slow down as you waited with bated breath for him to come back. The thought of losing him scared you more than anything ever had. Your whole life revolved around him.
Michael gasped, drawing in a deep breath as he sat up immediately. You pulled him into a tight hug, relieved that he returned to you. His energy obviously spent as he rested against you like a rag doll.
The others gathered around. The witches automatically taking note that Misty hadn’t returned.
“Well that’s that,” Madison said, crossing her arms. “C'est la vie.”
“This was not a fair test,” Ariel objected, concerned more with having lost the opportunity for a male Supreme than the harrowing task Michael had just been through.
“What happened?” Cordelia asked. “Where’s Misty?”
Michael gave her a sideways glance, his face partially resting on your shoulder as you held him close, he looked at her disinterested before he buried the rest of his face in the crook of your neck.
“Isn’t it obvious, darling?” Myrtle spoke up. “She’s right where she’s been.”
Suddenly dust manifested in the form of a woman’s body. Cordelia fell to her knees as Misty was revived.
As the witches tended to their sister, the warlocks helped a weary Michael off the floor. He leaned against the table for support, still catching his breath from his recent excursion to hell. He reached out for you, placing his hands on your waist, as you stood between his legs with his head on your stomach, he drew comfort just by being near you.
Michael straightened up as he felt Misty’s eyes upon him, his hands still lingering on your waist. His jaw tensed, noting her fearful expression. But before Misty could say anything, Cordelia stumbled back and her nose began to bleed.
“Oh my God,” Cordelia whispered.
Misty went straight to her side, “What’s happening?”
“What always happens when a new Supreme rises,” Ariel interjected.
“The old one fades away,” Behold explained.
“We demand what’s ours,” Ariel added.
Myrtle scoffed, “You’re a pompous ass.”
Michael stepped forward, an air of confidence and power about him. “I did everything you asked,” he started. “I descended into Hell, and I did what you couldn’t. I brought her back. I passed the Seven Wonders. Unless you want to add another one?” He challenged.
“No,” Cordelia answered. “There can be no doubt. You are the next Supreme.” She collapsed to the ground, losing consciousness again.
…
The staff and other students were beaming with pride over the accomplishments of their brother. Michael was elated, he was one step closer to fulfilling his purpose.
In celebration of the return of Misty Day and the rise of a new Supreme, everyone gathered in the music room. While you were on your way to join the rest, Ariel stopped you.
“Y/n,” He called.
“Grand Chancellor,” you greeted.
He smiled, but it was obviously forced just like the tone of his voice, too pleasant. “I was hoping to have a moment of your time.”
You raised your brow, “I suppose.”
“We’re all so proud of Michael and what he has achieved,” he began, hands clasped in front him. “It’s truly a major turning point for our kind, to finally rise out of the shadow of our counterparts, the witches.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” you muttered, hearing music play from the room and a woman singing.
“It has been such a struggle to get to this point,” he stressed.“It would be a great setback for warlocks should Michael be unable to focus on his duties as Supreme.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” you took a step back.
Ariel sighed, losing his patience, “You are a distraction. You are not the person Micheal needs to concern himself with, you’re not a warlock or a witch, you’re just some girl.”
“But I-“
“Don’t you see,” he interrupted you, getting heated. “He’s with his people now, he no longer needs you.”
You closed your mouth as his words sunk in. Maybe he was right. You hated to admit it, even just to yourself, but it was as if he was speaking your own fears out loud. You weren’t sure how you fit into all this, and for the last couple of months, you worried that Michael truly didn’t need you.
Standing on the interior balcony, Michael’s eyes narrowed as he watched Ariel enter the music room late. Michael had been waiting for you to join him but you were nowhere in sight.
The two warlocks nodded in acknowledgement at each other as Michael waited a few moments longer, he could care less about the performance taking place below. Concerned about your tardiness, he went to find you. Ariel shook his head in disappointment as he watched Michael leave.
Michael headed upstairs and entered your room. “Are you alright?” He asked.
“I’m fine,” you answered, taking a seat on the bed and mustering a smile for Michael.
He could tell you were lying, you were visibly upset and on the verge of tears. “Don’t lie to me,” he said firmly.
“Michael,” you started, your eyes finally meeting his. Looking up at him you couldn’t help but think of all the things he had accomplished lately, developing his powers, passing all these tests, he was doing so many great things, so why were you here? “Do you still need me?”
“Of course, I do,” he responded without pause. He then shook his head. “Even if I didn’t need you, I want you.” He wondered where all this was coming from, was this because he wasn’t spending enough time with you? Was Ariel’s idiotic plan affecting you?
Michael sat across from you at the desk. “Are you thinking about leaving?”
“I don’t want to leave,” you said softly. “But are you sure I’m not distracting you?”
“Is this Ariel’s doing? Did he say something to you?” Michael pursed his lips, jaw clenched. The Grand Chancellor was really pushing his luck. Michael figured it might be necessary to remind him who was the Alpha, the future Supreme.
Getting to his feet, his brow lowered as he thought about what to do. His hands curled into fists that were shaking out of anger.
“Michael,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards you. “Stop, please.”
“He wants you to leave me,” he snapped angrily. “I won’t let that happen.”
You rushed after Michael as stormed out of the room. The sliding black doors of Ariel’s office slammed open with a flick of Michael’s wrist.
“Michael-“ Ariel started but was immediately flung to the wall.
Your eyes widened, watching as Ariel’s hands grasped at his neck, his nails puncturing his skin as he scratched while desperately gasping for air. His legs were kicking and flailing about as he was being suffocated.
“Michael,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. “Micheal, stop,” you begged.
He looked at you from the corner of his eye.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him. “And Ariel finally understands.” You looked at Ariel who managed to nod. “See,” you said, rubbing his arm. “You got your point across.”
Ariel fell to the floor, landing on his hand and knees, panting.
“What’s going on in here?” Behold questioned wandering into the office.
“Nothing,” Ariel croaked, slowly rising to his feet.
Behold didn’t look convinced. He was figuring out that Michael couldn’t be trusted, wasn’t what he had presented himself to be. John Henry was missing and the witches had their suspicions as well.
“Michael lost control, just for a moment, he’s been under a lot of stress,” you explained calmly. “He’s due for a break.”
Behold lifted his brow, Michael just looked straight up pissed in his opinion. “Alright,” he muttered, the last thing he needed was for Michael to turn that anger on him. He stood there watching as you and Michael left, before asking Ariel if needed anything.
Returning to your room, Micheal immediately embraced you, hugging you from behind as he buried his face into your hair. You two stood there for several minutes, his arms holding you firmly in place.
“I should speak to my father,” he murmured finally.
You nodded.
Michael’s hold loosened, “I should go alone.” He sighed, touching your hair gently. “I won’t be gone long.”
…
When the witches, Bubbles and Myrtle, arrived, you were tasked with entertaining them until Ariel and Bladwin returned. They had no trouble making themselves at home while you served champagne and Myrtle played the theremin.
When Ariel and Baldwin entered the music room, the two witches insisted that you join them and the warlocks for the dinner they had prepared.
“Bubbles, you’ve exceeded your promise,” Ariel complimented. “This is a meal fit for a Supreme.”
She chuckled, “Oh, thank you so much.”
It truly was quite a spread, platters of food you probably couldn’t even pronounce, sat on the table presented in a most lavish way. It seemed excessive that there was so much food for just 5 people.
“Where is our dear Michael?” Myrtle questioned looking at you. “I was hoping he could join us.”
“In the wilderness,” Baldwin answered for you, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Literally. Michael has decided that he needs to be completely alone.”
“I’m surprised you’re not with him dear,” Myrtle stated, her eyes still on you. “The two of you seemed attached at the hip.”
You could feel Ariel watching you closely. “He just needed some time to himself,” you shrugged with a smile.
“Cordelia had a similar awakening,” she shared with you, before offering Ariel more wine.
You listened attentively to Myrtle’s story about the amazing little shop in Madrid where she attained the bottle of wine. You didn’t know much about wine, but from what you gathered from her story, this was most likely the nicest and most expensive wine you’d ever try in your life.
“This has been such a delight,” Myrtle announced. “I knew, if we could dine together, we could find commonality and, dare I say, friendship.”
“Oh, my. It’s getting late,” she added with a slight yawn.
“Oh. It is.” Ariel agreed, laughing weakly. “Very late. But I feel like we’ve finally gotten to know each other.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” Bubbles said, gesturing to the full table. “We’ll clear everything up.”
You offered to stay and lend a hand with cleaning to the surprise of Bubbles and Myrtle. How a kind girl like yourself wound up with someone like Michael, seemed like such a cruel fate.
During dinner, Bubbles had already determined that you were innocent. You weren’t involved with John Henry’s death or the plot to overthrow their coven and kill the witches. Seemed that Michael kept you out of all the seediness and corruption happening around you.
“Thanks again for dinner,” you said, clearing the plates from the table. “You really are a fantastic chef.”
“I’m a woman of many talents,” Bubbles boasted.
“How did you become involved with our future Supreme?” Myrtle inquired, taking a sip of her glass of wine.
“I’ve known him for a long time,” You answered vaguely, but Bubbles could see right through you, she could see directly to the feelings you harbored for Michael.
They watched as you carried the dishes into the kitchen. Bubbles sighed, “Poor girl’s only crime is falling for the bad guy.”
“Suppose we can’t hold it against her,” Myrtle commented. “We've all been there at some point or another.”
Bubbles chuckled, “You’re right, but few can say they’re in love with the devil himself.”
“It’s terribly romantic, isn’t it?” Myrtle mused, tilting her head. She sighed, “Well, what else did you hear?”
“They murdered one of their own,” Bubbles answered in a serious tone. “And now they mean to murder all of us.”
“Well, it’s perfectly clear,” Myrtle continued, swirling her wine glass. “It’s kill or be killed.”
…
“Ariel Augustus. Baldwin Pennypacker. For the murder of your fellow warlock, John Henry Moore, and conspiring to commit treason against this coven, I, Cordelia Goode, on behalf of this council, sentence you to death by fire.”
The coven guards doused Ariel and Baldwin in gasoline.
“Our people have long stood by an agreement that no witch may kill a condemned warlock,” Cordelia added. “Only your brother may light the flame. I do not intend to break that tradition today.”
John Henry emerged to the surprise of Ariel and Baldwin, gracefully, striding between the stakes to join the witches at Cordelia’s side.
He scanned the area, eyes moving from stake to stake. He furrowed his brow, “Where’s his girlfriend?” He turned to Cordelia, “We need to destroy her. It’s the only way we can really hurt him.”
“We’re not burning an innocent girl on the stake,” Cordelia defended. “She wasn’t involved in your murder, Bubbles verified that already.”
John Henry shook his head, they were all blind to the facts, he didn’t want to kill her, but he could see it just like he could see what Michael truly was. “She’s his weakness…” he argued. “I’ve seen how he is with her, he’d fall apart.”
“No,” Cordelia stated firmly.
John Henry tsked, snatching one of the gasoline cans, dumping the contents all over Ms. Mead.
“Any last words?” He asked, returning to Cordelia’s side as he faced his brothers and murderer. “Ah, right,” he teased, motioning to his mouth.
“You think death is a punishment?” Ms. Mead shouted. “I do not fear the fire. It cleanses me, as it will cleanse this world. I’ve seen the end. I bear witness to the darkness.”
She looked up to the blue sky, “Father! Take me in your arms. Your kingdom is nigh.”
John Henry and Cordelia shared a look. She nodded to him signaling that it was time. With a wave of his hand, John Henry ignited the torches. The guards, then, set the lit torches at the feet of the condemned. In a matter of seconds flames engulfed Ariel, Baldwin, and Ms. Mead.
…
Michael’s hand cautiously reached out towards the last corpse, after he identified the first two as Ariel and Baldwin. He stumbled backwards, hands shaking, as he saw his Ms. Mead being burned alive.
An emotional and raw scream erupted from him, as pain and sadness filled him. With a hand over his chest, he wailed, it felt as if he couldn’t get any oxygen to his lungs and like his heart was being constricted by a snake, its tail coiling tightly around it as if it was a weak little mouse.
“It’s over,” Cordelia said, appearing behind him. “We know who you are.”
Michael turned to face her.
“Your allies are all dead,” she announced. “You failed.”
“I’ve already proven that I can defy death. I’m just gonna bring her back,” Michael retorted. “And when I do, my Ms. Mead will stand by me as we watch you die.”
“You can certainly go to Hell, but you won’t find her there,” Cordelia warned.
“What have you done?”
She explained that Ms. Mead’s soul was hidden away and that the spell was one only she could break. As Michael realized that he’d never see Ms. Mead again, he dropped to his hands and knees.
“You’re alone,” she added.
“I’m never alone. I have y/n and I have my father,” he snapped.
“That poor girl deserves better,” Cordelia said coldly. She took several steps toward Michael. “And where is your father? Why did he let this happen?”
Michael looked up at her as she knelt down.
“You don’t have to follow this path your father laid out for you. You can write your own destiny. You can still turn away. There’s humanity in you. I see it,” she stood back up and offered Michael her hand. “If you come with me, maybe we can find it. Together.”
He accepted her hand, but aggressively moved closer, his eyes burning with hatred towards the witch. “Somehow, some way, I am gonna bring her back. And then I’m gonna kill every last one of you.”
As the threat left his lips. A thought crossed Cordelia’s mind and images flashed in Michael’s head. His eyes widened, staring at Cordelia in disbelief.
The witches had revived John Henry, back from the dead, and he and Behold were returning to the school. Michael’s hands began to tremble, releasing Cordelia’s hand, as he could hear the words John Henry had spoken to her during the execution. John Henry had made threats towards you, expressed that he wanted to dispose of you to hurt Michael, to stop him.
Michael made up his mind at that moment, he wouldn’t allow John Henry to have the opportunity, he’d kill them all to protect you. He couldn’t believe they’d stoop so low, would the witches be the next to try?
Without time to waste, Michael left towards the school.
He sat there panting, the lifeless corpses of his brothers laying all around him. Michael had no one except for you, he had no Ms. Mead to guide him, he had no support with his magic anymore, no followers. And the witches were still a threat.
He felt like he was crumbling beneath the weight of it all, but he had to make sure you were safe. He may have been able to keep you safe and massacre the warlocks, but what if the witches went after you next?
Taking in a deep breath, Michael stared up at the staircase towards the direction of your room. He would do anything to keep you safe.
Rising to his feet, he slowly made his way to you.
“Michael?” You asked, sitting up on the bed as he entered the room.
He wished that he could just crawl into bed next to you. But there was so much that needed to be done. He had to kill the witches, avenge Ms. Mead, and fulfill his purpose.
He crouched down beside the bed in front of you. “The witches, they killed Ms. Mead,” he said quietly, voice hoarse from screaming.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, leaning down to embrace him.
Michael placed his hands on your shoulders, pulling away from you a bit, he wanted to get a better look at you. He stared at your face, committing every detail to memory.
“I need to put you under a spell,” Michael started to explain. “I have to hide you from anyone who’d want to hurt you.”
You furrowed your brow as his words sunk in. He was going to leave you behind. Your lips quivered as you started to cry.
“Who’s… who's going to take care of you?” You hiccuped, cupping his face, your thumbs gently wiping the tears from the apple of his cheeks.
Picturing Michael alone, without anyone to turn to, no one to make sure he was okay, was literally breaking your heart. You couldn’t leave him, you couldn’t let him do this. You had promised to stay with him forever.
He placed his hands over yours. “I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to put on a brave face. “But I can’t lose you too, I can't… you're all that I have left.”
Your shoulders shook as you cried harder.
“I’m going to take care of you this time,” Michael promised. “I’ll figure it out and then we’ll never have to be apart. You’ll be at my side forever.”
Micheal closed the distance between you and him, his lips finding yours with ease. His first real kiss was an emotional kiss goodbye, one in which he desperately wanted to convey his devotion for you. Your eyes fluttered shut, his hands squeezed yours tighter, you pressed your lips to his tenderly, returning the kiss.
He casted his spell before pulling away, and watched as you fell into a deep sleep like a princess in a fairy tale. As an extra precaution he wiped your memories as well.
***Present***
“It’s alright,” Michael comforted, tucking your head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around you.
It was a lot to take in at once, an entire lifetime coming back to you in a matter of seconds. Michael waited patiently, hand drawing circles on back, as you composed yourself. Having you back made him feel whole again, the one constant in his life. He was never letting go of you again.
“What is it?” He asked as you sat up and cupped his cheek.
“You’ve changed,” you whispered, gazing at him. He looked older, more mature and refined, his long golden hair somehow made him even more handsome than you remembered. He now exuded confidence that almost bordered on conceitedness.
He lifted his brow, “Have I?”
You nodded, causing him to smirk, you were always so honest.
“In what ways?” He teased, titling his head, and holding your hand to his face. “Am I more attractive now?”
You shook your head, laughing lightly, “Not sure how you managed it, but yes you’re more handsome than I remember.”
“So,” he murmured lowly. “You like the new me?” Michael turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand. “Tell me,” he said against your skin.
“Didn’t we have this conversation earlier?” You questioned.
“But that was before you remembered,” he challenged, looking at you from the corner of his eye.
“My answer is still the same, everything, I like everything about you.”
“I believe you,” He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, and then opening them again. He examined you for a moment, just like before it was as if he could see right through you.
“You haven’t changed,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s comforting.” His lips tickled your fingertips as he returned your hand to you.
Michael may not have the typical image of home as most, but he suspected that being reunited with you, is what it felt like to come back home.
He leaned forward, hands firmly on your thighs, as his lips lightly grazed against yours. You felt the side of his nose caress yours, your hands slowly raised up from your lap and clung to him.
Suddenly he groaned in frustration as the bedroom door opened.
“Ladies, I’m a little busy right now,” Michael muttered, breaking the kiss as he glanced at Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead who entered the room uninvited.
Ms. Venable gave you a cold look, she couldn’t say she was surprised to see you here. She long had her suspicions, this only confirmed them. “This won’t take long,” She addressed Michael, walking further into the room.
Michael sighed, exasperatedly, his touch leaving your form as he straightened up and turned his chair to give Ms. Venable his attention. “What’s this?”
“We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon,” Ms. Venable stated, standing tall across from Michael. “And I’m afraid that neither of you made the cut.”
Michael bursted out laughing. “I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold it in,” he gestured to himself.
“You think this is funny?” Ms. Venable pressed, obviously unamused.
“I think I’m impressed, Ms. Venable,” Michael
“I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”
Gracefully, Michael rose to his feet. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for The Sanctuary.”
“Mrs. Mead,” Ms. Venable ordered.
You scrambled off the bed, moving in front of Michael, the moment Ms. Mead drew the gun out from her jacket. You didn’t understand what was going on, or why Ms. Mead was following Ms. Venable’s orders.
Michael looked at you fondly, with a slightly amused expression. His sweet y/n ready to protect him, to defend him, even knowing that he could literally kill people with a snap of his fingers.
Of course, you weren’t in any real danger. He knew Ms. Mead would never hurt you, just like she was programmed to never hurt him. He placed his hands on your shoulders.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he warned Ms. Venable before glancing towards Ms. Mead and giving her a silent command.
“Ms. Mead,” Ms. Venable repeated, her tone irritated as she turned to face her co-conspirator.
Ms. Mead, with some unwillingness by the look of her face, went from pointing the gun at Michael to directing it toward Ms. Venable. Without hesitation, Ms. Mead fired.
You flinched at the sound of the gunshot, drawing back against Michael, who reassuringly squeezed your shoulders while smirking with satisfaction over what just transpired.
Ms. Venable dropped to the floor gasping as she started to bleed out from the wound in her chest.
Michael’s hands slid down your arms, walking around you towards Ms. Venable.
“I don’t know why I did that,” Ms. Mead questioned, sadness laced in her voice. “I was always loyal to her.”
“It’s all right,” Michael spoke calmly, crouching down, his arms resting on his knees as he watched Ms. Venable die. “You were obeying commands, like you’re programmed to do,” he explained. “My commands.”
You knitted your brows together finally piecing together what was going on. You had been so invested on your and Michael’s reunion, that you hadn’t ask how he was able to revive Ms. Mead.
“Did you enjoy executing the poison apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?” Michael asked Ms. Mead, standing back up.
“You wanted everyone dead?”
“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” he reasoned. “Learned that from my father.”
Ms. Mead’s lips trembled as she processed all the new information and her grief.
“Always more fun to entice men and women to do dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed,” Michael mused.
“What do you believe?”
“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus, are evil motherfuckers,” he declared. “All except for y/n, of course,” he chuckled, looking at you before returning his attention to Ms. Mead.
“I’m having trouble with this,” she shook her head. “I know I’m just a machine.”
“Never say that,” he said forcefully. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked The Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed, I gave them a prototype to model.”
“A prototype?” She asked, hanging on to each and every word Michael said.
“Someone from my childhood,” he shared, approaching her slowly. “Someone very dear to me.”
Her expression changed as realization struck her. “The beautiful boy.”
“That was me,” Michael answered, his eyes glossy as he held back tears. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind, just like I had to with y/n.”
“Why?”
“To protect you and the plan,” he said. “But now it’s time to remember it all.“ His eyes flickered to the ground for a brief moment, head shaking slightly as he continued to speak.
“I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. And after that, I had to hide y/n to keep her safe.” His heart ached recalling all the pain, misery, loneliness he felt after losing the only people who loved him. “I can’t imagine a new world without you both by my side.”
Her eyes darted to you, “So that’s why I felt connected to you, like I needed to watch over you.”
You smiled at her and nodded, “You’ve always been good to me.”
Michael embraced Ms. Mead tightly. He finally had the only people who mattered back. The only people who ever showed him love and kindness. The rest of the world could burn now.
Pulling back, Michael smiled at you and offered you his hand. His thumb caressed your knuckles lovingly while his other arm lingered around Ms. Mead. “You both are the only people I never stopped trusting or loving.”
His eyes narrowed as he noticed the blood splattered on your dress. “There’s a dress for you in the armoire,” he motioned towards it. “Go change, I’ll catch Ms. Mead up on things.”
In the adjoining bathroom, you stripped out of your purple dress, letting it fall to the floor. Looking at your reflection, you fixed your face, wiping away the streaks of mascara from under your eyes.
The dress was more contemporary than the purple attire you had grown accustomed to. The black fabric was smooth and luxurious. Pulling it on, it fit you like a glove, hugging the curves of your hips and thighs.
You frowned as you found that you couldn’t reach the zipper on the back. You cleared your throat as you emerged from the bathroom. “I can’t zip it up.”
Michael strode towards you and stood behind you, his fingers ghosting over the exposed skin of your back as they traveled down to the zipper. Taking his time he pulled it up.
His eyes traveled up and down your figure as he admired the dress on you, “A perfect fit.”
Michael tensed suddenly, eyes darting to the side, standing still as if waiting for something to happen.
“What is it?” Ms. Mead asked.
“I sense a powerful presence,” he responded, eyes shifting as he concentrated on whoever just arrived.
“What do you mean? Everyone’s dead,” she said, looking concerned.
“Not anymore,” Michael answered. He extended his hand out towards you, fingers curling around your palm. “Let’s greet our guests.”
Ending 1
Ending 2
#michael langdon#reader insert#female reader#ahs apocolaypse#ahs coven#ahs Michael Langdon#michael langdon fanfiction#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon x you#michael langdon x reader#american horror story#american horror story fanfic#American horror story apocalypse#ahs#canon rewrite
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At the Edge of the Universe
Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XIV)
Summary: It’s time to meet the residents of Outpost 3 as Michael begins his interviews to see who will make it to the Sanctuary (spoiler alert: not many).
Word count: 4.1k
A note from the author: Surprise Mad Love drop! We are down to our last three or four chapters, can you believe it? I've told myself that I'm not allowed to write anything else until I finish this, so expect updates semi-frequently. Goal is to get this bad boy finished by June! As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!
Mad Love Masterlist
This is your fourth Outpost visit, and as you look out at the small crowd of survivors gathered in the sitting room of Outpost 3, you believe that you can confidently say that every one of them looks exactly the same.
Not appearance-wise, of course. Overseers are allowed to establish their own rules for their respective Outposts, including wardrobes. Most had been pretty laidback, actually. Outpost 3 is by far the most draconian, and you’re already regretting not pushing back on Michael’s decision to have you join him as you sweat in your stiff Victorian gown.
Though outfits and rules may change, what doesn’t is the faces. Every single time, when you and Michael arrive and make your introductions, the faces of the survivors are filled with hope. The hope of new drama, the hope of continued survival, the hope of a way out of the Outpost. It’s so familiar now, and each time, it’s pained you to see. These people that the apocalypse has spared, whether due to circumstance or societal standing, have no idea that they’re just pawns in Michael’s game of chess. No, worse than pawns. They’re nothing but dolls, amusement for Michael to play with before tossing them to the side like they’re worthless.
“My name is Langdon,” Michael starts. Instead of introducing you, he looks to you to introduce yourself, and you press your lips together to keep from smirking. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.
He immediately does the moment that you introduce yourself with your first and last name. Your legal last name, the one you were born with, and not that of your infernal husband. You can feel him looking at you, surely with barely-contained rage. Instead of looking back, you simply smile warmly at the occupants of Outpost 3, waiting for Michael to get back with the program.
“We won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says after a brief stumble. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here is crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.”
There are a couple of other things that don’t change from Outpost to Outpost, you note as you watch the interaction that unfolds. The questions, for instance, are almost always the same, and almost always asked out of turn in a way that is guaranteed to infuriate Michael. What happened to everybody, what’s the Sanctuary, will some survive, etc. You clock every single question—even robot Ms. Mead’s, though that one wasn’t too surprising since you knew how she was reprogrammed—and listen as Michael gives the same answers that he always does.
Something else that doesn’t change? The abject lust displayed by a good contingent of the survivors. Michael’s a very attractive man, which you obviously know. 18 months is a long time to be surrounded by a very small amount of people day in and day out, and now that there’s fresh blood offering them a chance at salvation, they’ll do anything to convince him that they’re worthy. You frown as the survivors jockey for his attention, to be first.
Not because you’re jealous or anything. It seems as though the only aspect of Michael’s personality that has remained untouched through his rebirth into a full-fledged Antichrist is his devotion to you. No, you frown because you know that Michael loves to use this to his advantage. After all, lust is one of the seven deadly sins.
“What was that?” Michael asks after the introduction is over and as soon as the doors close behind you in the office in which the interviews will be conducted.
“What?” you ask coyly, playing a game of your own.
“You know what.”
“Oh, that?” Michael nods exasperatedly. “Langdon’s not my last name.”
You’re not sure if he looks more angered or bewildered, though the combination does have a pleasing shade of red creeping up his neck. “Of course it is, you’re my wife!”
“Not legally,” you retort.
“Well, we can’t exactly go to a courthouse to make it legal.”
“Hmm, maybe you should have waited for us to get to the point where I wanted to get legally married before ending the world.”
Michael’s jaw clenches, and he smirks. “Clever, though I have to say that your attitude is getting old.”
“And yours isn’t?”
You’re both breathing heavily as you glare, daring the other to continue. You fight with Michael so often now that this is a familiar dance, and you know the next move. He goes to kiss you, and though you’re certainly tempted, you put a hand up to stop him.
“No! No, we are not having sex right now.” You try to sound convincing, though you might be attempting to convince yourself more than Michael. It’s just so easy to resort to sex. It’s the one thing that you both agree on in this new world—that you’re good at having sex together. Plus, that’s one of the only times that you don’t completely hate him, and though it pains you to admit it, you look forward to those moments when you forget why you should think him a monster.
Michael raises an eyebrow. “We could, though.”
“No.”
To drive the point home, you put as much space between you as possible and go to the desk that holds all of the files of every Outpost 3 resident. If there’s one thing that gets Michael’s mind out of the gutter, it’s talking about his magnum opus: the apocalypse.
“What’s Dinah doing here?” That had been quite the shock, to greet Outpost 3 and find yourself meeting the eyes of the (now former, you suppose) voodoo queen. Though her own had widened in a frightened recognition, she looked down at her hands and kept her gaze there for the remainder of the meeting. The man next to her, her son, was one of those who instantly fell a little bit in love with Michael.
“She bought her spot, just like all the other rich fucks.”
“So she won’t be joining us back at the Sanctuary,” you tease.
“Absolutely not, especially now that I have no use for her and her powers.”
Ever since ending the world, Michael’s powers have blossomed into a whole different beast. He’s so powerful now that you don’t even know the extent, and you don’t think you want to. Where before, he would have needed the help of a voodoo queen or the Supreme when doing something especially complicated or out of his wheelhouse (such as enlisting Dinah’s help when you ate Satan’s poisoned apple or getting a spell from Mallory to reveal the ghost of Cordelia Goode), now, their powers would be worthless to him. You’re no expert when it comes to magic, but you think that his power must be equal to at least ten Supremes.
You certainly don’t want to test that theory.
“How many survivors will be accompanying us back to the Sanctuary, do you think?” you ask.
“Considering I’m not hopeful about interviews, there will be two. A man and a woman, both selected for their optimal genetics.” The interviews are never something to be hopeful over, because they almost always are a disappointment. In the other twelve Outposts, there have been a total of nine survivors that impressed Michael enough with interviews alone that he spared them from their original fates and gave them a spot at the Sanctuary.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the two that are very obviously in love with each other.”
“Which ones?”
You rifle through the folders until you find two with pictures that match who you were looking at in the library. “These two. Timothy and Emily.”
He looks up at you curiously. “How could you tell?”
“When they weren’t watching you, they were staring at each other.”
Though the two were sat across the room from each other, their eyes were continually drawn together like magnets of differing polarities. You’re a little shocked that Michael couldn’t tell, considering his ‘night vision of the soul,’ as he calls it.
You just call it his creepy Antichrist powers.
You try not to, but you find yourself beginning to look through all of the files. They’re all fairly simple; a headshot, a bio, medical information. Really, Michael only uses them to look official and mysterious as he begins to pick their personalities apart bit by bit. For you however, they help to get to know the survivors, even just a little bit.
That’s precisely why you don’t like looking through these, why you don’t like these visits at all. Because knowing them, and knowing their ultimate fates, is something that makes you sick. Maybe that’s the price you’re forced to pay by the universe for being the Antichrist’s wife. You’re forced to be complicit in the continued mind games and eventual deaths of these people who thought that they were somehow safe after the bombs dropped.
Michael scoffs at the next file you flip open. “That’s one interview I’m dreading.”
“Her?”
“Mhm, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt.” His words drip with disdain.
Coco…the name strikes some level of familiarity, but you can’t remember where you would have met a Coco. She didn’t look familiar when you saw her and her…interesting hair in the sitting room. She’s obviously a socialite, so maybe she was trending for some scandal or another in the Before. It’s so hard to remember that time, not only for the pain, but because it feels like an entire lifetime ago.
(Was it really only eighteen months ago that you were preparing for graduation, scrolling through social media, and participating in regular 21st-century society?)
One person who does look familiar? The white-haired stylist whose work Coco sports and the one who claimed the first interview spot before anybody else, Mr. Gallant. You’d recognize him anywhere—his confidence in you was one of the sole reasons you had the courage to go down the stairs and join Michael for your first Cooperative function. But as for him?
“Mr. Gallant didn’t recognize us,” you broach.
“No, he wouldn’t. Those whose services are needed by the Cooperative but aren’t trusted enough to keep their mouths shut are…conditioned to forget.”
“You brainwash them,” you clarify.
“I don’t.” His lips twitch at his own joke. Of course, he doesn’t. That would be getting his hands dirty, which he hates doing, especially now that he has all the resources in the (under)world at his disposal.
“My bad.”
“You’re so interested in this group of survivors. Does that mean you’ll be joining me for interviews?”
When you joined Michael for the first time, at Outpost 6, you said yes when he asked you this question. It was something different, after all, and you were at first interested in being a part of the process and getting to know some new survivors. Of course, this was all before you actually sat in on the first couple of interviews and witnessed Michael’s interview ‘style’ firsthand.
You roll your eyes. “Ugh, no. I hate all the weird sexual tension you have with everyone you interview.”
Naturally, Michael gets the wrong idea and thinks that you’re jealous. He places his hands on the arms of your chair, and leans in until he can meet your eyes. “You’re my one and only, you know that.”
“I do.” You stare back at him unflinchingly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“The sexual tension or that you’re my soulmate?” You simply raise an eyebrow in response, and Michael sighs before straightening up. “Well, a Gray should be arriving at any moment with Mr. Gallant, so if you don’t want to see any ‘weird sexual tension,’ I would suggest leaving now.”
“Alright then, guess I’ll give myself a tour around ol’ Hawthorne.”
Michael pouts. “I was planning on taking you around tonight after Venable’s curfew.”
“Oh, that sucks. Have fun.” You give him a friendly pat on the shoulder as you leave the room.
Outpost 3 isn’t the largest Outpost you’ve visited, but it’s still pretty expansive. In most cases, this would mean lots of exploring to do. Unfortunately, it seems that Ms. Venable has stripped this place of anything that would make it unique. Hall after hall looks exactly the same in a way that would be disorienting if you weren’t keeping track of your whereabouts. The same boring, gray walls, the same black doors, the same frightened Grays scurrying around.
(If you had to pick the worst part about this Outpost so early on, you’d have to go with the forced servitude of some of the survivors here. Most of the other Outposts had a glorified chore chart that distributed tasks equally among survivors. Others had special privileges given to those who volunteered to work. This system? Well, this system has you hoping that Michael’s especially tough on Ms. Venable during her interview.)
After coming to the unfortunate conclusion that this is about as interesting as it’s going to get for you, you make your way back to where it all started: the library. This room at least has some character, between the fireplace and the music playing. Yes, it might be the same song on repeat, played on a vintage radio, but at least it’s something.
As it turns out, you won’t be alone. The two that you had noticed earlier, the ones that couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, are holding hands and whispering to each other on the couch. They spring apart when you enter, and it’s obvious that they’re not expecting anybody to see them. Their attitude, and the way they’re trying to play it off like they weren’t conspiring, gives you pause. What other severe rules has Ms. Venable imposed on those under her care?
“Hello,” you smile at the two warmly in between appraising the titles on the shelves. “Timothy and Emily, right? It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy says warily.
Emily, who doesn’t have that same tact, immediately gets to her question. “Are you here to interview us?”
You shake your head. “No, I let Langdon do the interviewing.”
“So…what do you want with us?”
“I don’t want anything with you. I am trying to find some entertainment, because this place is already incredibly boring and I’ve barely been here six hours.”
Timothy laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get better.”
They watch as you continue to peruse the books, waiting to see if this is some sort of trap devised by you and Michael. It’s not—you genuinely just want to find a book you haven’t read yet and escape to your bedroom for a few quiet hours. Unfortunately, nothing is modern here, not even the books, and you end up settling on Frankenstein, which you’ve read a couple of times now.
“Is it alright if we ask you a couple of questions?” Timothy asks when you turn back around.
So much for a quiet few hours.
You sigh and sit down on the couch opposite the pair. “I can’t guarantee that I can answer all of them, but I’ll certainly try.”
“What’s it like out there?” Timothy asks the question, but both his and Emily’s eyes shine, desperate for any sort of news about the world outside the walls of Outpost 3. You wish you had better to share with them.
“Lawless. You remember the movies about the apocalypse?” They nod. “It’s worse than that. The world is completely unrecognizable, decimated by the bombs. If it weren’t for a map, I wouldn’t even know where we are. Those who survived the blast have been affected by the radiation from the fallout in the most terrible of ways. They have…sores and growths and cancer, all over their bodies. People kill each other for the smallest scrap of clothing. I’ve seen cannibals picking clean the bones of someone they once traveled with, someone that was once their friend.”
“My god,” Emily mutters.
“When M-–Langdon traveled to Outpost 2, his carriage was almost overrun by a band of survivors. They believed there was food inside, and even if there wasn’t, they wanted the chance to hurt somebody that hadn’t yet been hurt by nuclear fallout.”
That had been a terrifying ordeal to hear Michael recount. He wasn’t scared at all, knowing both that the radiation couldn’t hurt him and that he could (did) kill all of them with the snap of his fingers. But you were, for the simple fact that the world that you had once lived in was completely gone and replaced by one where people hunted each other out of necessity, because it might be the only true meal they could eat in weeks.
“How did he get out of it?” Timothy wonders.
The true answer obviously isn’t something that you’re able to share, so you instead go with what would have been the answer if it were any other member of the Cooperative in the carriage. “The bodies of the carriage have an electric current that can be activated in case of emergency. The attackers were all electrocuted with the push of a button.”
“Langdon mentioned a Sanctuary,” Emily says. “Is that where you live?”
“We both do.”
“What’s it like?” Timothy asks, while at the same time, Emily questions, “Where is it?”
“The Sanctuary is…well, it feels like the world never ended, that it just moved underground. As for the location, I’m afraid that’s classified.” You smile sympathetically, feeling a lot like Michael.
Now that this line of communication has been established, that Emily and Timothy now feel like they can trust you, you can practically see the plethora of questions that they want to ask.
“So how do you end up working for an organization like the Cooperative?”
Now that’s a question you haven’t been asked before. “It’s kind of a long story,” you say with an awkward laugh, wracking your brain to come up with a lie convincing enough that they believe it.
Before you can, the sound of a cane clicking slowly across the floor stops you. You look in the direction of the entryway, where none other than your dour host stands. Her bright orange hair stands in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit, black like yours. She smiles at you with darkly painted lips, but it’s a smile that holds absolutely no warmth.
“Dinner is served,” she announces.
The three of you stand, but only two start to follow Ms. Venable to the kitchen. “I’ll take my leave, then,” you say.
“You won’t be joining us?” She sounds a tad incredulous, as though nobody’s told her no in quite some time. That’s likely the case.
“The Cooperative supplies us with rations of our own, so as not to take from the Outposts’ stockpiles.”
It’s technically true. Michael would rather starve than eat the gelatinous cubes that constitute nutrition, and thanks to the endless powers he’s gifted with, meals remain the same as they are when at the Sanctuary.
“We shall see you tomorrow, then.”
You nod before smiling at Emily and Timothy. “It was nice talking to you.”
As you walk towards the office, you can already hear Venable questioning what it was that you talked about, trying to determine if the two gained an edge on making it to the Sanctuary. If only she knew that they’re practically guaranteed spots, you think with a quiet laugh.
Michael arrives at the office at the same time as you do, which is odd, considering he’s meant to be inside the office conducting his interviews. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently before opening the doors and leading you in.
“Where were you?” you ask.
He waves a hand and the doors close behind you. “Finishing up an interview.”
“Doing a little field work?”
“Something like that. Now, I’m starving, and I would very much like to enjoy dinner with some good company.”
At first, you felt a little bad eating your favorite foods while the rest of the inhabitants were forced to eat what was left of their rations. Why should you enjoy while they suffer? And then, you met the survivors, most of whom were filthy rich, and you felt okay with it.
Now, as you sit across from Michael enjoying an actual meal, you allow yourself to pretend for a little bit that your life is still as it was before the end. That this is a regular day after classes, and you’re eating a quick meal and enjoying the company of the man you love before you’re off to finish homework, go to an activity, or just hang out with friends. You miss the simplicity that you didn’t know you had, even still after eighteen months.
“How were your interviews?” you ask, trying to bask in that normalcy for as long as you can.
“Nothing to write home about, though I did learn that Ms. Venable is…shockingly self-conscious beneath her hard exterior.”
You scoff. “And that’s surprising to you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I talked with Emily and Timothy,” you mention.
“Please tell me they’re not as vapid as the rest of the inhabitants of this Outpost.”
“No, they’re…actually kinda cool.”
If you’re being honest with yourself, the reason that you immediately liked them so much is because they kind of remind you of you and Michael, before the apocalypse. They’re so in love with each other, so eager to just be near one another and enjoy their presence. It brings you back to New Orleans, walking through the market arm in arm as you searched for the perfect gift for Kate and he eagerly shared what he had learned when looking up grad schools for you. What you wouldn’t give to be showing him how to catch fireflies, or enjoying a sugary treat together.
Shouting sounds from downstairs, a loud argument starting to take place and distracting you from your thoughts. While you strain to try and hear what’s being yelled about, Michael simply smirks. “Took them long enough.”
Neither of you is surprised, because this is what always happens when Michael arrives at an Outpost. He, quite literally, brings Hell with him. It’s an interesting side effect of what happens when an Antichrist inhabits your space. Those walls that people put up, the rules that they live their lives by, crumble when the living embodiment of sin walks in. From there, it’s only a matter of time until everything unravels and they begin giving in to those seven deadly sins. As you listen to wrath begin to cloud minds, you can practically see Michael becoming more powerful thanks to it.
Later, wrath continues, along with a side of lust.
High-pitched shrieking, so different from the argumentative yelling of earlier, wakes you from the dozing you had taken to while trying to read Michael’s interview reports after dinner. You scramble to sit up in your chair, looking at Michael with wide eyes.
“What was that?” you ask.
He doesn’t even tear his eyes away from the computer to look at you, simply waving a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, Timothy and Emily have just been caught having sex. They’re about to be executed.”
“What?” You stand up in alarm, sure that this is actual cause for alarm. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t even react to your reaction. “Michael!” you snap, desperately wanting him to show some kind of humanity.
Finally, he turns around in his chair and sighs as though you’re interrupting your work, which you know for a fact you’re not. “Yes?”
“We can’t let them die.”
“We won’t.”
You look at him in disbelief, because it sure looks like he’s going to let them die. “Then why aren’t you stopping this?”
Michael finally joins you in standing, taking your hands in his and squeezing reassuringly. “It’s sweet of you to worry about them, and I promise you that they will not die before reaching the Sanctuary. I’ll stop this when the time is right. First, however,” he smiles, “I’d like to enjoy their terror for a bit.”
“Every time I think you can’t possibly let me down more than you already have, you prove me wrong.”
Michael’s face falls at the barb that hits unexpectedly deep, but you don’t have it in you to claim any sort of victory in this. Anger, that heady emotion that’s fueled you up until now, has completely left you at this latest example of Michael’s lack of humanity. All that remains now is disappointment, and it’s a disappointment that leaves you tired. Tired of these games, tired of the life that you’ve found yourself in, tired of being able to do nothing but watch.
Except, you can do something this time. In this Outpost, you have the same amount of power as Michael. With that in mind, you pull your hands free and make for the door.
“C’mon, where are you going?” Michael calls after you.
You don’t answer him, because he knows as well as you. If he won’t put a stop to this, then you will.
///
Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff
#michael langdon#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon x reader#american horror story#american horror story imagine#ahs imagine#michael langdon imagines#mad love musings
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For who YOU are– Michael Langdon AHS apocalypse
Summary: after Cordelia kills Ms mead Michael Langdon kills the other witches but takes the reader hostage when he sees that the others have escaped. For the first time in Michael’s life, someone wants to know what he wants.
Warnings: kidnapping, being held hostage, Burning someone at the stake, swearing, talk of abuse.
Word count: 1.6+
Tags: @ajokeformur-ray
Y/n POV
“where did you guys go?” I say to everyone that's just walked in the door.
“To take care of a problem, dear” Myrtle says.
“and is there a reason why you went without me but everyone else” I asked.
I take a look at Zoe, Madison, queenie, Mallory and Cordelia they're all dressed in black.
“ You burnt someone at the stake didn't you” I accuse.
“Yes y/n if you must know we burnt someone at the stake” Cordelia walked passed me.
“Who” I asked.
Cordelia hasn't really spoken to me or has been really arrogant since Michael came into our lives apparently I'm the only one here that doesn't see him what everyone else says he is.
“Who” I yelled.
“the old lady with the black hairstyle” Madison answers.
“Ms. Mead you killed Ms. why on earth would you do that” I freak out.
“To show Michael that I’m done messing around with him” Cordelia says
Taking her by surprise I put both of my hands on the side of her head and forced myself into her memories.
Flashes, the burning, the smell of charred flesh.
“I will kill you all” Michael promised.
I take my hands off of Cordelia.
“I am your supreme you may have gifts that the others don’t but you will not use them on me” she orders.
“Some supreme you are you’ve practically signed our death certificates with that you do understand right? At least Fiona would’ve made a truce with him” I yell.
“Do not use my mother against me y/n” Cordelia scolds.
“I have gifts you don’t that is correct it’s also why I told you not to attack Michael everything I saw everything I warned you about” I told Cordelia.
“What you saw maybe true but that side of Michael is long gone I gave him a chance today and he turned it down” Cordelia replied.
“Of course he did you killed the one person he thought who loved him what did you think that you were going to walk off arm in arm, embrace the coven that killed the closest thing to he ever had to a mother. I don’t think he would want to bake cookies with you Cordelia” I spat
“I’m strong enough to take him y/n” Cordelia says.
“That’s a laugh” I smiled.
I turned around to walk back up the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going Missy?” Cordelia questioned.
“To paint my nails so that they’re fresh for my inevitable death, are you coming Madi? I invite her.
“No, this shits crazy I’m out for what it’s worth y/n I hope you live you’re the only one I like around here.” She walks out the front door.
“When Michael comes here and trust me he will. I won’t fight him and I won’t protect you” I warn
I walked upstairs.
Red.
Red I think is a fantastic colour to paint your nails before you die. I think painting them black is just a little on the nose.
It has started my blood runs cold I can hear the witches downstairs especially the younger ones calling out for me. But if I have any chance of being able to really meet Michael for who he is I can’t do anything. So I put my headphones on and paint my last nail.
I look up when I smell the metallic scent that blood gives off.
Michael stands at my door my breath hitches. It’s different looking into Michael’s eyes they’re look hardened much unlike the sweet past version I saw him as in murder house. However they still have the Same jaded look on his face
He stands there for a moment before racing towards me I only flinch when he blows black dust into my face.
Floating? I feel I’m floating I don’t open my eyes I’m too tired and strangely I’m at peace.
I feel someone put me on what feels like a wooden chair and put something on my wrist.
My head rolls forward and I wake up.
“Thank Satan I thought you were going to sleep forever then you wouldn’t have been very helpful to me” Michael says.
“Yeah well that stuff smells like goats ass” I say half smart.
“No that would be me actually” he tells me.
Now that he says that it gives me a moment to take in his appearance disheveled, dirty but mostly he looks broken.
“Listen Michael I know you’re going through a hard time–“ I start.
“A hard time your witches killed my Ms mead and now you’re going to help me” he yells.
“I’m not going to be much help to you” I say quietly.
“You will help me whether you like it or not” he towers over me.
To my surprise I don’t quiver when he stands over me.
“You see when the witches when they notice you’re gone they will have to come out of hiding and look for you” he tells me.
“No they won’t we got into a disagreement. I’ve been arguing with the coven for months now” I disagree with him.
There’s a look in his eyes that proves he wants to believe me but some part that thinks he can’t after everything he’s been through.
I struggle with the rope’s around my wrists. They start burning.
“They’re cursed ropes they won’t hurt you unless you try to escape” he says.
In this moment I found that interesting he doesn’t intend to hurt me. I stop resisting and relax.
“You say that the coven has had a disagreement with you. What could possibly cause that much of a rift that they wouldn’t protect their own” he asks me.
Michael sits down on a wooden box waiting for my answer.
“You, we had a disagreement about you” I answered hesitantly.
He leans forward slightly, “what about me?”
“They think you’re evil” I answered.
Michael seems suspicious for a moment, “you don’t”
I shake my head.
“Why” he scoffs.
“Because after you performed the seven wonders and the extra challenges Cordelia made us look into you. She sent Madison and I to the house you grew up in”
“What did you find there?. Did you find whatever proof you were looking for?” He seems intrigued.
“The others found what they needed to crucify you but I don’t agree with them” I answered honestly.
“If you went looking then you would have also found that I am the Antichrist” he says.
“But that doesn’t make you evil Michael it makes you powerful. I know about your upbringing, about Constance’s abuse, trying to get to know Tate as your dad and your interesting relationship with Ben. Michael I know a lot about you and I understand it but everyone your entire life has done nothing but force their opinions on you” I say softly.
He takes a moment to comprehend everything I just said to him.
“So you know full well everything I am so you understand why I’m so upset about Ms. Mead she is the one person who didn’t force anything on to me” he says softly.
I sighed. He hasn’t realised it yet but she was using him too.
“Don’t suggest otherwise to me don’t lie to me” he orders.
“Michael I’m not I promise to you I’m not” I tell him.
He seems to be waiting for an explanation.
“I have a particular gift that allows me to adsorb a memory and share it with other people would it be okay if I could share it with you” I asked him.
“That’s a trick I know better than that do not take me for a fool. You just want me to untie your hands” he says.
“No, Michael I use touch to transfer the memory using touch. I don’t want you to untie my hands until you’re ready, until you trust me and only then. I’m asking for permission to touch you” I explain.
He walks over to me and kneels down to my level, “do whatever you have to do, show me”
I lean forward the smell doesn’t really bother me anymore. I lean forward far enough that I’m barely touching him. I just need confirmation that he’s okay with this.
He stares at me with his blue eyes that seem to be staring into my soul. “Y/n it’s okay, kiss me.” This is the first time he’s said my name.
My lips touch his and lock my touch is as light as feather. I whisper the spell I need to to show him the memory.
He stays there absolutely shocked for a moment tearing and shaking.
He quickly undoes the ropes.
“I don’t even know what to say as shocking as it is I am thankful for the truth how can I thank you,what can I do for you ” he tells me.
Tears slide down his face.
I hug him. “Michael I want to get to know you for who you are.
The end
Author’s note this is my first post on my new account hope you like it. Anyway this is inspired by a conversation I had with a friend sorry I didn’t get to it sooner I’ve been busy
Requests are open
#michael langdon#michael langdon x reader#ahs fandom#ahs murder house#madison montgomery#first post#cordelia goode#ahs coven#ahs apocalypse#ahs x reader#angst#fluff#jaydedstories
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Eye for an eye [Michael Langdon] pt.4
Pairing: Michael langdon x female!reader
warnings: mentions of death
words: 1540
summary: your first date with michael and your first workday at Kineros (filler chapter)
AN: I'm still trying to figure out what format works best for me so bear with me, any feedback is highly appreciated <3
When the clock hit 7 you got ready for the dinner you had with Michael, all he said before he left after abusing your closet was to wear the dress and let your hair loose. But nothing more. So you added some black heels and a silver necklace. You did your makeup a tiny bit heavier than usual and for once you didn’t put on perfume in the hope that he would linger more around you like his coat did. Because damn he smells good it should be illegal.
I’m here.
you curse as you run down the stairs, almost breaking your ankle as you grab the door handle to reveal Michael. Clad in an all-black outfit, smelling absolutely divine and his short curls framing his face “Hi” you breathe out and Michael smiles at you “Look at you, you look stunning” he smiles as he holds out his arm “Shall we?” you say nothing, just taking his arm as you follow him to his car, which, of course, is also expensive “you’re picking me up in a Bugatti?!” you gasp out “what, it’s a nice car” “it is! But, so expensive” you breathe out and Michael laughs as he opens the door for you “my lady” “oh, thank you sir” you act with him as you sit down on the seat. Feeling the expensive seat as Michael sits in the driver seat.
Satan watches the two of them spend the day together from his throne “Good, everything is all going to plan” he says as he stretches his fingers out over the armchairs “Now we need to get rid of that Rosalie figure, I hope Michael hurries up with that girl”
Arm in arm you walk with Michael to the restaurant he picked out. And of course, it’s a Michelin-starred restaurant making you huff “What is it?” “I just feel out of place, I’m so used to visiting a McDonald's or a Five Guys as a date. Never set foot in a Michelin-starred restaurant” you mumble and Michael smiles “Good, I can show you how a real man is supposed to treat you” He walks inside with you and a guy comes scurrying towards you both “Mr. Langdon. Such an honor to have you here again. Shall we go to your booth?” the guy stumbles over his words and Michael gives a short nod
“do you come here often?” your mouth speaks before you can think “Yeah, not a lot. just for business” “Did you come here with Rosalie?” you ask self-conscious and Michael smirks “She is on your mind a lot isn’t she? The answer is no” he says as the guy mentions to the booth in the far back of the restaurant where the mood is actually kind of romantic “that’s a shame, it’s beautiful here” you say as you sit down in the booth, realizing both your knees are touching you scrape you throat “well, I only want to bring important people here. So, mostly Ms. Mead. But not since a few months ago” his voice dies down a bit and you can’t help but feel sorry for him even though you don’t know who Ms. Mead is and what happened a few months ago.
The food that was served was divine, just like the wine that was served. You talked about anything and nothing that your minds could think of, Michael even told you what happened to Ms. Mead. How she was set on fire and now, at Kineros they’re trying to make a robot version of her. Michael held her dear and close to his heart like he expected his grandmother to do ‘what happened to your grandmother?” you say as you put a piece of gnocchi in your mouth “She killed herself when she realized that I was aging to quick and murdering people instead of animals” his voice became flat and his knuckles were starting to turn white with how hard he was holding his utensils.
You couldn’t help yourself but touch his hand “I’m so sorry Michael” you whispered but you tried to sound neutral, knowing how much you hated it when your parents died and how everybody started to talk to you like a baby “You, you lost both your parents right?’ Michael asks questionably and you nod as you take a sip of your wine “my dad passed away of a cardiac arrest, my mother died shortly after due to a drug overdose, I was.. 16? Yeah, so, after the deal” your voice becomes quieter and quieter
“do you think that, you know, satan may be behind it? Seeing if I would get deranged?” “I don’t know, y/n, you have to ask him that” “I did actually, multiple times, but he waved it away, saying I was delusional” You play with a single piece of gnocchi and feel a hand on your kneecap. You sigh softly “he probably didn’t mean it like that, he also left me in the dark for years I didn’t know what I was supposed to do until I got to Kineros”
After dinner, Michael took you for a walk through the park. Deciding to sit on a bench with the hot coffee you bought from the stand even though Michael wanted to go to a coffee shop you shook your head “No this is actually good coffee!” you exclaimed so Michael wanted to believe you. And indeed, it was damn good coffee “So, tomorrow you can just come to Kineros, I’ll show you around and get you settled, you don’t have to worry about anything, well, maybe, your clothing but just, wear a button-up shirt or something. We’ll go shopping for it” Michael says before he takes a sip “damn, this is good coffee”
Nervously you arrived at Kineros the following morning. Especially because you just left your old job and your wrist still hurts. The clicking of your heels on the marble floor echoes off the walls as you see two guys with bowl cuts they must go to the same hairdresser because it looks awful. Michael is in a conversation with them but you see that all of a sudden he has trouble with his laughter
“Are you making fun of us?!” the brown-haired one exclaims and Michael immediately stops “No, no! I wouldn’t dare. You do look ridiculous” Michael exclaims and now you really have to hold in your laughter, they both turn around to look at you “Ah our new secretary! Miss y/n. right? We’d appreciate it if you respected our wishes,” the blonde one says immediately “actually, she only respects my wishes” Michael chimes in, yeah you wish.
You learned that their names are Jeff and Mutt, but you would mostly be working for Michael. Ruling over his agenda and keeping him up to date with meetings and calls. Further, you are the one responding to email, which mostly consists of rich dudes who are aching for their new sex doll.
A girl with a familiar face walks, well, storms in. looking like a drug dealer with her hair all matted, and clothes she had probably worn the last 2 weeks and never heard of the word shower or bath. She composes herself the moment she is at your desk and scrapes her throat “Yes?” you reply while you're typing an email to a client “I’m here to see my boyfriend, Michael” Oh shit it’s Rosalie “Are you scheduled?” “no?! I don’t need to schedule anything” she bursts out and you bite your lower lip “One second please,” you say as you reach for the phone. The foul stench of Rosalie makes its way to your nostrils Michael you’re kidding me. You only type in the number 1. Knowing it will connect to his office he immediately picks up “yes?” “Michael, you’re… girlfriend is here” he hangs up with a loud groan. Not much later his door opens and you hear him curse under his breath “Rosalie, what are you doing here. You can’t just barge in at my work” he says as he leans against the doorpost.
Rosalie immediately runs to him which means you can catch a breath we need to buy air fresheners and perfume and incense to get rid of this smell did she fall in a well or something?! You open up a website for fragrances to check out what can be delivered today as you try to hear the conversation as Michael doesn’t want her in his office “I have a meeting in 5 minutes” No you don’t “so you really need to leave” yes you absolutely do “but Michael! You promised!” she screams out “we were supposed to go on a date this week and you declined me! Twice! I can’t do this anymore!” Michael sighs deeply “Just, go. Rosalie. I’ll call you after the meeting okay” “Can I get a kiss?” “did you brush your teeth?” he blurts out and she gasps “Yes?!” she sounds incredibly shocked and you hear him audibly gulp. You reach for your bag as Michael cautiously gives her the tiniest peck on earth and she walks away confidently “Here” you wave around a travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste you always keep in your bag.
#american horror story#michael langdon#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon scenario#michael langdon x reader#michael langdon x female!reader
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please write more michael langdon smut im beggginggg. maybe hozier's work song inspired???? i just need simp michael plsssss
There's Nothing Sweeter Than My Baby (Grunge!Michael x Reader)
Blurb: Michael gets a chance to worship you in the best way possible
Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving)
A/N: thank you so so much for requesting something! I'm sorry i didnt get round to this sooner!! Hope you enjoy some simpy Michael smut, apologies for how badly I suck at romantic shit (I'm aromantic so it doesn't exactly come naturally to me).
It had been 2 weeks since Michael had last seen you, what with you being busy with university and your badly paid copywriting internship. He understood, of course, that he didn't get his girlfriend all to himself all the time and that you had many commitements of your own to attend to. Knowing that didn't make the empty space in his life that your presence usually filled any easier to accept or deal with.
Leaning back against the pillows on his bed, he checked his phone yet again, both to look at the time and see if any messages had come in from you. Two more hours and then he could see you, the one person except for Ms. Mead, who he actually gave a shit about. He'd been planning this day for the past three days. After all, he didn't normally have the house to himself, which meant he could spend some real 'quality' time with you without the fear of being caught. His hand and the cute pictures of you in lingerie only went so far in terms of satisfying him. Besides, pictures aren't the same as feeling your body pressed against his, hearing your moans and sighs, and being physically inside you.
"Fuck." He mumbled, realising his little daydream about slipping his fingers into your velvety pussy and making you moan his name was beginning to send blood rushing to his cock.
He didn't want to ruin what was coming later on by messing about with himself now. In an attempt to distract himself, he grabbed his headphones off the nightstand. Skipping through his playlist, he landed on Work Song by Hozier. Turning back to the book he had been reading, he passed hours listening to every song that reminded him of you, whether it be because it was a song you'd recommended to him or because there were traces of you in the lyrics.
***
"J-jesus, what's gotten into you!" You managed as Michael kissed down your neck, your feet not even through the doorframe.
He pulled back, a look of mock offence on his face.
"I havent seen you in two weeks, Y/N. That's too long for me not to go crazy when I finally do see you." He resumed kissing your neck as you closed the door behind you.
Noticing that Ms Mead's car was absent, you started to piece together the other reason Michael was unable to leave your body alone.
"Empty house?" You asked, stifling a girlish giggle as you connected the dots. So that's why he told you to (politely) hurry your ass home from class.
His response was an 'mm-hmm' as his hands traced the contours of your waist and hips. It felt like he was touching you for the first time again; your body was both a familiar and unfamiliar landscape beneath his hands. His lips moved from your collarbones to your mouth, drawing you in for a long overdue kiss. Melting into his touch, you pressed your body against him, feeling the beginnings of an erection press against your thigh.
"Excited to see me, hmm?" You teased in a sultry whisper, drawing back from his hungry lips.
"I'm fucking starving for you, dove."
The nickname gave you butterflies, even if it was the hundredth time he'd lovingly called you that.
"Let me taste you. I've missed you so fucking much, just let me show you how much." His low tone couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice, the pure need to worship you in the best way he knew.
You pressed your lips to his again, signalling without words that you consented to his offer. In one swift motion, Michael lifted you up, hands cupping your ass, and carried you to the leather sofa, lowering you down onto it. Falling to his knees, he pushed your skirt up, grateful that you were wearing something so accessible.
His breath was hot against your thighs as he peppered them with kisses, his mop of blonde hair tickling your skin as his lips edged closer and closer to your core. You'd never seen him this eager to have you, not even when both of you were insatiably horny. Even then, he paced himself, never rushing foreplay, always making sure your pleasure came before his. This time, he was already tracing the outline of your slit through your panties with his tongue, moaning under his breath as he did so. The tip of his tongue nudged your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tense up on either side of his head. Fingers replaced his tongue, rubbing careful circles on your clit before dipping down to rub your slit. A short moan escaped your mouth.
"You missed me too, hmm?" Michael managed, forcing himself to talk rather than bury his head between your thighs and eat you like your pussy was his first meal in a week. His cock was fully hard, painfully pressing against the rough denim of his ripped jeans. As much as his sex drive told him to fuck you into the couch, he wanted this to be about getting you off, not just him.
Two fingers looped around the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs and to your feet. Michael held them up as if he was admiring them. Red cotton with black lace trim, his favourite pair of yours. They were stained with a damp patch, a streak of your creamy arousal. Making eye contact with you, he licked your slick off the fabric, savouring your taste and scent.
"Fuck." Was all he managed when he stopped his display of self-indulgence and slid the panties into his jean pocket.
No sooner had he pocketed his prize, he turned his attention to your exposed cunt. He felt heat creep onto his cheeks, as if this was the first time he'd ever seen your sex. Looking up at you the entire time, he dragged his tongue up your slit in a broad, slow lick. Your hand grasped his hair, making him gasp. He repeated the action, this time dipping his tongue inside you, flicking it, feeling the silky flesh of your pussy. You moaned again, placing one leg over his shoulder, opening your sex up to him, inviting him to devour you in the way you knew he wanted to.
"You really are starving." You mused, beginning to get breathless as Michael assaulted your pussy with licks, sucks, and kisses.
"Of course I am, I haven't tasted you in so long. And there's nothing sweeter than you." He whispered, lips shining with your slick.
Returning to your now puffy lips, he grasped your thighs, pressing his mouth against your cunt, eating like a starved animal. Every so often he would moan to himself, getting off to the way your cunt twitched when he swirled his tongue around your clit and the various curse words and moans that fell from your mouth. He could feel you climbing closer and closer to your climax; your hand gripping his hair tighter, pressing his face into your needy pussy, whimpering his name, begging him to keep going. Obliging to your demands, he used two fingers to press up into your spongy insides, pumping in and out of you, his mouth still on your clit, sucking and kissing it.
"Oh...fuck, I'm so close, Michael. So fucking close." You groaned out, head lolling back against the sofa. The pressure building in your lower body was almost unbearable as Michael continued to bring you closer and closer. It was such an intense high, you'd never managed to get yourself this desperate to cum. Whether it was the lack of sex for the past few weeks or the fact your boyfriend was so devoted to devouring your pussy, you didn't know and frankly didn't care. All you knew was that Michael was really showing you how much he missed you in the most selfless way possible.
A few more pumps of his fingers and a swirl of his tongue made you come crashing down from your climax, a loud moan leaving your mouth, nails digging into the leather of the sofa as you clawed at it. Thick, creamy cum leaked around Michael's fingers, coating them and dripping onto the sofa.
Michael himself had cum, his boxers a sticky mess and a trickle of his seed running down his thigh. His legs were shaking from his hands-free release. Licking your cum off his fingers, he sat up on your sofa, pulling you onto his lap. The two of you caught your breaths, panting almost in unison.
#michael langdon#michael langdon x female reader#american horror story#x reader#cody fern#michael langdon x reader#michael langdon smut#ahs smut#michael langdon x you#ahs#grunge!michael langdon#grunge!michael x reader#michael langdon imagine#grunge!michael langdon x reader smut#ahs imagine
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Ave Satanas, Bitch (Michael Langdon x fem!reader)
A/N: Michael Langdon is one of my favorite characters and I finally decided to write something about him to post! I hope you enjoy even if I did kill a few favorite characters (also my faves but a good story about the antichrist has to have a little murder). Anyway, thank you for reading and let me know what you think.
Word Count: 1,248
Summary: When the witches come knocking at the outpost, Michael underestimates what you will do to help him continue his reign of the new world.
You watched from your seat on the bed as Ms. Mead helped Michael into his red velvet jacket. He looked handsome, red truly did suit him.
When he turned, looking to you for approval, you smiled.
“Very handsome,” you reassured, standing up, your black dress skimming the floor as you did so.
It was Michael’s turn to smile, but he suddenly tilted his head slightly, listening.
“We have guests, I believe some of our residents have risen from the dead, powerful ones at that,” he spoke, turning to you again.
He came over to you, taking your face in his hands.
“Promise me you will stay here, this is not your fight,” Michael instructed you, making your brow furrow.
“I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself, I’m a big girl Michael,” you told him.
“That you are little one, but I am not the mortal in this relationship, and I cannot afford to lose you,” Michael spoke, sterner this time.
“Fine,” you pouted, making Michael chuckle.
“I’ll be back soon, and then we’ll go home,” he reassured, and you nodded.
Michael pressed a kiss to your forehead and let go of your face.
“I love you,” you told him as he made his way towards the bedroom door.
“And I you,” Michael replied, and with that, he disappeared out the door with Ms. Mead following faithfully behind him.
You sat back down, picking at your nails. If the witches were here, you couldn’t help but be nervous. They could be powerful, especially when all combined. But Michael had grown even more powerful since the fallout, practicing his skills daily.
You were confident in him but losing him was a deep-rooted fear of yours. You had no idea what would become of yourself if he was not by your side.
It seemed forever had passed before the sound of gunshots made your head snap up. You stood from the bed, quickly walking to the door, and cracking it open, listening.
You heard footsteps and hid behind the door as someone ran past. After they passed you snuck out the door, making your way to the stairs just in time to see Michael stand from the floor, covered in blood.
Madison Montgomery stood at the bottom on the staircase, before she could speak, with a quick flick of Michael’s wrist, her head exploded and her body collapsed to the floor, making you gasp, catching Michael’s attention.
He turned, almost shocked to see you there, “Get back to the room, now!”.
You opened your mouth to protest but there was a resounding pop and you were back in the bedroom. Cursing Michael quietly you moved towards the door and turned the knob.
It seems in sending you back to your room Michael hadn’t thought to lock you inside. Before leaving the room, you grabbed your bag, retrieving a dagger you’d brought with.
While Michael reassured he’d always be there to protect you, he seemed to need your help now more than you needed his.
Sneaking from the room once more you made your way down a hall, hearing a familiar voice you turned the corner, just in time to see Michael rip a women’s heart from her chest and take a bite.
Coco, a witch you recognized from the academy before the war, stood in front of Michael. You had no idea how powerful she was, so without hesitation you came at her from the side, plunging your dagger into her neck.
A shower of blood sprayed you, ruining your dress and painting your skin red.
Coco collapsed, blood pooling beneath her.
When you turned to Michael, he had a proud smile on his face.
“Evil looks good on you darling,” he complimented, making you giggle.
“I learned from the best,” you replied, reaching down, and pulling your dagger from the witch’s neck.
Michael smirked, “It seems I underestimated you, come, we have a coven to finish.”
You nodded and followed Michael down the hall, a pool of blood appeared halfway down, a trail following it, neither of you were bleeding, so that means one of the witches were wounded. Perfect.
Michael stopped suddenly, pulling you behind him, Cordelia stood at the end of one of the adjoining halls.
“How did you think this was going to end?” Michael suddenly asked. “Prophecy is inevitable. I was always going to win Miss Supreme.
“Not on your own,” Cordelia scoffed. “You’ve been led by the hand, coddled, the entire way. By your father, the warlocks. I look at you and I don’t see a man. I see a sad, scared, little boy so pathetic he couldn’t even kill me with a thousand nuclear bombs.”
“Oh, but I never expected to, like a cockroach I knew you’d survive the nuclear blast,” Michael retorted, smirking. “And now I will get the satisfaction of watching you die.”
“You still don’t get it do you?” Cordelia replied, wearing a smile of her own. “Even now. You think there’s only winning and losing, success and failure. But failure is when you’ve lost any semblance of hope…”.
As Cordelia continued, Michael leaned behind him, whispering to you, “Down the hall, the bathroom, kill her.”
You nodded and took off, sprinting down the hall, when you found the bathroom he was talking about you were greeted by Mallory, slowly fading in a tub full of water due to a stab wound to the gut.
Wasting no time you moved forward, grabbing the girl by her hair and yanking her up.
“Ave Satanas bitch,” you hissed, before easily sliding your dagger across her throat, before plunging it into her heart, making sure the job was done.
Blood stained the water red as Mallory sunk into the bath and you admired your handiwork.
“You bitch!” came a voice from the door, and you turned to see the witch with the wild red hair standing there.
She held out her hand but before she could harm you, her neck snapped to the side roughly and she collapsed.
Footsteps neared you and Michael appeared in the doorway. He looked around you to the tub where Mallory’s body lay.
“Now that’s my girl,” he told you and you smiled, moving to embrace him tightly, arms wrapping around his neck.
“They’re all dead?” you asked, looking up at Michael for confirmation.
He nodded, “Miss Supreme sacrificed herself just as you slit little Mallory’s throat.”
You smiled, reaching up to press a passionate kiss to his lips. He returned the sentiment, arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer.
When you pulled away you rested your head on his chest, “Let’s go home.”
Michael hummed in agreement, taking your hand and leading you from the bathroom, it burst into flames behind you.
As you walked throughout the outpost every room exploded, glass breaking, flames licking the walls.
The flames didn’t dare touch you, Michael made sure of that. You both walked out of the outpost, Michael still making sure the elements did you no harm, and onto what was left of the barren lawn to the carriage waiting for you.
Michael helped you up into it, forever a gentleman to you and only you. He followed suit and soon the carriage took off, taking you both back home to the sanctuary.
You were empty handed, but Michael felt like the richest man on earth, and with you by his side, hand in his, he could accomplish anything.
#american horror story#michael langdon#cody fern#michael langdon x reader#ahs apocolaypse#ahs coven#ahs#American horror story apocalypse#michael langdon x you#cordelia goode#madison montgomery#mallory ahs#billie lourd
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The funniest Millory pregnancy headcanon I have is a battle of wills between Mallory and Ms. Mead. Because, Ms. Mead, being an old lady, is convinced she knows what's best for the baby, and the mother. Mallory meanwhile has no intention of consuming human hearts. Nor drinking goat's blood.
#ahs#american horror story#ahs apocalypse#michael langdon#mallory (ahs)#ms. mead#otp#millory#michael langdon x mallory#otp headcanons#american horror story fandom#diary pages#ahs crack#come on she would insist Mal eats human hearts#Michael probably hides away from this conflict#because he doesn't want to upset either of his beloved women
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Ms. Mead
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Late Night Visit
Word Count: 1,580
Pairing: dom!Mr. Gallant x male!sub!Reader
Warning: Smut, mentions of masturbation, anal sex, mention of exhibitionism kink, hair pulling, slight choking kink
Summary: You know better than to break the rules but a midnight visitor who happens to be your boyfriend makes you think a bit differently. It isn’t bad if you don’t get caught, right?
Everyone had just figured out about Ms. Venable and how she was making her own rules for her personal entertainment. Everyone could agree on the rule they hated the most, no unauthorized copulation under any circumstances. You were writing in your journal when you heard a knock on your door. “Come in,” you exclaimed, expecting to see Ms. Mead or Ms. Venable. Instead you were greeted by your boyfriend, Malcolm Gallant. There was a smirk on his face that could only be described as mischievous. He locked the door behind him then walked towards you. “Mal, what are you up to?” “We’re gonna have some fun.” You’d heard him say that sentence once too many times and it all ended the same exact way. “Baby, what about the fake rules?”
He crawled in bed with you. “I don’t know. I guess we’d better hope that Michael Langdon helps us. That man seems to love sin.” You could do nothing but agree. Michael seemed to be very fond of sin. “But don’t we need to be quiet?” He kissed your cheek. “Only if we want to. It is pitch black outside and thankfully no one has a room anywhere near yours. Also, no one was out in the halls. I checked three times before coming to your room.” You thought about what he said for a moment. “Okay,” you replied, placing your journal and pen on the ground. Malcolm eagerly kissed you. Soon, you were getting aroused, kissing him back just as he kissed you.
The kiss broke when you both needed air. You watched as Malcolm started removing his clothes and you followed suit. You created a small pile of clothes on the ground, both of you now fully naked. You had waited for this day a whole year. That was long overdue. Malcolm got on top of you and started to jerk you off. He stopped once you were dripping pre cum, scooping it up on his fingers and sucking it off. “Y/N.” You looked up at the beautiful man before you. He was so pretty and perfect. “Get on top of me and ride me.”
He laid down and watched as you lowered yourself on him. You moaned from the pleasurable pain you felt from being stretched out by him. It had been a while and you almost forgot about how big he was. “You ready,” he asked, desire in his voice. “Give me a second.” You waited some then finally started to bounce, creating a nice pace that Malcolm easily met. You wrapped your hand around his throat, turning him on more. It was undeniable that your boyfriend was a very kinky boy.
His moans and groans were soft. Your name constantly slipped from his lips and his eyes rolled. You placed hickies on his skin, loving the soft red, pink, and purple marks that now decorated his body. Everything felt amazing whenever your bodies were joined like this. “Tell me who you belong to.” “You, Mal. Mmm, Mr. Gall-Gallant. You.” He smiled, removing your hand from his throat and placing a kiss on your knuckles. Your moans got louder as he thrusted into you harder with every bounce of your body.
“Fuck, mm, we’re gonna get killed.” He chuckled from under you. “Yeah, but it’s fucking worth it. I’d die happy for this.” You could easily agree as you continued. You placed your hands on his chest, trying your best not to lose all the control you had over your body. You were now bouncing at a faster pace, looking down at the pleased expression that covered your boyfriend’s face. He stared into your eyes, feeling the way that you tightened around him. “I’m, I--” You tried to speak but broken moans were the only thing that came out. He didn’t need to hear the rest of your sentence though. He already knew what you were going to say. You were close and for some reason, you were trying to hold it off. “Cum, Y/N. Scream my name while you do it.”
Just like that, the knot in your stomach snapped. “Mm, Mal-Malcolm! Fuck.” You repeated his name like a mantra all the way until your ass was filled with his cum. You raised up off of him and kissed his cheek. “You want another round then we’re done,” he asked. “Yeah, I could go for another.” He smiled. “Kiss me first.” You obeyed him, kissing him with just enough roughness to make it pleasurable. He flipped you over unto your stomach, spreading your cheeks. “You’re gaping.” He scooped some cum onto his fingers before pushing it further into you. He kissed your shoulder then smoothly slid into you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
You couldn’t think clearly and the sound of his voice was making you so hard. You loved whenever Malcolm did dirty talk during sex. He was so good at it. “Tell me you’re all mine’s.” “Mm, I’m all yours. Fuck, ugh. I belong to you, n-nobody else.” He was going fast, deep, and rough, making your eyes roll. “You’re so pretty, taking me so well.” He sucked on your neck and made a mark there. “I love you so much, Y/N.” “Agh, I love you t-too.” One of his arms wrapped around your body while he held your waist. You started to fuck yourself onto him, listening to the sound of his moans and your skin slapping. He pushed your face into the pillows, making your back arch. He hit deeper parts in you and the angle did wonders.
You were about to cum once again but you could tell that your boyfriend wasn’t ready yet. Your body was sensitive and cock drunk. It didn’t help that Malcolm kept saying provocative things in your ear that left little to the imagination. You could feel him in your stomach and he kept hitting your prostate with every movement of his hips. It drove you insane as he kept on going. “Feels good?” “Mmm hmm, very g-good.” His hand wrapped around your length. “St-stop, too much, too cl-close.” “I don’t care,” he grunted out, pounding you into the sheets. He started to pull your hair and jerk you off. “Cum all you want all over the sheets, all over my hand. I know you want to, ugh, sweet boy. “
Your cock twitched in his hand and you felt his cock pulsing in you. “Mm, Malcolm,” you moaned out. Your toes curled and eyes rolled. He kissed your shoulder and whispered in your ear. “What would you do if they caught us like this? Would you cum all over and moan my name? Fuck, I think you would. I know you would. You’re clenching more from thinking about it.”
He let go of your hair. “I bet you wish they were here right now, don’t you?” “Y-Yes, mm, fuck, yes.” You were already cumming, painting the sheets and your lover’s hand with your seed. You felt his cum pour inside of you, filling you up and spilling out almost just as quickly. He flipped you over and laid beside you, licking your cum from his hand and chuckling softly.
“What is it, Mal?” He grinned. “You’re one kinky boy. That’s the hardest you’ve ever busted a nut.” You looked at him in utter shock. “Was it?” “Mm hmm. I keep track. Awe, you’re all flustered. It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you liking the idea of being watched. I think it’s hot, may even have Michael come be a part of that dream of yours.” You looked into his eyes, trying to see if he was just picking on you but he wasn’t. “You sure?” He got up from the bed, starting to put on his clothes. “Mm hmm. Next week I’ll be here again and give you some news on it. I’ll go talk to Langdon and see what we can do. That is if we aren’t dead by then.” He was now fully dressed, a few marks on his skin showing.
You looked at the time, 2:55 am. You still had plenty of time. “You’ll need to cover that up, Mal.” He looked at them and smiled. “I’ll let it stay just to see the anger on their faces.” He started to walk out the door but you stopped him. “Wait.” He turned around, his attention fully on you. “Yeah?” “Come here and give me a hug and kiss before you go.” “Fucking your brains out wasn’t enough,” he joked before starting to walk towards you. He was halfway there before he paused. “Wait, how come you can’t come here.” You rolled your eyes at his slight stupidity. “Babe, you just fucked my legs numb. Going to you requires walking.”
He laughed, walking to you and giving you the most passionate kiss you’ve had from him in a while. He hugged you, breathing in your scent. “Goodbye, Y/N. I’ll see you later.” “Bye, Mal.” You laid there, thinking about how you were going to clean the sheets and your body. But over that, your mind mostly thought of Michael watching you and Malcolm. You huffed as you felt yourself hardening again. Malcolm was already halfway down the hall and you were in no state to chase him for a quickie. The night ended with you putting use to your hand and your boyfriend doing the same exact thing with the thoughts of one another and a certain someone watching the two of you.
#american horror story#ahs#ahs smut#apocalypse#malcolm gallant#mr gallant#mr gallant smut#mr gallant x male reader
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For the character ask thing:
Wilhemina Venable (duh) and 10, 12, 21 ☺️
10. Could you be best friends with this character?
At first I was going to say I‘m not sure if Wilhemina would allow anyone to be close enough to her like that. Then I remembered Ms Mead and I think if she would let me in then yes for sure. Just imagine talking about murder with her or taking on the world while everthing falls apart in an apocalypse while drinking wine. - yes
12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?
After she returns from work each day she gets into some comfortable (lilac) clothes for the night, she switches between reading a book, watching the history channel or knitting while the fireplace softly crackles in the background. Also she has cats, lots of cats.
21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?
I absolutely adore soft Mina and I also adore writing strict Wilhemina and exploring her through arguments or tough situations. I hate writing her when it involves putting her through any kind of pain or anything uncomfortable for her.
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Red Heart Ending 2
Michael Langdon x fem reader
You, Michael and Ms. Mead left the room, leaving Ms. Venable forgotten on the floor. Reaching the landing at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, your eyes fell upon the group of witches gathered below. Michael released your hand as he took a few steps forward.
“How can any of you defeat me,” he announced, successfully drawing the attention of the witches. “When I’ve already won?”
He stood proudly at the top of the staircase, arms resting at his sides as he casually stared his enemies down. Ms. Mead was on his left and you remained behind him.
“You haven’t won,” Cordelia stated, her own gaze unwavering as she looked at Michael.
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world,” he gestured around him.
“It’s almost as bad as your dinner jacket,” Myrtle criticized in a snarky tone. “But at least the world can be saved.”
“By you?” He smirked.
“By all of us,” Cordelia said,
“Hey,” Dinah interjected. “Get the wax out of your ears. I’m here to watch.”
“But I’m not,” Coco stepped forward. Michael’s eyes shifted towards her with an unamused expression, she cowered a bit from just the look. “Just don’t let me die again, okay? It really sucked the first time.”
With clear contempt, he redirected his attention to the group. “When I’m done,” Michael started. “You’ll all wish you were still dead,” he warned.
“I always thought the world would end with fire and ice,” Myrtle mused. “Not witches and warlocks.”
Michael ignored the comment and continued. “The seventh seal has been broken,” he proclaimed. “Wormwood has fallen from the sky and turned the rivers to blood and fire. The bottomless pit has been opened and my swarms of locusts and scorpions have ravaged humanity.” He was bursting with satisfaction. “The world has been remade in my father’s image.”
“Darling,” Myrtled laughed. “It seems daddy didn’t tell you the most important rule of bringing on the apocalypse. If you want to finish the job, the thing you have to do first is get rid of all the witches.”
“I could annihilate all of you in a second and the world would go on without missing a beat,” he threatened. “You and all of your work will be forgotten in the rubble of the past. But I want to give you a future.”
Michael slowly lifted his arms as an invitation, “Fall to your knees and accept me as your lord and savior, and I will bring you to the table as my obedient subjects.”
Cordelia chuckled, amused by his offer. “The only way we would sit at your table is if your decapitated head were the centerpiece.”
“Cordelia,” Dinah began, in a soft voice. “You raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side,” she walked forward and faced the Supreme. “But if you know anything about who I am, you know the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.” She made her point clear by bowing her head towards Michael.
“You’re half right, Dinah,” Cordelia said confidently.
“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen,” the voice of Marie Laveau chuckled as she emerged from behind the group of witches. “But that ain’t you, sis.”
“To release me from hell,” Marie continued, stepping in front of the group towards Dinah. “Cordelia promised Papa Legba the darkest and most corrupt voodoo queen’s soul for mine.” Marie’s eyes gave Dinah a once over, “You’ll serve him well in my place.”
“You’re a fool, Marie Laveau,” Dinah furrowed her brow. “You would have done no different if you were queen.”
Suddenly, Marie transmuted, appearing right behind Dinah, cutting her down with a swing of her machete. Dinah screamed as her neck gushed blood while falling to the floor.
Michael nodded to Ms. Mead, signaling for her to attack. She removed her hand revealing the barrel of an automatic rifle, but before she could fire, Cordelia muttered a spell.
Ms. Mead began to convulse, head and body shaking as she malfunctioned.
You watched stunned, unsure if there was anything you could do to help.
“Ms. Mead?” Michael asked full of concern.
At that moment, she exploded, her limbs and torso flying apart. The shock wave sent Michael over the bannister, crashing onto the concrete floor below, while you were blown back against the wall behind you.
Michael’s brow furrowed, tears falling as he cupped Ms. Mead’s decapitated head. Despite his anguish, he rose to his feet, motivated to finish this for good. The witches were nothing but a thorn at his side, pests that needed to be exterminated.
Scrambling off the floor Madison grabbed the rifle and then fired upon Michael, unloading the entire magazine as she shot him. He collapsed against the wall and fell to the floor, appearing dead.
But the coven knew this was only temporary.Without a moment to waste, Myrtle yanked a lock of his hair from his head and gave it to Mallory who finally was able to grasp the entirety of the situation.
The witches fled upstairs, seeking a safe place to execute their plan, before Michael had a chance to recover. Madison stayed behind in hopes of holding Michael off, even if it was just for a mere second.
However, as they turned the corner, Mallory was stabbed by Coco’s fiancé, taking his vengeance for being left behind when the bombs fell. The witches had to act quickly. While Myrtle and Cordelia tended to Mallory, Coco and Marie prepared for Michael.
…
Like taking in a deep calming breath, the blood that pooled around Michael returned to his body, drawing it back in as he was revived. He stood up, cracking his neck side to side, as Madison spun around to face him.
But as soon as Michael’s fist closed, Madison’s head exploded, her body dropping to the ground a blunt thud.
With no regard for any of the corpses around him, he marched up the steps towards you.
The blast left you disoriented as you slowly tried to sit up. You winced as you touched the back of your head, fresh blood mixed in with your hair. Your head had hit the wall behind you pretty hard. The injury was throbbing and the rest of your body felt bruised and beaten.
You flinched back when Michael reached out, touching your bloody wound as he examined the damage.
“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling guilty for cringing away.
He was quiet, eyes deadly and cold as anger and rage radiated off his body. They destroyed his Ms. Mead, taking her away from him again. They had hurt you in the process, Michael had even feared that they had killed you as well.
His fingers were wet with your blood as he placed his whole hand over the wound. Closing his eyes, a warmth came over you as he healed it, just like that time at the park so long ago, bringing you a sense of comfort.
“Is Ms. Mead…?” Your voice trailed off, unable to finish the question.
“Gone,” Michael answered bitterly.
“Michael,” you murmured, facing him. His jaw was locked tightly as he stared at you. Your dear Michael was so strong now, so determined to see this through, and you wanted this to end just as badly as he did.
“Go finish this and don’t hold back,” you encouraged.
Michael lifted a brow, entertained by this change in you. “I’ll slaughter them,” he promised. “Stay here.” He pressed his lips to the top of your head before rising to his feet.
Looking below you made out four corpses, and soon more would join them.
…
Striding up the second flight of stairs, Micheal encountered the voodoo queen first.
“You will not pass,” Marie commanded, sprinkling the floor with the contents of her pouch while reciting a spell.
Michael snarled as his hand was unable to advance past the invisible barrier.
“You’re dealing with HBIC now,” she taunted.
“You really think your stupid voodoo spells can stop me?” With incredible force, Michael plunged his hand into her gut. Her mouth gaped like a fish gasping for air as he moved his hand deeper. “Is that all you’ve got?”
“Not exactly,” she heaved through the pain.
Without hesitation. Coco stabbed Michael from behind, sinking the knife through his back. His brow furrowed as he looked down, his fingers grazing the tip of the knife in his chest. Remaining oddly composed, Michael twisted around to look at Coco.
“Normally, that’d work,” he commented, before wrenching Marie’s heart free from her chest with a gruesome squelch. “But I’m nothing like normal.”
Biting into the organ, he casually flicked his wrist and Coco’s head snapped like a twig. Reaching behind, he worked the knife out of his back and then proceeded his hunt for the rest.
He stopped at the beginning of the next hall, spotting Cordelia standing at the other side. He inhaled with anticipation.
“How did you think this would end?” He started. “Prophecy is inevitable. I was always going to win, Miss Supreme,” he mocked.
“Not on your own,” she sneered. “You’ve been led by the hand, coddled, the entire way. By your father, the warlocks. I look at you and I don’t see a man. I see a sad, scared little boy so pathetic he couldn’t even kill me with a thousand nuclear bombs.”
“But I never expected to,” Michael retorted. “Like a cockroach, I knew you’d survive the nuclear fallout. I wanted you to.” He smiled, “And now I’m gonna have the satisfaction of watching you die, knowing you failed.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Cordelia shook her head. “Even now. You think there’s only winning and losing, success and failure. But failure is when you’ve lost any semblance of hope. You will get to watch me die, but you won’t find it satisfying.”
Opening her hand, she summoned the knife in Michael’s to her. “Satan has one son,” she explained. “But my sisters are legion-“
In a blink of an eye, Michael appeared before her, stopping Cordelia’s hand from plunging the knife into her chest. He sneered glaring at her face to face, feeling the sting of the knife’s blade as it cut his palm.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he tilted his head, his blood dripping to the floor between them. “I want you dead, but I’m no fool, I know what you’re trying to do.”
Cordelia’s eyes darted to the room Mallory was in. The tub of water was turning red as Mallory continued to bleed out, barely clinging to life. They were so close, but the only way now to accomplish what they had started was by Cordelia sacrificing herself for Mallory’s sake, it was the only way to give her the power to survive and complete the spell.
Michael hissed as Cordelia struggled, desperately trying to free her hand and the knife from Michael’s ironclad grip. He didn’t budge, eyes staring at her coldly.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “You won’t have to live much longer, she’s almost dead.”
“Fuck you,” Cordelia spat.
Michael turned his head, unphased by her attempts to provoke him.
Myrtle suddenly emerged from the room, ready to defend Cordelia, but before she could utter a word Myrtle was torn apart. Cordelia’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open, as Myrtle’s body fell to the floor, a pool of her blood soon spreading to their feet.
Michael’s eyes returned to Mallory, floating in the bloody tub, he counted down in his head, any minute now the girl would be dead from blood loss and with her would die their hopes of saving the world. He could feel it, the moment Mallory stopped breathing.
Looking back at Cordelia, he smirked and finally released her hand. She gasped as she thrusted the blade with full force into her chest.
“It’s your turn to burn,” Michael stated as flames engulfed the Supreme. A smile formed on his face as he watched the fire dance. The last witch was finally dead.
With his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high, Michael turned around and began walking back through the corridor, stepping over Myrtle’s body with cold indifference.
You rose to your feet as Michael returned, standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at you.
“It’s done,” he said, his smirk spreading.
You climbed up the steps to join him, immediately wrapping your arm around his neck. His hands ran down your back resting on your hips.
“It’s just you and me now,” Michael whispered, lips tickling your ear. “The Adam and Eve of the new world.” Pulling back, his hands stayed on your hips, “Are you ready to leave this place?”
…
The carriage rattled and shook as the horses pulled it along the road towards the Sanctuary, your new home, leaving behind the underground outpost.
You felt excitement thinking about living your life again with Michael, having a home with him again. You focused on the destination, tuning out the horrific sights taking place outside the carriage windows.
Michael sat beside you, his legs crossed, while his hand and yours were joined together, resting upon the seat between you.
The landscape outside was barren, the air was polluted, the buildings laid in rubble and ruin, occasionally in the distance you’d see a mutated figure. You cowered away from the window as the carriage passed a small group.
“Don’t worry,” Michael said, squeezing your hand. “You’re safe with me.”
When the carriage slowed to a stop, you eagerly sat up. Michael got out first, coming around and opening your door for you. He offered you his hand, which you accepted as you emerged from the carriage. Outside was a tall concrete wall with a heavy steel gate.
“Welcome home,” Michael announced, pushing the gate open.
You gasped as you immediately recognized the building. It was the house, still standing, not a single brick out of place.
Michael motioned for you to follow as he walked along the brick path toward the house.
Inside, the light in the house emminated a warm glow, all the furniture was still intact and in place, it was as if you never left.
Michael removed the hazmat mask and suit, hanging them on the coat rack, his long golden hair gracefully falling around his face.
Noting your cautiousness, he reached out and helped you out of yours. “That’s better,” he murmured, gazing at your face and running his index finger along your jaw to your chin.
“How is this possible?” You asked in a quiet voice, looking around you in awe.
Michael shrugged, “Both were already a part of hell.”
Tilting his head, Michael kissed you, with both of his hands cupping your face. He was comforted by the fact that this would be his life now, his purpose was complete and the witches were dead. Parting from you, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Y/n?” He asked, voice slightly breathless. “Be mine forever, only mine.”
You nodded, his hands still on your cheeks as you placed your hand over his. “All yours.”
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Hate to Say (I Told You So)
Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XV)
Summary: A moral victory gets completely wiped away by the horrors of your life. But fear not, because help is (finally) here.
Word count: 5.3k
A note from the author: I wanted to say "A HOT NEW BOMBSHELL ENTERS THE VILLA" in my summary but figured I shouldn't because I'm trying to keep the tone very serious. The pace of this chapter is pretty fast-paced to keep up with the pace of the show—the chapter starts right where Episode 3 of Apocalypse does. It's so nuts to think that we're finally almost done. As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!
Mad Love Masterlist
“There’s really no need to thank me,” you say emphatically to the two Purples sitting before you.
“You’re the only reason we haven’t been executed. You saved our lives,” Timothy insists.
“I did what anybody would do.” You shoot a pointed glance at Michael, who stands at his desk across the room from you. “What anybody should do.”
The walk to the chamber where you could hear Emily and Timothy pleading for their lives simultaneously felt like the shortest and longest length of your life. It seemed as though with every step you took, the hallway grew longer, like you were in some kind of waking nightmare. Still, you pushed on, for nothing could stop you…except for the sharp bang of a gunshot. That did physically stop you for a couple of seconds as you tried to figure out what just happened.
Immediately, you feared the worst—that you were too late. They can’t be dead, you thought before your brain reconnected with the rest of your body and you realized that you could move. It can’t end like this. You broke into a run, cursing the slight heel of your shoes as you tried to beat time itself to the scene of the crime.
Instead of what you were expecting, which was the two lovers lying dead in a heap, Ms. Mead stumbled past you with her hands cupped over her abdomen. You watched her go with wide eyes, leaking some sort of white fluid on the floor as she did. Ignoring her for now, you finally made it to the door and mentally prepared yourself for what you might see.
Inside, Timothy was collapsed into a heap but groaning and trying to get into a sitting position, while Emily was cowering against the wall. Neither of them had any bullet wounds, but the muscle of this Outpost stood over both of them, cocking the hammer back on the gun that was pointed at Emily.
“Stop!” you yelled, three sets of eyes looking at you.
“On whose orders?” The Fist demanded.
“The Cooperative’s.” It certainly wasn’t often that you invoked your privileges as wife to the Antichrist, but if there was a better situation to do so, you hadn’t found it yet.
They stared you down, so you channeled Michael the best you could, stepped closer to them, and refused to back down. Finally, they sighed and lowered the gun. “Fine. Get them out of my sight.”
You fell to your knees the moment that you knew you had won, wrapping your hands around Timothy’s arms and helping him to his feet. Once he was up and able to balance semi-steadily, you held out a hand to Emily. “Come on, let’s go,” you said softly, ushering her up from her spot curled up against the wall.
They followed you out of that small chamber in a daze, holding onto each other tightly. You wished you had had the foresight to grab a couple of blankets to cover them as you walked with them back to relative safety, but you hadn’t known that they were going to be executed in only their undergarments.
“That’s it?” Emily asked in bewilderment when you stood in front of Timothy’s room, the room closest to where you had all been. “We’re okay?”
You nodded. “Take all the time you need to decompress, but I would like to see you both in Langdon’s office when you’re ready to talk about what happened.”
Emily let out a relieved sob and let her head fall back against the wall in relief. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” You nearly choked on the words, undeserving of any such gratitude, and hurried away.
It was all you could think to say at the time, and now you’re here, sitting before them being lauded as a hero when you neither want nor deserve it. Why should you feel proud of such a label, when you’ve been unable to stop the monster responsible for all of what has befallen the world beyond your small act of rebellion?
“Not that I’m not grateful, because truly, I am—we both are,” Emily says, gesturing between her and Timothy. “But why save us?”
You remain silent, having no real answer for them beyond what you’ve already said, which is that it was what any person should do. Since this is not the old world, and doing things out of kindness is no longer the norm, you know that this doesn’t seem like a truthful answer. Michael saunters towards you, laying a firm hand on Timothy’s shoulder. For once, you’re happy for his theatrics, as it gets their waiting eyes off of you.
“I’ve been charged with finding the seeds from which the future of mankind will blossom. It’d be grossly irresponsible to allow a minor infraction to keep out a viable candidate,” Michael explains. “The stakes are too high.”
“We still have a chance at the Sanctuary?” Timothy asks, borderline incredulous. Not that you blame him.
“You didn’t break any rules,” you assure.
Michael nods in agreement. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. Now, I would encourage you both to get some rest. You’ve had a long day, and your interviews are scheduled for tomorrow.”
They get up from their respective chairs, planning to do just what Michael says and fall into bed. While Timothy goes for the door, Emily hesitates, and after a moment of internal deliberation, she takes your hands in hers. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times already, but thank you,” she says yet again. The sincerity in her tone and the earnestness in her eyes are almost too much for your guilty soul to bear.
“You’re welcome.” You accept her thanks begrudgingly, knowing that she would feel entirely different if she knew the truth about you and Michael. “You deserve a chance, both of you do.”
Michael has a proud smirk on his face when he turns to you after escorting them out of the office, though you’re not sure why. His plan didn’t exactly go the way that he was planning, and you’re the reason for it. Michael’s never been fond of changes outside of his control, and the stranger who’s inhabited your husband’s body for eighteen months is almost obsessive in ensuring that his plans play out how he intended. In fact, you’re expecting to meet his ire rather than what you’re greeted with.
“Well, well, well.” His smirk widens into a smile as he takes a seat next to you. “Look at you, taking charge! I’m proud of you.”
“Fuck off,” you snap. After a moment, you mutter, “But thank you,” because you’re not above praise.
“How did it feel? Knowing that you were in charge of their fates?” His eyelids flutter in some sort of ecstasy at the thought of the power that comes with what you believe to be an immense burden.
“Awful. My hands are still shaking.” You hold your shaking hands up to illustrate this. Now that the adrenaline has started to leave you, you’re exhausted. There’s nothing to hold you upright anymore beyond the knowledge that you’d much prefer falling asleep in a bed instead of on this uncomfortable couch.
Michael tsks, taking one of those shaking hands and caressing it in his own, steadier hands. “From what I could hear, you did well.”
“What can I say, tried to channel you.” He chuckles, and you can’t resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder. You really are tired, and that means that your normal safeguards telling you that this isn’t wise are gone. “I thought you would be mad.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know, because I ruined your fun.”
“No. You could never. You just…made me pivot. I’ve always loved that about you—how you keep me on my toes.” He kisses your forehead. “You should get some rest, too.”
He’s right, unfortunately, so you stand from your seat. When Michael doesn’t follow, however, you look at him in surprise. “You’re not coming?”
“Not right now. I’m supposed to speak with my father tonight.”
It’s not disappointing, per se—you’re not going to complain about getting to spread out in bed—but it is a little upsetting to be reminded once again of the influence that’s completely warped and corrupted Michael. “Okay…goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” That old, familiar nickname hits home, and you swallow the lump in your throat to steel yourself against the muscle memory of asking Michael to come to bed, a whole different lifetime ago.
Sleep comes to you easily thanks to the exhaustion of the past couple of hours, though you’re a little wary as you feel unconsciousness claim you. Ever since the bombs dropped, you’ve been plagued by nightmares. Most of the time, you feel like you deserve it, like it’s a burden you must shoulder as punishment for your station. You fear them, the horrors that you typically see when you close your eyes. But tonight, at least, your dreams contain far less screaming and torment than usual.
The next few days pass in a manner far more boring than your first 24 hours in Outpost 3. There’s little work for you to do, and the strict way of life here makes it impossible to find anything exciting. While you’re tempted to continue interacting with Emily and Timothy, the first people you’ve felt a bond with since the end of the world, you know that that’s extremely unwise. To allow yourself to get close to anyone, but especially people who are, for all intents and purposes, innocent, can only bring misery to both parties. You don’t think you can take that sort of heartbreak, so you make the decision to stay away.
There are only two events that break up the monotony of your stay. The first is a security breach, although you suppose even that’s nothing too out of the ordinary here. After all, the Outposts only have the absolute basic levels of security, and the survivors that have been left to face the elements of the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape are nothing if not inventive. The other is something that is out of the ordinary, especially here in Ms. Venable’s draconian playland.
Since it was announced two days ago, all anybody in the Outpost could talk about is the Halloween masquerade ball to be held tonight. To you, it certainly doesn’t sound exciting. Standing around in the library drinking water and talking is already Outpost 3’s daily routine, so you don’t see how adding costumes is going to suddenly make it fun. But the idea of getting to do something new catches on with the residents like wildfire, even with Emily and Timothy, who find you when you’re exchanging Frankenstein with Stephen King’s The Stand (maybe a little too on the nose for the current state of the world, but it’s difficult to find a book in this library that you haven’t read).
“Are you going to come?” Emily asks.
You try not to laugh because you know that, if you were in their position and starved of entertainment for so long, you’d probably be acting the same way. “Oh, probably not.”
“You should! It’ll be fun.”
The telltale sound of a cane against the floor sends a rush of chilled goosebumps down your arms. The one and only matron of this Outpost joins your little group, inserting herself in between you and Timothy.
“Hello, Ms. Venable,” you greet semi-politely, which is the most that you can manage around her.
“Emily is right, you should join us,” Ms. Venable says, a smile on her face. “It’s sure to be a scream.”
“I’m sure it will! Unfortunately, we’re very busy making our final selections for the Sanctuary, so I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make it this time.”
“Well, just know that the offer stands.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to let Langdon know as well.”
Ms. Venable’s fake smile falls off of her face as she levels her gaze coldly with Emily and Timothy, both of whom are still facing the full brunt of her wrath for escaping their fates. She returns the way that she came, sending a Gray stumbling out of the way to avoid getting in her path. The moment she rounds the corner, you turn back to them with your lips pressed together to keep your composure.
“Your idea of fun involves Ms. Venable?” you say, taking care to be a little quieter than normal in case she’s eavesdropping.
“No,” Timothy admits, “but we’ll still make it fun.”
“I’ll think about it, okay?” you say after a moment of consideration.
Emily grins, satisfied by this answer. “Yay!”
While such events don’t exactly appeal to you right now, you can’t deny that it might be amusing to at least stop in and check out, if only to see what costumes everybody comes up with.
You broach the topic with Michael after his last interviews are concluded and you’re in the room designated as his (Ms. Venable had given you two separate rooms upon your arrival, since nobody in the Outposts knew that you were married). “I don’t think I’ve seen a group of people so excited about a mandatory Halloween party since I was in elementary school,” you say, falling back on the bed and sighing in relief at finally getting to rest.
“Trust me, it was all I heard about in today’s interviews.” Though you can’t see him, you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I'm certainly not sad that we won’t be attending.”
You look over at him, (surprisingly) a tad disappointed. “We won’t?”
“You can’t tell me that you want to spend a couple of hours conversing with Dinah and the Vanderbilt girl.”
Your nose wrinkles, because no, you don’t. “I suppose you’re right.”
Michael kneels on the floor next to the bed, bringing his face level with yours. He smiles at you softly as his eyes map the familiar planes of your face. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had you all to myself, no interviews or selections.”
Pretending is dangerous, you know. After all, you pretended like Michael wasn’t as close to ending the world as he truly was, and it led to you failing in your mission to try and stop him. But beyond watching him play with people’s lives (which is the new normal with him), this trip has been the closest to normal that you’ve felt in a while. You’ve shared meals without fighting, he’s laughed at things you’ve said and vice versa, and you’ve felt…kind of comfortable with him. When you lay your hand on his cheek and rub your thumb against the soft skin of his face, you pretend that this is your Michael, not the Antichrist, looking at you with his big blue eyes.
And when he presses his lips against yours, you pretend like you don’t remember why you’re supposed to tell him no.
Michael moves onto the bed with you, laying your back against the pillows while he straddles your hips. You gladly pull him down on top of you, removing your hands from his face to do so. He’s all over you, from your sides to your thighs to your breasts to your face. Your tongues tangle together, but rather than a fight for dominance, it’s a dance where you’re both equal partners. Loving him, and being loved by him, in this specific way is intoxicating, and you’re happy to turn your brain off for a bit and just feel.
“I want to run something by you,” Michael mumbles between kisses. It’s weird that he wants to do this now, when he’s grinding against you and your fingers are working at undoing his pants, but whatever.
You swallow down a moan and nod. “Okay.”
“This is the last Outpost we have to visit before we can focus on creating our new world out of the ashes of the old one.” His lips go to your jaw, and he begins to suck and nip at the underside of it. “What if we got started on it early, with just the two of us? Ushered in this new world with new life?”
Arousal has completely clouded your mind by this point, and you have to fight to fully take in Michael’s words. It takes another few moments to really understand what he’s said. Now, your stomach is tight for a whole different reason, making you go still. “What are you suggesting?” you ask, hoping against all hope that you’re wrong.
He pulls away from you just enough that he can meet your eyes. “I’m suggesting we have a baby.”
“What?”
Your shock is misinterpreted for surprise, and Michael smiles. “I know, it would be a big change, but can’t you imagine it? Our future. We’d be a family, and our baby would be the very best parts of us and our love.”
He’s right—you can imagine that future, one where you’re a mom and Michael’s a dad, proud parents of a baby with Michael’s cherub features and your eyes. It’s such a vivid picture in your head that it feels like it was meant to be, and you find yourself lost in it as Michael continues to verbally paint your future parenthood. For a moment, you feel like you want it as much as Michael does.
A door slams downstairs, pulling you back to yourself and reminding you that that’s not what you want. Like, at all.
Panic begins to thrum under your skin, making you laugh nervously as you try to wriggle out from under him. “Michael.”
He doesn’t answer, too caught up in his fantasy. “Plus, you can’t deny that we’d make a cute kid.”
“Michael!” He pauses to look down at you, and you use that opportunity to slide away from him. Sitting up on the bed, you grab a pillow and hold it in front of you almost defensively. “Where is this coming from?”
He looks down bashfully and grabs one of your hands. “The timing, us almost being done with the Outposts and, by extension, the old world, had me thinking. An heir would be such a fitting way to bring about this new age on Earth. It just feels…right.”
That word, ‘heir,’ sends alarms blaring in your mind. Michael styles himself as king because that’s the title that his father has bestowed upon him, the title that he only believes himself worthy of so long as his father does. For him to use a term like ‘heir,’ typically associated with royal and noble houses, can only mean one thing.
Your blood goes cold at the realization, bile trying to creep its way up your throat. Hesitantly, you pull your hand away. “Your father’s the one that brought this up, didn’t he?”
He shrugs, not seeming to care that he’s once again letting Satan dictate every aspect of his life. “He mentioned it, yes, but the idea is all mine! So, what do you say? You wanna have a baby?”
It’s obvious that part of him genuinely enjoys the idea of having a child. You can see his excitement, and hear his dreams in the way he speaks of your shared potential future. But the other part, the one that’s all Antichrist and therefore the part that’s completely taken over him, sees a child solely as a means to an end. A way to secure his father’s bloodline and cement their rule on Earth. You wouldn’t submit anybody to that fate, least of all a helpless child.
With your mind made up, you meet Michael’s eyes and shake your head. “No.”
“No?” His brow furrows, taken aback from hearing this answer from you.
“No! I won’t bring a child into this fucked up hellscape of yours.”
Michael’s smile falls. “Yes, you will. Maybe not today, but you’ll come around.”
“That’s a pretty bold assumption.”
“Is it? After all, our contract says that we’ll have a child within five years. We’re three years in, and time is only ticking.”
“The contract?” you gasp in shock, reeling back from the bed. “You’re really bringing up that stupid fucking contract right now?”
You can’t believe that after all these years, all the progress that you made individually and as partners (progress that was, of course, shattered with the press of a button), he’d betray you and bring up the very document that made you feel so much like a prisoner when you first met him. Though you try not to, your eyes don’t listen to your will and begin to well with tears.
Michael remains unmoved by your emotional display and instead attempts to explain. “I only do to remind you of what’s expected of you, of both of us.”
“Fuck you, Michael. I will never have a child with you.”
His eyes steel over as he clenches his jaw. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
“I guess we will.”
You charge a path to the door, praying that Michael doesn’t stop you. Somehow, he has enough sense left in his brain to remain where he’s sitting, simply watching you throw open the door. Before you leave, you look back at him.
“Tell your father what I’ve told both of you before. If he wants your wife to be some perfect little Satanist that bows to every one of his, and your, whims, then he’s going to have to kill me and find you another poor girl to force into marriage.”
With that, you slam the door and walk down the hall toward your own room, tears blurring the path in front of you.
It’s only when you’ve locked the door and can feel the sturdy wood behind your back that you allow yourself to actually break down. Sobs rip loudly from deep within your chest, and you slap a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the sound. You’d hate to interrupt the Halloween party currently taking place below you, and you’d hate even more for people to come and ask you what’s wrong right now. If they did, you know what you’d say. That everything is wrong, from the clothes that you wear to the way that people act, and that the past eighteen months are like being the unwilling lead in a horror movie.
Those words can never be spoken aloud, because there’s not a single person alive that would understand them beyond Michael Langdon. Unfortunately, the Michael Langdon that you knew is dead and replaced by the spawn of Satan that’s always been lurking inside of him. Sometimes he does a good job of playing the part of Michael Langdon, a good enough job that it can momentarily fool you. But the demon will always rear its ugly head, reminding you again and again that you’re truly alone in this world.
It feels a little childish to throw yourself on your bed and cry yourself to sleep. But in this situation, you think it’s warranted.
You’re eventually ushered back to consciousness by the feather-light touch of fingers brushing your cheek. It’s a struggle to unglue your eyelids after they grew stuck together due to your drying tears, and you hesitantly pry open one eye to glance at what, or who, has woken you up. Upon making a positive identification, you groan and drop your head against the mattress.
“I hate this dream,” you grumble.
A soft laugh comes from next to you. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me anyway.”
It takes a moment for you to work up the courage to actually speak your thoughts. “Because it reminds me that you’re gone.”
The mattress shifts. “Open your eyes.”
You really don’t want to do that, because you know what the result will be. After all, you’ve had dreams along this storyline before. Dreams where you’re taunted with your innermost desires, dreams that feel so real that you wake up expecting them to be fact. They never turn out to be real, though, and you’re dreading being faced with that same disappointment once more.
But hope is cruel, and it’s tantalizing. In the end, you’re no match for hope.
Instead of being greeted by nothing but air when you finally open both eyes, someone is still sitting next to you on the bed. You take in their black wardrobe first—a long-sleeved black dress, with a matching cloak fastened around the neck. Next is the hair, beautiful dark waves, with a golden headband nestled among them. Finally, you meet a pair of warm, brown eyes that twinkle with excitement.
You sit up abruptly in shock. The breath gets caught in your throat, and you have to work to make a sound. Even when you can, your voice comes out shaky and unsure. “...Mallory?”
A familiar smile spreads across her face. “Hi.”
Your hand has come up without you realizing it, and it hovers now above Mallory’s shoulder. Though you want so badly to touch her, you’re sure that the moment you do, she’ll dissipate into thin air like smoke. You don’t know if you can handle that kind of heartbreak, not after what you’ve just been through.
Mallory takes your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers. In your grasp, you can feel the muscles of her hand flex, her skin warm and real against yours. A sharp gasp rips from you, tears already falling once more (you’ve cried so much tonight) when you raise your gaze to meet hers once more.
“Oh my god, Mallory!”
She says your name with just as much tenderness and awe, her voice a balm on your bruised and battered soul. It’s another second before you’re being pulled into a welcomed, bone-crushing hug. You meet her with the same level of enthusiasm, holding onto each other as though, at any moment, forces will try to rip you apart. The forces of the universe can try any tactic possible, but they’re guaranteed to fail. Your best friend is back and in your arms against all odds, and you’re never letting her go again.
“How the—how—you—” Mallory waits patiently for you to remember how to speak. “You’re here. And you’re alive. How are you alive?”
“Witches don’t die easily.”
“I can see that!” You pull back from the embrace just enough so that you can look her in the eyes and be reminded of the fact that Mallory really, truly sits before you now. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
Her face somehow softens even more than it already has. “I’ve missed you too.”
While you could spend hours in silence and simply enjoy her presence once more, there are explanations to be made, ones that, in your mind, simply can’t wait. “I have so many questions.”
“Ask, then, and I’ll do my best to answer.”
You work to untangle the jumbled mess that your thoughts have become. “How are you here? I’m talking the whole process, from surviving the apocalypse to somehow traversing a nuclear wasteland and coincidentally ending up at the same Outpost we’re visiting.”
“To make a very long story short, when you called me that day that you and Michael fought, I knew that we were running out of time. His anger sped up the process of the apocalypse by months, which meant that I had to speed up figuring out how to stop him. While my research in those ensuing weeks was fruitful, there was no chance of actually having enough practice to successfully execute any sort of plan by the time the bombs dropped. So, I pivoted. I’d work as hard as I could, right up until the end, while also knowing that I had key members of the coven in place to help me after the nuclear war.”
“Your coven survived?” you ask hopefully. An army of witches would do a lot to help right now.
Her face twists in pain. “Michael would have sensed it if an entire coven survived the apocalypse, so I made one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make in my life. I sent the girls home on a ‘break’ and told them that I and a couple of their teachers had to go meet with a European coven. They got to spend their last days with their loved ones, which is a small comfort to me.”
“I’m sorry, Mallory.” What you want to say is that you’re sorry that this happened, and that you’re sorry that the man you’re fated to love is the reason why. If you get started on that path, though, you know that you’ll be apologizing for hours about things that, at the end of the day, aren’t your fault (even though they feel like they are). Instead, you give Mallory a tighter squeeze and hope that it accurately conveys all that goes unsaid.
Mallory clears her throat, lifting a hand from you briefly to swipe at her wet eyes. “Anyways. I took only those who I knew would be a great help to me when the time came. Two of my friends, who also taught with me, and I went to ground. Bayou mud carries intense healing properties, and it kept us safe for eighteen months of hibernation, for lack of a better term.”
You’re mildly horrified at the fact that Mallory and her friends basically buried themselves alive, but Mallory continues before you can say anything.
“Then, an older student who comes from a very rich family volunteered to help. I wiped her mind of her identity as a witch and ensured that she would be here, in Outpost 3, so that we would have as many on our side as possible.”
“Who…” you trail off. “Coco!” That’s why her name sounded so familiar! Mallory had likely mentioned her to you in passing during one of your many conversations after she assumed the title of Supreme.
“Yep.”
“Is she always so…” you pause, trying to think of a nice way to phrase what you want to say. “Bitchy?”
“Before she came to Robichaux’s, yes.” She grins cheekily, and you feel your heart twist at how much you’ve missed seeing that. “Hence the bitchy attitude here.”
“Was Outpost 3 just a lucky guess?”
Mallory shakes her head. “No. I knew that Outpost 3 would be Michael’s crown jewel when it came to the Outpost project. He was never shy in his hatred of warlocks and Hawthorne—he hated both of them almost as much as he hated Cordelia. It made sense that he would choose this as his final stop. He wanted to prove to himself, you, and Satan that he was nothing like the boy that first arrived here years ago.”
“So, you sent a spy here and took as much help with you as you could. What’s your plan now?” How are you going to get us out of this mess? you want to ask.
She turns serious. “Before I tell you, I need to ask you something.”
“Anything,” you promise.
“I’m going to ask you to stand with me and against Michael. And if you can’t do that because of your soul bond with him, I understand. In that case, though, I need to ask you to stand aside so that I can do what I need to do.”
There’s no need for any sort of deliberation, nor is there any hesitation in you. This answer comes just as easily and surely as one from mere hours ago, only this time, the result is the opposite. “Of course, I’ll stand with you.”
She sighs in deep relief, apparently worried that you were going to turn her down or, worse, side with Michael. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
Mallory begins to explain her plan and your role in it, one that you’re happy to play. You’ve been forced to be a bystander for too long, and now, you refuse to let that be your identity. You want your world back, and with Mallory and her witches at your side, you feel confident that this is how you win.
///
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#michael langdon#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon x reader#american horror story#ahs imagine#american horror story imagine#michael langdon imagines#mad love musings
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