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helaintoloki · 5 years ago

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Season of the Witch | Michael Langdon

chapter thirteen: Lost

masterlist

pairing: Michael Langdon x witch!reader

warnings: language, angst, violence, graphic descriptions, adult content, deception, toxic relationships, abuse, death, witchcraft, satanism and all that other good ahs stuff

notes: mostly a filler chapter, slight angst

“Y/N?” A gentle knock to the door, then the silent creak of the hinges as it’s forced open. “Dear, it’s time to eat. You need your strength.”

There is no reply from the lump hidden under the covers, and if Cordelia wasn’t so connected to her daughter she might have never known someone was still inhabiting the room. She hadn’t moved from the spot in days, hadn’t uttered a word to anyone, hadn’t so much as slept. A part of her had died forever, and y/n would never be the same again.

She had felt it, screamed in agony at the sudden emptiness in her heart. Her baby was gone, never to be seen again, and there was nothing she could do.

Cordelia silently sets the silver platter on the bedside table before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. Y/N doesn’t move or shift her gaze, and instead continues to stare at the wall. Frowning, her mother gently combs her fingers through the girl’s greasy hair. She hadn’t showered since after the birth, and Cordelia tried not to notice.

“Y/N?” No response. Myrtle had told Cordelia not to meddle, to let the young girl heal in her own time. But the coven didn’t have time. They had to act quick in order to to prevent the antichrist from obtaining power over the coven.

“Sleep,” Cordelia murmured, and as she waved a hand over her daughter’s face, y/n’s eyes fluttered shut and she sunk into a peaceful sleep, the only good sleep she’d have since the event.

And as she slept, Cordelia was quick to remove the pain and the bad memories, so that when y/n woke she would remember almost nothing. Just her mother’s loving embrace, her sisters’ warmth, and Michael. Cold, cruel, evil Michael.

~~~

When he felt the first heartbeat dissipate Michael gave no hesitation and paid no heed to its absence. He wasn’t worried, he knew it was her. And he knew she’d be back, and in a matter of seconds she was.

However, it was the fading of the second heartbeat that brought him to his knees and knocked the wind out of his lungs. His child, his creation, his son.

He was there now, could see it all so clearly. His bouncing baby boy swaddled in blankets and cradled in the arms of a blonde woman dressed in black. Cordelia. His blood boils and fists clench at his sides as he watches the scene unfold with utter helplessness. She whispers for the baby to sleep, enchants the child with a spell Michael can’t quite make out, then sets him adrift in the stream.

Tears fall silently down Michael’s face. Tears of anger for Cordelia, tears of anguish for the loss of his son, tears of sympathy for his beloved. He can feel her sorrow as if it’s his own, and in a way it is. But at the same time Michael knows there is a special bond between mother and child that cannot be experienced by anyone else, and he sobs for her. For them.

Michael was mean, and Michael could be cruel, and Michael was known to be harsh, but with a child in the picture he would have loved her until his dying breath. What he felt for her now was not exactly love, not by definition. Y/N was a nuisance to his schemes and an obstacle, but he admired her power and her strength, her courage. Delivering the spawn of the antichrist in itself was no easy feat, and he adored her as the mother of his child. She was weak in spirit at times, rolling over constantly in hopes of pleasing her mother the supreme, but that was nothing Michael couldn’t have fixed. He would have helped her, remolded her into someone new. Someone worthy of the title as Queen of the Underworld.

But all of that was snatched away from him, and Michael now had nothing. His plans were ruined, hopes for the future destroyed, and chances of y/n joining his side slim to none.

Michael would find Cordelia. He’d find her and hurt her in every way possible, make her suffer for as long as he could before he finally killed her. He’d get his baby back, sweep y/n off of her feet, and carry them away somewhere safe, somewhere no other threat would ever find them.

And they’d be happy.

~~~

It seemed as if that so called god up in the sky had finally decided to punish Michael. First his son, and now his beloved Miss Mead reduced to nothing but a pile of ash. He collapsed to his knees, screaming in agony because he did not know what else he could do.

Michael felt sick to his stomach, body hunching over as he sobbed. Why them? Why now? When he was so close to success, so close to achieving his goals. He could feel the power, taste it on his tongue as it caressed his fingertips. The tears ran hot from his baby blues and he’d never felt more alone in his life than he did now.

“It’s over.” That damned voice. Her mere presence sends his fight or flight responses into overdrive, blood boiling and stomach churning in disgust. Cordelia Goode.

She stands there, tall and proud and smug, and Michael doesn’t think he can hate her any more than he does now. How could y/n love this woman? Call her a mother? Could she not see who the real monster was?

“We know who you are. Your allies are all dead.”

“An innocent baby,” Michael snarls, but his voice falters with pain and sorrow, “a child.”

“I did what had to be done,” Cordelia says, and there was no hint of regret or remorse in her tone. Nothing. She wasn’t sorry. Not in the slightest.

“I’ve already proven to you that I can defy death,” he scowled through his tears, “I’ll bring my son and my Miss Mead back. I’ll take y/n, and together we’ll watch you die.”

“You can go to hell, but you won’t find either of them there,” Cordelia affirms. Michael falters.

“What have you done?” He asks weakly. His throat feels raw and sore from the screams and the tears, he’s weak.

“Their souls are hidden by a spell only I can break.”

With her words Michael is instantly brought back to the river stream. He sees her lips pressed closely to his child’s ear, whispering sweet nothings that become words of Latin. And he understands the gravity of the situation, realizes his child is gone forever.

Cordelia watches as he sinks to his knees, legs giving out underneath the weight of his failure. Not so powerful now without his allies, not so strong and intimidating. Alone he is able to show his true colors, his true identity. To Cordelia he is nothing but a child, a lost soul with no one else to turn to now.

“You’re alone. But you don’t have to be,” she comforts, voice gentler now. “You don’t have to follow the path your father has made for you. If you come with me, I can help you. Y/N sees humanity in you, I see humanity in you. Maybe together we can find it.”

He watches through teary eyes as she extends a comforting hand towards him, opening a new door of opportunity, a second chance. All he has to do is take it. And he does.

Cordelia smiles, helps the boy to his feet, but doesn’t anticipate the way he harshly tugs her closer, an iron grip on her wrist and a fire in his eyes fueled by his hatred for her and her coven.

“Somehow, someway I am going to bring her back,” he swears hoarsely. “And then I’m going to slaughter each and every one of you witches. But you know what else I’m going to do? I’m going to take y/n from you, make you watch as I corrupt her and turn her against you so you’ll know what it’s like to lose. You think you know what’s best, Miss Supreme? You never should have touched my son.”

Tears fall down his face but the promise of his words ring strong in Cordelia’s ears, and she can only feel fear and unrest as he walks away. His figure disappears until he’s nothing but an outline in the distant, but he’ll always be lurking around every corner waiting to strike.

And she won’t be ready when he does.

~~~

It’s been four days. Four days without water, without nourishment, without rest. He’s fading, growing smaller. He has nothing left, but he has everything to offer. Why hasn’t my father come?

Michael pushes the hallucinations away: the children, the angels, even Miss Mead. But the sight of her, glowing and happy as she coos to the small child in her arms... Michael couldn’t keep her away even if he tried.

“You’ve got to get up, Michael,” she chastises, “what example are you setting for your son?”

“M-My son?” Michael croaks, trembling fingers reaching out to touch the baby. His feet are so tiny, untouched by the world and its sin. Michael lets out a shaky breath and shuts his eyes, body leaning forward until his face is nestled against her stomach. He stains the white fabric of her dress but she says nothing.

“Are you really giving up now? Have you given up on us?”

“I-I’m trying,” he insists, fingers bunching up the fabric of her dress in fistfuls. The dress is cool against his hot tears, she’s a breath of fresh air. “I promise I am.”

“I love you,” she whispers into his hair, “but you’re not strong enough.”

“I am,” he begs, “please don’t go. You’re all I have left now, don’t leave.”

“Be stronger. I love you.”

“God loves you,” a voice echoes, and Michael stumbles back with wide eyes. She’s gone, and in her place is an angel. His bright wings are the color of her dress before it was tainted by his touch. But perhaps she has always been tainted. Perhaps she just couldn’t see it until Michael.

Be stronger, her voice echoes, I love you. Be stronger, I love you. Be stronger.

“What do you want from me?!” He shrieks into the void, and his screams echo in reply.

~~~

It’s almost been a month since the birth of her grandson and Michael’s disappearance, and Cordelia feels hope and happiness blossom in her chest. Her girls are growing stronger each day, but y/n? Well, there’s no doubt as to who the next supreme is.

It took a few days for the side effects of Cordelia’s spell to wear off, but once they did she was a brand new witch. She held no recollection of the child she once carried in her womb or the sorrow of her loss, but she remembered Michael. And she knew he was bad, and in her newly improved mind she held no love towards him. Only the fear and hatred planted there by her mother.

“She’s doing much better,” Myrtle comments, breaking Cordelia out of her haze. The two women watch as y/n frolics out in the gardens with Binx in tow, reviving the decaying flowers and plants so that they bloom once again. “But she seems different.”

“Stronger,” Cordelia figures

“Delia, I know what you did,” Myrtle sighs. “It won’t last forever, especially not on such a powerful witch.”

“Then I can do it again,” Cordelia argues. “Until it lasts forever.”

But the effects were already fading, and as y/n’s roses grew so did the love in her heart for the boy with the blond curls and blue eyes.

And with the love came the emptiness, and with the emptiness came the resentment towards her mother.

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tag list: @ticklish-leafy-plant @touchoflangdon @anacerta @bluebirdbts @heda-mikaelson @redlovett @fuck-yeah-bruno-buccerati @ateliefloresdaprimavera @quechulitaaa @theeonlyroman @hecohansen31 @frenchzodiacgirl @michaelsapostle @hoeposey @spider-stud @frozenhuntress67 @jokingarthur @brookethompsonownsme @enigma-xlii @thederpyllamaoflove

#american horror story #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x witch!reader #michael langdon fic #ahs fic #ahs apocalypse #ahs coven #season of the witch

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tenrou-sirius-the-writer · 6 years ago

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Omgggg yassss I was wondering when a ask blog for this show would pop up! Can I get a scenario with Mikhail and his s/o where he's tending to them because their sick/wounded? No angst, just cute tooth-rotting fluff. Please and thank you c: (also what age do you think he is? trying to pin down an age but I can't figure it out :/)

I think he’s in his early twenties but I don’t know??

Summary: In the relationship between a human and a vampire, the human is clumsier than originally thought and hurts herself, leaving her in the grips of her boyfriend.

A/N: I’m so sorry for delaying this request, I didn’t know enough about Mikhail to accurately write his character, but episodes 7 and 8 really cleared it up, and sorry this is so long. Enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, long request, swearing.

She hadn’t meant to fall in love with a vampire of all things. It was funny, really. Their meeting had practically sprung up from a romantic novel, except those books excluded the bloody details.

Most people couldn’t stand those somewhat-minor details. It made them scrunch their noses with the stench and sprint away, or they screamed and yelled and passed out cold right there. (Y/N) had never done that, she was inclined to the blood and gore, leaned in to the dismembered bodies and into her curiosity.

It never mattered, she thought. It was her job, as she did autopsies in the murder and crime divisions of the police. (Y/N) was one of the only women in the force, that was allowed to help and step into the gruesome crime scenes.

So when another detective sauntered into her office, with an ugly sneer and a baffling expression, then handed her a pile of speckled ashes, she raised a brow. Glancing down at the ash, she tentatively looked back up at the man, who rolled his eyes and pushed the sterile plastic case into her chest further.

“What do you want me to do with this?” She remarked, and pointed at the case. “If there was an arson, then shouldn’t this be handed to the guys who handle forensics?”

The man scoffed, “No, according to Doctor Kisuke’s daughter, Saki, this is what remains of her father.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes, confused and bewildered at this officers stupidity, and leaned forward, almost tauntingly.

“So there was an arson?”

The police officer reared back, as if slapped, and (Y/N) nearly laughed. This was the highlight of her day so far, her amusement skyrocketing and she felt giddy for the first time in a while.

“No! This little girl was convinced that when her father was stabbed in the head, he collapsed into ash, and there were no traces of physical bodies when we got to the scene, so we’re sending it to autopsy.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll amuse you and try to get something out of this pile of ash, but don’t be surprised if nothing comes up.”

But something did. A different police officer walked in claiming this was a different person’s ash so (Y/N) labeled them and continued on. This case made her feel this foreboding sense of wonder, she wasn’t digging through some old woman’s carcass for a bullet, or opening the stomach and throat for poison samples, this was a supposed body reduced to ash in seconds.

There was no flamethrower that had that kind of power!

The next day, (Y/N) drove the boring and creepy path to the cremation chamber. It stunk of burnt skin and bodies and smoke, but it didn’t smell worse than a decomposing corpse so she adjusted quickly. She stopped in front of a man with an ashy shirt and apron, who stood in front of the burner and (Y/N) took her coat off. It was so goddamn hot.

“What can I do for you, miss?” The man took off his glove and shook hands, he was burly and out of shape, and his fingers were the size of two of hers.

“Well, I need a small sample of an old man’s ashes, if that won’t be a problem?” asked (Y/N), and she smiled sweetly on purpose, and the man only scratched his balding head with his ungloved hand.

“Well, I’d love to but people take their beloved’s ashes very seriously, they’d be mighty pissed if they found out I loaned some to a stranger.” He said, and (Y/N)’s expression flattened. The man seemed surprised by her sudden monotone expression and hurriedly finished, “I do hope you understand, my apologies.”

“Yes, well, I also hope you understand that I take my job extremely seriously as well.” She flashed her badge, and his eyes widened to saucers and the man grew suddenly baffled and scatter-brained. “And I’m sure your clients wouldn’t be pissed if they never know in the first place.”

“I-I’m so sorry officer, I’ll get my oldest right away.”

As the man ran off, she felt satisfied.

As (Y/N) continued on this case, she kept getting more baffled and confused and wondered. This murder had taken grip on her life and it stayed tightly there until she figured it out.

Though, when the results returned, she was horrified. The doctor’s was normal, as if he was burnt at the stake and she was sent to study the remains, but the other mysterious sample, it was a woman.

And it said her age was estimated to be over two hundred years old.

How was that possible?

Her curiosity had led her to her near death.

It was a typical day, (Y/N) had taken a long break of the case and focused on the building number of bodies on the metal tables. She kept messing up her incisions with her scalpel because her hands were shaking for no reason, she felt like she was in her old medical classroom, and when her heat beat so rapidly fast while taking the exam and everyone’s eyes were staring at her and her only. (Y/N)’s hands shook worse, that flat pit in her stomach twisted and turned and that foreboding sense that was clearly apparent on the day she received those ghastly samples returned.

She willingly stepped away from the opened woman’s body, and nearly dropped her scalpel on her toe. She blatantly ripped off her gloves because she had to get out of there, her head felt woozy and clogged and her legs were missing their steps.

Then there was suddenly someone who stood in her way. In her fog, (Y/N) simply sidestepped the stranger without regarding that she wasn’t out the door yet and this was no police officer.

The man pushed her to the floor, and her head hit the ground and she groaned pathetically. Her vision cleared and she looked up.

That man was not a disgusting man with greasy hair in dreadlocks or murder in his eyes, what (Y/N) saw was a guy with ruby colored eyes and was suffering in his own skin. She tilted her head in curiosity, gaining the strength to stretch her arms to sit up and the guy stepped back.

Her face denied her feelings as she dared to stare him in the eyes with her own, despite the growing fear in her stomach of this intruder that had no doubt come to kill her.

“What’s your name?”

The man tilted his head, and those wandering red eyes narrowed and a thick scar that stretched through his eyes and forehead and deep into his scalp that she just noticed stretched with it.

“Mikhail.” His voice was deep and calm and unemotional, but Mikhail’s face twisted with curiosity. As he talked, she caught glimpse of sharp teeth beneath his lips.

Suddenly, the confusion and everything clicked. (Y/N) was panicked, but she knew that screaming and crying wasn’t the way to get out of this situation.

“You’re a vampire, right? And that woman was too, the one I’ve been studying?”

Mikhail nodded, but still kept the defensive position. This woman that he’d been sent to monitor was peculiar. Most people would scream upon the discovery, beg for their lives on their hands and knees as if praying to Mikhail like he was a god. But this girl, (Y/N), simply asked questions, only showing curiosity. There was no point keeping secrets if she were going to die, was there?

“I’m (Y/N),” She said, “and kill me if you want, but in exchange for my life, I can offer to help you.”

She couldn’t believe she was actually offering this, it was a gamble, and if she had wrongly estimated Mikhail then she was dead. Then again, she loved gambling. It reminded her of her addiction way back when to the risky game and the adrenaline rush. This was the same rapid heartbeats, that excitable anxious pit at the bottom of her stomach and ropes of hope. She loved it.

But this wasn’t cards, or rolling the die and hoping it wasn’t cheated or weighted or that she wouldn’t lose a metric shit ton of money, this was her life.

“Why do you think I need help?”

(Y/N) tried to keep her smile tamed, and instead she kept the innocent look.

“Unless all those cheesy novels were wrong, all vampires don’t really want to be vampires.” Mikhail raised a brow as she talked, and (Y/N) silently praised herself as she saw him gain interest. “I’m offering to try and cure that, I believe everything should be reversible.”

It was admirable, (Y/N) was bluffing only a little bit. She had the anatomy of humans memorized, written down in her eyes and shown by her hands, but there must be dozens more functions of a vampiric body just for the fangs themselves. It was nearly impossible, most likely, but for her life she would try.

And that’s what she did.

Mikhail had initially agreed, and despite the tense atmosphere they had situated to meet at her workplace after her hours to study his anatomy and figure out a antidote.

“A few times a week or daily, write down the time, too.” Mikhail had said, and she quickly grabbed a pencil and paper and wrote it down like he said. She wasn’t taking any chances for his disapproval.

Once everything was situated, (Y/N) turned her back and Mikhail suddenly wasn’t there anymore. She allowed her shoulders to relax, and let a huge breath out. That was so close to her death, way too close; but (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel excitable and very curious.

(Y/N), no matter that whether or not she had the ability to create this miraculous antidote, was too excited for the next day to sleep.

The next day went smoothly, hints of that tension was still there but was eventually forgotten under the overwhelming amount of notes (Y/N) took and her pelting questions.

As Mikhail told her everything he knew of himself and other vampires, and her furious writing and suggestions and answers, a week had flown by. (Y/N) hadn’t dared touch him or be experimental without consent, and she kept an automatic sciencey response for his questions.

(Y/N) didn’t know why or when, but she couldn’t help but consider Mikhail as a friend. They spent hours day after day with each other, experimenting without actually doing anything and sometimes just talking. Sometimes, Mikhail would disappear for a few days, and she would oddly get sad and stay after until night to see if he’d come back and it would scare her.

Mikhail grew comfortable with her too, she thinks. He’d sit on the metal tables and absentmindedly push any dangerous chemical away from him like he didn’t care. (Y/N) could tell that he didn’t like the scent of the corpses he’d sit next to sometimes, his nose would scrunch and he’d shake his head and get back to paying attention. Then (Y/N) would only tease him about it and he’d roll his eyes and smirk.

All of these times she couldn’t get out of her head. She couldn’t get over that her favorite part of the day was to sit on unstable metal tables and talk to a kind vampire who she offered to help.

It wasn’t too long after that that (Y/N) realized she was falling in love with Mikhail.

And it was about two months after she realized that, when Mikhail kissed her.

It was typical and cheesy, she was checking his eyes for anything uncommon for them, and his skin ton after another grueling month of hoping for a single experiment to work. (Y/N) had taken notice of him staring at her lips on and off for a while but she chalked it off that they were only in his view since she was leaning over him. That didn’t stop her from blushing.

(Y/N) began checking his forehead for any contours, when Mikhail suddenly stood from his chair and leaned forward, chastely pressing his lips to hers passionately as he cupped her jaw. She melted at the softness, held his hand in hers and didn’t move her lips but press harder, a silent way of acceptance.

Mikhail broke off, and took a big breath and said, “Sorry if I startled you.”

“It’s fine, but what happens now?” (Y/N) said, still hesitating to remove her hand so she doesn’t. There were trembles in her stomach threatening to break out and her heart already beating out of her chest. The small heat in her cheeks grew to a burning heat sensation that spread to her ears and neck. Mikhail chuckled and she looked away. “We’re in a relationship, right?”

“If you want to be, then yes.”

The relationship thing, new to the both of you, was going off extremely well. It’s been six months, already passed the awkward stage (Y/N) was happy to see the more affectionate Mikhail more concerned and she could tell he cared a lot. That sent a sort of warming to her chest that spread and she didn’t realize she was smiling until the heat cooled.

This is what happens every time Mikhail goes on a mission. He’s told you about his murderous intent of his ‘master’, how he fears that Yevgraf will force him to kill Yuliy. Mikhail had also explained that this is why the relationship can’t be public, but it didn’t bother (Y/N) as much as she thought, and how it was narrated by dramatic novels. She reads a lot of those.

It was on one of these nights, in which her mind was ridden with Mikhail, and her concern for her lover that she didn’t notice the glass of water she places at the edge of the steps.

Once she heard the clap of familiar boots through the door, she quickly moved to go greet him at the door, but be stopped at the stairs.

(Y/N) knocked the glass over with her foot, the other catching the top of it and she knew what was coming before it happened. She wrapped the sides of her head with her arms, and she heard the crack of her ribs as the corner of a step lodged into her side. The pain shocked her, she couldn’t breathe for a second and then she knocked the uncovered part of her head.

Dizzy and disoriented, her head rushed with the shooting pain and she blacked out.

Once (Y/N) woke, she saw Mikhail at her said, staring at his boots with intensity, not noticing as she began to lean on her elbows.

“Hey there,” Mikhail shot up at (Y/N)’s groggy words and she saw him relax with relief. “Funny seeing you here, what happened?”

Mikhail began to gently push her flat onto the bed, “You fell down the stairs, and broke two of your ribs, it’ll take a few months to heal.”

(Y/N) covered her face with her hands, an embarrassed blush replacing the paleness of her skin. “Jesus Christ, I’m so stupid. How could I have fallen down the stairs?”

Mikhail chuckled, he always had small laughs but they made her feel happy, so she laughed too. She stopped quickly, it hurt more than expected to laugh. Mikhail chuckled again, to which she slapped him on the arm.

“Ow, stop it, you’re making me laugh!”

“Is that a bad thing?” He teased, and (Y/N) playfully glared at him.

Her recovery was slow, but it felt nice to have Mikhail mothering her and helping her up the stairs and change her bandages every day. He would make dinner and cover the bills for her home while she was on medical leave, it was really sweet.

What wasn’t as sweet was when he’d lecture her for straining herself, whether it be stretching to grab a book or repeatedly going up and down the stairs, but she understood that he just cares.

The few months of bliss passed quickly, unfortunately. (Y/N) was tempted to throw herself down a longer staircase just so Mikhail could take care of her and bring her soup and kisses in bed like he’s been doing. When she brought it up he only chuckled, and said, “If you do, I’ll catch you this time.”

It didn’t really discourage her one bit, so she did. (Y/N) jumped the leap of faith down a larger flight of stairs and she didn’t break any ribs, but felt the arms of her lover carry her down the stairs.

Who knows, maybe she becomes miraculously clumsy over the next few days, and maybe Mikhail will have to take care of (Y/N) a lot more than he thought.

#tenrou: sirius the jaeger #sirius the jaeger #mikhail #reader #scenarios #request #yuliy #vampire #fem s/o #mikhailxreader #mikhail jirov #reader insert #x reader

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