#-> thoughts my brain will conjure up unprompted in an attempt to make me feel bad for writing fic where my blorbos kiss

[ciudaddelapazmp3]

Sometimes my brain will randomly come up with the most rancid absurd fake discourse ever and it startles me every time

[7-wonders]

The Weight of Us

Summary: Dinah’s potion goes to work as Michael ponders his decisions and his relationships with those he cares for.

Word Count: 4333

A/N: An extra long chapter to make up for the length between the previous chapter and this one! Hi friends, happy new year and welcome to another chapter of Mad Love. The prior chapters will be linked below, so if you haven’t had the time to catch up, now’s your chance! Thank you so much for sticking with me on this ride; feedback, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated if you enjoyed.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

If Michael’s in agony from merely watching the effects of Dinah’s potion on you, he can’t imagine the agony that you’re experiencing. Although the voodoo queen had mixed a powerful sleeping draught in with the hopes of making the process easier, Satan’s power can easily overwhelm even the strongest of magic users. It’s engulfed Cordelia Goode, Supreme of the witches, as well as Dinah. Michael, too, has found himself bowing to his father’s whims like a flimsy tree branch in a summer storm. For you, a mortal with no remarkable powers, removing Satan’s magic from your mind and body is especially difficult.

There are periods where it looks as if you’re peacefully sleeping, but those are few and far between for the twelve hours that you lie unconscious. Michael refuses to leave your side, even when it seems his heart is being physically torn from his chest from your agonizing screams that pierce the air and the way you thrash on the bed as if tormented from a nightmare that you can’t wake up from. He wants nothing more than to take your pain away, and it tears him apart to know that he can’t. It especially hurts to know that he’s the cause of this pain: not only because you’re his wife, but because he’s the one who got fed up and went to Satan in the first place. Michael doesn’t even know what’s truly going on in your mind, Satan’s wards still clouding any of the thoughts that were once so easy for him to pick up on. 

Somewhere, deep within the recesses of your mind that Satan was not able to lay claim to, you note that you’ll have to thank Dinah for the potency of her potion. You also decide that, if you survive this, you’re going to march yourself down to Hell and give Satan the beating of a lifetime. Although there are times where you are genuinely asleep, they are rare. All you feel is pain. A blinding pain that makes it feel as if every nerve in your body has ignited into flames that are persistent, yet slow-burning. 

Being burned alive from the inside out, however, doesn’t compare to what you’re sure is your brain tearing itself apart. The potion and Satan’s influence are waging a nuclear war in your mind, attempting to restore your psyche and mold it to the will of an foreign entity, respectively. It’s almost like you’re a ragdoll that’s being tugged between two petulant children, nearly losing an arm while having no say in what’s going on.

There are times where you almost believe that you can hear Michael crying, pleading with you to come back to him. While it’s a nice thought, the Antichrist begging, you believe it to be simply a pain-induced delusion. After all, the demons that dance in your head and burn you at the stake, the seven-headed monsters rising out of the sea and devouring you whole, the inky blackness that envelops you and leaves you blind to find the source of the deep, otherworldly laughter that rings in your ears for hours and hours; those are delusions, mere imagination working your pain into farcical scenarios. What’s more farcical than Michael Langdon crying and begging?

Just as suddenly as you were pulled into the waves by the sharp pain in your chest, you’re thrust back onto the shore with one last jolt of pain. Your eyes open slowly, cautious of any of the creatures that your mind had conjured up journeying with you back to the land of the living. The first thing that you notice upon your vision clearing is Michael.

He’s sitting in a chair next to you, head down on the mattress and hands clasping tightly onto your left hand. It looks as if he’s asleep, but he immediately sits up upon feeling your fingers flex within his grip. His eyes are wide and glassy, dark circles under his eyes completing the look. His beautiful blond locks are disheveled, and you would make a joke about interrupting his beauty sleep were it not for the confusion you’re experiencing right now.

“(Y/N),” Michael breathes, not believing his own eyes. “How--how are you feeling?”

“I’m...I’m feeling,” you’re about to say ‘okay,’ but the unexpected lurching of your stomach erases that thought, “like I’m going to throw up,” you gasp, sheer will keeping you from puking all over the blankets on the bed.

Thankfully, Michael does not think twice before producing a bucket out of thin air and placing it in your lap. You clutch at it like one would clutch a life preserver while bobbing in the middle of an ocean, your knuckles going white from the strain as you lean over the bucket and proceed to lose the contents of your stomach.

As Michael keeps your hair pulled away from your face with one hand while using the other to rub circles on your back, you’re struck with the similarity between this and the occasion where you threw up just outside of the Murder House’s property. You’re still invariably confused, but the comfort of Michael’s presence helps to ease the confusion as you continue to throw up until you have nothing left.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter between gasps of air, looking at Michael with a flushed face and watery eyes.

“This is a good thing. It means that your body is fully rejecting any sort of hold that Satan has over you.” 

Once it seems that your vomiting has stopped, with nothing left in you for your body to expel, a simple wave of Michael’s hand is all that it takes to send the now-ruined bucket back to wherever it came from. He helps ease you back against the pillows, pressing a damp cloth to your forehead to help cool your burning skin. 

“Michael,” you ask, “what happened?”

He chooses to ignore your question, instead handing you a water bottle. “You need to drink some water.”

You comply, considering you’re actually very thirsty and your throat burns from the bile that crawled its way up. Drinking half the bottle in a few quick seconds, you look expectantly at Michael. “Happy?”

“I am now.”

“Tell me what happened.” It’s difficult to try and force Michael to do something that he does not want to do, and you almost think he’s going to change the subject once again before he places his hand on top of yours.

“What’s the last thing you really remember?”

“Going to your Cooperative event. After that, everything just feels like some weird, vague dream.” Dread slowly seizes at your heart. “You’re scaring me. What happened at the event?”

“It...seems as though Satan managed to influence your mind. You had left to go and get some air, although I don’t know if you remember that.”

“Vaguely.”

“While you were out there, a waitress, who was possessed by my father, gave you a drink that he had, for lack of a better word, poisoned. It’s my fault; I should have been more vigilant, especially after what had happened with Satan making his displeasure obvious to you.”

“What did he do to me?” Your voice comes out as a mere whisper, and you’re a little worried that you might throw up again.

“He,” Michael’s voice breaks, and he takes a moment to compose himself, “actually, you know what? Say something mean about me.”

You can’t help but look at him like he’s crazy. “What?”

“Say something mean about me! You already do it unprompted, so this shouldn’t be an issue now.”

“Okay, first of all, I would hardly say that they’re ‘mean.’ I prefer to call them well-timed, mini-masterpieces of the English language. Second,” a slow grin spreads across your face, “your sleep deprivation must be affecting more than just your looks, because I’m pretty sure you’ve officially lost all of your marbles if you’re asking me to come up with verbal barbs.”

With a choked laugh that sounds like it’s mixed with a sob, Michael lunges onto the bed and wraps you in his arms. Somehow, you’re even more confused than you were when you first woke up, but you welcome the change in his demeanor.

“Aw, you finally learned how to hug.” Michael squeezes you tighter, and now you’re laughing too, although you’re not sure why either of you are laughing.

“I’ve never been so pleased to hear you make jokes at my expense.” He pulls away from you while still keeping hold of your arms. “(Y/N), Satan took hold of your mind. Basically, for lack of a better term, he slipped you a glorified love potion.”

“A...love potion?” He nods. “How did you find out?”

“You were very affectionate, and originally I had assumed that you had consumed too much alcohol.”

“That does sound like something I would do when drunk.”

“It was only when you, um, attempted to seduce me and subsequently confessed your love to me that I figured out that something was wrong.”

“Oh no, did we--”

“No! No, we did not.” Suddenly, the odd scenes from what you originally thought to be an unexpected dream, flashes of hands tugging down the strap of your dress and soft lips pressed against your skin, make sense.

“But we made it to second base.”

“We...didn’t play baseball?”

“Oh my god, you are actually going to kill me.” Rolling your eyes, you sigh heavily. “Second base is--” Michael’s wide, innocent eyes make you feel like you would be the dirtiest person alive for saying that second base is groping, so you choose to mime groping invisible breasts with your hands.

Predictably, Michael turns red. “Oh. Then yes, second base, but no further. Before we could...make it to third--”

“Stop with the baseball innuendos,” you groan.

“After I had removed your bra is when you very passionately told me that you were in love with me. That’s when I stopped.”

There’s so many questions running through your head, but you can’t fully decide on where to start, so you just nod. Michael can tell that you’re attempting to get a grip, and blessedly gives you time. He silently pushes you to drink more water, which you absentmindedly do as you pick at a stray thread on your blanket before finally figuring out a good starting point. “How did you snap me out of it?”

“I called in a favor from a friend of mine.”

“Wait, Dinah Stevens wasn’t just a figment of my imagination?” That was one of the more fanatical parts of what had convinced you was a wild dream. After all, a daytime television queen showing up in the middle of the night has to be something made up.

“No, she was not. Dinah also happens to be the voodoo queen of New Orleans. She made a potion to help counteract and remove the poison that Satan had given you. As of right now, it looks like it worked.”

“Hopefully. I feel like me.” Michael, always able to tell what’s on your mind, remains silent. “Michael?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you call Dinah in the first place?”

“I’m not nearly as powerful as my father, and Dinah has extra power and preternatural beings at her disposal. Think of it as a loophole past Satan’s powers.”

“Okay, that’s cool, but also not what I meant. You...you’ve wanted me to be as in love with you as you are with me since the day we met. According to you, we’re fucking soulmates. You got what you wanted! I mean, according to you, I loved you unconditionally. Why did you give that up?”

“You’re right. I finally had everything I wanted. And I will admit to you that, before I realized what my father had done and you were telling me that you loved me, there was a moment where I was just so thrilled. It felt like all of my dreams were finally coming true. But when you looked at me with your eyes, clouded with the haze of what I’ve come to know as my father’s hold on unwilling subjects, I just--” Michael cuts himself off, standing up from your bed and running a hand over his jaw as he walks towards the opposite wall.

“Michael.” Your voice comes out softly, and you shakily stand up from the bed to check on him. “Hey, it’s okay. You can talk to me.” He flinches when you put your hand on his shoulder, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“You weren’t you anymore.” He whirls around, and you can finally see just how broken this experience has made him. Michael’s eyes are rimmed red, like he’s been crying on and off for a while now. His hair is frizzy, as if his hands have ran through it one too many times. You notice that his hands shake when he holds onto your arms; all signs of an extremely haggard Michael. “All of the things that I love about you--your spirit, your devotion to the people and things you care about, your wit that somehow manages to simultaneously piss me off and endear me to you even more, and how, no matter what, you don’t give up--those were taken away when Satan meddled with your mind.”

“It’s not your fault, Michael.”

He doesn’t hear you. “You’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t have to do with my father. You’re pure, in that aspect. He couldn’t touch you, and I think that’s what made it so easy to fall in love with, not just the idea of you, but the real you. The version of you that my father believes is perfect for me--some Satan-loving bride who lives only to please me--terrified me. It wasn’t you. I’ll take you barging into my office and calling me ‘Mikey’ over what I saw last night every time.”

Not a single word comes to mind as Michael explains his reasoning to you. You can’t decide if you should hit him for getting you into this mess in the first place or if you should thank him for getting you out of said mess. Overwhelmingly, however, you’re struck with the realization that Michael, who has been controlled by Satan his whole life, deliberately went against his father’s wishes. If this would have happened at the beginning of your marriage--if the bonding ritual the night of your wedding would have worked--there’s no doubt in your mind that he would have been ecstatic. Most likely, you would still be under whatever thrall was meant to be put on you then. Now, the dynamic between you two has changed immensely, and you’re not quite sure if that’s good or bad.

“You…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. “Thank you.”

Michael awkwardly clears his throat, not used to sharing vulnerability with anyone. “You should lay back down. You went through a lot, and you need to rest.”

“But I--” A buzzing sound cuts you off, and you glance around the room in confusion.

“Oh!” Crossing over to your nightstand, Michael holds up your charged phone. “Your phone’s been going off pretty often. Obviously, I wasn’t going to check your notifications or respond to any messages, but I did see that your friend Mallory had texted a couple of times.”

With no choice but to crawl back into bed (an appealing option, if you’re being honest), you take your phone from Michael and begin to scroll. You don’t really care about the social media notifications, but you have a shocking amount of texts. There’s a couple from your mother, complimenting your dress from last night and asking if you had fun. You’ve been as vague as possible about Michael, but couldn’t resist showing off how beautiful the dress was. 

The majority of the messages, however, come from Mallory and Kate. You let them know that you were going to an event as Michael’s strictly-platonic date and, naturally, they had freaked out. Up until you had been poisoned by Satan, you had been diligently providing them with the requested updates. Naturally, going completely silent had driven your two friends crazy. There’s at least ten messages from each, and that’s not to mention the group chat. 

“Are you hungry?” Michael asks, once again doing that weird thing where he senses your needs before you even know what they are.

“Yes, actually.”

“I’ll go see what the staff has made.” It feels a little strange to be alone for the first time in almost a day, so you busy yourself with responding to the group chat instead.

“Sorry for not responding, I ended up eating something bad and getting food poisoning :( Thanks for checking in on me, though.”

It’s barely a minute later before Mallory responds to you, “so...no kissing?”

While you definitely did a little more than kissing last night, you’re not going to tell them that. Before you can text back, Kate replies, “lmao why does that remind me of the guy who says ‘so no head?’”

“No, no kissing,” you text.

“Well shit.”

“Are you feeling better, though?” Mallory asks.

“I’m getting there.” You feel bad for having to be so ambiguous with two of your closest friends, but it’s dangerous for them to know any more.

“Do you want us to come by? Friends are the best cure for food poisoning.”

You let the text go unanswered, setting your phone down next to you as you think about Mallory’s offer. While you would love to have your friends come over, you can’t help but to wonder if inviting them over would invoke more questions than answers. You haven’t exactly told them that you’re living with Michael, and they would inevitably end up freaking out about both that and the size of the home in which you are now living.

Michael pushes the door back open, holding a tray with two steaming bowls on it. “There was soup downstairs, I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” He hands you a bowl before sitting down next to you with his own.

“You didn’t miss any important messages from your friends, then?”

“No. It was easy enough to tell anyone that asked that I had food poisoning.” You take a sip of the soup, cursing the kitchen staff for their amazing cooking skills that they most likely acquired after selling their souls to Satan. “But…”

“Yes?”

“Kate and Mallory want to come over to see me.”

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Michael says, a clueless look on his face.

“For starters, they don’t know that I live with you. They already think I’m hiding a relationship with you, and the fact that we live together would only solidify that in their minds.”

“You can just tell them that the rent on your apartment was going up, you were in a tough spot, and I offered my home to you,” Michael smirks. “And don’t worry about the size of the home. After all, I am in line to take over my father’s successful business, remember?”

“It won’t bother you that some people know where the Antichrist lives?”

He hesitates. “While that could potentially cause an issue, I don’t see why they would figure out my true lineage just by visiting.”

“So you’re fine with them stopping by?”

Michael sighs, “yes.”

“It’s a good thing the pentagrams and Satanic imagery are all restricted to the rooms that you frequent.”

“Yes, because however would we hide those pentagrams without any sort of supernatural help?” Michael dodges the pillow you throw at him with ease, smiling as he stands from the bed. “If you believe they’re trustworthy, then by all means, invite them over.”

You send the two a text with your address, along with a message warning them that “you guys are going to freak out, but please reserve it for after you get here and I explain some things.” They each respond almost immediately, confirming that they’ll be over in a few minutes. There’s nothing to do but finish the supper that Michael is pointedly staring at in a silent attempt to get you to eat, so you do as requested while engaging in your other favorite activity with Michael: playing iMessage games. 

An hour later, the doorbell rings. Since Michael had sent the majority of the staff home when Dinah arrived last night with strict instructions to not come back until Monday, he offers to go and let your friends in. Michael returns with your friends, Mallory with wide eyes and Kate with a grin on her face.

“Do you need anything before I retreat to my room, (Y/N)?” Michael asks.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he smirks, glancing at your awestruck friends. “Text me if that changes.” Michael closes the door as he leaves, and Kate and Mallory immediately jump onto your bed with you.

“You have a lot of explaining to do!” Mallory exclaims before pausing. “Only if you’re feeling better, though.”

You roll your eyes teasingly. “Of course I’m feeling better, or else I wouldn’t have invited you and Kate over.”

“Good.” You’re sandwiched between the two, backs against the headboard as Kate and Mallory settle in beside you. “First things first: you’re living with Michael now?”

“Yeah, what the hell happened to your apartment? And your cat?” Kate asks.

“Okay, my cat is perfectly fine; she just likes Michael more than me now and is currently following him around,” you explain with a laugh. “The reason I had to move is because my landlord was converting the apartments into condos, which meant my rent was going to go through the roof if I stayed there.”

“So where does Michael come into the equation?”

“I wasn’t able to find an apartment in my budget, and he lives alone in this huge house that his father basically gave him. He offered to let me rent from him for less than what I was paying for my apartment, so I took it.”

Mallory cocks an eyebrow. “I know you’ve mentioned it before, but we were also a little drunk that night. How the hell does Michael’s dad have all that money? I saw the black Ferrari in the driveway when we pulled up.”

“I...don’t know.” Not exactly a lie. “His dad’s in business that I couldn’t begin to figure out--”

“Mafia?” Kate interjects.

“No. It’s like, finance or investing, something similar to that. He does lots of buying and selling, from what Michael told me.”

“And he just gives Michael anything he could wish for?”

“I know it seems like he’s just some spoiled rich boy, but he works really hard. His father’s really tough on him, he’s training Michael to take over the business once he steps down.” Again, you’re not lying, but you’re not telling the full truth. You’re not proud of it, but it’s what needs to be done.

“But there’s nothing going on between you two,” Mallory says with a sly smile. 

Leaning back, your groan turns to a laugh as Mallory and Kate both sling an arm over your shoulders. “I know what it seems like, but I promise we’re just friends! I was in a tough spot, and Michael offered to help me out. That’s all it is.”

“Does the mystery man who your earlier problems pertained to,” Kate references the advice they had given you after your movie night meltdown, “ and who, although he sounds a lot like Michael, isn’t actually Michael, know that you’re living with another guy.”

“Yes, and he’s fine with it.”

“You two are totally going to kiss.”

“If they haven’t already,” Mallory chimes in.

You visibly cringe. “You guys are making me wish I was still in the throes of food poisoning.”

“You wouldn’t puke on us! You love us too much.”

“Doesn’t change that I would absolutely puke on you if you talk about me and Michael like that again,” you retort. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be making me feel better?”

“We are!” Kate says in a sing-song tone, sticking her tongue out at you before grabbing the remote off of your nightstand and handing it to you. “I bet a heaping dose of Gossip Girl would help cure you.”

“I think you’re right.” Queueing the show up on Netflix, you pick one of your favorite episodes before settling in for quality bonding time with two of your closest friends.

It makes Michael smile to hear the giggling and talking emanating from your room for the rest of the evening. You deserve to be carefree and enjoying time with your friends, especially after what he’s put you through. He knows that he’s going to be in deep trouble with his father, and is honestly shocked his consciousness hasn’t been snatched to Hell yet for a conversation with daddy dearest. He also wonders about how he’s going to tell you that it was he who first sought out Satan’s advice on the matter, and nearly carried out the original plan. Those are worries for tomorrow, though. For now, you’re alive, and living with free will. That’s all that Michael could ever want for you.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. Everything seemed alright after you had finally woken up, but he can’t shake the dread that sits heavy in his chest. Maybe it’s because he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, or because there’s complete strangers that haven’t been vetted by the Cooperative in his house. 

Whatever the reason, Michael’s anxiety seems to stem from one of your friends-Mallory, he remembers you introducing her as. Something about her seems off, as if there’s a safe surrounding her head that he can’t seem to break through. The energy around her reminds him of energy he’s only felt when faced with Cordelia and her gang of witches, but your friend doesn’t seem to possess any sort of magic that he can feel. It’s troubling, and while Michael trusts you completely, he’s still determined to figure out what Mallory is hiding.

//

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