#AHS Imagine

[marchsfreakshow]

Familiarities Upon Death [James Patrick March]

Angst

James' relationship with you faded to one resemblancing his relationship with The Countess. He had to indulge in his childish need for you. No matter your reaction. No matter what it took.

James may be a simp but he also likes his murder. You can all blame 'I Love You Like An Alcoholic' for this. Also, possibly my longest fic ever! Go me.

Warnings: dead dove!! descriptions of cuts, James being gross<3

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

If you had put The Countess and you in a room together, you likely ended up discussing James. She did not love the ghost. She never did. You always did. You forever had his undead heart.

Yet the relationship wavered. It wavered all too similarly. James could feel his heart break again. He couldn't face this. He couldn't. Not again.

How many hearts did he have to leave at your door? How many notes did he have to scribble on his napkins? How many flowers did he have to get Liz or Iris to order for you? How much murder did he have to get through, just to get you? You modern, stubborn, darling, annoying thing!! Were you trying to torture him??

"Darling I have managed to order one of your favourite meals."

"My dear, I noticed this dress on a visitor so I killed her and had the dress washed for you. Please enjoy it."

"My hummingbird, what books do you enjoy nowadays?"

Question after question. Need after need. Physical affection halted. Just holding your fingers. Holding your hand against his lips was all he wanted. It would feed his desperation for you for months. All he wanted was a look. One measly look into your eyes. One small glint of hope that your relationship with the ghost had not fallen into his one with Elizabeth.

He came to accept that he once again had his heart broken. His ghostly void of a heart. Deader inside than it was before.

"James?" Your voice rang. Like a fire stoked after so long of ice. The killer was scrambling at your feet like a clingy puppy. Milking and lapping up the noise of his name leaving your lips. Still as wonderful, still as ethereal as ever. Yet he stayed silent. Don't say anything stupid now James, you'll ruin this opportunity. "Can you murder someone for me?"

"Yes. Yes of course my dear." James's voice was suddenly shaky, standing up and holding your hands to his chest. His free hand around the small of your back, like he had craved to do for so many weeks. "Name who and it will be done."

"Me."

Eye contact like none before. Was what you were asking true? Did you want him to be your murderer? Truly? "D-dear?"

"Kill me, James." You stated. "Whether or not you want theatrics, it's your choice."

There was a stunned silence from the ghost in front of you. For 5 minutes, the silence continued. His response was an uncharacteristic quiet and nervous answer. "Why? Why my dear? Why must you crave death when you are so loved by family outside this drab heap?" Almost rushed, worried. James had never been so rushed with his words. The usually calm, collected man was a mess in front of you. Desperate for you to be living your life. The most odd statement for him to think. What was he thinking? He wanted you with him 24/7, obviously, but you were so accomplished already in life, and offers were at your feet.

Even an offer to still live but have a blood-loving virus instead. She had offered gracefully and didn't expect an answer at once. Gave you time to think. Yet, The Countess waited still. She awaited an answer with lowering patience. Any new day, and she might've killed you herself or turn you anyway. Enjoyed the nectarine that kept you alive. The liquid was a rush of endorphins for the woman.

"Because I don't want that life, James. I need that life like I need a ton of bricks heaping upon me." Your eyes never broke his when you spoke your words calmly, and rationally. "I need you like I need a ton of bricks heaping upon me."

The ghost could only look worried and almost scared at your sentences. What on earth were you saying? What was this nonsense you had drilled into your mind? "...were my gifts not enough my bird? Were the..the.. darling meals I offered not enough?" He stammered his way through the cries. The pleas to keep you alive. Why, any other time you may have offered yourself, James would create a theatre performance out of it. An erotic performance. Looking into your eyes was nothing but a confirmation. "...as you wish my hummingbird." You dropped yourself out of his hold.

Walking yourself into your room. James followed close by, stalking you the way he had in the shadows for weeks on weeks. Your demand was simply insane, and it was nonsense in his head. Possibly the only person he never wanted to murder. He never wanted to lay his blade on your skin in any way. Whether you asked it from him so you could cum or not. That one, singular dress he stole for you, laid on your bed. Bare and blue. The navy glistened still under the barely dim light. Yet you could find his eyes still. "Will...you put the dress on for me my dear?" He asked, hesitantly. Blade twirling his fingers nervously. This was unlike the killer you knew. He was nervous, stammering, fiddling with his weapon. Scared? No, no. Of course, he wasn't scared. Was he?

The rustling of clothes brought him out of raging thoughts. The fabric he had laid bare for you, suddenly clinging to your skin. It still reeked of iron and floral perfume. The unflattering combation wafting into your nose, as it moved with you. "You are stuck in that dress forever when I do this. You understand that my darling?"

"Don't talk down to me. I know what the fuck I'm doing." You seethed back, just wanting this over with. Defiance was never something James took kindly to.

"You, my dear, speak to me like that again, your death will not be quick and simple like you desire."

"Just get it over with James." You snapped. Did you really hate him that much? Did you realise despise the killer so much you didn't want to enjoy this process?

The silence appeared for almost a strangling minute. Strangling for one word from either of you. James dared not speak his plan to you. It would only annoy you further. Only make your desire for a quick death stronger.

Instead, he simply knocked you out. Let you fall to the ground with a hard thump. As much as he loved you, James didn't like people speaking back to him. You were not an exception anymore.

Tying you down to wherever he could, the ropes tight. Tight to squeeze hard at your wrists and ankles. The circulation soon going dead, numbed by fibre keeping you upright. Instead of that dazzling, navy blue dress you wore, you were naked. Left only in whatever underwear you were wearing. A sight to behold. A sight James enjoyed all too much. He would take you now if it weren't for his respect for your body. Tugs at your wrist as you slowly woke from unconsciousness. Dingy dusk meeting your glazed, tired eyes. Blinking and gathering your bearings. Another tug. Wait? What was happening? "James?" You asked hoarse. Squirming in place against the cold metal table. Yeesh! Talk about freezing! "James, what am I doing on here?" You asked again.

Silence still.

Alright, you were starting to get a bit scared now. "J-James?" A wavering voice, a quivering lip. No! Get yourself together! It's simply...a little foreplay...you deluded yourself into thinking. Foreplay. That's all this was.

"I had given you plenty of time my dear." The muffled voice became louder as the steps grew closer. "Theatrics are what I desire from you. Love and obedience. It is a simple request yes?"

A moment of silence between the two of you. He took your silence as the answer.

"It seems even that could not be obtained from you. She has poisoned you against me." Ah, his childishness. Pettiness. The Countess hadn't done anything to you. Not yet anyway. "And the fact you decided to come to me for this murder, only means that I will continue to claim you." His needs to claim and want like a petulant child! It was annoying to no end. Always found yourself on the brink of yelling at the ghost to shut the fuck up for once. You wanted to rip that mask off of James and slice his lips off. Bash his teeth out so he knew how dreadful it was to be silenced. How much it was despised.

You kept your lips shut. You shut yourself up and did not speak another word. Speaking out fear would only encourage James to take his time. It would only increase his lust for your screams. Fuck this. You tugged. You pulled and panted as you struggled. If you didn't know any better, you'd think James was getting hard from this scenario. Loving the way your chest moved as your breathing increased. How shaky your legs were looking. How terrible the grip was your hands had, on nothing. A lulled head as your struggles became useless. Obviously, it was useless. That logic became clear enough within the first few seconds of your attempt to free yourself.

A bittersweet kiss on your quivering lips. Murdering fingers finding your jaw and holding your head up. "Even when you are struggling you are still ethereal my dear." Damn this man to all hell. He was in love and lust and obsession. A disgusting killer who murdered dozens. Still murders dozens. The thought that he carved a soul out of every person who passed him by...just to leave it in your room for your next visit. Deranged and manic. Nothing but pure insanity.

"fuu...fuck you.." Your words were tired, lifeless already.

"I have given you ample opportunities to do so my dear. Yet you never reciprocate."

A harsh silence fell yet again. It lingered in the room for what felt like hours. It stung with every breath leaving your lungs. Harsh and continuing reminders of the predicament you were stuck in. The ghostly killer who loved you so, prepared to torture your unfaint heart. Of course, you were used to grim, unfair and macabre ways of life. No one gets anywhere by playing fair, do they? You certainly didn't. You never played by the rules or played fair with others close by. Ticking and slipping cuts, wages and skin here. There. Everywhere.

However, it seemed all for nought at this point. Only to become an unwilling cherry on top of James' list of loves and lusts. Just where he wanted you.

Your voice was worn eventually. Your shaking had not quit. Your head lulled again. Yet, he was just starting. Cuts that covered your arms. Dripping the blood down the side of your body. Warm red liquid making you shiver and squirm as it slowly eased out of the spliced skin. Such beautiful skin. If only you had loved James back the way he wanted you to. Useless, heavy breaths that never deterred your killer of a lover. His cuts started with a dull, rusty blade. A 'J' on your palms. Jagged and unfit letters now etched into your hand. Swift, sharp gashes in random directions on your forearms, making small cries and screams leave those pretty kissable lips of yours. A quick repeat on your other arm. Oh, it was like a work of art... truly it was. Such decorated arms, bleeding red, never-ending. It might've killed you just then. "Determined to live aren't you?"

"Please... please James. Please. I'll be good, I'll love you the way you want again. Please just stop."

Oh no no no no...no..you sweet thing. That wasn't good enough anymore. Nope. Your sweet sobs and begs wouldn't get you anywhere anymore. Despite how much James wanted to kiss those cuts he made and love you eternally. "You said you wanted to die, and die you shall." His voice was still calm, cool and collected. How could a man like James go from a whining, needy man-child, to a tall-standing, confident killer? Oh right. Because he was obsessed with you. You were all he craved. Now you had ruined it. You didn't love him anymore. And it broke him into more pieces he couldn't pick up. Spending years scraping the bottom of the barrel for affection from James. Yet now, he didn't feel a need for that from you.

The rusty blade teasing your throat, pushing slightly against that pressure point needed. Only for a moment. Breathing heavy and... almost a whine escaping you once it was pulled from your neck. "Desperate for the release death will bring my pet... You are more naïve than I believed."

Large, unkind slashes to your legs. One after the other, never stopping until James was satisfied. He was never satisfied. Your constant, tired and weepy gaze on him. Sniffling nothing as you pouted those spit-covered, pretty red lips of yours. You looked like you were teasing him, not on purpose of course. You were naturally a sobbing, drivelling mess right now. And it could not have pleased your killer more. "Do not look so prettily upon me my dear, you may make me feel bad." He hummed nonchalantly, dragging the tip of the blade up your cervix. One long cut, making a horrible, rusty mark against the underwear you wore. Yet, it still split, and cold, uncaring air was swiftly met.

The cuts to your torso were different. He couldn't do as you probably well pleased, since any cut would mean death. And he wanted to kill you how he killed himself. The sweet slice to your neck. Making blood splatter and splutter down your body, covering James as it sprayed. Convulsing and screams, whimpers escaping you. Your death was approaching faster than expected. And James had decided to once again give you a kiss. Taking his, frankly, attractive, mask off and holding your bloody chin up. Lost eyes not focusing. You were colder. You couldn't tell your surroundings. "I knew you would die beautifully my darling." He faintly whispered. Cold lips meeting fleeting warmth. Oh, he loved kissing you. Even if that kiss was one pressed to your now corpse.

Death was different. It wasn't heaven or hell like Christians described. It wasn't like a waiting room like your parents described. It wasn't like a meeting with a hooded skeleton and a ride to the underworld like your sibling described. It was cold. Silent. Unloved. Black and nothing. It had consumed you whole. Eaten you like a starving man would any bug he could find on the street. Death was uncaring like the living world was. It didn't care what you were in life. An angel to others or a nuisance running amok, you were all consumed. Taken wholly by a void that rarely spat you back out. If it did, you were a ghost. The soul that couldn't be kept down.

The running void consumed you for 10 minutes. 15, tops. James was almost worried you were not about to ghost the place he needed you to call home. He stood and observed. Watched your corpse become cold and rigid. You died so beautifully. All the ghostly killer did was stand and watch. He watched, frozen in place. Was your soul even that upset at the other? Maybe he should weaken himself for your soul to appear. "Dear...you do realise I need you still yes? Come on. I am aware of you.." he urged your stiff body. Minutes passed. The ticking of his internal clock was growing more invasive, more panicky as he had not seen a shift of your soul yet. "This is not a game my pet, come to me. Now."

Your soul appeared eventually. Slumped on your knees by your rotting body. Rubbing your eyes like a sleepy child, before gathering your bearings and looking up at James. Sudden memories hitting your head and a cowering whimper escaping you. He took notice of the noise and looked down at you. Throwing his mask to the side as he scooped your ghost up, and laid you out on the scratchy sheets. Too much movement for someone who just spent 15 minutes in a void. "J-James..stop.." you urged quietly as he placed kisses over you. Over your face, your neck, clavicle. Every single little cut on your body he kissed. It wasn't soothing despite what he thought. It wasn't sweet and loving like he so craved. "Stop!"

His eyes became worried and wide as he pulled himself away from your thigh. "Dear?" The ghost was clingy. Horribly clingy.

"Can you give me like 5 fucking seconds before you try and fuck my ghost?"

"b-but darling-"

"James! Give. Me. A. Fucking moment. Understand me?" He cowered again, scared to lose you again. A nod as a response as James got up and left the room without another word. Instead of walking down to his room and having a drink, he stood patiently outside your door and waited. He would wait for the rest of eternity. If he had to.

Your legs were shaky. You explored yourself in the mirror. Dried blood making your skin tinged a little bit. "god..." The whisper leaving you as your arms were practically wound after wound. Your legs as well. The wounds were a physical reminder of the fact your killer was your lover.

You wanted this. You wanted to die here.

But not like this. Not this way. Not with two 'J' 's on your palms, reminding you of the man outside your door. Blinking, you tore away from the mirror, refusing to face yourself anymore.

There, on the bed, laid your clothes before you died, and the dress you were offered so generously. Either way, you were going commando for the rest of time, and then some, so both options were uncomfortable in some way. A sweater and jeans it was. The clothes rustled as they fit you snugly. "Fuck...fuck!!" Emerged from your lips as you paced around the room. "Ohhhh fuck this. This fucking...shitty...bullshit!!" Every word that left you only served as a reminder that you wanted to die. Needing to remind yourself that you were the one who asked to be killed. Unsatisfied with your life and the people in it.

James decided to step into your room now, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "I thought I taught you to not swear my dear."

"Fuck you!" You started, immediately getting up in James' face without an issue. Practically stomping around him as the harsh words dug into the soul's head and heart. "Fuck you, you fucking prick. 1920s fucking... serial killer. God, you're so hot you annoy the shit out of me! Seriously, why the fuck did you have to fucking kill me this way you fucker?! I expected one fucking slash to the neck, done deal!!"

The ghost, of course, was used to such theatrics from you and stood patiently. Waiting for you to stop spitting venom onto his feet as you circled him. Your words stopped, and he held you again. James simply took you by your waist, holding you tight against him. His hand on the small of your back, his other hand holding yours. Reminiscent of when you asked him to kill you. Bringing you flush against his chest. The angry mutters became silent sniffles and pathetic tears. Blinking and looking up at the killer you adored, hated.

"I fucking hate you."

"No, you don't hate me."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @coentinim / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @marchsfreak / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Sweet Girl (Billie Dean Howard x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Meeting your mother's friend was the best day of your life.

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: Semi-choking, praise kink, smut, age gap, marking, alcohol consumption, swearing

“Hey, mom, I-”

You paused in the doorway. The blonde woman who looked up at you, hands curled around one of your mother’s mugs, steam wafting upwards, was most certainly not your mom. Her pink lips quirked up into a smile, eyes sweeping over your body before settling on your face again.

“You’re not my mom,” you said.

“I’m certainly not,” she replied.

You weren’t sure what else to say. She was still watching you, head tilted to one side, and you felt yourself tremble under her gaze. There was something about it that felt like a caress across your skin.

“Um, is my mom around? Only I’m pretty sure this is still her house. Unless she moved without telling me which I wouldn’t put past her,” you said.

“She’s upstairs,” she replied.

“Right.”

Your weight rocked forward before you fell back. Looking away, you were feeling something growing in your stomach, familiar and warm, making your fingers itch. You shoved your hands into your pockets. Her low chuckle was throaty, your eyes snapping up to her again.

The silk blouse she was wearing was open just one button too far, an enticing shadow making you want to lean forward and run your tongue between the valley of her breasts. She crossed one leg over the other, drawing your attention down to where her skirt fluttered around her calves. A hand tipped in pink acrylics began to drum over the tabletop, slow and deliberate. You felt breathless, standing under her gaze.

“Ah, darling, you’re here. Wonderful. Have you met Billie? You must have,” your mother said, coming down the stairs.

You dragged your eyes away from her guest, Billie, to look over to her. She was smiling at you, looking ready for brunch. In your jeans and t-shirt, you were definitely the most underdressed in the room.

“Why are you dressed like that?” your mother asked, sweeping past you to sit at the table with Billie.

“You asked me to come over. Is everything okay? What’s going on?” you asked.

“Darling, we’re going to brunch,” she replied.

“What? Mom, I have class in twenty minutes. I thought this was an emergency,” you said, your exasperation leaking through.

“Surely you can skip just this once,” your mother said, “you’re always too busy to see me anymore.”

“Mom,” you sighed.

“Billie was so looking forward to meeting you,” she said.

“Come on,” Billie said, leaning towards you, “live a little.”

“Fine,” you said, “fine, but you’re buying my meal. And drinks.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” she said.

Sitting in the back of your mother’s car as she drove, you did your best not to stare at the blonde head in front of you. Her eyes kept finding yours in the rear view mirror, sparkling brown, while she kept up with her conversation with your mother. You felt like a sullen teenager sitting there, silent and annoyed. The guilt churning in your stomach was an irritant, your mother knowing how to push your buttons.

The restaurant you were brought to was fancy, fancier than you would ever go to with your friends. From the way you were being looked at, you knew you weren’t dressed well enough for the place. You sat outside, across from Billie, your mother between the two of you. Your server poured iced water into the glasses before leaving the three of you, your quiet thanks the only one given.

“What are you studying?” Billie asked.

“Media and communication,” you replied, fiddling with your cloth napkin.

“A useless choice,” your mother scoffed, scanning over the menu, “I told her to choose something worthwhile. Like biology or accounting.”

“I want to make documentaries,” you said, ignoring your mother completely.

“Well, that sounds wonderful,” Billie said.

“Don’t indulge her,” your mother said.

“Mom, we’ve talked about this,” you sighed.

“You’re so smart, darling. You could do more with your life than making silly movies about things people don’t care about,” she said, placing her menu down.

You gave a cursory glance over yours, not wanting to answer her. You’d had that very same argument time and time again, there was no point trying again. She had her opinion and there was no changing it in your experience.

“Perhaps I could put you in contact with some documentarians,” Billie said before your mother could go into it again, “or if you’d like work experience my show is always looking for interns.”

“Show?”

“Darling, you know Billie. There’s no point feigning ignorance,” your mother sighed.

“Billie Dean Howard,” she said, extending her hand over the table, “medium to the stars.”

You shook her hand, the brush of her skin over yours bringing heat to your cheeks. She was giving you a small smile, chin tilted down, her eyes sparkling with interest. Your breath caught, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Her gaze dipped down to your lips, making heat bloom in your stomach.

“You know her,” your mother was saying, not noticing of the moment you were having, “I’m sure you’ve seen her show. It’s always on.”

“Mom, I don’t… own a TV,” you said, breaking the moment, turning away from Billie and the gravity you felt begging you to fall into her.

“You don’t?” Billie asked.

You turned to look at her, finding her resting her chin in the palm of her hand. Your breath caught again, the way she was looking at you was like you were the most interesting thing she could imagine. You weren’t used to being looked at that way.

“May I take your orders?”

You startled, not having noticed the waiter approaching. A curse slipped over your lips, Billie’s throaty chuckle only bringing more heat to your cheeks. You muttered your order, passing over the menu.

“And a round of mimosas,” your mother said.

You opened your mouth to argue but then shut it again. Billie caught your eye, giving you an amused smile. Butterflies burst in your stomach. You looked down to your lap, not needing this while also dealing with your mother. Why did your mother have to have such a beautiful friend?

You listened as they talked, staying silent. Billie kept catching your eye across the table, a twist of her lips and wandering gaze making you wonder if this wasn’t some kind of torture. Your mother seemed none the wiser of your crisis, but the blonde was watching you as you did your best not to wonder what her fingers would feel like trailing along your skin as they circled the rim of her mimosa.

You downed yours in your attempt to keep yourself from groaning when her tongue darted out, chasing a drop of orange juice at the corner of her lips.

Your French toast was placed down in front of you, the mimosa replaced without being asked. Digging in, you watched Billie salt her eggs Benedict. Your mother wrinkled her nose at you.

“Darling, at some point you’ll have to raise your palette to something more adult,” she said.

“You know I have a sweet tooth,” you mumbled.

“It’s hard to resist something so sweet, isn’t it, sweet girl?” Billie said and you thought you had to be reading too much into her words.

There was no way she’d blatantly flirt with you in front of your mom. Would she? Maybe she would. You didn’t know her at all.

You wanted to though.

As you went to take a sip from your replenished mimosa, you felt a foot graze along yours. You spluttered, dribbling some of the cocktail down your chin. You wiped it away, ignoring your mother’s admonishment to glare across the table. Billie had her lips pressed together, suppressing laughter as she peered back at you, eyes twinkling.

Her foot was slow to glide up your leg, taking her time as you felt yourself become more unhinged. Swiping up some of the sauce on her plate, her tongue licked along her fingers before she sucked it into her mouth, cheeks hollowing, dark eyes keeping your attention hostage. Your mother was still speaking, but it was on the periphery of your senses, your entire being focused on the feeling of her foot brushing your leg, her tongue flicking over her skin, her eyes boring into yours.

Her small smirk told you she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

“I should go,” you said, abruptly standing.

“So soon?” Billie asked.

“I have class,” you muttered, “I’ll text you later, mom.”

You fled from your brunch, heart racing and skin tingling. Dark eyes haunted you on your trek to college and you found yourself wondering what pink lips would taste like. You were stuck contemplating the entire experience instead of listening to your classes, not willing to admit how much you wanted her.

Later, at home, you watched clips of her show on YouTube, one hand in your underwear, imagining it was hers.

A week later, against your better judgement, you agreed to join your friends at one of the bougie bars that you knew was overpriced but catered to a certain clientele. Growing up with a relatively rich crowd, you still felt out of place, even with your mother’s money. It had always settled around you like an uncomfortable skin. But every now and then, you joined your childhood friends for a night out.

This time you did not come underdressed. Your dress was nice and your hair was styled. You’d even put on some makeup. You had heels on. No one could suggest you hadn’t dressed up for your night out.

The lighting was dim, making the atmosphere feel intimate. It was the kind of place you’d bring a date, if you wanted to show off the way your father tried to buy your love by filling your bank account.

Your friends claimed one of the tables, plush leather seats cushioning your body. A bottle of champagne was bought for the table, starting off your night. You kept relatively quiet, listening to what your friends had been up to, not wanting to admit that you were still pursuing a college education in something not business adjacent. You’d heard every joke under the sun from them when you’d first started. Mostly about how you were going to be a homeless bum by the time you were thirty.

A large group came in somewhere between the third and fourth round of drinks. You kept your head bent, not caring, only concerned for the noise that would come from them. There was a part of you considering going home, not sure you should have said yes to coming out with your friends. You were getting pleasantly buzzed, but you were tired and looking to curl up in bed with your laptop and thoughts of dark eyes and pink nails.

Noticing your drink was empty, you got to your feet, wandering up to the bar. You hoisted yourself into one of the seats, one leg crossing over the other, the hem of your skirt riding up as you lent forward.

“Hello, sweet girl,” a warm voice purred in your ear.

You startled, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Blonde curls resting against her shoulder, lips pulling up into a wicked smile, dark eyes glittering, Billie Dean Howard looked as if she’d stepped right out of your fantasies. You could feel your eyes widening as you watched her take the seat beside you, long fingers tapping on the top of the bar, pink acrylics making a pleasing noise where they connected with wood.

“What are you doing here, sweet girl?” she asked, “I wouldn’t think this was your kind of a place.”

“My friends,” you gestured somewhere behind you, “they uh… this is their kind of place.”

She didn’t even bother glancing at your group. Her eyes had settled on you and you weren’t sure they would be moving any time soon. The barman arrived and she didn’t even bother looking to him, ordering for both you and herself. Your heart fluttered. She oozed confidence, as if there was no doubt in your mind that she was charming you.

She was.

A green cocktail was placed down in front of you, the gin and tonic she’d ordered far simpler than your drink. She waited for you to try it before she sipped from her own drink, humming low in her throat. You shuddered, sweetness bursting on your tongue from the sugar rim on the glass. You licked some away, watching the way her eyes darkened as she watched your tongue drag along the glass.

“Are you enjoying it, sweet girl?” she asked.

You nodded, “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Let me spoil you,” she said, hand landing on your leg.

Her thumb brushed the inside of your thigh, your skin almost electrified under her touch. She lent towards you, her nails digging in just enough to feel the sting. Heat coursed through your veins. You found yourself leaning towards her too, not able to stop yourself.

“Would you like to be spoiled, sweet girl?” she asked in almost a whisper.

Your mouth turned dry, knowing you definitely weren’t reading too much into her words now. Her eyes drifted down, lingering on your cleavage, shown to great effect in your dress. Her hand shifted up, just an inch, making you shiver.

“Well?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes please,” you breathed.

Any reason to say no was gone from your head. That fact she was friends with your mom didn’t even register. All you could focus on was the heat pooling in your stomach and the brush of her thumb over the vulnerable skin of your inner thigh. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, her eyes finding it, focusing as she lent forward even closer, breath ghosting over your skin.

“Hey, who’s this?”

An arm was slung around your shoulders, your friend, Rachel, leaning against you. Billie lent back, hand slipping to rest on your knee. You had to press your lips together to keep your whimper inside, not able to live down the thought of your friend hearing you.

“This is Billie, she’s uh… she’s a friend of mom’s,” you replied.

“Wait, shit, I know you. You’re that psychic off the tv,” Rachel said.

“Medium,” she replied, voice much colder than when it had been directed at you.

“You talk to ghosts and shit,” she said, voice loud from right beside your ear.

“I do,” she replied, tilting her chin up, looking down her nose at your friend.

“That’s crazy,” she said, “you actually think you’re talking to ghosts?”

“I am actually talking to ghosts,” she replied, sounding icier than you’d ever heard her.

“Crazy,” she said again, awed by her supposed insanity.

“Well, it was lovely seeing you,” she said to you.

She rose from the stool she’d been sitting in, leaving your heart thumping wildly. She gave you one lingering look before leaving you be with Rachel. Your friend swooped in, stealing her seat, leaning towards you with her forearms resting on the bar.

“Were you trying to go home with her?” she asked.

“What?” you laughed.

“Celebrity fucking. Are you in on it? Because if you are I think Matthew is winning on that front. He got a Kardashian,” she said, “but hey, I get it. You have to start somewhere. Work up to the big guns.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, indignation beginning to rise.

“Start with some insignificant woman with a show before you move on to the hot ones. She’ll be easy, I bet. Probably a good ego boost to have someone so young pursuing her. I doubt she’s fucked anyone in ages,” she said before clicking to get the barman’s attention.

“I’m gonna…” You didn’t bother finishing your sentence before you walked off, leaving her to order more drinks.

Outside, you found her again, leaning against the wall, cigarette between fingers, smoke curling out of her mouth. You watched her for a moment, letting your eyes linger on the way her lips pursed, the clinging silk blouse, the long fingers brought to her mouth then away again.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“You’re beautiful,” you replied, then immediately worried you’d been too bold.

She turned to look at you, looking less than impressed at your answer. You clasped your hands together behind your back, not wanting her to see you fidgeting. You swallowed past the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry about her,” you said, “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Many do,” she said.

“Billie,” you breathed out, stepping closer to her until the scent of her cigarette wrapped around you, “I don’t. I think there’s plenty out there we can’t explain and who am I to say if ghosts exist. What I do know is that I’ve been thinking about you since we met.”

She softened, turning her body towards you. You reached out, fingers brushing over the back of her hand. She stubbed her cigarette out on the wall, dropping it into the bin just behind you. In one motion, she curled her arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your body brushed against hers.

“And what have you been thinking when you think about me?” she asked.

“About how you taste,” you groaned.

She grasped your chin, acrylics digging in to the skin of your cheeks. She pulled you forward, breath ghosting over your lips. You finally let yourself whimper. Her smile stretched.

“How can I deny you, sweet girl?” she murmured.

Her lips brushed against yours, tantalising, almost teasing, barely there but making your heart pound and your knees grow weak. Your hands slid along her hips, wanting to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against yours. She drew back, her hand still holding your chin, keeping you from leaning towards her again.

“How was that?” she asked.

You shook your head, trying to dip back in. She held you tight enough to make you whine, refusing to give you what you wanted.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” she said.

“More,” you whined, “I want more.”

The door to the bar opened, the chatter from inside leaking out. She looked over your shoulder at the couple leaving, a blank mask falling over her face. Dragging her eyes back to you, she softened again.

“Let me take you home, sweet girl,” she said, “say I can have you for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “you can have me as long as you want.”

“Careful or I might just end up keeping your forever,” she warned.

You were finding it hard to see that as a bad thing.

She called for a car, keeping one hand on your body, thumb stroking over skin until you were a trembling mess. In the back seat of the car, her hand was slow as it slid up your thigh, keeping up a conversation with the driver, practically ignoring you. You were biting down on your lip, trying to keep silent. Her eyes flashed over to you, glittering when she noticed your struggle. Her thumb passed so close to your heat if you’d shifted your hips just an inch, she could have been touching your panty covered core. Even with the material in the way, you were sure she’d be able to feel how wet you were.

The car pulled up outside a nice home, two stories and large enough for a family to live in. Billie held the door open for you to slide out, her hand settling on the small of your back, leading you up the porch. She pushed the door open, waiting for you to step inside.

“Would you like a drink, sweet girl?” she asked, closing the door.

You’d been expecting her to be on you the moment the door was closed, but instead all she did was trail her fingers along your shoulders before leaving you be. You followed behind, disappoint curling in your gut. Your eyes drifted down to her swaying hips, skirt only accentuating her figure.

She flicked on the light in her kitchen, a wide wall of windows staring back. You followed, not sure what else to do. Reaching above her head, she pulled down a wine glass, only one, before turning back towards you. Her eyes swept over you, from head to toe, smile curling up one corner of her lips.

“You didn’t answer,” she said.

“No.” You shook your head, “I think if I have any more you’ll be taking advantage of me.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” she replied.

She poured herself a glass of white wine, pulled straight from her fridge. She took a sip from it, watching you as she did. Her tongue dragged along her lower lip, catching a drop of stray wine. You made a small noise, her smirk only growing.

“Billie,” you whined, your self respect long since gone. All you wanted was her hands on your bare skin, not this waiting game she was forcing you to play.

“Yes, sweet girl?” she asked.

“Please,” you begged, “I need you.”

“Do you?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes.”

She placed her glass of wine down before taking a step towards you. With strong hands, she lifted you onto the counter, stepped between your parted legs. Her hands were sliding up the skin of your thigh, making you shiver.

“How’s this?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” you replied, beyond words just from her touch.

Her nose skimmed along your jaw, making your breath hitch. Your legs tightened around her, pinning her there as you whimpered. Her lips were soft as they pressed to your skin, head falling back to give her more access. Her tongue flicked out, tasting you with a soft hum. Your fingers clenched around the edge of the marble countertop, breath already ragged.

Her nails scraped along your skin, pushing up underneath your dress. You would have torn it from your body if she asked, uncaring of anything but giving her more access to you. Her teeth scraped along your skin before sinking in just enough for the sting to be pleasurable. Tongue swiping over it, you could feel her smile against your throat at the strangled noise you made. The way she sucked on your pulse point had your head growing fuzzy.

Your hands found their home on her shoulders, fingers curling as you tried to haul her closer. The throbbing between your legs was insistent but ignored by her. You wanted to reel her in, press against her, rub yourself against her like an animal. Her nails were scraping along your skin, drawing patterns on your skin in a way that had you shivering.

“Billie,” you gasped out, “please.”

“Sorry, sweet girl,” she murmured against your skin, “I can’t get enough of your taste.”

Her tongue swirled again, her soft sigh making you burn. Your fingers curled in her hair, tugging until you were leaning towards her, breath ghosting over her skin. She looked up from under eyelashes, coquettish and innocent, undone by the twist of her lips.

You kissed her, no longer just a brush of lips, all innocence gone. You groaned into her mouth, fingers tightening on blonde curls, tongue licking into her mouth. She allowed you, nails digging into your skin as you did your best to taste her, to explore, to delve deeper until you couldn’t remember what it was to not be kissing her. The taste of wine and cigarettes lingered on her tongue, something sweeter and deeper underneath.

You moaned, chasing her taste, wanting to burn it into your brain until nothing else remained. She was forcing your legs further apart, fingers on your inner thighs, stroking closer and closer to your heated core. She chuckled into your mouth when you whined, hips shifting, trying to urge her on.

Desperate lips trailed down your neck again, nipping at skin. Your fingers, still buried in her hair, clenched, pressing her closer, your pleas ignored as she took her time. Her teeth sunk in as her index finger ghosted over your centre. The noise that came from you had your cheeks heating before your embarrassment was washed away by the need for her touch.

Her finger stroked over you again, still over the top of your underwear. She was sucking another bruise onto your skin, her teeth and her tongue only making you desperate for more. Her finger pressed down, finding your clit through your panties. Her name was a strangled noise, back arching towards her.

“You’re so wet, sweet girl,” she said, “god, you’ve soaked right through.”

You whimpered as she continued to circle it, tortuously slow. She pulled back, eyes sweeping over your face, watching you. Her other hand slipped from under your dress, soft as it drifted up your body. You arched into her touch when she found your breast, begging her for more. She ignored you, hand continuing up until fingers rested on your throat, thumb stroking over the point she’d been sucking on before.

“Do you know how pretty you are?” she asked you, those dark eyes smouldering up at you, “you make such lovely noises for me.”

“Billie,” you whimpered, “Billie please.”

“I like when you beg, sweet girl,” she said, “do it again.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Good girl.”

That only made you tremble, heat coursing through you. From her delighted smile, she seemed to realise the effect her words had on you. Her fingers pushed aside your underwear, fingers swiping through your folds. The sound that came from you was high pitched, hips bucking up against her touch.

The hand around your throat tightened, for just a moment, long enough to make fire burn through you. She tugged you forward, kissing you, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You were aching for her, needing her more than you’d needed anyone before.

Fingers were slow to circle your clit, as if testing how far she could push you before she drove you insane. She drew back, watching you as your chest heaved, skin heating, eyes begging her for more. Lips pulled up into a smirk, the older woman slowing her movements until you felt tears prick in your eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me,” she said, “look how responsive you are. Such a good girl.”

“Billie,” you whined.

“I could watch you like this for hours,” she said.

“Please,” you begged, “please, Billie, I need-“

Her thumb ground against your clit, your words breaking off into a strangled moan. Her delight was enough to let you know you would be given no easy release. You tugged on her hair.

“Do you enjoy that, sweet girl?” she asked, so innocent, as if she wasn’t watching you fall apart in front of her.

Her thumb slipped from your clit, leaving you with the slow circling again, tortuous and maddening. You let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening in her blonde curls.

“I bet you taste sweet,” she murmured, “will you let me taste you, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you babbled, “please. Oh god, please, Billie. I need you.”

Her hand slipped from your throbbing cunt, making you whine in protest. The hand resting around your throat slid down. Both tugged on the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body. You let her pull it from your body, flinging it aside as her eyes roved over your bare skin and lacy lingerie.

“Who did you wear these pretty things for, sweet girl?” she asked, finger running along the lace of your bra, “was there someone you were hoping would see these?”

“No,” you replied, feeling breathless.

“Don’t lie to me, sweet girl,” she warned.

Her dark eyes met yours and you could see it, swimming in her eyes, no matter how she was trying to hide it. The jealousy. The anger. The thought you’d dressed up for anyone but her. A sense of power flooded your body. To have such an effect on her, to make her feel that way, it was mind blowing for you.

“No one but you,” you said, tugging her closer, “I’ve been thinking of no one else since I met you.”

“You say such lovely things,” she said.

Her hands cupped your breasts, thumbs swiping over your nipples. Your breath stuttered and she lent down, lips ghosting along your skin. Her tongue dipped into the divot between your collarbones, stealing both your breath and your sanity. You moaned her name, arching towards her mouth.

Sliding her hands around your ribs, she unhooked your bra. Her lips continued down before wrapping around one nipple. Your mouth fell open around a silent moan. She wasn’t soft, her sharp suck making you tighten your fingers in her hair. Her tongue flicked over it, making you arch into her, asking for more.

Her nails scraped over your skin, down over your ribs, past the dip of your waist, over the curve of your hips. They hooked into your underwear, pulling them off you. Down your legs and flung aside, you did your best to help her, wanting that tongue where your throbbing heat was.

Lips trailed down your body, leaving your nipples behind despite your whimper. She took her time, lingering on every inch of skin she found. Her tongue would smooth over where her teeth scraped, heat following in her wake. You sighed at the first swipe of it through your folds. Your head fell back, fingers tightening in her hair. She hummed, pressing closer, tongue teasing your entrance.

She wrapped her lips around your clit, tongue flicking over it, then again when you moaned her name. It wasn’t going to take much, not from the way she’d been teasing you all night. And not from the way you’d been fantasising about her all week. The reality was much better than you could have imagined.

And in your imagination she’d been spectacular.

You gasped her name when she began to suck on your bundle of nerves, her hands pushing your legs even further apart. Spread out on her kitchen counter, face buried between your legs, feasting on you, it was as if all your dreams were coming true. She moaned, the vibrations rocketing through your body. Her name was a prayer on your lips and felt yourself coming apart. Her dark eyes looked up your body, catching yours and the way she was watching was like you were fulfilling all of her fantasies too.

The flat of her tongue pressed against your clit. You were writhing under her touch, begging her for release. Her fingers tightened on your thighs until you were sure she’d be leaving bruises for you to find the next day. She moaned again and it was enough.

If you were asked about it, you wouldn’t say you screamed her name, fingers tightening in her hair until you were pulling it. But you did. And she looked like the cat that got the cream because of it.

She cleaned you up with her tongue before she lent back, staring up at you, lips smirking. You pulled her up, kissing her with the kind of abandon you hadn’t let yourself have earlier. She chuckled into your mouth until your legs were tightening around her and your hands were sliding down her body and she began to moan.

“I want to touch you,” you murmured into her mouth, “please let me touch you.”

“I really can’t deny you anything,” she replied, pulling back, “perhaps somewhere comfortable though? I don’t bounce back like I once did.”

Her hand slipped into yours, helping you off the counter. Her eyes trailed over your body for a moment, appreciation filling her face as she took her time studying you. You flushed under her gaze, surprised by how much you liked her looking at you. Where usually you didn’t languish in nudity, the way she was staring made you feel powerful, desirable, stupidly sexy.

She led you further into the house, up the stairs, into a plush bedroom. The carpet underfoot was soft and the bed was huge. She sat on the edge of it, pulling you forward until you were stood between her legs. Leaning down, you threaded your fingers through her hair again, tilting her head up and kissing her until you felt her begin to relax.

You climbed onto her lap, knees either side of her hips. She hummed into your mouth, fingers trailing over your skin until the fire within you reignited. You pushed her back, feeling more than hearing the way she laughed against your lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, drawing back to look down at her.

Her eyes brightened and there was a faint flush on her cheeks. Your fingers were careful as you began to unbutton her blouse, exposing tantalising inches of skin to your hungry gaze. Your tongue dragged along your bottom lip as you watched the silk slip from her shoulders. She pulled you down into another kiss, hot and insistent.

Your hands were gentle, fingertips trailing along her skin. It was so soft, and it only made you want more of her. With your tongue in her mouth, you reached behind her, unclasping the bra, pulling it from her body. You trailed your lips down, taking your time to worship every inch you came into contact with. Her fingers found their way into your hair, pressing you closer. You slid down her body, needing a better angle if you were to make her moan your name.

Your tongue tasted her skin, swirling over a nipple, smiling when you felt her arch up towards you. She murmured praise, practically a sigh. Your hands reached for her skirt, slow to unzip it and push it over her hips. She kicked it away before your hand ran up the outside of her thigh. You could feel her warmth practically radiating towards you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” you murmured into her skin.

“You feel so good, sweet girl,” she gasped when your lips made contact with her again.

You pushed her panties aside, slow to touch her, wanting to draw it out as long as possible. If you gave in too quickly you’d take too much. You wanted her falling apart, the way you had, until your name was burned on her tongue.

You collected her wetness, running a finger through her folds. Her breathing stuttered, chest heaving against your mouth. You circled her clit, slow as you lent back, watching her face contort in pleasure. Her lips were smiling, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand slipped down again, finger hovering at her entrance. She looked up at you again.

“Can I?” you asked.

“If you don’t, I’ll be sorely disappointed,” she replied, voice husky.

You smiled down at her, spread out beneath you. With strong hand you tore her underwear off, biting down on her pulse point. Your fingers found her entrance again, lingering just a moment before you pushed in, her arousal making it easier than you would have thought. A soft sigh fell through parted lips and her eyelids fluttered shut again.

Slowly pumping in and out of her you waited until her annoyed gaze found you again. You grinned, pressing a second finger in. You curled them and your name was nothing but a filthy moan on her lips.

You stroked her, thumb finding her clit again. She was writing under your touch, hips rocking against your hand, small noises coming from her. Her hands were fisting her comforter and there was a flush over her chest.

You watched her fall apart beneath you. Her internal walls clamped down on your fingers, your name a breathless sigh, fingers tightening, body going still. You eased her through it, drawing it out as long as you could. Her muscles relaxed, looking up at you with a sleepy smile. You removed your hands from between her legs, tongue lapping at your fingers, tasting her on your skin.

Her eyes began to smoulder, looking up at you. With grasping hands she pulled you down, unbalancing you until both your hands landed either side of her head, catching your weight before you crushed her. She drew you down into a kiss, stealing your breath, sending your head reeling all over again.

“You’re a dream, sweet girl,” she murmured against your lips, “I’m never letting you go.”

You kissed her again before rolling off her, sitting on her plush comforter. Her fingers trailed up your bare thigh, making you shiver under her touch.

“Are you tired?” she asked, voice low, like a whisper caressing over your skin.

“No,” you replied.

“Then let me wear you out, sweet girl.”

When you woke in the morning, the bed was empty, still warm under your touch and more comfortable than the twin bed you’d been sleeping in for the last few months. You sat up, stretching your aching body before brushing the sleep from your eyes. The slant of light said it was late morning. Unsurprising, given Billie had kept you up until the early hours of the morning. The scent of coffee was on the air and you smiled, hearing someone moving downside.

You hunted through the room, finding a soft cashmere sweater. Pulling it on, it hit mid thigh, just enough to cover you but not enough to not be tempting to the insatiable woman. On bare feet you padded down the stairs. Rounding the banister, following your nose, you practically skipped into the kitchen.

You stumbled to a halt, finding a familiar face staring back at you, eyes widening in surprise. Billie turned in her seat, lips quirking up into a smile as her eyes swept over your body.

“Mom?”

You felt your face heat up, taking a step back. She was sitting at the kitchen island, the exact island you’d been sitting on, naked, just a few hours before.

“Darling, what are you doing here?” she asked, “did you spend the night here?”

“Uh…” You looked to Billie, not sure how to answer, “yeah I did.”

“I hope you didn’t bother Billie. She was meant to meet me this morning but when she didn’t show up I had to come hunt her down,” she said.

“She was no bother,” Billie replied, smiling at you over the rim of her coffee cup.

“I thought I was interrupting you after a wild night of passion,” your mother laughed, “with all those clothes scattered around your kitchen.”

“I should… go,” you said, not wanting to think about Billie telling your mother about your night with her.

Only your clothes were bundled up on the counter and you had no way of getting them without making it clear Billie’s night of passion had included you.

“You didn’t interrupt them, did you darling?” she asked, a tinkling laugh tacked on to the end.

“Hardly,” Billie replied.

Your mother was smiling at you and you were frozen and Billie was being no help. You stared helplessly back before your mother’s eyes darted to Billie then the pile of clothes then back to you. You held your breath.

“Darling, you didn’t,” she sighed.

“I… It wasn’t…” You didn’t know how to even begin to end those sentences.

“It appears as if we’ve been busted,” Billie said.

She stood from her barstool, sauntering towards you. Looping an arm around your waist, she pulled you into her body, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. It was so tender, nothing like the seduction you’d experienced the night before. Still, you shivered, her touch enough to set you off.

“If you were jealous of me having a friend there were more productive ways of going about getting my attention,” your mother said, interrupting your moment.

“What?” You looked over to her.

“We could have just had a conversation, darling,” she said.

“You think I…” It was hard to wrap your head around, “do you seriously think I slept with Billie to get your attention?”

“What other possible reason could you have?” she asked.

You felt Billie stiffen against you. You curled your arm around her, wanting to shield her from your mother’s accusations. Glaring at her, you hardened.

“Maybe because I wanted to. God, Mom, not everything is about you,” you said.

“Alright, I’ll play along with your little fantasy,” she said, giving you one of those indulgent smiles you remembered from childhood, “but darling, until you choose to grow up and act like an adult, not everyone is going to be so forgiving.”

“I think you should go,” you said, voice hardening.

“Why on earth would I do that, darling?” she asked.

“Because I’m hoping Billie will fuck me over the top of that counter your sitting at and it’ll be a little awkward if you’re still here when she does,” you replied.

Your mother’s face blanched of colour and she was quick to climb to her feet, muttering something about another meeting she had to get to as she hustled out of there. Billie didn’t bother saying anything, only watching her leave as you kept her close to you. The door slammed behind her retreating back.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she murmured.

“Do what?” you asked, looking down at her, “I’m free all day and would quite like it if you fucked me on every available surface in this house.”

She kissed you, long and deep, laughing into your mouth. You pulled her closer, your hands finding her hips as you guided her into the kitchen, pressing her against the kitchen island.

“If you do, I’ll return the favour,” you said.

“You don’t have to convince me,” she murmured, “I’d do anything you asked of me, sweet girl.”

And so she did.

[l0serloki]

Showtime

JPM x Reader

Summary : You and Liz brainstorm how to spice things up in the bedroom with your husband.. It is a definite success.

CW : SMUT, fem!reader, reader calls james ‘mr.march’, spanking, choking, praise kink, pet names (queen/doll/dear/good girl), biting & marking, rough sex, creampie

A/N : this might not be great but I was rewatching hotel and his cane gave me ideas... 

It had been quite a while since you and Liz had a talk. You settled down to gossip with your close friend. 

“Y/N, it’s been a while. I thought you would have forgotten about me.” Liz smirked.

“How could I ever! I’ve just been so busy with James and the new.. arrivals. Devil’s Night was such a chore.” You droned on, complaining about how much screaming there was over the course of the night.

“Well that’s to be expected. How are you and James anyways?” 

How were you and James? You were fine, splendid actually, but something seemed off. You had thought about it quite a lot this week, coming to the conclusion you needed something to spice up your sex life.

“Good! I just.. I don’t know.” You shrugged and Liz gave you the side eye, setting her book on the counter.

“You don’t know? Darling, are you alright?” 

You nodded as she took your hands, giving them a tight squeeze.

“Yes! Don’t worry! I just want to.. spice things up with him. I feel as though he will get bored of me. I want to get something nice for him but I can’t think of what.” 

Liz tapped her lips with a pen, her eyes raising as she thought of an idea.

“Y/N, have you ever worn any fancy lingerie for him? Maybe put on a little show?” 

Your mind sparked with the idea and you shook your head.

“No! Where would I even get that? That would be perfect.” 

Liz waved you away from the kiosk, already getting to planning.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you a nice set to surprise your dear Mr.March.”

—

Liz had done exactly what she promised, going out and buying quite a lovely lingerie set for you. It framed your body perfectly, only adding to your confidence. You slipped your casual clothes over the garments, making your way down the hall. You knew James would be busy with his plans for next year's event.

Your fingers curled around the doorknob, opening it to meet your husbands face. You jumped at the proximity, not expecting him to be so close.

“My dear! I was just coming to fetch you.” His smooth accent sailed through the air, sending currents down your spine. Your finger trailed at his suit hoping to give him the same reaction. 

“Were you? Guess I have good timing then.. Mr.March.” You trailed around his form, hands feeling up the taut muscles. His body shook with excitement from the teases, hands coming to clamp down on your wrists.

“Yes.. It seems you were longing for me as much as I was for you.” His suave smirk made heat pool in your stomach, hands starting to roam your shirt. Your breath quickened as his fingers trailed under the the material. His eyes widened when he pawed at the lace that was hidden.

“My my.. What is it that my dear doll has on?” He frisked away at your shirt, abandoning it on the floor without a care. His chestnut hues wracked in the sight of your ample flesh dawned with the silky lace. His wild smile only added to your carnal desire, making you tremble with pleasure.

“You like it? It’s all for you, Mr.March.” 

His deep hum filled the silence. 

“I do, dear. This is quite the surprise. Step out of those pants and bend over so I can see the whole thing.” His voice was dark and filled with lust. You knew exactly where this was headed. 

You followed instructions, popping your ass out so he could get the full view of your body. You felt as if you were on fire. His eyes followed your every curve, searing it into his memory. His rough hand gripped at his cane, holding back at what he wanted.

“You’ve given me such a good present, my pretty girl. I can’t believe you would hide this from me. I think you deserve a punishment, no?” 

You could only moan in response, desperate for any kind of touch he could give you. He seemed to like your response, shoveling you against the desk. Your perky ass was still stuck out for him, waiting for his move. You waited for what felt like forever until a long smack hit. Your breath left your mouth as you shook, your ass cheeks swelling against the wood. The metal tip of his cane brushed at your entrance, prodding at the wet spot on your panties.

“Someone enjoys being spanked with a cane? What a naughty girl..” James laughed, your squirming not going unnoticed. His hand smacked against your sore cheek and you bounced at the contact.

“Be good and take a few more. Then we can get to the fun part.” 

You nodded as he continued his assault on your ass, tears welling in your eyes at the pain and pleasure. Your body was practically screaming for him, arousal pooling on your thighs. 

His cane hit for the last time and then he was everywhere at once. His greedy hands yanked at your ruined panties, revealing your poor pussy. 

“God. I need you!” You moaned out as his fingers teased across your thighs, coming dangerously close to your entrance. His thumb pressed against your slick, making a mess of you. He toyed your clit, rubbing at it a few times before puling away. You groaned at the loss of contact, turning to see why he had stopped. James fumbled with his belt, hands jittering with energy. He gave you a grin, lips licking at the arousal on his finger,

“My queen, you’ve been so obedient tonight.. I shall give you what you wish.”

James’ cock rubbed against your folds, slowly pushing in. It felt as if everything else faded as he bottomed out, his calloused hands coming to grip at your neck. His thrusts gained pace as your moans got louder, alerting anyone near his room of what you were up to.

He was animalistic. Lips biting and marking at your skin, smacks blown across any flesh he could reach. His other hand choked you out, watching from the side as your eyes grew larger.

You felt your air leaving as his pace went erratic, the string inside you so close to snapping.

“I-I’m gonna cum. So close, baby.” You strangled out.

James snarled, his hands rough enough to leave marks for the next few days. His cock twitched inside of you, egging you on.

“Cum. Cum for me, darling.” He goaded and you did as told, eyes rolling back at the euphoria he gave. His ruts finally stopped and thick ribbons of white filled you. 

You spun around and snorted at your husbands tired face. He leaned in to kiss the top of your nose, hands pulling you into an embrace.

“That was a night to remember, dear. We should do this more often.”

[ghostfacesvalentine]

Obsessed - James Patrick March x Fem!Reader

Pairing: James Patrick March x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nsfw, fem rec. oral, slight overstimulation, not much else.

Type: Headcanon

Request: Can I get uhhh... first time with James Patrick March from AHS? //^^// but only if you want to! If you don’t then just ignore this! I live your writing anyway! 💞✨

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: First time with James Patrick March!

Notes: This only took me four years, but I got to it didn’t I :))) Okay so I wasn’t specified whether it’d be hc or a one shot so I just went ahead and went with hc! If you’d like a one shot feel free to send it in!

♡ James becomes completely and utterly devoted to you the moment he sees you.

♡ When he finds out that you’re as innocent as a hummingbird, it only furthers his obsession with you.

♡ He’s always smothering you

♡ James always makes sure you’re not hungry or cold or missing anything really. Almost to the point that it’s kind of annoying, a little bit.

♡ Anytime he sees you, he greets you with lots and lots of kisses, kissing your hands repeatedly and up your arms shamelessly.

♡ He will not hesitate to treat you like a goddess, mark my words.

♡ His attention is 110% on you, literally has tunnel vision when it comes to you.

♡ If you ask him to take your virginity, then you better brace yourself because he sure as hell didn’t.

♡ The question would truly shock him.

♡ “Why Y/N. It’d be my soundest of pleasures.”

♡ Of course he would take the whole day to make this as special as he possibly could for you.

♡ He’d occupy the best room in the Cortez for the time, as always but this time with no interruptions.

♡ James would make sure it was flawlessly elegant, the most beautiful of drapery and matching bed duvet. 

♡ Room service would be ordered in for whatever your liking. He’d even order in some fresh strawberries and champagne for the special night.

♡ Honestly at first, he’d let you make the initial move.

♡ Though he’s super eager, he knew it was a big deal and he wants to make sure this is what you’re ready for.

♡ You kiss him first, which as he describes it, is “an electrifying experience”

♡ He remains soft with you though, kissing you back gently. He was holding back for sure, it was by no means easy though.

♡ But when you begin to kiss him more hungrily, he kind of loses it a little.

♡ His kisses become a bit more desperate, but still with love, to the point where you do have to pull away for air.

♡ He’s so intoxicated by the way that you smell, your taste, your touch. He’s ready to devour you right where you are.

♡ He takes his time in placing you on the bed, delicately taking off your clothes, placing soft and gentle kisses on the parts your skin became exposed.

♡ Taking note of what you like and what you don’t like. It exhilarates his behavior to watch you tremble.

♡ He gives you your first hand job, making sure your wetness soaks his hands, he doesn’t even know if he’s scissoring his fingers in your cunt for himself or for you.

♡ Watching your head fall back in pleasure is everything to him, he even tilts your chin forward to look at him as tears well in your eyes.

♡ James twists and turns his fingers in you, a sinful smile never leaving his lips, as the time slipped away, he became hungrier for you.

♡ Your pleasure brought a desperation James hadn’t seen in decades.

♡ He’s obsessed with your pleasure, it brings a euphoria to him in a similar way that killing does.

♡ Once he’s rubbed all your slick against your folds, he starts to lap at your core. His arms hook under your legs to bring you closer to him.

♡ I’m obsessed with the idea of him kneeling in the most uncomfortable position but so desperate to eat you out that he’s just there in place in bliss as your arousal drenches his face.

♡ He can be there for hours. He doesn’t really talk you through an orgasm, but when you feel yourself clenching up, he continues his pace, with a hand on your breast, squeezing it gently as you rock your hips against his face.

♡ You apologize because you have no idea what happened but he’s not listening like at all.

♡ He does this over and over until you are practically weeping.

♡ When he first enters you, he has you on your back, looking right at him already succumbed into pleasure.

♡ You’re so lost in your orgasms that it didn’t sting when he entered you, in fact he wished he could record this moment for his own pleasure.

♡ Your eyelids half closed in bliss, he didn’t take long to pick up the pace, still quietly assuring himself that you weren’t in any pain.

♡ It didn’t take long for you to cum again, allow me to speculate that seeing your coat of white on his dick sends him over the edge.

♡ He keeps fucking the orgasm out of you. All you could do is lay back and brace yourself. You can grab and pull and scratch at him all you want, he’s pounding you into the mattress.

♡ Id say James has a pretty decent tolerance so it’s going to be a long night of orgasms after orgasms.

♡ Mr. “Are you aware that the average woman is capable of 8 orgasms in a single session?”

♡ You’re not even capable of responding, barely able to comprehend what the whole sentence was and that only drives him to keep going.

♡ The picture of you helpless, covered in juices of arousal, twitching in pleasure and eyes rolling back in bliss. He’s obsessed. And he caused all of this.

♡ This is your first time but he’s treating you like a toy, he’s so desperate to see you like this. Normally he’d try all kinds of positions but since it is your first time, he wants to see how much you’re capable of.

♡ He’s kind of infatuated with the view and of course it boosts his ego in a demented sense. It’s not until you start crying out that you can’t take it anymore.

♡ He’s cautious at first, getting to know your limits, but give it some time he’ll encourage you to keep taking it because he knows you’re capable.

[7-wonders]

Requiem

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVI)

Summary: It's all led to this, and now, you have to face off against Michael to get your world back.

Word Count: 6.3k

A note from the author: This chapter is so, so dark. Sorry? Also, this chapter relies a lot on the she/her pronouns this story was first started with btw. (more notes at the end)

I noticed when posting this that it looks like the previous chapter didn't load a lot of tags. If you got tagged in this and are like "wait how did we get to the fight already?" you missed the last chapter! Click on the Mad Love Masterlist to read Chapter 35. :)

Content warnings for this chapter include graphic depictions of injury and death. Reader discretion is advised.

Mad Love Masterlist

Mallory warned you prior to leaving your room that the residents of Outpost 3 were all dead, murdered at the hands of Ms. Venable and her poisoned apples (you try not to dwell on your own poisoned apple experience). All the preparation in the world doesn’t prepare you for the shock of seeing two dead bodies, those of Coco and Dinah, in the large foyer of the Outpost. Shock turns to revulsion as one of Mallory’s friends and other witches yanks a knife out of Coco’s skull with little more than a wince. When she stands, she points the knife at you.

“She gonna help us?” she asks warily.

“She is.” Mallory turns to you, pointing first to the woman with the knife and next to another woman standing near the stairs. “This is Queenie and Zoe.”

You wave sheepishly. “It’s nice to meet you two.”

Zoe smiles kindly, but Queenie just appraises you with a look that says she doesn’t trust you. You can’t say that you blame her, though you wish she didn’t have a reason for this reaction. Mallory leaves your side to kneel in between the two dead women, and you watch as she takes a deep breath and breathes out onto Coco’s face before repeating her movements with Dinah.

It takes mere seconds for the two to shoot up, gasping for air and trying to get used to once again inhabiting a body.

“Welcome back,” Mallory says.

“What just happened?” Coco asks, her elaborate hairdo impressively staying put after all of that.

“You died. And now, you’re no longer dead.”

“Oh.” She frowns, rubbing at the spot where a knife sat moments ago. “Fuck, that sucked.”

“Are you going to explain why you tore us from our afterlives?” Dinah snaps, standing up.

“It’s time to fix this entire mess. To defeat Michael, we need all the help we can get.” Mallory eyes Dinah specifically. “From both of you.”

“You’re on your own with that shit,” Dinah declares. “I’m not here to defeat anyone.”

Maybe it’s not your place, but you feel like you can help to convince Dinah. You take a step toward here. “Please, I really think that—”

“How can any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?” A voice, so familiar to you that it could be your own, comes from the stairs.

You almost don’t want to look at him. If you don’t, maybe you can remain in this stasis where you’re simply preparing to undo the apocalypse, instead of being faced with the reality that you’re about to fight your own husband, the man who, despite all of the horrors he’s committed, remains your love. When you do tear your eyes away from Dinah, you see that he’s not even taking notice of your presence. No, he only has hate-filled eyes for the Supreme.

Michael’s changed into a blood-red jacket, which makes it obvious that he was expecting this showdown to happen. Ms. Mead stands off to his left side, ever the small, imposing bodyguard. Mallory steps forward, along with most of the group. You can’t bring your feet to move, so you remain back with Dinah.

“You haven’t won,” Mallory says. 

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world.”

Queenie scoffs. “At least the world can be saved. Unlike your bitch ass.”

Michael smirks proudly. “The seventh seal has been broken. 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. The world has been remade in my father’s image.”

When he speaks like this, of biblical imagery and prophecy, he turns into a person you don’t care to know. He turns into the Antichrist.

“Almost.” Mallory smiles. “Pretty sure he didn’t imagine a world where there were still witches, so you failed there.”

Michael finally takes in the full group, and his haughty demeanor falters when he sees you. Softly, he utters your name. “What are you doing?”

You swallow thickly, willing your voice not to shake. “I think you know.”

“I do. You’re going to betray me?

Mallory tries to grab your arm as you move in front of her, but you can’t be stopped now. “This is not betrayal. I’m doing this because I love you, and I can’t bear to be faced with the monster that you’ve become any longer. Now, we have a chance to save the world, Michael. Help me undo this mess.”

“Michael,” Mallory gets his attention once more. “Your father never commanded you to end the world in this way. Jeff and Mutt, the two that ran Kineros, were the ones who thought a nuclear apocalypse was the solution. They controlled Ms. Mead and gave her the commands to tell you that this was Satan’s plan. Satan was just happy to take credit when he realized that you were going to cause anarchy.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Michael says.

“Is it? They told me so themselves, when I went to Kineros to ensure that Coco would be in this Outpost.”

He rolls his eyes. “This is such an obvious lie, I’m a little offended that you would think I’d fall for it. Right, Ms. Mead?”

Michael looks to his left, expecting to be backed up, only to see Ms. Mead with a look of bewildered shame on her face.

“Ms. Mead?”

“They—I do as I’m programmed,” she stutters. 

You gasp at the revelation. Satan didn’t come up with the plan to end the world like this? All of this could have been avoided?

Instead of being faced with the same reckoning, a look of absolute murder appears on his face. “I’m going to do what I should have done that day in the Murder House and kill you all personally.”

“Mallory,” Dinah calls, walking towards the Supreme. “You raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side. But if you know anything about who I am, you know that the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.”

She comes to a stop just before the stairs, bowing her head respectfully. Michael raises a hand out to her, ready to welcome another acolyte. You throw Mallory a panicked look, but she’s barely holding back glee.

“You’re half-right, Dinah,” she admits.

“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen,” a deep Southern voice says. You turn and watch as a tall woman with long braids struts up to Dinah. “But that ain’t you, sis .”

“The former Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau,” Mallory whispers into your ear.

“To release me from hell, Mallory promised Papa Legba the darkest and most corrupt voodoo queen’s soul for mine. You’ll serve him well in my place.”

“You’re a fool, Marie Laveau,” Dinah spits. “You would have done no different if you were queen.”

“No!” Marie says, before disappearing in a puff. 

Not even a second later, she reappears behind Dinah wielding a machete. When Dinah turns to face her, Marie brings the machete down in one swing on her throat. Dinah gasps and screams as blood begins to gush out of her neck, falling to the floor and bleeding out in a matter of seconds. Nobody else seems to be affected by this, but you feel a little faint, and you hold onto Mallory’s arm to keep from collapsing.

“Out with the trash!” Marie declares. “Give Papa my regards.”

Michael, apparently having enough of this, nods to Ms. Mead. The android removes her hand to reveal a machine gun hidden underneath it. Though you want to say something along the lines of, “What the actual fuck?” Zoe says a word in what you assume to be Latin before you can.

Instead of shooting, Ms. Mead begins to shake and whir mechanically. Mallory uses Michael’s confusion to usher everybody back towards the open fire, where you watch as Ms. Mead explodes and sends Michael flying over the railing. He lands harshly on the floor below, staring in horror at Ms. Mead’s head next to him.

It’s only a matter of time until his horror turns to rage, and Queenie scrambles forward to grab Ms. Mead’s machine gun hand. When Michael rises, she rises with him, gun trained on his chest.

“Sorry about your little toy,” Queenie says before placing her finger on the trigger.

Michael turns to be met with a firestorm of bullets, more than enough to kill even the Antichrist. You scream in horror at the sight, his blood spattering against the wall as he falls and comes to rest against it, very obviously dead.

“Michael!” You try to stand, wanting to save him even though he probably (definitely) deserves what’s just happened to him. Before you can, Mallory pulls you to her.

“This won’t keep him down,” she assures you. “He’s too powerful to be truly killed. But this will buy us time.”

Though you don’t know if you believe her, you need to in order to keep from emotionally collapsing, so you nod. 

Queenie walks to Michael’s body, kicking his foot as she checks to make sure he’s dead…for now, at least. “Do we need his hair or something for this? Because I’m more than happy to rip off a chunk of it.”

“No. The spell only requires that we have something personal of his.” Mallory smiles at you. “And we have the most important person in his life here with us. As long as you’re still in?”

You force yourself to look away from Michael, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths to recenter yourself. Finally, you look at her again. “Of course, I’m still in.”

“Good. Have you picked a time that will work to stop him?”

“I think so,” you confirm. After some internal deliberation, you think that the best way to get through to him is going to be when you had the big fight about the poisoned apple, before you stormed out and got yourself kidnapped by the witches. He wasn’t too powerful or too far gone with his father’s plan yet, but you were both in love with each other—albeit, you hadn’t actually realized it at that point.

“Alright. I’ll need you to focus on that, okay? Then I’ll say the spell, and we’ll be able to go back in time. We just need somewhere safe to cast the spell, somewhere with a large tub we can fill with water.”

You definitely found a room like that when you were exploring the Outpost your first couple of days here. “Okay. Follow me.”

Everybody stands, but hesitates when they remember the issue of Michael. If he’s going to come back to life like Mallory says, shouldn’t there be some safety measure in place to buy you more time?

Queenie sighs and rolls her eyes, realizing that she should probably be that safety measure. “Go,” she urges, readjusting her grip on the gun to ensure she’ll be quick to the trigger when Michael rises again.

Mallory darts forward to hug her quickly. “Thank you.”

“Enough with the sappy shit.” Even as she says that, you can see the affection in her eyes when she looks at Mallory. “Go!”

You do as she says and hurry up the stairs. Before you turn the corner, you allow yourself a moment to meet Michael’s open, lifeless gaze.

The hallways are much less of a maze than they were when you first arrived here, but the layout is still unfamiliar to you. After leading your group down what you thought was going to lead to the door you were sure contained the room with the tub, you’re met with a dead end. 

Sheepishly, you look over your shoulder at Coco. “I think I’m a little lost. Isn’t there a room with a really large washtub for laundry around here?”

Her eyes light up, and she lightly pushes you to keep you moving.  “Yes! We’re super close.” It’s going to take a bit to get used to her actually being helpful, you think as you follow her directions. “We’re going to go down this hallway here. Now, the weird little junction up ahead? Take a left and then it’s the third door on the right.”

Now you know where you are. “Thank you! I found it my first time going through the Outpost, but I haven’t lived here for eighteen months like you.”

You’re just about to turn left at the junction when a man appears from the other side of the hallway, jabbing a knife into your abdomen before you can even be surprised at the sight. You cry out, the pain sharp and sudden as he pulls the knife out of you with nothing but malice on his face. When he looks up at you, his scowl is replaced by a horrified shock.

“Oh my god, I thought you were—” He sees Coco, standing just behind you. “She was supposed to be you !”

Your shaking hands try to press down on the wound, but blood rushes out through your fingers, and your knees go weak as you crash into the wall. Down the hall, you can hear Mallory scream your name. She runs for you with Zoe hot on her heels.

“What the fuck did you do?” Mallory yells to the man, landing next to you on the floor and gently pulling your hands away so that she can assess the damage. By the way her lips start to tremble, you assume it’s not good.

The man that stabbed you ignores her, instead focusing on Coco. “You ruin everything!” he yells at her, lifting the knife once more.

Coco pushes him over the railing before he can do any more damage. He screams the whole way down, and Coco peers after him. “Sorry?” she calls with a grimace, no love apparently lost.

“This is…a lot of blood,” you note, watching your black dress becoming even darker from the rapidly expanding bloodstain. You’re also in a lot of pain. Fuck, you didn’t think being stabbed would hurt so much.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Mallory soothes; you can’t tell who she’s reassuring, herself or you. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to—I’ll heal you, and then you’ll be fine.”

Your heart is pounding from a mixture of fear and adrenaline. For the first time since your arrival to this Outpost, you’re truly scared. This is a different fear from when you were worried about Emily and Timothy being executed, or when you realized that Michael wanted to have a child with you. It’s even different from the fear of knowing that you and Michael would be on opposing sides now. This is primal—this is terror.

Mallory’s hands hover over your abdomen as she begins to chant in Latin, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Nothing happens, and as the seconds tick by, your entire body starts to go cold. It’s like somebody’s taken a syringe of ice water and injected it right into your veins. You become more faint than before, and decide that laying flat will probably be the best way to rid yourself of this feeling.

“Why isn’t this working?” Mallory cries in frustration, catching your head and placing it in her lap. Tears begin to build in her eyes as she tries the same breathing technique on you as she did Coco and Dinah to bring them back to life, to no avail. You cough wetly, and when you wipe your mouth, your hand comes away red.

The realization hits you then: you’re dying. The overpowering cold, being unable to sit up anymore, the faintness—your body is beginning to shut down against your will.

“Mallory, I’m scared,” you admit.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’m trying.”

“I know.” You smile at the repetition even as you begin to feel so, so tired. Maybe if you close your eyes and rest for a moment, you’ll be able to get enough strength back to help you fight to stay alive.

Your eyes barely close before Mallory starts shaking you. “No, no, please don’t close your eyes!”

Marie Laveau appears at the far end of the hallway you first ran down and yells something to Mallory, but you can’t quite make out what she says over the rushing in your ears. Mallory takes one of your arms and Zoe takes the other, both working together to pull you down the hallway. You watch dizzily as Coco runs to Marie, your vision warping as the two disappear around the corner.

Mallory continues trying to heal you once they have you in the room where you’re meant to go back in time. Her hand, soaked in your blood, runs over your forehead comfortingly as she becomes more frantic in her chanting. Even Zoe tries to help, pressing down on your abdomen in the hopes of slowing the bleeding as she joins Mallory in spellwork. It’s becoming more difficult to hold on as you become weaker, the two taking turns making you open your eyes again.

“Please, please, please,” Mallory begs any and all forces beyond her power that might be listening.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, the effort to produce sounds near herculean.

“Don’t apologize,” she says sternly through tears, earning the smallest of laughs from you.

“Yes, ma’am.” Your hands shake as you feel around for Mallory’s, and you weakly squeeze when you find them. “I love you, Mal. I’m so happy I got to see you again.”

“Stop saying goodbye. I’m going to bring you back, this isn’t goodbye.”

For now, though, it is, and you both know it. When your eyes close this time, they don’t open again, and you feel yourself being dragged down, down, down, away from consciousness and life itself.

With your last remaining strength, you become introspective. You have so many regrets, so many words that you’re going to leave unsaid. You wish you had gotten the chance to actually complete the spell and go back in time, sure that you would have been able to change Michael’s mind. You want to thank Queenie and Zoe and Coco and Marie for their help, for believing that you can help fix the mess the world has become. You wish you could—

•••

Michael has had enough of witches on this Earth, he thinks as he blows Queenie’s head clean off her shoulders after coming back to life. She had been distracted by a body falling from two floors up—whose body it was remained a mystery that Michael didn’t care to solve—providing Michael the element of surprise. Even if she were still prepared, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s too powerful for anything to stop him now.

Maybe he was naive to believe that a simple nuclear bomb or two could kill them. No, he was definitely naive. After all, Mallory knew that the world would be ending, and soon. That was more than enough time for her to gather her chosen forces and figure out a way to survive. He knows now that his path, the one that Satan had created before he had even created Michael, was always meant to lead to this. In order to truly inherit this new world and rule Hell on Earth, he must eradicate the remaining witches with his own hands.

But what to do with you? You’ve chosen your side for this battle, and it’s not his. He nervously hopes that you’re simply mad at him after how your last conversation devolved into a fight, that Mallory reached you at a vulnerable time and used that to her advantage to recruit you. Once he defeats the witches, you’ll come back to him and he’ll concede that he was perhaps wrong to bring up the idea of having a child at such an intimate moment. Still, seeing you standing in solidarity with the witches hurt, which is likely what the Supreme was planning.

When Michael makes it up the stairs, the reanimated voodoo queen blocks the hallway that he knows you and the witches have gone down. Grabbing a pouch off of her belt, she pours a powder into her hand and spreads it in a line in front of her with a chant.

“You shall not pass,” Marie declares with a smirk, wiping her hands of the powder. Michael juts his hand forward, prepared to rip her heart out of her chest, but an invisible barrier stops him. “You’re dealing with the HBIC now.”

He smiles ruefully. “Clever,” he admits. “Normally, that would work.”

He’s about to show that voodoo magic is no match for him anymore when his blood runs cold and his heart drops. At that same moment, he becomes aware of sobbing coming from far behind Marie. Though Michael’s never felt anything like this before, he can feel the certainty of what it means down to his very core: something’s happened. Specifically, something’s happened to you.

“Let me through,” he demands. Marie falters, taken aback at the fear in his eyes. “Marie Laveau, if you value your second chance at life you’ll let me through.”

She recovers from her hesitation with a haughty laugh. “Nice try.” 

Michael makes quick work of her with a simple snap of his fingers, snapping her neck and sending her right back to the Underworld. He’s just about to clear the barrier and figure out just what is going on when he feels a presence behind him. Rolling his eyes, he turns around to face this distraction as well and comes face to face with Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, who was with you when he was shot. Surely she must know something about what’s going on.

“What’s happened?” Michael asks. The knife that Coco was prepared to stab him with goes limp in her wrist, and she gapes at him. “Where’s Y/n?”

“She was…Brock…” She weakly mimes a stabbing motion.

“No.” He feels sick at the mere implication. “No!”

Coco now the least of his worries, he runs down the hallway, the whole time hoping that it’s a mistake, that Coco misinterpreted what she saw, that the cold emptiness now residing in his chest is simply a fluke. The sobs that become more clear as he nears the entryway, however, don’t do much to reassure him.

“Mallory!” Michael gasps. 

The Supreme is on the floor with you in her lap, and for a moment, Michael can delude himself into thinking that you’re okay. The excessive amount of blood on the floor—your blood—and the unnaturally limp way that your hand is lying force him to face the obvious. Michael’s knees give out, and he falls to the floor harshly.

Mallory looks up at him, forgetting that they’re meant to be enemies right now. “She got stabbed, and—” a sob rips from her chest, “my healing spells aren’t working. And neither is Vitalum Vitalis. It should be working, Michael, I’m the fucking Supreme.”

“Okay. Um, let me…” Michael’s brain is fighting a war between shutting down from the agony of this situation and kicking into overdrive to figure out how to get you back. After a moment, he thinks he might have an idea. He tries to pull you out of Mallory’s arms and into his own, but she refuses to loosen her hold on you. “Mallory, I need to hold her.”

While he does need to be able to touch you for the spell, he’s not really asking for that purpose. He feels that he might soon lose his grasp on sanity if he can’t hold your body. No, he needs you as close to him as possible, to try and capture the warmth of your body so that he might remind himself that you’ve only just left, that he can still get you back. Begrudgingly, Mallory allows him to hold you, but she still keeps one of your hands in hers.

He’d like to say that it looks like you’re sleeping, comforting himself with the platitude most mourners claim upon seeing a body. He’d be lying, though, because he knows what you look like when you’re sleeping. The way that your face scrunches at the smallest sensation, how your eyes move under their lids and your mouth forms silent words when you’re dreaming particularly deeply, the intermittent light snoring that you swear you don’t do. If you were simply sleeping, he’d play the prince to your Sleeping Beauty and wake you with a kiss, revealing your amused smile and your fond gaze.

Now, there’s none of that. You’ve been dead for mere minutes, but already the signs of death are here. Your face is as slack as all of your muscles now are, making your cheekbones more prominent and your mouth hinge slightly open. A sallowness has started to take over your skin, and he finds himself tracing the apples of your cheeks in a futile attempt to coax blood back to the surface. He even swears that he can feel your body growing colder, just like he feared.

It takes Michael some time to remember what he’s meant to be doing. All of this grief and pain will hopefully be for nothing, so long as he can hold himself together for a little bit longer. He takes a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before dropping his forehead against yours. Tears are threatening to fall, and when he closes his eyes to try and hold them back, it only hastens their arrival. They roll, hot and thick, off of his face and onto yours, and he wipes them off with a silent apology.

Finally, Michael slips into a dissociation as he begins to walk between the realms of living and dead. He’s done this more than a few times now for varying reasons, becoming pretty adept at finding a soul and bringing it back to the living plane. The hardest part by far is always calming his mind enough to be able to attempt this in the first place; the fact that he’s been able to achieve it in this circumstance is a small miracle. 

Now that he’s in the so-called in-between, he begins his search. Every single soul has a signature to it, so as long as he knows who he’s looking for, he usually finds the rest of this process to be pretty straightforward. Since your soul is so near and dear to him, he’s expecting this to take a couple of minutes at most.

A minute passes, then another, as he tries to track your soul down. Michael begins to grow concerned; considering you just died, he shouldn’t be having to search this hard. There’s a complete lack of you anywhere, and he begins to shake as he’s faced with the increasingly likely potential that your soul is gone. But how? Why? With a chilling clarity, he knows exactly what’s happened.

His father has become displeased. Whether he’s had enough of your and Michael’s collective disobedience over the years—Satan holds a grudge like no other, after all—or your declaration that you would never bear Michael’s child or be the perfect wife that Satan had planned for you to be. He’s had enough, and now, he’s taken this opportunity to make good on the threats he first warned Michael about during the poison apple saga. He’s made sure that you’re out of the picture for good. If Michael knows Satan, he’s probably already picked out some girl back at the Sanctuary to be wife number two, and this time, she would be the most devout, demure Satanist who would never even think of going against Satan’s will.

But Michael doesn’t want another wife. No, what he wants is to lay here on the floor and die right along with you, following you into whatever afterlife you’ve found yourself in in the hopes that he can continue to love you there. How can he ever be expected to love another person that’s not you? What kind of a life is there for him to live if you’re not here to share in it?

“Is everything okay?” Mallory asks, reminding him that there’s another person in this room, one who’s going to feel her own devastation at this news.

“I can’t find her. My father…” He chokes on his own words, unable to actually say the fate that’s befallen you. Instead, he can only cry.

Mallory picks up on the context clues, and her face drops. “So that’s it? She’s gone?”

The nod Michael gives her is the most painful movement of his life. When Mallory collapses, he also forgets the pretense of enemies and allows her to fall against him. It’s mainly for his own benefit—were he not using Mallory for support, he would be in a heap on top of you.

They remain without words for a while. Distantly, he’s aware of Zoe talking to Coco down that damned hall, the two wondering what to do now. He hopes that they come up with an answer, because he has no clue. In his opinion, there’s nowhere else to go from here. Though he may not have physically died, his life has ended along with yours in this room.

“Were you telling the truth?” Michael asks finally, making Mallory look up. “About Jeff and Mutt?”

He almost doesn’t want to know, but before he can change his mind, she nods. “All they cared about were themselves. They were fed up with minor inconveniences—having to wait for coffee, traffic woes—and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean.’ They thought that they could reshape the world to how they wanted, and they used a vulnerable Antichrist to do so. Ms. Mead changed her tune from magic to fire and blood because Jeff and Mutt were feeding her the commands.”

He so badly wants her to be lying, but even if he couldn’t sense her truthfulness, he has his own memories to rely on. How suddenly Ms. Mead suggested that world destruction was preferred to world domination (and that the two cokehead idiots would be the guys to talk to about that) had always seemed a little odd to him, but he simply went along with it, believing Ms. Mead to still be his trusted advisor. This revelation simply makes Michael cry harder until he’s almost matching Mallory’s earlier sobs. She puts her free hand on his shoulder in comfort. Though he appreciates the gesture, nothing can bring him comfort.

All of this pain and death and destruction has been for naught. Michael spent years chasing his father’s approval and doing terrible things, things that made him so sick to think about that he forced himself to compartmentalize them in order to not drown in his shame. He’s shirked friends, love, and basic morals, only to find out that his father didn’t even care if the world ended this way. No, all Satan wanted was power and sin, which he got in spades these past eighteen months. 

“How were you going to stop me?” he asks.

Mallory hesitates. “We…we were going to go back in time. There’s a spell that I found when searching through the coven’s grimoires to help with your Cordelia issue. I practiced it a few times before the bombs dropped, trying to figure out the right way to do it. Y/n was going to be both your personal tie and the one convincing you to stop the apocalypse. She had a time in place where she thought that you would be most willing to listen, to change your mind.”

It’s a smart plan, and it probably would have worked. After all, you likely know (knew, he’s reminded harshly) him better than he knows himself. As he thinks about the what-ifs, Michael realizes that this doesn’t have to be something that never happens.

“So, if you and I were to go back in time together, then we could change all of this?” Michael asks.

Mallory gapes at him. “You’re willing to give all this up?”

“What, this empty, decimated kingdom that I don’t even want?” 

In the eighteen months since the apocalypse, Michael had found that he was not suited for being a ruler—he didn’t like the pomp and circumstance, nor did he like people fawning over him. Still, he pretended to be the cold, uncaring king of this “New World,” because he thought that was what Satan wanted, that he was fulfilling the destiny that he was born to.

Now, there’s nothing left to fight for. The world didn’t even need to be ended, let alone in this way. He’s been nothing but a pawn to people his whole life—the Satanists, the warlocks, the stupid fucks that ran Kineros, even Satan himself. He’s done. Done with this stupid, useless path he’s taken, done with hurting everything and everyone, and done with bowing to the whims of anybody.

After all, what has he got to show for any of this? He’s been a good little soldier, doing unspeakably horrific acts and acting like he wasn’t affected, like he wasn’t the Michael that he was before the apocalypse. How did Satan reward him? By ensuring that he would never get back the one person in his life that he has ever truly loved, and who had ever truly loved him. 

“I can’t—I can’t live a life without Y/n. There is nothing without her. What do I need to do to help you?”

“Promise me,” she says. “Promise me that you will not use this second chance to end the world once again.”

“I just found out I ended the world for no reason, Mallory. A world that I was slowly coming to love, before Cordelia informed me that I needed to speed up the apocalypse plans I had been led to believe were created by my father. Before I was upset by people trying to convince me that blowing everything up was a bad idea.” Because of course, Satan would take credit for those plans if it meant that he would be closer to getting the complete chaos it would create. “Why would I try to end it again?”

Mallory searches his face for a moment before nodding. “I believe you.” 

She’s known him for long enough now to know his tells, and she sees none of them. Right now, he’s too much of a wreck to even consider trying to lie, not that he was planning on it.

Mallory slowly stands, but not before kissing the back of your hand and laying it gently on your chest. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers to you, kissing your forehead. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m going to make this right.”

It takes strength he didn’t know he possessed to lay you down and let go of your body. Even as he walks away, going against every instinct and leaving you on the floor, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Mallory climbs into the large washtub in the corner of the room, flicking her wrist and filling it with water. Michael follows her in, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of sitting in wet clothes.

“Think of a time that you believe it will be easiest to completely stop the apocalypse before it goes too far,” she instructs.

There are many times in the past two years that Michael can see as a good time to stop the apocalypse. First, he’s tempted to go back to the beginning of this mess, when the witches killed Ms. Mead. Plans for the end of the world hadn’t even been drawn up yet, and he would have the added benefit of having Ms. Mead back. Plus, you wouldn’t have gone through the trauma of being kidnapped and forced to be the Antichrist’s bride.

It’s incredibly selfish, but the more Michael thinks about that avenue, the less he wants to take it. While it’s unfortunate how you came to know each other, he wouldn’t trade the way that you and he fell in love with each other for anything. But on the practical side, he wouldn’t have the influence that he has over important people and organizations were he to go back that far, and he needs that if he’s going to have enough power to keep the world from ending altogether. That’s off the table, then.

He wishes that you had told Mallory of your idea before being fatally wounded, because he probably would have agreed with your assessment. If it was any time after you moved in with him, he was already so in love with you that he could easily be swayed. What makes the most sense?

Finally, Michael has it. The time where he can be most effective at changing the fate of the world and ensuring there will not be an apocalypse by his hand, can remain powerful enough to not be usurped as Antichrist (for he’s sure that Satan will be very displeased by the change of plans if he finds out about Michael changing fate), and can still have you.

He opens his eyes and nods. “I have it.”

“Okay,” Mallory says with a hopeful smile. “Focus on that as hard as you can, place us both there.”

It’s all he can think about now, but he does as she says and recreates that time in his head. The sights, the sounds, the smells. How your hand felt in his, and the brightness of your smile. The possibilities that, at that time, seemed endless. Mallory holds her hands out and Michael takes them, feeling their magic bouncing off of each other like sparks from two exposed wires.

“Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus.” Mallory repeats the chant two more times, the water bubbling around them furiously and turning darker with each word.

Michael knows even without Mallory’s instruction that he’s needed to say the last part of the spell, and what that last part is. Just before they submerge themselves under the water, their voices join together to cast the most important spell of their lives.

“Tempus Infinituum.”

•••

Endnotes: Wow. I thought this would be a particularly tough chapter to write, but as I got going, the story flowed easily. I think because I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long! My FBI agent is definitely concerned by how thoroughly I read those "what happens to a body after a person dies" articles.

ALSO the Jeff and Mutt thing is canon!

Anyways, I'm gonna go watch some cute animal videos to feel better. Take care of yourselves, alright?

@ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @nsainmoonchild @redroses07

@xo-angel-ox @littleangel4996 @iamlivingforturner @thatonehumanbeing05

@codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene

[palebluewords]

The Sanctuary

Summary: You've found yourself in the fabled Sanctuary. Now that you are in the wolf's den, what more will you discover?

Part Six of Dead Weight: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

A/N: Phew, it's been a while! I don't know if or when I'll update again, but this is a story I've been circling back to over the past couple years when I've gotten the inspiration and it means a lot to me that anyone's read it. If you've read in the past two years, thank you :)

There was a moment of silence as you took in Michael’s words. He had not only thwarted the witches again, but also isolated you from joining forces with them. Both of you were now beyond their reach. From the smirk on his face, this was the plan all along.

“You son of a bitch!” you roared, letting your control slip. In the skylight, lightning streaked across the night sky, and a bellow of thunder shook the room. Michael quickly steadied himself, relishing in your fury. “They were right there! Why did you-”

“Oh Miss Y/L/N,” he tutted. “Did you really think I would leave you behind? You’re the most valuable export from that hellhole.” Mead, overcoming her shock at her new surroundings, returned to Michael’s side.

“Michael,” she murmured. “What’s so special about Miss Y/L/N that we couldn’t kill her with the others?” Michael regarded her respectfully as he answered.

“I have my reasons, Mead. Right now, we have to prepare our newest addition to the Sanctuary for her introduction tomorrow morning.” You stumbled to your knees, aghast.

“But,” you sputtered. “What about the witches? They’re still looking for you at the Outpost-”

“You’ll forgive me if I'm in no rush to participate in their little last stand,” Michael dismissed your concerns.

“But, you wanted them dead! After everything that’s  happened-”

“They will get what’s coming to them, believe me. But right now, there’s more pressing developments to attend to, now will you please stand up?” Slowly, you rose to your feet, staring him down. Looking at him, you noticed how different he looked now that you had abandoned the harsh lighting of the Outpost. Here, the moonlight made him look ethereal, a ghost who looked through you in the last living garden in the world. You tore your gaze away, chilled.

“What do you plan to do with me?” you asked, voice low. “Because I assure you, you won’t be able to stop me from leaving here.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “Drop the theatrics. I left your friends in Outpost Three to waste, the world outside remains ash and dust and God on high still doesn’t want you. There’s nothing for you outside of this Sanctuary.”

“Then why the fuck did you bring me here?!” you spat at him.

“All in due time, but I can assure you it’s not nearly as nefarious as what you’re thinking.”

“This is cheating!” you exclaimed, causing another strike of lightning. “The Outpost…that was supposed to be where everything was settled, you knew that damn well when Cordelia was at the doorstep!” Michael laughed.

“Cheating, Miss Y/L/N, really?” Then, with the controlled force of a conductor, he swung his hand up toward the skylight, and metal paneling came out to cover it up, closing out the view of the storm you had brought on. Now the light was much dimmer, Michael all but a specter against the darkness. “Do you really expect me to play by your rules? You don’t even know what they are. As it happens, the little showdown you and Cordelia had planned for me was merely an inconvenience that I didn’t have time for. I was anxious to return home.” The last word fell out of his mouth awkwardly, tripping you up. Of all the words he could have used for this place, why go for that? 

You shook your head, your frustrations finally taking their toll. What were you even doing anymore? 

Your path has become more and more oblique, with no hope of an end to your mission on earth. Time and time you’ve sought to prove your worth, and you’ve failed. You began to cry.

Michael froze as Mead stepped back, repulsed. You hid your face in your hands, quietly sobbing. Then, with a short roar, you sounded a thunderclap that vibrated through the room. This is what you’re reduced to, wailing in the stronghold of your enemy, your hopes of joining forces with your only allies shattered. You heard Michael shuffle toward Mead before speaking.

“The door out is that way, if you see anyone, ask for Josephine and tell her I’m here.”

“Michael,” Mead prodded. “Are you alright with this one?”

A pause before his answer. “Of course I am, just get Josephine and this will all be taken care of.” Mead stayed a moment, before finally obeying her orders and quitting the room. You wiped your eyes, useless creature you were.

“Oh,” Michael’s voice taunted you. “Come now, angel. How is this going to solve your problems?”

“Damn you,” you seethed. “I was supposed to be with them! I was there to help them beat you and you ruined it.”

“If it’s any comfort,” Michael lilted. “You could never have won. Cordelia was never any match for me, why do you think she never tried to take me head on herself?” Hearing him say this made you halt your crying, having remembered all the cards in your hand.

“Not just Cordelia,” you sniffled, your voice clear and low.

“I’m sure she had all the other remains of her coven along for the ride as well,” Michael said dismissively. “But it still doesn’t matter. They’re all easy pickings to me. I would have destroyed them just as I did the rest.” You lifted your head, your eyes staring vacantly up at him. 

“Of course,” you said. “I remember.” Then, adding before Michael could ask. “I was there, you know. When you attacked Miss Robichaux’s academy. I escaped with Cordelia. I felt you there.” Another pause. You couldn’t see Michael’s face in the dark, but you could guess he was keeping his guard up as he took this in.

“You really are her friend, then,” you could picture the smirk playing on his lips. “And you kept it to yourself so well. I guess it makes sense now, I suppose I felt you too that day. I felt something...unpleasant. Of course, I didn’t realize it was you then. It’s a shame you took off, it would have been a delight to meet you in the waking world then.” You scoffed. “Alright then, who else managed to leave with you? I can’t quite remember who all I did away with that day.” This comment made your lip curl in disgust.

“Oh you know,” you said. “There was Myrtle, and Madison, who I know you’ve met. And these other two witches who were fairly newer. Coco and Mallory were their names.” You smiled at him. “One of them was going to be the next Supreme, you know. How convenient that you took off, giving her all the more time to build her powers.”

Dead silence. You couldn’t help but chuckle at what you’ve dropped on him. Serves him right for walking out on his own reckoning. He has to miss out on all the revelations that come with it. Finally, he spoke again.

“I suppose I’ve come to accept that you’re going to keep surprising me,” he said slowly. “But to think that Cordelia managed to fool me…and Coco Vanderbilt of all people-!” Was he actually…embarrassed? You were fully grinning now.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think the ruse was intentional on her part. I think Cordelia wiped their memories before the apocalypse…but yes, you had a very powerful Supreme under your nose, and now you’ve left her behind to continue to plan your downfall. Scary, isn’t it?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “And to think, you could’ve eliminated that threat this whole time, but I guess I was just too interesting, wasn’t I?”

“Angel,” Michael seethed at you. “As troubling as you want this news to be, I’m not changing course. If your witch friends still want me, let them try and find me again. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “If you really think that I’m going to just sit here-” The door to the garden reopened, letting the outside light break inside of it. In stepped Ms.Mead, trailing behind a tall and slender woman. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder, and she wore a light blue nightgown. She looked between the two of you, the sleep falling away from her eyes, confusion taking its place.

“Michael,” she whispered, a slight accent on her voice. “Is this-?”

“Josephine!” Michael greeted, immediately painting a smile on his face. “How good to see you again. This is Y/N Y/L/N of Outpost Three.” He took you by your shoulders- you flinched at his touch, but the fabric of your dress protected you from any real sting- and walked you over to them. “Our newest neighbor. Would you be so kind as to show her to one of the empty rooms? Preferably one of the ones in the west side of the facilities.”

“O-of course!” she responded, looking at you with wide eyes. Michael stopped just at her side to give his last order.

“Oh, and when you’re done: fetch de Flores and tell him we need to speak. It’s most urgent.” Josephine nodded, and he walked off. You watched him as he disappeared down the hall.

               With that, Josephine hurried you through the halls of the Sanctuary. You were equal parts impressed and disgusted by the marble walls and pillars. The bright white, in contrast to the dim yellow of the outpost, was both refreshing and blinding.

       Eventually, you were ushered into a bedroom, one of the most beautiful you'd ever seen. If not for the lack of windows, it would have been indistinguishable from a bedroom in a palace. In lieu of windows, however, were detailed paintings that looked to be of Renaissance persuasion.

    "I believe these are one of the more special rooms," Josephine remarked as she scurried out. "Congratulations. Make yourself at home." Hearing that word made the hairs of your neck stand. With that, she was gone.

      You took in the room. The fully furnished sitting area, the four-poster king bed, and the biblical painting of Adam and Eve in the wall all made you want to vomit. What a hell you've placed yourself in, and worse yet, you know you've only scratched the surface of it. You were in completely uncharted waters, and on Michael's terms.

You could not stay here. You resolved to go at that moment. Whatever was outside the Sanctuary was outside Michael’s reach also. You would rather wander the scourged earth haplessly than live under Michael’s watchful eye, waiting for the board to move again. You sat on your plush bed, and used your powers to lose an hour. You blinked once it was done, then changed out of the Purple dress. As unideal as the white nightgown laid out on your bed was, the purple dress was ten times worse for moving around. You stripped off the dress, put on the nightgown, and then put the purple jacket over it to feel less exposed. Then, you set out into the Sanctuary to find an escape.

The place seemed even more like a maze without Josephine to guide you through it. You mused that if Gabriel was here, he could use the angelic omniscience that you still lacked to chart a course out. Alas, you were still of that different, lesser make. You would have to search on foot.

A fruitless endeavor. The grand halls seemed to swallow you immediately, the bright lights teasing you around every corner. You passed the supposed ballroom what seemed to be a dozen times. You saw the ceiling in it and thought it must stretch for miles.  Painting after painting seemed to repeat so much that soon enough they started to blend together. Every time you thought you were trying a new path, you found yourself in the same godforsaken hallway outside the ballroom. Eventually, you couldn’t take the circles anymore, and walked inside, looking for any other paths to take. At the far end, you saw a set of double doors and scampered over to them. You pushed them open, and found an empty kitchen.

Empty, except for a teenage girl and small boy sat up on the counters with food in their hands. Their heads snapped toward you, the girl assuming a defensive demeanor at the sight of you. She looked you up and down, evaluating you.

“Are you the newcomer?” You steeled yourself against the door.

“Yes, I am,” you looked around, searching for an excuse for being here. “I stepped out of my room and couldn’t find my way back.” The boy looked at you impassively, neither believing nor disbelieving, he just looked right through you.

“What part are you in?” the girl asked you, still watching you closely.

“The west part?”

“Back out the large arches, take a right, you’ll find it among all the doors.” She stared at you, silently commanding you to leave. You bowed your head, desperate to get away from her cold gaze.

“Thank you,” you stumbled out of the kitchen, beelining in the direction she told you to go. Who was that?! You're stomach turned, a sensation you'd only experienced in the past because of Michael. There was something in the coldness of her gaze... Good or bad, it wasn’t natural. As you crossed the ballroom again, you saw Michael's shadow dance against the hallway walls. As you entered, you saw him walking toward you.

"Michael-" you began.

"To bed, angel," he dismissed you. "Nothing for you to do now. You should get your rest." 

“Are you doing this?” You asked. “With the hallways? I’ve never been lost like this.”

“Could be the sleep deprivation,” but as he smirked, you knew your true answer. “Goodnight, now.” And with that, he turned and walked away from you. Without thinking, you spat at his back as he walked by you. He only chuckled. "Yes, better get some sleep." You watched him disappear around a corner and huffed. You knew how to go nowhere but back in the direction of your room. A bird in its gilded cage. Very well. To bed, then.

You enchanted your door behind you and fell asleep in your comically large bed. You dreamt of the garden and the stars you hadn’t seen in so long.

---

The next morning, you awoke to a gentle knock on your door. You knew immediately that whoever it was, it wasn’t Michael. Nausea induced by his presence aside, he would have had a much grander way of making himself known. Adjusting your nightgown, you opened the door to Josephine.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she greeted curtly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Josephine, how can I help you-”

“Mr. Langdon wanted to ensure that you didn’t miss breakfast,” she interrupted. “He was very adamant that you meet some of the others.”

“Others,” you repeated. “How many other people are living here?”

“On this level or in the whole Sanctuary?” She took your stunned look as answer enough. “Throughout the complex are two-thousand people. Mr. Langdon has appointed leaders to multiple units of the Sanctuary to oversee their goings-ons. Beyond the facilities we have multiple radiation-controlled cities in-progress  that we are using to rehabilitate those out there who survived the nuclear blast. Those are currently at six-thousand, with more arriving every day. In our unit, the Eden unit, we have two-hundred. Mr. Langdon oversees this unit.”

“That’s…quite an operation.”

“Mr. Langdon is a dedicated man,” she shrugged. “Will you join us?” You thought for a moment. So far, everyone you’ve met seems oblivious to who Michael is, or at the very least accepting of it. You had to wonder what Michael’s aim is to pack this place full of seemingly harmless people. What did he want with them?

“I will,” you answered. “Just give me a moment to get ready.” You closed the door. After freshening yourself, you searched the wardrobe of the room.

You would only be a little embarrassed to admit to the sigh of relief you breathed when you saw a selection of clothes beyond the Victorian era and the purple monochrome. The clothes here were normal. The range was casual to formal and modern day to items that couldn’t be associated with fashions earlier than the 1960s. Whatever Michael was up to here, it at least wasn’t playing period dress up with human dolls. You wondered if it was so he could stand out more, with his bold makeup and clothing. A wolf among the sheep.

You settled on a flowing white top and a pair of flared- would you believe it- jeans. You reopened the door to Josephine, finally taking to note her own beige maxi skirt and brown sweater. Almost like being in the real world again. “Ready.”

Some of the hallways Josephine took you down were all too familiar from your accursed walk the night before. You felt yourself tense as you remembered how Michael’s magics had disoriented you. Today, you could make out the twists of the halls perfectly, assuring you he had let his little hexes fade. The halls also didn’t hold the same foreboding energies as before. Along the ceilings so you could see little skylights letting sunlight in. None of them were so grand as the one in the garden, but you relished in seeing the blue of the morning sky again.

Finally, Josephine brought you to a large set of doors. “I hope you’re awake by now,” she muttered, as she lifted the giant knockers and slammed them three times before opening them. “Look sharp.” Your eyes widened at the site.

A sea of two-hundred faces, all sat at long feast tables, all turned to look at you. Stupefied, you looked around. You saw a litany of groups and families and couples sat together, looking at you as the strange new outsider. What kind of place was this? At the back of the room, you could make out the outline of Michael’s form, sitting at a head table, with Mead’s dark figure sat at his side. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and you could see he was wearing a plain, white shirt with billowing sleeves. A far cry from the Outpost regalia. You could tell he was looking at you, and you just knew he was smiling. After a moment, he rose.

“My friends in Eden,” he boomed. “As you all know I have been on an expedition to our smaller outposts to rescue the survivors housed there. It was to my dismay that I found them all overrun and destroyed.” Hearing this, you remember the smile on his face when he had told your fellow survivors at Outpost Three the same news. “But I found hope in my last stop, one person who could live with us in our Sanctuary and join us in rebuilding the earth. An exceptional and compassionate young woman whose heart, like all of ours, longs for the world before the nuclear winter, a most excellent addition to our mission. Let us all welcome our newcomer, the lone survivor of Outpost Three, and all other outposts, Miss Y/N Y/L/N!” With this, you were enveloped in thunderous applause.

“Lone survivor?” you asked Josephine.

“What else would you call it?” she asked you. “Come, he wants you at the front table.” With that, she led you across the sea of well-wishers, all smiling kindly at you. Michael stared at you the whole way. It felt like an eternity before you were finally standing before him, feeling like an animal being sold to the slaughterhouse.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Michael greeted you. “I’m so glad you could join us.” Your eyes grazed over the rest of the table. From the right of him, you could see Josephine going to take a seat, as well as a little girl next to them, beaming at you. To his left, you saw two empty seats,  next to them a woman dressed in bright greens and yellows, and a large man dressed in a simple plaid shirt. Meanwhile, Mead stood behind Michael’s chair, not even bothering to pretend to eat.

“I didn’t know that I could refuse,” you said. At this, the unnamed man chuckled, and the brightly dressed woman smiled at you.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint us with your wit,” Michael continued, unfazed. “Do come and sit, your food is coming soon.” A moment passed, and you realized that he meant for you to sit next to him.

“I don’t know that I’m hungry,” you told him.

“But of course,” he said with complete ease.. “How could you ever find your appetite after those cubes in the outpost? But this food is real, I must insist you indulge yourself.” Seeing there was no tactical way to make him relent, you climbed the platform step and sat yourself next to him. Your companions to your right were quick to introduce themselves to you.

“Glad to have you,” grunted the man in plaid. “The name is Roger Richards. I’m the unit planner for the Sanctuary. I design the infrastructure.” You inclined your head.

“So you designed these skylights?” you asked. He nodded. “They’re wonderful.” His eyes glittered with pride.

“They’re actually pretty basic in design,” he said. “I just thought that these people would need some sunlight.”

“Roger loves to be modest,” tittered the woman next to him. “I’m Phoebe, I’m the overseer of agriculture. I heard from Langdon you tried one of our apples already?” Your stomach crawled at the memory of the poison coursing through you. You forced on a weak smile.

“Oh yes,” you said. “It was such a relief to have a taste of the world before.”

“Well,” she smiled. “Then you will like the Sanctuary.” At this, you couldn’t force yourself to agree. So you smiled again, and pretended to turn your focus to the food you had no stomach for. Your gaze kept flicking to Michael next to you, happily digging into his breakfast. You wanted to smack the cutlery out of his hands.

“Josephine is Head of Operations,” he said without looking at you. “She sees all of the in-between and nitty gritty of the Sanctuary. She also oversees the nursery.”

“Who’s the little one?” You asked him, stomach churning while looking at the painfully oblivious little girl.

“Rebecca, she’s a rescue. Are you going to eat?”

“I told you,” you said. “I’m not hungry. What do you mean ‘rescue’?”

“She’s a survivor from the nuclear wastelands,” he told you. “An orphan from the fallout. Now she sits as a symbol of hope for us all. Isn’t that inspiring?”

“Hope,” you repeated, too tired to laugh at the suggestion. “Just what kind of a sick game are you playing with these people?”

“All in due time, Miss Y/L/N,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to spoil it too early.” Then his gaze flitted to a man approaching the table, dressed in black robes. Your heart leapt a moment, mistaking it for Satanic attire. Once your panic subsided, you looked closer and realized with dread that rather than the anarchic black and red of the Satanists, this man donned a familiar vestment of black and white… he couldn’t be…

“Ah,” Michael smiled. “Father de Flores, good morning.” You looked at Michael in shock. “This is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Of course,” said de Flores. “It is my pleasure to meet you at last.” You opened your mouth to speak, to scream, anything to warn this man of the demon in his midst. Michael clamped his hand on your shoulder, purposefully grazing a finger over some exposed skin on the nape of your neck. The sting of his touch was enough to shut you up. You could only nod as the man took his seat next to you.

Michael removed his hand, and you watched as he flexed his fingers in pain. A moment invisible to all but you. He lifted his eyes to meet your accusing gaze.

“Oh angel,” he whispered the nickname for only you to hear, before speaking again at full volume. “You really must see the chapel that Richards designed. It is truly something to behold.”

[calummss]

Tate Langdon 1920s boyfriend headcanon

masterlist

a/n: he’s a little more submissive? or like the tiniest amount of ooc but like tbh i think it’s really believable. anyway not proof read!! it’s late at night and i have an exam tomorrow

he would be head over heals for you like literally

y’all remember bugs bunny getting heart eyes over lola??? yeah that’s him

buys you different flowers for every day of the week

his hand is always around your waist

always placing a kiss somewhere on your face even when others thinks it’s too much pda—he doesn’t care

he thinks you look amazing every day but on parties it’s like he falls in love over again

he’s such a puppy so so loyal too you

‘tate, you coming on friday to the bar?’

‘i’ll ask my wife and get back to you.’

they all just stare at him but he‘s looking at you in a crowd with a smile

or him dancing with you when most women aren’t bc they’re boyfriends/hisbands think dancing is overrated…

carrying your gloves and hat aswell as bag!!!

i literally fell to my knees

when you get bored you two find a bathroom and he drags his tongue up your chest looking at you with those big hazel doe eyes,, loving that he pleases you

lights your cigarette!!

holds his hand over your head when you get in and out of the car

the classic 1920s couple run through the rain holding your bag and newspaper over your head as you try to escape the sky

my favourite scenario; sitting on his lap. his hand stroking your thighs as you take a drag from your cigarette letting him inhale from yours as he stares at you, your smoke entangling in the thick air of a jazz club

and finally, surprising him with a flapper dance choreography at your go to club. he cannot take his eyes off you and has men telling him how lucky he is

trust me…after that little dance your dress is gonna end up on the floor as soon as you two are alone

he worships you like a god, taking good care of every part of you making you realise how lucky you are to have him

[rottenimagines]

SCARS

Summary: What is the part of you that humiliates you the most?

(Little disclaimer: English is not my native language, but I try my best, I promise x.)  

‘‘Take off your dress.’’

‘‘ ...what?!’’

‘‘You won’t get a second chance, Y/N.’’

‘‘Please…’’ you beg as a powerful wave of terrible memories arises in your mind, making you feel sick.

                                       (Take off all of your clothes)

‘‘Part of your cooperation includes a physical examination,’’ Mr. Langdon says and you nod in response immediately, too scared to go against him on this.

He stands behind you and unzips the back of your gray dress, slowly. You just close your eyes wishing the earth would swallow you. The dress falls to the floor leaving you just in your underwear. 

There are scratches and deep scars all over your back. Mr. Langdon runs his fingers through your injured skin.

 ‘‘Who?’’ he asks, hoarsely.

‘‘My stepfather.’’

He hesitates for a few seconds before speaking again.

 ‘‘And... did he get what his deserved?’’

‘‘I set him on fire with the same alcohol he spilled out in his sleep,’’ you spit with pure hatred in your voice.

‘‘Good’’, he says behind you. 

.....

...

‘‘... Have I passed the test, Mr. Langdon? C-can I put my dress back on?’’

He stands in front of you with a creepy smirk drawns in his face.

 ‘‘You’ve been a survivor all your life, why would it be different now?’’

‘‘Thank you.’’

[innocent-writers-soul]

Tate Langdon x Fem!Reader (smut)

summary: you pass by the room where the noises come from and decide to look in to see what is happening there and a strange picture opens in front of you;

warnings: male masturbation, dirty talk, cumming, voyeurism, exhibitionism (?), mention of blood and aggression; not proofread (i apologize if i forgot smth)

word count: 839

You look at Tate and think he's cheeky. He is out of control; he has no brakes or they work too late. And sometimes you can predict what will happen in the end, but there are moments, the consequences of which even for you remain a mystery, for example, like now. You look through the gap in the door and see Tate lying back down on the floor, blood dripping from his nose, he does not stop smiling and laughing maliciously, not even defending himself from attacks. His T-shirt is pulled up, revealing snow-white skin and a slightly embossed body, and you fleetingly understand that you are more similar to him than you could imagine. The only difference is that dark feelings have been born in the depths of your soul and almost always remained there, while Tate has a lot on display — he is not ashamed of himself most of the time, not ashamed of his gloomy and vulgar side. And it even fascinated you to some extent. Delighted, but sometimes frightened, because it was rarely possible to understand what was in his head. And considering the fact that you were still not particularly close and familiar with him, the atmosphere around him was still dangerous, but, nonetheless, exciting.

You quickly look at Patrick, who is standing at a distance from the door, half a turn, with his back to you for the most part, but in such a way that you can watch him clenching his fists in fury, his face twists in aggression, but then he completely freezes with mixed emotions in his eyes. You don't understand what's wrong, but when you return to Tate, your breath hitches.

“Admit it, you haven’t felt such a strong dick for a long time while imprisoned in a house with Chad,” the guy unzippes his fly and begins to stroke himself through the fabric, deliberately sobbing and sighing loudly, “but I have something that might interest you…” Long fingers take out an impressive arousal, the veins on which are already beginning to show — it is difficult to match the childish face of Tate with it — and move up and down at an increasing pace; lube collects under his moving palm, the sounds of squelching spread in the room where there is no furniture yet, and his ragged breathing is the second thing that echoes along the walls. A bright, lively, playful and mischievous smile does not stop leaving his face, his tongue constantly licks dry and cracked lips, he jerks off, looking into Patrick's eyes, but your heart stops beating completely at the moment when he looks at you outside the door, strengthening grip on the length, narrowing his eyes. “And maybe not only you,” he tosses his hips up in reverse motion, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and rolling down his temple, blood continues to drip onto his T-shirt, but he doesn't care much. However, as well as you and Patrick. You forcefully squeeze the wood at hand, incomprehensible feelings arise inside you, you panic, the phrase “YOU ARE DISCOVERED” lights up in large red letters in your head, while Tate approaches his peak, biting lower lip, closing eyes a little in bliss, arching, but keeping an eye on you. You can’t tear yourself away from the view, it’s too captivating and beautiful, you think that your hand would look good on Tate’s place, but you quickly turn these thoughts away, feeling the uncontrollable atmosphere and your own arousal. You clenches your legs, feeling a throb between them, a tingling warmth beginning to spread in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but continue to watch and tremble from overwhelming feelings. Your other hand reaches down to calm your admiration at least a little, but when you see that Tate notices this, tilting his head to the side a little, still watching with interest, you fast move it away. This is new for you, because you have never felt anything like this before, especially since you have not peeped at a jerking guy, but everything happens for the first time. Tate meanwhile comes to his senses, his curly tangled hair in even more disarray than usual, he sighs languidly, licking the cum from his palm revealingly, slowly putting two fingers into his mouth, not taking his eyes off you and still grinning.

You let out a barely audible breath, legs do not obey you, but you harshly go away, unable to endure the scene in front of you, of Tate himself, heading to your room at a fast speed, forgetting your (un)secret hiding place and hearing that Patrick has apparently recovered from his daze, beating Tate again. Your face is burning and reddening more and more every second, hands are freezing, heart is beating so fast and you cannot calm it down. You still have no idea what will come out of this situation, but something inside tells that Tate will come to you tonight, not letting you forget what you saw during the day.

a/n: english is not my first language but i tried my best, as always. before that i had been writing in my own for many years and now decided to improve english. in a very interesting direction, i need to say. hope you enjoyed! :)

[storiesforallfandoms]

late night sins ~ xavier plympton;ahs 1984

word count: 5360 (the longest fic i’ve ever written!!)

request?: yes!

“Can you do a xavier plympton smut/ fluff where theres an poc reader and basically they meet at camp redwood and xavier basically flirts with the reader alot an the readers a virgin and she has like this gold cross pendant soo his friends kinda pick with the reader about her being the only virgin out of the group, and basically xavier sneaks in the girl cabin on a late night while everyone is sleeping wakes up the poc reader and takes her virginity under the covers but she has to be quiet to not alert the other camp counselors in the female cabin…”

description: in which the good christian girl decides to delve into sin after she meets her fellow hot camp counsellor

pairing: xavier plympton x poc!female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (oral; f receiving, unprotected p in v, pull out method is used but fr wrap it before you tap it kids)

masterlist (one, two, three)

The minute she stepped out of her car, she knew she was going to stick out like a sore thumb. She could see the other camp counsellors gathered around by the entrance. They were all wearing skintight, revealing clothes. One girl with messy blonde hair was passing a joint to one of the boys stood next to her. An older looking man was stood with them wearing pants so tight she could make out the outline of his...downstairs area.

The gold cross hung around her neck felt like it was burning into her skin.

She swallowed her fear and forced herself towards the others. The crunching of dirt under her tennis shoes felt like a thundering stomp as the attention was pulled towards her. The blonde looked her up and down as she blew smoke from the corner of her mouth. “Who invited the Virgin Mary?”

Two of her friends snickered while the other two - a black haired girl and a tall boy with sandy blonde hair - shuffled awkwardly at the joke. Well, the girl was awkward. The boy was silent, but he was looking at her with a look in his eye she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m, um, (Y/N),” she said, ignoring the hurtful comment. “I’m a counsellor this summer, too.”

“I guess Margaret needed someone to try and keep her goodie two shows rules in place,” the blonde said. “I’m Montana. This is Brooke, Trevor, Chet, Ray, and Xavier.”

“It’s n-nice to m-meet you,” (Y/N) said.

Trevor, the man with the tight pants and a big bulge, chuckled. “Well, isn’t she adorable. Where did Margaret find you?”

“Leave her alone,” Brooke said. “It’s nice to meet you too, (Y/N). Here, let me take you to Margaret. She’ll be able to get you acquainted here.”

Xavier watched as Brooke guided (Y/N) towards Margaret's office. Unlike the other girls, including good girl Brooke, she was completely covered in baggy clothes despite the intense heat of the summer. Which, he knew he shouldn’t have found attractive, but he did. He was so taken by her after such a short interaction.

Montana elbowed Xavier to snap him out of his train of thought. “Do not tell me you’re eyeing up the Bible humper.”

“Fuck off. I think she’s cute,” Xavier retorted, taking the joint from Ray.

“Never gonna happen, man,” Ray told him. “You’ll be lucky if you see her ankles this summer.”

“Or maybe not,” Chet added. “Most of those Christian girls are freaks. She’ll be on her knees by nightfall I’d say.”

Xavier threw the lit joint at Chet. The four remaining counsellors made noises of disapproval as the joint fizzled out on the ground. Xavier ignored them as he walked away. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he needed to get away from his shitty friends. Sure, at one point Xavier would’ve been laughing along with them at the Christian girl’s expensive, but this Christian girl was different. To him she was, anyways.

He found himself headed towards the counsellor’s quarters, which happened to be on the way past Margaret’s office. He glanced over towards the open door as he passed and noticed (Y/N) stood with Margaret. As if feeling his gaze, (Y/N) looked over and locked eyes with him. He smiled at her, hoping it looked as friendly as he meant it to. She smiled back, shyly, and quickly looked away.

That was all he needed to be wrapped around her fingers.

~~~~~~

That night, all the counsellors were gathered in the female counsellor’s cabin. It was majorly against Margaret’s rules, but that’s why they were doing it. If they were going to be forced into being Margaret’s anti-fun police for the summer, they wanted to have one last night of debauchery. That included weed, alcohol, and, if they could get away with it, sex.

When (Y/N) walked through the door, they were already well into their night of fun. Everyone turned to look at her as she took in the scene with wide eyes. She was coming from the showers, as evident by her dripping wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and a white tank top that was so thin that it was easy to make out the outline of her brown breasts against the white fabric. Xavier had to shuffle a pillow over his growing boner.

“The Virgin Mary shows skin,” Montana commented. “How scandalous.”

“What are you guys doing?” she asked.

“We’re trying to have some fun,” Montana responded. “Which won’t happen if your goodie two shoes ass goes to tell Margaret on us.”

“I won’t tell.” All eyes followed her towards her bed, the one that Xavier was sat on. She put her dirty clothes into the bag and sat next to him. “Pass me a beer.”

Her request shocked everyone. Ray grabbed a bottle from the cooler and passed it to (Y/N). “You drink beer?”

“Well...no. But I’ve drank the wine at church, so I figure that’s the same thing.”

“There’s wine in church?” Trevor asked.

(Y/N) nodded. “Communal wine. It’s supposed to be the blood of Christ.”

“You Bible humpers drink blood?” Ray asked. “You guys really are freaks!”

“No, it’s not - ” Xavier cut her off by putting a hand on her arm and shaking his head.

She sighed and opened the beer bottle. Her heart was hammering against her chest. What would her parents think if they found out she was drinking at camp? What would her pastor say? They had all been convinced that the camp was going to be a place of sin and tried to convince her not to go.

But she had spent her entire life being a good Christian girl. She followed everything her parents and priests had told her from the day she was born. This was the first time she had ever made a decision for herself. She was a young adult now. If she wanted to drink, then she could drink.

There’s always the option to pray for forgiveness once the summer ends, she reminded herself.

She brought the bottle to her lips and took a big mouthful. When she swallowed the thick liquid, she cringed and began to gag. Her fellow counsellors laughed at her reaction.

“Definitely not like wine,” she croaked.

“Here.” Brooke passed her some water. “I’ll make the beer go down easier, and it’ll wipe the taste from your mouth.”

(Y/N) accepted the water gratefully and took a sip.

The small mouthfuls of beer started working very quickly on her. By the time she had finished her first bottle of beer, (Y/N) was already feeling warm and fuzzy. She felt her body lull to the side against Xavier, who welcomed her with an arm around her shoulder, adding his bodily warmth to hers.

“Hey now, Virgin Mary, leave room for Jesus there,” Montana mocked.

“Shut the fuck up, Montana,” she retorted.

The curse was new on her tongue, but it tasted delicious as it spilled from her lips. Everyone seemed shocked and impressed by her choice of words, and she was shocked herself, but she was starting to like the feeling she was getting. Not just from the beer, but also from throwing caution to the wind and doing what most people her age did. Sure, she would likely feel some sort of guilt over the coming days about this night, but for now she felt like she was floating on cloud nine.

“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” Brooke asked her. “The drinking and cursing, I mean.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Never. My parents say cursing sounds unladylike, and binge drinking is kind of viewed as a sin, especially when you’re underaged.”

“Religion sounds boring,” Chet said.

“It is,” (Y/N) admitted, shocked by the fact that she really did believe that. Her whole life she had been a devout Christian, never once questioning her faith, but no one could deny how strict her Christian parents were, or how intolerant some of her devout family members and neighbors were. She had never been around people like the other counsellors before. She never knew what kind of life she could possibly have outside of her religion.

“Are you even allowed to have boyfriends?” Montana asked. “Is that a sin, too?”

“Having a boyfriend isn’t a sin, but it is awkward to try and have any form of PDA in front of parents or other adults,” (Y/N) said. “Even holding hands is awkward.”

“So have you ever been kissed?” Brooke asked.

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah, a couple times. It was very awkward, but so are most first kisses.”

“Have you ever had sex?” Montana asked. Suddenly, (Y/N) became shy again, which caused Montana to grin wickedly. “You haven’t, have you? You’re still a virgin!”

(Y/N) shrunk back against Xavier, who held her protectively towards him. “Knock it off, Montana.”

“What? I’m just stating a fact, and the fact is she’s a virgin. Poor thing will probably never know how good it feels to have a big dick all up inside of her.”

(Y/N)’s thighs clenched together at Montana’s words. Of course she had thought about sex before. She was in her early 20s, she had gone through the crazy hormonal stages of puberty where sex was the one thing on every teenager’s mind. But she never got to explore those urges. She had been taught her entire life that sex before marriage was the ultimate sin, and that if she tried to...relieve herself, so to speak, that she would also be condemned to Hell. But, boy, did she ever think of how badly she wanted someone to finally deflower her, if not just to make the sinful thoughts go away.

Her squirming definitely did not go unnoticed by Xavier, but he didn’t bring any attention to it. The last thing he wanted was for Montana to have more reasons to mock (Y/N).

“I wanna have sex,” she said in a soft voice. “But I want to be sure of it. I want it to be with someone I’m sure of.”

Xavier wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but he could’ve swore he saw her eyes flicker towards him when she said the last part.

No, there’s no way, he thought. We’ve barely had a conversation together, stop thinking so highly of yourself.

But...but what if she did?

He glanced down at her again, but her attention was drawn to whatever one of the others were saying.

Maybe I could figure this out later on tonight when everyone is gone, he thought, and the idea made him smirk to himself.

~~~~~~

The male counsellors went back to their own cabin once the night had come to an end. Xavier laid in his bed, starring at the ceiling as he waited to make sure everyone was asleep. Once the cabin was filled with soft breathing and snoring, he quickly got up and pulled on his shoes. He opened the rickety door as silently as he could, stopping to cringe when it let out a squeak anyways. When none of the others stirred, he continued on his mission.

All the girls were also sound asleep. Their cabin was nearly pitch black, with just some rays of white light shining in from the full moon.

(Y/N) was laying on her side, her hands tucked under her face as she breathed softly. Xavier couldn’t help but smile at her as he made his way towards her bed. She looked so beautiful and peaceful. Like an angel, for a lack of better words.

He knelt down next to her bed and lightly shook her. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up. Xavier looked over his shoulder to make sure that Brooke and Montana were definitely asleep before shaking (Y/N) a little harder. She mumbled something incoherent before her eyes slowly blinked open. When she looked at Xavier, she let out a gasp and he quickly covered her mouth to stop her from making any other noises.

“Shh!” he said. “It’s just me.”

“What are you doing here?!” she whispered. “If you get caught you’ll be in big trouble!”

“No one is going to catch me. Margaret has been dead asleep since before we had our little party,” Xavier said, a cocky grin on his face. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“It couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No, because my response to the answer might need the cover of nightfall.” She looked at him in confusion, so he continued, “Earlier, when you were talking about losing your virginity to someone you’re sure of, did you look at me?”

She stared at him blankly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Xavier, this can wait until morning.”

She went to roll over with her back to him, but he quickly took hold of her arms and stopped her from moving.

“I’m serious, (Y/N), I need to know,” he said. “Because if you genuinely meant that, I might have to take you up on that offer.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why? So you can brag to the others about taking the Christian girl’s virginity? I don’t think so.”

He pulled away from her, hurt by her accusation, but then realized that it was a very valid point. They barley knew each other and here he was, coming to her in the middle of the night because he thought she had inferred wanting to sleep with him. Even if he didn’t have the ill intentions that she thought he did, he clearly did not have any pure ones either.

“It’s not that at all,” he said. “I swear to you, (Y/N). I just...I’ve been very infatuated with you since we first met earlier, and that’s very unlike me because we’ve hardly talked to one another. But it’s the truth, I swear. I’m not just trying to get into your pants.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back to look up at Xavier. Her face was unreadable, which was just making things worse. He wished she would say something, anything. Even if she just told him to fuck off, with that beautiful, innocent mouth of hers.

Okay, maybe she shouldn’t say that.

She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows. “Okay, yes I did look at you when I said that, because I would be okay with losing my virginity to you, Xavier.”

With the words officially out of her mouth, Xavier couldn’t help but pounce on her. He pressed his lips against hers, stopping whatever else was about to be sad. He got up onto the bed and positioned himself so that he was straddling her still covered body. He kissed her intensely and passionately, but not so much as to rush her or make her feel uncomfortable.

She settled into the kiss very quickly. It wasn’t the first time she had made out with someone. Again, she had been a teenager with wild hormones once. Just because she hadn’t gone all the way with anyone didn’t mean that she hadn’t at least got to second base a couple of times. Of course, she felt guilty afterwards because of her upbringing, but it always felt good in the moment. And, in this moment, it felt especially good to be kissing Xavier’s soft, plump lips like this.

But when she heard the sound of one of the girls rolling over in their beds, she quickly put a hand against his chest and pushed him back. “We can’t do this here. What if they wake up?”

“It’s so dark, they wouldn’t even know,” Xavier said. “And we’ll be quiet. Well, I will be anyways. I don’t know about you.”

She wanted to glare at him, but he quickly ducked his head down to start kissing her neck. She bit her lip to stop a moan from erupting from her mouth as she felt a tingling sensation between her legs.

She couldn’t lie, the thought of losing her virginity in her camp counsellor bunk while her other camp counsellors slept did sound very risky and naughty. It also sounded very cliché, which was what she wanted. If she was going to be giving into sin this summer, she may as well do it in the most cliché way possible.

Xavier slipped under the covers with her and continued to kiss down her body. He kissed around the exposed areas of her neck and chest, not wanting to push too far just yet by trying to get under her shirt. Even though he was trying to get into her pants, he still wanted to be a gentleman about it.

(Y/N) looked down at him as he disappeared under the blankets. She was confused at first. If he was planning to take her virginity, shouldn’t he be up here with her? Wasn’t that how sex worked?

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I want to make sure you’re ready before we get into it,” he responded. “I want to make you feel good first. Can I take these shorts off?”

She nodded, but then realized he couldn’t see her and said, “Yes.”

He curled his fingers around the waistband of her pants and pulled them, and her panties, down in one swift movement. She raised her hips so he could pull them down as far as her ankles. Despite the blankets still covering her lower half, she felt very naked. Even if no one else could see her if they happened to look over, she knew that Xavier could see her. And right now, he was very, very close to her.

She gasped and quickly clapped a hand over her mouth when she felt something wet against her core. “What was that?!”

“My tongue.”

(Y/N) quickly covered her mouth when she felt it against her again. She had never heard of this form of sexual intimacy before. When she was in high school, her mom had warned her about all of the “impure ways” boys would try to use her, which included them wanting to stick their penises in her mouth, but no one had ever mentioned a guy doing the same thing to her. It felt dirty, but also it felt so good.

She muffled her moans with both hands as Xavier continued to lick from her clit down to her tight, untouched hole. A wetness began pooling between her legs that he lapped up as if it were the first drink of water he had in weeks. Her body shuddered with pleasure every time his tongue connected with her. It was better than she ever could’ve imagined, and that just made her even more excited for the actual sex.

Something began to build in her stomach. A feeling she had never felt before. It felt like someone was inside of her, pushing something down from her stomach to get it out of her. She tried to tap Xavier to tell him, but she was afraid to lift her hand from her mouth in case she made a loud noise and woke the others.

“I can feel that you’re tightening up,” he said. “That means you’re getting close. Lean into it, beautiful. Let it happen. Cum all over my mouth.”

It was enough to send her toppling over the edge. She pressed her hands against her mouth as hard as she could as a scream of pleasure ripped from her lips. Xavier’s fingertips dug into her hips as he held her to him, taking in every bit of her juices that he could. He knew it was her first time having an orgasm, but he didn’t expect for her to become so wet and to finish so quickly just from his tongue. His dick twitched with excitement at the thought of being inside of her.

With one last kiss to her clit, Xavier began kissing up her stomach, lifting her shirt slightly as he left messy, wet marks over her belly, her chest, her neck, and finally getting to her face. Through the white moonlight, (Y/N) could see a glisten on his mouth and chin. Between her legs throbbed as she realized that was her slick on him.

He gently moved his hands away from her mouth so he could kiss her. The taste of his lips were much different, and she knew that was because that was the taste of her on him. It was all just so hot that she almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. She was sure she was dreaming it all, that she’d wake up in this bed alone and unsatisfied.

Xavier reached under the covers to start pulling down his own pants, but hesitated a moment. He pulled away from the kiss, (Y/N) trying to follow him with her own lips.

“Wait,” he said. “Before we go all the way, I have to check in one last time. Are you okay with this, (Y/N)?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please Xavier. Please.”

“Okay, but if you want to stop at all you tell me, okay? I know I just warmed you up, but it is going to hurt at first either way. If it’s too much, we stop. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

He sat up and pulled his pants down around his knees. His dick sprang free from its confides, standing painfully at attention in the moonlight. (Y/N) looked at it with wide eyes. She wasn’t sure what to expect from the first penis she’d see, but it was certainly a big one. She wondered how it would even fit inside of her.

Xavier placed his hands under her thighs and pulled them up so they were wrapped around his hips. The ran the head of his dick through the slick that was still left over from him having been between her legs. She whimpered at the feeling, quickly putting a hand over her mouth again. Both of them glanced over to make sure Brooke and Montana were still peacefully sleeping.

“I’m going to put it in now,” Xavier told her. “I’ll do it very slowly, okay?”

She nodded. He thrust his hips forwards a little, pushing just the tip of his cock into her. He hissed at the tight feeling around his already sensitive tip. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever last when she was already gripping him so tightly and he barely had the head of his dick inside of her.

(Y/N) gasped into her hand at the feeling. Xavier pushed until his head was completely inside of her, stretching her out. The stretch was definitely a painful, burning feeling. It was like her body knew he wasn’t supposed to be in there and wanted him out, but she wanted him in there. She had fantasized about this since the first time she had ever laid her eyes on Xavier - a time she knew he had definitely forgotten.

He lick his thumb and lowered it between them, pressing it against her clit and gently rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves. (Y/N) whimpered at the gesture.

“This should help make it feel better,” he told her. “Just until I can get all the way inside of you, okay?”

She nodded again. At this point, talking was definitely not happening. Any noise that were to come out of her mouth would just be a moan or a whimper of pleasure, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep the volume down without her hands over her mouth.

Xavier continued to push inside of her while gently rubbing circles into her clit. He looked between them and watched as his dick disappeared into her. His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, trying to stop any sounds that might come out unintentionally. It felt so good inside of her that he already did not want the this to end. He just wanted to stay inside of her forever, feel her warm walls gripping around him, look at her beautiful face as it contorted in pure ecstasy.

When he was buried all the way inside of her, he leaned down and took her hand from her mouth so he could kiss her. He continued to rub her clit, but he kept himself deep inside of her so she could get used to his size. She moaned into the kiss, her body inadvertently jerking from the pleasure she was feeling. The motion caused Xavier’s hips to move forward to fill her again. It was just a slight movement, but it was enough that it drove Xavier wild.

“Do that again,” she whispered against his lips.

“What?”

“The way you moved your hips. Do it again, please. It felt really good.”

He smiled down at her and gently grinded his hips against hers. Her mouth hung open, but no sounds were coming now. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and that was all Xavier needed to tell him he was doing a good job.

He took his hand from between her legs so he could fully press himself against her. He captured her lips with his again and continued to gently thrust into her. The slow sensation was enough to make his orgasm build at a quicker rate than he would’ve liked, but he knew he wasn’t going to finish until she did. He wanted to feel her cum around him at least once before he would let himself finish.

Luckily, he could feel that familiar tightening feeling; where her walls started grasping at him tighter than before and he could feel her stomach tensing beneath him.

“Remember what I said earlier,” he whispered. “Just let it happen. Let me feel you cum all over this dick.”

She nodded, soft whimpers coming from her mouth. It wasn’t too long afterwards that he felt her clenching around him so tightly that he was sure she was going to rip his dick off just with her pussy. He kissed her hard, muffling her cries of pleasure. His hips were stilled as he let her ride out her climax, knowing that if he were to move anymore he’d definitely cum, too, and he wasn’t going to cum inside of her. That was too dangerous. He didn’t want to be responsible for any sort of backlash from her parents once she got home from camp, even if that ship had already sailed.

When the feeling of her quivering became too much, Xavier quickly pulled out of her and sat up on his knees again. He pushed her tank top up just enough to expose her belly and the underside of her boobs. It only took a few pumps of his hand, slick from her juices over his dick, before he was exploding over her stomach. He threw his head back, letting out a quiet groan.

They both were still, panting to catch their breaths. Xavier looked down at (Y/N), now covered in his seat, and he felt his dick twitch again. If he could take a picture of this moment, he would. And he would’ve stuck it in his wallet so he could look at it all the damn time.

He reached for her discarded towel from earlier that night and wiped her off. She hissed when he wiped between her legs, and he mumbled as soft, “Sorry.”

They both pulled their pants back up and got themselves straightened away before Xavier laid down next to her. He figured he could spare a few moments just to cuddle up close to her before he would have to run back to his cabin and his bed to try and get some sleep. (Y/N) rolled into his chest, taking in his warmth and the scent of him that was quickly becoming her favorite scent; the smell of his hair paste and the sweet cologne he wore. She wished she could combine them together into a perfume that she would wear for the rest of her life.

It was silent for some time except for the soft breathing of her bunkmates and the occasional snore that came from Brooke. Once her head had finally stopped feeling lightheaded, (Y/N) decided it was time to confess to Xavier.

“I’ve seen you before, you know.”

He moved so he could look down at her. “What?”

“I was in one of your aerobics classes,” she said. “Not very long ago, maybe a few months ago? One of my friends signed us up because she heard it was a good way to stay in shape.”

“I...I feel so bad to say that I don’t...remember,” Xavier said. He was sure he would’ve remembered seeing this beautiful specimen in one of his classes. He saw so many faces every day, but he always remembered the prettiest ones, and (Y/N) was definitely a face to remember.

“I wasn’t in it long enough to be remembered,” she admitted. “We walked in, and I saw you and...well...I started feeling...impure things when I saw you in your tight suit doing all those hip movements and stuff. You were in the middle of another class so we had to wait. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to start our class because my friend’s parents walked in to bring her something she had forgotten and saw the way everyone was dressed and how they were all moving. They were appalled. They dragged us out and brought us home. Told my parents, who grounded me for a week because of it. They claimed that we were trying to behind their backs, but I truly had no idea what I was in for when I agreed to go.”

Xavier cringed. He felt terrible hearing the way (Y/N) must’ve lived her entire life. Having to be afraid of mistakenly doing something “impure” or “sinful” and getting punished for it, even if the “sinful” things were just basic things that happen in life. He wished he could’ve taken away all those bad times from her memory and replace them with good ones; memories where (Y/N) could just be a normal person and not have to worry about God’s wrath or whatever they said in churches.

“That’s why I glanced at you when we were talking about sex,” (Y/N) continued. “Because...because I had fantasies about this very situation happening since the day I first saw you.”

Xavier couldn’t help but smirk proudly at that. “And did the actual thing live up to your expectations?”

She giggled. “Majorly.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

There was another moment of silence before Xavier added, “It doesn’t have to be a one time thing, though.”

(Y/N) turned to rest her chin on his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...maybe, once the summer ends, we could go on some proper dates. Maybe...actually be a couple?”

(Y/N)’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight as she looked at him. He smiled at how beautiful she was, and at how lucky he was to be the one she was looking at.

“Really?” she asked.

“Only if you want to,” he responded.

Her reply was by attacking his face with kisses. He chuckled as she left not one inch of his face unkissed, ending with her lips against his.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” she said.

“I could tell,” he said. “I should go before I get in trouble for being here.”

“I guess you should.”

He didn’t move to leave right away. He continued to gaze into her eyes for a moment longer, before kissing her one last time and getting up from her bed. He couldn’t help but looking back at her as he made his way towards the door. She was still smiling at him as he finally allowed the door to swing shut behind him, obstructing his view of her.

He couldn’t help but stand outside the door for a moment, letting out a long, happy sigh, before making his way back to the boy’s cabin.

I’ve never written poc!reader before so I hope this is okay! I usually don’t describe anything with my general x reader fics because I want them to be inclusive for everyone, but I don’t mind writing specific ones like this when asked!

[marchsfreakshow]

The Small Things [Tate Langdon]

Tooth rotting fluff ! / A little short thing

Tate was practically almost always over, but never failed to make you feel like you were special.

Everyone thank @marchsfreak for giving me this cute ass idea! I genuinely love it and find it adorable<3 I'm so sorry this took so long, i've been feeling dreadful recently. (So my writing isn't up to my normal standards sorry-)

Not proofread lol

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tate loved being held by you.

Possibly the only thing he could love anymore.

You were scooped up into his arms whenever possible, and stay like that for as long as you humanly could. Wether or not you were straddling him and just playing with his shirt, or Tate was laying in front of you, letting your arms wrap around his torso. It never failed to make the ghost smile. It was all he craved, more than anything, in the drab murder house.

"Tate!" You squealed, your arms instinctvely wrapping around his shoulders to keep yourself hoisted up. Tate's response was just a little chuckle and a wider smile, since your laugh was all he wanted to hear right now. He tightened his grip on your body and legs, walking around the dim basement. Each time you felt his hands, even jokingly, start to loosen under you, your grip on his shoulders and neck tightened, curling up best you could by his chest. "You actually get off on this! This is just cruel..."

"not cruel at all! I like feeling you up close and personal." The ghost chuckled again, almost curling you like some weights just because. As much as you enjoyed being lifted like it was nothing, your mother soon called your name from the top of the basement.

Begrudgingly, Tate let you go, holding onto the small of your back as he let you stand up. His fingers still lingered on your shirt as you started to walk back up to the house. The talk realistically only lasted about 5 minutes, but to the ghost it felt like forever. Time always went so much slower, when you were dead. As soon as the idea came into Tate's head, he silently jumped his way up the stairs, hiding himself behind the open door.

"I'm back." You started, starting to make your way down the creaky steps. There was silence for a moment and it only confused you. "Tate?" You asked down into the dim, dingy basement. Every step only worried you further. As you walked down, you took a deep breath, assuming Tate was about to pull something that could scare you. Like usual.

As soon as your foot stepped on the basement floor, Tate's arms scoped you up. His arms wrapping around your front tightly and lifting you up effortlessly. Your feet suddenly leaving the ground made a scream evict from your mouth. "OH MY GOD TATE-!" A sly smile was felt against your neck as your hands gripped onto the ghost's arms tightly. "Put me downnn!" You whined a bit with your legs still in the air for a second.

Instead of a verbal response, Tate just placed you down on the old couch, immediately laying himself on top of you. His face hiding in your neck. The ghost's arms rested on your shoulders as your own snaked around his back. One hand slowly starting to pet at his hair, the other rubbing his back. "You happy now you weird blondie?"

"Very." He murmered, putting a kiss to your neck.

"yeah? Good.." You muttered back, placing a kiss back onto Tate's hair. It only took a few minutes of the sweet silence between you before the ghost promptly fell asleep. "Who knew ghosts were so sleepy all the time hm?" You teased to no one, as Tate barely hummed in reply, snuggling himself closer to you. If he wasn't close enough already to be honest.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @coentinim / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47 / @lemoniiiiiii / @xrag-dollx

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Not Jealous (Cordelia Goode x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Clearly Cordelia does not feel the same way you feel about her.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: jealousy, assumptions of unrequited love

You knew there was no reason to be jealous. Of course not. Cordelia wasn’t yours. It didn’t matter how you felt about her. There was no point denying your feelings for the Supreme, but that wasn’t the same as having them reciprocated. So you had no right to feel the churning of jealousy in your gut.

Until…

You looked up from the book you were reading, zeroing in on the two woman standing just outside the door. Cordelia’s hand was resting on Misty’s arm, leaning towards her as they talked softly. Your fingers clenched on your book. Taking a deep breath in, you paused, counting to ten in your head before letting it go again.

There was no reason to be jealous.

Misty said something, too quiet for you to hear. Cordelia tipped her head back, her laughter ringing through the room. You stilled, watching her, your eyes slipping over her body, taking in the long column of her neck, the shine of her hair, the curve of her lips. That was your laugh, the one you received when you amused her.

You inhaled sharply, closing your book and slipping out of the room. You couldn’t watch anymore. You couldn’t

There was no reason to be jealous.

Yeah right. Ever since Misty had come back it was like you had to fight for Cordelia’s attention. She’d stopped noticing you. Where once she sought your company, you’d been replaced. She didn’t have time for you. The shared smiles had stop, transferred to another. She’d stopped having time for you, all taken up by the returning witch. You noticed all the ways you were being pushed out, replaced without so much as a word.

What you didn’t notice was the way her eyes followed you out of the room.

You found a quiet spot in the garden to curl up with your book, doing your best to slip back into the words. It was hard, the image of the woman you’d stupidly fallen for as she fell for another kept playing on repeat in your head.

Every touch, every smile, every glance. You’d seen it over and over again. She was slipping further from you with every breath, every brush of fingers over arms, every cupped cheek. The distance was growing and you didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t even know if it was worth trying.

Clouds were gathering overhead, blotting out the sun. You shivered as the air turned chilly, curling up further on the bench you were sitting on. You tipped your head back, leaving the pretence of reading behind. Closing your eyes, you basked in the memory of how it had been.

You missed the touch of her skin against yours, the way her eyes sparkled whenever you spoke to her, the soft laugh in the middle of the night when she caught you still up reading. You wanted her soft sigh as she directed you to bed, a hand on the small of your back, making sure you climbed into bed and turned the light off. You missed the way she’d pass you a cup of tea in the morning, knowing glint in her eye, fingers brushing against the back of your hand.

A cold drop of rain landed on your forehead. You sighed, picking up your book as another drop fell. You tipped your head back for one last moment, letting the water fall over you, sprinkling on your skin. Shivering, you took a deep breath in, trying to let the rain wash away the jealousy and the pain and the hurt.

It didn’t work.

Wandering back into the house, you didn’t care at the way the rain began to fall harder, only aiming to shield the book. You shivered, uncaring of the puddle of water you were tracking inside. You left the book on the table, stroking over the still dry cover, before leaving it behind. You trailed water through the house as you trudged up to your room.

Sitting in the bath with your arms curled around your knees, you watched the steam curl in the air. On a long exhalation you shaped it into hearts before they broke apart in a shattered kaleidoscope of painful shards. You don’t know how long you sat there, trying to warm the chill that had settled deep in your bones. Maybe you needed something more than a hot bath.

On bare feet, you padded into your room only to freeze as the door closed behind you.

“There you are,” Cordelia said, her voice soft enough to make you groan.

You didn’t know what to say. It had been a while since you’d seen her there, in your room, looking as if she belonged. You pressed your lips together, backing up until your spine was pressed against the door. In nothing but your robe, you felt exposed, vulnerable, like you’d left your armour behind.

“I was worried you’d melted in the rain,” she said, giving you a half small.

“No,” you said, “just having a bath.”

“You were drenched out there,” She took a step towards you, her hands clasped in front of her body, “you left something behind.”

Your book, the one you’d left in the kitchen as you’d rushed upstairs, was clutched in her hand. You opened your mouth to say something, then closed it again. The thought of her noticing you enough to know you’d been out in the rain sent an ache through your chest. She took another step towards you, holding the book out to you. You shook your head, pressing harder against the door.

“What’s wrong?” She seemed to wilt under your gaze.

“Nothing,” you said, voice so small you were surprised it still existed, “thank you for returning the book but I think I’m done with it.”

“You’ve read it?” she asked.

You shook your head. A love story wasn’t really what you were looking for. If you really wanted that you just had to watch Cordelia with Misty. Which only made you want to throw up.

“Darling, talk to me,” she said, taking one more step towards you.

“I’m just tired,” you said, not able to meet her eyes, “maybe you should go.”

Fingers tilted your chin up and you had to hold back tears. The touch of her skin against yours was what you’d been yearning for, wishing for, praying for. You tried to pull back but she held on, her grip tightening to keep you from moving away. You wanted it but not like this.

“If you really want me to go, I will,” she said, “but I’d rather stay and talk to you.”

“I’m sure you have other people you can talk to.” You hadn’t meant to sound so bitter about it.

Something in her face shifted. You held your breath, not wanting her to see the real reason, the embarrassment of it more than you’d be able to handle. She let you go, turning to walk to the bed, placing the book down on the bedside table. You could feel yourself trembling, still pressed against the door.

“You’ve been distant lately,” she said, fingertips running over your comforter.

“I…” You didn’t have a proper answer for her.

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve done something wrong. If I have I wish you’d tell me. I don’t like the thought of upsetting you,” she said. The way she looked at you with barely contained regret was not an expression you ever wanted to see on her face.

“You haven’t,” you said.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

That wide eyed stare swimming in sadness was not one that made you feel any better. Your heart clenched and you would have done anything to make her feel better.

But the accusation was ridiculous. You hadn’t been avoiding her. She’d been spending all her time with Misty, choosing someone else’s presence over yours. You’d thought… Well, what you’d thought wasn’t important anymore.

“I haven’t,” you said, “you’ve just been busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you,” she said, voice so soft it could break you in half.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Just because she believed it didn’t mean it was true. Hands cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her and all those old feelings came swooping back in. Your heart skipped a beat and it didn’t matter that resentment had been building in your chest for weeks now. You’d always fall at her feet, even if she didn’t love you the way you loved her.

“Please. I’ve missed you,” she said.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep all of the ugly thoughts inside. Her eyes flicked down to it, a thumb gently pulling it free. Your breath stuttered and you had no idea how to function with her so close, touching you in ways you could only dream of.

“Darling…” she breathed.

“I know how you feel about Misty,” you blurted out before it could go any further than it already had.

She blinked, drawing back far enough for you to be able to breath properly again. Her hands were still on your face but the look she was giving you was baffled, as if your words hadn’t made sense.

“What?” she asked.

“I know you’re in love with her,” you said, “so you probably shouldn’t be touching me like this.”

“You think I’m in love with Misty? Our Misty?” She sounded so confused.

“I don’t think. I know you are. I’ve seen you with her and I’m not an idiot. It’s obvious,” you said, wondering if you should be pushing her away as she wasn’t moving on her own.

“I’m not in love with Misty,” she said with a small shake of her head.

“You don’t have to lie to me just to spare my feelings,” you said, “seriously, it’s fine.”

“And while that’s good to know, it’s not a lie. She’s not who I’m in love with,” she said.

Your mouth slammed shut as words failed you. She moved forward again, her palms practically burning the skin of your face. You didn’t know what to do, frozen beneath her hands and her gaze, heart thundering loud in your ears.

“Darling?” she prompted.

“So you are in love with someone?” you asked.

You didn’t know whether to feel sick or hopeful. Maybe sick from being so hopeful.

“I am,” she confirmed, “but it’s not Misty.”

“Who is it?” Your voice didn’t feel your own.

“I thought it was obvious,” she said.

“It’s not,” you replied, shaking your head.

“It’s you, my darling girl,” she said, “you’re the one I’m in love with.”

You didn’t have words. She was smiling at you, the soft one that always made your stomach somersault and your heart flutter. You swallowed past a lump in your throat, not quite able to believe the words she was saying. All your hopes hung on her and it scared you.

“I am?” you asked.

“Of course you are.” Her fingers pushed your hair behind your ear, lingering on your jaw, “you’re the one I want.”

You were hesitant as you brought your hands to her waist. She was so warm under your skin, so soft. Her head dipped, breath ghosting over your lips.

“I want you,” she murmured, lips brushing yours, “only you.”

You kissed her, surging up, pressing yourself to her. You couldn’t stop yourself, needing her with every fibre of your being. She pushed you against the door, pinning you to it, her tongue slipping into your mouth. The taste of her had you moaning, head turning fuzzy.

Her fingers pushed into your hair, tilting your head up as she kissed you deeper. You whimpered, arms curling around her body, holding her against you. She mumbled your name into your mouth, slowing the kiss down, taking her time to explore. You melted under her touch.

“My sweet girl,” she murmured, “my darling girl.”

Her nose brushed against yours, skimming the length of your jaw, lips ghosting over your skin. You were practically vibrating under her, strung so tight, wanting every part of her.

“I’m hoping this means you return my feelings,” she said.

“Yes,” you gasped, “yes, so much. Oh god, so much, Delia.”

“That’s a relief,” she chuckled, drawing back far enough to be able to look at you. Her thumb traced over your bottom lip, smile deepening when you pressed a kiss to it, “so there’s no reason to be jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you muttered.

“Darling.” She threaded her fingers through yours, tugging you away from the door, “you left every room both Misty and I were in. You sat as far away from me as you could. You stopped showing up for our late night tea.”

“I thought you had someone else you’d prefer to be with,” you said.

“You were jealous,” she said.

“I… was jealous,” you admitted.

Her hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you in for another kiss, shorter than you would have liked. You whined when she drew back, her chuckle making your cheeks heat.

“You have nothing to be jealous of,” she told you.

“It just looked like… I mean you were always with her,” you tried to explain, “and you touched her like you touch me. You didn’t have time for me anymore.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel that way, darling,” she said, pulling you closer until she could wrap you in her arms, “I always have time for you. It was never my intention to make you feel like I didn’t.”

“Are you saying you’ll make it up to me?” you asked, muffled against her shoulder.

“And what might you want, my darling girl?” You could hear the amusement in her voice.

Your lips found her neck and her breathy laugh had heat curling in your stomach. She was gentle as she pushed you back, a flush high on her cheeks and bright eyes looking down on you. You pouted but with her hands on your shoulders she kept you back.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” she said, “but dinner will be soon and I’d rather not be interrupted.”

“But-“

She placed her finger over your lips, silencing you more effectively than you could have thought possible. Her smile softened and she stepped closer again, encasing you in a cocoon of her warmth and the scent of her perfume.

“Later, darling. You get dressed. I’ll see you downstairs,” she said.

You nodded. She let you go, stepping around you. She turned at your door, hand on the handle, eyes scanning over you again. You looked back at her, warmth flooding through your veins.

“Oh, and I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

She gave you a radiant smile and slipped from your room, leaving you alone once again. You stared at the door for a moment, not able to believe your luck.

As it turned out, there really was no reason to be jealous.

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

I. LOVE. your. Writing. Which is why I’m so glad you write for Evan Peters characters because my Evan phase has comeback full force. So if you’re motivated-

Tate Langdon x male reader who thinks Tate looks pretty when he cries. Honestly I can’t decide if angsty reader should be mean/manipulative towards him just to see him cry, or if Tate would be upset about something like his mom/violet did something and reader kisses his tears away and comforts him… So, whatever genre you feel like writing for🥲

“are you mad at me? i- i don’t know what i did, but whatever it is, i’m sorry,” tate said, sniffling softly as he stood in the doorway to your room.

it took everything you had to bite back the smile that threatened to grow on your face. there was this sick, sadistic pleasure you got from watching your boyfriend cry, especially when you were the reason behind his tears.

you sat up on your bed and looked over at him, opening your arms towards him to offer him comfort. tate walked over, his eyes red and puffy with tears streaming down his face, and he sat down beside you, burying himself in your embrace. you held him tightly and kissed the top of his head, trying to soothe the tears you had caused.

“of course i’m not mad at you, baby. you didn’t do anything wrong. it’s probably just all in your head, my love. okay? i could never be mad at you, you know that, don’t you?” you voice was soft, trying to calm him down as he sobbed in your embrace.

this had almost become a routine between the two of you by now. you would ignore him for a while, using his low self esteem and tendency to overthink against him, making him doubt how you felt towards him and to always assume you were upset. he would come to you crying, and you would open your arms to him and offer him comfort, manipulating him into thinking that all of his hurt was a figment of his imagination, and that you hadn’t been acting any differently towards him at all.

tate was so in love with you that he found himself believing you. no matter how many times you made him cry or how many times you manipulated him for your own twisted desires, he would always come crawling back to you for even the slightest promise of love and comfort that you offered him.

“don’t cry, my love. you’re alright. everything is just fine,” you whispered, kissing his cheek and holding him tighter, smiling when you felt him melt into your embrace.

he was nothing but your little toy. and he was too infatuated with you to even notice.

tags: @jamespotterslover @ahsxual @twinkiemaximoff @1800-fuckbitchesgetmoney @horrorgirlx @thatspookyagent @shadyspears @amourtentiaa @rottenstyx @tates-radio @hallecarey1 @im-verysad @tatesxthumbring @imaloserbabysowhydontyourailme @evilcr0ne @hocksetterrs @milly-louise @slut4kaiya @larawrrites @the-ultimate-theatre-kid

if your name is crossed off, it means i can’t tag you!

[thethreeeyed-raven]

⋆♱ AHS ♱⋆

navigation

🕷️fluff | 🕸️angst | 🐈‍⬛suggestive | 🪦platonic

⋆♱ MURDER HOUSE ♱⋆

⋆♱ Tate Langdon ♱⋆

🕷️ • meeting him in the murder house | gn!reader • part two

headcanons

⋆♱ Violet Harmon ♱⋆

🕷️ • being her best friend | headcanons | x gn!reader

⋆♱ ASYLUM ♱⋆

⋆♱ Kit Walker ♱⋆

🕷️ • the first step | x fem!reader

🕸️ • it’s okay to cry | x gn!reader

🕷️ • 🕸️ • home | x gn!reader

⋆♱ COVEN ♱⋆

⋆♱ Kyle Spencer ♱⋆

🕷️ • party party | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Misty Day ♱⋆

🕷️ • listening to fleetwood mac with her | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Nan ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Queenie ♱⋆

🕷️ • being her best friend | headcanons | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Zoe Benson ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ FREAKSHOW ♱⋆

⋆♱ Dandy Mott ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Jimmy Darling ♱⋆

🕷️ • defending him | x gn!reader

⋆♱ HOTEL ♱⋆

⋆♱ James Patrick March ♱⋆

🕷️ • buying him a dog | headcanons | x reader

⋆♱ Tristan Duffy ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ CULT ♱⋆

⋆♱ Ally Mayfair-Richards ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Beverly Hope ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Kai Anderson ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ APOCALYPSE ♱⋆

⋆♱ Cordelia Goode ♱⋆

🕸️ • as i watch you die | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Michael Langdon ♱⋆

🕸️ • qui totum vult totum perdit | x gn!reader

🕷️ • halloween party | x gn!reader

🕷️ • trick or treating | x gn!reader

🕷️ • bonfire night | x gn!reader

🕷️ • 5th of November | x gn!reader

🕷️ • new years | x gn!reader

🕷️ • valentines together | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Mr Gallant ♱⋆

🕷️ • being his best friend | headcanons | x gn!reader

⋆♱ 1984 ♱⋆

⋆♱ Bobby Richter ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🕸️ • 🪦 • finally | x sibling!reader

⋆♱ Xavier Plympton ♱⋆

🕷️ • i cared too much that it killed me | x gn!reader

⋆♱ DOUBLE FEATURE ♱⋆

⋆♱ Austin Sommers ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🕸️ • saving you from the pale people | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Harry Gardner ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ TB Karen ♱⋆

🕷️ • inspiration | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Valiant Thor ♱⋆

nothing yet

@lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom • @fangsp1der-2099 • @knight-of-flowerss

[7-wonders]

(Michael's Version)

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVII)

Summary: What it says on the tin: Michael's version.

Word Count: 5.6k

A note from the author: Certain phrases and sections may sound familiar, and that's because they are! We're back in the past, baby! This is it—our penultimate chapter. I have so many emotions about coming to the end of this journey, but I'll save them for the final chapter. Until then, enjoy, and as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

Mad Love Masterlist

When Michael Langdon opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by white, he believes that he’s died.

In his mind, it’s a logical conclusion to come to. He and Mallory had tried a very risky, obscure spell, after all, one with no real precedent for safety. If it ended up failing, it certainly wouldn’t be a shock. And don’t people see a white light when they die? It’s then that Michael remembers that when he dies, he is most certainly going to Hell, and actually takes a proper look at his surroundings.

While he is looking at the color white, it’s because he’s lying on the floor and staring up at a white ceiling. Around him are bookshelves packed to the brim with a variety of both old and new books—books whose pages are imbued with magic that Michael can sense. There’s a large, mahogany desk covered with more books and spare pages sitting under a picture window to his left, the chair pulled back and waiting for its occupant. Waiting for him, because he knows now beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in the library at Miss Robichaux’s, which can only mean one thing: the spell worked.

Michael scrambles to his feet, his hand going to rest on the desk so that he can feel the wood beneath his palm and confirm that this isn’t some mere dream or hallucination. His nails scrape along the grain, the wood firm and sturdy and real. An opulent, gilded mirror on the opposite wall garners his attention, and he hesitantly makes his way over to peek in the glass.

Gone is the red, velvet dinner jacket and the dramatic eyeshadow. No longer does his hair tumble past his shoulders, and his eyes are devoid of the cold, disinterested glint that he had trained himself to carry at all times. Now, Michael stares at himself as he was, all those months ago. He’s fresh-faced, though a little exhausted, and he can see only worry and excitement in his eyes. His hair is curly and falls to just past his chin, the ends barely brushing his shoulders if he shrugs. The black bomber jacket slung over the back of the chair is obviously meant to complete his ensemble of a black t-shirt, black jeans, and Docs. 

For the first time in a long time, he recognizes the person in the mirror.

Now that it’s obvious that he’s back to a time before the apocalypse, his mind is already three floors down to where you surely sit. Logically, Michael knows that he should take a moment to assess the situation, perhaps test the parameters of the spell, and see if there are any limits on time or what he can and cannot do. He couldn’t care less about that though, not when he’s back in a world where you’re alive and well.

He throws open the door, so eager to reach you that he rushes out into the hallway without looking and runs right into somebody else. Both parties begin to fall backward, but Michael wraps his hands around his accidental victim’s upper arms and pulls them both upright.

“Whoa!” Zoe Benson exclaims, on the way to the library to return the book in her hands.

“Sorry.” The apology comes easily to him; surprising, considering how long it’s been since he’s had to apologize for anything.

“You’re good!” Zoe assures him, without any of the hate or malice that a witch who just faced off against him in a battle to reverse the apocalypse would be expected to have. “Are you looking for Y/n and Mallory?”

Michael knows exactly where you are, but he nods anyway, if only because you’re being referred to in the present tense.

“They’re hammocking in the backyard, which is a relief. Mallory needs someone to tell her to relax, and none of us can convince her.”

“I’ll make sure to convey the coven’s thanks, then.”

Zoe smiles. “You do that. I’ll see you around.”

Michael nods, waiting until Zoe actually makes it into the library to nearly run (more cautiously, now) down the stairs and towards the backyard. He pauses at the large French doors, taking in the scene before him. You and Mallory share a hammock under a canopy of wisteria trees that are trying their hardest to hold onto their blooms. Where before, Michael had been the one to rouse you from your nap, you’re now sitting up and embracing Mallory. The Supreme catches his eyes over your shoulder, and she smiles in tearful relief.

His feet carry him to the hammock almost unconsciously. Were it not for that, he would still be standing in one spot, stuck in the wonder of this moment and basking in you being alive once more. Now, Michael puts a shaking, hesitant hand on your shoulder, unable to wait a moment longer before touching you, yet wary of ruining this moment. Your skin is warm under his grip, and he can feel your muscles flex as you turn to look at him. When you smile at him, easy and free and nothing at all like the small, pained ones he had had to force out of you for eighteen months, he lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Hi, my love.” He almost can’t get the words out, so choked up with emotion that they nearly become lodged in his throat.

“Hey,” you greet happily, completely and blissfully unaware of the nearly two years of literal hell he’d put you through. “How’d it go?”

Michael doesn’t respond at first, instead sitting on your other side on the hammock so that he can bring you into his arms and enjoy the feeling of you alive once more.

“Everybody’s in such a hugging mood today!” You wink at both him and Mallory and grin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.” 

Michael hums, but otherwise remains silent. After a moment, you speak again. 

“Geez, was it really that bad?”

Yes, he wants to say. I had the worst nightmare, one in which I was a terrible friend and husband, in which I betrayed everyone I’ve ever known and ruined your trust, trust that I had worked so hard to gain. I dreamed that I destroyed our lives, everybody’s lives, and became a monster. I thought that I lost you, only now I know that I didn’t, because you’re here and happy and alive. I’ve woken up, back into the dream that I didn’t know I was living in until I lost it.

Instead, he says, “No, it was only mildly frustrating. Just…feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Co-dependency isn’t healthy, sweetheart.” Tears spring at the pet name, and he has to shut his eyes to keep them from falling.

“Indulge me for just a bit. We are on vacation, after all.”

You laugh. “I’m on vacation. You’re on a research trip.”

“Since my research hasn’t really yielded anything, how about we make the next few hours before we have to meet Dinah a vacation for both of us?”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Michael?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You radiate joy, and Michael is so happy to be basking in it once more. “Then I happily accept.”

“I have a couple of things to give you for your protection, Michael, in case Dinah tries to cross you,” Mallory says. “Will you come with me while I grab them?”

He’d much prefer to never leave your side again, but he knows that there are matters that need to be discussed in private, so he begrudgingly nods and disentangles himself from you.

“We’ll be right back,” Mallory assures you.

“Don’t worry, I’m just fine out here!” To demonstrate this, you kick your feet up and lay back down on the hammock, smiling at the heat of the sun on your face once more. 

It’s one of the most beautiful sights that Michael’s ever seen in his life, and it makes it all the more difficult for him to leave. Mallory ends up having to tug him to her, transmuting them both so they’re in her bedroom.

“This was a really good time for you to pick,” Mallory admits as she pulls a key from her pocket and walks into her closet.

“I can’t believe it actually worked!” Michael exclaims, running a hand through his hair as he tries to take a moment to process everything that’s just happened.

“I wish I could say that I had faith in us, but it was really 50/50 on what I thought was going to happen.”

“What now? Do we have a limited amount of time here? Are there things that I can or can’t say and do?”

“When I first started practicing this spell, it was difficult for me to stay in the past for very long. It got better the more I attempted it, but the longest I managed to stay was two hours.” Mallory reappears, holding three familiar items. “Even then, the entire time it felt like there was a rope tied around me, constantly trying to tug me back to my time. I don’t feel that at all now.”

“I don’t, either.”

“I think it’s because we cast the spell together. After all, who on Earth is more powerful than the Supreme and the Antichrist?”

The answer? Nobody, unless one of the divine forces decided to step foot on the mortal coil.

“So you don’t think there’s any danger of us being pulled back to our present before I’m able to meet with Papa Legba tonight?” Michael asks.

“I don’t. As for your second question, there are no ‘rules’ as to how you need to act. At least, I don’t think there are. Just…remember that we’re in a very crucial time right now, and that everything you do tonight that differentiates from the original timeline will have an effect on the outcome we’re trying to achieve.”

Michael nods. “Try not to fuck up too badly, got it.”

“Hey, things can’t go as terribly as they did the last time we were here,” Mallory points out cheekily, laughing at Michael’s scowl. “C’mon, you kind of deserve it.”

“I do,” Michael concedes with a sigh.

Mallory hands Michael a box of Cuban cigars and a pouch of mandrake with her right hand, her left holding the lethal-to-Michael charm away from Michael to prevent any accidents. Before he can take them, she grabs his wrist and waits until he looks at her again. “You’ve got this, alright? I have faith in you.”

“Thank you. None of this would be happening without you—you’re the reason I have a second chance.”

“You can thank me after tonight.”

This time, it’s Michael who uses his powers to transmute them back to the backyard. You’re still in the hammock and idly scrolling your phone, only looking up when you hear the air near you shift.

“Back so soon?” you ask.

“Try to sound a bit less excited, yeah?” Mallory teases, holding the charm out for you to take. “Here, this is for you to hold on to tonight. Papa Legba shouldn’t try anything; he’s an honorable being who typically doesn’t take what has not been explicitly given to him. Still, it never hurts to have a little extra protection.”

“It’s pretty,” you note, holding it out to show Michael.

Mallory puts her hand out to stop you. “It’s a charm to protect you against beings that are not of this plane, as well as those descended from said beings. I think you’d prefer not to zap Michael to Hell.”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. He’s too cute to get rid of.”

Michael can’t help himself from blushing at the compliment. He’s always been easily flattered, especially when you’re the one doing the flattering. Before anything else can be said, a younger girl appears at the back door. “Miss Mallory? Miss Zoe’s looking for you, somethin’ ‘bout a book you have.”

“Thank you, Abby, I’ll be in shortly.” When the girl runs back through the house, Mallory sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Duty calls, I guess. Try not to have too much fun tonight.”

“No promises,” you say cheerfully.

Before she goes, Mallory pulls you into a hug. “I love you. Be safe, alright?”

“I will. I love you too, Mal.”

Mallory looks at Michael just before she ducks inside, her expression reiterating everything she previously said—that tonight is crucial, that every move he makes now matters, and that she has faith in him. Then she’s gone, and Michael’s turning back to you.

“I was thinking hotel first so that we could freshen up. Does that sound good to you?” Michael asks.

“Sounds perfect. I wouldn’t mind a shower right now.” Your nose wrinkles. “I smell like airplane.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing you can smell like,” Michael says, holding his hand out for you to take so that he can transmute to the hotel.

“Says you.” You grab Michael’s hand, and he squeezes just for the small joy of feeling you squeeze back.

The curious thing about going back in time, specifically to an event that he’s already lived through, is that it feels a lot like being an actor in a play. The motions and words are familiar, and Michael has to put in a bit of effort if he wants to say or do something different than what he already said or did. The deja vu here is strong and recurring, and it takes him a second to get over the feeling time and time again—deja vu about the deja vu; who else can say they’ve experienced such phenomena?

Still, there are more positives in repeating this time than just the obvious one of, y’know, being able to change his major mistake. He’s also able to remember to take everything in, to simply watch and not miss what he once believed to be mundane. 

He’s able to fully enjoy the delight that you display upon finding out what his surprise is, as well as feel proud that he knows you so well. He’s happy to follow you around while you indulge your curiosities, watching you as you stop at each stand and peruse the offerings. He admires how much thought you put into what gift you’ll be buying for Kate as thanks for watching your cat.

(He’s pleased on your and Mallory’s behalf that you’ll have the third member of your trio back, even though you’ll never know that you were missing her.)

It’s thrilling to be walking hand in hand with you once more, to enjoy your closeness and being in love. Michael’s perfectly content to be pulled along by you, to answer your questions about what he thinks about this or that item, to allow you to feed him a beignet. This time, he doesn’t waste a moment of opportunity and kisses the powdered sugar off of your lips while feeling your smile. 

This trip truly was perfect before that fateful meeting, and to get to relive it is a gift. He falls easily into his “role,” parroting those familiar lines about the beauty of New Orleans and your potential grad school options while basking in long-forgotten normalcy. When you stand up, Michael has to hide a smile, knowing what’s coming next. You turn back to him with your hands cupped around something.

“Here, hold out your hands,” you instruct.

Michael does as asked, dutifully waiting for you to deposit your prize into his waiting hands. A fat firefly lazily buzzes around, and he smiles at the sight as it bumps into his hands over and over again. He glances up to see you looking down, not at the firefly, but at him, with a grin on your face. After a few moments, the firefly finds its way out of his hands and back to the others in the grass.

“You should try and catch one!” you suggest.

Where before, Michael allowed the buzzing of his phone alarm to stop the fun, now, he simply silences it and gets up to join you. He’s not very good at it, and he misses more times than he’d care to admit, but it’s worth it for your laughter and encouragement. Plus, it is pretty satisfying to finally catch one and hold it up for you to see.

You and Michael leave the open-air market ten minutes later than he was originally planning on, but it was more than worth it. The walk to Dinah’s studio is short, made even more pleasant by the sky lighting up as the sun sets and the warm, slightly muggy air.

“Did you have fun?” you ask.

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that, since I’m the one who planned the date. But yes, I did.”

“Good. I did too.”

“Then I call this date a success.” 

You’re happy with that answer, satisfied to walk in companionable silence. Michael, on the other hand, is wracked with guilt now that there’s a moment of quiet amidst all the chaos that he’s found himself thrown into since the moment he opened his eyes in the past.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“For what?” In this time, you believe that there’s nothing for him to apologize for. For Michael to be able to live with himself though, he needs to apologize.

“I know I’ve been…off since we saw Cordelia. And I know that you were really shaken up by the Cooperative meeting that I took you to.” You look at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “What? I notice things.”

“I was shaken up,” you admit. “It was scary hearing that you want to end the world so soon, and that there are concrete plans for you to do so. Scarier still knowing that your father’s watching your progress.”

“I know, which is why I’m sorry.” 

I’m sorry that I hurt you in so many different ways, he thinks, mentally apologizing for the things he truly wants to say sorry for. I’m sorry that I killed everybody you ever loved, and that I became someone you would have hated were you not forced to love me. I’m sorry that I got you killed, and that I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Things are going to be different from now on.”

There’s a hope in your eyes that Michael doesn’t feel like he deserves to have directed towards him. “Really?”

He nods, wanting so badly to reveal his hand, but being unable to do so. Instead, he hopes that you know how sincere he is when he says, “I promise.”

You’ve reached Dinah’s studio, the Voodoo Queen throwing open the door impatiently before Michael can get his hand on the handle.

“You’re late.” Dinah levels Michael with a glare. She’s not that upset, he knows, not when she’s got an extra hundred thousand currently sitting in her bank account.

“Sorry, we got lost,” he lies. You turn your face into his shoulder, coughing to hide your laugh.

“Mhm. Let’s go, I got places to be after this.” She walks towards the back. “And lock the door behind you!”

Through Dinah’s dressing room is another, smaller room—where she conducts her real business. There are candles on various surfaces throughout the room, and the main table, ringed with four chairs, is covered with a red cloth.

Michael pulls out a chair for you to sit in and makes sure that you’re comfortable before pushing you toward the table and taking his seat next to you. You watch Dinah move around the room in a whirl of colors, gathering the last items needed for tonight’s ritual. Your head tilts curiously when she pulls out a match and strikes it into a flame, and he braces himself against yet another bout of deja vu.

“It’s a part of the ritual,” he whispers in your ear, feeling you nod.

Once all of the candles are lit by Dinah’s own hand, the voodoo queen sits down in the chair on his other side. She studies you harshly for a moment, making you squirm under her scrutiny, before looking at Michael. “You sure that you want your honey in here to meet Papa? After all, she’s nothing but a pretty little mortal.”

He smirks. If there’s one lesson he can take away from those eighteen long months, it’s that you’re so much more than that. You’re determined, unflinching in your morals, and willing to face down any of your fears to do what’s right.

“I assure you, she can more than handle herself.”

You smile nervously at Michael, and he winks at you in what he hopes is a comforting way. His eyes are drawn down to your lap, where your hands are shaking. While Dinah grabs one of his hands to start the ritual, he uses his free one to hold one of yours. Your smile softens, and you mouth, “Thank you.”

She turns his hand so it’s facing palm-up, and takes a deep breath in before beginning to knock on his wrist. After she does so, she places her wrist against his briefly before swiping up a bottle of liquor from the table. The amber liquid is poured into a copper mug, and Dinah brings it up above her head in order to pray to it.

“Papa Legba,” she begins. “Ouvrier barrier pour moi agoe.”

This chant is repeated twice more, but it only takes her invoking him the second time for the shadow of a tall figure wearing what looks to be a top hat to rise against the blank canvas of the wall. As Dinah chants for the third and final time, a cold wind sweeps through the room and brings with it an echoing, deep laugh and the sound of bones clinking together.

Michael hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Papa Legba before this night. He heard plenty of stories, of course, but Papa Legba was notoriously hard to get an audience with, even when one was the Antichrist. 

Like many demons, Papa Legba looks like a normal man at first glance. He appears carrying a cane and wearing a fine suit, a top hat decorated with tiny skulls and feathers atop his head. A necklace made of beads and claws rests around his neck, and his long cloak sweeps along the floor. That’s where the human similarities end. White paint covers the top half of his face, and his blood-red eyes look upon the trio assembled before him with delight as he grabs the cup from Dinah and drains it.

“Dinah Stevens! Calling upon me so soon after our last…chat, eh?” He looks down at a couple of cigars sitting on top of a decorative silver plate and hums. “Mm, lucky for you that I cannot resist Cuban cigars, Mambo.”

The empty cup is discarded for one of the cigars, which he holds to his nose in order to properly enjoy it before scratching one of his nails against the end and lighting it. The cherry glows red as he takes a couple of deep puffs, the air growing hot around you as the shadows surrounding him morph in that distinct, sentient way—the shadows of souls now belonging to Papa.

Papa Legba takes a seat in the chair next to you, stretching out languidly. You scooch your chair closer to Michael, and he fights the urge to wrap his arm around you.

“The Antichrist – and his little wife!” Papa Legba greets, his voice echoing and layering on top of itself. 

Michael nods in a show of deference, and you do the same. “Papa Legba,” he says. You jump slightly, his “otherworldly” voice surprising you.

“I am sorry that I could not attend the wedding festivities, mes chers.” He grins at both of you, his gold tooth glinting in the candlelight. “A little drama with your papa, you see. But the entire Underworld was very much abuzz at news of the nuptials, I assure you.”

“We appreciate your well wishes.” You remain silent, choosing instead to smile and nod in agreement. “I assume you know why I asked Dinah to facilitate this meeting?”

Papa Legba shakes his head, but the smirk on his face gives off the feeling that he knows exactly why he’s here. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“You’ve abandoned your post,” Michael reminds him before deciding to go off-script. “And I’m guessing you have ulterior motives beyond becoming bored with your function.”

Papa laughs. “Ah, you’re a smart little Antichrist! Correct, this is the outcome I was hoping to achieve as a result of my actions.”

“Well, you certainly got my attention. Why go to all this trouble?” Michael already knows the answer, of course. But everybody in this room has a part to play in his plan, even though they don’t know it.

“The lords of Hell are not too pleased with the current plans. Ending the world?” He tuts and shakes his head. “Now, that just takes all of the fun out of everything. Who will barter with me when the only souls left on Earth are devoted followers of Satan or half-dead?”

“So you’re the messenger.”

“I’ll confess, I have been sent by my fellow demons to attempt to sway you. For some reason, they think that I am the best public speaker.” He puts a hand to his chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment.

“And how are you attempting to sway me?”

“My dear boy, I am here to convince you not to start an apocalypse.”

This is the moment where it all went wrong. Michael let his anger get the best of him, his need to please his father ruling his emotions and actions. Briefly, he thinks of the butterfly effect, which you taught him while learning it in a class last semester. The belief is that every choice, and every action, no matter how big or small, can set a person on a hundred different courses. He’s seen the course that was taken when he lashed out. Now, he’s choosing rationality, and he’s excited to see what course that leads everybody down.

“You’ll be happy to learn that it will take far less convincing than you originally thought,” Michael says. Next to him, you gasp.

Papa Legba looks simultaneously surprised and pleased. “Really?”

“Recently, I’ve been made aware of some new developments regarding my father and the nuclear annihilation course that we’ve been working on. Now, I’m interested in exploring other avenues.”

Papa Legba’s red eyes are so focused on Michael that it’s even beginning to make him feel a little uncomfortable. “So I may tell my friends that they will get to play with their food for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes, I would say that’s a pretty accurate statement,” Michael says with a nod.

“You have just made many of the legions of Hell very pleased, young master.” His gold tooth glints in the candlelight as he grins, pulling a card out of thin air and presenting it to Michael between his long fingers. “You may call upon me whenever you need so that my friends and I may help you achieve your goal; we are at your disposal.”

Michael takes it gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Papa Legba stands and takes the last cigar off of the table with him, sliding it up the sleeve of his coat until it disappears. “Until next time.”

With a gust of wind that blows out all of the candles and the clinking of bones, he turns and melts into his shadows. Shortly after, the lights overhead flicker on, bathing the room in reality once more. Dinah rolls her neck with a groan, taking a moment to collect herself after the strain of the summoning.

“Well, I guess you do have some sort of a spine,” she declares, standing and smudging the symbols she had made at the doorway. 

“A backhanded compliment, but one that I’ll take.”

“Are we done here? I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve got places to be.”

Michael rolls his eyes. She truly is just a terrible person, apocalypse or not. “Yes, we’re done.” 

You’ve been silent since Michael revealed that he wasn’t keen on ending the world, and you remain that way now. Michael gently pulls you from your chair, and you follow him dazedly, letting him handle the goodbyes as you digest everything that’s just happened. Michael can’t blame you in the slightest; he knows that it seems like a jarring and sudden change, especially when the plans to bomb the world are so concrete and detailed.

About halfway down the block from Dinah’s studio—Michael thought that a walk in the cooler night air might do you more good than transmuting—you finally find something to say. “What the hell was that?”

“I told you that things were going to be different.”

“I assumed you meant, like, that you were going to try and push off zero hour a little bit more!” You finally look at him, cautiously and hopefully. “What about your plan? You’ve wanted to end the world for a while now. This is what you and the Cooperative have been working towards since before we even got married.”

“No, that’s not what I want. What I want is a life with you. I want us to actually travel the world together. I want us to experience new things. I want to watch you chase your dreams. I want to develop dreams of my own.”

It’s the first time Michael’s admitted that last sentence to anybody beyond his thoughts in the middle of the night. Even before the end of the world, he watched with envy as you and your friends and fellow students went about your lives, excited for futures and possibilities that seemed endless. Somewhere along the way, he realized that he wanted that for himself, that he wanted to be more than just the Antichrist. While the original meeting with Papa Legba forced him to put that want to the side in favor of accomplishing what he believed to be his destiny, this do-over has afforded him another chance to discover his own dreams.

“Did you know that my father isn’t even the one who picked out the current apocalypse plan?” he asks.

“He’s not?”

Michael shakes his head. “I recently found out that it was the two idiots at Kineros who built the new Ms. Mead. They hacked into Ms. Mead and planted the idea, convincing a vulnerable, naive Antichrist that fire and blood were the only ways to end the world and make Satan proud. All because they were pissed at minor inconveniences and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean’.”

As Michael says this, he makes a mental note to kill those two. What? He’s still the Antichrist, after all.

“All Satan wants is to win this millennia-long, metaphysical chess game that he’s playing with God. He doesn’t care what I do, so long as I get him some ‘wins’. And Papa Legba was right. If I were to end the world, Satan would win…for a time. But then the rules would be changed, the board reset, and where would that leave me? I’d have done all this, ruined our, and everybody’s, lives for nothing.”

“So this is real? You’re not ending the world anymore?” you check.

“Not ending the world anymore,” Michael confirms. “We’ll find some other way to sow chaos, I’m sure. In due time. For now, I’m happy to wait and—”

He’s cut off when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his lips to yours. In the eighteen months he’s just lived through, he can’t remember the last time you initiated a kiss. Now, he eagerly reciprocates, kissing back and hoping that you can feel all of his apologies and promises through his actions. He hopes that, from now on, he’ll never have to go more than a day without kissing you again.

When you pull away from Michael, there are tears running down your face. His heart twists at the sight. How had he not known that you were in so much fear about what was going to happen, that you and Mallory were working behind the scenes to try and find a way to change his mind? 

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your hands up to wipe your face clean; a futile task, since you keep crying from relief. “Thank you so much.”

“I love you.” Michael’s earnest in his declaration, never wanting you to forget this fact…or to give you a reason to. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to scare you in this way, to cause you this anguish.”

“I know. You were just doing what you thought you were supposed to do. But you’ve changed, and I’m so proud of you for that.” You always know just the right thing to say, the right way to encourage him. He’s so thankful to have that back.

“I love you,” Michael says again. He’ll say it every hour for the rest of his life, if it means you’ll smile at him the way that you currently are.

“I love you, too.” He kisses you again, there under the streetlights on a beautiful, fall night in New Orleans, and is reminded that there are so many things to love and appreciate about humanity.

Michael may not make it to Heaven when he dies. But right now, in your arms, he’s found the closest thing to it. And nothing will ever make him give it up again.

•••

@ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @nsainmoonchild @redroses07 @xo-angel-ox @littleangel4996 @iamlivingforturner @thatonehumanbeing05 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene

[heavenlytouches]

Hello there! :)

I just had this idea and was wondering if I could request it to you in the form of a fic / oneshot

Goes like this: reader (female) is also a patient in the briarcliff asylum and has some sort of rivalry with kit walker, pretty much one-sided in fact. And she frames him for something just to get him in trouble, and of course sister jude makes her watch kit being caned for it. But the thing is that she thought she would feel good seeing her "rival" suffering, and thought that he would retaliate on her for it later, but when she truly sees his pain and how he still did not hold any revengeful feelings towards her about it, she finally understands that kit walker is not a rival of hers at all.

Anyway, tysm. I hope you can accept this.

Hello angel! Thank you so so much for this request! I must say, I really love this idea. I hope you will like it babes ^^

El <3

Kit Walker- reflections

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- sad-comfort, mentions of punishing (HAPPY END)

Kit Walker

RIVALS! at first (wait till the end :3 )

Sister Jude mentioned

Kit Walker

The white walls of Briarcliff Asylum loom above you, cold and oppressive, as they echo the whispered secrets of its inhabitants.

The air is thick with the scent of disinfectant and the ever-present stench of fear. You pace your small, sterile cell, a sense of unease coursing through you.

Outside, the oppressive quiet of Briarcliff is broken only by the occasional murmur of orderlies or the distant wail of a patient—unrestrained, desperate.

Your thoughts often drift to him—Kit Walker. He occupies your thoughts even when you wish he wouldn’t. Kit, with his tousled hair and penetrating brown eyes, both a source of intrigue and your greatest annoyance.

You had always been rivals, in a way: he was the golden boy, the misunderstood’s hero, while you were the comparatively placid girl seeking solace in the asylum’s walls. But lately, the rivalry had taken a dark turn.

“I swear, they’ll believe anything I tell them...”

You had muttered to yourself, an idea forming that twisted with every pulse of your heart. The day you decided to frame Kit felt electric. He rarely fought back under Sister Jude’s reign—a marked flaw in your eyes—and you couldn’t resist the chance to see him writhing a little in the painful light of her attention.

You felt smug; this time, you would be the victor.

Later that evening, the dim lights of the hallway flickered ominously as you smiled inwardly at your plan’s fruition.

You watched from the shadows as Sister Jude entered the common room, her dark habit a shadow that brought dread. She swept her gaze across the room, finally honing in on Kit, who sat isolated, a look of solemn determination on his face.

Sister Jude seemed terribly angry- somebody stole medicine earlier and she was trying to find who to blame. Her eyes were red with fury.

You watched the scene unfold, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction as you moved forward.

“Kit Walker,”

you called out, feigning innocence,

“isn’t it true that you were near the storage room when the medicine went missing?”

Sister Jude’s eyes glinted with interest. Kit looked up, confusion and then shock flitting across his features.

“I didn’t—”

“Silence! You! Behind me, now!”

Sister Jude bellowed, slicing through his protest. The room shrank in the wake of her command, and with finality, she motioned Kit to follow her towards the punishment room.

Your heart raced with adrenaline as you felt the weight of your deception settle in.

You thought you would relish in his suffering, but as Kit was led away, the sudden clarity of his confusion and hurt twisted your stomach into knots. You had crossed a line that you couldn’t uncross.

You simply looked away as you heard loud slaps and Kit yelping. The happy feeling of framing your enemy didn't last long. Not as long as Kit's cries.

Time felt fluid as you paced back and forth in your room, waiting for Sister Jude to bring Kit back, anxious and guilty.

When he finally returned hours later, it was on an isolated noise—a sound that was dissimilar to the din of the asylum. It was a haunting silence, the kind that wrapped you like a shroud.

The aftermath was far worse than you anticipated. You could see the marks left on him—the limp walk and bruising even on his face, the hollow look in his eyes.

You expected to feel triumphant, but in that moment, you could only see pain. Kit didn’t look at you with hatred; he didn’t give you that satisfaction. Instead, he wore an expression of bewilderment—confused and scarred, yet still undeniably strong.

Weakness washed over you. You had wanted revenge, but the guilt unfurled like shadows.

The reality hit you like a cold slap—this person you had tormented, you now recognized as not just your rival, but an innocent soul caught up in the chaos of Briarcliff’s existence.

“What have I done?”

You whispered to yourself, feeling your heartache as you approached him.

“Kit?”

He flinched at the sound of your voice, a minute ripple of tension in his body.

“What do you want?”

He replied, his tone flat. He wouldn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.

“I—I'm sorry-”

You stammered, your resolve shaking.

“I thought—it was just a.... I didn’t understand.”

“Just a what? A game?”

He exclaimed bitterly, finally meeting your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the fire of his anger flare before dimming into something deeper. The hurt that transcended rage swept across his expression.

“You’ve no idea what it was like—the pain. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

You stepped closer, your heart racing for different reasons now.

“I know. I misunderstood. I thought-”

“Thought what?”

He interrupted, bitterness twisting his voice.

“That hurting someone would make you feel better? That I deserved this?”

“No... of course not I just, uh-"

You said, pain clouding your voice.

“I thought I was hurting my ‘rival.’ I didn’t see you. I couldn’t understand. I’m so sorry.”

Kit’s anguish slowly melted away, and in its place, a muted understanding began to take root. He remained silent for a long time- thinking how he was kind of an asshole to you, and you fought to keep your gaze steady.

Finally, Kit sighed, emotion thick in the air between the two of you.

“You thought I was your rival?”

He said softly,

"But I never saw you that way. You were just…someone I recognized among the madness.”

The cloak of misunderstanding began to lift, revealing the fragility of your shared experience. Slowly, you inched closer until you sat at his feet, lowering your head until it rested on his knee.

“Let me help you, Kit. Please.”

You murmured, the lump in your throat tight.

He remained still for a moment before his hand found its place atop your head, a gesture so gentle that it shattered the last remnants of the barrier between you.

“It’s hard to forgive,” he admitted softly, “but I see you now, too.”

As he lifted your chin to meet his gaze, the understanding washed over you both—a fragile connection, mending the wounds that had opened between you.

There, amidst the darkness of Briarcliff, what had once been a rivalry transformed into something resembling hope. Together, you sat in shared silence, understanding threading its way into the very fabric of your entangled lives.

In the heart of despair, you found an ally in Kit, a companion forged through the anonymity of suffering.

And as you leaned into him, seeking comfort and mutual understanding, you realized that the chains of your misinterpretations had slowly begun to fall away. Instead of rivals, you were nothing less than wounded souls seeking solace amidst the madness. Together, the redemption had begun.

Phew, i think this might be the longest fanfic I ever did! I really liked this one (at the end where bby is better). I guess I'm a sucker for hurt-comfort!

Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!

I love you guys so much <33

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)