#Ms Venable

[esotericgal]

women who made me realize i was gay pt 2

ok so

it's the dark vibes, i just know it.

[eldritchlibertine]

don't mind me - I'll just be over here spontaneously combusting. I'm gonna eat glass.

[cordeliasdarling]

under her spell

pairing: ms venable x reader

word count: 1543

summary: ms venable leaves you needy everyday. that’s it basically lmao.

a/n: sorry this is really bad but i had a dream and i had to write it down. the smut is terrible but we vibing soo..

warnings: smut, masturbation

****

Tick tok, tik tok..

Your eyes watched each second pass on the clock. It was painstaking, every movement of the smallest hand was agonising.

Finally it reached five o'clock, and you stood up from behind your desk, packing your bag quickly. This didn't go unnoticed by the woman who had caused this urgency in you.

"In a rush?"

Oh that voice. It only made things worse.

You forced a smile, turning your head to see Ms Venable, seated and looking at you with a curious expression.

"Yes, I have plans."

Your tone was stilted, each syllable strained between your teeth. It wasn't out of hate, no, of course not. It was out of pure and utter desire. You see, the reason you were in a such a hurry, was because you couldn't stand to be a second longer in her company or else you would explode with neediness.

"You've said the same thing for a week."

Her low tone made you shudder inside. Why was it that her pronunciation consequently caused a ripple inside your body. You chose not to reply to her comment. It wasn't a question therefore it didn't need an answer. You instead slung the strap of your bag over your shoulder and made for the door. But a single tap of the cane stopped you in your tracks.

Turning your head, you saw Ms Venable's expression changed, a hint of irritation behind it. You cleared your throat, hating to admit that you were one of those people who froze when she tapped her cane against the hard floor. It was effective though, you'd give her that.

"If you flee the room again tomorrow, be prepared to give me a full explanation." Her tone was stern, sending electric shocks through your body, starting at your heart and ending between your legs.

"Yes, Ms Venable." With a slight nod, you left the room, closing the door behind you. You barely registered the drive home, it was like a time skip in a film. Next thing you knew you were sprawled out on your bed, hand working quickly to relieve the pent up pressure from the day.

"Fuck.." You mumbled, fingers drawing circles around your clit. It wasn't enough. You needed Ms Venable.

Oh.. Ms Venable..

Ever since you started working at Kineros, that woman had caught your eye. Of course she did, everyone was intimidated by her, but it was no secret that she was stunning. Even those most scared of her would have to admit she was blessed with looks. You had managed to keep your attraction in reigns, making sure not to think about her too much out of working hours, but the last week had been too hard.

It started off on Monday. You had walked into your shared office (as you were her assistant), and laid eyes upon the woman. She always wore a similar outfit, a lilac blazer, white shirt, tie, and a skirt that hugged her curves. But that day.. her shirt was undone by a few buttons, revealing the hum of her violet laced bra. She didn't seem to care, although you noticed that when she left the office later that morning, she did the buttons up. It had swarmed your mind all day, the image of her, wearing nothing but underwear. It was impossible to keep your mind at bay.

Then Tuesday. This time it was her skirt. It was a few inches shorter, riding up her thigh as she crossed her legs under the table. Your view from your desk gave a perfect angle, seeing all the way up her thigh. She seemed unbothered again, her gaze always on her laptop, working away.

Fuck.

Fast forward to Thursday, it was all too much. This was the forth time of the week you found yourself escaping work  just to go home to touch yourself. There was no other way to ease the pressure, but even that didn't fully satisfy you.

And that's how that very evening you found yourself standing outside the 'sex shop' in town. Your cheeks were stained pink, you were humiliated that it had come to this. But you took in a deep breath and entered.

**

You walked out of the shop clutching a black bag with a red bow, trying to hide it under your coat. Surely people could recognise where this bag was from. Although you shouldn't have been ashamed, there was nothing embarrassing about buying such things. No, the embarrassing part came afterwards.

In a split second after you had crossed the road, your eyes locked with another woman. Ms Venable to be precise. She was holding a shopping bag, placing it into the trunk of her expensive looking car. She straightened up, watching you with curiosity, perhaps wondering why you weren't with friends, carrying out your 'plans'.

"Hi, Ms Venable." You managed to choke out the words. A faint smile tugged on her lips, and you realised it was because she had noticed the bag poking out of your coat. A horrified inaudible squeak left you. If the ground swallowed you whole you definitely wouldn't complain. Maybe swallowed and thrown into a volcano, because that's how it felt.

"See you tomorrow." Her dismissal confused you. Surely she would have made conversation, small talk, or even just tease me for buying things at the sex shop. But no, she got into her car and drove away.

You were left stunned, but also needy. You hadn't seen her smile remotely, but there had been a faint one when she saw the bag. Urgh, this woman drove you crazy.

**

You walked into the office on Friday with confidence, a smile on my face. You were almost satisfied. Buying those things had definitely been a good investment. It didn't quite hit the mark, but it was enough to get you through the day. Or so you thought.

Ms Venable was sat behind her desk, one button on her shirt lower than before. I could see the curve of the gap between each breast. Your eyes widened, freezing for a moment, before your brain rebooted, mechanically forcing you to sit at your desk.

Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.

The ache between your legs grew back instantly. All you could think about was her bending you down over the desk and-

"Long night?"

You looked up, ready to shake your head, but you saw her smirk. You knew exactly why she asked that question. Cheeks flushed pink, you tried to focus on the morning work.

But you couldn't.

You mentally screamed, yelled, sighed. There was only one option if I wanted to get through the day. You stood up, excusing yourself and rushing off to the restroom. It was extremely lucky the restrooms were individual, you didn't have to go into stalls.

Your shaky hand locked the door, and immediately pulled down your slacks, fingers sliding over your heat. You were already soaked, groaning quietly as your fingers relieved the intense pressure. Your spare hand covered your mouth as your hand moved frantically.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, pulling you out of your trance. I quickly pulled my slacks up, rinsed my hand and took a deep breath. Wasn't there other restrooms other people could use?

You opened the door, revealing Ms Venable standing there. Shock rushed through you, and it showed on your expression. She let out a small chuckle, stepping into the restroom. You had to take a step back as you watched her lock the door.

"You thought I wouldn't notice you running off to touch yourself?" There was humour in her voice, eyes dark as she scanned me. Her eyes landed straight to the undone zip on my slacks. Damn it!

"U-uh.." You desperately tried to think up an explanation, but being this close to her was sending your mind into overdrive, causing you to whimper as she took one step closer.

Suddenly you were pushed against the wall, Ms Venable's strong arm holding you there. You hesitated, her face so close to you. You decided to kiss her.

It was like magic, she kissed back with an equal amount of passion.

Her left hand slid down your front, slipping into your underwear and beginning to stroke your clit. She chuckled again, noticing how wet you were.

"I'm guessing those sex toys didn't do much to help." You hated that she was right. She was always right.

"Y-yes.." You gasped as two slender fingers slid into you with ease. "Fuck!" Your hand clamped over your mouth quickly to muffle your noises. This woman made you moan like you'd never moaned before.

Her fingers were quick, pumping into you like there was no tomorrow. If you weren't very much mistaken, she seemed to be letting off some built up steam. Was that because of you?

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this." She murmured as she reached your most sensitive spot. You muffled a cry of pleasure as the knot in your stomach grew and grew.

"P-please, I'm gon-" You managed to whisper before a long awaited orgasm washed through you. She slowed down, pulling her fingers out. She smirked at how wet they were. She then licked them clean, making your knees weak because it was so hot.

"I hope you'll stop touching yourself and wait for me to satisfy you." She spoke in a humoured tone, and then simply left, leaving you in the restroom, weak, dizzy with euphoria.

And completely under her spell.

****

[oh-mydarling]

Another one from the archives!!

Golden Crown Of Sorrow

A little angsty Mina fic because I felt suddenly inspired. Title from ‘King’ by Florence welch. I got a bit carried away with metaphors and didn’t proofread </3

Keep reading

[marsthebabie]

Masterlist U⁠^⁠ｪ⁠^⁠U

Marvel

Natasha Romanoff

Cuddles

Wanda Maximoff

Wandanat x Reader

Puppy Love part 1

Nightmares

Little Angel

American Horror Story

Cordelia Goode

Princess

Wilhelmina Venable

Wilhelmina Venable and Cordelia Goode

Work trip

Wilhelmina Venable x Ally Mayfair-Richards

Rescue

Lana Winters

Alone

Ally May-fair Richards

Owie

Billie Dean Howard

Sick

Hypodermic Sally

RESIDENT EVIL

Alcina Dimitrescu

Slipping

Donna Beneviento

Playdate

Mother Miranda

RE8 Women

RE8 Women finding out your a little

OTHER

Diane Sherman

Angelique Bouchard

Alma Pereruine

[lostreverb]

"THE STEW IS STU!!" 😭😭😭

[mwf-art]

Purple is Ms. Venable thing 💜 Thank you so much @imnotafruitt for the commission!!!

If you’re interested, my commissions are open and I’m having emergency ones for $5!

Ig: mwf.art

Wilhemina in that beautiful Sarah picture

[beastsovrevelation]

Yeah, I guess it's sad Ms. Mead lost her girlfriend

But she did get her baby back

[saintlucretia]

Devil Wears a Suit

part Ⅱ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Mention of murder, Sexual harassment?, Explicit content, Curse words, Hot devil's son, Not proofread.

A/N: I tried my best, hope you enjoy.

A long night passed and the morning came. Well, if you can trust the clock. There were no windows at the Outpost for sunlight to penetrate the room, although even if there were some, it would not matter since after the bombs the sun disappeared behind a thick wall of fog. Fog of death.

I woke up with chills and sweat. Something haunted my dreams all night, making me shiver like a little lamb. Even though it was an unpleasant feeling, it added color to a pathetic parody of life that I have been having for the last 18 months.

Yesterday’s events bothered me. Moreover, they annoyed me. It was bright as day, that Langdon was messing with all of our minds, yet some part of my silly brain wanted me to believe that I was truly special. That he saw something, that no one else could.

I slowly walked to the bathroom. My bare feet touched the cold marble and I involuntarily shivered. I was tired. A mess. I washed my face and sighed, looking at myself in the mirror. Suddenly I noticed a motion somewhere behind, I turned my head and flinched. Snakes. They were crawling from the bath. Devilish creatures hissed showing me their poisonous fangs. I quickly ran out of the bathroom shutting the door behind me. What the hell? I caught my breath and sat on the edge of the bed. Are there snakes in my bathroom? I felt like I was going insane. Something cold touched my feet. Snakes. I jumped on the bed with a gasp. My closet and floor near it were full of them. They swarmed, intertwining with each other. Dozens of snakes. The other second I was already at the door, running to the hallway. Still barefoot in a white Victorian nightgown that Ms. Venable made us wear. I backed away from the room door and my back hit something soft. I turned around quickly, facing Michael Langdon's piercing blue eyes.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, preventing me from falling.

I stared at him for about a minute before words rolled out of my mouth.

“Snakes. There are snakes in my room.” My voice was hoarse, my fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket.

He was clearly amused by my state, studying my expression. Langdon chuckled, "Oh, really? Snakes, you say?" His eyes shone with a sly glint. I watched as he pushed me aside and glanced toward the room I had just run from.  

"May I?" he asked, and entered the room without waiting for my reply. I slowly followed him. To my horror, as we entered I saw nothing. Snakes were gone. Impossible.

“They were here. I swear to God they were here.” I mumbled looking around the room.

I noticed Langdon’s face contorted in hostility. 

“Don’t say such stupid words, Ms. Y/S. It’s unnecessary here.” 

I closed my face with my hands and sighed. Considering my appearance and edgy state, I totally looked like a mad woman. Nobody believes a mad woman.

“I believe you,” Langdon said, approaching me as if he read my thoughts. “Strange things sometimes happen. But it’s just… interesting that it happened in your room.” 

"What do you mean by that?" I furrowed my eyebrows, my gaze searching his face.

“You probably know that snakes have always been representing sin. It’s their main dignity. Servants of darkness… if you believe in symbols, of course.”

I let his words sink in briefly, my gaze drifting to the ground lost in thought. Snakes… sin… Snakes slithering in the garden of Eden… temptress Eve... I understood where he was going.

I huffed at that, scoffing. "Is that your way of calling me sinful? A corrupted soul? Please, spare me the Bible lessons."

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my comment, a playful smirk on his lips. 

"Oh, I'm not calling you sinful," he said, leaning against the nearby wall, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe. “But as you said it… it would be amusing to see you getting corrupted.”

I rolled my eyes. "Then what are you calling me?" I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of irritation. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to regain some composure.

Langdon chuckled at my defensive stance. His eyes gleamed with amusement. He pushed himself off the wall and slowly approached me.

"Are you always so feisty in the mornings?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I gulped as he came closer, a mix of annoyance and something else stirring inside me. His intense gaze made me feel cornered and yet, strangely… excited? My breath hitched as he was now standing directly in front of me, the space between us barely existent.

He raised his hand, a single finger tracing an invisible line down my cheek. "Or is it just my presence that gets you going?" he murmured, his voice dripping like honey.

The touch of his fingertip felt like a small electrical shock to my system. I tried to control my breathing, determined not to let him see me flustered.

"Your presence is hardly something exciting," I retorted, my voice a bit shaky. "It's more... irritating."

He smirked at my response. His finger trailed lower, down my jawline, and stopped at my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

“Well, as I recall it was you, who fell into my arms with fear, m?”

I hated how his words were effective. I hated how true they were. I hated myself for being so affected by his presence.

I tried to compose myself, my jaw clenched tightly. "I was just surprised," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, but my heart was beating too hard for any nonchalance. “There were snakes all over the room.”

Langdon chuckled, his thumb left my face and he slowly started walking toward the door. 

"Indeed there were," he replied, casually leaning against the door frame. He seemed relaxed as if the topic was of no real importance.

I watched him for a moment, trying to decipher his nonchalant behavior. He was enjoying this, the way he was playing with me. The way he was playing with everyone. 

"Are you going to explain what happened here, or just act like it's normal for snakes to appear out of nowhere?" I asked, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

Langdon chuckled at my question, that arrogant smirk never leaving his lips. "Isn't the mystery part of the thrill?" 

He walked out, closing the door behind me, leaving me again excited and annoyed. Silence engulfed the room after he left. I was left standing there, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind replaying the events that just occurred.

I sighed and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge with a thump. The silence was deafening, the only sound being the steady beat of my heart. I couldn't shake off the feeling of… anticipation. Anticipation for the next time I would see him. That son of a bitch.

I quickly dressed up and went to the day room. We didn’t have breakfast there. We barely ate at all. Some kind of nutrition cube at lunch and water. Balanced diet. 

No one yet tried to break the rules of the house that Ms. Venable had set, so when I entered the room almost everyone was already there. Same people, same walls, same music. I was going insane.

I took my usual seat, the conversations around me blending into a dull murmur. I felt suffocated as if I was drowning in the monotony. All I could think about was the next part of the interview with a representative of the Cooperative. 

Sanctuary could be a lie, who can verify that? All this can be a way to manipulate us. Even Ms.Venable was afraid, she didn’t trust him but obeyed. We were a flock of sheep in a pen with a hungry wolf. 

I was lost in thought when I noticed someone settling into the seat beside me. I turned my head to see Mr. Gallant.

"You seem lost in thought," he noted, his voice soft. "Everything alright?"

“Yeah, just… had an unpleasant morning,” I answered shortly, not wanting to tell him anything. I replayed all morning and yesterday's events in my head again and felt anger in my body. It made my blood hotter. 

He had no time to answer, as Ms. Venable walked into the room. Her presence immediately silenced the conversations. Her expression was stern, and she scanned the room with a critical eye.

"Good morning," she began, her voice steady and authoritative. She leaned on her cane and raised her voice a bit. “Today we are having a special treat. Don’t be late for lunch.” She turned from us and slowly started walking away, her heels echoing through the walls.

“Oh, by the way,” she stopped for a second but hadn���t turned her head. “Ms. Y/N, Mr. Langdon is waiting for you in the interview room.” She said harshly as if his name was disgusting to her.

I could feel the eyes of the others on me as they turned their gazes in my direction. I stood up slowly, trying to seem unbothered.

The walk to the interview room seemed longer than usual, the silence only interrupted by my footsteps and my rapidly beating heart. I will beat this motherfucker.

I knocked on the door of his cabinet and entered. There he was, sitting on the table, as he was waiting for me in that position intentionally. His pose was casual but deliberate. His gaze met mine, a smirk on his lips.

"Ah, Ms. Y/N," he greeted, his tone mocking yet playful. "Sit down please." 

I tried to retain my composure, refusing to let him see any hint of my nervousness. I sat down in the chair opposite him, trying to maintain some distance, yet feeling the closeness of the cramped room.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice steady but cold.

“Well, It’s the second part of your interview-” He began but I interrupted him. 

"Cut the act, Langdon.” I snapped, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “This psychotic bitch with her ridiculous rules is already sucking our blood, I don’t want another arrogant dick here, who thinks he can intimidate us. We both know this isn't a real interview. Even if Sanctuary is true, selection is just part of your manipulation." 

Langdon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh really?" He stood from the table and slowly started to circle me, like a shark circling wounded man in the water. I instinctively followed his movements with my eyes. "And why would I come to the Outpost then?" He stopped behind me, leaning closer, his breath warm against my ear.

I felt my breath hitch as he came closer, his breath sending a shiver through my body. I resisted the urge to lean away, instead sitting ramrod straight in my chair.  

"You tell me," I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of the unease I was feeling. He continued to circle me, his presence making the room feel even smaller.

Langdon chuckled at my response, his footsteps echoing around me as he completed his circle. He stopped in front of me. Smile gone.

“You are scared. It’s okay to be scared.” His calmness filled my mind with anger.

“I’m not.”

He smiled and leaned closer, resting his hands on the back of my chair, boxing me in with his arms.

“Of course you are,” he chuckled. His gaze fixed on mine. “And you should be.”

His arms on either side of my chair made me feel trapped. I could feel the power radiating from his body, and I had to fight the urge to lean back. I inhaled his smell, expensive cologne. Sweet, yet bitter, he smelled like dominance. It was hypnotic.

His chuckle was almost mocking as if he knew the effect he was having on me. I raised my chin defiantly.

"Why would I be scared of you?"  I retorted, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “You are nothing more than the obedient dog of The Cooperative.”

As words rolled out my mouth, I almost immediately regretted saying them. His smirk faded, eyes flashed with irritation and something even worse. I felt fear scratching my heart.

"Careful," he warned, calmly. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you. You don’t want to lose it, do you?”

I swallowed hard, my bravado wavering under his intense gaze. His threat lingered in the air like a shadow, and I knew he meant it. 

"I'm not intimidated by your empty threats," I managed to say, without thinking. Dumb bitch.

Langdon chuckled darkly, and the sound made goosebumps rise on my skin. Before I could say anything, his hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, not really choking me, but just enough to be a warning.

"Empty threats?" he repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You think I'm bluffing?" His grip tightened slightly, causing a gasp to escape my lips. I could feel my eyes widen in panic, but I tried to maintain a brave expression. “Tsk, tsk, I can already imagine how nice it would be to cut out that pretty tongue of yours.”

I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips at his threat. His grip on my throat was strong, constricting just enough to make me gasp for breath. 

"You... you wouldn't dare," I somehow managed to squeak out, my voice sounding weak and fearful. 

“Oh you think your pathetic life costs anything?” he leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “I could stab your stomach and rip out your little heart with my bare hand and no one could stop me.”

His words stung like a physical blow, and I felt my heart race in panic. He was deadly serious, looking at me like I was nothing more than a nuisance.

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Please don't."

Langdon's hand tightened the grip around my throat. He smiled at my pleading, a cold, cruel smile. 

"Begging already?" he asked, his voice mocking. "And after you so bravely challenged me."

My hands scrambled to pull away his wrist, trying to loosen his tight grip on my throat. I couldn't speak, could barely gasp for air.

His smile widened at my futile struggle, he enjoyed playing. He leaned closer, his face inches away from mine. 

"This is what happens when you challenge someone with power," he murmured. "You get humbled."

I was unable to say a word, strangled by his hand, tears starting to well up in my eyes. The room started to spin, and my vision became disoriented.

“Still, have hesitation about my authority?” he asked, his tone almost soothing.

"N-no... no..." I managed to choke out.

His hand released its grip on my throat, allowing me to gasp for air. My body slumped against the chair, trembling uncontrollably. I took a moment to recover from his grip, my heart still pounding and my breath shaky. I felt smaller under his gaze, like a mouse trapped under the eye of a snake.

Langdon chuckled at my reaction, his eyes glinting with cruel enjoyment. "Pathetic," he said, the word dripping with derision. 

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, and I knew he was relishing every moment of my humiliation.

Langdon reached out, his fingers gripping my chin tightly, forcing me to look at him. His touch was rough, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his voice as he spoke. 

"Now can you listen to me?"

I nodded weakly, my throat still sore from his assault. Langdon saw the fear in my eyes, and his smile widened at the sight.

"Good," he murmured, his hand slowly releasing my chin.

His gaze never left me, his eyes scrutinizing every reaction I made.

"You were smart enough to figure out the whole interview thing," he said, his tone casual yet calculating. "But you're not smart enough to know when to keep that pretty mouth shut." Langdon chuckled, a twisted sound that made me flinch. "Still, I appreciate the fire," he said. "Most of the other 'interviewees' are a little too... shallow, I’d prefer most of them dead by evening." 

His eyes never left mine, studying me intently. I tried to hide any emotion.

"They all tremble before the thought of going to The Sanctuary and willing to please me in any way. But you're…," he continued. "You're unfortunately not satisfied with just being an obedient pretty face. No, you have an attitude. And that, my dear, is your undoing."

“M’sorry.” I breathed out quietly.

"Apologies mean nothing," he said smiling. "The main thing is understanding how everything works. So tell me, did you truly understand the lesson here, or does your pretty little head need another reminder?" His tone was cold and condescending, making me feel even smaller. 

The fear that had subsided slightly came rushing back, cold and constricting - raw.

"No, no, I..." I stammered. "I understand." 

Langdon chuckled. "See, now that wasn't that difficult, was it?" he crooned, his hand reaching out to trace a finger along my jawline. His touch was mocking, a cruel gesture that sent a shiver of disgust through me and I diligently tried to hide it. It was hard not to move away. He seemed to enjoy my discomfort, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Now we can have a productive talk.” He said, turning away from me. “You have brains, I’ll give you that. So why not put them in use, hm?” 

I could feel a slight sense of relief as he turned away from me, but it was quickly replaced by a wary uncertainty. His change in demeanor was unpredictable, and I had no idea what was coming next.

"What... what do you mean?" I asked, my voice betraying my unease.

He began pacing back and forth in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You're clever, resourceful... more useful from. And I hate to see potential go to waste."

He stopped in front of me, his eyes studying me intently. I could practically feel the gears in his mind turning as he weighed his words.

"But the problem is, you're stubborn," he said finally. "And that stubbornness leads to insolence."

He leaned in, his face mere inches away from mine. The smell of his cologne hit my nose again. Crisp and masculine scent.

"And insolence, my dear," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is a trait I don't tolerate."

“I understand that.” I said semi-calmly.

“Oh, you are a quick learner as well.” he murmured. “Good girl.” His tone was still mocking, and I hated how the praise sent a flicker of warmth through me. I tried to remain stoic, but his words were starting to chip away at my defenses. 

He stepped back, his gaze still locked on me. 

"I have an offer for you," he said. "An offer that could benefit us both, if you play your cards right."

“What offer?” 

“I want you,” he began. “To work for me.” 

“Work for you?” I asked dumbly.

He chuckled at my confusion, enjoying my surprise.

"Yes, work for me," he confirmed. "You'll be doing research, digging up information on others, doing necessary tasks, anything I need. Think you can handle that, hm?"

“But… how?” I wasn’t expecting that offer at all. And how the fuck should I dig on others?

Langdon smiled at my question, obviously finding it amusing that I wasn't catching on.

"How?" he echoed. "You seemed smarter a few minutes ago."

He leaned against the table again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You'll be my eyes and ears, gathering intel for me. You'll tell me everything you see, hear or feel. And in return… I’ll put in a good word for you with the members of the Cooperative." 

I sat there, watching him silently.

He waited a moment, letting his words sink in. He was watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.

"I can see the wheels turning in your head," he began. "You're thinking about all the possibilities, aren't you? Life at The Sanctuary is heaven if you are friends with the authorities." He smirked.

He was right. The possibilities were spinning in my head like a whirlpool. 

But I knew there was a catch. People like Langdon never offered anything without expecting something in return. Something much bigger than collecting information. 

“What’s the catch?” 

He smirked at my question. His eyes were glittering with satisfaction, clearly enjoying his little game.

"Ah, are you always so suspicious or am I an exception?" he asked, tilting his head a bit.

“You think I shouldn’t be suspicious of the man who almost choked me to death a few minutes ago?” My tone filled with venom and I bit my tongue, afraid to anger him again.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it was just a friendly reminder” he said leaning closer to me, whispering. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that, you are bad at hiding it.”

My heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and embarrassment rushing through me. 

"Enjoy that?" I shot back. "Why would I enjoy being strangled by a sick psychopath?"

He smirked at my outburst, seemingly unfazed by my anger. 

"Now now, no need for name-calling," he said with mock hurt. "You can lie to yourself if it gives you comfort, but I saw the way you reacted, the way your body tensed, and the way your pupils dilated."

His gaze roamed over me in an almost predatory manner, making me feel exposed.

“Anyway, we have more important things to discuss than your sexual desires.” He smirked. “Accept my offer?”

His brazen, almost predatory manner was as infuriating as it was intoxicating. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I refused to look away. 

"Accept your offer..." I echoed, trying to sound strong. "You haven't exactly explained the full extent of this 'job' you're offering. I need more details before I can even consider it." I forced the words past my lip.

“It’s easy. You are loyal to me and I promise you protection. It’s always useful to have an intelligent, pretty head on your side.” he said, looking me up and down. “Before me, you were all alone among bastards, but now I offer you my hand and I really don't recommend biting it.”

“So I have to become a backstabber?” 

"No, my dear, you're thinking too low. You won't be backstabbing anyone. You'll merely be... helping me to form a new society. " He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Don’t tell me you are afraid of getting your hands bloody, I saw the way you look at Ms. Venable. You are bloodthirsty."

My eyes widened at his observation. I wasn't surprised he had caught on to my hatred for Ms. Venable, but hearing him say it out loud was another matter. 

"I'm not scared of getting my hands dirty," I said, my voice firm despite the shiver that ran down my spine. "I'm just not fond of being used."

Langdon sat on the edge of the table and smiled, almost genuine, he looked at me like I was a little kid.

“Come here.” he said calmly and beckoned me with the nod of his head.

I hesitated, not sure whether to obey his command or not. I slowly stood up and walked over to him, stopping a few feet away from him. It was crazy how he was radiating comfort and dominance at the same time. 

“Closer. I won’t bite.” 

I stepped closer and his hand reached to stroke my hair.

“You are special.” His voice was surprisingly gentle as he spoke. His fingers tangled in my hair, his touch both soothing and possessive. “You can achieve a lot or… stay here and rot with others.”

His words were like a cold bucket of water, snapping me out of the odd comfort I found myself in. I knew he was right, of course. Staying here meant settling for a life on the sidelines, living in fear and boredom. Or just die.

"You don't play fair, do you?" I said, my voice tinged with irritation. "One second you're choking me, the next you're stroking my hair and promising me the world."

"And why should I play fair, hm? Rules don't work anymore here, chaos has won." He leaned closer. 

I found myself smiling despite myself. It was probably still a shock. My mind couldn't keep up with what was happening. There was a dangerous charisma to him, an irresistible charm that I couldn't quite explain.

"That’s a convenient excuse for you to do whatever you want," I shot back, trying to sound defiant. "No rules means no boundaries."

Langdon chuckled again, his smirk widening. His hand slid down from my hair to rest on my throat again, his thumb brushing against my pulse.

"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I might start thinking you're enjoying this a bit too much." I freeze. “And about the rules… I prefer bending them, instead of breaking."

I didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue. He smiled, clearly enjoying my reaction. His thumb traced lazy circles on my throat, making my pulse quicken involuntarily.

“You don’t want to die here, do you?” He whispered in my ear. “It would be a shame if such potential would remain undisclosed…” His hand moved lower, gently touching my collarbone. “In this body.”

His touch ignited a strange fire inside me. I desperately tried to ignore the way my body reacted to him, the way my heart raced and my skin tingled where he touched me. 

"You make it sound like I'm a ticking time bomb." My voice came out a little breathier than I intended.

"Oh, don’t sell yourself short, darling," Langdon purred. "You’re more like a grenade. A beautiful, deadly grenade.” His hand caressed my skin. “So… Do we have a deal, Ms. Y/N?” 

I stared down at the floor, then back at Langdon, my gaze calculating. After a few seconds I nodded. “Deal.”

“Wise.” He smiled. “Now let’s make that official.”

His left hand went to grab my waist, while the other reached out to take something from the table. Small dagger. I instinctively tried to pull back, but his grip on me was unwavering

“No need to be scared, little lamb.” He handed me the weapon with the hilt forward. 

“Official?” I echoed.

“Yes. Deal in blood.” His answer made my body flinch.

The cool metal of the dagger felt heavy and unfamiliar in my hand. 

“Aren't you afraid that I would stab you?” I asked him, trying to hide my fear.

Langdon chuckled darkly, liking the question. 

"You wouldn't dare," he said with absolute confidence. "You're far too smart and too… intrigued by me to do something so foolish."

His eyes glittered dangerously like he was daring me to prove him wrong. "And besides... I have a feeling you're far more interested in finding out what it would be like to be on my good side."

He directed my hand, in which the dagger was clutched, and leaned the tip against the palm of his left hand. “Cut.”

I watched in fascination and slight horror as the blade made a small incision in his hand, a thin line of blood forming on his palm. He didn’t even flinch, his gaze locked on mine the entire time. It awakened in me something feral.

“Now you,” he said, his voice low and steady.

He grabbed my hand, his grip gentle but firm, and guided the knife to my palm. The sharp pain was muffled by his lips on my cheek. The warm blood slowly pooled in my palm. 

He pressed his wounded hand against mine, the touch inflicted pain. The blood from his hand mingled with mine, the warmth and stickiness of it a strange and yet somehow comforting sensation. 

 "And with that..." he said, his voice hushed. "Our deal is sealed."

I felt the burning urge to press my lips to his. Without clearly thinking I leaned to his face, kissing him hungrily. He didn’t return the kiss, but didn’t pull away either. 

"Now, now, dear," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Don't get ahead of yourself. No need to complicate things…"

His gaze flicked down to my lips, his own curving into a smug smile. I was ashamed of my bold move and confused by his stubbornness. He was a man after all, wasn’t he?

"Complicate?" I repeated, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "Says the one who just made me swear a blood pact."

Langdon chuckled, amused by my attempt at irritation. "Ah, don't pout," he said, his hand moving to gently cup my jaw. 

"Just because I'm not giving in to your every desire doesn't mean I’m inaccessible.” He leaned closer to my ear. "But keep pushing, darling. I do love it when you act up, maybe next time you wil get lucky." He carelessly brushed his lips along my wound, making me whimper quietly, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment. God, he is killing me.

Langdon pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His hand left my jaw, and I found myself missing the feel of his touch already. I leaned forward, wanting him to touch me.

"Ah ah ah," he tutted, his voice mockingly chiding. "I can practically feel your eagerness, my dear. But I'm afraid I can't have you slacking off on our deal."

He gestured lazily to the door. "You should return to your routine. Can’t have Ms. Venable catching you slinking around here for too long."

I bristled at his order, but I knew he was right. I nodded grudgingly.

"Fine."

I started to walk toward the door, my wounded hand throbbing a little from the recent events. But before I reached the threshold, Langdon's voice stopped me.

"Oh, and Y/N?"

I turned back, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

His eyes were glinting mischievously.

"A word of advice," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Try to control that urge of yours. It's going to get you in trouble..." He paused, his gaze roaming up and down my body. "Or is it already too late?"

“Check it yourself next time,” I answered boldly and grabbed the door handle.

I couldn’t see his face, but was sure that he was amused.

"I might just take you up on that offer." I heard his smooth voice, as I left the room. "Off you go, little lamb." 

I shut the door behind me and leaned on it with my back. Probably that’s what it feels like to sell your soul to the Devil.

Have a good day <3

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Your Mina (Wilhemina Venable x f!Reader)

Synopsis: The world has ended and not just due to the missiles. Your Mina is gone, the cold Ms Venable left in her place. If only you didn't still want her.

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: degradation kink, humiliation kink, mentions of possessiveness, mentions of exhibition, swearing, thigh riding, chocking, jealousy, BDSM themes, objectification

The end of the world hadn’t been what you were expecting. It hadn’t been a slow build to something, climate change not the cause. Missiles, as the news announced, felt so stark and impersonal in the face of the death they wrought. You hadn’t even had the chance to feel the fear or the loss or the anxiety before hands had clasped around your arms and you were being escorted into a massive SUV.

Kicking and screaming brought blank stares, no one bothering to step in. Tears were running down your face but you were hardly the only one. The missiles were on the way and you were just another person facing this overwhelming truth. The world was ending and you were being kidnapped.

You would never get the chance to kiss your girlfriend goodbye.

You were bundled underground, into some kind of bunker built for the rich and powerful. You tried, over and over again, to tell them that they had the wrong person. You weren’t rich. You weren’t powerful. You were nothing and no one.

In a room, questions unanswered, you were left to stew. Firelight licked up the walls, shadows dancing, putting you on edge. You saw no one else, alone, the silence uncaring as you screamed at them to let you go. When the screaming ran out, tears fell down your cheeks. It was beginning to sink in just how alone you truly were. There must be other people in whatever place it was, but your family was gone, your girlfriend, your friends, everyone you’d ever known. They were all gone and you remained.

It was a cruel mistake.

You sunk into a chair eventually, curling up in it. Time was moving but you couldn’t feel it, the numb feeling growing in your chest. Your life had changed and you weren’t sure you wanted it. You wanted your life back or to have perished with everyone you loved. Not whatever this was.

The tears stopped. The numb feeling grew. You stared into the fire, wondering when it would consume your body. At some point, you knew, it would.

You ignored the sound of approaching footsteps. Your chin rested on your knees, arms curled around bent legs, staring at the flames until they were all you could see. No one could make it better. Of that you were sure.

A sharp tap of a cane on the floor had you stiffening. Their cruelty knew no bounds. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to let any more tears fall. They weren’t going to break you, no matter what this torture was. Maybe you had died and this was hell.

Another sharp tap of the cane so much closer and you half turned your head towards the sound. Your eyes scanned up from shoes hidden under a long dress, a dark cane held in pale hands. Your heart gave a small flutter. The further up, the more familiar the figure standing in the doorway was becoming.

Dark eyes were staring at you from a mask like face. Hair you’d once run your fingers through was pinned up. Lips you knew the taste of were pressed into a thin line. Your mouth grew dry.

“Mina,” you breathed, rising from your seat.

You couldn’t believe it. She was standing there, right in front of you, looking none the worse for wear. She was perfect. Your heart was thudding in your chest, loud in your ears, and she was right there. You could touch her, if you just reached out, because she. Was. Right. There.

“You will call me Ms Venable.” Her voice was so cold.

“But-“

Her hand shot out, open palm striking your skin. You gaped at her, the sting bringing tears to your eyes. She was staring at you, daring you to argue and you didn’t know what was happening. This wasn’t your Mina. Your hand trembled as you raised it, lightly touching the skin that bore her handprint.

“Yes Ms Venable,” you whispered, not even aware you were doing it.

Your eyes focused on your feet, your breathing shallow, the sting of her slap still echoing through your body. The end of the world had taken her from you, but not through death, through transformation. Pushing the tears back once again, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, biting down until the coppery tang of blood bloomed on your tongue.

“Welcome to Outpost Three,” Ms Venable said, and her voice was so familiar it hurt.

“Thank you,” you said.

“As a Purple you’ll be supplied a furnished suite,” she said.

Your eyes flashed up, purple meaning something more than whatever she was suggesting.

“Purple?” you asked.

“One of the elite.” Her voice practically purred and your entire body felt like a live wire, “come.”

You moved on shuffling feet, following behind her as she walked with such confidence. You had no idea when she’d been shown this place. She’d never spoken of it, never even hinted at something like it. All those years together and not once had this ever entered into your life. Until the end of the world.

The end of the world she knew about?

She explained the rules to you, your arms slowly tightening around your body. None of it felt real. None of it was reasonable. You’d stepped into a world where nothing made sense and nothing was okay. Your Mina was gone and yet was also standing right there.

Standing there but different. Your Mina would never wear black, purple the colour she wore at all times. You didn’t like it. She never wore her hair so pinned up, so severe. While you could appreciate how it showed off the long line of her neck and the cut of her jaw, the sway of her hair had been a constant in your life. At least the scent of lavender seemed to cling to her, not quite hidden. Yours gaze slid over her body, finding her more a stranger than was comfortable.

You stepped through the door she indicated into your suite, should brushing against hers. That familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air of the room. You breathed in deeply, eyes slipping closed for a moment, letting yourself imagine for a moment that the world hadn’t changed so drastically. You turned, looking at her, eyes sweeping over someone that once had been as familiar to you as your own reflection.

“I don’t understand,” you said.

“Which part?” Cruelty was the flavour of her voice.

“All of it. I mean, I know about the missiles but why am I here? I’m not anyone,” you asked.

For the first time, something in her eyes seemed to break apart and hastily be put back together again.

“You must have been important to someone in power,” she said, “if you find yourself so inconsequential.”

You looked at her, really looked at her. You’d woken that morning to her already having left the house. There was a vague memory of lips pressed to your forehead before rolling over. There’d been no note, not indication anything was going to be different. You’d slept last night with her warmth beside you, arms around you, breathing in time with one another. Now… now she was so far from the bed you’d once shared and you had no idea how to get back to it.

“I suppose so,” you replied, voice soft, letting her have the out she was looking for, “thank you, Ms Venable.”

She gave you a short nod before turning on her heels and walking away, the tap of her cane lingering long after she was gone.

The closing door was quiet and so was the sigh that passed over your lips. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. The world had ended but Mina was still there with you. But different. Not your Mina. Ms Venable. Not the woman who would come home at the end of the day and slip into the bath with you, but something new. Someone you’d never known before.

You wandered through the suite. It was plush, expensive, nicer than the home you’d shared with Mina. You didn’t know what to do with it. The world had ended and you were living in luxury. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it.

In the large closet, purple stared back at you from every corner. You ran your fingers of the materials, finding that each item was beautiful. Each one was perfect. Someone had put a lot of thought into curating the wardrobe you were to have in the end days. You shook your head, not sure what to do with that information. None of it was making any sense to you.

You were slow to dress and by the time you found your way to the dining room, it looked as if you were the last to join them. Mina was sitting at the head of the table. You couldn’t look at her, not without a wound in your chest opening up again. You felt the weight of the other gazes on you, not looking up from the hands clasped in your lap.

One weighed heavier than the others.

You’d dressed carefully, in the dress you thought shed’d like the most on you. It was soft, delicate, almost romantic. You couldn’t bare facing her only to be met with disdain. It had been a message that you would do what she wished to please her.

You’d keep to whatever role she was placing you in. Just sharing the same space as her would have to be enough in your new reality. You could be perfect for her, if that’s what she needed from you. Even now, when she wasn’t your Mina, you’d still do whatever you could for her.

Thank god your therapist hadn’t survived the end of the world or she’d have a lot to say about that.

You kept your interactions with the other Purples to a minimum. You found them insipid at the best of times, and you craved the attention of only one person in the entire Outpost. Instead, you watched the way she terrorised them. She stalked the halls, doling out discipline as she saw fit, lurking in the shadows just to catch them breaking the rules. The joy she seemed to get from it seemed so different from the woman you’d known on the outside, and yet you’d seen glimmers of it sometimes. On her worst days, mostly.

You didn’t find it any less intriguing, though. You might have been willing to play along with her facade of being nothing but strangers, but you still noticed that left you with less of her attention than the others. It might have been bad attention, but at least it was attention. You craved it, like it was the air you breathed. Where once the weight of her gaze ws comforting and familiar, now it felt exciting in its scarceness.

And then there was Ms Mead. Her right hand, her confidant, her trusted advisor. A kernel of jealousy curled behind your ribs, hissing in your ears that you’d been replaced. That she didn’t need you anymore. That she didn’t want you.

So you decided to do something drastic if only to prove to yourself that you were still burrowed in her heart.

It was slow, not wanting her to catch on before you were ready. You took your time, inching towards the group of Purples day by day until you were sitting with their group, listening to them talk. No one questioned it, no one pointed out you’d spent months ignoring them, now seeking them out.

Gallant was the first to notice your sarcastic comments, muttered under your breath. Catching your eye whenever Coco said something, a shared smile, the sting of friendship was surprisingly painful after months kept to yourself. He would sit beside you, the two of you sharing barbs.

If Mina noticed the change, she didn’t show it.

So you amped it up. You whispered with Mallory in dark corners, you complimented Coco loudly, you shared smiles with Dinah. In short, you did all you could to show her she no longer had your attention either. That you’d moved on. That if she didn’t want you then you weren’t going to sit around waiting for her forever.

Her eyes began to trail you throughout the twisting halls of the outpost.

One more turn of the cog. Standing in your wardrobe, the handpicked clothes for you by the woman who knew you better than anyone, you considered each one with a critical eye. Yes, the one in the far corner, tucked away as if she hadn’t wanted you to find it. That was the one.

The lavender slip dress was silk, so soft against your skin. Clinging to your figure, a cowl neckline and slit up to your thigh, it was sexier than anything else you’d worn, nothing like the Victorian inspired fashion you’d grown used to. But she had left it for you and it felt like a challenge.

You pinned your hair up, not as sever as her, softer, more romantic. You looked in the mirror, doing your best to effect the wide eyed look of innocence you knew you’d need to sell the whole ideal. Give her something to ruin.

You waited, just long enough to know you would be the last to sit down to dinner. Not late, but on the cusp. Stepping into the dining room, it was like a slow wave, faces turning to you, only one looking less than pleased.

You took your usual seat beside Gallant, ignoring the one woman you were trying so hard for. Some eyes were still lingering on you, Coco to be exact, and she looked put out at your appearance.

“Nice dress,” Gallant said, leaning towards you but in the quiet room his voice carried.

“Thank you,” you said, smoothing one hand over your thighs, “I found it in my room and thought why not? No point wasting something so pretty.”

Your eyes looked past him, finding Ms Venable watching you. There was fire in her eyes and you didn’t fail to notice the way her fingers clenched on the head of her cane. With a small smile you turned your face away, looking down at the gelatinous cube on your plate. Hardly your favourite meal but given it was the only one in existence you’d take it.

Your dragged your eyes up again, Coco looking at you with a cocked head. You offered her a wink, smirking at her. It wasn’t so much a feeling as a shift in the atmosphere. A tap of the cane on the ground, your thighs clenching together.

The meal was as unsatisfying as ever. Well, the food was. The eyes that you kept drawing to yourself were not. Arching your back, your neck, letting your fingers trail over your collarbone, laughing softly in Gallant’s ear, letting your teeth sink into your lower lip. You were using all the tricks that had once worked on her. The tricks that also led to you pinned to the mattress moaning her name.

No one said you had to play fair.

Once the meal was over, you slid your arm through Gallant’s, letting your hips sway, not bothering to offer a parting look to the woman who still owned your heart. He escorted you into the library, the infernal song making you purse your lips.

“So tell me,” he murmured under the cover of Coco’s complaints, “who’s benefit is this little number for?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, smiling at him, letting him know you were lying.

“You do know sex is strictly forbidden,” he said.

“Who said anything about sex?” you laughed, “nothing wrong with being desired.”

“Did you really find this dress in your wardrobe?” he asked.

“Would you believe my answer if I said yes?”

“Not for a moment,” he replied, “but whoever it is, they’re going to find you hard to resist.”

You sat in the corner of the sofa closest to the fire. The light, flickering over your skin, would be temptation in itself. Gallant seated himself beside you, his eyes scanning over the room, most likely trying to ferret out which of the other Purples you were trying to seduce. The woman moving through the room, taking her position with her back to the fire, was ignored by him. You smiled down into your lap before looking up at her. The glare you received in return was nasty.

You only stayed long enough to not raise suspicions. You squeezed Gallant’s shoulder as you left, getting an indulgent smile in return. The air in your room was stale and yet it continued to hold notes of lavender, even so many months later. You sat on your bed, face turned towards the door.

She didn’t leave you waiting long.

The knock on your door was perfunctory. You were slow to rise, wanting her to wait. Pulling the door open you didn’t have the chance to say anything before a hand was curling around your throat and pushing back into the room. Your hand snapped up, fingers curling around the delicate wrist, but you didn’t try to pull it from you. The door closed quietly behind her.

“You have been making a spectacle of yourself,” she said, squeezing.

“And you’ve been enjoying the show,” you shot back, breathless and hoarse.

She snarled, throwing you back. You stumbled, doing your best not to trip over your own feet. She advanced, slow and steady, each tap of the cane making you lose a little more of your breath. Her eyes swept over your body, looking less than impressed with what she found.

“You think too highly of yourself and your little display,” she said.

You took a step into her personal space, feeling her familiar warmth wash over your exposed skin. Her eyes darted down your body again, lingering on your lips for a moment before meeting yours. You pulled those lips up into a smirk, leaning forward.

“And I think you look at me and remember exactly what I sound like when I orgasm on your tongue,” you murmured.

“Insolence,” she growled, “your base desires are nothing of my concern.”

“Once they were only your concern,” you said, stepping back from her, “but I suppose you’re right. Someone else might want that job now.”

“No one will ever have that job,” she hissed.

“Yes yes, I know. No unauthorised sexual intercourse,” you said, rolling your eyes, enjoying the hint of jealousy in her voice.

Your hand slowly skimmed up your body, lingering on one breast. Her eyes zeroed in on it, darkening in a way that felt familiar. You brushed a thumb over a hardening nipple, a little gasp your only response.

“That doesn’t stop me fantasising about you every night with my fingers knuckle deep inside my pussy.”

Her throat bobbled.

“I used to just remember how it was. You, me, our bed or our bath or our kitchen counter,” you said as you pinched your nipple through the silk of your dress, “but then I got creative. Rather than Mina I had Ms Venable. Disciplining me. Tying me up. Bruising me. Choking me. Degrading me. I found I rather liked those fantasies.”

“You disgust me,” she growled.

“Then why are you thinking about using me for your own pleasure?”

Her eyes darkened and you saw her jaw clench. You knew her, better than you knew yourself. She’d never been good at hiding what she wanted from you, especially when what she wanted was you. You made small noise in the back of your throat as you tugged on your nipple, eyes fluttering closed at the shot of pleasure to your core.

A hand curled around your throat again, forcing you backwards until your back hit the wall. You didn’t bother opening your eyes, rolling your nipple, her name a soft exhalation. Lips brushed the shell of your ear and the scent of lavender curled around you.

“You’re nothing but a dirty whore ruled by your own animal instincts,” she growled in your ear.

“Uh huh,” you hummed, her words lighting your blood on fire. She’d never been one for this before, when it was sweet and soft and full of reassurances. You were having fun exploring this side of her.

“Pathetic,” she snarled, “do you really think this will end well for you?”

“I think it’ll end well for you,” you all but gasped, “you know how good I am with my tongue.”

Her fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your back arched into your own touch, her warmth brushing against your bare skin. Your eyes opened, finding her watching you, teeth biting into her bottom lip. You lent into her hold, eyes focused on that lip, wanting to bite it until you tasted her blood.

“You want me to use you?” she hissed, “would that bring you pleasure?”

You nodded, watching her lips form the words. You could still remember what they felt like against your skin. They curled up into a cruel smirk.

“On your knees, slut.”

With the hand around your neck she forced you down. You looked up at her from under your lashes, tongue dragging along your lower lip. She let you go, stepping back. With careful movements she set her cane aside, sitting on the edge of your bed. She crooked a finger at you.

You crawled across the floor on hands and knees, practically panting at the thought of getting your mouth on her after so many months. She raised her foot, pressing it against your shoulder, holding you back, heel digging in painfully.

“You think you deserve to touch me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you said, not even having to think about, “name one person who knows your body better than me. Name someone who can make you feel as good as I can.”

“Whose to say I haven’t found someone here?” she asked. That same jealousy curled in your gut, whispering in your ear, telling you Ms Mead had replaced you. She didn’t need you.

“Let me prove it,” you begged, surprised by how much you needed it.

“And what have you done to earn the honour?” she asked, “you choose to debase yourself in front of me. You flaunt your body as if that will impress me. You associate with degenerates and air heads. You are nothing and you will never amount to more than nothing.”

“Please,” you breathed, “please let me do this for you.”

Her foot dropped from your shoulder. You crawled forward again, unhindered. You stopped between her feet, dragging your eyes up her body. She was staring down at you, those dark eyes unimpressed but so intent on you.

Your hands skimmed up her calves, finding bare skin under your fingers. You pushed her skirt up, admiring the line of her leg. Your brought your lips to her right leg, finally touching her soft skin, tongue darting out to taste her. So familiar and yet so different.

“Hurry this up,” she growled, “I have places to be.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you said, lips brushing her skin.

Her legs parted further, giving you room to continue your exploration up her legs. She was still watching you, hands resting on your comforter, eyes darkening as your fingers slid over her knees. Your nose skimmed along her inner thigh before your breath caught.

Mina had always splurged on nice lingerie. It had been one of those things you’d loved. Silk and lace and satin. Always in shades of purple. She seemed to get a kick out of each new one revealed to you, the way your eyes would widen before you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her. She planned it to perfection, each reveal making your head spin and desire pool between your legs.

If you’d considered the opportunity for lingerie in the Outpost, it was usually drawn from your imagination, your desire of what you’d like to see Mina in. In reality, you expected something functional, perfunctory, much like you’d found in your own wardrobe. Functional over aesthetic. Basic and simple, serving a purpose beyond stoking desire.

What you hadn’t expected was for her to forego underwear altogether.

Right there, easily accessible, her centre was glistening in the firelight. Fingers tangled in your hair, tugging until a sharp pain in your skull caught your attention. You tipped your head back, finding her staring at you.

“Problem?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her act of indifference might have worked better if you couldn’t see the effect you’d already had on her. Her fingers tightened in your hair again, pulling past the point of pleasure.

“No, Ms Venable,” you replied, lowering your eyes back to her pretty pussy.

The hand on the back of your head forced you forward, headfirst where she wanted you most.

“Then get to work. Prove to me you’re the best slut I have on offer.”

Your tongue darted out, licking through her folds. The fingers in your hair tightened again. You did it again, revelling in her taste. You’d missed it, more than you’d realised. You hummed, eyes closing as you treasured the moment, tongue delving deeper. You wanted her taste on your tongue forever.

When you ghosted over her clit her fingers clenched. You did it again, wanting to feel the pull. The sharp pain was making your legs feel like jelly. You hadn’t thought that would be something you liked, but then you hadn’t thought you’d like this new Mina before you’d met her. But she was fun, opening up a whole new world of exploration for you.

You let your lips wrap around it, slow to suck. She forced your head harder against her, grinding against you. Your tongue flicked out, determined to hear her moan. The sound of it haunted your dreams. You craved it. You yearned for it. It would fulfil your dreams.

She kept silent.

Your arms hooked around her thighs, keeping them open as you pressed closer in. Your tongue lapped at her, circling her bundle of nerves, feeling her hips rise to meet you. You hummed again, tongue thrusting into her. Her legs pressed in, ignoring your hold on them, contracting around your head.

“Fucking whore,” she hissed, “so desperate for me. It’s pitiful. You disgust me.”

You tried to plunge further in, wanting her to feel you. Your nose bumped against her clit. She forced your head forward, grinding against you, uncaring of how you might be feeling. Your tongue was working hard, thrusting into her, setting a pace that you weren’t sure you could keep up. You looked up, watching the way her face contorted in pleasure. Her lips fell open in a silent moan, eyes closing. You stroked at her internal walls.

“I’m sure I’m your favourite taste. You’d stay there on your knees all day if I’d let you lick at me like a desperate little whore. Would you service me whenever I asked?” You knew you would.

You pulled your tongue from within her, wrapping your lips around her clit. You prised your fingers from her thigh, replacing your tongue, pushing them in until you could curl them, finding the place within her you knew so well.

She moaned.

“Maybe I should take you with me to dinner, have you feed under the table, at my feet as you deserve. Or would you rather eat from me instead? Let the rest of them know what a desperate little slut you are.”

You pressed your thighs together. Your fingers were slow as they pumped inside her, stroking and curling, twisting in a way you’d found she’d liked so much so many months before when the world was still the one you knew. You were sucking on her clit, her fingers pressing you harder, grinding hard against your tongue. The thigh you still held was beginning to tremble and her words were becoming breathy.

“Or maybe I should have you laid out on the table, touching yourself through dinner, let everyone see the control I have over you. Debase yourself in front of them. Show your shame to them all. Remind them you’re nothing but a dirty whore who earned her place here with her body, not through worthwhile means.”

You whined. Her laugh was breathless, fingers in your hair tightening. you could feel your own arousal beginning to drip down your thigh, her words only spurring you on. You wanted all of it, everything she was describing. You wanted her claiming you in front of them. You wanted to debase yourself, her words controlling you, begging her for release for everyone to hear. She owned you, body and soul, and it had taken the end of the world for you to realise how true that was.

“Even Coco is more worthy of her spot here. All you have is your body. Nothing but an object for my pleasure.”

You stroked the spot within her you’d always been able to find in conjuncture with a sharp suck to her clit. Her head fell back, hips jumping forward. Her thighs were squeezing your head, hands forcing you against her. It was hard to breathe but it was unimportant to you, her rising pleasure all that mattered.

“Look best on your knees,” she panted, “desperate to please. Willing to debase yourself, making a spectacle of yourself, demeaning yourself. Think you can please me. Think I’ll like seeing you giving into your animalistic urges. So… So… pathetic.”

She groaned as her internal muscles clenched around your fingers. She was keeping you pinned against her pulsing core, riding your face as hard as she could. With your tongue tasting her, you wondered if she’d cum since the end of the world or if this was the first time in all those months.

Her breath was slow to even out. Your fingers slid from her, your tongue dragging over the skin of your palm to clean yourself up, not wanting to miss a drop of her.

She dragged you up, your knees screaming from being pressed against the stone ground for so long. She ignored your whimper, lips crashing against yours. Her tongue was in your mouth, almost lazy as she stole your breath, giving you what you’d been yearning for since entering the Outpost. It was like kissing your Mina again. Her other hand was pulling up your skirt, fingers skimming your skin, making you whine into her mouth.

With probing fingers she discovered you’d also forgone underwear, bare under her touch. She made a noise, drawing back from the kiss, a look of affected disgust crossing over her face. Her finger ghosted through your folds, lingering on your clit. Your breath froze in your lungs, hips stuttering towards her. She guided you down onto her still bare thigh, bare cunt against her skin.

She curled her lip, watching the way your lips sunk into your bottom lip. The feel of her against you was almost too much. Your hips rocked, a tiny movement that would have been unnoticeable if she hadn’t been watching you so intently.

Her hands grasped your hips, tight enough to leave bruises, keeping you still. You whined again, eyes begging her to let you move. You were dripping with need, her thigh already slick from your arousal. The curl of her lip was undercut by the gleam in her eye, self satisfied and interested in you.

“You disgust me,” she said, “nothing but your base urges motivating you.”

“Ms Venable,” you whined, “please.”

It was torture, being held like that, pressure on your clit but held still. Your breathing was erratic, need filling your veins. Her eyes swept over you, considering you, finding you wanting.

“Go on then,” she said, turning her eyes away from you as if she didn’t care, “rut like the animal you are.”

No matter how much disinterest she tried to affect, her hands were the ones guiding you against her thigh, tensing underneath you. Your head fell back, moaning loudly, wanting her to hear how much she still effected you. She was setting a tortuous pace, your clit slowly dragging over her skin. You were whimpering, trying to catch her eye again, wanting her to see how desperate you were.

Your hips rocked faster, harder, grinding down against her. She was slow to turn her gaze back to you, sweeping over your undulating body again. Her name mingled with pleas and thanks was all that fell from your lips. She snarled at you, only flooding you with more heat. You liked how she degraded you, even as she gave you the pleasure you were so desperate for.

Her fingers grasped your chin as your head began to tip back again, forcing you to look down at her. You moaned, staring in her eyes as your hips ground down, seeking out more pleasure. She growled, pressing her thigh up harder. You wanted to bury your fingers in her hair, feel the silky strands against your skin, pull the pins out so they’d tumble down her back. You wanted to kiss her deeply, burying your moans in her mouth. You wanted her to watch you come undone.

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, breathy and throaty, a half whine. Her eyes were watching you, lips pressed together, a flush high on her cheekbones, barely visible in the firelight. You were rocking against her, chasing your high, the spring tightening within you. Your fingers clenched around nothing, not knowing if you could touch her, muscles straining to the point of trembling.

“Aren’t you done yet?” she drawled.

Your breath caught, body tensing above her, your orgasm crashing into you. Wave after wave moved through you, her name sweet nectar on your tongue as you cried it. A smirk settled on her face, eyes practically smouldering, fingers tightening on your hips again. Your head fell forward, seeking out her lips.

She allowed you to kiss her, surprisingly soft. Her tongue stroked against yours and despite the fact your heart was still beating double time from your orgasm, heat stoked in your lower stomach again. You sunk your teeth into her lip, giving in to your impulse. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades, forcing you against her body. Soft supple curves pressed against yours, the rough fabric of her dress scraping your skin.

The kiss softened again, more reminiscent of times long since gone. You sighed into her mouth, hands finally landing on her shoulder, thumb brushing against her pulse point. With strength that had always surprised you, she lifted you from her thigh, laying you back on the bed. Her hands skimmed down your body, featherlight until you were thrumming under her fingers.

“I must admit,” she murmured against your lips, “I have missed you.”

“Really?” you asked, drawing back just far enough to see her properly.

“You are the owner of my heart, little one. Holding back from having you has been torture,” she said, fingers stroking through your hair, pulling leftover pins from it.

“Then why were you?” you asked, wondering how long you’d have your Mina back.

“Maintaining distance was necessary. I could smuggle you in but once here I couldn’t show any such favouritism. Not if I wished to remain in charge, unquestioned and complete,” she said, “and you made it so incredibly difficult, little one. I felt those beautiful eyes watching me, looking so lost and hurt. All I wanted was to take that hurt away.”

“I just didn’t understand how I’d lost you. The end of the world and you were there but you weren’t and I had no one.”

Her fingers were still running through your hair, comforting and soft. Her other arm curled around your waist, rolling until she was lying on the bed, holding you close. You rested your head on her shoulder, pressing yourself to her with a level of neediness you didn’t usually feel around her. After months without, you needed it more than you needed air.

“So now what?” you asked her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, lips brushing your hairline.

“We just had unauthorised sex,” you said, “am I going to be shot?”

“Of course not.” She stiffened and you could hear the horror in her voice, “I authorised it. I am the leader of Outpost Three, after all.”

“Yeah, that whole thing has definitely awoken something in me,” you said.

Her soft chuckle vibrated through her chest, passing into yours. You pressed closer, legs tangling together, uncaring of the arousal that still coated both of your skin. Her lips pressed to your forehead.

“I noticed, little one,” she said, “perhaps next time I’ll tie you up and tease you until you think you’re going mad.”

Your shaky exhalation earned you another kiss, soft and lingering, a promise for you to cash in.

“In public we shall remain as always. The leader and a Purple. Behind closed doors, we shall be us again,” she said, “if that’s agreeable to you?”

“I’ll take whatever I can get of you,” you replied, “you’re my world and I’ve missed you so much.”

Your name was sweet on her tongue, a soft sigh, a small smile. You lent up, kissing her until she was melting beneath your touch. You felt liquid, dreamlike, you hopes coming true right in front of you.

“I love you,” you muttered against her lips.

She rolled you, hovering above you, staring down with those dark eyes. Firelight danced across her skin and she’d never looked so beautiful to you.

“I love you too, little one,” she said, before kissing you once again.

[enchantedruin]

the interview

{ light nsfw, thigh-riding, belittling}

You couldn’t decide what angered you more—the desperate flicker of emotion you failed to hide or the festering, rotten desire you let take root in your heart.

Eighteen months.

No relief.

No escape.

Flashes of the surface, of life before the bombs, would trickle into your mind as he rocked your hips back and forth against his thigh, every movement rougher, more primal, as the friction between you built.

The world was physical then. Now it was all cold and empty.

Each morning was a hellish repetition: wake up, don that ugly gray dress, and submit to the void of a life with no comfort. Just Ms Venable’s rules, and the dull ache of missing something… missing everything.

“For someone who came undone so quickly,” Michael said, his breath hot against your skin, “you still have the nerve to pretend you don’t want this.”

He let out a grim chuckle as his fingers dug into your waist “Ms. Venable’s done a fine job, hasn’t she? Groomed you into something cold, something obedient.” His face hovered close, his breath heaving over your chest.

“You don’t care about passing this test, do you?” Michael looked up at you with a sly smile as you struggled to look at him as you pleasured yourself, your clothed heat against his. “You only care about one thing right now—yourself.”

And the worst part? He loved every second of your silent surrender, every flicker of weakness that continued to slipped past the surface. You could feel it in the way he moved against you, could hear it in his barely restrained groans. He was getting off on your inability to resist, on how easily you bent beneath him.

“You think you’re different from the others, don’t you?” Michael’s voice slid into your ear like poison, laced with mockery, his lips barely brushing your skin. “You think because I’ve picked you, you must be something special.” His hands tightened around your waist, but there was no warmth in his touch—just possession.

Your breath hitched, but you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to his presence—how even the smallest graze of his fingers against your skin sent a wave of heat through you.

He knew. He always knew.

“Ms. Venable was right about one thing,” Michael continued, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re obedient when you need to be. But all that defiance…” He let out a low, humorless chuckle, his breath hot against the side of your neck. “It’s just a mask, isn’t it? You try so hard to hold onto that little shred of control, to cling to the idea that you’re better than the others down here. But you’re just lying to yourself.”

His hand slid up to your throat, fingers brushing the delicate line of your jaw before stopping just beneath your chin, tilting your head slightly so that you were forced to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, calculating, a predator sizing up its prey.

“You’ll break just like the rest of them,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender, yet filled with a darkness that made your stomach twist. “The difference is, I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

The way he said it, so casual, so matter-of-fact, left little doubt in your mind that he meant every word. You hated how your heart raced in response, how your body betrayed you in the face of his cruelty.

“You think I’ve chosen you because I see something in you worth saving?” he asked, his voice laced with disdain. “No. You’re just convenient.” He leaned closer, his lips hovering above yours, but he didn’t close the distance—he just let the tension build. “You’re here because I needed a toy, and you fit the role perfectly.”

“Don’t think for a second that this makes you important,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your lower lip, “You’re nothing more than a temporary distraction, something to pass the time.” His eyes darkened, that cruel amusement dancing in the depths of his gaze. “When I’m done with you, I’ll find someone else. Someone just as desperate. Just as weak.”

The words hit like a slap, but even then, you couldn’t tear yourself away from him. There was something so stupidly sexy about the way he held power over you—how he toyed with your emotions, with your body, never allowing you to feel anything but his control.

“And the best part?” Michael’s voice dropped to a whisper as his fingers trailed down your neck, sending a shiver through you. “You’ll keep coming back for more.”

“No matter how much you hate yourself for it.”

[mushroom-words]

Heaven's Just a Sin Away || Michael Langdon

Fandom: American Horror Story Pairing: Michael Langdon x Fem!Reader Words: 2277 Notes: This has been rewritten and reposted from a previous blog. This was actually the first thing I ever wrote for Michael, and I'm still proud of it to this day. Warnings: Virgin!Reader. Corruption kink, if you squint. Fingering. Dirty talk. Michael is a manipulative asshole, but that's why we love him, right? Summary: Michael calls you in for your interview and takes your virginity into his own hands.

“MY NAME IS Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.”

        You had yet to make eye contact with Michael Langdon since he spoke to the group. There was an air about his presence which demanded the submission and obedience expected from a Grey. He was intimidating—and he had yet to say more than two words to you.

        The silence was suffocating. You couldn’t tell if it had been one minute to have passed or ten since you were escorted into the office for your interview. It felt like an eternity. He hadn’t spoke since dismissing Ms. Venable and instructing you to take a seat in front of the desk. Langdon leaned back in his chair casually, fingers steepled as he studied you with an unreadable expression.

        Ms. Venable had drilled it into your head that you were to respect Mr. Langdon. Her authority over Outpost 3 depended on it. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze until he broke the pregnant silence.

        “I’ll tell you how this process works, Miss (Y/L/N). This interview determines where you go from here. You will tell me the truth,” he said. “Not the truth you think I want to hear. Not the truth you may have deceived yourself into believing. But the complete honesty we both know you’re capable of telling.”

        Langdon stood and glided around the desk with the grace of a predator. Your eyes tracked his every movement.

        “I will not tell you what criteria I am grading you on—things you may feel will be helpful might be harmful, and things you may feel will compel rejection may be your saving grace,” he continued. “If you omit any detail, no matter how small, I will know. If you lie, I will know. If you try to deceive me, I will know. Then this interview will be over, and you will die here. Painfully.”

        You had no choice but to believe him. He was the first person outside of your fellow survivors at the outpost that you had seen since the bombs dropped. Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead often spoke of the Cooperative. Now their representative stood in front of you, looking as though the end of the world had little to no impact on his life. His red jacket and ascot was immaculate, his hair long and golden, and his eyes swirling stormily as they scrutinized your lesser appearance.

        You felt vulnerable beneath his gaze. You knew then that you wouldn’t be able to lie to him even if you wanted to.

        “I will do my best to decide whether you will leave this outpost alive or be eaten by the scavengers. Just answer my questions to the best of your ability.” His voice softened a touch, as though trying to reassure you, then hardened again like stone. “If you leave this room thinking you’ve got me right where you want me, you will be punished. Do you understand, Miss (Y/L/N)?”

        You swallowed thickly, bowed your head, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

        Sweat slicked your palms and cotton seemed to fill your mouth. Your anxiety had spiked while just waiting for your turn, but now, as you sat in front of him, you felt especially vulnerable. Your life rested in this man’s hands. You knitted your hands on your lap.

        “Do I make you nervous?” Honey dripped from his tone, but even with your head bowed, you could sense the smirk. He leaned against the front of the desk with a single hand supporting his weight. The fire behind you reflected off his rings. Langdon knew you were nervous, and you knew it would do no good to lie about it.

        You confirmed, squeezing your hands together. You jerked when cold fingers tapped before grasping your chin firmly and tipping your head up to look at him. The gasp that pushed past your lips seemed to amuse him. His eyes danced in the golden flame of the candles. You couldn’t look away.

        Langdon leaned forward until his face was inches from yours. You sucked in a sharp breath as his breath fanned over your face, ruffling a few strands of hair that frame your face. “Tell me, (Y/N),” he said, your name rolling from his tongue like silver. “Are you a good girl?”

        While the question threw you off guard, he’d left no room to question what he meant. He asked so quietly, so intimately, and so knowingly. You remembered your grandmother would use the same words to describe unmarried women who hadn’t yet indulged in pleasures of the flesh.

        You let loose a trembling breath. “Yes, sir.”

        Langdon, seemingly pleased with your answer, hummed and dropped his hand. He backed up a couple of steps, straightening back up as he looked down at you. Your heart thudded in your chest, blood rushing in your ears. You wanted to run away, wanted to flee from the room and from his intense stare, but you couldn’t move. Your bottom felt rooted to your chair as his eyes locked with yours.

        Slowly, he began to circle you. “But you don’t want to be,” he said. Steady footfalls led him around your chair until he stationed himself directly behind you. You jumped when his hands fell to your shoulders.

        The heat of his body close to yours seemed to surround you. Your breaths quickened. His cologne intoxicated your senses, clouding your thoughts and leaving you dazed as he leaned forward.

        His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, words flowing like silk as he continued, “You think about it at night, don’t you? Finger your virgin cunt at night when you think no one is awake to hear you. Fantasize about it might feel to be filled by a man.”

        Heat boiled in your stomach. You swallowed hard. Your hands clenched the fabric of your grey dress tightly, like if you held it firmly enough, it would stop the ache throbbing between your thighs. You licked your dry lips and captured the bottom one between your teeth.

        Langdon nuzzled your burning cheek with the tip of his nose, murmuring, “You want to be fucked, Miss (Y/L/N). Don’t you?”

        You were left too flustered to speak. Your silence prompted him to pull back. He circled back around to the front of you. You lowered your eyes to avoid looking at him, half-hoping the next words out of his mouth would be a dismissal and half-hoping they would invite you back to his quarters. His voice had painted an image your mind couldn’t will away.

       Suddenly, he pulled you out of your seat so you stood before him. Your startled gaze locked with his, captivated by the icy blues as you waited anxiously for his next move. Your heart pounded out a lustful pattern in your chest. Scenarios flickered through your mind so vividly you feared he could see them written in your expression.

        He leaned in so his lips just barely brushed over yours, so close you could almost taste him. “Don’t you?” he repeated, softer.

        “Yes, sir,” you whispered.

        Langdon spun you around and pinned you against the edge of the desk. His mouth descended upon yours, swallowing the gasp from your lips. Your head swam with his intoxication. You grappled at the lapels of his jacket to keep yourself grounded. The desk dug painfully into your back, but he sucked you in so far you paid no mind to the ache. The incessant one between your legs was much more demanding.

        He pressed you down onto the surface of the desk, pulling back to admire your swollen lips and flushed skin. “I can already smell you,” he sneered. His hands yanked up the hem of your dress, bunching it at your lower stomach. “You need to be dominated. Fucked. Used.”

        Langdon’s palm rested between your thighs. He hummed at the dampness soaking through the thin pair of panties. His fingers suddenly pushed the garment aside to reach your folds. You mewled and arched your back at the feel of his cool skin against your burning flesh. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around your throat, holding you in place firmly while he dragged his fingers through your slit, brushing your swollen clit with each stroke.

        “Fucking drenched,” he mused. “So sensitive. I’ve barely even touched you, and you’re already about to cum.”

        The pressure around your throat increased as he suddenly infiltrated your entrance. His fingers scissored and pumped, the pad of his thumb glancing around your throbbing clit. You slammed your eyes shut to avoid watching as he gazed down upon your vulnerability. He kept a steady rhythm, withdrawing his fingers just to shove them back inside harshly.

        You melted into a puddle beneath his touch. Every sweep of his fingers against your gummy walls pulled noises you didn’t even know you could make. He squeezed your throat hard and commanded, “Look at me, (Y/N).”

        You obeyed without hesitation. Any blue in his eyes had bled into a stormy night sky. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the sight. His thumb finally found your clit, rubbing it in harsh, tight circles. Your head floated off into the clouds the more oxygen he deprived from you.

        You curled your fingers around the edge of the desk. Nails grappled at the wood desperately. “Oh God,” you whimpered. Your hips rocked against his ministrations, your body screaming for more friction. More attention.

        “God? Not quite.” Langdon chuckled smoothly, withdrew his fingers, and slapped your cunt harshly. You yelped before letting loose a wanton moan. “Do you think God will save you, Miss (Y/L/N), if I decide you’re nothing more than a pretty pussy?”

        Without further preamble, he shoved three fingers inside of you. You cried out as you balanced on the precipice between pain and pleasure. Tears burned your eyes. Your body felt like it had turned into lead and became putty in his hands. He curled his fingers and fucked them into you so roughly you could almost see the stars erupting across your vision.

        Keeping his gaze trained solely on your face, he hissed between his teeth, “Is God going to save you when I take this tight, virgin pussy and peel it apart like a fucking flower?”

        Your vocabulary whittled down to a series of incoherent noises. Your toes curled inside your clunky, knock-off Mary Janes, and your legs trembled like a leaf quivering in the wind. You finally broke his stare to throw your head back. You barely noticed how it thudded against the surface of the desk, too lost in the boiling sea of passion licking you from head to toe. Your hips ground desperately into his hand as his fingers continued to stimulate the deepest parts of you.

        Fire ignited your writhing body. White noise buzzed in your ears as a series of explosions erupted behind your eyes. You couldn’t hear anything he said—couldn’t hear the cries tumbling free from your lips, couldn’t hear the way your nails scraped against the wood like they tried to keep her grounded to reality. Every nerve ending lit up, synapses firing left and right, crossing from one neuron to the other, dancing to the beat of every muscle contraction contorting your body.

        When the final waves started to recede, your body fell limp under him. Your eyes fluttered open as they tried to find his features. Langdon slowly unwrapped his hand from around your throat and withdrew his fingers. You whimpered at the empty feeling in their wake.

        He brought his fingers, glistening with your cum, up to your mouth. “Clean them,” he demanded. Voice cool, his composure as immaculate as when you first stepped into his office. So impassive.

        Langdon pushed his fingers past your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits, sucking the taste of yourself off his skin, letting your essence coat your tongue. Your tired pussy twitched.

        After a moment, he removed them and said, “Now clean yourself up. You’re dismissed.”

        Still blinking away the haze swirling around inside your mind like a thick fog, you pushed yourself up. He turned to stand in front of the fire, hands clasped behind his back regally like you weren’t even there. You slowly slipped off the desk and fixed your clothing. The insides of your thighs were slicked with her own cum.

        You fidgeted with your fingers, hesitating to move from your spot. Your interview was over. Did this mean he’d decided what would become of you? You prompted him quietly and watched as he spun to face you. His expression had hardened to something unreadable, much like when you first been called into the office. A cold feeling slid down to the pit of your stomach.

        You swallowed thickly at the abrupt change in atmosphere. “Did I… Did I pass?”

        His lips turned up just enough for you to think you caught it. The fire seemed to cast a golden halo around his lithe figure as he sauntered towards you. His features seemed to soften some the closer he stepped. The silence gnawed at you.

        Langdon let his fingers curl around your chin, tipping your head up so your eyes locked. He ran his thumb along your bottom lip, as though admiring the swollen flesh left in the wake of his mouth. You could only stare at him, transfixed by his presence.

        He smiled gently. “No.”

[cordeliasdarling]

would you consider writing anything cordelia, ally or wilhemina? anything comforting? I adore your work

thank u sm! i haven’t written them in so long, but i’d love to. i know it wouldn’t get many likes because sarah paulson isn’t as popular here anymore, although, i may write something with wilhemina, like a fluff in the outpost?

if anyone has any ideas, lemme know :)

[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

[lanawinters-ily]

The Purple Dragon

Wilhelmina Venable is the most unapproachable, untouchable individual you had ever met, yet she has a soft spot for you. Why?

Pairing: Wilhelmina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 1600

Warnings: mention of struggling with mental health

Wilhelmina Venable was a complex individual. Stand-offish, rude, stubborn. The negative descriptions could go on, yet some element of you felt drawn to her.

Throughout your lifetime you had always sought out hidden meanings - in books, signs, & eventually people. Being a firm believer in the fact that everything happens for a reason, meant that you always thought that people acted a certain way because of a certain thing.

There must be an explanation for everything - past or present. Whether this was a desire to control, or to balance the unknown in life, you didn’t know.

All that mattered was your inquisition. And consequently, this would lead you on the greatest adventure of your life.

You had known her for almost a year, the longest lasting assistant she had ever had. It could be due to your competence, your failure to give up, or possibly some element of Ms Venable.

However, this didn’t make working with the redhead any easier. She was called the ‘purple dragon’ for a reason; holding a fiery passion that most considered anger.

But not you.

Because of this, you had always treated Venable with the kindest of hearts. This was not unusual for you, but even the most saint-like person could crumble with one strike of the redhead’s stony glare. Luckily you had everlasting compassion when it came to even the most difficult of souls.

Well, not all the time.

It was a bad day. One of those days in which the bed is so comfy, so warm, so safe, that it seems impossible to leave. Your heart was heavy, & your mind even more so, dragging your body into the heavy depths; sinking & drowning as you were held down by the currents of numbness.

You should have called in sick, taken a day off for yourself, but you weren’t very good at doing this. Being a burden, a difficulty, seemed far worse than pulling yourself through the workday, so you chose to stumble into the office with the countenance of a particularly exhausted zombie.

Wilhelmina was also having a rough day, waking up with severe pain along her spine. This pain was not only physical, it also brought with it a fair share of mental anguish - mostly made up of resentment & irritation at her weakness.

What only made this worse was what the redhead discovered when she arrived at work. She had forgotten to bring her bag, & therefore, her medication.

Fuck, she cursed.

As the pain increased, she became even more aware of the fact that she couldn’t drive in this condition. She didn’t have a phone or any money either, so it’s not like she could call a taxi to pop home. Wilhelmina was just going to have to grit her teeth & bare it for the next few hours, hoping that the gods would spare her the agony just this once.

“Ms Venable? Are you alright?”

You had appeared in the doorway of Wilhelmina’s office, eyes worriedly scanning her hunched over figure.

The redhead snapped up into an unnoticeable posture, feigning normality despite the pained shudder that rippled through her body.

“I’m just fine Miss Y/L/N.”

It was her turn to do a double take, looking at you with narrowed eyes as she scrutinised your appearance.

“On the contrary, it seems that you are not.”

This was entirely in character for Ms Venable to make such a blunt observation, so you were used to it. However, for some reason, today it was the last straw.

You bursted into noisy tears & sank to the ground. Curled up into a ball, you sobbed uncontrollably, not even caring about who was watching. What you were crying about, you weren’t quite sure. All you knew was that you couldn’t take today, & your emotions had just spilled out in a violent flow.

All you wanted was to lay on this cold, uncomforting floor & fall asleep. Or disappear. Anything would be better than this.

"Hey, sh sh sh," a gentle voice shushed your sobs of despair.

The contrast in tone led you to believe that another of your colleagues had come to your rescue, yet you didn't recognize the voice. You looked up in confusion, only to be met with a blur of purple.

Ms Venable; formidable, heartless, cold Ms Venable was knelt next to you.

"Come on, little one. Let's get you up." She said in a whispered tone.

Half in shock, half still in despair, you allowed yourself to be led to the purple sofa by the window. Your body felt so numb, not feeling Ms Venable's tight grip, or the sofa material as you sank into it. All you could do was sit & stare blankly, too overwhelmed internally to make a sound.

A familiar hand just stroked through your messy hair, silently understanding that words were too much. Lulling you into a calm, dreamlike state, this repetitive motion was just what you needed.

As you caught your heavy breaths & your parasympathetic system took hold, Wilhelmina was facing her own battle.

Her back was still in agony, even more so after kneeling & supporting your weight. Yet, somehow, her heart hurt thrice as much.

She never wanted it to be this way. You were the kindest, sweetest, most gentle person she had ever met. There was an essence about you that was addictive to Wilhelmina, a perfume of lightness that she couldn't help but smell until she was perfectly dizzy with love.

That was the issue. Love.

"Ms Venable," you mumbled. "Your back, you can't be sitting like this it-"

"It's okay little one, I'm alright." She spoke gently. "And call me Wilhelmina."

You noticed. You saw her. If possible, the butterflies in Mina's stomach flew more frantically as she tried to control the deep blush that settled on her cheeks.

God, she felt like a lovesick teenager all of a sudden.

"Okay, Mina." You said cheekily, gaining some colour back to your previously pale disposition.

Wilhelmina gave you a stern look, but it was more a caricature of her usual demeanor, turned soft by you.

You both wanted to say something, but were simply lost in each other's eyes. Her pupils were a rich brown, so deep that you could wander in them for hours and never get bored.

Without warning, she moved closer to you, resting her hand onto your knee. You closed the gap, pulling her into a kiss of fiery passion.

Perhaps she did like being a dragon after all, just not in the way she had expected.

Wilhelmina was hypnotic; a drug, and now you had a taste you just couldn't get enough. And from the way she was kissing you, it seemed as if she was just as addicted.

She was the first to pull away, which made your breath shudder with anxiety. What if she regretted this?

But her comforting hand resting on your cheek, and the look of adoration in her eyes told you otherwise.

"What's going on sweet one, hm?"

You broke her gaze, feeling entirely too vulnerable. There was nothing you hated more than explaining your mental state; it didn't even make sense to you so how were you to express it.

"It's just one of those days Mina, where everything feels...wrong." You sighed. "I don't really know how to say it in a way that makes sense."

"It's okay." Wilhelmina nodded. "I think I get where you're coming from. Sometimes when I'm having a bad day with my back, I can struggle with that too."

"You do?" You said in surprise.

"Yes, darling. I do."

"But you're always so strong. I never would have thought."

"People have different ways of showing it, little one." Mina spoke gently. "I snap at people, I get angry, I scream; all because I feel so out of control."

"Oh." You said. It all made sense now.

This time, she captured your lips in a kiss. It was more slow and steady than the former; a way of saying 'we have time'.

So, you sat there for a while, quietly soaking in each other's presence and stealing a kiss every few moments.

If someone had told you an hour ago that Wilhelmina Venable would be looking at you like this, being gentle with you like this, you would have laughed in their face.

Never did you think that your feelings would be returned, and neither did she.

Suddenly the door creaked open, and one of your colleagues stepped in. Instantly you tensed, waiting for Wilhelmina to turn away from you, to be embarrassed by you.

But she sat, unmoving, as her steely gaze fixed on her new target.

"Susan." She said bluntly. "What have I told you about knocking before disturbing me?"

Now Susan was a fairly confident woman, chatty most times. But in the presence of the purple dragon, she crumbled and stuttered.

"I j-just needed-"

"Needed what? Something so important that you decided to barge straight into my office unannounced? An emergency, perhaps?"

"Well, no but-"

"Well then I'd prefer if you let us be, thank you."

And that was that. Susan scuttled out of the room like a scolded child. To your utmost surprise, Wilhelmina pulled you into her side and kissed your hairline.

"No harm will come to you now I'm around, little one."

"I love you Mina."

"I love you most, my sweet."

[sixmonths0sleep]

Friendly reminder that we technically have a canon date that Aaron’s trial took place on..

Because I believe, for the Hard Evidence edition of the DVD, it’s designed to be something officially signed by Ms Venable (which, her signature? Kinda cool that they made one for her) and in the top corner, you can see an official date.

4/3/96.

And knowing that it’s an American film, it places Aaron’s trial as the 3rd of April, 1996.

Which yes, is the official US release date for the movie. Very nice touch.