#it's literally just a bunch of man children who witnessed the space age golden years during the cold war and wanna see more rockets go up

[bbbigforehead]

the more i do research on space colonization the more it becomes a contemporary white supremacist continuation of manifest destiny (but in space!)

[icyharrington]

Fever Dreams (Michael Langdon X Reader)

im just gonna go ahead and apologize for the fact that i literally did not proofread this at all bc im tired as fuck and have to wake up so fucking early tomorrow. i had so many technical difficulties writing this so i sincerely hope y’all enjoy reading this lmao

plot: (slight au taking place pre-apocalypse, in which miss robichaux’s academy integrates with the hawthorne school.) you can’t stand michael langdon. michael langdon wants nothing more than to get under your skin.

warnings: fem!Reader, intercourse, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, school uniform michael 

word count: 3.1k

i.

“This is the best day ever,” whispered one witch to you, her eyes widening as a gaggle of fresh-faced men in well tailored uniforms strode into the dining room of Miss Robichaux’s academy.

“This is stupid,” you said bitterly, stabbing a fork into your food. “Integrating Miss Robichaux’s with Hawthorne is going to do nothing but distract us from the real important things.”

“Depends what you consider to be important,” said another witch. “I haven’t gotten dick in over a year.”

You rolled your eyes. You were the top witch in your class, and it was often whispered amongst your peers that you were next in line to become supreme. There was no way you’d let a bunch of testosterone-filled man-children get in the way of that, no matter how badly Cordelia wanted to be “inclusive”.

From the corner of your eye, you could see a man approaching you and your classmates. You refused to look over, taking a bite of food and staring blankly at the white wall across from you with as unfriendly of an expression on your face as you could manage.

“Ladies,” came a smooth voice, and you indulged yourself in a single discreet glance just to see what the guy looked like. He was tall, with well styled blond hair framing his face, which even you could admit had some top quality bone structure. He gave a small smile, but you could tell even through his polite demeanor that he was quite confident.

“My name is Michael Langdon. Thank you for welcoming us Hawthorne boys to your school,” he said, and you didn’t even have to look at your classmates to know that they were flustered. Stifling another eye roll, you turned your attention back to your plate.

“Hi Michael,” said the girl next to you, her voice breathy. She wasn’t even attempting to seem calm, which irritated you even further. The last thing this guy needed was an ego boost. You watched from the corner of your eye as he bowed slightly at the hip, his hand extended for her to shake.

He cleared his throat, and the girl on your other side nudged you slightly to get your attention. You looked up, and realized he was offering you his hand now. You just stared at it like it was a foreign object, hoping to piss him off.

He cocked an eyebrow at you and ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

“And you are?” He said. You were pleased to hear that he had the tiniest twinge of annoyance in his voice. Typical attractive boy, getting his ego bruised the minute a girl didn’t fawn all over him.

“(Y/n). I actually happen to be the top of the class here, and I don’t intend to let your kind get in the way of that.”

His lips turned up slightly on one end as his eyes surveyed you, and he crossed his arms in front of his flawlessly pressed blazer. “My kind?”

“Yes. Your kind. Men.” Maybe you were getting a tiny bit carried away with the bitch act, but something about this Michael Langdon character made you want to put him in his place. You had the feeling he was used to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

“Quite a backwards attitude to have in this day and age, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you said coolly. “But it’s the truth that women are superior in the art of witchcraft. So unless you need a tutor, I have no interest in interacting with you.” You stood up with a flourish, your chair screeching noisily against the wooden floor, and started on your way out.

You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder, though, to see his reaction. He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, an indecipherable expression across his face as he watched you. If you didn’t know any better, though, you might have even thought he was smiling.

ii.

It was a Saturday afternoon and you were practicing divination, your worst subject, in the living room. You’d asked one of your classmates to hide a series of objects throughout the room, and you were stuck as you tried to figure out the location of the final object, an old-fashioned golden pocketwatch.

You rubbed your temples and looked towards the ceiling, mumbling to yourself as you tried, unsuccessfully, to lift the fog in your mind.

You were so wrapped up in focus that you hardly noticed the sound of dress shoes crossing the wooden floor, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a voice mere inches away from you.

“Is this what you’re trying to find?”

Your eyes shot open, only to find Langdon standing over you, a smug grin on his face as he dangled the watch out in front of him. Jumping to your feet from the couch, you snatched the object from his hand.

“Who told you where that was?”

“Nobody,” he said, pleased to witness your frustration. “Well, besides myself. I AM the top of my class in divination, you know.” There was a twinge of mocking to his tone, and you shot him a scowl.

“What are you even doing here?”

“What, am I not allowed to stroll the halls of my own lovely school?” he said, looking at you with mischief glinting in his piercing blue eyes. “The walls call out to me. I’m always hearing my name, echoing in and out of every corner.”

He stepped closer to you, and you scoffed. “Do you happen to excel in clairvoyance? Because those whispers might be all the thirsty girls at this school having wet dreams about you.”

He chuckled. “Does that bother you?”

“Why the fuck would that bother me?” you snapped, gathering your bag from the ground and swinging it over your shoulder. “Other than the fact that no one here gives a shit about witchcraft anymore, just about getting dicked down.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t been particularly interested in any of the girls here.”

“And I should care... why?” you brushed past him, huffing something about personal space issues under your breath as you tried to made your way to the door. Something, however, kept a hold on you, and your feet remained planted to the floor as Michael took a step closer to you.

“I think you’re jealous, (y/n),” he said, smirking again as he watched your face contort into anger. “Of the way I’m desired. Of the way I can have anyone I want. I can fuck a different witch every single day if I wanted to.” His voice was soft, seductive. Something swirled in the depths of your stomach as he spoke, but you ignored it.

You gaped at him, disgust blooming through you as you made another attempt to get away, in vain. “You really are a pompous dick.”

“Maybe,” he said, lips just inches from yours. You flinched, readying your fist at your sides to pummel him should he try anything. “But you, my dear, are a bitter bitch.”

With that, the hold on you broke, and you hurried towards the door. “Go fuck yourself,” you said, seething, not bothering to look at him.

“You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?”

You knew it only fueled him when you gave him a reaction, but you couldn’t help it; flicking your wrist, you sent a book on the coffee table flying at his head, missing by mere centimeters as it slammed against the wall.

He only laughed, a low, deep luscious laugh that you knew you’d hear in your dreams.

Fucking asshole.

iii.

Lustful moans filled the air alongside the sound of skin slapping together, raw and vulgar, and you panted words that didn’t exist as the faceless man behind you thrust inside your walls.

The paintings on the walls watched you, the supremes of long ago casting shameful gazes upon your naked body.

You didn’t care.

There were hands on your body, hundreds of hands, some hot as embers and others cold as snow, and the all-white room seemed to stretch for miles and miles, the door evading you further with each second coaxing you closer to orgasm.

Michael, Michael, Michael, you thought, or said, or whatever it was, you couldn’t be quite sure, but your eyes were rolling back into your head now, lolling all the way until you could see the inside of your skull, and your brain, slimy and gray.

The world went white, but the man kept thrusting in you, taking you over, and you noticed a droplet of blood fall from your nose and onto the pristine, empty expanse of the ground.

AVE SATANAS, said a booming voice, and in that moment you came, harder than you ever had in your life, gasping for breath as your body convulsed with electrically charged pleasure.

When you woke up, it was past midnight, and you were drenched in a cold sweat. There was a throbbing ache between your legs, but you ignored it, begging the universe to let you fall back asleep undisturbed.

In the morning, you weren’t able to recall much about the dream, but there was no way you could forget the name which had repeated itself throughout like a taunt against your sanity.

Michael.

iv.

You were bothered enough by your dream that you opted out of the outing Cordelia had planned for everyone the next day. Her plan was to show the new students some of the most important magical landmarks around New Orleans, and you’d actually been pretty excited to go. Now, though, you’d much rather stay in your room and far away from Michael.

Whether or not your dream meant anything, he irritated you, and you didn’t feel like being put in a bad mood for the umpteenth time this week. So you stayed back, reading in your bed for a while, before you decided that you’d get something to eat from the kitchen.

Wearing only a skimpy tank top and shorts, you always feeling far too warm in the New Orleans heat, you rifled through the kitchen cabinets before deciding to have some Cheerios. You didn’t have much of an appetite at all, but you needed to eat something, so cereal was your meal of choice. You poured a bowl and headed back to the dining room, enjoying the fact that you had the usually chaotic house all to yourself.

Well, that’s what you thought, at least. You nearly dropped your bowl of cereal onto the ground in shock upon entering the dining room and seeing the last fucking person you wanted to see standing there, a bemused expression across his face.

“Michael,” you exclaimed, stopping in your tracks, all at once feeling extremely exposed in your revealing sleepwear. You put the bowl down before wrapping your arms around your prominent cleavage, embarrassment flooding your body as his blue eyes scanned your body not-so-discreetly.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a smile. You had a sneaking suspicion that he knew you’d stayed home to avoid him, and so he, too, had decided to stay back to give you an unpleasant surprise.

The only difference between the two of you, though, was that he was wearing his uniform, impeccably ironed and suited perfectly to his frame. This only increased the flush in your cheeks, and you avoided his gaze as best as you could. “Michael, why are you here?”

“Wasn’t feeling up to the trip,” he said, bored, taking a step around the dining table to come closer to you, dragging his toe lightly on the ground as he did.

“Bullshit,” you said, backing away just slightly. “You stayed here so you could fuck with me.”

“Now what would ever make you think that?” He tilted his head to the side pensively, eyes searing into yours, and you felt your stomach drop. “Silly little witch. You really think I care that much about you?”

“Oh, please. It’s so obvious that you wanna get under my skin.”

He took another step towards you. You backed up again, steadily, keeping your eyes on him as your breaths drew shorter.

“And have I?” He asked, looking down at you, and it was then that you realized how much taller he was than you. You swallowed nervously, taking another shaky stride back as he cornered you even further, your back coming closer and closer to the wall with each step. “Have I gotten under your skin?”

You shuddered, remembering the dream, and suddenly you felt powerless, like he could wipe out your existence at any given moment. You knew he liked you to feel this way, utterly helpless, and your brain screamed at you to react. To throw him across the room with a single flick of your hand. But you didn’t.

“I think I have,” he said, coming closer, and you were startled by a thud as your back hit the wall behind you. He had you cornered now, so you just stood there, looking at him like a deer in headlights.

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you said, fists balled at your side, but you had no intentions of using them.

“Hm? And what are you going to do about it?”

His lips brushed your cheek, sending a harsh chill down your spine. Your throat defied you, letting out a soft whimper, and then his lips were on yours. Without a moment’s hesitation, you kissed him back, unable to resist him as he consumed you. Your hair stood on end at his touch, his hands grazing down your hips and onto your ass, squeezing greedily.

He hummed in your ear softly, his hand reaching up to grip your neck. “See, isn’t this what you wanted all along?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply; he lifted his knee up between your legs, smirking as you gasped at the sudden contact. You rocked your hips forward, hissing at the feel of his dress pants between your thighs, and he kissed you again, hungry and authoritative.

He wrapped his hands under your bare thighs, hoisting them up to wrap around his waist, and once he had a proper hold on you, he turned around and tossed you onto the dining table. You pulled him towards you by the front of his shirt, connecting your lips with his and sliding your tongue between his teeth.

He pulled off your top and didn’t waste a second before roughly groping your breasts, leaning forward to suck one nipple hard while rolling the other between two fingers, occasionally applying a jarring pinch. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach, clearly eager to get to the real action, your breasts flattening against the cold wooden table as your bare feet grazed the ground. He pulled your shorts and underwear down in one go, leaving you entirely vulnerable and naked in his presence. It made it worse that he hadn’t undressed himself at all, but something about being so submissive to him turned you on more than you’d care to admit.

He massaged both of your ass cheeks, spreading them apart and reaching one hand under you to slide between your slick folds. “So fucking wet for me,” he muttered, digging his fingernails into your skin, causing you to whine slightly.

“Since you’ve acted like a bitch for the duration of us knowing each other, I have no choice but to treat you like one,” he said, gripping your right ass cheek before giving it a hard, firm slap. You surged forward, but he yanked you back towards him, giving you another slap on the other cheek, harder this time.

You moaned, and he gave you another spank. “You like being treated like a bitch? Huh?” He asked, grabbing a fist full your hair and yanking it back. “Answer me,” he demanded.

“Yes, Michael, fuck,” you grunted, your words separated with each spank he gave you, each one harder than the next. You were sure your ass would be covered in his hand prints for the next week, but you didn’t care.

He paused, and you could hear the tell tale sound of him unzipping his pants. You bit your lip, knowing what was coming next, and you wanted so badly to turn around and see his cock. You stayed put, though, knowing not to act without his permission, and within moments you felt the head of his dick rub itself along your slit.

“Beg me,” he said, letting his dick sit just against your entrance. You squirmed slightly, and he placed his hand on your lower back to hold you still.

“Please, Michael,” you said, hardly aware of the words leaving your mouth. You just wanted him inside you, wanted him to own you. “Please fuck me. I’ll be good from now on, I’ll do whatever you want. Please.”

He rubbed himself against your wetness again, painfully slow, and without warning he slammed himself inside. You gasped, shocked at his massive length, but he did not give you time to adjust before committing to a quick, intense pace. Thrusting inside you ruthlessly, you grasped at the edges of the table to hold yourself steady, a string of expletives leaving you as he fucked you hard and fast.

One hand yanked your head back, hard, by the hair, while the other wrapped around to grip your throat, your hips bucking back to meet his thrusts as you panted desperately, shouting incoherent words as tears filled your eyes and dribbled onto the wooden surface of the table.

“You’re like a bitch in heat,” he said smugly, stopping mid-thrust. “Beg me to cum.”

“Please, Michael,” you said, voice cracking, cheek resting against the table and palms flat on either side of you. You’d never felt so degraded in your life, but you loved it. “Please. Let me cum, I’ll be good, I swear.”

He finished his thrust, filling you up and making you cry out, and it wasn’t long before your walls clenched around him and you came, bursts of white-hot light in front of your eyes. Only seconds later, he had your hips gripped hard in his hands as he hurried to finish, and you could only imagine how beautiful his face might look on the brink of an orgasm.

He let go, grunting with each breath, his warmth flooding up inside you. You laid there, trying to recover as he tucked himself back into his pants, seemingly unbothered by the whole interaction. You, on the other hand, knew you wouldn’t be able to sit for a good week; it was well worth it to you, though, and as you re-dressed yourself, you hardly could bring yourself to mind the cocky way he smirked at you.

He looked as if he was about to speak, and you shot him a playful, yet slightly annoyed glance as you pulled your top back over your head. “Don’t even say anything,” you said, and he laughed.

That night, you dreamt of Michael again, but this time, you liked it.