#maybe it's caused by his empathy but he still is stated as plainly as possible without saying the word that he's demi-sexual

[joseopher]

[mercifuldeaths]

What Do You Wanna Wear This Season?

What Do You Wanna Wear This Season?

Michael Langdon x Reader 

Fashion AU

Warnings: smut, impact play, cum play (kinda?), handcuffs.......Gucci, of course.

Summary: It’s been a long fashion week and with your collection debuting tomorrow, you’re feeling a little stressed. Michael, your muse, is more the=an happy to help you calm down.

Notes: Thank you anon! This shook me to the goddamn core. Fashion hoe smut prevails on this blog! I wrote this in like....a few hours. Also unedited. I just had to get it out there. Hope you enjoy this concept as much as I do. Xx.

Word Count: 2.3K

It had been fashion week, of course, it was. New York was impossibly more crowded, full of models, designers, celebrities, other show guests. It was horrendous. But it also meant that Michael would be back in town. One of the more famous models, Michael Langdon was already well known and even starting to branch out into design. In fact, his first collaboration with you was debuting the next day. Which was exactly why you were sitting in your studio, piles of the discarded fabric around you, holding your head in your hands...crying.

You’ve only been in the industry for a few years, still a fresh face and trying to make a name for yourself. You figured with Michael, it would be possible. But some of the garments weren’t perfect and it killed you a little. You managed to start the ugly sobbing that commenced the second you ushered Michael out to go get more coffee for the two of you. He really was a big help, despite your reluctance to admit it.

His perchance for velvets, leathers, saturated colors offset by onyx black was the center of your inspiration and your pieces delivered. They were created for men or women or anyone, really- walking that line of masculinity and femininity. All of the pieces were beautiful, you knew. But what if they just weren’t enough.

Michael’s footfalls were heard through the hallway leading to the studio. You felt a little better knowing he held your cappuccino, the only way you were going to make it through this night, still having to fix the stitching on that one blazer and maybe inlay the string of pearls around the collar and maybe….

“Y/N?” Michael’s voice rang out. You were still sitting facing away, cross legged on the floor. “Oh, come here,” he said as he set the coffees down on the table and made his way to you looking ever so dejected in your pile of black and red velvet. He kneeled next to you and his hand went to your thigh, something he had been doing of late. You won’t lie...there was something of a spark between you two and you both knew it.

“I’m just really worried, Michael. What if it doesn’t go well-you know the Ford show and Oscar de la Renta are scheduled for the same day and people are obviously going to go there because I mean, they’re icons and nobody’s going to show up and the pieces probably aren’t even that good and--” you rambled but he cut you off.

“Stop that.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, nervous of his sharp tone.

“It’s going to go flawlessly. You’ve made it perfect. Every last detail. You’re doubting yourself-something you should never do,” he said, a little more empathy in his voice.

“I’m just...I’m just nervous,” you stuttered out, still feeling the pit in your stomach.

“What can I do to make it better?” he asked, both hands now resting on your thighs, splayed out to be sitting crosslegged.

A scrap of velvet found its way into your hand and you rubbed your nimble fingers along the luxe texture. You shook your head. No. That would be completely inappropriate. He was your partner, your collaborator.

“I saw that Vogue interview you did...Now I don’t know if you were playing at something, but I remember you like to ‘have the stress fucked out of you’? Was that it?” He leaned in and you could feel his breath ghosting over your neck. A blush rose to your cheeks and you let out a nervous laugh. You had said that...mostly as a joke...but it wasn’t. “Maybe I can do something about that.”

You felt the wind knock out of your lungs when he tugged on the velvet under you, causing you to slip back against the floor, his large hand caught your head in a gentle cradle. Attacking your neck and jaw with sloppy open mouth kisses, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to grind against your center. You were already wet, having just spent time around the man was something of a sexual experience.

“Mmmm..Michael,” you managed to slur out, his mouth now closer to yours. You were originally going to protest, but feeling his hardness against you, already seeking friction, had you thinking other things...mostly about how you wanted him to absolutely wreck you right there in the middle of the discards from your designs.

He made quick work of your leather leggings, something he had designed and a favorite of yours-so much so that you were wearing it before they had debuted. You felt your tee shirt rise over your breasts and his hand going to cup one. You shivered, exposed to the brisk temperature of the room, but the fabric under you insulating the hard floor.

Your fingers knotted in his blonde hair, slipping out of the bun he had thrown it in earlier in his stressed-out state. You’d never seen him more unkempt and something about that just made you more desperate for him. Michael’s lips made their way lower over your stomach, nipping and biting-the little tease.

“Make a move, Langdon. We have a collection to finish,” you gritted out between your teeth, starting to feel the stress rising again.

“All too right, as usual,” he mumbled against the line of your lacy panties. Pulling them to the side, he nuzzled his face into your center. “Already so wet...you’ve been wanting this, you little minx. You thought I didn’t see the way your hands lingered when tailoring the jackets to fit me? How you always wanted me shirtless for measurements. I’m not just some dumb model, darling.” His tongue slid into your wet folds, but it wasn’t enough and it wasn’t fast enough.

“God Michael, come on.” You grabbed him by his blond locks and pulled his face back to meet yours, crashing your lips together. You could taste yourself on him. Untangling one hand, you reached lower into his low slung slacks and palmed his cock, already hard and ready for you. Without hesitation, he slid them down to his knees and pressed all his body weight onto you. You felt his cock press into your cunt and the pressure made your eyes roll.

You sighed and he started slipping himself through your wetness. A gasp fell from your lips. Suddenly, all pressure and warmth was removed. “Michael?” you cried out, confused, as he stood and walked over to the table that held some of the accessories you had planned for the show. Because it was yours and Michael’s collaboration, of course, there were some more...risque elements. One being that the models accessories were whips, chains, paddles. The most iconic being a set or vintage Tom Ford for Gucci handcuffs. Something out of Michael’s personal collection.

The silver gleamed in the dim light of the studio menacingly. Before you could even react, they were around your wrists, tight enough to leave bruises. Unable to stop him, with your hands now behind your back, he flipped you over onto your stomach and lifted your hips up, pressing your front into the floor. Your cheek and tits pressed into the red velvet under you, back arched to allow your ass to be presented to him obscenely.

“Now that’s quite the view. Considering I had to watch you waltz around in those leather leggings, I imagine I should get rewarded for my patience.” Out of nowhere, he pulled out the YSL paddle, something from your personal collection. You were an interesting pair, that’s for sure.

You couldn’t see clearly, him being behind you and all, but you felt his hand tease your cheek, gently rubbing it in soothing circles. You did expect it, but the crack of the paddle against you still caused you to lurch forward and let out a small shriek. His hand went back to rubbing small circles, soothing the blushing skin.

The velvet, as soft as it was, started rubbing into the side of your face that he had roughly pushed into the ground. The definition of face down ass up. Another loud crack echoed and you lurched again, this time a whimper escaping. You could feel your wetness start to seep onto your thighs and Michael chuckled. His long fingers started to tease your entrance, slipping one inside but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Michael, please. No more teasing,” you choked out, completely desperate and at his mercy.

“If I fuck you good, you’ll finish the collection nice and relaxed?”

“Yes, yes, please-I’ll be so good.”

He slid into you so slow you felt yourself push back onto him, eager to take all of him. When he was buried in you, you felt his hands move to your hips, having to still you as you were still grinding back onto him. It was perfect, the stretch, how he fit in your cunt so wonderfully tight.

“Well then, we have no more times to waste.” And with that he was relentlessly pounding into you, your gasps and ragged breaths escaped into the fabric, still under you but now slipping from the movement. He bottomed out each thrust causing a moan to fall from your lips with every single one, unable to help yourself.

You knew you wouldn’t last long. The stress had gotten to you and yeah, when overworked, you were always more horny...and plainly a slut for Michael Langdon. “Fuck, fuck, Michael-I can’t-please I gotta.”

“Okay, I’ve got you,” he said and you felt a hand reach around to stroke lazy circles into your clit, a sharp contrast to the relentless pace he kept that was keeping you breathless. “So fucking tight, look at how well you take me, god.”

His thrusts were becoming more sloppy, you felt his pace falter. Obviously, the stress was getting to him, too-both of you in a desperate need for release, not taking the time to savor each other like you really wanted- To take him apart piece by piece.

Your back was jerked up, him using the cuffs to maneuver you, causing him to shift angles and hit that spot few other men have managed to get right. He rested back onto his heels and pulled you back to sit on his cock, him practically impaling you onto him. He pressed the cuffs down further, making your back arch against him, him practically holding your entire upper body with a goddamn designer sex toy.

He stopped his movements, despite his desperation but you picked up the slack, working yourself over him, hard and reckless. “Fuck, Fuck Y/N I’m gonna-”

“Go ahead, babe.” You could feel the spiral of heat pooling, as well, All you needed was just a few more expert circles against your pulsing clit.

You felt yourself uncoil first. “Michael, Michael-Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you practically screamed, hoping the other studios next door were long empty. You couldn’t help the clenches your cunt gave, needing more of him inside you always. While you were coming down, you could feel him losing himself in you, wanting the pull of your core to make him cum but he did have other ideas.

Pulling out he took himself in hand and pumped just a few times. With the memory of your walls pulsing against him in mind, he came with a grunt and a few gasps. You felt him paint your ass cheeks, still red and burning from the spanking he gave. Taking a few deep breathes to calm himself he took your ass in hand, still presented to him like you were his. But you really already were.

He hummed as he smeared some of his cum into the red welts that he left behind, soothing the burn, his thumb circling one of the more intense ones. “Hmmm, that’s beautiful.”

“What? Me covered in your cum?” you asked, trying to swivel around to face him but he held you in place. He took one of the black velvet swatches in hand and gently wiped his essence off your pert cheek.

“Well, that of course. But also the pattern of my cum dripping out of your cunt makes on the fabric,” he leaned in close and flipped you onto your back, cuffs digging into you and making your back arch awkwardly. “I think I just got an idea for our next collaboration,” he smirked, his voice lilting and looking all too pleased with himself.

“God, Michael,” you signed out, feeling his cum continue to drip off you in the most obscene manner. Your head fell back against the floor in resignation, despite the awkward angle created with your hands still pinned behind you back.

A rustle of fabric piqued your interest, as Michael moved to reach behind him. “Michael?” He turned to you, a devilish glint in his eyes and he lazily swung the YSL paddle around his finger.

“Yes, Y/N?” He smirked

“Don’t do it-” You practically read his mind.

He took the paddle and landed one last smack, this time against your soaked cunt, open to the air with your legs still spread before you. The impact in addition to your overstimulation tore a moan from your chest, eyes rolling back, feeling like all too much at once but never enough.

“Come on, there’s plenty of work to do. And your cappuccino has probably gone cold,” he said, back to business as he tucked himself back into his slacks and attempted to help you up onto shaking legs. “Maybe if you finish the trim on that cloak we talked about, I’ll let you ride my thigh like the little whore you are while I’m in those velvet trousers, hm?”

Expensive Hoes: @ccodyfern @michael-langdon-appreciation @starwlkers @sojournmichael @americanhorrorstudies @lovelykhaleesiii @wroteclassicaly @aveiangdon @langdonsrapture @langdonsinferno @langdonsdemon @i-will-die-for-jim-mason

[mpmwrites]

Fallen: Penance

Hoh heeeeeyyyy there! I’m back with something totally new and different? @the-writing-of-a-gay-idiot maybe had a Guardian Angel Hankvin AU that I ran away with. SO here’s somehting that I probably might continue at least a little bit. Enjoy. T for language.

”Fuck.” Gavin cursed.

He never disliked work. He’d worked hard to get the move to children, and every day worked his hardest, knowing one slip could have him shifted right back to politicians, or felons, or teachers, or something equally as tedious and fruitless.

This was his slip.

He couldn’t have prevented the car accident. He'd spent the hours leading up to it shifting moments and stoplights and making the waitress at their table move a little faster with a sweet wave from Cole. He’d gotten Cole’s dad to leave work early and prevented the usual custody swap bitchfight from lasting too long. All to prevent the worst of hundreds of potential outcomes. To prevent Cole and his father from dying instantly, to give them their best chance. They were going to get hurt and he couldn’t prevent all of that. It was the worst part of his job, futilely watching as things happened he couldn't stop. There were things he just could not do. He couldn’t keep the road from icing over, couldn’t keep the truck from sliding, couldn’t make the car move slower.

Couldn’t stop Cole from hitting his head on the door panel.

Couldn’t keep the surgeon from getting high off his ass.

And now he was watching, begging, willing with all power he had to make the fucking android move faster.

Elijah Kamski’s guardian must  have been some kind of powerful to get those things created, but had never thought of the outcome. Guardians had no power over androids, not even in the slightest. He watched as the android was woken from stasis as soon as the nursing staff determined the surgeon couldn’t work. He watched as Cole was intubated while the android walked calmly through the halls.

He watched Cole die under his care, with the android still sanitizing for the procedure.

“Oh fuck.” Gavin repeated, breathless and stricken. The other three children in his care slept soundly in their beds, and as he began to cry, he sent them a silent farewell. They'd be taken from him, and there was nothing he could do.

He had to call it in, and even so, it was a painstaking few hours before the report made it through the proper channels and had someone showing up to relieve him. He had his wings tucked close to his back defensively, like a dog with its tail between his legs. He tried to focus on Hae-Joo who’s day was just beginning in South Korea as he fought his mother on getting up for school because of the exam he had that day. As he convinced Hae-Joo to eat a proper breakfast, Adra in Greece stretched for dance practice and Louis in Greenland continued to sleep.

Cole lay motionless in the morgue.

“Gavin?” The voice behind him made him flinch, sudden panic accompanying what he knew was next. “My name is Connor, I’m your relief sent by the balance department. I’ll be overseeing your charges while you’re put under review.” Spoke the other guardian. His wings were a pure white, contrasting sharply against his black suit. They made Gavin’s own mottled wings look tainted.

“Balance.” Gavin nodded, turning to his replacement. “You’re the dipshit that’s gonna take care of them?” He snapped, looking Connor up and down. “I swear to god if you hurt them I’ll rip every damn feather out of your wings one by one.” He seethed, more emotional than necessary, “Hae-Joo has a history exam today and he’s really fucking nervous even though he studied all last night. And Louis wants to ask Joanna out but he’s gonna get hurt if he does because she has a boyfriend, so make sure he’s careful and his friends are there, okay?” He was babbling, filled with his own panic amplified by what was to come for his kids. "And Arda has an audition coming up but there’s talent scouts coming and she doesn’t know, don’t let her forget to stretch before it!” He demanded, “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some prick from balances fuck up my kid’s lives.” He promised, hands fisting.

“I assure you that they’re in good hands, Gavin, you’re expected at the balance department’s review center.”

“And you better take care of Cole’s mom and dad.” Gavin punctuated coldly, shoulder checking Connor as he left.

”They’re not your children, Gavin.” Connor spoke plainly, causing Gavin to stop in his tracks. “They have mothers and fathers, but you are nothing to them. They don’t even know you exist.” He wasn’t snarky or mean, he stated his explanation factually.

“That doesn’t fucking mean I love them any less.” Gavin breathed, low and dark sounding. There was a tense moment of quiet between them, and Connor turned to watch him go.

“Be honest with the balances reviewer. It’s… unlikely that you’ve upset the balance with one child, but you will have to pay penance for your actions.” Connor offered, his tone light in a show of goodwill. “But, honesty goes miles for them, and leniency can be shown, especially for... someone who cares for his charges as much as you do.”

-----

“Gavin, Cole Anderson was not fated to die tonight, and under your care he did. While the death of one boy will not tip the scales dramatically, a life, especially that of a child, is absolutely not negligible.” Amanda preened. Her white dress gave way to the crystalline wings of a department head, similar to those of Perkins, the head of Gavin’s own department.

These were the most ancient and experienced guardians, ones that the likes of Gavin never wanted to have cause to counsel with. “However, it is clear that your oversight on the surgeon was unintentional, and that you truly do regret these events. For that, you will be allowed to seek redemption.” She explained, summoning a view of a face familiar to Gavin. He made to speak, but she held up her hand to silence him. Gavin closed his mouth and felt small before the two superior guardians, and stared at the face of Cole’s father, his hair was graying at the temples with age, and he looked so desolate, so broken, so gone.

Amanda began speaking again over the silence of Hank Anderson’s ex wife marching up to him with matching tears on her cheeks as she screamed. Hank didn’t even react. “You will be assigned to a special case, one which will allow you to soften the damage of what you’ve done. Hank Anderson will be your only charge, and your results on his case will be indicative of your future capabilities and assignments.” Amanda explained. “Connor will oversee your former charges, as well as your work with Hank. Do not let us down again, Gavin.” She preached, and Gavin felt the weight of it all pushing down on him.

"What am I supposed to do for him?" He spoke. What else could he say?

"The same as you do for any other charge; nurture him. Keep him safe in the way you failed to do for his son."

The answer hurt. It echoed deep within him as he was returned to his work, and festered there like some kind of pestilence.

His monitor was no longer sectioned into quadrants, but soley featured Hank wailing in his car in the hospital parking lot. Some privacy, Gavin registered as Hank sobbed and his nose ran and he wiped at his face with filthy, soaked sleeves. He was in no condition to drive, but Gavin checked possible paths of action anyway. Hank was 83.7% likely to stay at the hospital, though being there wasn't going to change anything that happened. No, the only thing that would change, that could change was what Hank did from that moment forward. What Gavin helped him to do.

He didn't interfere as Hank tried his damndest to get himself together enough to go back inside, but was overtaken by another wave of sobs. The bottom of the view read out 'Primary Emotive States: Guilt, Loneliness'. With a quick 72 hour check, Gavin could see that loneliness was something like Hank's default, but the guilt was entirely on Gavin's bloodied hands. It all hit him anew, and Gavin's tears flowed while Hank broke down completely. It was too much, way too much. Hours ago Cole was happy and laughing as his dad tried to sneak chicken nuggets off his plate and now Cole was gone, and Gavin would never see his toothy smile again. He'd never see Cole finish the drawing he started of Sumo before Hank took him to eat. It wasn't fair, not for Gavin, not for the surgeon who wouldn't have to answer for Cole's death, not for Cole, and absolutely not for Hank.

Hank started the car and fear plagued Gavin. It was still dark, still icy, and Hank was still shaking all over. Gavin preset the radio to light jazz, knowing Hank didn't need the distraction of talk radio or the intensity of the heavy metal that was listed in his profile prefernces (curated by his previous guardian). The notes had Hank draw a long breath that came out shaky but calmer than before, and Gavin watched with bated breath for the entire thirty-six minute drive home. Sumo barked loudly as Hank entered, but sobered immediately when Cole wasn't with him.

The empathy of animals astounded Gavin. In all his time as a guardian, he'd always had a preference for charges with pets, because, truthfully, they made his job easier. Sumo fed off of Hank's hurt, and followed his owner with his head hung and produced a small whine every now and again as Hank ignored him. Sumo would be Gavin's first tool to help Hank through this, and he hoped he wouldn't need any more.

He was wrong, and Hank seemed to know it.

For months Gavin tried, and tried, and god fucking damnit tried as Hank spiraled, worse and worse by each passing night. Gavin pleaded with him every night. He begged Hank not to drink, to eat something, to feed Sumo, to get some sleep, and no matter what he did, it was always the same. He would get Hank's card declined at the liquor store, only for Hank to pull out cash. He'd get Hank to completely forget his wallet at home, and Hank would still go back out to medicate himself. He'd get a suspect to give Hank a good chase to exhaust him, and Hank would only drink until he passed out sooner than usual. The only way he could get Hank to eat anything healthy was when he had the takeout guy deliver a side salad with his pizza by mistake.

He was failing, and felt his failure grow exponentially with every carefully manipulated round of Russian roulette. "Stop fucking blaming yourself." Gavin demanded out loud, knowing full well Hank couldn't hear him over the click of the empty pistol barrel. "It's not your fucking fault." He cried as he eased the probability and the barrel stopped one shot short of fatality. "I did this to you." he swore as tears fell and Hank found another slug of whiskey more appealing than the next shot. "Stop." he kept begging, watching Hank stand to stumble to the bathroom, only to return and spin the barrel again. "What am I supposed to do for you?!" He screamed as Hank wavered with the revolver aimed near his temple. His hand shook enough that he dropped the weapon and conceded for the night.

Gavin's wings fluttered with frustration, and a feather or two drifted to the ground as a result of his stress. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes as Hank collapsed on the couch, Sumo dutifully coming over to lay within arm's reach. Gavin kicked out, but there was nothing for his foot to land on in the blank room where he worked, so he marched to the wall and punched it. It felt good, and Hank began snoring, so he did it again, and again, and again.

If he were human, his knuckles would have at least busted open, if his fingers themselves weren't broken form the impact. As a guardian, there was no physical evidence of his outburst. He tugged at his hair, willing himself to not give up. He couldn't, not after what he did for Cole, and Hank needed him. If Gavin hadn't watched his every move for the past few months, Hank would have killed himself already, but Gavin didn't know what to do anymore.

He laid his palm against the view in front of him and pleaded one more time " I want to help you." The sob that shuddered out of him was unbidden, but Gavin didn't hold back. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so fucking sorry, but you have to stop blaming yourself."