#michael langdon imagines

[7-wonders]

At the Edge of the Universe

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

Summary: It’s time to meet the residents of Outpost 3 as Michael begins his interviews to see who will make it to the Sanctuary (spoiler alert: not many).

Word count: 4.1k

A note from the author: Surprise Mad Love drop! We are down to our last three or four chapters, can you believe it? I've told myself that I'm not allowed to write anything else until I finish this, so expect updates semi-frequently. Goal is to get this bad boy finished by June! As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!

Mad Love Masterlist

This is your fourth Outpost visit, and as you look out at the small crowd of survivors gathered in the sitting room of Outpost 3, you believe that you can confidently say that every one of them looks exactly the same.

Not appearance-wise, of course. Overseers are allowed to establish their own rules for their respective Outposts, including wardrobes. Most had been pretty laidback, actually. Outpost 3 is by far the most draconian, and you’re already regretting not pushing back on Michael’s decision to have you join him as you sweat in your stiff Victorian gown.

Though outfits and rules may change, what doesn’t is the faces. Every single time, when you and Michael arrive and make your introductions, the faces of the survivors are filled with hope. The hope of new drama, the hope of continued survival, the hope of a way out of the Outpost. It’s so familiar now, and each time, it’s pained you to see. These people that the apocalypse has spared, whether due to circumstance or societal standing, have no idea that they’re just pawns in Michael’s game of chess. No, worse than pawns. They’re nothing but dolls, amusement for Michael to play with before tossing them to the side like they’re worthless.

“My name is Langdon,” Michael starts. Instead of introducing you, he looks to you to introduce yourself, and you press your lips together to keep from smirking. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.

He immediately does the moment that you introduce yourself with your first and last name. Your legal last name, the one you were born with, and not that of your infernal husband. You can feel him looking at you, surely with barely-contained rage. Instead of looking back, you simply smile warmly at the occupants of Outpost 3, waiting for Michael to get back with the program.

“We won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says after a brief stumble. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here is crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.”

There are a couple of other things that don’t change from Outpost to Outpost, you note as you watch the interaction that unfolds. The questions, for instance, are almost always the same, and almost always asked out of turn in a way that is guaranteed to infuriate Michael. What happened to everybody, what’s the Sanctuary, will some survive, etc. You clock every single question—even robot Ms. Mead’s, though that one wasn’t too surprising since you knew how she was reprogrammed—and listen as Michael gives the same answers that he always does.

Something else that doesn’t change? The abject lust displayed by a good contingent of the survivors. Michael’s a very attractive man, which you obviously know. 18 months is a long time to be surrounded by a very small amount of people day in and day out, and now that there’s fresh blood offering them a chance at salvation, they’ll do anything to convince him that they’re worthy. You frown as the survivors jockey for his attention, to be first. 

Not because you’re jealous or anything. It seems as though the only aspect of Michael’s personality that has remained untouched through his rebirth into a full-fledged Antichrist is his devotion to you. No, you frown because you know that Michael loves to use this to his advantage. After all, lust is one of the seven deadly sins.

“What was that?” Michael asks after the introduction is over and as soon as the doors close behind you in the office in which the interviews will be conducted. 

“What?” you ask coyly, playing a game of your own.

“You know what.”

“Oh, that?” Michael nods exasperatedly. “Langdon’s not my last name.”

You’re not sure if he looks more angered or bewildered, though the combination does have a pleasing shade of red creeping up his neck. “Of course it is, you’re my wife!”

“Not legally,” you retort.

“Well, we can’t exactly go to a courthouse to make it legal.”

“Hmm, maybe you should have waited for us to get to the point where I wanted to get legally married before ending the world.”

Michael’s jaw clenches, and he smirks. “Clever, though I have to say that your attitude is getting old.”

“And yours isn’t?”

You’re both breathing heavily as you glare, daring the other to continue. You fight with Michael so often now that this is a familiar dance, and you know the next move. He goes to kiss you, and though you’re certainly tempted, you put a hand up to stop him.

“No! No, we are not having sex right now.” You try to sound convincing, though you might be attempting to convince yourself more than Michael. It’s just so easy to resort to sex. It’s the one thing that you both agree on in this new world—that you’re good at having sex together. Plus, that’s one of the only times that you don’t completely hate him, and though it pains you to admit it, you look forward to those moments when you forget why you should think him a monster.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “We could, though.”

“No.” 

To drive the point home, you put as much space between you as possible and go to the desk that holds all of the files of every Outpost 3 resident. If there’s one thing that gets Michael’s mind out of the gutter, it’s talking about his magnum opus: the apocalypse.

“What’s Dinah doing here?” That had been quite the shock, to greet Outpost 3 and find yourself meeting the eyes of the (now former, you suppose) voodoo queen. Though her own had widened in a frightened recognition, she looked down at her hands and kept her gaze there for the remainder of the meeting. The man next to her, her son, was one of those who instantly fell a little bit in love with Michael.

“She bought her spot, just like all the other rich fucks.”

“So she won’t be joining us back at the Sanctuary,” you tease.

“Absolutely not, especially now that I have no use for her and her powers.” 

Ever since ending the world, Michael’s powers have blossomed into a whole different beast. He’s so powerful now that you don’t even know the extent, and you don’t think you want to. Where before, he would have needed the help of a voodoo queen or the Supreme when doing something especially complicated or out of his wheelhouse (such as enlisting Dinah’s help when you ate Satan’s poisoned apple or getting a spell from Mallory to reveal the ghost of Cordelia Goode), now, their powers would be worthless to him. You’re no expert when it comes to magic, but you think that his power must be equal to at least ten Supremes.

You certainly don’t want to test that theory.

“How many survivors will be accompanying us back to the Sanctuary, do you think?” you ask.

“Considering I’m not hopeful about interviews, there will be two. A man and a woman, both selected for their optimal genetics.” The interviews are never something to be hopeful over, because they almost always are a disappointment. In the other twelve Outposts, there have been a total of nine survivors that impressed Michael enough with interviews alone that he spared them from their original fates and gave them a spot at the Sanctuary.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the two that are very obviously in love with each other.”

“Which ones?”

You rifle through the folders until you find two with pictures that match who you were looking at in the library. “These two. Timothy and Emily.”

He looks up at you curiously. “How could you tell?”

“When they weren’t watching you, they were staring at each other.” 

Though the two were sat across the room from each other, their eyes were continually drawn together like magnets of differing polarities. You’re a little shocked that Michael couldn’t tell, considering his ‘night vision of the soul,’ as he calls it.

You just call it his creepy Antichrist powers.

You try not to, but you find yourself beginning to look through all of the files. They’re all fairly simple; a headshot, a bio, medical information. Really, Michael only uses them to look official and mysterious as he begins to pick their personalities apart bit by bit. For you however, they help to get to know the survivors, even just a little bit.

That’s precisely why you don’t like looking through these, why you don’t like these visits at all. Because knowing them, and knowing their ultimate fates, is something that makes you sick. Maybe that’s the price you’re forced to pay by the universe for being the Antichrist’s wife. You’re forced to be complicit in the continued mind games and eventual deaths of these people who thought that they were somehow safe after the bombs dropped.

Michael scoffs at the next file you flip open. “That’s one interview I’m dreading.”

“Her?”

“Mhm, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt.” His words drip with disdain.

Coco…the name strikes some level of familiarity, but you can’t remember where you would have met a Coco. She didn’t look familiar when you saw her and her…interesting hair in the sitting room. She’s obviously a socialite, so maybe she was trending for some scandal or another in the Before. It’s so hard to remember that time, not only for the pain, but because it feels like an entire lifetime ago. 

(Was it really only eighteen months ago that you were preparing for graduation, scrolling through social media, and participating in regular 21st-century society?)

One person who does look familiar? The white-haired stylist whose work Coco sports and the one who claimed the first interview spot before anybody else, Mr. Gallant. You’d recognize him anywhere—his confidence in you was one of the sole reasons you had the courage to go down the stairs and join Michael for your first Cooperative function. But as for him?

“Mr. Gallant didn’t recognize us,” you broach.

“No, he wouldn’t. Those whose services are needed by the Cooperative but aren’t trusted enough to keep their mouths shut are…conditioned to forget.”

“You brainwash them,” you clarify.

“I don’t.” His lips twitch at his own joke. Of course, he doesn’t. That would be getting his hands dirty, which he hates doing, especially now that he has all the resources in the (under)world at his disposal.

“My bad.”

“You’re so interested in this group of survivors. Does that mean you’ll be joining me for interviews?”

When you joined Michael for the first time, at Outpost 6, you said yes when he asked you this question. It was something different, after all, and you were at first interested in being a part of the process and getting to know some new survivors. Of course, this was all before you actually sat in on the first couple of interviews and witnessed Michael’s interview ‘style’ firsthand.

You roll your eyes. “Ugh, no. I hate all the weird sexual tension you have with everyone you interview.”

Naturally, Michael gets the wrong idea and thinks that you’re jealous. He places his hands on the arms of your chair, and leans in until he can meet your eyes. “You’re my one and only, you know that.”

“I do.” You stare back at him unflinchingly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“The sexual tension or that you’re my soulmate?” You simply raise an eyebrow in response, and Michael sighs before straightening up. “Well, a Gray should be arriving at any moment with Mr. Gallant, so if you don’t want to see any ‘weird sexual tension,’ I would suggest leaving now.” 

“Alright then, guess I’ll give myself a tour around ol’ Hawthorne.”

Michael pouts. “I was planning on taking you around tonight after Venable’s curfew.”

“Oh, that sucks. Have fun.” You give him a friendly pat on the shoulder as you leave the room.

Outpost 3 isn’t the largest Outpost you’ve visited, but it’s still pretty expansive. In most cases, this would mean lots of exploring to do. Unfortunately, it seems that Ms. Venable has stripped this place of anything that would make it unique. Hall after hall looks exactly the same in a way that would be disorienting if you weren’t keeping track of your whereabouts. The same boring, gray walls, the same black doors, the same frightened Grays scurrying around.

(If you had to pick the worst part about this Outpost so early on, you’d have to go with the forced servitude of some of the survivors here. Most of the other Outposts had a glorified chore chart that distributed tasks equally among survivors. Others had special privileges given to those who volunteered to work. This system? Well, this system has you hoping that Michael’s especially tough on Ms. Venable during her interview.)

After coming to the unfortunate conclusion that this is about as interesting as it’s going to get for you, you make your way back to where it all started: the library. This room at least has some character, between the fireplace and the music playing. Yes, it might be the same song on repeat, played on a vintage radio, but at least it’s something. 

As it turns out, you won’t be alone. The two that you had noticed earlier, the ones that couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, are holding hands and whispering to each other on the couch. They spring apart when you enter, and it’s obvious that they’re not expecting anybody to see them. Their attitude, and the way they’re trying to play it off like they weren’t conspiring, gives you pause. What other severe rules has Ms. Venable imposed on those under her care?

“Hello,” you smile at the two warmly in between appraising the titles on the shelves. “Timothy and Emily, right? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy says warily.

Emily, who doesn’t have that same tact, immediately gets to her question. “Are you here to interview us?”

You shake your head. “No, I let Langdon do the interviewing.”

“So…what do you want with us?”

“I don’t want anything with you. I am trying to find some entertainment, because this place is already incredibly boring and I’ve barely been here six hours.”

Timothy laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get better.”

They watch as you continue to peruse the books, waiting to see if this is some sort of trap devised by you and Michael. It’s not—you genuinely just want to find a book you haven’t read yet and escape to your bedroom for a few quiet hours. Unfortunately, nothing is modern here, not even the books, and you end up settling on Frankenstein, which you’ve read a couple of times now. 

“Is it alright if we ask you a couple of questions?” Timothy asks when you turn back around.

So much for a quiet few hours.

You sigh and sit down on the couch opposite the pair. “I can’t guarantee that I can answer all of them, but I’ll certainly try.”

“What’s it like out there?” Timothy asks the question, but both his and Emily’s eyes shine, desperate for any sort of news about the world outside the walls of Outpost 3. You wish you had better to share with them.

“Lawless. You remember the movies about the apocalypse?” They nod. “It’s worse than that. The world is completely unrecognizable, decimated by the bombs. If it weren’t for a map, I wouldn’t even know where we are. Those who survived the blast have been affected by the radiation from the fallout in the most terrible of ways. They have…sores and growths and cancer, all over their bodies. People kill each other for the smallest scrap of clothing. I’ve seen cannibals picking clean the bones of someone they once traveled with, someone that was once their friend.”

“My god,” Emily mutters.

“When M-–Langdon traveled to Outpost 2, his carriage was almost overrun by a band of survivors. They believed there was food inside, and even if there wasn’t, they wanted the chance to hurt somebody that hadn’t yet been hurt by nuclear fallout.” 

That had been a terrifying ordeal to hear Michael recount. He wasn’t scared at all, knowing both that the radiation couldn’t hurt him and that he could (did) kill all of them with the snap of his fingers. But you were, for the simple fact that the world that you had once lived in was completely gone and replaced by one where people hunted each other out of necessity, because it might be the only true meal they could eat in weeks.

“How did he get out of it?” Timothy wonders.

The true answer obviously isn’t something that you’re able to share, so you instead go with what would have been the answer if it were any other member of the Cooperative in the carriage. “The bodies of the carriage have an electric current that can be activated in case of emergency. The attackers were all electrocuted with the push of a button.”

“Langdon mentioned a Sanctuary,” Emily says. “Is that where you live?”

“We both do.”

“What’s it like?” Timothy asks, while at the same time, Emily questions, “Where is it?”

“The Sanctuary is…well, it feels like the world never ended, that it just moved underground. As for the location, I’m afraid that’s classified.” You smile sympathetically, feeling a lot like Michael.

Now that this line of communication has been established, that Emily and Timothy now feel like they can trust you, you can practically see the plethora of questions that they want to ask.

“So how do you end up working for an organization like the Cooperative?”

Now that’s a question you haven’t been asked before. “It’s kind of a long story,” you say with an awkward laugh, wracking your brain to come up with a lie convincing enough that they believe it.

Before you can, the sound of a cane clicking slowly across the floor stops you. You look in the direction of the entryway, where none other than your dour host stands. Her bright orange hair stands in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit, black like yours. She smiles at you with darkly painted lips, but it’s a smile that holds absolutely no warmth.

“Dinner is served,” she announces.

The three of you stand, but only two start to follow Ms. Venable to the kitchen. “I’ll take my leave, then,” you say.

“You won’t be joining us?” She sounds a tad incredulous, as though nobody’s told her no in quite some time. That’s likely the case.

“The Cooperative supplies us with rations of our own, so as not to take from the Outposts’ stockpiles.”

It’s technically true. Michael would rather starve than eat the gelatinous cubes that constitute nutrition, and thanks to the endless powers he’s gifted with, meals remain the same as they are when at the Sanctuary.

“We shall see you tomorrow, then.”

You nod before smiling at Emily and Timothy. “It was nice talking to you.”

As you walk towards the office, you can already hear Venable questioning what it was that you talked about, trying to determine if the two gained an edge on making it to the Sanctuary. If only she knew that they’re practically guaranteed spots, you think with a quiet laugh.

Michael arrives at the office at the same time as you do, which is odd, considering he’s meant to be inside the office conducting his interviews. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently before opening the doors and leading you in.

“Where were you?” you ask.

He waves a hand and the doors close behind you. “Finishing up an interview.”

“Doing a little field work?”

“Something like that. Now, I’m starving, and I would very much like to enjoy dinner with some good company.”

At first, you felt a little bad eating your favorite foods while the rest of the inhabitants were forced to eat what was left of their rations. Why should you enjoy while they suffer? And then, you met the survivors, most of whom were filthy rich, and you felt okay with it.

Now, as you sit across from Michael enjoying an actual meal, you allow yourself to pretend for a little bit that your life is still as it was before the end. That this is a regular day after classes, and you’re eating a quick meal and enjoying the company of the man you love before you’re off to finish homework, go to an activity, or just hang out with friends. You miss the simplicity that you didn’t know you had, even still after eighteen months.

“How were your interviews?” you ask, trying to bask in that normalcy for as long as you can.

“Nothing to write home about, though I did learn that Ms. Venable is…shockingly self-conscious beneath her hard exterior.”

You scoff. “And that’s surprising to you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I talked with Emily and Timothy,” you mention.

“Please tell me they’re not as vapid as the rest of the inhabitants of this Outpost.”

“No, they’re…actually kinda cool.”

If you’re being honest with yourself, the reason that you immediately liked them so much is because they kind of remind you of you and Michael, before the apocalypse. They’re so in love with each other, so eager to just be near one another and enjoy their presence. It brings you back to New Orleans, walking through the market arm in arm as you searched for the perfect gift for Kate and he eagerly shared what he had learned when looking up grad schools for you. What you wouldn’t give to be showing him how to catch fireflies, or enjoying a sugary treat together.

Shouting sounds from downstairs, a loud argument starting to take place and distracting you from your thoughts. While you strain to try and hear what’s being yelled about, Michael simply smirks. “Took them long enough.”

Neither of you is surprised, because this is what always happens when Michael arrives at an Outpost. He, quite literally, brings Hell with him. It’s an interesting side effect of what happens when an Antichrist inhabits your space. Those walls that people put up, the rules that they live their lives by, crumble when the living embodiment of sin walks in. From there, it’s only a matter of time until everything unravels and they begin giving in to those seven deadly sins. As you listen to wrath begin to cloud minds, you can practically see Michael becoming more powerful thanks to it.

Later, wrath continues, along with a side of lust.

High-pitched shrieking, so different from the argumentative yelling of earlier, wakes you from the dozing you had taken to while trying to read Michael’s interview reports after dinner. You scramble to sit up in your chair, looking at Michael with wide eyes.

“What was that?” you ask.

He doesn’t even tear his eyes away from the computer to look at you, simply waving a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, Timothy and Emily have just been caught having sex. They’re about to be executed.”

“What?” You stand up in alarm, sure that this is actual cause for alarm. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t even react to your reaction. “Michael!” you snap, desperately wanting him to show some kind of humanity.

Finally, he turns around in his chair and sighs as though you’re interrupting your work, which you know for a fact you’re not. “Yes?”

“We can’t let them die.”

“We won’t.”

You look at him in disbelief, because it sure looks like he’s going to let them die. “Then why aren’t you stopping this?”

Michael finally joins you in standing, taking your hands in his and squeezing reassuringly. “It’s sweet of you to worry about them, and I promise you that they will not die before reaching the Sanctuary. I’ll stop this when the time is right. First, however,” he smiles, “I’d like to enjoy their terror for a bit.”

“Every time I think you can’t possibly let me down more than you already have, you prove me wrong.” 

Michael’s face falls at the barb that hits unexpectedly deep, but you don’t have it in you to claim any sort of victory in this. Anger, that heady emotion that’s fueled you up until now, has completely left you at this latest example of Michael’s lack of humanity. All that remains now is disappointment, and it’s a disappointment that leaves you tired. Tired of these games, tired of the life that you’ve found yourself in, tired of being able to do nothing but watch.

Except, you can do something this time. In this Outpost, you have the same amount of power as Michael. With that in mind, you pull your hands free and make for the door.

“C’mon, where are you going?” Michael calls after you.

You don’t answer him, because he knows as well as you. If he won’t put a stop to this, then you will.

///

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #american horror story imagine #ahs imagine #michael langdon imagines #mad love musings

[michaellangdonswhore]

request: when daddy michael basically grabbed his dick when he says “a man such as myself”. now when I see that all I can think about is you walking in on him pleasuring himself. he looks at you right in the eyes and keeps going and you help him

warnings: smutish

word count: 557

a/n: I've gotten sooooo many requests like these so I'm gonna combine all of them.

------------------------------------------------------------

It was her quiet, mythical essence.

That's what drew him to her in the first place.

The way she sat, fidgeting across from him as he interrogated her. The anxious picking at her nails. She was so light and heavenly. God, he wanted to ruin her.

He would knock on her door, asking for a second interview. She would be in her rose nightgown which makes her look so fuckable.

He'd lead her down the hallway and into his office before shutting the door. He'd get her all anxious, asking perverted sex-related intimidating questions. She would get all flushed and wouldn't know what to say- or what to do.

The idea of feeling her body- her angel-like body. She looks like she has the smoothest skin and the best-smelling scent. He has never met anyone who is this breathtaking.

He would roam her, squeeze and dig his nails into every inch of her while nipping at her neck.

"Tell me, Y/N..." Michael would say, "Tell me how many men you've fucked."

"None, sir." Her shaky voice would respond.

It had to be none.

Michael was able to just tell.

And her calling him sir? That really would get him going.

For now, he's grabbing his cock, moving up and down slowly to tease himself.

He would sink to his knees and devour her pussy while she was bent over his desk. He would feel it pulse against his tongue as she lets out shaky moans.

When she cums- the idea of her cumming makes him jerk his cock faster.

He wants her to cum all over his face and after she does, he takes himself out because he is dying to fuck her at this point. He would shove himself deep into her and fuck her hard immediately- showing no mercy.

She would say it was too much, but he would grab her hair and tug it back gently.

"Aw, you can take it," Michael would coo in her ear. "I know you can, baby. You were made for me."

He's toying with himself quickly now, letting out shaky breaths. He is too infatuated with the thought of fucking Y/N till she cries to realize that his door is slightly open.

As Michael fantasized, Y/N walks past his door; in her defense, it was on the way to her room. She glances for a second while walking by, but then pauses. She slowly moves back towards the door and peaks in for a moment.

Michael was laying on his bead, forehead sweaty, jerking his cock in fast motions.

She moves away from the door.

Oh my God. I'm a creep.

She wonders what to do... if she should shut the door so no one bothers him if she should just walk away, or...

No, Y/N, You can't do that.

"Y/N." She hears Michael say before she jumps and lets out a small gasp. She stays quiet, petrified that he'll do something to her. "Y/N..."

Oh... fuck.

"Yes... fuck." Michael continues. Y/N then peaks back into the room and he's working it even faster now. He rolls his head back, facing his door, and then opens his eyes, making direct contact with Y/N.

He smiles softly and doesn't stop what he's doing, staring directly into Y/N's eyes.

She feels like she can't move, but God she wants him right now.

"Close the door on your way in." He says.

---------------------

I just found this in my drafts from months ago. Idk why I didn't post it. Sorry.

#michael langdon #michael langdon headcannons #michael langdon smut #michael langdon imagines #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs smut #american horror story

[velangdon]

AMATIVE→Michael Langdon: Chapter 1

The oppression in my chest remains constant with each step I take. I can occasionally feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I try to keep them at bay. Though I feel an oppressive knot settling in my throat, preventing me from breathing freely, I summon enough courage to approach the entrance of the Palace where the last and greatest party of the cooperative is going to take place.

Despite not yet finding the answers or the adequate reasons to understand how so many people here can feel comfortable celebrating an event that will mark a before and after in the world, the end of everything and everyone, the end of an era and the beginning of another.

Everyone is celebrating the future deaths that will occur tomorrow.

My body is trembling, and although I'm trying my best to keep my legs from collapsing at this moment, I cling to my father's arm. Gripping the fabric of his coat sleeves between my fingers and taking gentle steps to maintain my balance due to the anxiety and nervousness my body is experiencing.

"Calm down, Vitney. We're just approaching the entrance."

My father's harsh voice echoes in my ears, and my stomach tightens as I hear his words. I can't keep calm in a celebration like this, and especially not when I know the secret behind it all.

As we approach the entrance, the knot in my throat continues to tighten, preventing me from uttering a single word. I want to look at my father, but I know that doing so would only dig my own grave since my emotions would collapse and my vulnerable gaze would cause problems between us, not to mention I would receive a lecture from him calling me too sentimental about simple things.

Unfortunately, what seems simple to others is as important to me as my life itself. And this celebration is no exception.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally arrive at the entrance of the Palace where a man and a woman are welcoming all the guests. The woman, who appears to be no older than 25 years, wears an elegant dress with many details in the sleeves, but it's a very dull gray that makes her look sad and drab even though she gives a friendly smile to all the guests. She is in charge of collecting the invitations, and her partner, a man with tanned skin and a friendly expression, is in charge of keeping track of the guest list. He also wears a suit that seems expensive, but it's the same depressing gray as the girl's dress. My mind wanders a bit regarding their role here, which, although they don't appear to be slaves, they somehow manage to give off the impression of being servants of the place. And for some reason, a pinch registers in my chest as I dwell on this naive but profound thought.

When it's our turn for the reception, the girl in the gray dress gives me a sweet and cordial look. I make my best effort to return the same kind of friendly look, but I'm so overwhelmed by all my thoughts that I can barely manage to give her a smile. To my father, who is engaging in small talk with the man in the gray suit and making sure our names are on the list, I give a discreet and suspicious look. He looks so excited to be entering here that it gives me shivers.

"Everything is in order, your names are on the lists of second-tier guests" The man at the reception tells us. "Welcome, and don’t forget to grab a black mask from the box at the end of the hallway. The theme for this last celebration is a masquerade ball."

The mention of a masquerade ball surprises me a little. I've never had the depressing opportunity to attend a cooperative party, but I was completely sure that all the times my parents had attended similar celebrations, the theme was never taken into account, except for the dress code. And I didn’t know if it was something I should be worried about or not, but the idea that this could be deeper than it seems makes me feel anxious and impatient.

I'm lost in my thoughts until I feel my father gently pushing me to start walking again. The woman and man in the reception area lift a pair of elegant silk curtains in a deep crimson color that covers most of the palace entrance, and gesture for us to enter. I hold onto my father's arm tighter, practically just following his steps, unable to control myself.

As we enter the palace, I realize how gloomy and drab the atmosphere is. The decoration is so gothic, elegant, and dreary that I feel as if I am in a castle from the 18th century. The lighting is dim, but it allows me to see a bit of the style of the place, where the walls have details in gold and black. There are some chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the light they emanate is a peculiar reddish tone due to the candles, which are the same shade. The windows have arches as the main detail, and the glass they are made of is slightly dark, as if it has some extra-material that does not allow light to pass through completely. Additionally, there are statues at each corner of what appear to be angels made of marble. They are enormous but beautiful, and it is easy to notice that they are very expensive. I can't completely distinguish the identities of the angels, as they are not familiar to me. But as we move farther and farther in, finally my gaze is frozen on one of the marble angels situated on the side of me, next to a dark hallway leading to deeper stairs. I force myself to stop walking and stand in front of the divine image.

"Lucifer" I quietly whisper to myself, as I am surprised and confused by the sight of the statue of the angel.

I can hear my father sighing next to me, and clearing his throat. My mind races for a moment and something in my chest presses firmly.

"What's surprising you so much, Vitney?" my father asks, a hint of confusion in his voice "There is nothing there"

"The statue, don't you see it? It's Lucifer, the angel..." I reply, pointing to where the statue is. His gaze is so confusing that it makes me want to cry.

"I said there's nothing there, Vitney. Enough" he says harshly, grabbing my wrist with some violence and dragging me away from there, making me walk quickly. "It's already late. We should have been at the celebration for half an hour"

I feel like protesting because of how harshly he speaks to me, but something forces me to keep quiet. The palace belongs to the cooperative, or at least that's what I understand. This means that everything here, including the decorations, are symbols that belong to what this society is. My father has just denied having seen the statue, but I'm sure that the marble angel was Lucifer.

Why does the cooperative have a statue related to the fallen angel?

"Vitney, you have to stop daydreaming" He puts his palm under my chin, forcing me to look at him "I need you here, darling. You know that this celebration is very important to me and your mother, don't you?"

"But dad, I was just..."

"Vitney, no. That's enough. We will enter the celebration and you will put a big and beautiful smile on your face, do you understand? You are my daughter, the daughter of one of the most important cooperative members" he says, squeezing my chin hard, making me gasp for air from the pain "Don't you dare ruin this, Vitney"

His words hit me hard in the heart. Again my throat closes and the prickling in my chest returns. I have never been enough for my father, and my role has always been to be what he wants me to be. The perfect daughter who acts like a shy and well-mannered young lady. Always wearing the most expensive and elegant clothing; the type of woman who has her life mapped out and resolved.

But none of that is who I am.

My father removes his grip from my chin and observes me sternly. Tears form in my eyes, but I hold them back to remember I have makeup on and my vulnerability will likely cause even more anger in him. I lower my gaze to the floor for a moment, until in my vision I see a very elegant and feminine mask in silver and gray tones with some crystals embedded in the edges, as well as lace around the corners of the mask. My father makes a gentle gesture for me to take the mask and place it. I do as he asks, tying the ties of the mask behind my head, a little clumsily because my fingers tremble softly.

"You look beautiful. Now all you need is to remove that bitter face and smile a little. I know you can do it, darling"

I take a deep breath and nod uncertainly. I try to smile as best I can, but I know it comes across as more of a grimace. My father's face lights up in response to my silly expression, and he puts his arm through mine. We walk down the hallway again, and with his free hand he puts on the mask he chose to use. There's nobody around, but the murmurs and music are starting to build. My body tenses a little, and the mere idea of being about to enter a celebration full of greedy and sick people like the cooperative makes me nauseous.

After a few minutes, we arrive at another long passage, but this time there is a delicate shimmer of light at the end of it. Some laughter and shouts of excitement approach, and a shiver runs from my feet to my head.

"Your mother must be completely hysterical not to see us coming." my father says, guiding me towards the entrance at the end of the corridor "You will have to explain the reason for our delay to her."

After hearing his comment, I press my lips together and frown slightly as I divert my gaze towards the new room we are approaching to. Many people belonging to the cooperative are in front of us, and they seem happy and incapable of allowing anything to ruin this moment that is so important to them. Some women are wearing high-end designer dresses, and utterly stylish masks. Men are wearing suits tailored from exclusive materials, and some masks are eerie. I don't know if I'm awestruck or scared, but the surprising thing is to see the repetitive colors in the outfits of everyone.

Red and Black.

As we move forward, the music becomes clearer and the murmurings a little softer. There are walnut wooden tables everywhere. Some attendees are sitting taking appetizers, and others are simply drinking their glasses or having a pleasant conversation. My eyes move from one person to another, and I realize with a start that some impudent and curious glances are directed at me and then at my father. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, but the corners of my eyes betray me and before I realize, I realize that all the attention is centered on me.

It could be because of my dress that doesn't even match the theme or the fact that we arrived with a visibly late delay. But in any case, discomfort begins to affect me, and I have never wished for anything as much as I want to escape from here.

"Look, there is your mother. I'm going to introduce you officially with important people. Be kind and polite, Vitney. It's the only thing I ask of you."

He points to a table in the corner of the room where a group of women and men stand, their masks and masks even more unusual than those of the other guests. I squint my eyes a little, distinguishing my mother thanks to his jet-black hair tied in a typical bun on the back of her neck. I see her laugh joyously, and for a moment her smile is contagious, spreading the delight that she emanates.

In a short moment, she throws a quick glance our way as we approach her table. Her lips part in surprise at our appearance.

"Vitney, my princess!" My mother screams enthusiastically. She quickly rises from her seat and runs forward a little, making her heels clatter against the fine marble floor "You look beautiful, sweetheart!"

She gasps with excitement and hugs me tightly as she reaches me, closing my eyes for a moment, as I feel the sensation of my eyes forming more desperate tears.

"I apologize for the delay..." I reply in a low voice, hugging her around the waist "I was just a bit nervous, and Dad got frustrated again, as always..."

My mother sighs and then separates from me. She gives the people seated at the table a quick glance before turning to me and walking with me to a place away from everyone. She strokes my arms and shakes her head softly.

"It's understandable sweetheart, these kinds of celebrations can be overwhelming and ... especially knowing that it's your first time in our world." She smiles. "Don't let your father ruin this last night for you"

Don't let your father ruin this last night for you.

An impulse of disappointment grips me, and again the oppression in my chest weakens me. My mother's words sound so harsh and true that I want to burst into tears. I don't know how I can bear being in this place, considering that the Apocalypse is around the corner. And that surely anyone who is underneath one of those masks or masks is the mastermind behind the next catastrophe.

My mother hugs me again, and even though I try to prevent it, I'm feeling emotional again. Tears run down my cheeks like a river, and I hold her tightly. I can feel that some people are looking at us, but the only thing I can think about is staying close to the only thing that has helped me stay on my feet since I was a child, and that's my mother.

It feels like a farewell, and that's what hurts the most. Because I'm sure she has no idea what's going to happen with us either, even though my father made it clear that the cooperative has built a kind of bunkers around the world to serve as a refuge for the elite.

We are supposed to be part of that elite.

"Don't make it sound like a farewell, Mom" I reply with a quivering voice "Please. We'll be fine, right?"

She looks at me, smiling sadly. She strokes my hair without saying anything, and then joins her hands with mine. More tears form beneath my eyes, and now I cannot stop them. She gives me a gentle squeeze on my hands. I'm about to ask her for all possible explanations she can give me because desperation is killing me slowly, but quickly she takes me by the waist, turning me to the opposite side of the room. She squeezes one of my shoulders, and I watch her in confusion.

"Mom, what are you..."

"Vitney, be quiet. Your father is coming here" my mother squeezes my shoulders, looking in a specific direction "Stand up straight, dear"

A few seconds later, my father is already standing in front of us. He wears an overly visible smile on his face and moves to my side, separating me from my mother's arm.

"Dear, you're coming with me. I need to introduce you to someone" my father says with enthusiasm, placing a hand on my waist and leading me through the tables "Be on your best behaviour, okay?"

"Who do I need to meet?" I ask, a bit irritated, not understanding the situation.

My father does not reply, and he forces me to keep walking between the tables, holding on to my wrist firmly. I want to get out of his grip, but he is stronger than me, and he does not notice my discomfort. I am a few seconds away from yelling at him to let me go, when a voice becomes present behind us, and my father stops abruptly. He turns quickly and forces me to do the same. I lower my gaze and close my eyes, refusing to face my reality.

"Good evening, Mr. Lacey" an unknown but authoritative, discrete, and masculine voice reaches my ears. It speaks to my father. I tremble a little but do not have the courage to look. "It's a pleasure to have you here, I thought you might not come"

"Sir, what an honour. Of course we would be here, we just had a small mishap" my father responds and laughs nervously.

I squeeze my fingers around my father's arm, and feel his body leaning towards me. He squeezes my waist and I jump in place a little.

"Stop acting like a frightened, immature girl. Be educated, Vitney. You have the most important representative of the cooperative right in front of us" he whispers in my ear in an ironic and aggressive tone. "You are already a woman, you have to stop running away from everything around you"

A tear runs down my cheek due to the hostility of his words. I have no choice, but I feel so anguished and nervous that I don't dare to look anyone in the eye. My father squeezes my arm aggressively, as a warning to let me know that he won't repeat things twice. Finally, I take the courage to open my eyes and lift my gaze. My vision is clouded by tears, but I manage to glimpse the outline of a man in front of me.

"Miss Lacey" the voice makes itself present again, and this time it speaks to me. I freeze in my place, but the man moves, walking in my direction.

I can't answer. I know that if I do, I'll start crying.

"My name is Michael Langdon and I am the representative of the cooperative" the man says in a formal tone "It is a pleasure to meet you, miss."

Then, for some unknown reason, as I hear his name, I feel my heart skip a beat. And I realize that I am on the verge of falling into my own perdition.

[Hey! The first chapter of "Amative" of my Michael fanfic is finally published. It was quite a challenge because my English is not very good and my novel is originally written in Spanish, and if there are any errors, please have patience as I still struggle a bit to translate my story into English.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, btw. <3]

#ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon #cody fern #american horror story #michael langdon x fem!reader #ahs fandom

[nephilimsss]

𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 ! michael langdon masterlist

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x ooc brides of dracula GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST

o.oi :: too bad, so sad !

#michael langdon imagines #michael langdon smut #michael langdon #michael langdon series #cody fern #american horror story #ahs: apocalypse #brides of dracula inspired #brides of dracula

[geekforhorror]

my toxic trait is wanting u guys to send in more requests even though i have so many to write anyway 🤗

#pls pls pls #i need motivation #scream 1996 #sidney prescott #horror movies #billy loomis #randy meeks #slashers #neve campbell #skeet ulrich #stu macher #scream franchise #anakin star wars #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin imagine #star wars #ethan landry #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon #michael langdon smut #anakin skywalker smut

[langdxn]

the compromise pt i | fire and reign!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You get financial stability. Michael gets what he craves. It’s the perfect compromise.

WARNINGS: drug use, mention of police, sexual tension all over the place, breeding kink, mentions of birth control.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

A/N: welcome to a series i never thought i’d start but now i’m here, i can’t control myself. this will go on for some time, so please forgive me!

“Mr Langdon wants to see you in his office.”

The words that danced across Ms Venable’s smug lips sent chills up your spine, overwhelming dread washing over you as if a wave had poured through your cubicle’s ceiling tiles and bathed you in abject horror. Venable revelled in delivering the news that your recent behaviour had stirred none other than the company’s mysterious CEO.

Despite working for Kineros Robotics for 13 months, you’d never once met the man who funded the company’s dealings both above and below board, never even passed him in the hallway. The figurehead who made the final decision on the corporation’s actions, the model around which the dubious company functioned, remained a mystery from head to toe.

Office rumour has it the company never used to attract quite as much attention before his appointment, but you were hired a week after he arrived and assumed the unusual surroundings were the status quo. The unexpected combinations of celebrities from all corners of popular culture filing past your cubicle on the way to the CEO’s office on the 66th floor seemed normal to you, but you never worked out what they wanted with a seemingly innocuous robotics company. As much as you valued the job and its income sparing you from innumerable financial crises and final demand letters that poured through your front door, you certainly weren’t paid well enough to care what went on behind closed doors.

At least, that is, until recently.

——

“Take this to the 45th floor,” Venable barked, slamming a heavily-taped cardboard box on your desk. “The last girl had to be… dismissed this morning due to her failure to wear a simple name badge.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you blindly complied, gripping the brown package and rising to your feet. As you lifted the heavy box and made your way around your cubicle walls, Venable grabbed your arm and leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Give this to the blonde mop top that answers to Mr Jeff Pfister,” she half-hissed. “As much as it pains me to admit it, he’s the more sensible of the two. Give this to Jeff only, you understand me?”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you repeated. An obedient sacrament you hadn’t dared break in all your months at the company, not daring to find out the consequences if you did. With a nod of acknowledgement, Venable gestured toward the hallway and watched you walk away carrying the seemingly precious cargo.

After all the times you’d seen the likes of Ryan Reynolds and Elon Musk grace the hallways of the seemingly endless Kineros building, the journey upstairs never phased you. The elevator leading toward the work conducted at the robotics labs was a mere side effect of the pay packet at the end of the month. The metallic doors swung open automatically as you approached, allowing you to step in, spin around and let out a contented sigh.

Shuffling the box into the crook of your arm to free a hand ready to call the elevator, you chuckled lightly at the sudden recall of a memory of the 7 members of BTS squeezing into the restrictive metallic chamber together. As the box slid back down into your grasp, you noticed a dusty trace it left behind on your forearm. A thin, white line of powder.

Fuck. It’s cocaine.

The dramatic weight of the box in your clutches suddenly dawned on you, straining your arms to keep it steady.

Fuck. It’s a lot of cocaine.

Enough to solve those final demand letters.

Enough to solve any final demand letters.

Before your mind could calculate the consequences, your hands had already fumbled for the weakness in the box and clawed it open further, pouring out handfuls of the white powder and stuffing it into the pockets on your formal suit pants. Not enough to arouse suspicion but enough to line your pockets and earn yourself at least one less red bill.

With the soft ‘ding’ of the elevator arriving at the 45th floor, you’d already worked out your excuse before your messy-haired recipient met you in the crisp white foyer of the robotics laboratory.

“They finally sent a hot chick?” The man who answers to Mr Jeff Pfister called out as he bounded towards you, eyeing you up and down without an ounce of shame. “The last one was totally clapped but this one is a certified babe!”

A chuckle of agreement erupted from a brown-haired man across the lab without looking up from his electronic project at hand.

As Jeff’s gaze dropped to your feet, he noticed a distinct white trail behind you and audibly gasped.

“The fuck?!” He cried out, dropping to his knees and scooping up the powder with his bare hands. “Babe, what the fuck?!”

“Sorry, sir,” you apologised calmly. “This is how it came from the delivery room.”

“Well tell them to be more careful next time, will ya?” He looked up from his cleaning mission for a second before dropping his nose to the floor and snorting the remaining amount. “This is precious cargo right here, we can’t afford to lose this!”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

In fact, the exact thing happened again. And again. And again. Until your final demand letters became a thing of the past only two weeks later, selling the contents of your pockets to anybody who would buy from the least suspicious coke dealer in the area.

Halfway through your fifth delivery, the hum of the elevator carrying you upwards suddenly snapped you back to reality, an overwhelming pang of realisation crashing over you as you turned to rest your back against the reflective doors. How much longer could you pull this off? How long before suspicions were raised in the building?

What if the CEO found out? Worse still — what if Venable found out?

Your mind raced through the consequences of losing your entire income from the company. The final demand letters would rear their red heads. You’d lose your apartment, your car, have to move back in with your parents, have to take the bus, probably serve jail time, have to apply for a new job having lost the last one due to careless management of inordinate amounts of cocaine — every outcome sounded worse than the last.

None of them were worth the risk anymore.

——

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Venable’s ever-present bark dragged your consciousness back into the present. “We don’t want to keep Mr Langdon waiting now, do we?”

Swallowing harshly and slowly rising from your chair; your gaze met with Venable’s, glimmering with mauve disdain above her narrow glasses. Both of her hands clasped over her cane, she tapped the stick against the floor so hard it nearly shattered the flagstones.

“No, Ms Venable,” you obeyed with a bowed head, tucking your chair under your desk and treading tentatively into the white hallway toward the elevator. The same crisp hallway down which you carried the class A cargo but this time, each step was taken less with anticipation than sheer terror of what lay ahead.

The mirrored doors that not two weeks ago resolved all your financial fears were now destined to carry you to your inevitable firing. The doors hastily slid open on your approach, leading you to gulp loudly and step inside its metallic chamber.

Hang on, why would the CEO personally see you just to fire you? Venable revels in that job, practically clamours for it simply to feed on the anguish of unfortunate employees whose time had come to a premature end for some reason or another. After all, she dismissed the last girl for misplacing her name badge. Hurriedly, your hand raced to your chest to double check your own badge, breathing a heavy sigh of relief to find the metal pin still in place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you swore under your breath. “The money wasn’t worth this.”

You pressed the ‘66’ on the elevator keypad as if the button itself would destroy your life with one click, squinting to try and block out the next action as the doors swiped shut and encased you in its aluminium prison. Claustrophobia had never been an issue to you until this moment, eyes darting around your mirrored confinement from floor to ceiling as if you’d never make it out alive.

The jolt of the box’s motion skyward nearly toppled your balance as you braced yourself against the shiny wall, glancing up to the blinding lights above you that signposted your journey toward your fate. As if being dismissed wasn’t bad enough, your actions were far more illegal than you realised at the time. Aware that you’ve been mishandling a class A drug, Langdon could be sending you into a trap. The cops could be right behind that door when it reached its destination. You swallowed harshly, knowing full well how close you were to the end of the line.

The insensitive metallic “ding” of the elevator signalling its arrival washed yet another wave of dread over you. Squeezing your eyes tightly shut as the doors wiped open, you stepped out into the unknown and paced forward.

Your motion stopped abruptly as you clashed against an immovable force in front of you, forcing your eyes open to face the obstacle square in its eyes — a tall blonde man whose hard chest you just bumped against.

“It might be worth opening your eyes once in a while,” he sneered through a crooked smile creeping across his full lips, watching intently as you panicked and stumbled backwards raising cautious palms in the space between you to ensure you were a suitable distance away from him. He remained motionless, his hands clasped together behind his back.

“I… I…” you stuttered weakly. A deep chuckle erupted in Mr Langdon’s throat.

“I’m sure I pay you to speak at least a few words,” he smirked, his grin growing wider with every one of your panicked breaths. “Take a seat, miss.”

The elegant man spun on his heels and paced across the room to a chair behind a glass desk, tapping the opposite seat intended for you as he passed. Once the haze of fear finally dropped from your vision, focusing on his frame you noticed tumbling blonde curls pouring over his shoulders, his long black coat billowing as he moved and black boots making a satisfying ‘clack’ across the tiled floor.

Whatever you expected the mysterious Mr Langdon to look like, this definitely was not it.

“You’re not still frozen to the spot, are you?” His booming voice filled the room and caused you to lunge forward and rush to the chair across from him, perching on the edge of the seat and nervously sliding your hands under your thighs.

“Mr Langdon, I—.”

“So tell me,” he continued without acknowledging your attempt to speak, his facial features not changing to reveal his emotions. “What possessed you to steal cocaine from your employers to sell on the street?”

You gulped again. Loudly. How did he know every single detail of your actions? Did he have cameras in the elevator?

Fuck, you should’ve thought about that sooner.

“Sir, I know it was wrong and I’m so, so sorry,” you pleaded weakly, shaking your head in despair with every syllable. “Please, please don’t call the cops and please don’t fire me. I really need this job.”

For the first time, his smug grin dropped. Instead, a quirked eyebrow raised above his deep-set eyes.

“I was under the impression this company meant nothing to you,” he stated perplexed, leaning forward in his chair and placing an elbow on the glass table, resting his chin on his palm and tapping his cheek with his finger. “Particularly if you’d throw it all away over a few pocketfuls of cocaine.”

“Sir, have you ever made a mistake in the heat of the moment?” You instantly regretted your words as they rolled off your tongue without a second thought. “I made a huge mistake that jeopardised not only myself but also the company. I would take it back in a heartbeat.”

Langdon tapped his cheek again, as if dismissing your feeble attempts to resolve your own mess.

“I appreciate your tenacity, but you’ll have to try a little harder if you want me to overlook something as abominably illegal as this.”

“Of course sir, I’ll do anything.”

Langdon’s steady breaths hitched in his throat. His brow raised higher.

“Anything?”

“Anything, sir,” you affirmed.

He froze for what felt like an eternity, seemingly calculating your statement. You both sat in piercing silence, deafened by the unspoken words rolling around in his mind and the remaining desperate attempts to apologise for your mistake tumbling around yours.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little girl,” he sneered, pursing his lips together.

“I… I’m not, sir. I really would do anything.”

This time, both of his tapered blonde eyebrows raised.

A decision had been made. And that decision terrified you.

Suddenly, Langdon rose from his chair and sidestepped around the desk, running a contemplative hand across the glass as he moved toward you. As he reached your side and his black boots nudged against your shoes, he peered down at you with wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“Stand up,” he commanded as you rose to your feet almost before he could finish his order. Even at your full height, Langdon towered over you, his blonde curls flowing around his shoulders at your eye level.

“If you do as I say, I will add the income you made from the coke to your salary so you never need to sell on the street again. If you do as I say, I will make this all go away. The police will never know, Mutt and Jeff will never know and most importantly, Venable will never know.” Langdon leaned in toward you, his voice softening with every word that left his plump lips. “But if you disobey me, I have the police on speed dial and I will personally ensure you never see the light of day again under the crushing weight of class A drug charges.”

You swallowed harshly, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. Nodding furiously, you wilfully agreed to anything he had in mind.

“I have a few terms,” he continued, his face blank but searching yours for a reaction. “Number one, do you have an IUD?”

You nearly choked on thin air, eyes bulging from their sockets. You frantically scoured his face for any signal that he was joking, but his emotionless countenance gave nothing away. Realising how deadly serious he was, you shook your head tentatively.

“Good,” he affirmed with a slight quirk of his lips into a contented smile. “Second, are you taking any birth control?”

This time, your eyes darted around the room for a sign of a hidden camera, as if this were some prank. Unfortunately nothing jumped out at you, leaving you to nod obediently.

“Understood. I’m going to need you to stop taking it for at least two weeks. Do I make myself clear?”

Langdon slowly leaned into you, closing the gap between you as your breaths became laboured, until your lips almost met in the middle. You knew if you nodded in response, you’d certainly end up crashing into a kiss.

“Y… yes sir,” you whispered instead.

“Good girl,” he grinned, raising a hand to your face and tucking a rogue strand of hair behind your ear. He revelled in your fear, fed off your trepidation, bathed in your anticipation. He knew your thought process, knew you were following his plan to the letter at least in your mind. You knew exactly why he was asking this of you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to question it, to hear his intentions from his own lips. You knew what your CEO was asking you to do, but verbalising it would make it real.

Suddenly, he spun around and skirted around the table returning to his seat.

“I’ll have a contract drawn up by the morning. Come back by 9am and sign if you still want those charges to flutter off into the ether.”

You gulped in a feeble attempt to disguise your irregular breathing and nodded curtly in response.

“Yes, Mr Langdon,” you obeyed, turning on your heels to the sanctuary of the elevator. As you strode in silence toward the mirrored doors, the CEO’s voice broke through the void once more.

“You can call me Michael,” he called out in the hope you would look back at him.

Noticing you briskly continuing your journey out, he tried again.

“Oh and one more thing,” he added as you finally turned to face him.

“Yes, Michael?”

“Make sure you ditch that stupid name badge before you see me again.”

#cody fern #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon imagines #cody fern fanfiction #american horror story #michael langdon x reader #ahs fanfiction #fire and reign!michael #fire and reign!michael x reader

[multific]

Pet III

Michael Langdon x Reader (x Xavier Plympton)

Summary: Michael is planning the new world, and Xavier is worried because you have been sick again.

Both Xavier and Michael knew just how strong you were, you proved it in the Outpost as well.

And yet, the strongest person and you were in bed once again. You were constantly sick, throwing up, and being dizzy.

Michael called a doctor, but he was three days away from you so you had to wait for him to get there.

"Maybe she ate something." Xavier was pacing up and down in the room while Michael tried to type on his laptop. "Why are you not worried?" Xavier snapped and looked at Michael, who slowly turned to the blonde, it sent a shiver down Xavier's spine. 

"I am worried, very much. But pacing and repeating the same thing won't help her." Michael closed his laptop, it made Xavier gulp and take a step back. "We went through all, food, water, bacteria, witchcraft, and you know it."

"I know, but-"

"No buts! You are making me angry, Pet." Michael turned back to his laptop as Xavier let out a loud huff. At least this time, he didn't choke him. 

One time, Michael got so angry with Xavier when he left you all alone, Michael had to punish him.

Xavier found it infuriating that Michael seemed like he didn't care about you. 

But it wasn't true. He only worked because he would worry about you every second. It was actually your idea for him to go back to his work, because he worried too much, you had to make him leave.

Xavier sat down on the bed watching you as you read a book, you looked better.

"You worry too much." you said looking at Xavier.

"It's like he doesn't even care." he said with a pout and a whisper so Michael wouldn't hear him.

"Of course, he cares. But he is actually worse than you so I had to make him leave." 

"What do you think is wrong with you? Another curse?"

"I don't think it's a curse this time, I have a feeling but I want the doctor to confirm it, so I'll wait." Xavier ran his hand over yours smiling at you before he nodded. "Can you bring me some tea please?" you asked as he nodded.

Xavier wasn't a servant, he knew that. But he still liked to do things for you. Xavier was so incredibly in love, even if he knew you will never be his, being around him is enough for him.

Xavier climbed into the bed, placing his head in your lap as you continued to read and played with his hair.

You two fell asleep like that before Michael joined you as he slept on your chest.

You loved to sleep like this, surrounded by love and care.

The doctor arrived the next day.

"What are they talking about?" Xavier was pacing, walking up and down in the room. "You have a good hearing!"

"Sit down already." Michael was getting angry, not only did you ask them to leave the room when the doctor arrived but he couldn't hear you.

Why were you blocking him?

"Michael! You have a good hearing, you can read people's minds!" Xavier finally sat down in the chair in front of Michael.

"She's blocking me out, I cannot hear anything."

Xavier's eyes went wide. WHY were you hiding, what were you hiding? You did hint that you might know what the problem is, maybe you have some terminal disease. Xavier was thinking of the worst when he heard the door open and both he and Michael rushed to catch the doctor.

The doctor didn't give them any straight answer, instead, he told them to go and ask you before he rushed off, clearly scared to death.

And they did.

You were standing, ready to leave the room and talk to them when they barged in, almost tripping over each other.

"My Queen, what-the doctor refused to say anything."

"I have great news, My Love and I wanted to be the one to tell you. It looks like I'm pregnant."

The word scared Xavier but Michael smiled. A genuine smile which not many people saw in their lives. Xavier thought this really was the end, the Antichrist, smiling.

You being the reason behind his smile every day. 

"Are you really?" Michael asked as he rushed to hug you. "Thank you," he said as he smiled into your hair.

Xavier felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He knew he wasn't supposed to, he knew his place, but he was still jealous. Extremely jealous.

But he understood, he knew. And he tried to be happy for you.

So, he decided to be a good pet and leave you two alone for the time and just go outside to think.

And thinking he did.

He had no choice, he was bounded, if he leaves, he dies, not like he had anywhere to go.

Meanwhile, you and Michael had a nice moment in the room, just the two of you, pure love.

"I can't believe it. We are going to have a baby."

"Yes, we are, I had a feeling but I wanted the doctor to confirm it." you smiled, eyes shining with love.

"This is why you said that everything will be fine." Michael was sure he never smiled so much in his life. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Michael." you two kissed.

---

Xavier was still outside, waiting for you two and you finally got out of the room.

"Aww, Xav, don't pout." 

"Am not." he said, pouting. You laughed slightly. "Congrats on the mini Antichrist."

"Thank you." you were too happy to notice he meant it in a bad way, but Michael didn't. But the smile on your face made him not act out. "You will have a new play-date soon, at least you will have someone to sleep with." Xavier not often had the chance to sleep with you, he often had to sleep in a separate room.

"So, I'll be your in-house babysitter." 

"YES." You laughed. 

You honestly didn't see anything wrong with this, even if you knew about his feelings, you weren't his.

And throughout the years, Xavier just couldn't accept that. But he had to, especially now.

Seeing you so excited and happy for this baby, Xavier couldn't stay grumpy, even when Michael had a little chat with him.

"The baby is mine, you are only her pet, you knew that from the beginning, so stay in your lane. I'm her husband and the father of her child. But if you continue with this behaviour, she will notice and feel bad which is not going to be good for either of us." 

Xavier understood, he also saw the changes in Michael as your stomach grew. For the Bringer Of the End, Michael was soft with you, being overprotective was an understatement. He kept everyone away from you except for Xavier, he was the only one besides him to be able to approach you.

You had a feeling Xavier would feel bad. But you also knew that you needed to keep the barrier. You loved Xavier, you really did but your love for him was different.

You belonged to Michael, your heart, body and soul were his without any doubt. 

But you also loved Xavier and you didn't want to make him feel bad about the situation.

Yes, you will have a baby with your husband, but it didn't mean that you will ignore him, you showed that to him, or tried to, by maintaining the same relationship you had.

You talked to him the same, and as your belly grew, you didn't change one bit.

Sure, your motherly instinct grew and you were more emotional, but it was normal.

One evening, you were already into your sixth month when you were listening to some music, slowly swaying with Michael while Xavier watched.

And just as another song began, Michael gave your hand to Xavier. Xavier looked at him, confused. 

"I have some work. Dance with her." he said.

Xavier didn't need to be told twice, he grabbed your hand and started slow dancing with you.

That was the moment Xavier felt the best.

To be able to hold you, with Michael's permission meant everything to him.

And somehow, all three of you knew, at that moment, that this is going to be fine.

You are all going to be fine.

 Part 1  Part 2

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​ @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead​ feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon x fem reader #michael langdon x xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x you #xavier plympton imagine #xavier plympton imagines #xavier plympton x fem reader #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story imagines #american horror story fanfiction #american horror story fanfic #american horror 1984 #american horror story apocalypse

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Michael Langdon x SAed reader while they're having a panic attack

I tried to be as accurate as possible when describing what it feels like to have a panic attack, especially since I've never had one before. I've very sorry to anyone who's ever had to experience anything such as SA before, my heart goes out to each and every one of you ❤

Calming Techniques (Michael Langdon x reader)

Warnings: references to past sexual assault, descriptions of a panic attack, talk of feeling nauseous, hurt/comfort, heavy angst, please read with caution

Your vision blurred as you felt yourself grow dizzy all of a sudden, grabbing at the wall for support. Unwelcome memories flooded your sight, causing you to feel the sudden urge to vomit.

You could make out Michael in the distance, quickly walking towards you to ensure you didn't fall and hurt yourself. Although you could see his lips move, the blood rushing in your head seemed to drown out everything else and made it impossible to hear what he was saying.

"I- I can't breathe," you choked out. Your chest felt constricted and your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst out of your chest. "P-Please help me."

"It's alright, I'm here for you, okay? I'm here to help."

You heard him speak, but it sounded so far off. Your mind felt as though it were detached from your body, swimming around above your head in a dazy hue.

"I'm going to pull you closer to me, is that alright?"

You felt his arms envelope your body as soon as you nodded your head yes. He held you there, rubbing your back and whispering sayings of encouragement.

"It's alright, you're alright. You're going to be okay."

You shuddered, a sudden chill washing over you. Your stomach churned with discomfort. "I feel like I'm gonna puke."

"Do you want me to walk you to the bathroom?" He asked, you immediately shaking your head. "Okay, we can stay here if you want."

You leaned into his touch. You felt yourself getting calmer already, but that didn't mean the memories were suddenly gone.

He noticed this, which prompted him to ask his next question. "Do you want to do the method we usually do to help you feel better?"

"Yes, please," you whispered, your eyes brimming with tears.

"Okay, why don't we start with five things you can see?"

You looked around. "Um, you, the ceiling, the walls, the floor..."

He chuckled. "And? What else?"

"Does what I'm wearing count? I mean, I can see it."

"Sure. Now, what about four things you can feel?"

"The ground, the pain that's still in my chest, the fabric of my clothes against my skin, and you."

"Three things you can hear?"

"Um... well, I can hear you for starters, your voice. I can hear how fast my heart is beating, and the fan in the other room."

"Almost done. Two things you can smell?"

"Your cologne is one of them," you said with disgust, causing him to laugh. "Seriously, you really need to considering changing it to something a lot less subtle."

"Alright, what else can you smell other than my cologne?"

"Your shampoo. Now, that, I do like."

"Glad to hear it. Finally, what's one thing you can taste?"

"Well, I still feel like I might throw up, so the only thing I can taste right about now is acid reflux. And let me tell you, it tastes awful."

"Sorry about that," he said sympathetically.

"It's okay, I'm okay," you responded, your voice cracking as your eyes welled up with tears, making your sight blurry. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Michael gently correct you. "But that's okay. It's okay to not be okay, y'know? You don't have to worry about being alone, because I'm here for you. I'll be here for you, every step of the way. Okay?"

"Okay," you said quietly, giving him a small smile of gratitude. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said, rubbing soothing circles on your back with his hand as he held you close. "I'll always be here for you."

The two of you stayed like that for awhile, not moving; just taking in the moment. In his arms, you felt safe, finally.

~

Taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @blkroyalty1 @corn3liiia @nevilleismywhore @ethrealzzz @your-next-daydream

#american horror story #american horror story imagines #american horror story x reader #american horror story fic #american horror story angst #ahs #ahs imagines #ahs x reader #ahs fic #ahs angst #michael langdon #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fic #michael langdon angst #tw sa #heavy angst #happy ending #hurt/comfort

[langdonismsss]

Beginning of the end: Michael Langdon X Reader

Chapter 3: The deal

Description: A young girl is about to start her life after high school. Unfortunately for her, a certain blonde who has never accepted no for an answer learns of her existence before he is to put his purpose into play

A/N: Recently just learned that this pic was slowly starting to head into the direction a few other Michael Langdon fics have gone. Im starting to change my plot as I don't want them to be that similar, please accept this train wreck of a chapter

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of death and dead things.

Word Count: 1.7K

 Your eyes slowly fluttered open. Your mind was fuzzy, but quickly you started to realize the danger you were in. You were in a small confined space, not even aware of which way was up. Hands and feet and mouth were bound with tape. Voices bounced around outside of your area. Shutting your eyes as tightly as possible you try to think. This was that creepy fucking lady. You should have just listened to your gut and avoided her. 

   “She’s still alive though right”? 

   It was a man’s voice, muffled behind the door. 

   You would just pretend you were sleeping to see if he said anything about his intentions.  You shut your eyes and went limp. There was shuffling outside for several minutes and muffled voices before the door opened. The light poured in and exposed two silhouettes. You didn’t have to see to feel their presence. They were powerful and authoritative. 

   “Are you fucking kidding me Miss Mead”, he snapped. It was soft but angry. The weird woman was who you assumed, is Miss Mead. You made a mental note so you could tell the police about that when you got out of here. 

   “Her mouth is taped how can she breathe”? It was him again. The lights were turned on. You had to resist moving your eyes. Otherwise it would give away your position. The tape was abruptly ripped off your mouth. You whimpered but hoped they hadn’t noticed. Hopefully he just thought you had stirred in your sleep.

   “Leave us!”, he shouted. You jumped in your skin. She chuckled nervously and left. The man kneeled beside you. His hand started to caress your face. His thumb running over your cheek bone gently. Your heart stopped. 

   You could physically feel it stopping. You were so fucking scared right now. His hand pulled away to rest his elbow on his knee. His chin pressed against his knuckles and he sighed.  “How stupid do you think I am”? 

   The tears burst just like harsh waves breaking through a dam. You cried on the cold floor not knowing where the hell you were right now. The sobs racketed through your body uncontrollably. “Please let me go home”. 

   He reached forward and grabbed your wrist rather harshly, yet his voice was gentle, “No”. You stopped feeling sorry for yourself and looked up at him. He looked uncomfortable and like he had no clue what he should be doing. He wasn’t very good with people. 

   “Why am I here?”, you whispered, finally taking in his appearance. He had medium length blonde hair, with fluffy curls. His bone structure was sharp, and he had puffy pink lips. His eyes were the most breath taking thing about him. A bright baby blue. In front of you was the most ethereal man you had ever seen. He looked so much like an angel, but his eyes had undertones of evil. His aura was dark and disturbing.

   “So you did all of this. And for what?”, you spit at him.

   His hands were still on your arms and he pulled you up to your feet fast. “For my fathers plans”, he said coldly. You narrowed your eyes and tried to read him. He seemed lonely. He didn’t know what the fuck he was even doing. 

   “Can I get your name at least”?

    Harshly, you were forced forward. 

   “What the fuck”, you hissed. He snorted and dragged you through a creepy hallway. You peered a look over your shoulder and saw that they had you locked in a closet. A small little janitors closet. The sign on the door read Kineros Robotics. You knew this place. It was on the news and they had been experimenting with cloning illegally. 

   Sharply, the man tugged you down another hall. At the end of it was a clear office cubicle. Odd. There were two men sitting in there, feet on their desks, and throwing things across at each other. The doors opened and both men sat up straight. They both had such ugly bowl cuts, you grimaced. 

   “M-Michael, we didn’t expect you back so soon”, they both stammered out. 

   So the man responsible for your kidnapping, was Michael. It was angelic. He looked over at you, face softening. “Have a seat”, pointing to the soft cushiony chair. The two men infant of you almost choked when you sat down. You weren’t sure why. Michael pulled the small, hard wooden stool over to the table and sat down, he was too tall and slouched over slightly. It was almost comical. “Can you boys just give me the device?”, Michael snapped. They were obviously very scared of him. Despite your current situation, you didn’t feel scared. You felt this strange sense of security. That was almost more scary than the actual situation. 

   “Jeff go grab it”, urged the brunette. 

   “On it”, he jumped up and walked over to the large white industrial cabinet. He opened the doors, revealing lots of small knick knacks and several very scary looking objects and devices. 

   “See this is the one we’ve been working on for awhile now. Just to track down Ryan Reynolds if we ever see him, right Mutt”, Jeff said nervously. Mutt said nothing. 

   Michael grabbed it from Jeff and turned to you. It looked like a water gun, but with two very large and very sharp prongs on the end. In shiny red cursive, it said Cooperative on the side. “Now, Y/N, I know you don’t understand what’s happening”, he shot a look over to the men and they got up abruptly and left. “But I’ll explain it to you before we get home”. 

   We?

   “Do not be alarmed when I tell you this”, his blue eyes pierced through your soul. You gave him a slow nod. “I’m the antichrist. To bring forth the end times for my father. To reset life on earth”, he said smoothly. It’s like he actually believed what he was saying. 

   Laughter echoed around the office. Michael looked at you puzzled. “Really? You kidnapped me just to tell me about some rubbish antichrist? And that you are him? Grow up buddy and go to church”, you chuckled, wiping tears from your eyes. As scared as you wanted to be, this whole situation was too ridiculous. 

   The room went cold. Like ice. His face had gone stone cold. “Michael?”, you said nervous. 

   “Could a normal man do this”? His hands swished and then snowflakes fell, coming from seemingly no where. Now you were getting a little scared. Again. 

   “Could a normal man do this?”, he repeated, instead this time throwing his hand up. The thumbtacks on the desk flew off the desk and pierced the wall. 

   “Could a nor-“

   “Listen I get it. Can you just kill me already”? Michael came out of the angry trance and looked at you sorrowful, mouth agape. 

   “Oh you think I’m going to kill you”? He let out a sad chortle before his eyes became dark. “No my love, you are going to help me end the world”. 

   You went quiet. Michael smirked and continued. “You might have noticed some signs these last few months. Like crows, and dead things. My father has hand selected you for partnership. I need…”, he stopped and gave you a dreamy look. “Balance. I need some form of sanity when bringing about the end of times. We are going to start a new world Y/N”, he tilted his head and gave a genuine smile.

   “I would rather fucking die”, you cried out. You stood up so fast the chair fell over and you turned to run. Michael used his powers and shut the doors infant of you. Banging on them you cried. “Let me out”! 

   “Don’t make me do this Y/N”, he bellowed. 

   “Please! I have a life I haven’t lived yet! I want to go to school, and party and get married. Maybe one day have kids and even grand kids! Theres so much I haven’t seen yet or done, please don’t do this. Wait another thousand years if you have to, just not now”, you started to cry again. This was the most you had ever cried. 

   Michael dropped to your level and started to caress your face. “Don’t cry, I can’t handle crying”, he whispered. His eyes were glossed over. “We can do all that in the new world, just tell me whatever you want and you can have it. The world is in your hands”. 

   “You have to understand how sudden and crazy this is right”, you managed to choke out. 

   “I know, that’s why I’m going to give you 1 month. With all the protection and money you could ask for. You can travel and do whatever you feel like. With whoever. You have one month to make a decision”. Your heart dropped. That was the opportunity of a life time. “All I ask, is you consider marrying me”, Michael said sternly. 

   “Thats it? And if I say no?”. 

   His lips went into a thin line. “I’ll have to do what I must”. 

   You swallowed hard, “If I were to marry you, and help you end the world, can I save who I want”? 

   “Whatever you wish for, and it’s yours”, Michael said softly.

   “Okay, I understand. I’ll meet you here in one month”, you said and stood up off the floor. Michael started to click his tongue. “Thats not all”, he picked up the gun and put it on your stomach. “For all that protection and money, you need this”. He pulled the trigger and there was a sharp pain in your tummy. Your jaw dropped and you grabbed the spot in pain. It felt like a small piece of plastic was just inserted into your gut.

“Thats a small chip I’ve just inserted into your stomach. The Co-operative will be tracking you now. When you get home there will be a man waiting for you. He’s going to hand you a card. That card is your ‘bank card’. There is no maximum amount. That man will be stationed outside of your house for the next month. I will always be around”, he smiled. “Ill be seeing you soon”, Michael waved his hand infant of your face and it all went black. 

#michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x you #american horror story #michael langdon #chiyo #ahs x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #Michael Langdon imagine #ahs: apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #apocalypse #American horror story imagine #yandere michael langdon

[hufflepuffplums]

A Meeting To Another World

summary: Michael takes you to his world and in the first few minutes leaves you alone, in his home

warnings: mention of earthquakes, and other deaths(but other than that it should be fine)

Authors note: Chapter 2! Sorry this took a while! I really did want this to be a weekly thing but I got busy with my new job. And boy, do new jobs take a lot out of you.

Michael let you collect a few items from the ruins of your apartment, he helped of course. The items you took were some clothes, books, a couple movies and shows, a painting, little figures, a bottle of perfume, and stuffed animals. Michael couldn't help but let a smile slip when he saw you holding a stuffed animal that didn't fit in your suitcase. You also changed, finally feeling insecure about being half naked in front of a man you didn't know.

"Is that all you want to bring?" Michael asked. He was standing where he was when you first saw him. Where everything changed. His vacant expression graced his face again. Everything about him screamed mystery, something you had to get used to.

"That's all that wasn't broken," you told him. Everything else you wanted was smashed, cracked, or hidden under the wreckage. 

"Just so you know once you come with me, you can never come back. I only have enough power to make it here and back once. Are you positive you still want to come with me?" Michael explained. He seemed nervous, hiding it terribly.

You surveyed the aftermath of the earthquake, taking in what happened here. The urge to cry was strong, but you suppressed the need to. Your old life was over, even if you still had your friends. You would never be truly happy without your family. They were everything to you. Your family was one of the only things holding you together. It sounds stupid, but it was true. But now they were gone, and not coming back this time.

"I'm positive. I want to go with you," you said looking back at him. Walking closer, taking your suitcase in a tight grip, the stuffed animal that was in your arms on top of the suitcase now. Just a while ago you were in the shower waiting for your family to come home to watch Lord of the Rings again. Now you were standing on an unsteady ground with, what should be, a fictional character to go with them to their world. 

"Okay," he said, unsure if you were going to change your mind mid spell. Once Michael was sure, he took your hands in his gently. His eyes closed and held your hands tighter, beginning the spell that got him here. A soft glow was coming from your connected hands, and the air around them stilled. It was like particles of light covered your hands and started to surround you two. The particles around you began to spin clockwise and your senses felt like they were blurring together. Nothing felt real at that moment. You watched the world break away, baffled. It felt like you were going to float away, but Michael kept you grounded. A dribble of crimson blood trickled out of his nose and he started to shake a little, holding onto you tighter.

The world around you came back like puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly. Your feet touched the ground and the light faded. Michael opened his eyes slowly, looking tired. Out of nowhere you reached out and wiped the blood from his nose on your sleeve. This shocked Michael, flinching slightly when you wiped his face.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that," you said, letting go of his hand that you still held. His hand chased yours but then retracted. 'Interesting'

"It's alright," he said, looking away. "Your room is upstairs, first door to the right, the bathroom is a door down. I have to go somewhere right now, but you can explore the house if you so desire. Don't go into the room at the back, that's my room. I'll be back shortly," he said, he left out the front door. Leaving you alone.

You stayed where you were for a while. You were in the hallway of a modern looking house, there were no pictures on the wall, and at the end of the hall led to the kitchen. The other way led to the front door, an arch to where you assume is the living room and some stairs. You grabbed your suitcase and went up the stairs. 

Your room was slightly bare but had some clothes your size in the wardrobe, surprisingly. The bedsheets were black and the blanket was dark purple. A desk was by the window and had a good quality computer with a lamp near it. It looked like a big collage bedroom you'd see in a movie.

Once you got settled and opened the wardrobe again so you could find a shirt, since yours had Michael's now dried blood on the sleeve. The tops in the wardrobe were your taste, maybe more like how you wanted to dress. You opted for a dark blue long-sleeved shirt with a dark gray tank top underneath because the top was too low for your liking. It matched your dark colored jeans well. The tops were soft on your skin and looked a little expensive, was this version of you rich?

It was weird to be here, this girl used to live here. Not you. It's like you replaced her, No. You DID replace her. You are nothing more than a new toy because the other one was broken. You shook off the thought and went downstairs to the kitchen. Hunger taking over your form.

The wood flooring was cold under your bare feet and the house was light without needing the lights on, but you turned them on anyways. 'What to make? Real question, what do I want?' Looking in the cupboards you decided to make stir fry. Chopping up some the veggies and adding spices when and if needed. The butter melted in the pan over the vegetables and made it smell better. Tasting it you thought it needed more garlic and chopped away not looking where you chopped thinking of all the times your sister made stir fry. She knew exactly how to make it taste like heaven without needing to think. Remorse hit you before the knife missed and sliced your finger deep.

"Crap!" You exclaimed. Cradling your finger in your grasp. Taking a look, it was bad. It gushed a little, and dripped on the floor a bit.

Of course that's when Michael entered the house. You haphazardly turned off the stove and moved it off the burner before the food burned, taking paper towel to clean up the blood everywhere before he walked into the room.

Michael hummed in delight smelling the food, entering the kitchen not seeing you yet because of the island you hid behind cleaning up the rest of your blood up.

Michael could smell the blood. "Did something happen when I was gone?" He asked innocently. 'Shoot! What do I do?'

"Uh, no. Just dropped a piece of carrot, I'm making stir fry if you want any?" You said, putting the blood drenched paper towel in the garbage under the sink. You got up covering your bloody finger behind you.

Michael wasn't convinced, but went along with your lie anyway. He walked over as you tried to hide your finger from him. He was a foot away, looking down at you. "Are you sure?" He asked, he knew. He had to know, but you kept lying.

"Yup, just finishing up in here. Why don't you just go into the dining room and I'll dish out the food," you said, looking down, unable to meet his eyes. 

"Ok," that's all he said as he walked away. You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. Only until he walked around some counters and sat down staring at you. He took off his blood red gloves, his head resting in the palm of his hand. This amused him. "Well?" He said, still looking at you. 'Of course the dining room was connected to the kitchen, how did I not see that?'

"Um, well I.. Uh I need t-" you started before he interrupted you.

"Stop lying. I know you cut yourself. Let me see it," he sighed, done with your lying. You walked over your finger still tightly gripped by your other hand.

"It's not that bad.." You mumbled.

"What did I say about lying?" He said, not amused anymore. You looked away embarrassed at your attempts and showed him your finger. He gently grabbed your hand, you noticed he seemed to always touch you as if you were fragile. "Looks pretty deep, almost to the bone. Yet it looks like it doesn't hurt too much, does it?" He said, turning your hand for any other marks, brow quirked. He looked up at you to listen to your answer.

"It does just a little," you said, looking down at your feet. You hissed as the wound burned all of a sudden. The blood that came from it on your hand went slowly back into your veins. Then the skin knit itself back into place as if nothing happened.

Michael stared into your eyes the whole time, watching your reaction, studying you. You intrigued him, something about you was different from her. Except the obvious of course.

"Better?" He inquired. 

"Yes, thank you," you said before you looked down again. You washed your hands before dishing out the stir fry. Eating inn silence, maybe a bit of small talk, but not a lot. You went to bed after washing your dishes. Stripping out of your clothes and into a baggy shirt to sleep in. Falling asleep was hard, all you could think about was what happened today. Working, showering, meeting Michael, the earthquake, and the death of your family. It was too much. What confused you was how friendly you were with Michael. You didn't want to be a replacement, but at the same time you didn't want to be alone. You cried finally, letting out your pain. All that troubled you. Crying yourself to sleep.

********

Your dreams tormented you, they were all of your family dying over and over. They died in different ways, until the dream was of the earthquake. You were watching from afar, unable to do anything. Your mother, sister, and step father walked through the door taking off their shoes and locked the door when the earthquake happened. You cried out to them, but no sound came out. The roof cracked, all of them looking up holding each other, then they looked at you before the roof caved in. Someone called your name, but no one was there. They called a couple more times before you woke up and saw Michael. He was on top of you, arms holding your shoulders, shaking you gently to stay awake.

"I'm sorry for waking you, but you were screaming. Calling for your family, and crying a lot. Are you okay?" He told and asked you. He looked worried, his hair was slightly messy and his eyes searching yours to know if you were okay. He was distressed, you could see it. Like he really cared about you. His hand stroked your cheek, and then it stayed there patiently waiting for your answer.

You let out a sob, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. He let you, pulling you in his arms. Your chests touching and hearts in sync. He held you as you cried, while also trying not to crush you. You cried for all the deaths you saw in your dreams, it traumatized you. He told you that he was there and that nothing was going to hurt you, kissing your forehead once. He reassured you with his sweet words of different things every time.

 When you calmed down he tried to pull away but you tightened your grip on his neck. He sighed knowing you wouldn't let go before taking you in his arms and flipping you two so that you were resting on his chest. He let you hold onto him, gently stroking you back. You felt yourself drifting off again, soothed by Michael's embrace and presence. The last thing you heard was a sob and the form underneath you shake a little before sleep washed over you.

#ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #ahs imagine #american horror story imagine #michael langdon imagines

[little-lily-w]

Breaking Purity II: ch. 2/?

Here’s Breaking Purity I book complete

Summary: Michael wants to know what happened on that afternoon. He is determined to look for answers and, judging by how affected he is, the travesy has only started. 

Words: 1.6 k

Warnings: graphic depic of violence, slight mention of daddy kink. 

A/N: I’m still laughing at the daddy mention. 

You can read the chapter here: “I cannot afford to lose you”

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x you #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon smut #michael langdon headcanons #cody fern #ahs8 #ahs apocalyse #Apocalypse novel #novel #apocalypse #smut #dark #romance #horror #xavier plympton #andy dolan

[7-wonders]

After

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

Summary: What comes next?

Word Count: 6.6k (haha ironic)

A note from the author: Is this my best work? No, absolutely not. But I needed to get from Point A to Point B somehow, and I also wanted to show how we got there. Anyways, hope you enjoy, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

Content warnings for this chapter include mentions of death, thoughts of suicide, and graphic depictions of the apocalypse/end of the world. Reader discretion is advised.

Mad Love masterlist

One day after

Death is no stranger to you.

You’ve met a few unlucky times in your life and felt the devastation they bring with them when they come knocking every time. Tears have been shed, and mourning has been done, and eulogies have been listened to from the pews. Each time is just as tragic, and each time, you wish to never see death again.

So yes, you are unfortunately familiar with death. What you are not familiar with is the carnage, the totality, that death has ushered in now. Never before have you lost everyone you ever cared about in one fell swoop. Never before has the vast majority of humanity been annihilated with the press of a few buttons. That is a totally new level to the death you thought you knew.

You don’t remember moving to a bed after Michael had revealed to you that this was “his” plan at work. You don’t even remember seeing a bed when you were first deposited here by the Cooperative. But this must have happened, for when you come out of the daze you’ve fallen into after realizing that the apocalypse was real and that everyone was truly dead, you’re lying on top of the covers of a bed. The room in which the bed sits is just as sparsely furnished as the room you originally arrived in. It’s reminiscent of a hotel, and you get the feeling that this is not where you’re meant to be staying for very long.

There are curtains on the wall next to the bed, and curiosity begins to eat at you. Will you see a nuclear wasteland outside the window, some terrible and barren landscape? Or maybe this was all just a sick and twisted dream, and you actually are in a hotel somewhere safe. Sitting up, you pull back the fabric to reveal nothing but the wall. They merely hang for a sense of normalcy, you realize. Your hopes fall along with you as you crash back against the mattress.

It was all real, then. The sirens and the running for your life, being forcefully taken and having to feel as nukes were dropped onto the Earth’s surface. The world ended, thanks solely to the man that you love (loved? Where do you stand now?), and you were saved for no reason other than you being said man’s wife. Your stomach starts to churn the more you dwell on this cruel twist of fate.

Before you can feel sick enough to warrant needing to find a bathroom, someone knocks quietly, and you turn your head toward the sound in anticipation of the visitor. The door cracks open, and Michael sneaks inside. He’s silhouetted by the light of the living room, but you can still see the fond smile he sports.

“Hi,” he whispers, as though worried you might be asleep even though you’re staring at each other. “How are you feeling?”

Did he seriously just ask you that? You want to snap at him, to yell and ask how he thinks you’re feeling, but the fight has leached out of you and been replaced with a heavy exhaustion. You couldn’t come up with something to get your true feelings across even if you tried. So, you don’t try. Instead, you shrug.

“That’s alright. I have a surprise for you.”

“I’m a little scared to see what your idea of a surprise is after today.” Your voice sounds hoarse, both from the strength of your earlier cries and how long it’s presumably been since you last used it. 

“It’s a good one, I promise.” 

He ducks out before quickly returning, holding a lump in his arms. You stare at it curiously, and Michael shifts. Your cat jumps out of his arms and onto the bed, padding across the mattress until she reaches you.

You blink owlishly in disbelief, slowly reaching a hand out until it lands in her soft fur. Fur that feels so real under your touch. She is real. She’s here and safe and in front of you. Both hands land in her fur now, one scratching the top of her head, and she begins to purr in contentment.

Michael chuckles at the sight, and you remember that you’re not alone. It takes you a moment to remember how to speak once you look up at him. “You…you saved her?”

“Of course,” he says like it’s the most obvious decision in the world. “She’s like our child—I would never leave her behind!”

You try to hold it in, you swear. But once you start laughing, you can’t stop. It’s a hysterical laugh, the type that can be confused with sobbing, the two sound so similar. Maybe you are sobbing a bit, and the tears falling down your face aren’t just from laughter. The situation is just so ridiculous, though, that laughter is really the only reaction you can think of.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Michael, you just ended the fucking world,” you gasp out in the pockets between laughs. “You killed billions of people, but you stopped to grab our cat before you did?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Michael begins to laugh as well, likely just because you are, and for a moment, things feel almost normal. Then you stop to catch your breath, and reality sets in once more.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your priorities again.” 

“My priorities are simple, and they’re the same as they’ve always been. To make my father proud, to create a new world for us, and to love you the way you deserve.” At that last part, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Revulsion creeps up your spine, and you gently pull your hand away from him.

“I’m tired,” you say. This isn’t a lie—you are tired, just…tired of him, and tired of your current reality. You sink further under the blankets while gathering the cat in your arms and pulling her under to snuggle with you; something that she’s more than happy to do.

“Okay. I have more work that I have to do,” he rolls his eyes as though dealing with the logistics of a post-apocalyptic world is a nuisance, “so I’ll be a little bit longer. I’ll make some dinner when you wake up. Does that sound good?”

You hope your smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels. “Yeah.”

Michael kisses the top of your head. “I love you.”

Luckily, his phone chimes (wait, his phone still works? You’ll have to ask about that later) before he can wait for you to say it back.

One week after

It takes approximately one week for the radiation levels post-nuclear apocalypse to fall just enough that the Cooperative, with all of its tools and technologies, is able to travel safely.

You spend most of it curled up under the covers, trying desperately to sleep and wake up to a world prior to the end. Every time you open your eyes to your reality, you’re let down once more.

Considering he’s the source of your misery and also increasingly unhinged, Michael is surprisingly sympathetic to your grief. And though you want to push him away, to scream at him that you think he’s evil and that you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to love him again knowing what he’s done, you’re also very, very sad.

Actually, sad feels like too light of a word. You’re heartbroken. Your entire life has collapsed in front of you, burned to ashes, and you’re left adrift. The only familiarity, the only link back to a time that feels like so long ago, is Michael. You forgive yourself as you fall apart in his arms time and time again, clutching onto him as one clutches onto a life preserver while you cry and scream.

You’re once again in his arms when you jolt awake with a loud gasp, fear coursing through your veins and the memory of your friends and family screaming in agony as they were killed fresh in your mind. Michael tightens his grip around you, threading his fingers through yours as you squeeze his hand to remind yourself that you’re not sleeping anymore. As you come to the realization that it was just a dream, you’re hoping that you’ll open your eyes and be back in your bed—not just a bed, but your bed in the manor you shared with Michael. Looking up, you see the metallic gray roof of the armored, impenetrable Cooperative vehicle that’s taking you to the Sanctuary, and not your bedroom ceiling. 

Disappointment curls in your stomach, and you tuck your head into Michael’s chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Your bad dreams are increasingly common and are by now a nightly occurrence.

Regardless, you tell him. “I had a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry.” This isn’t a new routine for either of you. Though it’s been only a week, every single time you go to sleep, you’re tortured with these nightmares. You almost dread falling asleep now, but your body seems to use sleep as a protective response to the fear you’re constantly dealing with.

You look up at him. “I think the worst part is that, when I have these nightmares, I wake up right into another one, one that I can’t wake from.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see those that I love dying, over and over again. And then I wake up, and they’re still dead. Everyone is, and it’s because you killed them.”

“I did.” There’s no remorse in his voice, nothing to say that he’s sorry for what he’s done. You know that he’s not, but you still want to force him to be faced with the reality of what he’s done. For some reason, you still believe that he’ll come to his senses eventually and that he’ll wake up one day horrified by the devastation he’s wrought.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you,” you admit.

“Give it time.”

You don’t say that all the time in the world won’t matter, that you’ll hold this anger and pain and distrust with you until your very last days. Instead, you pose a question. “Would you let me die?”

Michael looks down at you in alarm. “What?”

“You always say that you’ll do anything for me. If I told you I wanted to die, to be with those you killed, would you let me?”

“No.” He pulls you up from where you’re leaning against him so that he can look you in the eyes. Panic is evident on his face, and a sick part of you enjoys it. “No. Why would you even ask something like that?”

Why wouldn’t you? How are you supposed to see yourself going on with everybody gone? Alone in a post-apocalyptic hellscape with the Antichrist? The thought of suicide, of killing yourself to get out of this nightmare and be reunited with your loved ones, has crossed your mind more times than you’d care to admit in the short week since the end of the world.

You know that you can’t, though. You’ve seen Michael’s power at work, and you’ve heard all about the Seven Wonders, both from Mallory and Michael. If you kill yourself, Michael will just use Vitalum Vitalis to bring you back. You’ll never be able to escape him, the monster that is your husband, even in death.

You shrug. “I just wanted to make sure, even though I knew the answer.”

“You’re my wife, my person. I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Guess you won’t have to find out,” you mutter bitterly. 

Instead of answering, Michael puts a hand under your chin and pulls you up to look at him. He kisses you softly on your lips. You want to turn away, truly. Shove him away and declare that your marriage is nothing but a farce now. But muscle memory is a funny thing. Your lips work against his, and even your heart stutters that old, familiar staccato. Your body still holds the memory of your love for him, even if your mind rebels against that. 

“I love you,” he says once more, leaning his forehead against yours.

You don’t say it back, and he doesn’t call you out on it. 

The vehicle shudders to a stop, and Michael peers out through the window. You’ve refused to do the same this entire trip, not wanting to see the barren wasteland you know is outside. After a moment, you start moving again, into a garage much smaller than the one from a week ago. Instead of getting out and going into an elevator, the car itself begins to descend down, down, down.

Michael barely waits for the elevator to stop and for the car to pull into a large, underground chamber before he opens the door and bounds out. He looks around proudly, then turns to you with a grin.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You’re not, but you nod nonetheless and take Michael’s outstretched hand.

“Home sweet home!”

One month after

The Sanctuary is…nice, you suppose, if you were asked to be completely objective about it. The compound is huge. There are nine different “levels,” because why wouldn’t there be symbolism when it was built by and for the Antichrist? With how deep underground you are, it almost feels like you’ve descended into Hell. You wouldn’t even be surprised if that were the case.

All the stops were pulled out for this project, and no expense was spared. Scientists and engineers and the world’s best and brightest had come together (whether they knew what they were working on or not) to create the technology that would allow the Sanctuary to be self-sustainable. There was plenty of room for new arrivals—though Michael had used the Outposts as a way to get rich fucks to finance the end of the world and had plans on killing them, there were still plenty of survivors who were chosen due to their exceptional genetic makeup, those who would be creating the next generation. Plenty more were important to the “rebuilding of the new world,” and more still were religious fanatics who happily served their lord and his kingdom.

People enjoyed their new lives, for the most part. The devout were more than happy to be in the presence of their savior every day, the Cooperative and their families enjoyed continuing their luxurious lives, and the lucky ones were just thrilled to still be alive. There was always something to do, and everybody had a role to play to keep the Sanctuary running and functioning (everybody except the richest of the rich, but that’s par for the course). Life had moved on, and survivors created a home here.

All except for you. No matter how much Michael tried to make your quarters like they were—it’s almost an exact copy of your former home, and it’s still just as creepy as it was the day that you arrived—it doesn’t feel like home, and it never will. You miss your home, in all its familiarity. The creaky stair on the way up, the house staff that you knew on a first-name basis (you had gotten them all Christmas gifts, and now they would never receive them), and the back of the couch that was a little wobbly from where you fell into it when you and your friends had your last sleepover are just a few of the mementos that you long for every time you wander the halls of your new home.

While everybody else has been finding a new normal in the month since the world ended, what you’ve found is time. Time to think, and rage, and for the grief that’s been swallowing you to subside enough that you can finally focus and think about your situation and what to do now.

What’s become clear is that you can’t give up, no matter how much you want to. So many hours of this first month have been lost to tears and wishes that you could be with those you love instead of in this hell on Earth. So you can’t die yet! What you can do, however, is make Michael’s life miserable.

Since one of Michael’s favorite things in life is, well, you, you’ve decided that you’ll deprive him of that favorite thing. Your method? The silent treatment, which has been going on for basically the entire time that you’ve been at the Sanctuary. Beyond answering questions that need to be answered with the most basic of responses (“yes,” “no,” “I don’t know”), you haven’t talked to him. No in-depth conversations about random topics, no idle chitchat, nothing. It drives him absolutely nuts, and you’re reminded of another person that you once drove nuts with the same silent treatment.

(Oh, Mallory. You still can’t think about her, or any of your loved ones, without crying, and so you try your hardest not to. What you wouldn’t give to be able to give her the silent treatment once more, even if it meant you were kidnapped by Cordelia Goode once more!)

To really hammer home the point that you’re not pleased about any of this and are not just going to roll over and take it, you also attempt to make yourself scarce whenever he’s around. There are plenty of rooms in your “house” that Michael doesn’t bother to check—you’ve made one of the guest rooms into your hideout, and it’s actually very comfy—and you’ve gotten really good at hearing him coming so that you can disappear. You suppose the one nice thing about your house being copied at the Sanctuary is that you still both have separate bedrooms. Where you once loathed to sleep apart from him, now, you crave it.

The best part of this is that you know that Michael’s insanely frustrated. He had an entire vision for how your life post-apocalypse would be, one that involved the two of you in that same honeymoon phase you had found yourselves in before visiting New Orleans. Whereas you had imagined your perfect future as you and he exploring the world, he saw your perfect future as the two of you becoming bloodthirsty monarchs over a world that was yours to mold however you saw fit.

Fat chance.

You can only keep avoiding him for so long, and it appears that tonight is where your luck runs out. You’re sitting in the kitchen and reading, waiting for the timer to go off on the oven—truly nothing really changed about life, except for the fact that it was now underground. You were still able to enjoy frozen pizzas, even! Since Michael’s usually still off doing whatever it is Antichrists do at the Sanctuary at this time, you let your guard down. Your mistake.

He grins when he sees you sitting at the counter, pleased that he finally caught you. “I was hoping to find you.”

Sneakily, he tries to duck in and steal a kiss. You’re quicker than he is, though, and you turn your face at the last moment so that he’s only able to catch your cheek. Frowning slightly, he straightens back up.

“There’s a dinner tonight being hosted by people that aren’t insufferable.” Michael waits for you to answer, to show any sign of hearing him, even though he knows that you won’t break. “I think it’ll be fun, and a good way to meet some new people.”

“Enjoy yourself,” you murmur, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in your hands.

“Come on, won’t you please join me? There’s so much here that I want to do with you.” He tries to take your hand, but you pull away before he can. Hurt, raw and unfiltered, crosses his face. “Why are you ignoring me? I hate this, this isn’t you.”

You scoff. He’s one to talk about sudden personality changes. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Told me what?”

“Before you ended the world, I told you that I wouldn’t be able to stand by you. That you would lose me. I wasn’t lying.”

Michael groans. “You still don’t understand! I had to, it’s my destiny and—”

“Oh, I believe that you believe that. But it still doesn’t justify your actions, and it still doesn’t change what I said.” You finally meet his eyes. “Physically, publicly, I will play the role of your wife when I am forced to. I’ll stand by your side and wave and shake hands and pretend like we’re a happy couple. Emotionally? When we’re alone? You get nothing. You should consider yourself lucky that I’m even talking to you now.”

His eyes go dark. Not the dark, pure black of the demon that lives inside of him, but dark with a rage you’ve never had directed towards you before. “Is that right? You want to wage this battle against me, the monster you’ve created in your head?”

You stare at him defiantly, refusing to cower now.

“Baby, my love, the one to whom my soul belongs.” Michael showers you with pet names in the hopes that it pisses you off, which it does. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. And I’ll continue to do so, no matter how much you hate me for it. You’ll be grateful one day, even if I have to force you to see it.”

His threat has you recoiling, but not because it scares you. No, it’s because this new Michael now follows through on said threats. “Fuck you, Michael. I hate you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” He smirks, before walking over to the oven and turning it off.

“Hey!”

“You said that I have to force you to play the role of my wife. Well, I’m forcing you. Get ready. We’re having dinner with some people tonight.”

You’ll be honest, you weren’t expecting him to make good on what you said. If you weren’t so blindingly angry, you’d almost be impressed. Glowering, you slam your book closed, screech your stool across the floor as you shove it away from the island, and stomp away. Since he’s going to force you to do this, you’re going to voice your displeasure as loudly as you can, even if it means throwing a tantrum.

Michael smiles as he watches you, calling out, “We’re going to have so much fun!”

For some reason, you don’t believe that.

One year after

There’s a party tonight. A celebration, it’s been billed as. One year since the end, and one year since the beginning of what would become the “new world.”

In the past year, there have been so many changes in your life. But there’s been no bigger change than the one that Michael’s undergone. His hair’s grown longer, with the perfect blond waves falling to just past his shoulders. He’s learned how to do makeup, and he’s started painting red on his inner crease to make himself look more dramatic and intimidating. He’s also grown extremely confident, almost cocky. The world is his now, and he has the bravado to back it up.

You can’t help but think back to when he started to change, the drastic shift in personality after that fateful meeting with Papa Legba in New Orleans. The memory of those last, golden days before everything went to shit is one that you remember often and fondly. If there’s a day where you’re feeling extra masochistic, you’ll force yourself to remember that last date, and how Michael’s eyes shone with joy as he held a firefly in his hands for the first time. When you and Michael were just enjoying being together and making plans for the future. When there still was a future. By now you would have graduated college, and likely would have moved somewhere else to attend graduate school. Secretly, you had been leaning towards the East Coast; you were so excited to watch Michael experience snow for the first time. 

It makes you miss the Michael you once knew, the Michael that you loved. This new Michael feels so unfamiliar, it seems like you’re living in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” At least you were able to pretend like it was your Michael when he still looked like himself. Now, there’s no fooling yourself.

Even though you live with a stranger now, you still see shades of that Michael in this one. You still love this Michael, even though you wish with all your being that you didn’t. Oh, you remain furious with him—you always will, probably. But apparently, the whole “soulmates” thing wasn’t bullshit. Despite your best wishes and attempts, you love Michael Langdon.

(Not that he needs to know that. No, you’ll tap into all that hatred whenever you’re near him.)

Though you wish that you were spending today in solitude, so that you can cry without anybody seeing and mourn in your own way, Michael has other plans. He hasn’t backed off on forcing you to play the part of his wife in public. He brings you to events, dinners, parties, and walks through the Sanctuary. The whole time, you’re holding his hand, smiling, and acting like you’re interested in whatever drivel is being discussed by those you’re surrounded with.

In private is a different story. You avoid him, and he gives you your space. You suppose it’s nicer this way; at least now you don’t have to be sneaky and hide any longer. There’s only one time that you let him touch you, and it’s the time that you’re most ashamed.

About six months after the end of the world, your constant fighting with Michael came to a head. You were both furious with each other (only yours was justified) about the same things that you’re always furious about. At some point, as you got in each other’s faces, you stopped yelling and started kissing. It was then that you discovered: hate sex is the best sex. And hate sex with Michael? That’s on a whole other level. 

You’re obviously not proud of this. But it’s a whole new world, you try to reassure yourself when you try to sleep at night, and it’s not as though any of this is out of love. Things are complicated, and you’re trying to forge a new path in life. So if you fuck your husband out of anger a couple of times? Well, you hope Mallory and Kate are cheering you on in the afterlife as you draw blood scratching down Michael’s back. 

Presently, you allow the Cooperative stylists to make you over for the “celebration” that you couldn’t get out of even if you tried. To the inhabitants of the Sanctuary, you’re simply the Antichrist’s wife. What’s the point of trying to prove to them that you’re more than that? you’re reminded of the first time you found yourself in this situation, a whole lifetime ago. How nervous you were. Back then, you fought so hard to not wear the typical Cooperative color scheme. “I want to be me,” you had said. Now, you don’t put up any sort of fight as you’re helped into a black, floor-length gown with off-shoulder straps. It’s not as if you really care anymore. Your entire identity post-apocalypse has been reduced to “Antichrist’s wife”, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You don’t hear Michael enter the room. Instead, you see the stylists bow and curtsy before promptly filing out, and you know that he’s here. Rather than look at him (or roll your eyes), you stare at yourself in the mirror and pretend to wipe away an errant eyelash. You hate Michael’s insistence on everybody treating you and him like royalty. You never wanted to be a queen, and you certainly don’t relish the position now. 

Michael leans on the wall next to the mirror, watching you with a soft smile on his face. Since your emotions are already fried today, you don’t bother risking a fight by ignoring him. When you look at him, his smile widens into a grin, and you yet again catch a glimpse of the Michael that you once knew and loved. It makes your heart clench, and you swallow harshly.

“You look lovely,” Michael says, kissing the corner of your mouth so as not to smear the lipstick that the (admittedly talented) Satanist makeup artist applied.

“Thank you. Are we running late?” You hope that’s the case; you’d love to keep everybody waiting as long as possible, simply out of spite.

Michael checks his watch (yet another thing you don’t understand—how the Cooperative has managed to keep to the traditional format of keeping time) and shakes his head. “Only fashionably, not that it matters. We’re the guests of honor, of course.”

“Goody,” you say dryly.

“Are you not excited for tonight? It’s a party!” He grabs your hand, pulling you to him and swaying with you. “We can even dance. You love dancing.”

Correction: you used to love dancing. 

You shrug out of his embrace and move to put on your (pre-approved) shoes. “I don’t feel like dancing tonight.”

“But we’re celebrating!”

“Celebrating what?” 

The flimsy dam that you had built up to hold your feelings back upon waking up this morning bursts, and nothing can hold you back now. 

“How could I dance on a day like today? The day that everybody died, the day that I became an orphan, the day that I lost all of my friends and family. I mourn today, I dreaded today.” Tears prick at your eyes, and you roll them toward the ceiling to keep them from falling.

“I understand,” Michael says, coming up behind you and placing a large hand on your shoulder. 

 “Oh, you do?” 

Though you inject a healthy dose of sarcasm into your voice, it seems lost on Michael. “I lost people that I cared for, too.” 

He’s right. It had only been a couple of months, but Michael had gotten close with the group that he started playing video games with. Before the blast, you could confidently say that Brennan and his fraternity brothers, Matteo and Jack, were Michael’s friends. He was even friendly with Kate, and cordial with Mallory.

(You thought that time would help to make the absence of your best friends more palatable. If anything, time has done nothing but make that loss so much more bitter. They’re with you in everything you do, and in everything you do, you think about what they would be saying and how they would be reacting. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, that you’re imagining your dead best friends. But there are no therapists to tell you it’s unhealthy, so until that day, you’re going to keep doing it.)

“You don’t mourn for them, though,” you point out.

“Their deaths served a purpose,” he parrots that old, familiar line.

“Michael,” you snap, so sick of hearing it over and over again.

“What?”

He sounds just as frustrated as you, and by now, you know what’s coming when your tones match in this way. You still don’t have it in you to fight today, so instead, you close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths. Once you safely feel like you won’t blow up at him, you look at him once more. “Nothing. Let’s just go. Your kingdom is waiting, after all.”

He smiles triumphantly. “Our kingdom.”

Because that’s where the issue lies, doesn’t it? He’s proud of all of this—the pain and devastation he’s wrought, the annihilation of the world that everybody once knew. There are no regrets from him, even knowing the individuals that he’s killed. The blood of seven billion people is on his hands, and he loves it.

Michael holds out his arm for you to take, but you refuse, instead marching side-by-side with him. It’s only when you reach the doors to the ballroom that you begrudgingly slip your hand around his bicep. The roaring of the crowd, full of Satanists and members of the Cooperative and those who were lucky enough to make it in, greets you and Michael as you enter the main ballroom.

You’re surrounded by people, but you’ve never felt more alone.

Eighteen months after

After going into the Sanctuary, you honestly expected to be stuck there, underground, for at least five years. Nuclear science admittedly wasn’t your strong point, but you knew enough about radioactive half-lives to know that it wouldn’t be safe enough to be above ground for a long time.

But you forgot about who your husband is, and what his plans post-apocalypse were.

Michael had never been shy about the fact that the Outposts were simply a means to an end. He needed the end of the world financed, and he also needed central locations to quickly get the survivors worth saving to, even if they were far away from the Sanctuary. Hence the creation of the Outposts. What to do about those that populated the Outposts, though?

As Michael had explained it to you the one time you felt brave enough to ask, that was where the fun began. He would arrive at each under the guise of being a Cooperative member tasked with deciding who was worthy of coming to the Sanctuary. After teasing the survivors, playing mind games with them, and pitting them against each other for a few days ( “Sowing chaos,” he gleefully called it), he would extract the survivors with optimal genetics and leave the rest to die. Sometimes he would let them kill each other, other times he would leave them to starve, and a couple of times he planned on killing them himself. His newfound bloodlust made you shiver in fear, and you dropped the conversation.

Shortly after the anniversary celebration, Michael decided that it was the perfect time to start on this next phase of world domination. He would leave the Sanctuary, traversing the globe to each and every Outpost until all were emptied of any signs of life. It was almost like a business trip, you thought, if business trips involved mass murder.

The thought of Michael, the perennial thorn in your side, finally leaving for extended periods of time should have filled you with joy. You would finally be free of him, at least for a bit. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to be left alone. The Sanctuary still didn’t feel like home, and Michael was really the only person that you knew. He was the only constant, and being on your own in a place that was still frightening and unfamiliar was not something that appealed to you. It was surprising that you felt this way, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. After all, survivors band together, even if one of the survivors caused all of this mayhem.

Michael seemed just as surprised when you asked if you could accompany him to a few of the Outposts, but he was still happy to accommodate your request. Even though he knew the reason—his powers had also grown immensely in the past eighteen months, and he could read everyone’s minds with ease now—he still saw this as a way to spend quality time with you. While you wouldn’t necessarily agree, you would still be spending the most time with him since before the bombs dropped, and he counted that as a win.

You had visited three Outposts with Michael, choosing which ones you went to. Since you certainly didn’t enjoy watching Michael play with his prey before slaughtering all but those whose genetic material ensured a bountiful next generation, you only went when Michael would be gone for a particularly long time or you were feeling extra stir-crazy. It was a luxury that nobody else had, getting to choose when to stay or go, and you pushed down feelings of guilt every time you were given the choice.

Things were different, you constantly reminded yourself when thinking of this, or about how the you of eighteen months ago would be horrified at the thought of being okay with Michael committing murders. You are still horrified by the murders, and the ease with which Michael performs them. But over time, you’ve become almost desensitized to it. Everybody had to do shameful things to survive now, including you. 

You weren’t originally planning to join Michael on his visit to the last untouched Outpost. It was less than 100 miles away from the Sanctuary, which meant that Michael would be gone a week at most. Since the Outpost 9 trip was almost three weeks long (it was all the way in what used to be Spain, which meant an extra difficult transmutation for you, who still has not gotten used to this mode of traveling), you were happy to spend an extended amount of time back at “home.” But Michael insisted that you come with him, promising you that it was only a week-long trip, if that. Though you were confused, you still acquiesced. It was only when you were on the road—Michael wanted to take a carriage for this trip, which should have been your first clue that this was no ordinary Outpost—that he revealed why he wanted you with him.

Outpost 3 was built in what used to be Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, and it absolutely wasn’t a coincidence. Michael was openly cheerful when explaining that this was his plan all along, and that he always intended for Outpost 3 to be the last stop on this journey. You don’t pretend to understand his motives anymore. On another, non-evil level, he was excited to show you the school that had played such a formative part in his accelerated adolescence. Another glimpse of the Michael that you used to love, though these glimpses get fewer and farther in between the more time passes.

The plague doctor getup you’re forced to wear upon venturing aboveground is happily removed when you enter the decontamination pod in Outpost 3. 

“Would you like to come with me to meet our hostess?”

Well, it’s better than being stuck in your temporary lodging. “Absolutely.”

You’re greeted by a woman wearing all black, just as you and Michael do. Michael always wears black now, but the point of your matching black wardrobes is to make you look like regular Cooperative officers when you enter the Outposts. The only splash of color is her hair, which is a bright orange. Her hands tighten around the top of a can as she watches you enter the office that she will soon find out is being commandeered by Michael. She smiles, but it’s a haughty, smug smile.

“Wilhelmina Venable,” she introduces herself as. “I’m in charge here.”

From beside you, Michael tilts his head teasingly. His game begins immediately upon first contact, and you just stand back to watch. “Of course you are.”

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He plays his part well, you have to admit. “Seems like you’ve done a wonderful job. The walls are still standing, your people are alive and healthy, which is…quite a feat, considering.”

He’s baiting her, but, predictably, she bites. “Considering?”

“That three more Outposts have been overrun, and the remaining three won't last through the year.”

“Why are you here?”

You zone out a little bit during the well-practiced rigamarole that Michael whips out during every introduction with the Outpost leaders. It’s tedious at this point, and they all react the same. Shock, revulsion, disbelief. It’s only when he grabs your hand that you fall back into the part that’s expected of you.

“I could take all of you…or none of you. Those who make it live. Those who don’t…” Michael smiles serenely. “End up like our horses.”

//

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angiestopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff

(I really don't know why I still do a tag list. Habit, I suppose.)

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #american horror story #ahs imagine #american horror story imagine #michael langdon imagines #mad love musings

[barbiedragon]

Hi. Could I get 10 and 6 with Michael Langdon

👀 👀  Yes indeed! Michael, my beloved 🖤🖤🖤

Prompt List

WC: 1.2 k

Warnings: Breath play, scratching, Dom!Michael, penetration

*comment/reblogs are appreciated

The final preparations were made as you began to prepare to depart for the sanctuary with Michael.  His golden hair almost touched his shoulders now, and you were secretly thrilled he had taken your advice to grow it out.  You walked over to where he was seated in front of his laptop, taking in the sight of the heavy black jeweled ring that rested on his forefinger.

“Did you need something?” he hummed as he flicked his blue eyes in your direction.  You had gotten lost in the thought of his long, nimble fingers and strong hands.

“Oh um, just wanted to check in and see if everything was in order,” you replied before your tongue darted across your lips.

“Just a few more pieces to move into place, our flight leaves in the morning,” Michael replied as he rested his cheek gently against his hand, thumb curved under his chin and forefinger against his temple.  It only made the current thoughts inside your head spin faster, churning slightly darker.

“Just about done packing,” you whispered.

His plush lips curved into an amused smile.  “Great, I appreciate you taking care of that for us,” he said before he reached out his other hand to pull you into his lap.  Sometimes you wondered if he could read your mind.

“Something’s on your mind,” he whispered.  Fucking….how the fuck…this little shit.  Moving his hand from his face, he began to trace it up your thigh then across your side before his palm rested against your collarbone.  His fingers felt impossibly warm.  Anointed with hellfire.

“What makes you say that?” you murmured as your pulse quickened.

He didn’t say anything, but you could feel the smirk.  His thumb traced over the throbbing vein in your throat.  “Use your words.  The instruction was clear and firm.

“Look, I’m not into choking but I wouldn’t mind if you grabbed me by the neck every once in a while.”  The admission came toppling from your lips faster than you had anticipated.

“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”

“I trust you…. besides I’ve found some instruction guides, I’ll share them with you.  I want some fun, but I’m not keen on getting asphyxiated to death,” you snorted.

An amused chuckle vibrated in his chest as those long fingers wrapped gently around his neck while his nose nuzzled the warm patch of skin just below your ear.

“Well then, allow me to get informed.”  He took hold of your chin to pull your face close to his before pressing a hard kiss to your lips.  Giddiness overtook you when your tongues pressed together.  Then Michael gave you a little shove off his lap so off you went to finish putting everything together for the departure tomorrow.  You know…. before the whole world went to hell.

Later that evening you were sprawled under him.  Naked in the warm room as those hands roamed across your body, squeezing every inch of your flesh.  A thumb brushed lightly across your erect nipple, making you squirm, while your bent knee gently rubbed against your thigh.  You could taste the pulse in your throat as his hand crept closer and closer toward your neck.

“You still want this?” he purred.  Fingers wrapped lightly around your throat.

“Please,” you begged.

“I can hear your heart pounding.  Like a little lamb caught by the lion,” Michael smirked.  The pressure he applied was still very light, but it was enough to make you feel dizzy.

“A very feracious lion with sharp teeth, easy to rip me apart.”

“You like that don’t you, baby?  The danger, the excitement.  You drip with sin.”  The tone in his voice dropped an octave.  

“Sin brought us together, my little devil,” you couldn’t help but tease.  The two of you had found each other through the Church of Satan.  You’d never forget the pathetic-looking young man who wandered in one evening looking like a scared, lost little rat.  Look at him now.  Coming into his own, into his power.  Ready to bring the end of the world.  Fuck, it made your clit throb.

The pressure tightened around your throat.  “Now if you need to loosen my grip take your fist and pound it twice on the bed.”  You did so, letting him know you understood the direction loud and clear.  “If you need me to stop everything entirely, three pounds.”  Again, you demonstrated to show you heard and understood.  “Good girl.”

His hand slipped further up your neck, settling under your jaw and against the sides, where the pulse pounded, and the carotid arteries rested.  Your eyes were blown wide with lust as Michael applied a firm squeeze that lasted about five seconds.  His cock was heavy against your thigh, and you could feel the pre-cum leaking onto your flesh.  When his hand released from your neck, you took the opportunity to speak.

“Please Michael, put your cock inside me,” you whined.

You pulled a knee back toward your chest as his free hand settled on your opposite hip.  You reached down to palm his cock before helping to guide him inside of your dripping pussy.  A soft groan rumbled from him before he gave a soft roll of his hips.  You were stuffed full of him, and it felt so fucking good.  Blond hair stuck to his cheeks and shoulders as the heat flooded the room.  He tended to have that effect.  Your little devil baby.

“Next time I’ll have to take a picture of you just like this. So, you can see how beautiful and needy you are with my cock inside of you, ready to take you apart, my little lamb.”  The rasp in his voice made a moan spill from your parted lips.

“Michael, please,” you huffed as you dragged your nails slowly down his back to help spur him on.

The hand around your throat squeezed again as he gave a powerful thrust.  The dizziness came flooding back.  Another squeeze matched with a thrust had you mewling.  The next one lasted a bit longer and matched the pressure building inside of your body.  It was a euphoric feeling.  Little bright white stars danced behind your eyelids while his cock took you apart.

“So beautiful, little lamb, I could sink my teeth into you, rip you apart piece by piece.  Yet you’d still beg for more.”

Pleasure slithered through your entire body; hot white little snakes ready to burst forth.  You hated how right he was.  The only response you could give was a wobbling lower lip before all the bands snapped and you soaked his cock after another squeeze to your throat.  His fingers released before he pressed his palm next to the side of your head as his hips snapped hard against your pelvis.  It made you rock forward before you felt the warm spurt of release inside of you.  Ecstasy shivered through your veins.

When he pulled out, you shuddered at the loss of contact along with the little drip of his mess down your thighs.  Your pouting was eased by the sight of his round ass after he climbed off the bed and went to procure some wipes to clean up with.  You basked in the aftermath, wrapped around his side with your upper half against his chest, legs tucked between his.  Fingers twirled around the locks of his golden hair.

“Michael?”

“Hmm?”

“Next time, could you leave marks?”

You watched his lips twitch into a smirk.

“My filthy little lamb!  I would love nothing more,” he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

#requests #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x fem!Reader #ahs michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon smut #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon imagine #cody fern x reader #ahs fic #ahs imagine #ahs smut

[velangdon]

AMATIVE → Michael Langdon Fanfic x OC Fem!

❝In a world where the lives of millions people are at stake, love and desire do not always go hand in hand. Humanity is a ticking time bomb, but fate is a whimsical lady who decides to bring together two souls with beliefs and convictions that are diametrically opposite yet strangely similar: Vitney Lacey and Michael Langdon.

Vitney and Michael try to run away from their own feelings, but the way they see life has no comparison. They are searching for a safe place away from each other, but they don't realize they are running in the same direction. And the refuge they are seeking is the same for both of them.❞

→ CHAPTER 1

#ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon smut

[nephilimsss]

𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱, 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝗱 ! michael langdon

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x brides of dracula inspired ocs GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST

the voice of coco st. pierre vanderbilt was annoying, to say the least. to aleera, marishka, and verona, it was worse than nails on a chalkboard, which was surprising because they had a heightened sense of hearing than the rest of the residents of the outpost they stayed in. whenever she began complaining, they would find a way to sneak out of the room she was in, going back into the room they shared against venable's wishes. "why can they wear that," coco points an accusing finger towards the three vampires standing together in the corner of the room, "and we have to wear this? it's not fucking fair!"

"aw," marishka placed her hands on her knees, which were clothed with the thin white fabric which shone brightly with small encrusted diamond dust, and tutted her tongue. "too bad. so sad!" she flashed her brilliant teeth, which, for some reason, always put coco on edge. she hated whenever the three women showed their pearly white teeth, something about the action seemed dangerous and wrecked her nerves. marishka was the only one of the three to wear pants, the other two opting for dresses of the same fabric and edging, the same concepts but different designs being put to good use.

coco never had clothing like that before the nuclear apocalypse. she crossed her arms, wishing she had spent her money beforehand to create something as beautiful as the three women were wearing.

venable stayed quiet. she never knew why she allowed the women to wear their own clothes instead of the purple dresses every woman was required to wear here in outpost three. something about them had set her on edge, and she never outright said anything to them about breaking the rules. yes, she hated the fact that they were not following her rules or the dress code she had put in place, but she did not dare say so. she just allowed her disgust show on her face, and that was all. she could not bear to go against them, for whatever reason. coco opened her mouth to say something snarky, but seeing aleera, standing to the right of marishka, made her snap her mouth shut and simply say a small, "hmph" while crossing her arms and looking toward the fireplace. no one dared to answer coco's question. they were all uneasy, being watched by the three women, which they had little knowledge as to why, and the news that had come to them that morning, that the perimeter had been breached.

who came close to the outpost? what did they want? were they inside the building now? here to hurt any of them if they were to come out any day soon?

everyone sat in silence for the emergency meeting venable had called for, the purples, the greys, all sitting or standing as they waited for any word. footfalls in the distance make them raise their heads, wondering who had been missing from the room, and verona, the vampiress with the dark hair, raised her head as she breathed in deeply. a smell of sulfur and death began coming closer to the dining room, a smell she hadn't come from anyone else but her and her wives. aleera grabbed onto verona's sleeve, looking excited at what's to come. what other unimaginable creature of the dark had come to the outpost? this one with the smell of death and sulfur, all but missing the scent of iron and blood that they carried themselves? marishka merely stared at the entryway, brown eyes gauging at whoever was going to come through them.

a man with long, straight blonde hair appears, hands behind his back as he wears a look that screams he is unimpressed. the smell became stronger once he stepped in, and the vampiresses stared down at his clothing. expensive fine black fabric covered him from head to toe. a long trenchcoat went down to his claves, his shirt made of silk and his shoes of expensive black leather. the inner corners of his eyes had been highlighted with a red eyeshadow, and the clear blue eyes that adorned his fine face swept across the room.

they fell on venable, and as he walked along the right side of the room when he smelled blood and death to his right, he ripped his vision away from the cane-using woman at the head of the table. they landed, instead, on the vampiresses who stared at him with wonder rather than the fear the others were staring at him with. they flashed smiles at him, grasping onto each other's sleeves as they continued to gauge him. like him, they were something other than human.

he continued his walk and looked away from them once he reached the spot venable stood in. he stopped an inch away from her, his face coming near her cheek as he stared her down, daring her to do anything other than move. venable turned to face him with a proud smile, but his glare upon her was unnerving, forcing her to look down and walk away, her cane echoing in the silent room.

"my name is langdon and i represent the cooperative," he began, sweeping his eyes across the faces that stared back at him. fear, determination, curiosity, and with the three curiosities standing in the corner, excitement. "i won't sugarcoat the situation. humanity is on the brink of failure." one of the women giggled, covering her smile with her hand. "my arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. the three other compounds - in syracuse, new york, beckley, west virginia, and san angelo, texas - have been overrun and destroyed." marishka shook aleera's shoulder as she continued to giggle uncontrollably. mr. gallant scoffed and looked back at them, angry that they were finding the doom of humanity hilarious.

"we've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated."

"what happened to the people inside?" one of the men asked.

"massacred," michael says the word as if were a love letter, and tilts his head to the right as he looks down at gallant's grandmother. she looks uneasy, happy that she was one of the few that was still alive here in the outpost. "the same fate that will befall almost all of you."

"almost alll?" mallory can't keep her mouth shut, standing in the back by the entryway, her glasses reflecting the light of the fire behind michael's body.

michael sighs, hating that he was being interrupted again. "in the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe - the sanctuary." he brings his arms from behind his back and large rings, with what looked to be onyx stones set into them, glittered in the firelight.

"the sanctuary?" venora rolled her eyes at coco.

"the sanctuary is unique," michael was beginning to get angry at the people of the outpost, but was still in surprise of the same three standing women. "it has certain security measures that will prevent overrun."

"excuse me, sir, what measures?" ms. mead interrupts, but michael could not be angry at her. "why weren't we given them?"

"that's classified," he waves her off, however, having to keep up pretenses that he did not know her. "all that matters is that the sanctuary will. . . survive so that the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive."

"who are the people who are populating it?"

"also classified," michael points both pointer fingers in his hands. "however. . . i have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us." murmuring begins to come across the room, people wondering who will go and who will stay. "the cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous question technique we like to call. . . cooperating." he shifts his focus to the wives. "i will then use the information gained to determine if you belong."

"what is this, the hunger games?" coco exclaims, hating over the fact that they were being plucked as if prize horses in a show. "this is bullshit. i paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating i plan on doing."

"that's no longer a viable option, coco," the accented voice of marishka forces everyone to look at her. "the governments are all over with. banks, homes, and important places that were once the standpoint of our lives are gone. you, like everyone else who survived the nuclear fallout, are broke. money is no longer an influential power. everyone here is starving, the people still outside are starving. your best bet is to give food away for your spot, but oh!" she gasps, looking over to verona, placing a hand over her heart. "we have none. we are down to half a gelatinous cube a day, and you have zero control over it. so you, like everyone else here, are going to get questioned, and you will wait in line for your answer!" her eyes flashed, and a different look came over them. instead of the brown they once were, they became a white iris with a ring of red and black covering part of the sclera.

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon series #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #ahs: apocalypse #ahs fandom #cody fern #cody fern's avacados

[geekforhorror]

ok but can we talk about how sad michael’s backstory is? first off, he was literally born the antichrist and had no say in the matter. constance said he would give him a chance and ends up dying and he finds her body on the couch. then ben gave him a chance as well, but gave up on him AND tate called him a monster. he also watched his mother figure die TWICE. even though michael is the antichrist, he still has humanity in him and i think that if he had someone by his side who didn’t give up on him, he wouldn’t have turned to the “dark side”.

#yesimamichaelapologist #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon #american horror story #ahs fanfiction #cody fern #michael langdon x reader #ahs apocalypse #ahs fandom #tate langdon #i love him