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ahs-fan-craze · 4 months ago

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The Devil Take That Woman || Michael Langdon

Fandom: American Horror Story Pairing: Michael Langdon x Fem!Reader Words: 6318 Notes: Okay, so I'm not totally sold on the ending (I suck at writing endings), but I am pleasantly surprised with how this one turned out. Warnings: Dubious consent, death (mentioned and alluded to but not shown), Dom!Michael, Sub!Reader, Witch!Reader, fingering, hair pulling, choking, gagging, humiliation, crying, violence, spanking, nipple play, slight degradation, pussy slapping, fear arousal, autassassinophilia (paraphilia where a person is sexually aroused by the risk of being killed), spitting, restraints (by magic), biting, brief aftercare. I think that's all, but please please please let me know if I missed anything. Summary: Michael storms Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and eliminates the witches, but he has a special debt to collect from you.

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Special shout out to my girl @langdonss for wholly enabling my lust for this demon spawn.

A SHROUD OF death seemed to loom over the academy. You felt it in the way your sisters were quick to snap at each other’s throats, in the way your powers seemed to fizzle out right when they reached their peak potential, in the way the gardens seemed to wilt. You even saw it in the way the sun and moon shifted positions from day to night.

It seemed to warn you of an impending danger. An inevitable travesty that would rock the foundation of everything still holding the world together.

Michael Langdon. His nature threatened humanity at its purest form, and he was rising quicker than anyone could stop him. He had passed the Seven Wonders with disturbing ease. He’d even brought four witches back from the dead as only a small demonstration of the range of his power.

The warlocks prophesied he was to be the next leader, known as the Alpha—and as Cordelia was fading far quicker than Fiona had crumbled, the future was looking bleak. In a time where the Antichrist was rising exponentially, there was no rest to be had. Every possible avenue must be investigated, and everyone was scrambling for a solution.

Cordelia prompted your name softly. “Zoe has offered to take over your class this afternoon,” she said, placing a delicate hand atop your shoulder like you were crafted out of the finest glass. “You’ve been working yourself to exhaustion. You need to rest.��

“We have to be prepared.” You didn’t lift your focus from the material spread out in front of you, your tired eyes desperately soaking up whatever information they could. “The only way to do that is to know everything.”

Your Supreme’s failing health had your coven fraying at the seams. Mallory looked to be well on her way to rising, and most efforts not centered on Michael Langdon were focused on helping her nurture her magic. But the cloud seemed to be closing in on the young witch too. She was starting to struggle to perform what had come very easily to her just months prior.

Desperation clawed furiously as the hourglass seemed to empty a little quicker each day. You’d taken to pouring your attention over religious studies. Whatever free time you had available between mentoring your junior witches and helping Mallory, you spent on learning all you possibly could on the Antichrist and its variants. Knowing the enemy was a vital step in defeating them.

Cordelia sighed. “You’ve done enough for right now, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You won’t be good to anyone if you’ve burned yourself out.”

You reluctantly looked away from the text and up at her. She offered a soft smile that no longer reached her eyes. There wasn’t much happiness that did anymore, but still, she tried to be strong for her girls. Just as you tried to be strong for her.

“I couldn’t have asked more from you than what you’ve already given to me yourself, (Y/N).” She pressed a palm against the curve of your cheek. “Give your eyes a small break. Try to get some rest.”

It was the soft plea in her tone that encouraged you to agree. Plus, the thought of a hot bath was almost too tempting for you to ignore. You’d been staying up at all hours cramming whatever knowledge you could in preparation for the holy fight you felt was edging closer. The prophesied battle of good and evil.

The marbled bathroom you shared with Queenie was your sanctuary—or, rather, it used to be. Not so much in the past few months. You set out a small pile of towels and your robe so they were within easy reach. Letting the water reach the perfect temperature, you decided to splash in some scented oils and bubble solution before easing into the porcelain tub. The familiar daily activity of Miss Robichaux’s floated up from downstairs. It soothed you to have it as a background noise, reminded you that your sisters were safe for the time being behind the wrought iron gates.

Right now was the only time that mattered most to you. It was the only time when your decisions could be made and determined to shape the future. What waited beyond right now was unpredictable at best but was utterly frightening to consider.

You had witnessed Michael Langdon’s ability firsthand. He had presented himself as your savior when he had sauntered up to you while you were reliving the very worst of your repressed memories, magnified by then, just as you’d been since your fatal blunder during the Seven Wonders years ago. The monster of your past had been slain valiantly by the very one who now had the coven tearing their hair from its roots.

Nobody but Papa Legba had the power to walk the realm of the Underworld—not until Michael Langdon had done the very same, freeing not only you but three of your sisters too.

It was terrifying what he could do. Even more frightening was what he was written to do.

A deafening series of gunfire shattered the casual peace. An ear-piercing chorus of shrieks and wails quickly followed suit. Lukewarm water sloshed over either side of the tub as you hastily ejected yourself from submersion. You just stared wide-eyed at the door while the screams of your friends and students—your sisters—echoed through the academy in sharp succession. Everything in you froze. You couldn’t move, forced to just listen to the chaos.

It fell silent nearly as abruptly as it had erupted. Too silent. Deathly silent.

Heart pounding and mouth dry, you shakily got to your feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. A million thoughts raced through your mind with enough speed to give you whiplash. There was no satisfactory response to any of them. You wrapped yourself in your plush bathrobe and slowly opened the door to peer into your shared bedroom.

“Where are they?”

The smooth tenor chilled you right down to your very soul. Michael Langdon—his voice carried through the halls, which you guessed were now hauntingly void of any of your sister witches. You could only hope that some of them had managed to escape or, at the very least, weren’t too badly injured. From what little you could overhear of the frustrated conversation, you were able to determine that Cordelia, Myrtle, and Mallory had managed to flee from the carnage.

The small spark of relief you felt at that was, however, short-lived.

“And what of our dear little friend (Y/N)?” He was dangerously close to your bedroom now. You’d barely heard his footfalls come up the stairs, let alone bring him so near to where you stood frozen. “It would be such a shame if she were whisked away with the other three.”

You swiftly ducked back inside the bathroom. Not a moment too soon, either, as you heard somebody enter the bedroom just a second after you clicked the lock into place. The footsteps were heavy now. Each crisp step of expensive leather shoes against the polished hardwood flooring sent a fresh wave of dread through you. You backed away from the door slowly, your bare feet merely whispering across the slicked marble.

The footsteps paused. You held your breath.

A gust of energy suddenly busted the door down. Your body was thrown through the air and into the opposite wall. The wave crashed just as easily as it had crested, and you crumbled to the floor. Your bones ached at the harsh impact of the hard marble against your soft flesh.

You reluctantly lifted your head, your blurry eyes trailing from those designer shoes and up the perfectly tailored suit until they met the icy stare of the man—the warlock, the Antichrist himself—who had been strategically chipping away at your sanity ever since he pretended to be your knight in shining armor.

A lazy smirk presented on those delectably pink lips, but his eyes held nothing but a darkness so deep it coiled invisible shadows around your fallen body. A darkness tinged with bloodlust, satisfaction, twisted amusement, and the excitement of a chase that had finally reached its lethal end.

“There you are,” he said softly, the words whispering along your skin like silk embedded with daggers. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and took measured steps towards you. You scrambled up to your feet and around to the other side of the bathtub, placing it between you. You’d always wondered why someone would design a bathroom with the tub in the middle of the room, but now you were silently thanking them.

“Stay away from me, Langdon,” you demanded, your voice coming out much stronger than you felt at the moment.

“I think we’re past the formalities, (Y/N).” He continued an easy path around the bathroom, taking two steps forward for every one you retreated. “Your sisters are dead, little witch. And the others—well, they’ve left you here to fend for yourself, haven’t they? You’re alone,” he said.

You were torn between focusing on his approaching figure and being careful on where your feet landed, knowing one wrong move could result in you slipping in the puddles of water. It was difficult to keep your attention divided equally between them. Another step back, another step closer to the door. Not that you even dared to think you could just run out and evade him. But it might give you a fighting chance—if he allowed that much from you.

Biting back the tears that clung to your lashes, you thrust your hand out towards him. The energy thrumming through your veins centered warmly at your palm. It died there, fizzling out like it had been doing so frequently in recent days.

He chuckled quietly, the sound causing the hairs on your neck to stand to attention. “That might have worked before,” he said, sauntering closer still. “But I’m too strong now. Your magic is nothing compared to what I have.”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Langdon?” Fear squeezed your lungs until you were having to fight to get in any oxygen. Your fingers trailed along the edge of the tub to help guide you as you continued backing away. The door was almost within your peripheral vision now.

“What filthy words to come from such a pretty little mouth.” He clicked his tongue, running it along his teeth and shaking his head as though disappointed in your language. “I already have what I want, little witch. You’re right here.”

It felt like his words punched a hole in your chest. Your legs started to struggle to hold your weight up, like the realization was too much for your body to handle. Like it wanted you to give in to those feelings you’d fought against following your resurrection.

Michael Langdon might have needed the coven out of his way to achieve his overall goal, but he was after you specifically. He wasn’t happy that you had run back to your sisters to actively work against him, to give your all into plotting his downfall in order to save humanity from extinction. He wanted to keep you at his side.

Your coven had been the only reason you’d left him in the first place. If it hadn’t been for their unending love and acceptance, hadn’t been for the family they had given you for all those years, you would have listened to the burning desire you’d held for your savior and run into his arms.

Even now, in this little game of cat and mouse that had icy fear seizing your heart, you felt the dim fire sizzling in your lower stomach. Your body would always sing out for him regardless of the monster he was. It was a matter of mind over matter—heart versus body.

“No.” The word came out much too soft to convince anyone of your devotion to your sisters.

“Yes, little witch.” His voice dropped to a belittling croon that chased shivers up your spine. “You’re mine, and I’m not one to make the same mistake twice,” he told you.

You acted before you lost the courage to do so. Whirling around on your feet, you lunged for the door. It slammed shut just as your fingers grazed the doorknob. Your body continued to pitch forward, your bare feet losing purchase on the slippery marble. You cried out as you flung towards the floor.

Michael was in front of you in the blink of an eye. A hand wrapped firmly around your throat, the other planted against the small of your back, bringing your body flush to his. Your hands flew up to his chest to steady yourself as your face was tilted up, forcing you to look at him. Your pulse raced against his touch, lips parted to let loose tiny puffs of air.

He dipped his head until his ears brushed against the shell of your ear. “You can pretend to fight me—hate me—all you want, if that’s what makes you feel better,” he murmured, his honey voice a sweet caress over your frazzled nerves, “but we both know the truth, (Y/N). You were mine before the ashes of your fragile creation.”

Your lashes fluttered as you felt his fingers flex against the column of your throat. A turbulent storm churned within you, deafening claps of thunder pounding against the inside of your head and streaks of lightning branching out from your very soul, alighting your body with sin. Your head tilted back, lips parting further to let the pathetic whimper fall from them, your resolve starting to crumble into the very stardust from whence you came.

The tip of his nose dragged along your jawline. He inhaled deeply before letting the air back out in a contented hum, pulling back just enough for your heavy eyes to gaze into the depths of the devil himself. Your legs buckled beneath you under the weight of his stare, his hand pressing more firmly against your back, keeping you upright and so close you could feel every hard, lean muscle of his body against you.

“Langdon…” His name fell from your lips like a breathless prayer you begged to have answered. Your fingers curled into his suit, itching to travel north and feel the planes of his chest, the contour of his jaw, the angle of his cheekbones.

He leaned in. His lips whispered over yours, so close you could taste the cool sin on his tongue. “No. Say my name,” he demanded softly. “I want to hear you say it.”

Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. Words bubbled up but died on your lips. All the things you wanted to say shriveled up and disintegrated like ash. You’re the devil, you wanted to tell him. A bastard born of sin with a heart of evil. You wanted to spit curses at him, tell him to get his hands off of you, demand he leave you alone and never to darken your doorstep again.

At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself that you wanted to say. But the words fizzled from your tongue because you knew better. Sometimes the truth was more bitter than the lies.

“Michael,” you whispered.

His mouth slanted over yours as soon as the syllables rolled from your tongue. He swallowed every breath, every whimper, every last shred of your resolve as his lips commanded yours. His tongue pried them apart to claim your mouth, mapping out every inch, pushing against you in a dance that left no room for anything but your submission.

You melted into his touch with a shiver, your body malleable under his hands as your head went blank. All lingering reservations fled your mind at the way he turned you into putty for him to mold into his vision. The tears that clung to your lashes slowly fell in a final fight for the grief and despair that entrapped your heart in bitter vines.

Michael nipped at your bottom lip before pulling back. He moved the hand at your throat to press against your cheek, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone and tracing your swollen lips. Your watery lashes fluttered as you gazed up at him. He smiled gently at the tears he collected against his fingers.

“That’s it, little witch,” he murmured. “Cry for me. You look so pretty when you cry.”

A quiet sob wrenched from your throat. He hummed and slid his hand around to the back of your head. Tapered fingers wove between your damp hair before he suddenly yanked your head back. Your cry was swallowed by his mouth as it descended upon yours, lips hard and hungry and so delightfully sinful that your breath evaporated from your lungs.

Michael lifted his hand from your back and deftly plucked at the tie holding your bathrobe together. Cool air kissed your skin before the chill was chased away. He palmed your breast, rolling it in his hand and squeezing, a blossoming ache forming beneath his fingers. You arched your back with a whine as he trailed his lips along the curve of your jaw and down to the thin flesh where it met the slope of your neck. He sucked your pulse point into his mouth, dragging his teeth over where it fluttered before sinking them into the skin.

You mewled pathetically, hands flying from his chest to slide into his hair, fingers grappling at the golden curls as your body trembled with an ache that left your skin flushed. His fingers pinched your nipple, rolling it in his touch before tugging the hardened peak and forcing you to rise up on the tips of your toes. Another cry wrenched from you as he balanced you so perfectly on that precipice between pain and pleasure that had your head floating in the clouds.

He released your nipple and traced his hand over the curve of your body, dragging his fingers along your flesh until they wedged between your thighs. Your legs threatened to collapse when he cupped your pussy. His name left your swollen lips in a breathless plea, syllables broken and cracked as you shifted to widen your stance for him. He groaned quietly and pulled away from your throat, pausing only to lave his tongue over the pretty imprint he left on your skin. Your hands fell back to his chest as he straightened.

“So wet already, little witch,” he mused. “Tell me—is this all for me?”

Michael dipped into your folds, gathering the evidence of your arousal. Shame plucked at your conscience like a harp. Nothing about this situation was right. It was wrong—so very, very wrong. It was the forbidden fruit that always tasted the sweetest.

He lifted his hand in front of your face. Separating his index and middle finger, showing you the sticky slick that clung to his digits. Closing your eyes, you tried moving your head away, not wanting to be faced with what you already knew. Michael clicked his tongue and grabbed your face, pinching your cheeks and puckering your lips out, your slick smearing across your flesh.

“Eyes on me, princess,” he demanded softly. You reluctantly brought your gaze back to him, fresh tears clinging to your lashes. He smiled. “Good girl.”

Michael released your face and tapped his fingers against your lips. They parted in a quivering acquiescence to his silent command. He slipped those fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue and pushing back until you were gagging around them. You tried to raise your hands to his wrist, desperate to dispel his fingers from your mouth, but they remained rooted at his chest—you couldn’t move. Forced to just stand there and take what he decided to give you.

He smirked as the realization caused your gaze to shutter. “You look so good like this, (Y/N). Gagging, completely at my mercy. You were made for this.”

Michael yanked your head back further, shoved his fingers deeper until they slid down your throat, and watched you struggle to breathe through your growing panic. Desperate, you bit down, and he merely clenched his teeth against the pain, releasing your hair to grab your chin. He pulled it down so you couldn’t bite anymore, his blunt nails scratching gently across your jaw as he did.

Only when you were on the verge of either blacking out or vomiting did he withdraw his fingers. A string of saliva kept them tethered to your lips. Coughing and struggling to take in a proper breath, you shoved him away from you, only vaguely registering the magic that had held you prisoner in your body had been lifted.

“What the fuck, Langdon?” you spat, your voice strained and choked between the gasps of air you sucked down into your lungs.

Michael tsked and drew you back into him. He whipped you around until your back pressed against his front. His hand cradled your throat, thumb nudging your jaw until your head tipped up. The tip of his nose dragged along your damp cheek.

“And here I thought we were finally getting somewhere.” He sighed, the exhale fanning across your face. “You’re gonna be screaming my name, little witch, until it’s the only one you remember. Your submission tastes so fucking sweet,” he murmured.

He kissed your cheek before dragging his tongue over the tears that fell. You shuddered at the wet trail left in its wake, a whimper pushing past your lips as you fell further back into him, eyes growing heavy as his hand squeezed the column of your throat. His fingers pressed on either side of your windpipe until your head was floating back into the clouds of depravity.

His lips came to rest at your ear, the smooth tenor of his voice prompting your pulse to race at the promise it held. “I’m never letting you run from me again, (Y/N). Even if that means I have to keep you tied to my bed until you realize you belong to me—and there’s nobody left out there to come save you.”

Keeping his hand around your throat, he walked you forward until you stood before the bathtub. When your legs hit the porcelain, he pressed his lips to your temple, released a contented hum, and shoved you forward. Your hands flew out to catch yourself before you were dunked in the water, a sharp gasp pulling from your lungs as you gripped onto the opposite ledge, keeping yourself held up.

“Langdon—”

He brought his hand down sharply on your bottom, cutting off your words with a quiet cry. Your hair was roughly twisted in his fingers as he yanked your head back, forcing your neck to arch at a near impossible angle that had your thighs shaking as your bare feet slipped in the water on the marble floor. The only thing keeping you upright were his hips pinning you against the bathtub.

Michael flipped the bottom of your bathrobe up to your lower back and spanked you again. “That’s not what you call me, (Y/N),” he said calmly, rubbing his palm over the stinging flesh. “Try again, princess.”

Your fingers grappled at the ledge of the tub. You tried to push yourself up, to gain a bit more leverage, but quickly realized you were once again held completely at his mercy. Magic kept you exactly where he wanted you—stuck in place, completely at his mercy, unable to move anywhere past where he positioned you.

The sensitive flesh of your inner thighs grew slick with your growing arousal. It forced a pathetic moan from your throat, eyes slamming shut as the humiliation swirled with the lingering shame. Your soul was tainted. Corrupted. Black as the sin that shrouded the magnificent Boy Wonder whose destiny laid out a path for world domination.

Maybe he had sensed it in you when he’d pulled you back from hell. Like calls to like—and maybe your soul was so twisted, so deliciously depraved, that it reached out for him like a red string of fate.

Maybe this was where you were meant to be. At his mercy. Under his control.

The Antichrist’s little pet.

“I can’t hear you, little witch,” he said after a moment, leaning down to whisper the unholy filth into your ear. “Who do you belong to?”

“Y-You,” you whimpered, feeling yourself falling further from grace with each passing breath.

“And what’s my name?”

“Michael…”

“Good girl.” He shoved your head back down, your face stopping just a mere inch away from the water. His boot nudged at your feet until your legs spread to his satisfaction.

Two fingers suddenly pushed into your cunt. No resistance—he just slipped in easily, the realization making your face burn as you acknowledged just how turned on you were for this man. This fucking beast of hell. Your mouth popped open in a soft moan, your legs already shaking under the expertise of his touch.

You were already falling apart for him, and he’d only just gotten started.

He curled his fingers to press against a spot inside of you—a spot you hadn’t realized existed until now—that threatened to wipe away any sense left inside your mushy brain. Your body quivered like a leaf caught in the wind, senseless noises slipping from your lips, your walls fluttering around his digits as slick leaked out to coat his hand.

Every attempt to push back against his fingers only stoked the frustration bubbling inside your chest. You whined, clenching your jaw as he dragged his fingers against your gummy walls, stroking you so beautifully that stars started to pop off in your vision.

“Look at you, little witch,” he mused, scissoring his fingers inside of you, twisting them with every plunge inside of your cunt, drawing obscenely wet noises from where he worked you. “You’re drooling for me, aren’t you? What would your dear Supreme say, hmm?”

A silent sob wrenched from your throat, your eyes slamming shut as you desperately tried and failed to rock back against him. Your breaths were starting to come out in ragged gasps, your chest heaving, bottom lip sore and swollen from how hard you’d embedded your teeth into it. The tang of blood trickled onto your tongue when you bit down on a particularly rough plunge of his fingers.

Michael chuckled and brought his hand down on your ass, coaxing a high-pitched squeal from you at the burn that mingled with the fire stoked in your lower stomach. “Answer me, (Y/N),” he said—you didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was smirking, taking a twisted enjoyment out of your body’s reaction to him. “How would Cordelia feel if she knew what a sweet little harlot her precious witch is for the devil’s spawn?”

More tears squeezed from your lashes to drip down into the cool water below you. Your senses were going haywire, your body fighting with your mind, your heart with your soul. How could someone so fucking evil make you feel so damn good—bring you to heights of pleasure you’ve never dared venture before with just his touch? God, Cordelia would be so damned ashamed of you if she knew. All of your sisters would.

Consorting with the enemy was one thing. Submitting to the Antichrist, laying yourself bare and all but begging him to fuck you, was another entirely. You were unbelievably pathetic. Disgusting. Living up to a witch’s reputation as the devil’s whore.

He promptly withdrew his fingers at your silence and smacked your pussy. You cried out, struggling against the magic holding you in place. Then he shoved three digits back inside of you, his motions much rougher than before, blunt nails scraping against your walls to create an illusion of bliss that teetered with pain.

“I’m feeling generous, princess, so I’m going to give you one more chance,” he sneered. “Now tell me—how ashamed would your Supreme be if she saw you spread out like this for me?”

“She—She’d hate me,” you cried. The truth slammed into your chest, breaking your heart into a million little pieces to be picked up later. But it was overridden by the overwhelming desire flooding your system. Your walls clenched around his fingers, the band of lust around your chest tightening to a breaking point. Every muscle was tensed and coiled, prepared to release as soon as that coil snapped.

Michael hummed, then you heard him spit, felt the saliva land on your ass and slowly trail down to where he was plunging into you. You groaned as it mixed with the evidence of your arousal, listening to the way your slick squelched with every movement. Your legs shook almost violently from the expert way he played you like a fiddle, knowing exactly where to press his fingers and how deep to draw out your pleasure.

“Fuck, Michael,” you mewled, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the wave start to crest, a mere foam on the horizon. “P-Please…”

“Please what, princess?” he cooed, suddenly twisting those wicked fingers just right, making you cry out in pure, filthy desperation for him to bring you to release. “Are you gonna cum, little witch?”

“Yes,” you sobbed. Your neck was starting to ache from keeping your head held up above the water, your hips from being pressed against the sides of the tub.

Michael traced up the curve of your spine, the heat of his palm radiating through the plush robe, before weaving his fingers back into your hair. He gripped tight but didn’t pull your head up like you expected him to. Instead he leaned forward, his front pressing against your back in firm lines and lean muscle, placing his lips right back at your ear.

“Deep breath, (Y/N),” he instructed coolly.

You sucked in a breath at his words but didn’t have the chance to let it back out when he suddenly shoved your head under the cold water. Your eyes popped open only to be met with the sting of the oils and bubble solution you’d poured in there earlier. Panic gripped at your chest. You still couldn’t move, but you thrashed your head, trying desperately to dislodge his grip from your hair.

His fingers withdrew from your cunt but were quickly replaced. Michael snapped his hips forward, sheathing his cock inside of you in a single thrust. Immediately your mouth opened to release a muted scream. The bath water filled your mouth, sucking down your throat and into your burning lungs. Your entire body shook beneath him. The panic turned into the purest form of fear you had ever felt, topping the dread you’d had when you’d found yourself in Papa Legba’s clutches.

Michael reached around your hips to place his fingers at your swollen clit. He rubbed it in tight, quick circles that almost instantly catapulted you over that ledge. Your walls clenched around him, your slick coating his cock as the coil finally snapped, a fire branching outwards to burn its way through your body. It licked its way down to your toes and the tips of your fingers.

Darkness started to edge into your vision like a vignette. Your lungs screamed for oxygen. You tried holding your breath for as long as you could even through the tremors of your orgasm, through the feeling of Michael fucking you, his cock stretching your walls to their limit, filling you to the brim in a way you would be crying for if you hadn’t been on the verge of drowning.

Was this his way of making sure you never ran away from him again—was he going to fuck you until your heart stopped beating?

Just when you were about to try to breathe, when you thought you were going to pass out, he pulled your head back up to the surface. You greedily tried to suck air down into your lungs. Immediately you began to cough, dispelling the water you’d ingested past your burning throat. Michael wrapped his arm around your throat and yanked you to hold you to him. The grip was light enough not to constrict your breathing, but you were too far gone to appreciate it, let alone realize the magic gluing you in place had been lifted.

He continued to rub your clit, the overstimulation linking with the oxygen deprivation and near-drowning experience to force you into a floaty headspace where nothing made sense. Static buzzed in your ears and your vision was overtaken by a flash of white. Everything hurt—yet, you’d never felt so high up in the clouds.

More water pushed past your lips just as you were dragged into the depths of a second release. You would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for Michael holding you up, pinning you against his body as he continued to thrust up into you, his grunts fizzling through the static to reach your ears. You thought you might have heard some semblance of words but couldn’t make them out through everything beating you into a pile of malleable clay to be molded by his hands.

Rising higher and higher, everything around you blanked out until you were no longer aware of anything. Maybe he actually had killed you, and this was a sort of limbo space before you would be dragged back to Papa Legba, forced to relive your very worst nightmares over and over again for the rest of eternity.

Would he leave your body there, or would he dispose of you? Would Cordelia, Mallory, and Myrtle eventually return to the academy to find you cold on the bathroom floor, surrounded by water and marked by the beast?

Your lashes fluttered as the static surrounding you started to fizzle out. The first thing you heard was your ragged breathing, your lungs still crying out for precious air, your chest heaving as you struggled to give them what they needed. Then his voice floated inside your head. It started out as a mere whisper, muffled like you were still held under the water, but gradually became more clear.

“You’re okay, (Y/N). Breathe with me.”

Then you felt him. Felt his lips pressing against your temple and your cheek. You felt his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, felt the thrum of his heart in his chest. An arm was wrapped around your waist. His fingers brushed through your hair, keeping it out of your face.

You blinked heavily as more of the world returned to you. Your head was lolled back on his shoulder. His cologne filtered through your nose. Your lips parted as a quiet moan slipped past them, your tongue heavy in your mouth.

He tightened his hold around your waist. “Breathe with me,” he repeated, taking in slow, deep breaths. Unable to do much else, you focused on following his pattern until your own breathing had evened out. “Good girl. There’s my little witch.”

Clarity starts to bleed back into your system now that your brain was getting an adequate supply of oxygen. You silently took in your surroundings through heavy eyes, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. Michael had you between his legs as he sat on the ledge of the bathtub. Your cunt ached in a way that only came from being fucked beautifully, and you could feel the sticky liquid seeping out to coat your inner thighs. You were empty now, meaning he was no longer inside of you.

“What—” You winced at the rawness of your throat, the raspiness of your voice. “What the actual fuck, Langdon?”

Michael chuckled softly, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. The intimate feel of it made you shudder. His chest rumbled with the sound. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your manners already, princess,” he said. “I’d be more than happy to remind you.”

You rolled your head away from him. “Fuck off, Michael,” you scowled, spitting his name like it left a vile taste in your mouth.

His hand shot out to grab your jaw, twisting your head back around to face him. Crystal eyes met yours in a clash of hardened ice that made your stomach lurch. Your breath hitched in your throat, lips parting to let loose the last of it before the rest got stuck in your windpipe.

“Don’t mistake my mercy for weakness, little witch,” he said coolly. “You’re only alive because I’ve made it so. Watch your tongue.”

Michael suddenly pushed you off of him. Legs still shaky, you stumbled but kept on your feet. He stood to his full height as you whirled around to face him. It was with a rush of disdain that you took note of his put-together appearance. He looked as he did when he first barged into the bathroom. Then there was you—drowned in the water that filled your lungs, bathrobe hanging open, flesh on display with pretty bruises blossoming against your abused skin and lashes clumped with teary remnants.

He sauntered up to you as you fumbled with the tie on your robe. His hand wrapped around the column of your throat, pulling you closer to him. You resisted the urge to shove him off of you, a heavy realization of being totally, completely fucked draping over you.

Michael Langdon owned you. You were his to do with as he pleased.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” he mused, smirking at the way your pulse fluttered beneath your touch. Your fire hadn’t yet been snuffed out, but you had the good sense to bite your tongue, even if he could hear all of the insults you wished to throw at him passing through your mind. “Tell me, (Y/N)—who do you belong to?”

You swallowed thickly against his hand. “You, Michael,” you said softly. “I belong to you.”

#michael langdon x reader

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ahs-fan-craze · 4 months ago

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ahs-fan-craze · 4 months ago

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I need to work on my ahs hotel x hemlock crossover fic. Its Roman Godfrey x The Countess Bathory x fem reader.

Heres the collage I made for it

@langdonss @lockedxroses

#american horror story #ahs #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon rp #ahs hotel #kai anderson x reader #james patrick march x reader #lady gaga #ahs murder house

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ahs-fan-craze · 4 months ago

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Poisoned || Michael Langdon

Fandom: American Horror Story Pairing: Michael Langdon x GN!Reader Words: 190 Notes: This has been rewritten and reposted from a previous blog. It was an imagine ("Imagine Michael Poisoning You"). Warnings: Just Michael poisoning you during your interview. No biggie.

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HIS EYES BORE into yours like he was seeing straight down into the deepest depths of your soul. You didn’t know what he was searching for outside of your answers to his questions. The way his gaze never wavered from yours unnerved you more than it probably should have. Maybe the interview was a bad idea.

Michael Langdon had been sent by the Cooperative to determine who deserved a second chance. He pulled survivors into his office one by one for personal interviews to see who qualified and who didn’t. Some exited with satisfied smiles. Others left the room in tears.

How could one man hold so much power as to decide someone’s fate between life and death?

Michael watched as you took the final sip of the tea that he had poured for you. He smirked, and you didn’t understand until you glanced down to see the words written inside the little cup.

“You’ve been poisoned.”

You blanched and snapped your eyes back up to him. He laced his fingers together as he leaned forward on the desk.

He cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?”

#michael langdon

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ahs-fan-craze · 4 months ago

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Heaven's Just a Sin Away || Michael Langdon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled gently. “No.”

#michael langdon

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ahs-fan-craze · 4 months ago

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Saved and Saved Again

For the lovely @anyadouc44 thank you so much for your request! I hope you enjoy it!

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Attempted suicide, blood, horror themes, sickness.

Summary: Mallory found a way to save the lives of two of the Romanov siblings, Alexei and you, his sister.

But your grief at losing the rest of your family becomes too much to bear.

What does fate have in store for you? Death or life...

(Based on/inspired by the Tempus Infinitum sequence in AHS: Apocalypse - Fire and Reign)

It's been awhile since I've written anything in the AHS space, I hope you enjoy! 🖤

Father… mother… your absence has left a hole in my heart… a hole so big its growing and growing and I cannot help but let it swallow me…

For that had become your existence, your grief for your parents, your siblings, it surrounded you like a pitch blackness, becoming a world where light did not exist and felt that maybe as if it never existed in the first place.

But then you heard your name, fuzzy and indistinct though certainly your name, uttered by the only person you had left to hang on to.

Alexei.

He thought he was the light you needed, the light that would keep the darkness at bay. And you loved him for trying but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

He was only a remnant of the light, born of it.

Not the light itself.

He was that which the stars had illuminated.

But you were in the dark.

You felt his hands upon your arms, shaking you, an attempt to revive you from your stupor, your grief, your sickness. A sickness that had been with you longer than you could remember.

The earliest memory you carried was actually the one you cherished the most, as it remained the most wonderful example of how loving your parents were. You can still feel the damp cloth upon your forehead and the scent of your mother as she tries to break your fever–

Alexei calls your name again, and it’s louder this time, clearer, and the panic in his voice turns your stomach upside down. Your head jerks and you look up at him for the first time, seeing him and hearing him.

“Talk to me, come on. Come back to me, come back to the world.”

“Alexei…” You sound out his voice slowly, dryly, as if it’s your first time speaking. “I can’t…”

“You can! I… I can’t lose you too, sister…”

“Alexei… you lost me… when we lost our family…”

You close your eyes and hope to slip back into the memory of your mother tending to your illness. She hums your favourite lullaby and you sigh, making her smile. You feel her hand upon your cheek, so real, so present. Alexei is wiping your tears away with his thumb.

He whispers your name, almost like a prayer. “I have food for you. You need to eat, get your strength up.”

“What kind of food?”

“Tomato soup, nothing heavy.”

“Is there bread?” Hope fills your voice for the first time in so long, but is only temporary.

He laughs. “Of course there is bread, I could not forget your favourite. The butter is melting on it. Mmmm do you smell that?”

You smile at the delicious aroma and Alexei looks like he could cry.

Slowly, you sit up in bed and ready yourself to receive your brother’s kindness. You go to take a bite of the bread but he makes you hesitate. “Carefully, sister. Don’t have too big a mouthful. I don’t want you to choke.”

It was a sweet thought, but part of you wanted to. For breathing was pain.

But you did as he suggested, only taking a small nibble of the soft buttery food. It was simply heavenly.

Alexei let you both sit in silence as you ate, he too having his own dinner. The soup went down hot but satisfying, and the bread dipped in tomato flavour was even better until–

You should have been careful what you asked for.

The coughing started. One small piece fell down your windpipe and your body could not handle it. Your chest heaved almost violently, and the sound of your coughing, of your struggle to breathe sent Alexei into a dizzying panic.

He called your name incessantly, rubbed, patted your back hoping to still you, as if it could even cure you of the pneumonia that plagued you. But nothing worked.

“Here… drink this!” He proffered you a cup of water, and when you refused to take it he held it up to your lips and out of anger you swiped it away from him.

“Leave… me… alone!” You spoke raspily between coughs.

“No sister, I will–”

CRASH!

You hurled what remained of your soup and bread into the wall. “Stop, Alexei! Stop! Nothing you do is going to help me! Nothing you do is going to bring them back! So stop trying!” Then in your rage you pushed him away from you, off of the bed, and bolted from the bedroom like you could not get out of there fast enough.

Not noticing until you reached the washroom that your coughing had in fact stopped.

Staring into the mirror, you noticed tears upon your cheeks, having not felt their touch on your skin or that you had been crying so fiercely. All was numb. Even your coughing had settled into normalcy over the years, a pain that had taken away from the world who you are.

Perhaps it was time to take you away from the world.

You bolted into the kitchen and grabbed the first knife you spied, steel long and sharp. Making your way back to the washroom, the moment your eyes settled on your reflection, they focused not on you, but on what stood behind you.

Your family.

Mother, father, siblings, all that were stolen from you in the most unjust and cruellest of ways. But you saw them now not as they were that night, but as you remembered them – happy, proud, and warm. Full of life and love. Your father, Nikolai, raised his arm out for you in invitation. They were calling for you. They needed you, just as much as you needed them. You couldn’t miss them any longer.

Pushing up the sleeves of your nightgown, you exposed your skin then gripped the knife’s handle tight. The room was filled with the sound of your laboured though quickened breathing, and your hand shook, nervous. But you glanced up into the mirror once more, needing a sign this was the right course of action. You watched as your father, the Tsar, nodded his head in assurance, and without taking your eyes off of him, you dragged the blade across your flesh.

“Ahhhh!” You squealed and winced as the skin was severed, and looked down at your wound to watch your blood flowing out of you without anything to stop it. Thinking quickly, you did not hesitate to slice your other forearm, just wanting the pain to be over, and the fear to abate. Preparing yourself to settle in for eternity with your family.

You suddenly hear the sounds of Alexei calling your name once more and running to your side. When he reaches the door, he cannot help but grasp the door frame, for his feet threaten to fall out from under him.

“Sister… no… no, no… what have you done?” He’s white as a ghost. It shocks you, and already growing weak, you feel the knife slip from your blood covered hand and fall to the wooden floor with a thud. You can feel yourself fading and immediately decide you do not want this, do you not like how this feels.

Turning your head back to the mirror, you look again to your kin for guidance, but are met only with horror. They too appear ghostly, though set in a scene pulled straight from your nightmares. Blood seeps from their gunshot wounds. Their cheeks all hollowed out. Eyes pale as the moon but no light shines from within.

But they were supposed to be the light… they are the light… this cannot be…

They are death reflected back at you, your choice to join them manifested before your eyes. You scream in terror and collapse to the floor, your white nightgown immediately stained red as it becomes consumed by the pool of crimson you have created at your feet.

Alexei rushes in, coming to his senses. He is furious.

“How could you do this to yourself? To me? To us? How could you leave me alone, sister? No pain is worth the price death needs to take you from me! We were spared, we were saved, remember? We were given a second chance at life and you would now be so selfish to waste it? Tell me why!”

“Because I cannot live any longer, Alexei! I don’t know how! If I had have known how haunted my life, my existence would become without mother and father to protect me, I would have told Mallory to let us die! This pain is too much, Alexei. Death would be a release from that. Only… I…” You felt as if the last of your strength was being focused into your sorrow, and tears fell from you like rain, rain you hoped would wash the blood away and heal your soul. But it would not. Death, as you asked for, would soon arrive to take you by the hand.

Alexei frantically wraps your arms tightly with cloth, praying to stop the bleeding. He holds you in silence as you weep, and time has no measure. He feels warm as he surrounds you, nurtures you back to health. He kisses you atop your head and speaks. “I know the pain you feel, sister. Of course I know it. But I do not wish for death. That day will come soon enough, and then you and I will spend forever with the ones we love. But do you not think Mother and Father would want us to live in their name? See that their legacy, their family continues? That is how you keep them alive, sister. By remaining alive yourself. Why do you think I spend all my time caring for you?”

“Because you love me.”

“I do. And though I would love you in death as well as life, I would see you live and keep me smiling, hmmm? To keep the world filled with the song of your laughter, and the wit of your speech. You can do this. You can stay here and find happiness once more. There is so much for you to discover, and it is my duty to help you. Let Mallory’s gift to us not have been for nothing.”

It was almost as if his words were healing, for suddenly your body began to return to normal, and death’s grip upon you had loosened. The pressure on the wounds was holding, it was working. Alexei was saving your life. You smiled.

“I don’t want to die, Alexei. I don’t want to be cold and still and unfeeling. I… I don’t want to be away from you too.”

Your brother smiled at you fondly as you spoke, and somehow held you even tighter. You knew then he was never going to let you go, and that all would be well as long as you were together.

-----

Six weeks pass…

The wounds on your arms are now patterns for you to trace with your finger tips. Reminders, tangible memories of your suffering and pain, and how you now live to spite it.

Alexei and yourself had spent every waking moment together and it had been wonderful. Whatever spark of life he had injected into you by saving you had been some small miracle, for even your sickness had been kept at bay. Hope was something real once again.

But then, things can turn in an instant.

Just as they did the night your family was taken from you.

Your health declined.

Coughing became your language, for you could barely speak. Sweat became as blood, its presence upon your body leaving you sickly, pallid. Everything was cold. Not even Alexei’s arms around you could summon any warmth anymore.

He wouldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t admit it, but then again he didn’t have to. You both knew you were dying. It was all in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me, Alexei.” You spoke, your words punctuated by a cough. “I don’t wish for you to see me like this and I don’t wish to see the grim reaper reaching for me through your stare!”

“I cannot help it sister. I cannot shake the thought that I am going to lose you.”

“If only you could save me this time. But you can’t, and you need to come to terms with it like I have.”

Alexei shifted closer to you on the bed, his gaze now defiant. “No. Don’t you give up. Not yet. You can fight this. You have always fought this. Mother and Father–”

“Are no longer here to look after me!”

“What are you saying? That I am not enough?”

“Of course not, Alexei! You are all I have and all I need. But if you go… then…”

He took a hold of your face with such determination, as if he could will life itself to work his way. “I am not going anywhere, remember? We will get through this together.”

“But then you will be alone! I… I am going to leave you. I can’t bear the thought of it.”

Alexei smiled. “Well it is nice to see what a few weeks of healing can do. You were willing to abandon me when you had the choice to, and now that that choice has been taken away… all you want to do is stay.”

“Help me stay, Brother… help me… stay…” Another coughing fit began, and you felt like you were drowning. All Alexei could do was watch as you began to slip away from him. Piece by piece, day by day.

The next morning you woke you found yourself surprised. You had not expected to ever experience life again. Every time you closed your eyes you knew it might be the last time, you knew they might never open again. But thankfully, you had been granted one more day.

But Alexei was not there to greet you with his comfort. He was gone and the room felt colder. You called out for him but no response, and your voice began to shake with sorrow and your sickness as it shook itself through your body and out from your mouth. You thought your chest might burst apart if you had another coughing fit. And as you fell back onto your bed, losing the strength to call for your brother, you imagined it, your body twisting and breaking with every heave of your lungs. Your spine shattering, splintering in all directions, your broken ribs piercing through your flesh. You tried to open your eyes to escape the nightmarish fantasy, but you couldn’t. You thought this was it. Death had come at last. But when your eyelids finally pried themselves free to glimpse the world, you swore you saw a glimmer of your father, his ghostly and bloodied figure, beginning to step through your doorway.

But he was banished with your scream, and blinking furiously, you mustered the courage to force yourself to look outward, and upon doing so, you spied a familiar face with naught but care in her eyes.

Mallory.

An angel sent by god, with powers bestowed by him and only him. Years ago a woman like her would be cursed out by others, even put to death. But you knew her power was not of the devil. Why would the devil want to save your life?

“How… how are you here?” You were in shock, your voice so quiet.

She smiled at you fondly and sat down at the foot of your bed. “Alexei. He called out to me. I couldn’t not answer. You are both so special to me. If we’d never met I might not have saved the earth from its end.”

“It’s end?”

Mallory laughed a little. “I’ll tell you all about it once we get you better, okay?”

“Get me better?” You were confused. In your sickened state you were unable to put things together, to immediately understand Mallory’s reasoning for travelling the greatest distance to see you.

Alexei caught your eye. “She’s here to save you. Again, sister. I had to do something. And if it worked once…”

“But how did you summon her?”

“I remembered Anastasia’s magic. She taught me little things. Things she should not be teaching to her younger brother.” He winked at you and you felt a small smile creep onto your face. “I didn’t know even if I could do it but… if Anastasia possessed some power, then I knew I did.”

“Oh Alexei.” You reached out for him and he took your hand, not caring how sickly it felt to him. He knelt at your side and wiped his own tears away now.

“Come.” Mallory spoke, standing. “There is a ritual to be performed, and I can only be here for so long.”

The two of them helped you out of bed and carefully lead you into the main sitting room of the house. The space had already been prepared with the necessary elements that Alexei was able to provide. The room smelled of healing, of comfort, whatever incense or candles that were burning, their scent caressed you as if it were your mother’s touch made real once more.

“I need to find a way to break the grasp of death from you. It’s almost as if you are being forced into the afterlife, as if your soul needs to atone for the sin of surviving that day.” Mallory explained. “You were not supposed to live past that.”

“But what of Alexei? Neither was he.”

“True, but your brother tells me that… that you tried to take your life a few weeks ago?”

Your head fell to the floor in shame, with only the reassuring touch of your brother upon your back to bring it back up again. Though you said nothing, acknowledging your folly with only a nod. “Well it seems, I’m sorry to say, that this angered the spirits. You came so close to death then, only for Alexei to pull you back. This started your path to here, where you are now, once again at death’s door. They don’t want to let you go.”

“They? My family?”

“No.” Mallory spoke, gravely. “Beings much worse. If Alexei didn’t call for me when he did–” “Please, do not speak anymore.” You brother cut her off, looking rather ill himself for the thought of what monsters wanted to claim you.

The witch spoke your name, calling you to rest on the floor at her feet. “Be still, my friend. And all will be well. Do not give in to the claws that reach for you. Do not listen to the false cries of your family. Listen to my voice and only my voice. I am the light. Follow it and fall not into shadow.”

You closed your eyes as Mallory began the ritual, trying to steal your mind and fill it not with thoughts of what the light meant to you. How could Mallory be it when it was always your family? You wanted to scream at the indignation, but then you heard her voice in your mind.

“Silent be. No thoughts of thee. No thoughts run free. Only listen and understand me and well you will be.”

Your anger dissipated and you allowed yourself to focus only on her incantation, on her beautiful voice as she began to manifest your good health. She was speaking in a language you did not recognise, it was not your native tongue, nor was it her own. Though it was the native tongue of a witch.

Of the Supreme.

You gasped and felt something enter you, and your body began to twitch and move in a fashion it never had, and judging by the look on Alexei’s face, it was in a way no human was intended to move. This thing that had entered you, it felt warm and powerful, and you could feel it forcing out the evil, forcing out the sickness from deep within you. But it was clinging on so tightly, and you managed to look down at your forearms. Something was moving underneath.

Then that very same something began to tear open the scars you had made.

You and Alexei both screamed in unison, and you watched in horror as blood poured painfully from your flesh. But Mallory kept chanting, her hair, her dark dress blown back by an invisible wind, as if some force was trying to stop her from saving you. But she pushed through it and pushed onward. Her chanting became louder, and faster. There was no time to waste.

You looked down at your wounds again and the blood had turned black. A thick oil oozing and bubbling its way out of you. “It’s working!” Alexei cried. “I think it’s working, Mallory! Don’t stop!”

Now you felt it in your throat. Something twisting its way within your lungs and up your windpipe, like an arm scratching and searching for some escape. You couldn’t breathe. It didn’t feel like it was working, but if your brother thought so and said so, then you had to hold onto his words. Onto Mallory’s words. She was calling your name now, a grand supplication to whom you did not know, and without warning, your mouth opened and opened wide.

An essence of some kind went into you and you realised exactly what it was doing just before it was over. It was pulling your disease out of you, and ridding the last traces of evil from you that would see you sink into death. Then up it came through your throat and your mouth and out and onto the floor. The blackest of tars. Thick and vile, an ungodly stench and stain upon this earth. It poured out of you and you cried and cried, gasping for untainted air to fill your lungs in its place.

Then the second Mallory’s spell was ended, you fell to the floor unable to hold yourself up any longer, and the tar beneath you turned to ash, the last of that invisible wind taking it away like it had never been there. Your heart stopped, your breathing stopped, but only for them to begin again, anew, and you gasped as you took your first breaths, and you rejoiced as you felt your heart beat in a healthy rhythm for the first time since you could remember.

Alexei was immediately at your side, embracing you like he was your only tether to this world. But he was not that any longer. You were in this world now, a part of it. If he let you go you would not fall into despair. You would not fall into death. Alexei, you brother, now, he was there only to make your world brighter.

He was the light after all. You could see it now.

You laughed as you hugged him back, feeling so very grateful for him and for Mallory. You looked up at her through the happy tears that were now falling, and thanked her repeatedly. All she did was smile with her radiant warmth, kneeling down beside you to embrace you as well. But sadly, as she had warned, she didn’t have much time.

Mallory had vanished before you could look upon her again.

But you knew she was okay, because you were okay. She had her own world to be a part of.

Alexei studied the wounds of your arm in disbelief. They had healed up and in fact – no scars marred your flesh any longer. It was incredible. “Oh thank god… that was… terrifying. I thought for a moment her spell might kill you.”

“So did I, Alexei. It was almost unbearable. But I heard her voice, and when she sang my name I knew I was going to be okay. Thank you, brother. Thank you for saving me, for ridding me of this cursed disease. Mother and father would be so proud of you, for taking care of me.”

For the first time since their deaths, the thoughts of their parents did not make them feel sad, nor bittersweet. All you and your brother could feel was joy knowing that you were both making them proud, that you were carrying on the family name. Romanov. You were their legacy now. You were their place in the world. And with no sickness to hold either of you back, anything was possible.

Perhaps there was more magic to be cast.

#ahs apocalypse #american horror story: apocalypse #american horror story #mallory

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