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mushroom-words · 5 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? Summary: Michael calls you in for your interview and takes your virginity into his own hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled gently. “No.”

#american horror story #ahs apocalypse #ahs x reader #ahs smut #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #cody fern #🍄.ffn

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saintlucretia · 1 year ago

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Devil Wears A Suit

part Ⅰ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mention of murder. Hot devil's son. Sexual harassment? Michael Langdon.

Summary: Y/N is a purple at Outpost 3 and gets interviewed by Mr. Langdon.

A/N: I will go to hell for this and I am not opposing if he will be there too.

After 18 months at the underground Outpost life was as dreadful as being killed by a bomb explosion. Or worse. A bunch of snobs and shallow cowards. It was clear as day, that it was just a matter of time before everyone was at each other's throats.

It wasn’t the Outpost itself or the fact that we are the last human beings on this planet that made everything so depressing. It was boredom. A hole in my head. The only bearable person here was Mr. Gallant. Without his company at the dining table, I could have stuck a fork into my neck.

That evening Ms. Venable announced to us about a visitor. The agent of the Cooperative. Even though she remained calm as usual I sensed a note of fear in her voice. So it means this new man has great authority. I was grateful for any kind of entertainment, even if it meant a bloody revolution. After 18 months with the same people, fresh meat is always dainty.

Ms. Venable ended her speech when a tall man with long blond hair entered the room. He had a dark aura. The aura of power.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” he said, circling our table. “Humanity is on the brink of failure.”

I glanced at the other residents of the Outpost. They all looked tense and nervous, especially Ms. Venable. She seemed almost afraid of him. Only Mr. Gallant seemed as amused as me. We glanced at each other and I immediately understood what was on his mind. After all, he had a good taste in men.

“My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.” His speech was persuasive, words sharp and his blue eyes pierced into all of us. Such an ability to capture everyone's attention was making me delighted.

He stopped at the head of the table and continued. “The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

“What happened to the people inside?” asked Timothy worried.

“Massacred,” answered Langdon and I think I caught the shadow of a grin on his face.

I bit my lip to stop myself from chuckling. I had to admit, this Langdon was a very attractive man. And Mr. Gallant was obviously admiring his appearance too. But there was something about The Cooperative representative that made me feel uneasy. It was as if he was hiding something. Something very bad.

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe… The Sanctuary,” he said, placing his hands behind his back. “I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call ‘Cooperating’. Simply, I will determine if you belong.”

I remained silent, analyzing the situation. Everyone seemed wary and looked at others with distrust. Only Coco didn’t have enough brains to remain silent and tried to openly express her dissatisfaction. Fortunately, her tirade was abruptly suppressed.

“I volunteer to go first.” Mr. Gallant raised his hand.

“And so you shall,” Langdon said threateningly, looking us over. He had a cold, calculating look in his eyes. I had a feeling that he already knew who he was going to select.

“The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” I felt his gaze on me and barely restrained myself from looking away.

Langdon left the room and everyone immediately started to argue. A bunch of morons, all of them. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair, observing the conversation. Everyone began to share their suspicions and guesses, but of course, they were all too wrapped up in their own fear to notice the whole thing. The Cooperative looked at us as laboratory rats and no one seemed to see that. Pathetic.

I let out a sigh of annoyance and left the room.

✦✦✦

I ran into Malcolm in the hallway an hour later and looked at him questioningly.

“Oh, darling, I almost had a heart attack." He came closer and started whispering "I'm a bit scared of him. He is definitely hot as hell, but twice as evil."

I chuckled. "Well, that's quite a review. Did he tell you anything new?"

Mr. Gallant leaned even closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He asked me a lot of personal questions...I mean really personal."

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

“Like my sexuality for example. And my nana. And other… things. Pretty intimate. I felt so uncomfortable, but I tried to keep it cool.”

My eyebrows furrowed in interest. So these "Cooperating" sessions were, indeed, quite unique. It seemed like Langdon wanted to know every minuscule detail about each person. I began to wonder what kind of "personal" questions he would ask me. I also began to wonder why I was so looking forward to the moment.

“I felt like he was trying to rip out my soul.” Added Malcolm in a whisper.

I smirked. "Well, that's quite a dramatic way to describe it." Malcolm chuckled nervously but I had a feeling that he wasn't exaggerating. Langdon was certainly not the type of man that you could fool easily. He could see right through people.

But something was intriguing. I felt a strange thrill at the idea of uncovering the depth of Langdon's scrutiny.

"I guess I'll have to brace myself for my turn then," I said nonchalantly.

“Good luck sweetheart.” We kissed each other on the cheek and went in different directions.

I slowly walked to my quarters, lost in thought. I was feeling an inexplicable mixture of excitement and curiosity. The thought of being examined by Langdon, being exposed under the watchful gaze of his sharp eyes, was somehow appealing. God, I have to stop.

I shook my head firmly, trying to dismiss these thoughts. "This is ridiculous," I mumbled to myself softly.

Suddenly I heard something. Something like a scream perhaps. I stopped and looked around. There was no one except me in this dimly lit hall. And then this sound again. More like a whisper now. Millions of whispers. My head began to spin slightly. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Silence. Everything went quiet. I turned around and flinched as I saw Langdon behind me.

“Mrs. Y/S, I’d like to talk with you next.”

I looked up at Langdon with a surprised expression, silently cursing myself for being so lost in my thoughts to the point of not noticing him coming closer. His presence was so powerful that it still made my heart flutter even now.

"Lead the way," I replied, trying to maintain my composure.

Langdon didn't bother answering, simply gesturing for me to follow him. I walked behind him through the maze of halls and rooms.

We finally reached the entrance to what appeared to be his cabinet. Langdon stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. Entering the room, I noticed how dark and ominous it felt. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with old leather-bound volumes. The main source of light was a fireplace.

Langdon gestured for me to sit down on the armchair across from him. I lowered myself gently, straightening my purple dress.

He studied me, wanted me to be nervous, wanted me to crack. I knew this game. I have played this game with many different powerful men, who think they are Gods because they have dicks. I never lose in a game like this.

His eyes searched my face, trying to find any sign of weakness. But I held his gaze firmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated.

I leaned back in my seat, a small smirk on my lips. "I see you're expecting me to be quivering in my boots," I said with a hint of sarcasm.

Langdon chuckled darkly. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning slightly forward.

A silence fell between us, and I held his gaze without flinching. Something about his demeanor made my heart beat a little faster, but I was determined not to show it.

“I prefer conversations to be effective, Mr. Langdon.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my remark, a smirk forming his lips. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Straight to the point, are we?"

He studied me for a moment, his eyes still locked onto mine.

"Well, I can appreciate a straightforward woman," he said, his voice surprisingly smooth. "It makes the process much more efficient."

He paused for a moment, his gaze never faltering. "Ms. Y/S," he began, my name rolling off his tongue like a sinful whisper. "Allow me to ask you a personal question."

“Ask,” I replied.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes were laser-focused on me, and I could practically feel his gaze trying to pierce through my soul.

"What do you fear the most?" he asked, his tone almost gentle.

I was caught off guard by the question and made a mistake. Langdon noticed the slight flicker of surprise in my eyes. He chuckled softly. "That's what I thought," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "You may have mastered the art of bravado, but everyone has a weakness," he continued. "And I'm here to find yours."

I watched him back and after crossing my legs answered "I fear being surrounded by idiots for the rest of my life." I needled.

Langdon raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "Well, you certainly have a way with words, don't you?", he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

He leaned back in his seat, studying me closely. "Being trapped in a group of lesser minds for eternity may be torturous, especially for a woman of your... intelligence."

“For a man of your power, it’s a pity that you use flattery as a term of manipulation,” I said, tilting my head in a mocking manner.

Langdon chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Ah, so observant," he said, still maintaining his smirk.

He leaned slightly forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'm not just using flattery, Ms. Y/S. I do recognize your intellect. But don't mistake my compliments for manipulation. I simply use the tools at my disposal."

“Huh.”

Langdon chuckled again, clearly appreciating my dry response. "You have a sharp tongue," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “It may be your unique feature or a pathetic attempt to hide your fear.”

I could feel a flicker of irritation at his words, but I forced myself to remain impassive. Langdon was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"Perhaps it's a little bit of both," I replied, my voice cool and steady. "Or perhaps you're simply not used to people who don't cower easily in front of someone higher in rank."

He stood up from his seat and started circling me slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. “Be careful, Ms. Y/S. Your bold attitude is admirable, but at some point, this can play a cruel joke on you.” His gaze burned into me as he studied me from every possible angle.

“I appreciate the warning,” I said coldly. “I don't fear intimidation tactics.”

“You are a brave woman.” Langdon's voice was suddenly close behind me, his breath lingering on the nape of my neck. A small shiver ran down my spine, and I had to suppress the urge to turn around and look at him.

“A little too brave, some would say.” he continued, his words almost a whisper. “Tell me, Ms. Y/S, is it hard to be the smartest in the room? To be forced to communicate with idiots?”

There was a hint of mockery in his tone that made me nauseous. But I still refused to let him see any sign of weakness. I sat up straighter in my chair, lifting my chin.

“It can be... annoying at times,” I admitted.

“It is irritating how arrogant the upper class is, isn’t it? Especially toward women.” I felt the touch of his fingers on my arm and I barely restrained myself from snatching my hand away. “The world before the bombs wasn’t that much brighter than this one, was it? They all mistreated you, and never took you seriously… Does the idea of them having everything infuriate you?”

His words hit a nerve, the subtle truth in them cutting through my defenses. Yes, the world before the bombings was far from perfect, and I had my fair share of disappointments.

But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had managed to hit a weak spot. I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And what makes you think you're any different from them?”

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing along my skin, tracing patterns against the fabric of my dress. His nonchalant arrogance was both infuriating and strangely enthralling.

“Oh, I never claimed to be any different," he responded, his voice low and husky. “But I will say this - I appreciate intelligence, especially in women. I can see your potential.”

“Potential,” I repeated, struggling to keep my tone even. “For what, exactly?”

Langdon ignored my question. His hands, now both on my arms, crawled up to my shoulders. “Have you ever thought about punishing them? About finally showing what you are capable of, so they would never think you are only ‘pretty face’ again?” His breath tickled my ear. “Have you ever thought about making them scared of you?”

His hands on my shoulders were deceptively gentle, yet they seemed to burn against my skin through the fabric of my dress. His breath was warm against my ear as he whispered his words, making my breath hitch in my throat.

I felt a strange mixture of anger and... excitement at his words. The thought had crossed my mind more than once if I was being honest with myself. To show them ALL how strong and brilliant I truly was. To shuffle a knife into someone’s throat. I remained silent.

“I sense this force in you, Y/N.”

His voice seemed to fill the space between us, wrapping around me like a dark, intimate spell. He leaned closer, his chest almost pressed against my back. His hands remained on my shoulders, his fingers gently massaging my tense muscles.

There was something about his voice, the way he said my name, that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he could see right through me, past the cool exterior I had been trying to maintain. He knew about the anger, the desire, the fire burning within me.

“I can tell you have a dark side,” he murmured, his voice deep and low.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” His hands continue to stroke my shoulders gently. He was amused by my denial.

“You don't have to play coy with me, Ms. Y/N," he said, his voice velvety smooth. “I can feel it radiating off of you. That simmering anger, that burning desire."

Langdon leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against my ear. “You want... power. And I can promise you that.”

His words were a seductive murmur, weaving their way into my mind and planting thoughts of power and revenge. It was as if he knew exactly what buttons to push, what desires to awaken within me.

"Power," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. My mind was swimming, both alarmed and intrigued by his proposal. I felt like I was hypnotized. "Why… What’s the point?"

Langdon chuckled softly, noticing the effect his words were having on me. He stepped away from me, his hands finally leaving my shoulders. He walked around the chair, standing in front of me again.

"Because, my dear," he began, "I've observed your potential. Your intelligence, your resourcefulness, your strength. You're not like the other people in this house. You have ambition. And ambition can lead to power."

He tilted up my chin gently, so I could meet his gaze. "And I can help you achieve it." His thumb traced my jawline, sending a shiver down my spine.

When his finger brushed against my bottom lip I grabbed his hand, stopping him. He smirked and leaned closer, his face only a few inches away from mine.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Did my touch... unsettle you?”

With a swift, almost graceful movement, Langdon sank to his knees in front of me. His hand found its way to my knee, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my dress.

“I think the interview is over,” I said, trying to stand up, but he pressed on my knee, not letting me get up.

“I will decide if it’s over or not, Ms. Y/S,” Langdon smirked at my silence, slowly running his hand higher up my thigh. He could clearly see the effect he was having on me, the slight tremble in my body.

“What?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “No witty comeback? No clever quip? Seems like you're losing your grip.”

"Losing my grip?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady. "Hardly. I am just amused by your behavior." Even a blind person would see my bluff and feign confidence.

“Oh? Really?” He stood up a bit, leaning closer to my face, almost whispering in my mouth. His proximity was intoxicating, his breath hot against my lips. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, the desire coursing through my veins like a current. He slowly brushed his lips against mine and I felt a touch of his tongue on my bottom lip.

It felt like drugs. It felt better than drugs. His tongue teasingly tracing along my bottom lip sent a shiver down my spine, making my legs tremble beneath me. It was overwhelming. I have never felt like this before. In that very second I could do anything for this man.

Suddenly he stopped and looked me right into my eyes, smirking satisfiedly almost like he read a thought that just got in my mind.

He stood up, turning away from me and I bit my tongue not to moan in disappointment.

“We’re done for today, Ms. Y/S. It was a pleasure talking to you,” He said, opening the door for me. Smirk remained on his face, but Langdon seemed very calm. As if he didn’t just kneel and almost kiss me two minutes ago.

I needed a few seconds to understand what had happened, so I blinked and then quickly stood up walking toward the door.

“Hope you have a good night, Ms. Y/S,” he said watching me and I can swear, as he was saying that, his hand slid to cover his groin and he definitely wanted me to notice that.

“Good night, Mr. Langdon,” I mumbled and left the room.

What the fuck has just happened?

part two

#I NEED him in the most sinful ways #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #cody fern #ahs apocalypse #ahs fandom #michael langdon x you #michael langdon imagine #american horror story #ahs coven #ahs murder house #mr gallant

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enchantedruin · 10 months ago

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the interview w. michael langdon

{ light nsfw, thigh-riding, belittling}

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

Eighteen months.

No relief.

No escape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew. He always knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#IM FEELING SOME TYPE OF WAY #when you’re in a self-deprecating mood and this is is how you cope #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #gender neutral reader #ahs apocalypse #apocalypse #american horror story

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iamnotoriginalphil · 2 years ago

Text

Your Mina (Wilhemina Venable x f!Reader)

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

Words: 6.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a cruel mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-“

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you said.

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

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

“Purple?” you asked.

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

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

The end of the world she knew about?

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

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

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

“I don’t understand,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One weighed heavier than the others.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one said you had to play fair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t leave you waiting long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her throat bobbled.

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

“You disgust me,” she growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On your knees, slut.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Problem?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She kept silent.

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

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

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

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

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

She moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ms Venable,” you whined, “please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you done yet?” she drawled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So now what?” you asked her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable imagine #wilhemina venable #ahs imagine

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 21 days ago

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admittedly I’ve stopped following what’s happening beyond the broad strokes, but for anyone still interested in Blake’s case, there have been some developments on this Friday afternoon (of course).

Blake’s team is seeking a protective order against Baldoni’s about its continuing demands for Blake’s communications with Taylor even though it withdrew its subpoenas because it claimed it had got everything it needed to the press, while at the same time it is continuing to refuse to produce documents it is supposed to submit to Blake’s.

As per Taylor’s lawyer’s email to counsel, no documents were ever produced for Baldoni’s subpoena. In other words, nobody on her team ever turned anything over to Baldoni’s.

This is the relevant bit from Blake’s filing, about Baldoni’s team’s claims that they received communications from Taylor’s team:

Later on May 22, 2025, counsel for Ms. Lively emailed counsel for the Wayfarer Parties about the public statements, interpreted “to mean either that (1) the intent of the Wayfarer Parties’ subpoena, since our understanding is that they obtained no discoverable materials as part of this process, was to introduce scandalous allegations about Ms. Lively and her counsel into the public domain to generate negative stories, or (2) the Wayfarer Parties have received materials responsive to their subpoena, which would come as a surprise given that no materials have been provided to us.” Ex. B. The same email explained that any discovery that the Wayfarer Parties or their counsel obtained concerning Ms. Lively from any third party would be responsive to properly served RFPs. To date, the Wayfarer Parties have not responded to the email, and have not produced any productions from Ms. Swift. Further, the parties have an agreement to produce documents obtained via third party subpoenas to each other promptly upon receipt, which would clearly apply to these documents, if any, notwithstanding the withdrawal of the subpoena.

If I’m understanding Blake’s team’s filing today, its argument is that if Baldoni’s team refused to produce the documents to Blake’s team it received re: communications with Taylor (that it claimed to have to the press), it’s because they don’t actually exist. E.g., Baldoni’s team did not actually “get” anything from Taylor’s team, because there was nothing to produce, and its continued statements to the press that it got “exactly what [it] need[ed]” from Taylor is once again just more smear tactics in the press to cloud the case.

ETA: yes that is exactly what they’re alleging in their email correspondence with Baldoni’s counsel.

Blake’s team is claiming that Baldoni’s is continuing to invoke Taylor’s involvement in the case even though it has been established she has none in order to court the press as per its original strategy document from August 2024.

ETA 2: Taylor’s lawyer confirms there were no documents produced to Baldoni’s team:

Counsel – Please be advised that the Venable Subpoena and the Taylor Swift Subpoena have been withdrawn by counsel for the Wayfarer Parties without prejudice to them timely serving subpoenas in the future should they decide to do so (all parties reserving all rights). No documents are being produced and no deposition is being scheduled. Accordingly, we will be notifying the Court that our motion to quash is moot. Thank you. Doug

#Blake case #Basically it’s a lesson in semantics

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7-wonders · 1 year ago

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Requiem

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

Summary: It's all led to this, and now, you have to face off against Michael to get your world back.

Word Count: 6.3k

A note from the author: This chapter is so, so dark. Sorry? Also, this chapter relies a lot on the she/her pronouns this story was first started with btw. (more notes at the end)

I noticed when posting this that it looks like the previous chapter didn't load a lot of tags. If you got tagged in this and are like "wait how did we get to the fight already?" you missed the last chapter! Click on the Mad Love Masterlist to read Chapter 35. :)

Content warnings for this chapter include graphic depictions of injury and death. Reader discretion is advised.

Mad Love Masterlist

Mallory warned you prior to leaving your room that the residents of Outpost 3 were all dead, murdered at the hands of Ms. Venable and her poisoned apples (you try not to dwell on your own poisoned apple experience). All the preparation in the world doesn’t prepare you for the shock of seeing two dead bodies, those of Coco and Dinah, in the large foyer of the Outpost. Shock turns to revulsion as one of Mallory’s friends and other witches yanks a knife out of Coco’s skull with little more than a wince. When she stands, she points the knife at you.

“She gonna help us?” she asks warily.

“She is.” Mallory turns to you, pointing first to the woman with the knife and next to another woman standing near the stairs. “This is Queenie and Zoe.”

You wave sheepishly. “It’s nice to meet you two.”

Zoe smiles kindly, but Queenie just appraises you with a look that says she doesn’t trust you. You can’t say that you blame her, though you wish she didn’t have a reason for this reaction. Mallory leaves your side to kneel in between the two dead women, and you watch as she takes a deep breath and breathes out onto Coco’s face before repeating her movements with Dinah.

It takes mere seconds for the two to shoot up, gasping for air and trying to get used to once again inhabiting a body.

“Welcome back,” Mallory says.

“What just happened?” Coco asks, her elaborate hairdo impressively staying put after all of that.

“You died. And now, you’re no longer dead.”

“Oh.” She frowns, rubbing at the spot where a knife sat moments ago. “Fuck, that sucked.”

“Are you going to explain why you tore us from our afterlives?” Dinah snaps, standing up.

“It’s time to fix this entire mess. To defeat Michael, we need all the help we can get.” Mallory eyes Dinah specifically. “From both of you.”

“You’re on your own with that shit,” Dinah declares. “I’m not here to defeat anyone.”

Maybe it’s not your place, but you feel like you can help to convince Dinah. You take a step toward here. “Please, I really think that—”

“How can any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?” A voice, so familiar to you that it could be your own, comes from the stairs.

You almost don’t want to look at him. If you don’t, maybe you can remain in this stasis where you’re simply preparing to undo the apocalypse, instead of being faced with the reality that you’re about to fight your own husband, the man who, despite all of the horrors he’s committed, remains your love. When you do tear your eyes away from Dinah, you see that he’s not even taking notice of your presence. No, he only has hate-filled eyes for the Supreme.

Michael’s changed into a blood-red jacket, which makes it obvious that he was expecting this showdown to happen. Ms. Mead stands off to his left side, ever the small, imposing bodyguard. Mallory steps forward, along with most of the group. You can’t bring your feet to move, so you remain back with Dinah.

“You haven’t won,” Mallory says.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world.”

Queenie scoffs. “At least the world can be saved. Unlike your bitch ass.”

Michael smirks proudly. “The seventh seal has been broken. Wormwood has fallen from the sky and turned the rivers to blood and fire. The bottomless pit has been opened and my swarms of locusts and scorpions have ravaged humanity. The world has been remade in my father’s image.”

When he speaks like this, of biblical imagery and prophecy, he turns into a person you don’t care to know. He turns into the Antichrist.

“Almost.” Mallory smiles. “Pretty sure he didn’t imagine a world where there were still witches, so you failed there.”

Michael finally takes in the full group, and his haughty demeanor falters when he sees you. Softly, he utters your name. “What are you doing?”

You swallow thickly, willing your voice not to shake. “I think you know.”

“I do. You’re going to betray me?

Mallory tries to grab your arm as you move in front of her, but you can’t be stopped now. “This is not betrayal. I’m doing this because I love you, and I can’t bear to be faced with the monster that you’ve become any longer. Now, we have a chance to save the world, Michael. Help me undo this mess.”

“Michael,” Mallory gets his attention once more. “Your father never commanded you to end the world in this way. Jeff and Mutt, the two that ran Kineros, were the ones who thought a nuclear apocalypse was the solution. They controlled Ms. Mead and gave her the commands to tell you that this was Satan’s plan. Satan was just happy to take credit when he realized that you were going to cause anarchy.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Michael says.

“Is it? They told me so themselves, when I went to Kineros to ensure that Coco would be in this Outpost.”

He rolls his eyes. “This is such an obvious lie, I’m a little offended that you would think I’d fall for it. Right, Ms. Mead?”

Michael looks to his left, expecting to be backed up, only to see Ms. Mead with a look of bewildered shame on her face.

“Ms. Mead?”

“They—I do as I’m programmed,” she stutters.

You gasp at the revelation. Satan didn’t come up with the plan to end the world like this? All of this could have been avoided?

Instead of being faced with the same reckoning, a look of absolute murder appears on his face. “I’m going to do what I should have done that day in the Murder House and kill you all personally.”

“Mallory,” Dinah calls, walking towards the Supreme. “You raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side. But if you know anything about who I am, you know that the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.”

She comes to a stop just before the stairs, bowing her head respectfully. Michael raises a hand out to her, ready to welcome another acolyte. You throw Mallory a panicked look, but she’s barely holding back glee.

“You’re half-right, Dinah,” she admits.

“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen,” a deep Southern voice says. You turn and watch as a tall woman with long braids struts up to Dinah. “But that ain’t you, sis .”

“The former Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau,” Mallory whispers into your ear.

“To release me from hell, Mallory promised Papa Legba the darkest and most corrupt voodoo queen’s soul for mine. You’ll serve him well in my place.”

“You’re a fool, Marie Laveau,” Dinah spits. “You would have done no different if you were queen.”

“No!” Marie says, before disappearing in a puff.

Not even a second later, she reappears behind Dinah wielding a machete. When Dinah turns to face her, Marie brings the machete down in one swing on her throat. Dinah gasps and screams as blood begins to gush out of her neck, falling to the floor and bleeding out in a matter of seconds. Nobody else seems to be affected by this, but you feel a little faint, and you hold onto Mallory’s arm to keep from collapsing.

“Out with the trash!” Marie declares. “Give Papa my regards.”

Michael, apparently having enough of this, nods to Ms. Mead. The android removes her hand to reveal a machine gun hidden underneath it. Though you want to say something along the lines of, “What the actual fuck?” Zoe says a word in what you assume to be Latin before you can.

Instead of shooting, Ms. Mead begins to shake and whir mechanically. Mallory uses Michael’s confusion to usher everybody back towards the open fire, where you watch as Ms. Mead explodes and sends Michael flying over the railing. He lands harshly on the floor below, staring in horror at Ms. Mead’s head next to him.

It’s only a matter of time until his horror turns to rage, and Queenie scrambles forward to grab Ms. Mead’s machine gun hand. When Michael rises, she rises with him, gun trained on his chest.

“Sorry about your little toy,” Queenie says before placing her finger on the trigger.

Michael turns to be met with a firestorm of bullets, more than enough to kill even the Antichrist. You scream in horror at the sight, his blood spattering against the wall as he falls and comes to rest against it, very obviously dead.

“Michael!” You try to stand, wanting to save him even though he probably (definitely) deserves what’s just happened to him. Before you can, Mallory pulls you to her.

“This won’t keep him down,” she assures you. “He’s too powerful to be truly killed. But this will buy us time.”

Though you don’t know if you believe her, you need to in order to keep from emotionally collapsing, so you nod.

Queenie walks to Michael’s body, kicking his foot as she checks to make sure he’s dead…for now, at least. “Do we need his hair or something for this? Because I’m more than happy to rip off a chunk of it.”

“No. The spell only requires that we have something personal of his.” Mallory smiles at you. “And we have the most important person in his life here with us. As long as you’re still in?”

You force yourself to look away from Michael, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths to recenter yourself. Finally, you look at her again. “Of course, I’m still in.”

“Good. Have you picked a time that will work to stop him?”

“I think so,” you confirm. After some internal deliberation, you think that the best way to get through to him is going to be when you had the big fight about the poisoned apple, before you stormed out and got yourself kidnapped by the witches. He wasn’t too powerful or too far gone with his father’s plan yet, but you were both in love with each other—albeit, you hadn’t actually realized it at that point.

“Alright. I’ll need you to focus on that, okay? Then I’ll say the spell, and we’ll be able to go back in time. We just need somewhere safe to cast the spell, somewhere with a large tub we can fill with water.”

You definitely found a room like that when you were exploring the Outpost your first couple of days here. “Okay. Follow me.”

Everybody stands, but hesitates when they remember the issue of Michael. If he’s going to come back to life like Mallory says, shouldn’t there be some safety measure in place to buy you more time?

Queenie sighs and rolls her eyes, realizing that she should probably be that safety measure. “Go,” she urges, readjusting her grip on the gun to ensure she’ll be quick to the trigger when Michael rises again.

Mallory darts forward to hug her quickly. “Thank you.”

“Enough with the sappy shit.” Even as she says that, you can see the affection in her eyes when she looks at Mallory. “Go!”

You do as she says and hurry up the stairs. Before you turn the corner, you allow yourself a moment to meet Michael’s open, lifeless gaze.

The hallways are much less of a maze than they were when you first arrived here, but the layout is still unfamiliar to you. After leading your group down what you thought was going to lead to the door you were sure contained the room with the tub, you’re met with a dead end.

Sheepishly, you look over your shoulder at Coco. “I think I’m a little lost. Isn’t there a room with a really large washtub for laundry around here?”

Her eyes light up, and she lightly pushes you to keep you moving. “Yes! We’re super close.” It’s going to take a bit to get used to her actually being helpful, you think as you follow her directions. “We’re going to go down this hallway here. Now, the weird little junction up ahead? Take a left and then it’s the third door on the right.”

Now you know where you are. “Thank you! I found it my first time going through the Outpost, but I haven’t lived here for eighteen months like you.”

You’re just about to turn left at the junction when a man appears from the other side of the hallway, jabbing a knife into your abdomen before you can even be surprised at the sight. You cry out, the pain sharp and sudden as he pulls the knife out of you with nothing but malice on his face. When he looks up at you, his scowl is replaced by a horrified shock.

“Oh my god, I thought you were—” He sees Coco, standing just behind you. “She was supposed to be you !”

Your shaking hands try to press down on the wound, but blood rushes out through your fingers, and your knees go weak as you crash into the wall. Down the hall, you can hear Mallory scream your name. She runs for you with Zoe hot on her heels.

“What the fuck did you do?” Mallory yells to the man, landing next to you on the floor and gently pulling your hands away so that she can assess the damage. By the way her lips start to tremble, you assume it’s not good.

The man that stabbed you ignores her, instead focusing on Coco. “You ruin everything!” he yells at her, lifting the knife once more.

Coco pushes him over the railing before he can do any more damage. He screams the whole way down, and Coco peers after him. “Sorry?” she calls with a grimace, no love apparently lost.

“This is…a lot of blood,” you note, watching your black dress becoming even darker from the rapidly expanding bloodstain. You’re also in a lot of pain. Fuck, you didn’t think being stabbed would hurt so much.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Mallory soothes; you can’t tell who she’s reassuring, herself or you. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to—I’ll heal you, and then you’ll be fine.”

Your heart is pounding from a mixture of fear and adrenaline. For the first time since your arrival to this Outpost, you’re truly scared. This is a different fear from when you were worried about Emily and Timothy being executed, or when you realized that Michael wanted to have a child with you. It’s even different from the fear of knowing that you and Michael would be on opposing sides now. This is primal—this is terror.

Mallory’s hands hover over your abdomen as she begins to chant in Latin, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Nothing happens, and as the seconds tick by, your entire body starts to go cold. It’s like somebody’s taken a syringe of ice water and injected it right into your veins. You become more faint than before, and decide that laying flat will probably be the best way to rid yourself of this feeling.

“Why isn’t this working?” Mallory cries in frustration, catching your head and placing it in her lap. Tears begin to build in her eyes as she tries the same breathing technique on you as she did Coco and Dinah to bring them back to life, to no avail. You cough wetly, and when you wipe your mouth, your hand comes away red.

The realization hits you then: you’re dying. The overpowering cold, being unable to sit up anymore, the faintness—your body is beginning to shut down against your will.

“Mallory, I’m scared,” you admit.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’m trying.”

“I know.” You smile at the repetition even as you begin to feel so, so tired. Maybe if you close your eyes and rest for a moment, you’ll be able to get enough strength back to help you fight to stay alive.

Your eyes barely close before Mallory starts shaking you. “No, no, please don’t close your eyes!”

Marie Laveau appears at the far end of the hallway you first ran down and yells something to Mallory, but you can’t quite make out what she says over the rushing in your ears. Mallory takes one of your arms and Zoe takes the other, both working together to pull you down the hallway. You watch dizzily as Coco runs to Marie, your vision warping as the two disappear around the corner.

Mallory continues trying to heal you once they have you in the room where you’re meant to go back in time. Her hand, soaked in your blood, runs over your forehead comfortingly as she becomes more frantic in her chanting. Even Zoe tries to help, pressing down on your abdomen in the hopes of slowing the bleeding as she joins Mallory in spellwork. It’s becoming more difficult to hold on as you become weaker, the two taking turns making you open your eyes again.

“Please, please, please,” Mallory begs any and all forces beyond her power that might be listening.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, the effort to produce sounds near herculean.

“Don’t apologize,” she says sternly through tears, earning the smallest of laughs from you.

“Yes, ma’am.” Your hands shake as you feel around for Mallory’s, and you weakly squeeze when you find them. “I love you, Mal. I’m so happy I got to see you again.”

“Stop saying goodbye. I’m going to bring you back, this isn’t goodbye.”

For now, though, it is, and you both know it. When your eyes close this time, they don’t open again, and you feel yourself being dragged down, down, down, away from consciousness and life itself.

With your last remaining strength, you become introspective. You have so many regrets, so many words that you’re going to leave unsaid. You wish you had gotten the chance to actually complete the spell and go back in time, sure that you would have been able to change Michael’s mind. You want to thank Queenie and Zoe and Coco and Marie for their help, for believing that you can help fix the mess the world has become. You wish you could—

•••

Michael has had enough of witches on this Earth, he thinks as he blows Queenie’s head clean off her shoulders after coming back to life. She had been distracted by a body falling from two floors up—whose body it was remained a mystery that Michael didn’t care to solve—providing Michael the element of surprise. Even if she were still prepared, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s too powerful for anything to stop him now.

Maybe he was naive to believe that a simple nuclear bomb or two could kill them. No, he was definitely naive. After all, Mallory knew that the world would be ending, and soon. That was more than enough time for her to gather her chosen forces and figure out a way to survive. He knows now that his path, the one that Satan had created before he had even created Michael, was always meant to lead to this. In order to truly inherit this new world and rule Hell on Earth, he must eradicate the remaining witches with his own hands.

But what to do with you? You’ve chosen your side for this battle, and it’s not his. He nervously hopes that you’re simply mad at him after how your last conversation devolved into a fight, that Mallory reached you at a vulnerable time and used that to her advantage to recruit you. Once he defeats the witches, you’ll come back to him and he’ll concede that he was perhaps wrong to bring up the idea of having a child at such an intimate moment. Still, seeing you standing in solidarity with the witches hurt, which is likely what the Supreme was planning.

When Michael makes it up the stairs, the reanimated voodoo queen blocks the hallway that he knows you and the witches have gone down. Grabbing a pouch off of her belt, she pours a powder into her hand and spreads it in a line in front of her with a chant.

“You shall not pass,” Marie declares with a smirk, wiping her hands of the powder. Michael juts his hand forward, prepared to rip her heart out of her chest, but an invisible barrier stops him. “You’re dealing with the HBIC now.”

He smiles ruefully. “Clever,” he admits. “Normally, that would work.”

He’s about to show that voodoo magic is no match for him anymore when his blood runs cold and his heart drops. At that same moment, he becomes aware of sobbing coming from far behind Marie. Though Michael’s never felt anything like this before, he can feel the certainty of what it means down to his very core: something’s happened. Specifically, something’s happened to you.

“Let me through,” he demands. Marie falters, taken aback at the fear in his eyes. “Marie Laveau, if you value your second chance at life you’ll let me through.”

She recovers from her hesitation with a haughty laugh. “Nice try.”

Michael makes quick work of her with a simple snap of his fingers, snapping her neck and sending her right back to the Underworld. He’s just about to clear the barrier and figure out just what is going on when he feels a presence behind him. Rolling his eyes, he turns around to face this distraction as well and comes face to face with Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, who was with you when he was shot. Surely she must know something about what’s going on.

“What’s happened?” Michael asks. The knife that Coco was prepared to stab him with goes limp in her wrist, and she gapes at him. “Where’s Y/n?”

“She was…Brock…” She weakly mimes a stabbing motion.

“No.” He feels sick at the mere implication. “No!”

Coco now the least of his worries, he runs down the hallway, the whole time hoping that it’s a mistake, that Coco misinterpreted what she saw, that the cold emptiness now residing in his chest is simply a fluke. The sobs that become more clear as he nears the entryway, however, don’t do much to reassure him.

“Mallory!” Michael gasps.

The Supreme is on the floor with you in her lap, and for a moment, Michael can delude himself into thinking that you’re okay. The excessive amount of blood on the floor—your blood—and the unnaturally limp way that your hand is lying force him to face the obvious. Michael’s knees give out, and he falls to the floor harshly.

Mallory looks up at him, forgetting that they’re meant to be enemies right now. “She got stabbed, and—” a sob rips from her chest, “my healing spells aren’t working. And neither is Vitalum Vitalis. It should be working, Michael, I’m the fucking Supreme.”

“Okay. Um, let me…” Michael’s brain is fighting a war between shutting down from the agony of this situation and kicking into overdrive to figure out how to get you back. After a moment, he thinks he might have an idea. He tries to pull you out of Mallory’s arms and into his own, but she refuses to loosen her hold on you. “Mallory, I need to hold her.”

While he does need to be able to touch you for the spell, he’s not really asking for that purpose. He feels that he might soon lose his grasp on sanity if he can’t hold your body. No, he needs you as close to him as possible, to try and capture the warmth of your body so that he might remind himself that you’ve only just left, that he can still get you back. Begrudgingly, Mallory allows him to hold you, but she still keeps one of your hands in hers.

He’d like to say that it looks like you’re sleeping, comforting himself with the platitude most mourners claim upon seeing a body. He’d be lying, though, because he knows what you look like when you’re sleeping. The way that your face scrunches at the smallest sensation, how your eyes move under their lids and your mouth forms silent words when you’re dreaming particularly deeply, the intermittent light snoring that you swear you don’t do. If you were simply sleeping, he’d play the prince to your Sleeping Beauty and wake you with a kiss, revealing your amused smile and your fond gaze.

Now, there’s none of that. You’ve been dead for mere minutes, but already the signs of death are here. Your face is as slack as all of your muscles now are, making your cheekbones more prominent and your mouth hinge slightly open. A sallowness has started to take over your skin, and he finds himself tracing the apples of your cheeks in a futile attempt to coax blood back to the surface. He even swears that he can feel your body growing colder, just like he feared.

It takes Michael some time to remember what he’s meant to be doing. All of this grief and pain will hopefully be for nothing, so long as he can hold himself together for a little bit longer. He takes a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before dropping his forehead against yours. Tears are threatening to fall, and when he closes his eyes to try and hold them back, it only hastens their arrival. They roll, hot and thick, off of his face and onto yours, and he wipes them off with a silent apology.

Finally, Michael slips into a dissociation as he begins to walk between the realms of living and dead. He’s done this more than a few times now for varying reasons, becoming pretty adept at finding a soul and bringing it back to the living plane. The hardest part by far is always calming his mind enough to be able to attempt this in the first place; the fact that he’s been able to achieve it in this circumstance is a small miracle.

Now that he’s in the so-called in-between, he begins his search. Every single soul has a signature to it, so as long as he knows who he’s looking for, he usually finds the rest of this process to be pretty straightforward. Since your soul is so near and dear to him, he’s expecting this to take a couple of minutes at most.

A minute passes, then another, as he tries to track your soul down. Michael begins to grow concerned; considering you just died, he shouldn’t be having to search this hard. There’s a complete lack of you anywhere, and he begins to shake as he’s faced with the increasingly likely potential that your soul is gone. But how? Why? With a chilling clarity, he knows exactly what’s happened.

His father has become displeased. Whether he’s had enough of your and Michael’s collective disobedience over the years—Satan holds a grudge like no other, after all—or your declaration that you would never bear Michael’s child or be the perfect wife that Satan had planned for you to be. He’s had enough, and now, he’s taken this opportunity to make good on the threats he first warned Michael about during the poison apple saga. He’s made sure that you’re out of the picture for good. If Michael knows Satan, he’s probably already picked out some girl back at the Sanctuary to be wife number two, and this time, she would be the most devout, demure Satanist who would never even think of going against Satan’s will.

But Michael doesn’t want another wife. No, what he wants is to lay here on the floor and die right along with you, following you into whatever afterlife you’ve found yourself in in the hopes that he can continue to love you there. How can he ever be expected to love another person that’s not you? What kind of a life is there for him to live if you’re not here to share in it?

“Is everything okay?” Mallory asks, reminding him that there’s another person in this room, one who’s going to feel her own devastation at this news.

“I can’t find her. My father…” He chokes on his own words, unable to actually say the fate that’s befallen you. Instead, he can only cry.

Mallory picks up on the context clues, and her face drops. “So that’s it? She’s gone?”

The nod Michael gives her is the most painful movement of his life. When Mallory collapses, he also forgets the pretense of enemies and allows her to fall against him. It’s mainly for his own benefit—were he not using Mallory for support, he would be in a heap on top of you.

They remain without words for a while. Distantly, he’s aware of Zoe talking to Coco down that damned hall, the two wondering what to do now. He hopes that they come up with an answer, because he has no clue. In his opinion, there’s nowhere else to go from here. Though he may not have physically died, his life has ended along with yours in this room.

“Were you telling the truth?” Michael asks finally, making Mallory look up. “About Jeff and Mutt?”

He almost doesn’t want to know, but before he can change his mind, she nods. “All they cared about were themselves. They were fed up with minor inconveniences—having to wait for coffee, traffic woes—and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean.’ They thought that they could reshape the world to how they wanted, and they used a vulnerable Antichrist to do so. Ms. Mead changed her tune from magic to fire and blood because Jeff and Mutt were feeding her the commands.”

He so badly wants her to be lying, but even if he couldn’t sense her truthfulness, he has his own memories to rely on. How suddenly Ms. Mead suggested that world destruction was preferred to world domination (and that the two cokehead idiots would be the guys to talk to about that) had always seemed a little odd to him, but he simply went along with it, believing Ms. Mead to still be his trusted advisor. This revelation simply makes Michael cry harder until he’s almost matching Mallory’s earlier sobs. She puts her free hand on his shoulder in comfort. Though he appreciates the gesture, nothing can bring him comfort.

All of this pain and death and destruction has been for naught. Michael spent years chasing his father’s approval and doing terrible things, things that made him so sick to think about that he forced himself to compartmentalize them in order to not drown in his shame. He’s shirked friends, love, and basic morals, only to find out that his father didn’t even care if the world ended this way. No, all Satan wanted was power and sin, which he got in spades these past eighteen months.

“How were you going to stop me?” he asks.

Mallory hesitates. “We…we were going to go back in time. There’s a spell that I found when searching through the coven’s grimoires to help with your Cordelia issue. I practiced it a few times before the bombs dropped, trying to figure out the right way to do it. Y/n was going to be both your personal tie and the one convincing you to stop the apocalypse. She had a time in place where she thought that you would be most willing to listen, to change your mind.”

It’s a smart plan, and it probably would have worked. After all, you likely know (knew, he’s reminded harshly) him better than he knows himself. As he thinks about the what-ifs, Michael realizes that this doesn’t have to be something that never happens.

“So, if you and I were to go back in time together, then we could change all of this?” Michael asks.

Mallory gapes at him. “You’re willing to give all this up?”

“What, this empty, decimated kingdom that I don’t even want?”

In the eighteen months since the apocalypse, Michael had found that he was not suited for being a ruler—he didn’t like the pomp and circumstance, nor did he like people fawning over him. Still, he pretended to be the cold, uncaring king of this “New World,” because he thought that was what Satan wanted, that he was fulfilling the destiny that he was born to.

Now, there’s nothing left to fight for. The world didn’t even need to be ended, let alone in this way. He’s been nothing but a pawn to people his whole life—the Satanists, the warlocks, the stupid fucks that ran Kineros, even Satan himself. He’s done. Done with this stupid, useless path he’s taken, done with hurting everything and everyone, and done with bowing to the whims of anybody.

After all, what has he got to show for any of this? He’s been a good little soldier, doing unspeakably horrific acts and acting like he wasn’t affected, like he wasn’t the Michael that he was before the apocalypse. How did Satan reward him? By ensuring that he would never get back the one person in his life that he has ever truly loved, and who had ever truly loved him.

“I can’t—I can’t live a life without Y/n. There is nothing without her. What do I need to do to help you?”

“Promise me,” she says. “Promise me that you will not use this second chance to end the world once again.”

“I just found out I ended the world for no reason, Mallory. A world that I was slowly coming to love, before Cordelia informed me that I needed to speed up the apocalypse plans I had been led to believe were created by my father. Before I was upset by people trying to convince me that blowing everything up was a bad idea.” Because of course, Satan would take credit for those plans if it meant that he would be closer to getting the complete chaos it would create. “Why would I try to end it again?”

Mallory searches his face for a moment before nodding. “I believe you.”

She’s known him for long enough now to know his tells, and she sees none of them. Right now, he’s too much of a wreck to even consider trying to lie, not that he was planning on it.

Mallory slowly stands, but not before kissing the back of your hand and laying it gently on your chest. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers to you, kissing your forehead. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m going to make this right.”

It takes strength he didn’t know he possessed to lay you down and let go of your body. Even as he walks away, going against every instinct and leaving you on the floor, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Mallory climbs into the large washtub in the corner of the room, flicking her wrist and filling it with water. Michael follows her in, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of sitting in wet clothes.

“Think of a time that you believe it will be easiest to completely stop the apocalypse before it goes too far,” she instructs.

There are many times in the past two years that Michael can see as a good time to stop the apocalypse. First, he’s tempted to go back to the beginning of this mess, when the witches killed Ms. Mead. Plans for the end of the world hadn’t even been drawn up yet, and he would have the added benefit of having Ms. Mead back. Plus, you wouldn’t have gone through the trauma of being kidnapped and forced to be the Antichrist’s bride.

It’s incredibly selfish, but the more Michael thinks about that avenue, the less he wants to take it. While it’s unfortunate how you came to know each other, he wouldn’t trade the way that you and he fell in love with each other for anything. But on the practical side, he wouldn’t have the influence that he has over important people and organizations were he to go back that far, and he needs that if he’s going to have enough power to keep the world from ending altogether. That’s off the table, then.

He wishes that you had told Mallory of your idea before being fatally wounded, because he probably would have agreed with your assessment. If it was any time after you moved in with him, he was already so in love with you that he could easily be swayed. What makes the most sense?

Finally, Michael has it. The time where he can be most effective at changing the fate of the world and ensuring there will not be an apocalypse by his hand, can remain powerful enough to not be usurped as Antichrist (for he’s sure that Satan will be very displeased by the change of plans if he finds out about Michael changing fate), and can still have you.

He opens his eyes and nods. “I have it.”

“Okay,” Mallory says with a hopeful smile. “Focus on that as hard as you can, place us both there.”

It’s all he can think about now, but he does as she says and recreates that time in his head. The sights, the sounds, the smells. How your hand felt in his, and the brightness of your smile. The possibilities that, at that time, seemed endless. Mallory holds her hands out and Michael takes them, feeling their magic bouncing off of each other like sparks from two exposed wires.

“Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus.” Mallory repeats the chant two more times, the water bubbling around them furiously and turning darker with each word.

Michael knows even without Mallory’s instruction that he’s needed to say the last part of the spell, and what that last part is. Just before they submerge themselves under the water, their voices join together to cast the most important spell of their lives.

“Tempus Infinituum.”

•••

Endnotes: Wow. I thought this would be a particularly tough chapter to write, but as I got going, the story flowed easily. I think because I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long! My FBI agent is definitely concerned by how thoroughly I read those "what happens to a body after a person dies" articles.

ALSO the Jeff and Mutt thing is canon!

Anyways, I'm gonna go watch some cute animal videos to feel better. Take care of yourselves, alright?

@ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @nsainmoonchild @redroses07

@xo-angel-ox @littleangel4996 @iamlivingforturner @thatonehumanbeing05

@codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene

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

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lanawinters-ily · 2 years ago

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The Purple Dragon

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

Pairing: Wilhelmina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 1600

Warnings: mention of struggling with mental health

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not you.

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

Well, not all the time.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, she cursed.

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

“Ms Venable? Are you alright?”

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

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

“I’m just fine Miss Y/L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the issue. Love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You do?" You said in surprise.

"Yes, darling. I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I j-just needed-"

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

"Well, no but-"

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

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

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

"I love you Mina."

"I love you most, my sweet."

#wilhemina venable x you #wilhemina x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #ahs #ahs apocolaypse #american horror story #sarah paulson x reader

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sixmonths0sleep · 7 months ago

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

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

4/3/96.

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

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

#💥 - Narry’s Rambles #gregory hoblit #primal fear movie #primal fear hard evidence edition #primal fear 1996 #primal fear #primal fear aaron stampler #aaron stampler #roy stampler #primal fear roy #primal fear aaron #movies #1996 #not fight club related #this is also pretty much common knowledge im guessing

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mushroom-words · 5 months ago

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Can't Be Tamed || Wilhemina Venable

Fandom: American Horror Story Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem!Reader Words: 4889 Note: This has been rewritten and reposted from a previous blog. It was originally two separate works that I've combined into one. Warnings: Public humiliation. Humiliation kink. Spanking. Brief caning. Female masturbation. Fem!receiving oral. Dom/Sub elements. Dom!Venable & Sub!Reader. Kind of dubious consent but it's made clear reader can stop it at any time. Orgasm control. Thigh riding. Dirty talk. Pet names. Venable switches between hard dom and soft dom. Summary: Ms. Venable has let you get away with mouthing off for too long now. She decides to make an example out of you.

MISERY LOVES COMPANY.

A quick glance around gave you insight into the very same painting that had been hung for as long as you’d been there to study it. Pale faces drawn in fatigue and malnutrition. Victorian attire crafted in only the richest shades of purple and speckled by the plain clothes of grey worn by the counterparts. Hair styled more elaborately than was necessary in such a dystopia.

Everyone looked like they were created from Grant Wood’s brush. They were all miserable, and in an eviscerated world where the mere concept of fun was just a bittersweet memory, not much was available to do anything about it.

“It’s all just one great fucking power trip.” Eyes rolling, you rested your jaw on your hand as you sat at the table which had been assigned for dining only. You sighed and looked back to Coco, the young woman who had once been on her rise to fame on social media before her aspirations were bombed alongside the rest of the world. “She thinks she’s all high and mighty because she’s been put in charge of us. I mean, who’s to say these rules actually come from the Cooperative—whatever the hell that actually is?” you huffed.

The woman slandered by your words was none other than the one you found most alluring in the most intimidating of ways. Wilhelmina Venable was supposedly the authority over Outpost 3, and she ruled with an iron fist—one that was wielded with an ornate cane which she was not afraid to use should she feel it necessary. She enforced the rules that her alleged bosses, a corporation known mysteriously as the Cooperative, mandated from all bunkers stationed amongst the remains of nuclear wasteland left in the wake of WWIII.

Admittedly you found yourself drawn to the vixen almost immediately upon your introduction. It was all in the manner in which she held herself. She exuded nothing but confidence and dominance, the power of which could very well bring you to your knees before her. Her very voice made you wet more often than you’d care to admit—and that didn’t even include all the dreams you’d had of her since your arrival at the outpost.

Coco dipped her head and murmured, “Please be quiet, (Y/N). You don’t want her to hear you.”

“Oh, fuck it,” you sighed. “Let her hear me. What’s she gonna do, have me cannibalized for not liking her? She would be all alone here if she did that to every person who thought the same.”

“Cannibalism would be too kind of a punishment for your insolence, Miss (Y/L/N).”

The cold, domineering voice of the very dictator whose name you soured swept an anxious hush over the table. She did tend to have that effect on the survivors in the outpost. If there was any message that she conveyed, it was that she was not a woman to trifle with.

You straightened your back and looked towards where she stood with her guards—The Fist and Ms. Mead—flanking her on either side. Her hard gaze locked on you. Already you felt the effects of her presence and pressed your thighs together under the table. You sucked in a silent breath as your pulse quickened.

“Ms. Venable—”

“Save your breath, Miss (Y/L/N),” she said coolly. “I think you have done enough talking.”

Mr. Gallant cleared his throat beside you. “She was just talking, Ms. Venable. I don’t think—”

Venable’s glare landed sharply on the former hairdresser. “Unless you wish to be punished alongside Miss (Y/L/N), Mr. Gallant, your input is not necessary,” she said.

He nodded and muttered an apology. You offered him a grateful glance for his attempt to defend you but quickly brought your focus back to Venable as she demanded it.

“You seem to have forgotten your place.” She tipped her head upward to look down at you, making you feel small beneath her cold gaze. “Do yourself a favor and don’t make Ms. Mead bring you over to me herself.”

Mouth dry, you pushed out a soft, “Yes, ma’am,” and stood slowly. You felt the nauseating pull of humiliation in the pit of your stomach as you came to stand in front of her, your head lowered to avoid catching the stares of your fellow survivors. Some, you noticed, conveyed sympathy. Others did not.

She tapped her cane. “You are to look at me when I address you, Miss (Y/L/N).”

You clutched at the sides of your gaudy gown and lifted your gaze.

“Clearly I have been too lenient with you,” she sneered. “You need to learn your place here in this outpost. Bring me a chair. Now.”

There was no room for argument. Your choices were limited, but neither of them involved disobeying the direct orders of Outpost 3’s appointment leader. You nodded and fetched the nearest empty seat.

All eyes watched as you dragged the wooden chair across the polished floor. Embarrassment flooded through you from the implication that your punishment would be delivered with an audience present. But at the same time, something much warmer pooled lower at the idea of public humiliation at her hand.

You set the chair in front of her and waited for her next move. Anxiety and anticipation churned your stomach in the silence that followed. What was probably only a moment seemed to last an hour.

She circled you steadily. Somehow her slow pace and the rhythmic tapping of her cane against the floor intimidated you more than had she been able to strike with the speed of an agitated serpent. It seemed to draw the suspense out for longer.

“I have allowed you to get away with far too much, Miss (Y/L/N).” Venable sat down on the edge of the chair and patted her thigh sharply. “You are going to learn what happens to bratty little girls who run their mouths. Bend over my lap.”

You lifted your gaze as heat flared shamefully beneath your cheeks. Her eyes locked with yours sternly. She patted her thigh again. Instinct whispered in your ear that the curt motion was the last chance you had to move on your own.

So you listened. Swallowing around nothing but the lump in your throat, you bent over her lap—slow and cautious, like she did retain some ability to strike at any given moment. Your caution was well warranted but unappreciated, as Venable sharply pulled you down the rest of the way. She spared you no shred of patience.

You gasped as you were pulled over her legs. The air your lungs left in a rush. Your hands grappled instinctively and found purchase on the wooden legs of the chair.

“You should know by now, Miss (Y/L/N), that I have no tolerance for insolence,” she said. “You need to be reminded who is in control of this outpost.”

She pulled the hem of your dress up until the fabric bunched at your lower back. For every inch it rose over the backs of your thighs, a little more of your pride dissolved. Everyone sitting at the table had a perfect view of your bottom as the only coverage it had was a flimsy pair of cotton panties that were almost too small for their job.

You whimpered quietly when her dainty fingers dipped under the waistband to slide the material down. Your teary eyes slammed shut as the curve of your bare ass was exposed to everyone at a pace clearly designed to humiliate you. With your panties now hooked around your lower thighs, you were on full display for everyone to see.

Her fingers danced along your skin. Chills burst forth from your flesh at your touch. How many nights had you dreamed of her hands on your body? You couldn’t help how your body reacted to her touch now.

The wooden shaft of her cane suddenly whipped across your exposed buttocks. Surprised at the unexpected sting, you cried out, jerking your body on her legs—thighs that you could feel were strong and built with muscle.

How many people had she caned into submission before you?

“That one was only a test,” she warned before bringing her palm down, hard.

She propped her cane up against the chair. Fear strangled your chest. Her hand gripped your tender bottom, nails digging into the sore flesh. You sucked in a pained gasp as tears clouded your vision.

“Count.” She punctuated the command with another smack, the palm of her hand connecting sharply.

The tears dripped from your eyelashes as you choked out, “One…”

Shame coursed through you as everyone watched her spank you like a petulant child in need of discipline. But desire pulsed alongside it. Your pussy throbbed as it pressed torturously against her thigh. You hoped nobody could see how wet you were already.

She swiftly brought her hand down again. Abrupt pain flared down to pulse between your thighs.

“T-Two…” you whimpered.

Another followed, and then another, and another one. The blows kept raining down on your poor, abused flesh until you had been reduced to a sobbing mess, hips twitching desperately—either jerking to move away from the pain or to create some much needed friction as your slick had leaked to wet her dress.

Everyone would be able to see how turned on you were now. The thought wrenched another humiliated sob from your burning throat.

Venable moved your hips back into position once more and spanked you yet again. Her thigh pressed up against your throbbing clit just as her hand made contact.

“T-Ten!” you cried out. “Please, Ms. Venable, I-I c-c… I can’t!”

She grabbed your ass and squeezed. You choked back a pathetic moan as her thigh lifted higher, grinding directly where you needed her touch most. Did she know? Could she feel you—or maybe she just saw the way your pussy drooled for her?

“I will decide when you can’t,” she hissed.

She spanked you five more times in quick succession. You sobbed and cried with each hit. They grew more harsh every time her hand rained down. Even her palm stung a dark red by the time she finally declared your punishment finished.

Venable sharply pulled your panties back up and yanked your dress back down. She spared no regard for how sensitive your skin now was. You whined and bit your lip when the fabric brushed over your burning flesh.

“Maybe you’ll remember this the next time your filthy mouth starts running,” she sneered. “Now get up.”

You slowly planted your feet on the floor and lifted yourself onto your shaky legs. Avoiding looking at anyone, you wiped at the tears and snot painting your face, trying desperately to ignore how your pussy throbbed greedily.

Venable grabbed her cane and stood. She struggled slightly but stood tall once she accomplished it. Her lip curled in a vision of disgust, but her eyes glinted with a different story.

“Consider that a warning for all of you here.” She addressed all of the ashen faces at the table before turning back to you. “Now sit down and eat. Unless you wish to remain hungry tonight.”

In spite of the pain, you scrambled to your seat beside Coco with no objection. The choice she had given you lacked any merit—not sitting with everyone would have landed you in more trouble. Venable circled to take her position at the head of the table. While everyone else sat in a tense and uncomfortable silence, she seemed as though nothing had just happened. The only difference was in the way her eyes kept straying towards you as you kept your head lowered.

You didn’t even lift your head as the plate slid into your blurry sight. The small nutrition block lacked any sort of appeal for you.

Ms. Venable called for your attention. “Report to my quarters at nine. Do not be late—your punishment is not yet over.”

Time in the outpost never did pass by at a quick pace, but tonight it seemed to tick by at an agonizing rate. Your eyes constantly strayed towards the grandfather clock erected in the main hall. It had long since stopped functioning and no longer pushed out the cuckoo bird on the hour.

The second hand went one more tick to line up perfectly with the minute. You wiped the sweat from your palms off on the skirt of your gown. Ms. Venable would be waiting for you now, and she did not tolerate impunctuality.

A deep breath in to steady your nerves preluded a quick succession of knocks on her door. It swung open within a moment of you lowering your hand back down to your side. You had your head tipped down but looked up at her through your eyelashes.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” she greeted coolly. “Close the door behind you.”

She turned as you stepped inside her quarters. They didn’t look much different from your own. Somehow you expected her bedroom to be grander than the rest. The mundane interior did nothing to quell the nerves bundled in your stomach while you made sure the door shut once you were inside.

Possible scenarios rolled around inside your head. She’d already humiliated you in front of the entire Outpost. You’d thought that was punishment enough—your ass still burned and stung as a reminder. Was she going to cane you bloody next? Chain you up and whip you until the skin flayed off your back?

“Come here.” Her voice cut through your rambling thoughts, sharpened like the serrated edge of a knife.

Letting loose a breath, you reluctantly let your feet carry you over to where she sat on the edge of the bed. You wondered if she could hear your heartbeat as it pounded in your chest and rushed the blood through your ears.

“Kneel,” she commanded.

A frown touched your lips. The protest just started to roll from your tongue when she stamped her cane down on the wooden floorboards. You flinched at the sound as it played your nerves like a harp, your words crumbling like ash on the tip of your tongue.

“I said kneel, pet.”

You sank down to your knees in front of her like you were her puppet and she was the mistress of the strings. Emotions avoided her stern features as she looked down at you. A gloved hand came to caress your cheek. You flinched at her touch but didn’t dare move away—or were you flinching at the way your body reacted to her touch? How your heart sped up or how your pussy clenched, still wet and aching from earlier?

Venable flicked her eyes along your face for a moment too long for your heart to handle. “You enjoyed your punishment earlier,” she said, as though it were a fact. Like it was something set in stone. Common knowledge for anyone to learn.

Heat flooded your cheeks. A large part of you did enjoy what happened during dinner. Even the humiliation of knowing everyone watched you get spanked and knew how turned on you were at the end of it. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head.

She hummed and slid her hand to tilt your chin up. Her thumb just barely grazed the outline of your lips, the teasing touch making your breath hitch. You let loose a shaky breath.

“I want you to show me how much.” Venable pulled her hand away, leaving you to blink up at her. Your brow creased gently.

“What… H-How do you want me to do that?” Your voice caught in the dry recesses of your throat. It was low and raspy, rough with the arousal lacing between your words. Embarrassment crept up the sides of your neck.

Her gaze smoldered into yours like an inferno raged just behind the depths. It set your body ablaze with a heat unlike anything you had experienced before. A look was all it took for you to melt into a puddle at her feet. You realized then that you would do absolutely anything this woman asked of you.

She gestured with her chin towards your dress. “Take it off.”

Your words died on the sudden dryness of your lips. Venable leaned forward on her cane, leveled you with a look so intense it could have undressed you all on its own. You stared up at her, wide-eyed and lips parted, heart beating so hard your chest heaved.

“Don’t make me repeat myself again, darling,” she said.

Numb yet electrified, you got to your shaky legs and undid the lacing holding the dress together. The heavy material puddled around your feet. The enigmatic redhead slowly stepped to the barrier of the material. Eyes blown with something you hadn’t seen directed towards you in a long time studied your expression.

“This is a punishment, (Y/N).” Her voice wrapped around you in the smoothest silk, ribbons caressing your exposed flesh. Not rough or hard like they usually hit. “But I refuse to force anything. You are free to walk away if it becomes too much. Do you understand?” she asked.

You must have nodded your head because she praised you with a simple, “Good girl,” before tangling her hand within your hair. The tips of her fingers scratched against your scalp with just enough pressure to coax a shiver up your spine. Your heart pounded against your chest.

Then her lips touched yours. Tingles electrified from the point of contact and spread over your singing body. It lasted all but a second, and you whimpered when she retreated.

Her fingers twisted your hair as she leveled you with a steady gaze. “Am I understood, pretty girl?” she repeated. This time, you knew you nodded your head. You could feel the gentle tug and pull from her grasp.

“Good.” Venable withdrew from you completely, taking all the warmth with her. She folded her hands elegantly over the top of her cane. “Now get on the bed. You are going to show me how much you enjoyed earlier,” she demanded.

The power she held over you had you acting like a puppet whose strings were artfully plucked by her fingers. You wanted to obey her. You wanted to make her happy—to please her, to be a good girl for her. So you obediently climbed up onto the bed, sinking into the impression her body had left behind in the old mattress. It cradled you in welcome.

While you weren’t completely sure what the older woman was asking of you, you decided to put your trust in your body and let your natural instincts take control. Reclining to lie on your back, you slid your panties over your hips and down your legs before parting your thighs to give her a good view of your most intimate parts. You took a deep breath before your fingers made contact with your soaked cunt.

Your slick coated your skin as you rubbed your clit. Slow, small circles around the sensitive flesh. Every part of your modest self screamed for you to close your eyes and block out your audience, but you were too stubborn to give her the satisfaction of your ebbing shame.

Venable’s stare burned into you. She watched intently as you quickened your fingers and dipped them inside of you briefly. The moan that passed your lips made her eyes flick back up to yours with a fire burning brightly behind those smoldering lakes of brown.

She took a seat in the armchair by the dark fireplace. You didn’t fail to notice how she winced as she slowly lowered herself down, but you knew better than to mention it. Her disability was a sore topic for the older woman. You didn’t wish to anger her more than you already had that day. So you just continued doing as she had commanded of you, putting on a bit of a show for her as the last ounce of modesty fled your body.

Venable made a noise in the back of her throat when you teased your opening again. “Now, I know you enjoyed yourself more than that, Miss (Y/L/N),” she said. “Show me. Be a good girl for me and finger that greedy little pussy for me, sweet girl.”

Wilhemina Venable had always been such a proper, upstanding woman for as long as you had known her. To hear her throw propriety out the window in favor of her sinful language encouraged you to give her the best show you could manage. Your cunt throbbed pleasantly at how her voice wrapped around your mind and caressed your burning flesh.

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” you whimpered. Trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, you bent your knees and spread your legs to give her a better view of how your slick glistened against your flesh, your pussy clenching around nothing. You spread yourself open to show her how it ached for her before inserting a finger inside of yourself. A second quickly followed suit.

Your chest heaved with your labored breathing as you fucked yourself for her pleasure. The heel of your palm ground against your throbbing clit with every shift. You could feel your slick dripping down towards the mattress every time your plundering fingers produced a squelch from your cunt.

Venable watched silently as you fucked yourself right up to the edge of release. Your vision had gone blurry a while ago as your eyes threatened to flutter shut. You could feel your muscles tense, your body starting to still.

“Are you going to cum, pretty girl?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, fuck, I-I’m gonna… gonna cum.”

Then, just as the band was about to snap and throw you into oblivion, she took it all away from you by demanding, “You’re not allowed to cum without my permission, Now come here, pet.”

You bit back a cry and reluctantly pulled your hand away. The high slowly ebbed back into a throbbing need. Swallowing past the frustration, you followed her command like a puppy. You stood before her, body trembling with desperation.

“Kneel.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. Your knees landed on the wood, sending a dull ache through your thighs that you ignored in favor of looking up at the older woman, waiting obediently for her next order. She had you at her beck and call—you were wrapped around her finger.

Venable twisted those same fingers into your hair and pulled your head back. Your neck arched so she could look you in the eye directly. “Brats don’t get to cum,” she said softly, the gentle tone of her voice making your lashes flutter. “Be a good girl for me, darling.”

She used her free hand to heft the skirt of her dress up her legs. Your breath caught in your throat almost painfully. You were now faced with her bare cunt. She hadn’t been wearing any undergarments beneath the gown. Her flesh glistened, the heady scent hitting your nostrils like a musty perfume that only she could make smell so feminine.

It nearly made your mouth water. You licked your lips to wet them and nodded your head. “Yes, Ms. Venable,” you breathed, the oxygen rushing from your lungs like it, too, could not wait to taste the beauty in front of you. “I wanna be your good girl. Please.”

She hummed, pleased, and you swore you spotted the ghost of a smile. Her nails rubbed your scalp almost tenderly. “You do sound lovely when you beg, pet.”

A pressure nudged your head forward. You happily let your face be buried between her thighs. You nuzzled your nose along her wet flesh before parting her folds with your tongue. She tasted divine, like sweet nectar gifted from the gods themselves. It danced across your taste buds in a euphoric ripple.

A low moan thrummed through Venable as the tip of your tongue teased her opening before flicking over her swollen clit. It jumped and twitched under your strokes like the nerves were celebrating the attention. Gently you grazed your teeth over the sensitive skin and delighted in the shiver that her thighs cushioning either side of your head.

Dipping your tongue into her cunt, you pressed the tip of your nose against her clit, ensuring she remained stimulated while you feasted on the cream coating the inside of her pussy. Her slick slipped into your ravenous mouth and smeared across your lips.

Venable pulled you closer. A shudder ravished her entire body. “Such a good girl for me,” she sighed. Her muscles tensed and, sensing her impending orgasm, you doubled your efforts. You wanted nothing more than to have this woman squirming underneath your touch.

Your lips wrapped around her clit as you sucked it into your mouth with a gentle ferocity that had her thighs sharply clamping shut against your head. Her low moans heightened until you felt her convulse. Her slick flowed into your eager mouth as you licked up every drop she gave you.

She suddenly pulled you away from between her thighs. Keeping a firm hand in your hair, she yanked you closer and pressed her mouth against yours, her strong tongue immediately pushing past your wet lips. Your needy moan was swallowed by her kiss.

“You did so good for me, darling.” Her voice had taken on the husky tone of a woman in lust. Blood bloomed beneath her skin, glistening with a sheen of satisfaction. “Good behavior gets rewarded. Come here, pet,” she said.

Her hands cradled your waist as she nudged you forward. Your legs fell apart to make room for her thigh. The feel of her skin against your sensitive flesh pulled a small whimper from you. You rested your weight on her leg as she grabbed your hips to hold you in place.

She squeezed your waist. “Look at me, sweet girl,” she commanded gently. You did as she said, biting your lip as you refrained from grinding down on her thigh like an animal in heat. “Since you did so well for me, you’re allowed to cum, but not until I say so. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” you whined. “Please…”

“Good girl.” Venable applied more pressure to your hips, silently demanding you to start moving. You sighed pleasantly and rolled your hips. Your pussy slid along her thigh easily with no resistance.

Venable kept her gaze trained on you while you fought the haze that kept trying to cloud your own. Gradually she helped you move your hips faster until you were grinding on her leg properly, desperate and pathetic whines and whimpers and incoherent babbling replacing any lick of coherent language you knew. Heat burned in your lower stomach with the promise of an earth-shattering orgasm. You struggled to keep yourself on that edge, waiting obediently for her permission to let that coil snap.

She could see the desperation on your face, sense it in your movements, which were growing more frantic and less practiced. She hummed and grabbed your chin. Her thumb ran across your lower lip to free it from your teeth, and you didn’t think as you sucked it into your mouth.

“Does my pet want to cum?” she cooed.

You nodded pathetically, all words evading you. Tears fell from your lashes as you looked at her with a silent plea. She smirked and removed her thumb, replacing it with her lips as she pulled you into a passionate kiss that left your head spinning. Acting on their own accord, your hips jerked sporadically, that fire burning deep in your stomach reaching the temperature of a blazing inferno.

Venable hummed pleasantly at your pitiful babbles before whispering against your skin, “Cum for me, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel.”

White stars immediately exploded behind your vision. Fuzzy static replaced all noises. You felt your body convulsing, twitching, and jerking against her. It could have lasted only seconds, but to you, it felt as though your nerves had been lit with a torch and were exploding in a series of fireworks for at least an hour.

Her hand cradled your face when you started to come down, her thumb stroking your cheek. Even past your heavy eyes you could see the way her dark gaze shone with what seemed to be a sense of pride. It pleased you to know you had made her happy, that you had followed her commands like a well-trained puppy looking to please her master.

“Such a good girl for me, darling,” she murmured.

Then, suddenly, her demeanor shifted. A stoic expression covered the previously gentle look on her face. She squeezed your jaw firmly, making your eyes widen as they locked with hers. Your blood froze in a startling contrast to the elevated temperature of your body. Had you done something wrong?

Instead of degrading or insulting you as you thought she might in that moment, she instead let out an almost aloof sigh. “I think I have finally found a punishment that works for you, Miss (Y/L/N),” she said. “Now, I suggest you be on your best behavior from here on out. I will be watching you a lot more closely to ensure you don’t need a repeat lesson.”

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