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floral-and-fine · 2 years

Text

Red Heart

Michael Langdon x fem reader

summary: At the end of the world, the Reader finds herself in Outpost 3 with nothing more than a name. With no memories of her life before, stuck living underground with strangers, and only ally seemingly being the militant Ms Mead, she's surprised by the instant connection she has with the member of the Cooperative that arrives one day without any prior warning. It's not long before her past and ties to him are revealed.

warnings: some of the usual dark content like murder and killing, I guess. Surprisingly no smut, just fluff and romance.

a/n: This is my longest fic ever so far! I combined a new idea with an old idea. There are 2 different endings, which is another first for me. With both endings, the story is roughly 28,500 words. I’m thinking about writing a smutty one shot for Michael soon. Thank you @ewokiee and @steeevienicks for the help.

“So,” Evie started, arching her brow. “You really have no memory of your life before?” She pressed, her eyes looking you over as she sized you up.

The two of you were sitting on one of black leather couches during cocktail hour.

“Afraid not,” you muttered with a slight shrug.

“Hm,” she looked away, taking a sip of her drink. “Must make adjusting to all this,” she gestured to the room and the other people present while sloshing her glass of mineral water around. “Easier… Nothing from your past to miss, no previous life to long for.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.”

It was true, you couldn’t remember anything from your past. You didn’t even have any recollection of arriving at The Outpost. Two weeks ago, you had woken up in your room here, unable to recall anything except for your name. Ms. Mead was the first person you met, she had given you a quick rundown of where you were, what had happened, and the rules of Outpost 3 while she helped you change into a formal violet dress.

But Evie had a point, as the days passed the others became more strung out and restless, Coco’s hair changed daily, Gallant’s mood swings were more extreme, and they all complained from morning to night.

But, when they would speak of the world before the end, you had to admit you were a little envious. They’d talk about foods you’d never likely taste, weather you’d never feel, places you’d never see… having no memories was a blessing and a curse.

However, your curiosity was stronger than your envy, which is why you often found yourself sitting next to Evie, so you could listen to her stories. She was always happy to speak about herself and her past exploits.

Suddenly, two strangers entered the music room. You straightened out the skirt of your dress, your fingers running across the purple silk as you sat up straight. It didn’t go unnoticed that the two strangers were both dressed in purple as well.

You had quickly learned its significance in this new world. Purple meant you were part of the elite and that was your only clue to who you were before. You wondered if you had been an heiress like Coco or an actress like Dinah. But you had your doubts. Even Evie often commented that you were far too kind, too humble to have been anyone with any real clout or power. Which left you wondering why you were here, really, if you paid your way like the rest.

Eager to speak to new people, everyone stood up to greet the new meat. Gallant was quick to approach them and ask them questions about what the world above was like.

“It’s all gone,” the boy stated solemnly.

“Everything,” the girl added.

Ms. Venable soon joined the group, announcing it was time for dinner. Everyone followed her out to the dining room.

You took your usual seat and quietly waited to be served by the grays. You remained seated as Coco threw her fit over having to eat another cube. You jumped slightly when Ms. Venable struck Coco’s face. You hadn’t seen her lose her composure like that and it frightened you.

When Ms. Mead had shared with Ms. Venable that had no memory of who you were, she had questioned you repeatedly. You could see it in her eyes that she didn’t think you belonged. Ms. Venable believed you were unworthy of being a purple and hadn’t earned your spot here at this sanctuary. You were sure she was looking for a way to dispose of you.

Your eyes remained downcasted as Ms. Venable addressed the group. She shared that three of the outposts had already been overrun, there was only enough food for 18 months, and that the world above was beyond repair.

The Fist and a few other members of The Cooperative entered the dining room, The Fist whispered something to Ms. Mead.

“There’s a problem,” Ms. Mead shared. “We've detected a spike in the background radiation, centered in this room.”

Immediately Gallant pointed a finger at the newcomers who insisted they were clean.

“Place your hands on the table,” Ms. Mead directed, calmly. “And don’t move.”

Ms. Mead gave you a small reassuring smile as she came around with the Geiger Counter. Despite how the rest of the group felt about Ms. Mead, you found her presence comforting like you were safe with her around.

You watched wide eyed as Gallant and Stu were dragged away from the table. Moments later Ms. Venable dismissed you and the rest of the group.

You retired to your room and immediately started the shower to let the water heat up. Ms. Mead’s words about radiation and its effects were still swirling around your head. Stripping out of the dress, you left it on the floor as you bathed, washing every inch of your body.

The next day, you and the rest of the group learned Stu’s fate. Andre was inconsolable, sobbing as he mourned over the death of his lover.

At dinner everyone was surprised when instead of bland tasteless cubes, soup was served. Ms. Venable referred to it as bonne bouche.

You pushed the meat around with your spoon, you had to admit it smelled appetizing. Everyone else delved in, rejoicing over the flavor and taste. A few questioned the source of the meat and where the meat came from, but Ms. Mead insisted that it was chicken. Yet no one seemed truly convinced.

You were about to take a bite when Andre found a bone in his bowl. He quickly pushed his bowl aside, identifying the bone as a finger, immediately claiming that Stu had been served.

Most of the others reacted with disgust, silverware clattering on the table as they began retching and spitting the stew out. Andre leapt from his seat, swept up in an emotional outburst.

Ms. Venable attempted to reassure the group, stressing that there were some lines that should never be crossed.

Evie was the only purple unphased and continued to eat.

You calmly placed your spoon back down on your napkin, watching as the rest of the purples filed out of the dining room.

As you joined them in the music room, they were still talking about the strange supper, arguing over whether it had been Stu or not. Andre was still distraught as his mother tried to comfort him.

The arguing came to a halt as Emily shushed everyone when the music suddenly stopped. Gallant rushed to the radio as the song had changed. For two full weeks nonstop Karen Carpenter's voice had droned on and on, but now a new voice rang out.

‘There's got to be a morning after

If we can hold on through the night’

Gallant mistook it as a sign of hope, a message sent directly from The Cooperative that there was hope for the future, but 18 grueling months had passed since then.

Evie had run out of stories to tell. Andre’s tears had dried. Dinah’s advice had become stale and repetitive.

The days had all blurred together, then the weeks, then the months. Everyday was just like the last. You were desperate for something to change.

You often wondered, late in the night, if perhaps you had already died and this was purgatory or even hell, and that you were here to atone for the sins of life you couldn’t remember.

Ms. Venable tapped her cane.”This will be our last breakfast,” she announced. “We’re cutting back to one meal a day.”

You could feel the dismay and uneasiness in the room. Coco was first to share her complaints about the new arrangement, followed by Gallant. Both Evie and Dinah tried to be voices of reason, but it seemed to only fuel their frustrations more. Gallant jumped to his feet, and threatened Dinah with his fork.

Instinctively, you scooted closer to Ms. Mead as tempers rose. She looked towards The Fist, giving her a wordless order.

“I say we take our chances outside,” Coco’s assistant suggested.

“She’s right. We have to get out of here,” Gallant agreed.

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Ms. Mead stated firmly.

Gallant threw his plate, “What are you going to do? Shoot us all?”

The Fist made her way towards him.

You gripped your utensils tightly as the scene unfolded before you. You knew the members of The Cooperative wouldn’t hesitate to kill any one of you, the had done away with several people already.

Suddenly, red lights flashed accompanied with the blare of an alarm rung out, effectively catching everyone’s attention.

“Perimeter alert. There’s been a breach,” The Fist explained.

Ms. Mead sighed, giving you a curt nod, before following The Fist towards the stairs.

No one was sure what to expect. Most were thinking that this was it, that the outpost would be overrun like the others.

You probably should’ve felt worried as well, but frankly you were just glad something unexpected had happened, something to break the monotony. You stared up at the ceiling wondering who or what was up there.

That night you were restless, tossing and turning, legs tangled in your sheets as you tried to fall into a deep sleep that never came. Instead, your busy mind conjured vivid and unsettling dreams, full of unfamiliar people and experiences that you didn’t remember or you didn’t understand, almost like being in a foreign film.

Amongst all the nameless faces was a boy with blonde hair and striking blue eyes who appeared over and over again, catching your attention. As you watched him from afar he continuously changed from a child to a man.

You tried to get closer to him, reaching out with your hands trying to grab him, stop him, but each time he slipped away from your fingers with a pained look in his eyes.

When your eyes snapped open, your poor head was throbbing, pounding against your skull. You curled into a ball sobbing quietly over the pain and the new emptiness in your chest.

Everytime you closed your eyes you thought about that boy, it was almost as if you could feel his longing, his pain. You wished you could make out his face, but you could only recall pieces, like his fluffy blonde hair and the shade of his steel blue eyes.

…

He was beautiful.

He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen, not that you much to compare him to considering the only faces you could remember were residents here at the outpost. You knew you were staring as he strode into the music room, but you couldn’t resist. Even if you tried, you were sure that you couldn’t imagine anyone more perfect than the man standing before you.

Ms.Venable stepped aside as he turned and faced the survivors of Outpost 3.

“My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative,” the man stated, standing in the center of the room.

You were so engrossed with his appearance that you were unable to process his words, although you did notice the soothing sound of his honeyed voice, so sweet and rich. He exuded confidence and poise as he spoke of the horrors that had befallen the world and the few remaining survivors. There was a sort of haughtiness as he answered questions that you also admired.

It was unnerving, feeling attraction for the very first time. It was as if you could easily lose yourself to him, all of yourself, and that alone was very frightening. Surely, before the world crumpled, you must have felt this sort of magnetism towards people before, but you couldn’t imagine it was anything as powerful as this. Was this a crush? Love at first sight? Whatever it was, you weren’t prepared for how strong this pull would be.

Gallant volunteered to be interviewed first, obviously eager to earn his spot at The Sanctuary. Despite your immediate interest in Michael Langdon, you were not as eager to be alone with him.

How could you answer any of his questions when you didn’t know a thing about yourself?

But as the thought crossed your mind, Michael’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment it seemed as though his sauve and indifferent attitude faltered revealing something vulnerable and delicate beneath. Blue eyes that were cold and hard like ice were now swimming with emotion.

It only lasted for a second, his cool demeanor returning as he turned away from you.

“The process should only take me a couple of days,” Michael explained. “So you won’t be kept in suspense forever.”

“For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking,” he held up a vial containing white pills. “Down one of these. One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.”

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you,” his eyes swept across the room, his eyes locking with yours one more time before he took his leave.

There was a heaviness in the air as the weight of his words sunk in. There was no survival without admittance to The Sanctuary. Staying here would inevitably lead to death, it was just a question of how, by feral cannibals or suicide.

As usual, the others erupted into a squabble, arguing over who was worthy and unworthy of going to The Sanctuary.

You rose to your feet as you felt your headache returning. No one questioned you as you made your way out, towards the comfort of your bedroom.

Your head snapped towards your bedroom door as someone urgently rapped against it.

“Ms. Venable has requested your presence,” Ms. Mead announced from the other side. “She has a few questions for you.”

“I’ll be right out,” you sighed as your fingers expertly finished buttoning your dress.

Ms. Mead gave you a half smile as you stepped out of your room. The two of you walked quietly through the halls as she escorted you to Ms. Venable’s office.

This happened about once a month, and you dreaded it every single time. At first she was reasonably pleasant, but as the months went by, she became more hostile, frustrated that your answers never changed.

You took a deep breath as you both stopped outside her door. Ms. Mead got the door and held it open for you.

“Thank you,” you whispered to her as you crossed the threshold.

“Of course,” she nodded, but as she closed the door, she gave Ms. Venable a stern look, who glared back in return. There seemed to be a sudden rift between the two women.

You looked wistfully at the closed door, wishing that Ms. Mead had stayed. Ms. Venable cleared her throat and motioned to the chair across from her.

“Ms. Y/n,” she greeted you as you took your seat.

“Ms. Venable,” you replied, with a polite but forced smile.

“18 months,” she began, chuckling dryly. “We’ve been here for 18 months and you still claim to have no memories?” She phrased it as a question but didn’t wait for a response. “It’s almost too convenient, isn’t it? The perfect little lie to hide behind.”

“It’s not a lie,” you insisted, locking your eyes with hers hoping to show her you were telling the truth, just like you had all the other times before.

Ms. Venable wasn’t convinced, of course, that’s why she continued with these monthly interrogations. She had been present for the arrival of all the others, except for you. You seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, standing beside Ms. Mead in a satin gown as she introduced you to the other purples.

“So,” Ms. Venable continued, barely able to hide her contempt while she feigned sympathy. “No changes? Nothing at all?”

You looked away, your fingers playing with the lace trim on your skirt. You hadn’t planned on sharing that dream with anyone, but maybe it would get her off your back for a while.

“I had this… dream recently, I can’t remember all the details, but there was this face, it’s not a clear image, but it lingers in my mind, of a sweet boy with blonde hair. I know… I know whoever he is, that I love him,” you admitted.

Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to picture him, but no matter how hard you tried it was like trying to see through fog. And there were all these feelings that emerged just at the thought of him, completely overwhelming you, making it hard to articulate any further.

“I-I need to go,” you sniffled, your vision blurry as you got to your feet and rushed out the office.

Your headache returned, bringing waves of nausea with it. The world around you was swirling and rocking, the light of the candles and lanterns were blinding. Holding your hand out you steadied yourself with the wall, using it as your anchor and guide as you tried to return to the safety of your room.

“Ms. Y/n?”

Even with you squeezing your shut, you recognized the voice belonging to Coco’s assistant Mallory. She immediately offered you assistance, helping you sit on the floor.

“Thank you,” you muttered, resting against the cool concrete wall.

“Of course,” she said, sitting next to you.

You bent your knees, pulling them up to your chest. “I keep getting these headaches along with these strange dreams,” you explained. “I think they might have to do with my memories.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” she consoled. “Ever since being here, I’ve felt off too, like I’m not all here or I’m missing parts of myself… I have a feeling there’s a reason for it all.”

The two of you sat there in a comfortable silence. You had never really spent time with Mallory before, the grays were always so busy compared to the purples, but she seemed much nicer than most of the people who’ve gotten to know.

Mallory accompanied you back to your room, once you felt well enough to walk again. You still had to prepare for your upcoming interview.

….

The grays pulled the doors open and immediately closed them shut as soon as you stepped into the office.

Michael was waiting by his desk for you. An eager smile formed on his lips as he watched you timidly approach him.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” He said, gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk before he promptly moved to his own seat.

You swallowed thickly, your hands folded in your lap, you had spent hours agonizing over this interview. You wanted to secure a spot at The Sanctuary just like everyone else, but what could you say to convince him?

Ms. Venable drilled you every chance she got about who you are or were, she was obviously certain that you didn’t belong with the rest. Even the other purples had made it a habit, regularly pointing out to you that if you had been anyone important than someone here at the outpost should’ve recognized you, but none of them did. You were no one.

Then, of course, there was the whole other ordeal of you being infatuated with Michael Langdon, you were completely bewitched by his charm and beauty.

Your stomach was already fluttering uncontrollably simply because you were in the same room with him, alone. Your gaze flickered to him, briefly taking in the sight before you. His body language spoke volumes as sat there like a young king perched upon his throne, radiating elegance and authority.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Michael mused. “ Unlike your…companions, who have all been so loud and obnoxious,” he rolled his eyes. “Constantly pestering me, pleading their cases, and offering deals and bribes thinking I can be swayed by their foolish promises but not you, not even now, why?”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond.

“Could it be that you’ve already decided that you won’t be selected?” he speculated.

You looked away. “I’m nobody special or significant,” you explained, bunching your skirts in your hands. “I don’t even know why I’m here or how I even arrived at the outpost.”

“Ah, yes,” Michael hummed. “Ms. Venable has informed me that you have no memories of your past.” He gave you a hard look, before leaning forward, his fingers drumming on the desk. “Have you considered that perhaps you’re here because someone special, someone powerful, made these arrangements for you?”

You shook your head, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind at all, but it wasn’t an unreasonable idea. “If that were true then wouldn’t that person be here with me now?”

Michael shrugged, resting his elbows on the armrests as he leaned back and crossed his legs, “Unless they weren’t able to get here in time, perhaps they died on their way to the outpost or worse, survived… but who knows maybe they did make it, maybe they’re here and haven’t told you.”

“Why would someone do that?” Your eyes moved from Michael to the files on his desk, could it really be that one of the others knows who you are. “Do any of your files mention anything about why or how I ended up here?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” he replied with a mocking smile, laying his hand on top of the stack, a playful look in his eye as he stared down at the pile.

Your shoulders slumped, you had hoped that Michael would have some answers for you, but instead he just planted more questions and worries in your head.

“How do you feel about them, the others?” He asked offhandedly, casually changing the subject, while slightly swiveling his chair side to side.

You perked up at the question. “Oh, Evie has been a friend, someone to talk to, to confide in,” you said with a small shrug. “And Ms. Mead, even though she keeps her distance from us, she’s been a source of comfort for me, someone I can trust.”

Micheal snickered, shaking his head, “You’re the first to say anything remotely kind about the other survivors. The rest were all so quick to share with me the ugly and disgraceful truths they had gathered about one another. It’s… a refreshing change.”

He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on your face as his finger traced down the side of his face to his jaw. Your eyes followed the gesture, mesmerized, it seemed unfair to try to have to concentrate with him right in front of you. Every movement he made, no matter how small or fleeting, was alluring, like he was tempting you.

“Do you find me attractive?” He asked, his eyes lighting up with delight as he watched you squirm.

Your eyes widened, twisting your silk skirt with your hands, it was as if he could read your mind.

“Tell me,” Michael urged with a smirk, rising from his chair and slowly striding towards you. “What exactly do you like about me?”

He partially sat on his desk right in front of you, his hands clasped in front as he waited.

You parted your lips, licking them nervously. “Everything,” you answered in a small voice.

“Everything?” He repeated, lifting his brow. He leaned closer towards you, his long golden hair falling forward like a curtain, his face inching towards yours.

You nodded, your eyes locking with his as you craned your neck towards him.

“I believe you,” he whispered, his breath tickling your face as his nose touched yours. “Too bad we’re out of time.”

You blinked in surprise as the large black doors slid open.

Michael straightened out his posture, before turning away. “We’ll speak again, soon,” he added as he headed up the staircase.

You wandered the halls, head in the clouds, daydreaming of the kiss that almost happened between you and Michael. You were certain now that whatever you were feeling was more than a crush.

“Ms. Y/n?” Ms. Mead started as you almost walked into her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you gasped, feeling embarrassed as you suddenly returned to planet Earth.

“Everything alright?”

You giggled, “I’m fine, never better.”

She gave you an odd look, “Are you sure? This morning you didn’t look too well.”

You smiled warmly at her, “It was just a little headache, that’s all.”

She nodded, still not completely convinced. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Ms. Mead.”

She sighed, straightening out her coat as you both stood there in the middle of the empty corridor. You were about to ask what was on her mind, but suddenly she opened her mouth.

“Have you talked to him yet? Mr. Langdon?” She asked.

“I have,” you replied, trying not to smile too wide.

She looked down. “The others seemed worse off after talking to him,” she shared. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to my turn.”

“Why?” You inquired, voice laced with concern. “Surely your hard work and dedication to The Cooperative should guarantee you a spot.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth,” you assured her.

“What do you make of him?” Ms. Mead asked, unsure how to feel about the newcomer, he was with The Cooperative afterall and her loyalty to her employer was still strong. She had followed orders and had done the best she could in these circumstances. Perhaps, this Langdon did hold the key to salvation.

“It’s hard to put it into words,” you began to explain. “But I feel a connection to him.”

“Just keep your wits about you,” she advised, giving you a slight nod as she left.

…

You were moving sluggishly, having spent most of the morning in bed trying to recover from another headache. While the pain lingered, your head no longer felt like it was going to explode.

Slowly, you pulled open your wardrobe and shifted through your options wishing there was something comfier and easier to wear instead of all these complicated dresses.

You eventually settled on a simple tea gown which you were able to wear without a corset. As you were tying the back of the bodice, someone knocked on your door.

“Ms. Venable?” You questioned, stepping back as she invited herself into your bedroom.

“Close the door,” she ordered, standing tall with both of her hands clasping her cane.

You pushed the door closed, but remained far from Ms. Venable. She had never dropped in on you like this, and you didn’t like it. It felt too invasive, seeing her in your room acting as if she owned the place. You knew nothing good would come from this visit.

“I want you to tell me more about the boy,” she demanded, her dark eyes boring into yours.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Hiding something?” She probed.

“No,” you objected. “I’ve already told you everything I could remember.”

“Surely that’s not all,” she argued, giving you an incredulous look.

After what Ms. Mead shared with her about the beautiful boy, Ms. Venable was now convinced that the two of you were speaking of the same boy. The way you both reacted emotionally while speaking of your love for him made it obvious.

Now the big question was who was this boy?

Since the beginning, Ms. Venable had suspected that there was a connection between Ms. Mead and you. This only solidified her suspicions that you and her knew each other from before, most likely through The Cooperative.

This had to be why Ms. Mead had protected you, you were the one that should’ve been killed instead of Stu. But Ms. Mead had decided otherwise, despite the clear orders Ms. Venable had given her. No one would have cared or even noticed if you had died. You were an outlier, something unpredictable to the order she had created here. She wanted you gone.

“Think harder,” Ms. Venable commanded, glaring at you. “Who is the boy?”

“I don’t know,” you pressed your back against the wall.

She slammed her cane on the floor. “Worthless girl,” she snapped. “You have no idea what’s at stake here.”

You had to know something. The order she had worked so hard to cultivate was beginning to crumble, it was all in jeopardy because of the arrival of Langdon. He was pulling it all apart at the seams, revealing her lies and planting the seeds of disobedience. He brought chaos and disorder into her outpost while repeatedly undermining her authority. She needed to regain some sort of control, before it was too late.

“What?” You furrowed your brows, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. “I don’t understand, what does he have to do with anything?”

Ms. Venable practically snarled, “Liar.”

You jumped slightly as your door suddenly opened, revealing Michael standing on the other side.

“Ms. Venable,” he began. “I’ve been waiting in my office for quite some time…I still have questions for Ms. y/n,” he explained, folding his arms behind his back.

Ms.Venable glared at Michael, clenching her jaw tightly, her hands practically shaking with irritation over the sudden disruption.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he warned.

Ms. Venable didn't budge, she didn’t like being played for a fool, you knew more than you were letting on and she could see now that there was something going on between you and Langdon.

Micheal smirked, obviously amused.“I think it’s time for you to leave,” he stated, taking a step to the side gesturing for her to go.

She huffed, her cane tapping on the floor as she finally took her leave.

“Mr. Langdon,” you said softly, tilting your head.

“Michael,” he corrected.

“Michael,” you started again. “I wasn’t aware we were meeting again so soon.”

He smiled, directing his attention to you. “I wanted to continue where we left off yesterday. And now that Ms. Venable is gone, we can.”

Your face flushed as you recalled how your interview with him ended. You could still picture his face just inches from yours, his lips parted as you leaned in towards him. You had wondered if you had just a minute or two longer with him, what would’ve happened? Was he really going to kiss you?

“What are you thinking about?” He looked around your room, before approaching you, his hands wrapping around your elbows as he pulled you towards him.

“Nothing,” you answered in a small voice.

He laughed lightly, “I’m sure it’s not nothing.” His fingers curled tighter around your arms. “Let’s see… does it have anything to do with me?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

He smirked triumphantly. “You don’t have to be so nervous about that,” Michael mused. “I want you to think about me… to want me. Do you want me?”

You nodded again, not trusting your voice.

“Good,” he murmured. “Considering how we might end up the last two people on Earth.”

You furrowed your brow as Michael reached up, his knuckle running along your cheek.

“Which brings me to why I’m here,” he continued, lowering his hand making you immediately miss his touch as it left your skin. “I have important news, news that I wanted to deliver to you in person.”

He focused on your face with a serious look, “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room, do you understand?”

“Yes,” you promised.

Michael leaned down, his lips right by your ear. “You’ve been granted a spot at The Sanctuary.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. You couldn’t believe it.

He smiled, placing his index finger over your lips. “This is our little secret.”

His finger lingered on your skin for a moment before he reluctantly released you. Smoothing out his coat, he gave you one last look, before leaving you there speechless.

…

The complex multi-level underground structure of Outpost 3 was prone to creating strange moving shadows. It wasn’t dark figures following you in your peripherals. The fire and candle light that lit up each room and passage were unable to reach all the far corners.

It was eerie at the beginning, constantly feeling like you had to look over your shoulder, but eventually you got used to it, like you did with the cubes, the complicated clothes, and the same song that played every damn day. It just became part of your reality.

But lately you began to feel as though you were being followed by more than just the usual shadows, this new dark figure seemed more real, more solid.

At first you blamed your mind, thinking it was playing tricks on you or mistaking the shadows for a real person. Since you weren’t getting much sleep, because of the vivid dreams and the horrendous headaches, it didn’t seem unreasonable to suspect that you might be hallucinating.

You couldn’t shake the feeling, however. Unlike the shadows, it seemed to have more mobility, slinking along the walls or even the ceiling, watching you, but you were never able to get a good look at it. A few times, in the middle of night, you had jolted awake swearing that you had felt someone in bed beside you.

You felt like you were losing your mind.

Walking past the large fire in the atrium, you hoped that things would be better at The Sanctuary, less dreary and hopeless like the outpost had become. The change in scenery alone would be a welcomed change.

You sighed thinking about what Michael had said about it just being you and him, you wished he had elaborated.

Out of nowhere, you saw a dark figure move above you, against your better judgment you followed it, going up the stairs to a vacant room.

You stood there frozen as a shadowy figure stood across from you. It tilted its head, staring at you. Its body was covered head to toe in latex.

“Who are you?” You asked.

It didn’t answer.

“Michael?” You took a step closer, observing it more closely, wondering who or what it could be dressed like that. Your eyes wandered over its body, the tight fitting material left little to the imagination.

It moved forward as well, extending its hand and caressing your cheek similar to how Michael had done earlier, but the texture of the latex on your skin made your skin crawl. It lacked the warmth and comfort Michael’s touch had brought you. The same touch that had excited you earlier, the same touch you craved to feel again.

You squirmed as it laid its other hand on your waist. Desire radiated from its body as it pulled you closer.

Fingers drifted up towards your chest. Your heart began to race, panic settling over you as you speculated what the strange creature would do next.

The hand that had caressed your cheek trailed towards your neck. You inhaled sharply as its large fingers wrapped around your neck.

Firmly you pushed it away from you.

It tilted its head the other way, watching you attentively. For a moment you were worried that you had upset the person or creature, but it simply walked past you and out the door, seemingly satisfied.

You stumbled backwards until your back hit a wall, releasing a shaky breath you had been holding in.

The interaction was so odd and brief, that you couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. But something deep down told you it was a test. That Michael was testing you.

Breathing in deeply, you tried to regain your composure. You knew it didn’t have any sort of malicious intent, it was more that you felt repulsed by the idea of anyone other than Michael touching you like that.

You hoped you had seen the last of it.

…

You were in the library when you heard that Evie had passed. You sat there for hours, in silence, as you tried to process the news.

Gallant was at least courteous enough to find and tell you that she had died, emphasizing that she had died peacefully in her sleep. He held a somber expression, trying desperately to appear upset, nodding his head as he expressed that she had lived a long and fuller life than most. Too bad the crocodile tears he managed to muster were wasted, you were so despondent that you weren’t really listening anymore as he cried.

You weren’t sure how to feel about the situation, she had been a friend to you when you had no one, but you weren’t blind to her boasting and egotistical nature. You sure that in life she had more enemies than friends, even her own grandson barely seemed to tolerate her.

There would be no funeral, no ceremony celebrating her life or to mourn her, everyone would just move on without a second thought.

Your head shot up as you felt the couch dip beside you.

Michael crossed his legs and propped his arm up on the back of the sofa, resting his head on his hand, as he turned his body towards you.

“You’ve heard the news, I assume?” He asked, in a gentle tone.

You nodded as tears finally streamed down your face. Suddenly it all felt more real, now that Michael was here. Evie was really gone and your world seemed smaller now because of it.

He rested his free hand over yours as you cried freely, his thumb caressing circles on the top of your hand. It took several minutes before you were able to compose yourself.

“I know she wasn’t anyone’s favorite person,” you sniffled. “She rubbed people the wrong way, made everything about her, but Constance was my-“

You stopped speaking as you realized your mistake.

Constance?

The name had slipped from your lips so easily, like you had said it many times before, but that made no sense, you didn’t know anyone by that name, or did you?

Michael paused, his entire body becoming stiff as he peered at your face.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head. “I don’t know where that came from. I’ve been getting these headaches and having the weirdest dreams.”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Perhaps, it’s your mind preparing itself for when your memories return. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

You wiped your face, and inhaled deeply, “Thank you for being here with me.”

“Of course,” he murmured, shifting in his seat and taking the hand he was holding and moving it to his lap. He reclined his head on the back of the sofa as you scooted closer to him, laying your head against his shoulder.

Michael stared at the chandelier, watching flames on the candles flicker with a pensive expression, his hand holding yours tighter as his thoughts drifted back to memories he had forbidden himself from revisiting.

He had changed and grown so much over the past couple of years, but having you back by his side invoked so many emotions and memories. You were always there when he needed you, when he wanted you.

He felt like such a monster after Grandma’s death. It left him wondering whether people were incapable of loving him because he was so wicked, evil. But you stayed with him, comforted him, loved him. You had knelt down beside him on the wooden floors, letting him cry upon your shoulder as you held him close...

Michael blinked a few times, holding back tears. “You should get some rest,” he managed to say in an even tone.

You stretched your arms over your head and nodded. Your entire body felt heavy. Once you arrived in your room you collapsed on your bed, passing out, too tired to dream.

…

Michael closed his laptop and rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t focus on his work. The events from earlier had opened the floodgates, leaving him feeling like he was drowning inside.

It was becoming such a struggle to keep you at arms length. Even without your memories he could see that you were still drawn to him, that you still cared for him, and it was taking all of his self restraint not to take advantage of that.

There was nothing he wouldn’t give to have things like they were… to listen to you talk softly as you played with his hair or to reach out and hold your hand whenever he needed to.

But it was still too soon, he still had to keep you safe.

He glanced at the trunk that held the few belongings he brought with him to the outpost. Laying on top was a book of yours, your favorite book. You had read it to him so many times that he grew to love it as much as you did.

Closing his eyes Michael could picture the last time you read it to him, as clear as day, back in the old mansion. It was the middle of the afternoon, his head was resting on your belly as both laid together in his room, your nails were scratching his scalp. He had fallen asleep before you reached the end…

For nearly two years he tried to read it, but he never got very far, it was only a good book when you were reading it.

Michael was sitting in front of the fireplace, head resting against his hand as he gazed into the flames. A worn book sat on his lap, forgotten. Just a few more days he kept reminding himself, he had worked so hard to get to this point, but soon he’d have everything he wanted.

He turned his head as you opened the door and peeked in.

“You wanted to see me?”

“That’s right,” Michael nodded, rising from his seat and taking a few long strides towards you. “I’ve heard you’ve read most of the books available in the library.”

“Not much else to do,” you smiled slightly, shutting the door behind you.

“Would you like a new book to read?” He asked, looking down at you. “I have a feeling, you’ll really enjoy this one.” He dangled the book that had been on his lap in front of you.

You tilted your head, giving him a wary look, but as soon as you reached out to accept it, he pulled it away with a smug grin.

Micheal tutted, shaking his head. “Not so quick, there’s a catch,” he teased, holding it over his shoulder. “If you want to read it, you have to read it to me.”

“Read it to you?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, getting closer to you.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered.“Why?”

“So many questions,” Michael chuckled. “If you really don’t want to, I could ask one of the others, Gallant, maybe? Or Coco?”

“I’ll do it,” you blurted out, the thought of him asking someone else smacked you with a bout of anxiety, making your heart jump into your throat. Again you made a reach for the book, and this time he allowed you to take it. With a smile, he relinquished the hardback book to you, and headed back towards the fireplace.

Gracefully, he shucked off his black coat and laid it on the back of one of the chairs. As you were about to sit on the other armchair, he stopped you and offered you his hand, guiding you to the rug on the floor.

You knelt down on your knees first, before trying your best to get comfortable on the floor. The tight bodice and large skirt on your dress limited your mobility.

You were caught off guard as Michael joined you, resting his head upon your lap as stretched out on the carpet. His face looked up, his attention all on you as he waited for you to start.

Clearing your throat, you opened the book to the first chapter and started reading. Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his arms laying across his chest as you read in a soft and steady tone.

Michael was right, you immediately became engrossed in the story and attached to its characters. Time passed comfortably between the two of you as if this were a regular occurrence or activity. Absent-mindedly, you played with Michael’s hair, casually twirling the silky strands around your finger. He slowly opened his eyes gazing at the fireplace with the same vulnerable expression you had briefly seen before.

He snatched your hand, curling his fingers around your palm, with a firm grip he placed your hand on his chest holding it there with both of his.

You stopped reading, and looked down at him. His head was still turned away from you, long blonde locks covering the side of his face. You could feel his heart beating under your touch. Your fingers slowly grasped the front of his shirt. Laying the book down, you reached out and tucked his hair behind his ear.

Michael closed his eyes and gave a long drawn out sigh before immediately sitting up.

“Michael?”

He didn’t answer as he got to his feet.

Just then, two grays abruptly slid the large black doors open. Ms. Venable appeared heated, her lips forming a scowl as she stared daggers between you and Michael.

“It’s time for dinner,” Ms. Venable reminded sharply. “You’ve already missed cocktail hour.”

Michael stepped in front of you, protectively, blocking Ms. Venable’s view of you.

“My apologies,” he said, though his expression said otherwise.

Ms. Venable pursed her lips, her hand balling into a fist. Michael narrowed his eyes, standing tall, almost daring Ms. Venable to say something else with him present. Finally, she averted her gaze.

He lifted his coat from the chair and slipped it back on effortlessly. “I’ll escort her down.”

Michael waited until she left, before he helped you up. He still appeared irritated over the intrusion, acting unusually quiet.

You placed your hand on his upper arm, guiding him to face you. Michael raised his brow as he looked down at you, a faint smile forming on his lips.

Offering you his arm, he led you downstairs.

…

Ms. Venable gathered everyone in the music room, purples and grays, under the guise of an emergency meeting. All eyes were on her as she began to speak of the hardships endured by all during the past months.

“I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration,” she announced. “Which is why this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill, we will have a Halloween soirée.”

Gallant and Coco were the only ones to react with notable excitement. The rest of the purples seemed to question the real purpose of this masquerade.

You couldn’t help but notice the lack of Evie’s big personality in the room, the other purples seemed so dull by comparison. You missed her witty comments and humor. She probably had some interesting stories relating to Halloween.

Gallant, perhaps reading your expression, added how it was a shame his grandmother wouldn’t be present. However, he did a piss poor job of pretending to be sad. You wanted to roll your eyes at the comment, but resisted.

With everyone present in one room, with the exception of Michael, you were reminded that you had been selected for The Sanctuary. You were curious about who else Michael had chosen.

You glanced briefly at Ms.Mead, if it were up to you, you would pick her to join. She was far more useful and resourceful than the others, and could handle stressful situations with a cool head from what you had witnessed. To you she was simply one of the best this Outpost had to offer.

“I encourage you all to use your imaginations, to create what I am sure to be exquisite costumes,” Ms. Venable continued.

Once again the only ones who appeared happy about this whole ordeal were Coco and Gallant. It seemed strange for Ms. Venable to be acting so out of character, for her to care about something as frivolous as Halloween or making amends to anyone. There had to be more to it all.

Before dismissing everyone, she stressed, “Attendance is mandatory.”

The day of the masquerade, you had spent most of the day primping and preening hoping to look your best for the night. Even though it seemed unlikely, a part of you was holding out hope that you would see Michael tonight.

You did a little twirl in front of the full length mirror in your room. You were wearing a full length dark purple gown with an off -shoulder neckline made of silky ruffles.

Arriving in the music room, you spotted Ms. Mead who entered with a cart carrying apples. You felt a flutter of excitement, watching as she started to add them to a a barrel of water. They looked so appetizing. The others began to gather around, stunned that there was fresh fruit.

Looking at their faces as they stood around the barrel, you realized that you had left your mask upstairs. While they were all distracted with the fresh apples for the party, you snuck away and headed back to your room.

Lifting the skirt of your dress, you hurried back up the steps, but slowed down immediately when saw Micheal standing on the landing. His hand was resting on the bannister, as he gazed down at you.

“Are you heading downstairs?” You asked as you made your way up.

Michael chuckled, “Afraid not.”

“Oh,” you said with a sad smile, trying to hide your disappointment.

He offered you his hand as you took the last few steps up. Michael’s lips curled into a sneer as he examined you and your dress.

“Such an ugly color,” he criticized, his finger grazing over the dark purple fabric. “Doesn’t suit you at all.”

You glanced down at it, “There’s not much variety when it comes to color in my closet.”

He hummed, his hands undoing his scarf. He held it up to your face, before wrapping it securely around your neck, “Now red,” he murmured. “Red looks good on you.”

You could feel your face heat up over the small compliment.

Michael sighed as he took a moment to admire you, then leaned down, his lips close to your ear. “I bet you’d look even better in black.”

He pulled back. “Come with me,” he invited.

You bit your lip, looking back towards the stairs leading down to the music room.

He shook his head and reached for your hand. “No one will even notice you're not there.”

“But Ms. Venable said attendance was mandatory,” you whispered, playing with one end of the scarf.

Micheal frowned, his grip on your hand tightening, “I thought you’d want to spend time with me.”

“I do,” you said quickly.

“Then why are you hesitating?” He inquired, his voice steadily rising. “I can give you whatever you want, they can’t.”

You cupped his cheek, you hadn’t seen him become so emotional before, “I just wanted to try an apple, that’s all, but I’d rather be with you.”

He examined your face, his eyes practically staring straight into your soul. “That’s all?” He asked softly.

With a deep breath, his calm and confident façade returned. Lacing his fingers with yours, Michael led you to his room.

He motioned for you to have a seat on his bed, before he bent down and unlatched a black chest that was on the floor. From the chest he produced an apple.

Michael held it out towards you, it was a deep rich red color and unblemished. It looked perfect. You only hoped it tasted as good as it looked.

“Go ahead,” he urged, sitting by his desk and watching intently as you brought the apple to your lips.

You moaned as you bit into it, savoring the satisfying crunch and the sweet taste as juice dribbled down your chin. You took several more bites, giggling a little as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

You suddenly felt self conscious as you realized Micheal was still watching, his gaze firmly fixed on you.

“How is it?” He asked, shifting forward as he moved his elbows from his chair onto his knees.

You hid your mouth behind your hand as you swallowed, “Delicious.”

“Is that right?”

“Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I can think of something that tastes better,” he leaned forward, tilting his head and stroking his hand against your cheek and down to your neck as he pulled you closer. “It’s time for you to come back to me, y/n.”

His soft lips brushed against yours, before parting. His tongue lightly trailed over your lower lip, tasting the juice from the apple. You melted against him, your apple slipping from your fingers and falling to the floor as you held onto him. You closed your eyes, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you from falling.

Who would’ve thought a kiss would be so powerful?

***flashback***

Micheal sat by the window, anxiously awaiting for your arrival. When grandma had shared that she was going out for the evening, and that you would be the one coming to watch him, he immediately perked up with excitement.

“How much longer grandma?” He whined.

“Not much longer,” she replied, patting the top of her grandson’s head.

Constance felt like she had hit the jackpot when you started sitting for her. After the last few babysitters, who had unfortunately met their demise here in her house, she feared that she’d never be able to go out alone or get a moment’s peace without having to add one death on her already guilt ridden conscience. But after that first night, when she entered her home and saw you alive and well with Micheal beside you just as happy as he could be, she honestly felt like the luckiest woman alive.

“Now remember to behave yourself, Micheal,” Constance started. “We both like Ms. y/n very much, don't we? It would be such a pity if she wasn’t around anymore.”

Micheal nodded his head, “I’ll be good.”

Now, Constance was no fool, she had her suspicions as to why her grandson made an exception when it came to you. The little dear had a crush on you, his first crush. It was truly sweet, watching him moon over you, almost made Micheal seem like a normal boy.

“She’s here!” Micheal shouted, jumping out of his seat to greet you at the door.

“Hi, Micheal,” you laughed as he wrapped his arms around your middle, squeezing you tightly.

“I missed you,” he mumbled, face pressed into stomach.

“I missed you too,” you rubbed his back as he squeezed you even tighter.

Constance smiled, grabbing her purse, “I’ll be back at 10. Have fun you two!”

“We will!” You replied, waving as she headed out.

You crouched down, onto your knees, looking Michael eye to eye, “Why don’t you go pick out a movie, okay?”

Micheal nodded, rushing into the living room, and grabbing the TV remote before flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the channels.

Micheal was by far the easiest kid you cared for, he followed your instructions, never had a tantrum or fussed, and always seemed so happy when you were around.

There had been rumors circulating around the neighborhood that made you hesitant about accepting the position. Everyone had heard about the deaths in the house, of course, but rumors were now spreading about how those nannies and sitters were actually murdered. However, after getting to know Micheal and Constance, you were glad you took the job. There was no way this sweet little boy could’ve hurt anyone.

He may have had some odd interests, but he just seemed so innocent.

“What movie did you pick?” You asked from the kitchen as the popcorn finished popping.

“The Omen,” he answered.

“Are you sure you want to watch that one? It’s pretty scary,” you warned.

“I’m sure.”

You shrugged, curling up on the couch beside him with a big bowl of buttery popcorn. You didn’t mind his interests, no matter how strange they might be to others. In your opinion, watching a horror movie was way better than watching The Wiggles or whatever else kids were into these days.

After a while, you grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and covered your legs. Michael’s eyes were glued to the screen, but he managed to snuggle closer to you as you shared the blanket with him.

You winced as the nanny jumped, the noose successfully snapping her neck. It had been a few years since you’ve watched this particular horror classic. Usually you weren’t so jumpy, but it took you by surprise.

Michael shifted in his seat and looked at you. “It’s not his fault, right?” He asked in a small voice.

You raised your brow, and sat up, grabbing the remote and turning the volume down. “What Michael?”

“Damien and the stuff that’s happening, it’s not his fault, right?”

You looked back at the TV screen and thought about it for a moment. It was an interesting question. Damien is the son of the devil, but he’s still a child after all, and children are innocent and still learning about right and wrong. The contradictory nature of Damien’s existence is part of what makes the film so captivating. Makes the viewer wonder about all the evil people in the world and where it all went wrong for them.

How much of Damien’s circumstance was his fault? He didn’t ask to be born, he had no control over who his father was… Does he understand that his desires are evil? Is he compelled to act on these impulses without choice? Does he have free will?

You could feel Michael’s gaze on you as you mulled it over. His eyes examined every little feature and movement your face made. His small hands gripped the knees of his pants as anxiety built up within him as he waited for your answer.

“It’s complicated, I think,” you said. “It’s not all his fault but some of it is.”

Michael laid back on the couch as he processed what you said. “I’d never hurt you, y/n.”

He didn’t want you to end up like the others before, they didn’t come back and he was fine with that, but he’d feel terrible if that happened to you. The thought of you being gone forever made him feel a lot of things, sad, angry, lonely… he would never hurt you.

…

“Well, don’t you look nice,” Constance complimented as she opened the door and invited you in. “If you had other plans, dear, you didn’t have to come.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “I wouldn’t call being stood up plans.”

“His loss, Honey,” Constance reassured you, giving you a small pat on the arm.

You had been waiting alone at the restaurant when Constance called you, you immediately accepted. You figured speanding time with Michael was better than going home alone to mope over some dumb guy anyways.

“Where’s Michael?” You asked, surprised he hadn’t already bulldozed you with a hug.

Michael peeked his head from around the corner, he was blushing bright red the moment he saw you. You never looked so pretty before. You were dressed up like a princess.

You tilted your head and smiled, “Why are you being so shy, silly?” You knelt down with your arms wide open.

Michael rushed over, looping his arms around you.

“Sorry again about your date, dear,” Constance consoled you as she grabbed her coat.

“I’ll be fine,” you laughed as she headed towards the door. “I’ve got Michael to cheer me up.”

He pulled away from you beaming, “I can do that.”

You smiled back at him and winked, “Why don’t we start our night with some ice cream?”

He nodded eagerly following you to the kitchen.

“So you were on a date?” Michael asked, hopping onto one of the stools at the breakfast nook.

“Sort of,” you shrugged, getting ice cream out of the freezer and setting it on the counter to soften. “It’s not really a date when the other person doesn’t show up.”

“Is dating like getting married?” He inquired, swinging his legs back and forth.

“No, not exactly,” you answered without missing a beat, juggling your conversation while opening the fridge and grabbing the chocolate syrup and whip cream. “Dating is more of a step towards getting married, people date to figure out if they want to marry the person.”

Michael nodded, “What do you do on a date?”

“Oh, all sorts of things,” you grabbed bowls from the cabinet. “Watch a movie, go out to dinner, walk in the park, just any activity where I can talk and get to know the other person.”

“Are we dating?” Michael asked with an earnest look.

You paused, still holding the bowls, as you turned around to face him. The question caught you completely off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we do all those things together,” he explained. “We eat together, watch movies, play at the park, talk…”

You laughed, “you’re right, we do do all those things together.”

“So we’re dating?”

You sighed, fishing through the drawer for the ice cream scooper. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we’re not.”

“Why not?” He asked, concern written all over his face. “Don’t you like me?”

“Of course I do,” you murmured, handing him a bowl and a spoon and ruffling his hair. “But when it comes to dating, you should pick someone that's the same age as you.”

“Grandma doesn’t,” he said bluntly.

You bit your lip, trying hard not to laugh or smile, he wasn't wrong. You took a moment to think about your next words carefully. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you have to be an adult.”

Michael sighed and nodded, picking at his food. He hated all those ‘when you're older’ things. “So will you date me when I’m an adult?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind dating an ugly old lady,” you teased.

“Don’t say that,” he declared, his blue eyes fixated on you, full of determination. “You’ll always be beautiful.”

You smiled and kissed his forehead, “Thank you, Sweetheart.”

…

Michael was overjoyed, his prayers had been granted overnight. He had gone to bed wishing, begging, to be older, to be an adult. He was so desperate to be with you, he never wanted anything so badly.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his fingers examining his older face, he turned his head side to side, wondering if you would still think he was cute.

Constance was still so rattled from the shock of finding a full grown Michael asleep in his small bed, that she hadn’t been able to stop shaking all morning.

Michael couldn’t wait to show you the new him. He bounced downstairs to find grandma, she needed to call you, invite you over right now so you could see.

When he first asked, she made up an excuse saying you were too busy, but as days passed he began getting more and more irritable, throwing tantrums, whining and crying for you to come over.

She disconnected the phone. That pushed him over the edge. He screamed, yelling that he hated her, while yanking the phone and cord off the wall.

But she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk Michael calling you or you calling the house.

Constance was worried for your well being, how could you accept what she couldn’t, if you refused him after what he did for you, how he grew up just for you, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to end your life. In a strange way, you represented the last small piece of humanity that Michael had. It would be a shame if he snuffed it out.

He couldn’t sleep, he was still so angry, why was grandma doing this to him. Why was she being so mean? He balled his fists, breathing fast. He didn’t want to listen to her anymore or follow her dumb rules or do anything she says…

Michael seemed to have blacked out after that, because the next thing he knew his hands were wrapped around his grandmother’s throat. He gasped, tears falling from his eyes as he finally let her go.

He didn’t mean to.

The next day Constance called the priest. She had no other alternatives. She had never in her life been so afraid. But when that fell through, and she saw the priest dead on the floor, she finally snapped.

…

All morning you kept looking at your phone, thinking any minute it would light up and ring. When you hadn’t heard from Constance, you became concerned. Typically you watched Michael at least three days a week, if not more. But by the time the afternoon rolled around, and you still hadn’t heard a thing, you decided to call.

You tapped your foot anxiously as you held your phone to your ear, but your stomach dropped when a robotic voice informed you that the line was no longer in service.

Dropping the phone, you immediately bolted out the door. Fortunately, you lived nearby as you began to sprint towards their house. Your mind was racing, as you assumed the worst had happened. You prayed that they were both safe.

You came to a sudden stop, as you stood across the street from their house, a young man emerged from the front door in a hurry. He seemed completely distraught, walking barefoot, tears streaming down his face, eyes bloodshot.

You jogged towards him. “Are you okay?” You asked, voice laced with concern.

He lifted his head at the sound of your voice. “Y/n?” The man gasped, immediately reaching out for you.

You took a few steps back, the poor boy looked like you had just punched him in the gut.

He started crying harder, “Don’t you recognize me?”

You narrowed your eyes, gently placing your hands on his cheeks, directing his face side to side, so you could get a look at him. He was beautiful, gorgeous even, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and clear blue eyes.

“Michael?” You whispered. Looking into his eyes, you knew it was him, even though it was impossible.

“Grandma’s mad at me,” he wailed, his hands clinging to your shirt as he buried his face against your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him, stroking his back.

“Will you take care of me, y/n?” He sobbed.

“Of course-“ you stopped talking as Constance came outside.

Her face was hard and stoic as she watched you and Michael before she motioned for you to come into the house.

“Let’s go inside,” you murmured, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

At first Michael didn’t budge as he looked over his shoulder back at Constance.

“It’s alright,” you encouraged him, taking his hand and walking back to the house.

Constance forced a smile as she greeted you, “You’re taking this better than I did.”

She gave Michael a cold look, who immediately looked down at his feet as he shuffled into the house.

Once inside, the reality of the situation sunk in as you sat across from a full grown Michael, who was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. He stared up at you full of adoration.

“So you’re older now…” you began.

He beamed, “Yep! I did it for you.”

“You… did this for me?”

Michael nodded, his eyes still red from crying.

“How?”

He shrugged, “I just wished for it really really hard. I never wanted anything more.” His face turned serious,

“So what do you think?”

“What do I think?” You repeated. You were still trying to figure out why he did this for you. You glanced at him and saw his hopeful expression. “I think… you look very handsome.”

“So you like it?”

“Of course, I do. You did it for me.”

The next day Constance invited you over. Michael was still in his room when you arrived. She seemed tired, distant, expressing that she wasn’t up to going out.

“Y/n, dear,” Constance laid a hand on your shoulder. “Mind taking Michael out for a bit? Could do him some good to get out of the house.”

“Sure,” you nodded, before heading upstairs. Outside Michael's room you could hear the TV, the sound effects gave away that he was busy playing a video game.

“Hey Michael,” you said, leaning against the doorframe to his room. “Want to go out with me?”

“Like a date?” He perked up like a little puppy, dropping his video game controller on his bed.

“Sure,” you laughed. You had never seen him move so fast as he scrambled to his closet and grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and a jacket, putting them on in record time.

“I’m ready,” he said eagerly, taking your hand in his and practically raced down stairs with you stumbling behind him. “Bye Grandma!”

It felt odd, not in a bad way, just different.

Michael was obviously adjusting to his older body. He wasn’t used to being so big or strong, and he was still behaving with the same amount of energy as a boy would, like holding your hand with all his might.

He blushed as you explained that he had to loosen his grip a little because he was so strong now, but you still found his enthusiasm endearing.

“So what would you like to do today?” You asked him.

“Let’s go to the park, then have milkshakes,” he said animatedly.

The two of you walked to the neighborhood park, taking a small stroll around the pond watching the ducks swim. Suddenly Michael bolted towards the playground, dragging you behind him.

“The swings are open!” He shouted.

“Michael,” you half laughed, half shouted, trying to keep up with him.

“Come on,” he said, letting go of your hand and grabbing the swing chains. “I’ll push you!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, embarrassed.

“Please,” He rocked the swing side to side. “It’ll be fun!”

You shook your head as you finally relented, unable to resist his puppy dog eyes.

He grinned, holding the swing steady as you sat down. “Hold on tight,” he whispered in your ear before he started pulling the swing back.

You giggled as you swung forward then back again, his hands catching you each time and pushing you higher and higher. Michael was busy enjoying himself, listening to you laugh as he pushed you harder, he forgot to pay attention to how hard he was pushing you and accidentally pushed you too hard.

You fell forward, landing on your hands and knees. Hissing, you moved so you could sit properly. You bit your lip, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you tried to bend your knee to get a better look. You had a large gash that stung.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he whispered, kneeling in front of you. Michael’s heart was hammering in his chest, he had never seen you upset before… your pain, your tears, hurt him more than the angry words his grandma had shouted at him yesterday.

“I’ll be alright,” you said, mustering up a smile for him.

Michael winced watching the blood drip down your calf. He thought about how the other nannies and sitters bled when they made him mad, they didn’t come back after that. Would you leave him now too?

You scanned the area, hoping there was a bathroom or drinking fountain nearby so you could at least wash some of the blood off.

“Here,” Michael said, taking a hold of your leg as he thought of a way to fix it. “I’ll kiss it better.”

“You don’t have to-“

But he pressed his lips to your knee before you could stop him. The kiss lingered longer than the quick peck you had expected him to give. His eyes were closed, deep in concentration. Lifting his head, he licked the smear of blood off his lips.

“All better,” he chirped.

You ran your fingers over your knee, the cut was gone leaving your knee looked as good as new. “Michael, how did you…”

You dropped the subject as you looked up at him, golden hair shining in the sunlight as he sat back in the grass. It seemed stupid to ask, healing your knee was probably easy compared to changing his age or any of the other strange things he had accomplished.

“Can we go get a milkshake now you?” Michael yawned. “I’m hungry and tired.”

“Sure,” you replied, still dazed.

He held out both of his hands to you, helping you up off the ground, and immediately laced his fingers with yours as he started leading the way.

Michael insisted on sharing a milkshake with you, explaining he had seen couples doing that on TV. The two of you found a table near a window by the corner.

“Want the cherry?” You asked Michael, using the tip of your straw to push it to his side.

Right away he plucked it from the cup and popped it into his mouth with the exception of the stem. “Thanks,” he grinned, still chewing.

“You’re very welcome,” you leaned forward taking a big sip.

Michael bounced, “This has been the best date!”

You chuckled, “It really has been great.”

Out of nowhere, he leaned across the table and kissed your cheek. It was a quick and innocent little peck, but his face was beet red when he sat back down. You bit your lip thinking about how cute he was acting.

Walking home, Michael smiled, a full genuine smile, his eyes lighting up as he gazed down at you. “I like being taller than you,” he laughed.

You smiled back at him, your hand clasped together with his, swinging them between you. As you entered the house, you immediately noted how quiet it was. Something was wrong.

“Constance, we're back,” you called out as you closed the door. You waited for a reply, but all there was was silence.

“Michael,” you said softly, turning to him. “Wait right here, I’m going to go upstairs. Your grandma is probably just taking a nap.”

Michael watched you as you went upstairs, he didn’t understand why you seemed so distressed. He tried to wait like you had asked him to, but Grandma was probably just next door. She did that sometimes.

He looked out the window towards the vacant house then back toward the direction you had gone. He could be back with Grandma before you’d even realize that he had left.

“Grandma?” Michael called wandering into the large old house. He furrowed his brow, running towards the couch when he saw her. “Grandma?”

His heart sped up when he saw her.

“Grandma,” Michael crumbled to his knees. “Hey, wake up.” With shaky hands he held her.

She didn’t move or breathe, her heart had stopped beating… Michael knew a dead body when he saw one, she was gone. This was all his fault, he drove her to this. There was something wrong with him.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, hugging her lifeless body. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh God,” you covered your mouth as you finally found Michael and Constance. “Michael,” you stumbled towards him, immediately taking him in your arms and cradling him against you.

“This is all my fault,” he sobbed, curling his knees to his chest, hands clutching your arm. “I’m a monster.”

“No, you’re not a monster,” you soothed. “You didn’t do this.”

You rocked Michael in your arms, your eyes surveyed the living room, there was an empty pill bottle left discarded on the nearby coffee table along with a glass of liquor. You couldn’t understand why she would kill herself.

“I-I should call someone,” you said, trying to hold yourself together.

“Don’t call the police,” a man’s voice advised seemingly out of nowhere.

You snapped your head around and stared wide eyed at the dark haired man who just appeared out of nowhere. He was sitting in one of the arm chairs, legs crossed with relaxed posture.

“They’ll just take Michael away. You don’t want that do you?” He asked you in a calm voice.

You shook your head, your sweet Micheal had been through enough already, “Who are you? I thought this house was vacant.”

The man blatantly ignored your questions and continued, “You should go pack Michael’s things, He’s going to be staying here with us for a while.”

Michael’s hands gripped you tightly. “Will you stay with me?” He croaked.

You could feel the man’s eyes on you, observing your reaction closely. Gently, you wiped Michael’s eyes, then tilted his head up. “Of course, I’ll stay with you.”

Michael sniffled, “Forever?”

You swallowed, glimpsing at Constance’s lifeless form then back to Michael. “Forever.”

The man stayed with Michael as you went next door. You felt like you were on autopilot as you folded his shirts and packed them into a duffle bag.

Your life was about to change drastically, but you couldn’t refuse him. You couldn’t just abandon him when he needed you the most, especially not after the only family he had killed herself.

You knew Michael was different, very different, but he still needed someone, someone that could accept and love him even with all the terrible and strange things that came with him… he needed you.

It didn’t take you long to piece together that Ben and the others in the house were ghosts, or perhaps they preferred spirits.

Living in a haunted house took some getting used to. Michael adjusted faster than you did, you were secretly grateful that he wanted to share a room with you, so at least you weren’t alone at night.

It was unnerving seeing them from the corner of your eye, only for them to disappear when you turned your head. Ben was the only one you had officially met so far, but you were aware that his family along with many others were trapped in the house.

Michael quickly began to view Ben as a father figure. They spent a lot of time together playing games and having long conversations.

You were happy that Michael was opening up to someone. From what you had gathered Ben was a psychologist, you hoped that he’d be able to help Michael, especially with the trauma of losing Constance.

…

You were doing laundry and other little chores around the house while Michael was busy with some father and son bonding with Ben.

As you were getting clothes out of the dryer and into a wicker basket, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Looking up, you saw a young man with blonde hair like Michael’s staring at you from the doorway.

Clutching Michael’s yellow t-shirt, you stared back at the man, who then sneered and simply vanished. You stayed planted there for several seconds as you wondered who he was.

“Don’t let him get to you,” a woman’s voice said gently. You whipped around to see a woman with long strawberry blonde hair.

“He won’t do anything,” she explained with a half smile. “Probably more curious than anything else.”

You furrowed your brow, “Curious about what?”

“You,” she answered. “And about why you’ve stayed.” Her eyes traveled to the shirt in your hands. “Guess some of us are just surprised you’ve stuck around.”

“Because Michael’s different from everyone else?” you questioned.

“That’s one way to put it,” she sighed and leaned against the washing machine. “He’s… he acts differently around you. You mean a lot to him.”

Looking at her sorrowful expression, it seemed like there was something she else wanted to say. You jumped as a baby began to cry.

“I have to go,” she said, excusing herself.

You sighed, shaking your head, living with ghosts was like having a bunch of eccentric roommates sometimes. You dropped Michael’s shirt with the rest of clean laundry in the basket, then knelt down to lift it up. Walking into the living room, you found Michael and Ben.

Michael sprung off the couch and darted towards you.

“So what did you and Ben do today?” You chuckled.

“We just talked,” he replied, taking the basket from you. You waved to Ben before you and Michael headed up stairs.

“Oh, about what?”

Michael shrugged, “Just stuff.” He paused mid-step and cleared his throat. “You look really pretty today.”

You bit your lip, face heating up a bit. Despite all the compliments Michael gave you daily, he had this way about him that made you believe every little one, even on a day like this where you were dressed in just joggers and a tee.

“Thank you, Michael.”

…

Ben was gone.

Michael sat there between the bodies, crushed as another parental figure abandoned him. Questions ran through his mind. Why did everyone leave? What was wrong with him? How could he do these things?

Sniffling, his eyes widened as you stepped in. His pulse spiked and he began to panic. He didn’t hear you come back to the house.This wasn’t part of his plan, you weren’t supposed to see this.

You were quiet, so quiet with a vacant look in your eye as you stared at all the blood on the floor.

Ben, Tate, grandma had all yelled at him, they called him a monster or a freak or a coward, but you didn’t say a word.

You had seen what he had done, seen the bodies for yourself. You looked at him with a sadness in your eyes that Michael couldn’t bear. You simply retreated back up to the room you and him shared.

Tears spilled freely down his face as he sat on the floor. Michael had never been so scared in his life. Were you in there packing your belongings? Were you going to leave? What would he do without you?

That’s why he had to kill them in the first place, because he didn't want to be separated from you. There was no other way. The new owners would call the police once they found out you and him were living there, and the police would take him away from you.

Michael had noticed how stressed it had made you too. He could sense your worry, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. From the very moment the realtor took the for sale sign down, you and him both knew everything was at risk.

He just wanted to keep that from happening, he was happy here with you, happier than he had ever been. So he killed the new owners and got rid of them for good, this was his home now.

He curled into himself, hands over his head as he wailed.

“Michael?” Your voice was so soft that he didn’t hear you at first when you returned. “Michael, you should change.”

He peeked up, surprised you came back. You kept your distance, not crossing the threshold as if there was an invisible barrier. “Y/n?”

“You should change out of that,” you said again, looking at the black latex suit he was in.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay,” he nodded, slowly getting to his feet.

Going into the bathroom, he noticed you had set out some clean clothes for him to change into.

Even though you were waiting for him in the room, the fear of you abandoning him hadn’t left. Michael hadn’t expected it when his grandmother left him. Were you just waiting for an opportunity to leave him? Lull him into a false sense of security then abandon him when he least suspects it?

Michael shook his head, you wouldn’t do that.

“She’s not going to leave,” he whispered to himself before he pulled the clean white t-shirt on and the pair of pajama bottoms you had picked out for him.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed when he emerged from the bathroom. You weren’t acting like yourself and it worried him. He noticed you hadn’t moved a muscle since he went in, you had just been staring at your hands the whole time.

Michael’s fingers curled and uncurled as he awkwardly stood there. Wishing he knew what to say or do to make things right.

“I’m sorry,” he started suddenly, falling to his knees in front of you. “I just didn’t want to be taken away from you. I didn’t want to leave this house.” He took your hands in his, looking up at you with genuine concern.

You nodded, you were able to piece that much together. Michael was scared and he handled the situation the only way he could, the only way he believed would keep you and him together. It was just a lot to process.

Michael was your sweet boy, you never would have believed he was capable of something so terrible, but what was even more frightening for you was how you seemed to just accept it so easily. You weren’t mad or upset at him. Logically, you should’ve wanted to be far away from him after seeing those bodies on the floor, but looking at his face, you still cared for him, loved him.

“We should get some rest,” you suggested.

Michael swallowed thickly, climbing into the bed beside you as you turned out the lights.

He couldn’t sleep, he was afraid that if he closed his eyes you’d take the chance and leave him in the middle of night. You felt both of his hands grip the back of your nightgown as he pressed his forehead against the center of your back.

His mind kept returning to the fact that you had seen the truth, what he was capable of. Why did things have to change?

“Michael?” You could feel him tremble against you as he started sobbing again. When he didn’t respond, you tried to sit up, but that only made him cry harder while his fingers curled tighter, trying to keep you from leaving.

“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

He finally loosened his grip.

You rolled over onto your side. Laying face to face, you brushed away his tears.

Even in the dark, Michael thought you were the most beautiful person in the world. Always so kind and loving, he wanted to keep you forever.

“Come here,” you said, opening your arms to embrace him. He rested his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

“I’ve hurt people, not just the ones from earlier,” Michael admitted, swallowing thickly. “And I think I’m going to keep hurting people.”

Your fingers soothingly scratched his scalp as you held him close. He took in a deep breath, working up the nerve to finally ask the questions that were truly bothering him.

“Can you still love me?” He asked in a small voice. “Even though I’ve done bad things?”

“I don’t think I could ever stop loving you,” you answered without pause. “It’s a little scary for me to think about, that’s all.”

“You’re scared of me?” He asked, hurt evident in his voice.

“No, I’m not afraid of you,” you reassured him, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s just that loving someone this much is scary.”

“I love you the same way,” Michael explained. “I’ll never stop loving you, y/n.”

…

The house was unbearably warm.

The heat left you drained, barely able to lift a finger, even though you just woke up. You kicked the sheets off but remained in bed, even that small action left you feeling exhausted.

You laid there, still, listening to the hoarse caws of the crows that seemed to appear overnight. They lingered around the house, circling it at night.

“Y/n?” Michael called. You usually didn’t sleep in so late, it was almost the afternoon.

You smiled weakly at him, “Morning.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” you stretched your arms over your head on the bed. “And warm.”

Michael didn’t seem bothered by the strange heat that seemed to smother you. The air from the basement all the way to the attic was hot, there was no escaping it.

“Can you get me some water?” You croaked.

Michael nodded, heading downstairs and quickly returning to you with a glass of ice water. You shamelessly drained the glass, droplets rolling down your chin and neck.

“Thank you,” you murmured, handing him the empty glass, before falling back onto your pillow.

He stood there for a moment, wondering if there was anything else he could do. You looked so miserable, strands of your hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, your nightgown hiked up to cool your legs.

Going into the bathroom, he prepared a washcloth with cold water. The bed dipped as he sat next to you, tenderly he dabbed the washcloth over your face. You hummed appreciatively, extending your neck as he moved it lower. He stroked the cloth over your collarbone, then down closer to your chest.

He watched it rise and fall, hypnotically, your skin looked so soft, so tempting. Ben had talked to him about these kinds of feelings, about men and women and romantic love. He had said this was the kind of talk all fathers should have with their sons. He has seen Michael wanting to be closer to you, his desires to feel your skin against his. Ben assured him that it was natural and a completely normal part of growing up. But Ben had also made it clear that there were lines Michael couldn’t cross, lines that if he didn’t follow, he would end up hurting you.

Michael sighed, pulling his hand away. Folding the wash cloth, he laid it on your forehead before leaving.

…

Michael headed downstairs when he heard the front door open. You were still in a deep sleep as he tiptoed out of the room. He paused, finding three uninvited guests were standing in the entryway by the staircase.

“I am in the presence of my Lord,” the man gasped and bowed. The two women behind him followed in suit.

“Who are you?” Michael asked, tilting his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I am Anton LaVey, Black Pope of the Church of Satan,” the man introduced himself, then turned to his colleagues. “And there are my cardinals. I faked my death to prepare for this day.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michael walked slowly down the steps. “What’s going on here?”

“We followed a dark start from the west,” one of the cardinals explained eagerly. “The signs were impossible to miss: the temperature in this house, a home built over the portal to Hell, and the crows worshiping from above.”

“The omens are complete,” the other one added. “You’re the chosen one.”

“The time has come to remove the scales from your eyes, to show you your true power,” Anton stated.

Michael smiled, full of excitement, “Alright, just make sure you’re quiet, y/n is sleeping.”

…

You woke up to the sound of hail falling on the roof. It frightened you at first. Instead of the typical soothing sounds of rain or hail, this was louder, more violent, like large stones crashing from the sky.

You wondered if the storm was the source of the strange dreams you had all night, now you could only recall the screams from them.

Slipping out of bed, you walked to the window drawing the curtains. The night sky was a strange color, dark red clouds hung above the house coupled with a full red moon. You watched the bizarre weather outside, red rain mixed with rock sized hail. The storm seemed to at least alleviate the constant heat in the house.

Turning around, you noticed Michael’s absence from the bed. Wrapping a white sheet around your shoulders, you wandered downstairs to find him. Reaching the dining room, you found Michael with three strangers wearing black and red cloaks.

There was blood on the table and floor, but no body.

Michael beamed at you and offered you his hand, “y/n, I’ve got something to tell you.”

The Antichrist, it should’ve come as more of a shock, but with all the insane things that have happened lately, it made sense. It also should’ve changed how you felt, but it didn’t, Michael was still Michael. While there was no doubting the evil he was capable of, you still saw all the good, all the love.

How could you hold it against him?

Michael laid there, eyes wide open as you slept beside him. He knew his mother was coming, that she planned on ending his life.

The woman hadn’t bothered to speak to him, see him, and just like the rest of his supposed family, she was going to hurt him too. Sadly, he was no longer surprised by any of this.

He could feel her approaching, a knife held tightly in her fist as she prepared to bring it down and end his life. Without having to move a muscle, Michael conjured up flames that ignited around Vivien’s feet.

Her screams jolted you awake. Another spirit, the one you had briefly seen before, saved her while you tried to stop Michael.

“She was going to kill me,” he argued.

You saw the knife discarded on the floor for yourself. This house was no longer a safe place for Michael or yourself. The same day you and Michael left the old mansion.

…

Living with Ms. Mead wasn’t what you had expected. It was surprisingly wholesome with meals shared at the dining table and family outings every weekend. If it wasn’t for the satanic altar, you’d probably forget that she was a satanist altogether.

Ms. Mead treated you both well. Welcoming you into her home as if you and Michael were family. At first, you had been worried that she wouldn’t accept having you around, but she was just as warm and friendly with you as she was with Michael.

“What do you think?” Michael asked as he emerged from the bathroom in a black t-shirt and black jeans. Ms. Mead had taken him shopping for clothes. Michael was excited to show you what they had picked out.

You sat the nail polish on the nightstand as you sat up, giving Michael your full attention.

“Black looks good on you,” you approved, looking him up and down. The outfit definitely suited him, much better than his old clothes.

He smiled, obviously proud of his choices. “What were you doing?” He asked as he joined you on the bed, criss crossing his legs.

“I was just painting my toenails,” you shrugged.

Michael gently touched your calf, his fingers tracing over your skin down to your ankle, while he admired your freshly painted toes.

“Want me to paint yours?”

He yanked off his boots and socks, tossing them on the floor and causing you to laugh. You rearranged yourself so you were sitting on your knees. Michael’s pale boney feet rested on your thighs.

“What color do you want?” You asked.

“Black.”

He laid back on the bed, feet on the head board as he wiggled his toes while he waited for them to dry.

“Read to me,” Michael requested in a whiny tone. “Please,” he added quickly as you lifted your brow.

You grabbed the worn book, opening it to where you left off, but before you started reading Michael interrupted you.

“Here, lay next to me,” he offered, wiggling to the other side of the bed to give you room.

You stretched out beside him, side to side, and started reading. It didn’t take long before Michael’s head was on stomach and his arm draped over your hips as he cuddled against you. He closed his eyes listening to the sound of your voice as it lulled him to sleep.

You tucked the bookmark back into the book and sat it on the bed. Absentmindedly you ran your fingers through his hair.

Over such a short time, he had changed so much, and not just physically, he was acting older, demonstrating maturity and restraint, although he still had his moments like this where he wanted to be held and babied. But, you figured, everyone had moments like this even if they never ask for it.

You perked up when you noticed Ms. Mead standing in the doorway. How long has she been watching?

“Let him sleep,” she said softly.

Carefully you moved Michael and covered him with a blanket, then followed Ms. Mead into the kitchen. She had the tea kettle on the stove.

“You really do love him, don’t you?” Ms. Mead asked, looking at you curiously. While she had been courteous towards you, she was curious about the true nature of your relationship to Michael.

You tilted your head, wondering where this was coming from all of a sudden.

“I’m just surprised,” she explained. “Not many people could accept him for what he is, even more so, someone who isn’t a follower of his father. But I’m glad to know that you truly care for him.” She motioned for you to have a seat at the table, and placed a cup of tea on a little saucer in front of you.

You thanked her, before gently blowing on the hot cup and taking a sip.

“He obviously adores you, which is why I allowed you to come with him,” she continued, taking her seat across from you with her own cup. “Guess I just feel protective of him already, wanted to see for myself if you were just stringing him along.”

You laughed slightly and shook your head, “I know what you mean, I was worried about you too. But you treat him just like a mother would, and I know he loves you for it.”

You and Ms. Mead smiled at each other while you finished your cup of tea. Your smile grew wider as a sleepy Michael slowly staggered into the kitchen.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

“Of course, dear,” Ms. Mead obliged.

…

Michael had been arrested, leaving you a complete mess waiting at the station with Ms. Mead. The police

refused to let you see him no matter how much you begged and pleaded.

You were sitting in the lobby, staring at the assholes who wouldn’t let you see Michael, when a man dressed in a fine suit with a black hat came in, he strode right past the officers and straight to the holding cells with one of the guards leading the way.

A few minutes later the well dressed man and Michael were heading directly to the exit. You immediately followed them out.

You cupped Michael’s cheek, thumb caressing the red swollen mark by his eye. “Did they do that to you?”

“It doesn’t hurt too much,” he reassured you, placing a hand on your waist.

Ariel cleared his throat, standing next to a black vehicle, “Michael it’s time for us to leave.” His gaze landed on you, a small sneer forming on his lips.

Michael nodded, opening the car door for you.

Ariel’s eyes went wide, “I’m afraid she can’t come with us. Our school is exclusively for warlocks.”

“Then I won’t be going,” Michael stated flatly, slamming the car shut.

Ariel’s jaw dropped, “I saved you… I’m offering to take you to a place where you can flourish… where you can reach your full potential. You’re going to throw that all away for some woman?”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “I’m not leaving her, ever,” he stressed.

Ariel scowled, grinding his teeth, he was considering using magic to force Michael in the car, but if Michael truly is the Alpha, like he suspects, then it would be suicide. His eyes darted to you, if he attempted to do anything to you, it would be safe to assume that the consequences would be even worse than death.

“It’s not like you’ll never see her again. A boy’s school just isn’t the right place for a young lady to be,” Ariel reasoned.

“The only place for her is with me,” Michael said, raising his voice. The two men stared at each other, it was clear that Michael wasn’t going to budge on the matter.

“Fine!” Ariel relented, yanking the car door open and getting in. It wasn’t going to be easy to get others to go with this foolishness, but he couldn’t afford to let the Alpha slip through his fingers.

Michael pulled the door open and waited for you to slide into the backseat before he scooted in after you. He placed his hand over yours, possessively, eyes fixated on Ariel as cold anger radiated off of him.

The school wasn’t what you had expected. The underground structure was large and warm, but despite the size and construction, you couldn’t help but compare it to a cave. Already, you missed fresh air and sunlight as you followed Ariel, Michael still holding your hand for comfort.

When Ariel introduced Michael to the group, he didn’t say a thing about you, just sort glazed over the fact that you even existed despite the puzzled gazes of the male students and staff.

After a short tour, you and Michael were led to the room you both would be sharing in. Once inside, Ariel finally addressed you, giving you a few simple rules, as he put it, to follow.

You were never to wander the school without an escort. You had to keep your distance from the other students and take your meals at different times than everyone else. Finally you had to wear a uniform, it was similar to the boy’s uniform, but instead of slacks, you had a full length skirt.

Ariel left the two of you to get settled in and gathered the others in his office to explain the situation.

“So,” John Henry mocked. “Our supposed Alpha, the one who will overthrow The Supreme and lead us to the top, can’t be without his little girlfriend?”

Ariel huffed, “I understand the girl is an inconvenience, but she’s just a minor obstacle. Michael won’t need her now that he’s here with his brothers.”

“Doubt it,” John Henry muttered, taking a quick puff of his cigarette. “Did you see the way he looks at her? She practically walks on water in his eyes.”

“We just need to separate them, wean him off her slowly,” Ariel explained. “Then he’ll discard her.”

“I don’t know,” Behold said, shaking his head, “Love and devotion is a powerful thing.”

John Henry rolled his eyes, “Right, because the 4 of us know what that’s like… none of us have ever cared about anyone but ourselves.”

…

You helped Michael straighten his bow tie, then brushed his hair out of his face.

“Perfect,” you chirped, taking a step back to admire how handsome he looked in his school uniform.

He smiled, fixing his lapel before his hands ran down the front of his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Ariel and the others are expecting me,” he started. “But they haven’t told me what we’re doing.”

It’s been only a month since your arrival, but from what you had gathered, Michael took to magic like a duck takes to water. Everyday he surprised you with a new trick or spell. Just the other day he surprised you with a beautiful white rose turning the petals pitch black right before your eyes.

“I’m sure whatever it is, you’ll be amazing.”

“Wish they’d let me bring you,” he muttered, pouting a little as he looked at his reflection.

You shook your head, “I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”

Michael brought your hand to his chest, Ariel had been keeping him so busy with classes and studying that he felt like he barely had time for you lately.

He didn’t appreciate being treated like a fool. He knew what his ‘brothers’ were up to, trying to keep him busy as if he’d just forget about you because he has homework. None of them could ever perceive the depths he’d go for you, hell, not even Michael fully knew how far he’d go to keep you by his side.

Grudgingly, he released your hand, he didn’t want to have to listen to some lecture about tardiness from Ariel. And knowing Ariel he’d figure out a way to put all the blame on you, while making some snide comment about women and their inability to be punctual. The whole battle of the sexes between the warlocks and the witches was getting old.

Later that day, Michael returned to you with a bloody nose and his body completely drained of energy. You rose from your seat at the desk as he collapsed on the bed still dressed.

First, you went to the adjoining bathroom, retrieving a damp washcloth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you gently dabbed the dried blood from his face.

“How did the meeting go?” You asked. “What did they want?”

“To evaluate me,” he explained, his eyes half lidded. “I passed,” he smiled weakly.

“I’m so proud of you,” you said, scooting you to the end of the bed and undoing the buckles on his shoes, before slipping them off his feet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and snuggling against his pillow.

…

You watched Michael, his body was completely tense, stockstill, except for the hand that was drawing rapidly without pause. It was like he was in a trance, listening to a voice that you couldn’t hear.

Michael couldn’t let the witches leave. Ariel and the others were useless, unable to convince the council, but Michael could, he would prove to them just how powerful he is.

He gasped suddenly, taking you by surprise. Looking down, he admired his work, the Hotel Cortez, the gaping mouth of hell.

Michael turned to face you, “I have to leave, but I won’t be gone long.” He smiled triumphantly, “I found a way to show them I’m the Alpha, that I’m the next Supreme.”

It was easy for him, of course, like taking a casual stroll through the park. One of the benefits of being the Antichrist, he figured, having dominion over hell and all evil places born from it.

First he rescued Queenie, freeing her from the hotel, then they made a trip to Madison Montgomery’s personal hell. With his proof in tow, he returned to the school.

Watching Cordelia pass out from the shock brought him more satisfaction than he anticipated, but hearing her admit that he could be the next Supreme was even sweeter.

He stood there holding his head high with you at his side. While Cordelia addressed the group, sharing her vision. It was ironic that a vision warning her of the end, was the final straw, finally convincing her to allow him to attempt the Seven Wonders.

“In two weeks' time, at the rise of the blood moon, you will take the test of the Seven Wonders,” she announced, eyes locked with Michael’s. “That is, if you still want to.”

Everyone turned to face him, awaiting his decision. He glanced at you, squeezing your hand tightly before letting it go as he approached Cordelia.

“I do.”

Myrtle Snow knitted her brow, it hadn’t escaped any of their attention that there was a woman on the side of the warlocks.

“My dear,” she began, getting your attention. “Why are you here? You’re not a witch, are you?”

“I’m not,” you shook your head with a polite smile.

“She’s with me,” Michael stated firmly, hands clasped behind his back as his gaze pierced Myrtle’s.

“Of course, he’s got a girlfriend,” Madison rolled her eyes.

Cordelia inhaled deeply as she returned to the matter at hand. “No male has ever made the attempt,” she warned, redirecting the conversation to the matter at hand. “And if you succeed, you will be the next Supreme, and it will change everything.”

On the cusp of the blood moon, the warlocks gathered to celebrate Michael. He almost threw a fit when Ariel informed him that you weren’t permitted to attend, adding that attendance for the ceremony was strictly warlocks.

Ariel’s hands balled into fists as you talked Michael down, convincing him that for this type of occasion it was polite to respect tradition.

Ariel was displeased that his plan wasn’t working. Michael’s attachment to you was still strong, the same as it was when he first arrived at the school. What good would it be to have an Alpha that bent to the will of a woman?

Michael insisted that tomorrow night you were present for the Seven Wonders, going as far as threatening to not perform if you weren’t there.

When Ariel finally relented, Michael followed him downstairs for the ceremony.

John Henry fled after the blessing. The following day when the witches had arrived to observe Michael’s abilities, John Henry still hadn’t returned. None of the other warlocks questioned his absence, instead they were focused on the daunting task at hand, hoping Michael could accomplish what no warlock had ever done before.

Michael passed each test with ease to the dismay of the witches and to the satisfaction of the warlocks.

Telekinesis, Concilium, Transmutation, Divination, Pyrokinesis, Vitalum Vitalis… Michael made them look like child’s play. With each challenge Michael impressed you more and more, accomplishing magic that you had never imagined. His eyes would lock with yours and he’d smile triumphantly after each task as you cheered and congratulated him with the rest of the warlocks.

Descensum was the final test and the most perilous. Michael was the only one who didn’t seem worried about the outcome.

Unexpectedly, Cordelia added an additional condition, Behold was the first to object, the others soon followed. She requested for Michael to retrieve someone from the depths of hell, someone who failed this exact test.

“That’s impossible. Those who don’t return from Descensum are gone forever,” Behold defended. “Property of the underworld.”

“No other Supreme’s been made to this, ever,” Baldwin added. “This is not only unfair, this is suicide.”

“Enough,” Ariel spoke up with some urgency. “Cordelia, I need a word.” The Supreme and the Grand Chancellor retreated into his office for a private discussion.

You tugged on Michael’s sleeve to get his attention, then guided him to the corner furthest from everyone in the room.

“What is it?” He asked gently, immediately noting the anxious look on your face.

“This sounds dangerous,” you started, fingers clutching his jacket sleeve tighter. “And now they’re making it even harder…”

He stepped closer to you, his hands cupping your face. “I can do this.”

“But what if you get trapped there like that other girl,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“That’s not going to happen. I’m stronger than she was,” Michael assured you. “Trust me.” He dried your eyes.

Taking your hand in his, he led you towards Ariel’s office. The doors opened revealing Cordelia and Ariel inside.

“It’s okay,” Michael smiled. “I’ll get your friend back.”

Returning to the music room, Michael prepared for the final test.

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum it salutaret inferi,” he chanted laying on the floor. You were right beside him, on your knees, while everyone else stood in a circle around him. “Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum it salutaret inferi, Descensum.”

You stayed seated by Michael as his eyes closed and his spirit descended to the underworld. The others got comfortable, finding seats and idly conversing with each other.

Time seemed to slow down as you waited with bated breath for him to come back. The thought of losing him scared you more than anything ever had. Your whole life revolved around him.

Michael gasped, drawing in a deep breath as he sat up immediately. You pulled him into a tight hug, relieved that he returned to you. His energy obviously spent as he rested against you like a rag doll.

The others gathered around. The witches automatically taking note that Misty hadn’t returned.

“Well that’s that,” Madison said, crossing her arms. “C'est la vie.”

“This was not a fair test,” Ariel objected, concerned more with having lost the opportunity for a male Supreme than the harrowing task Michael had just been through.

“What happened?” Cordelia asked. “Where’s Misty?”

Michael gave her a sideways glance, his face partially resting on your shoulder as you held him close, he looked at her disinterested before he buried the rest of his face in the crook of your neck.

“Isn’t it obvious, darling?” Myrtle spoke up. “She’s right where she’s been.”

Suddenly dust manifested in the form of a woman’s body. Cordelia fell to her knees as Misty was revived.

As the witches tended to their sister, the warlocks helped a weary Michael off the floor. He leaned against the table for support, still catching his breath from his recent excursion to hell. He reached out for you, placing his hands on your waist, as you stood between his legs with his head on your stomach, he drew comfort just by being near you.

Michael straightened up as he felt Misty’s eyes upon him, his hands still lingering on your waist. His jaw tensed, noting her fearful expression. But before Misty could say anything, Cordelia stumbled back and her nose began to bleed.

“Oh my God,” Cordelia whispered.

Misty went straight to her side, “What’s happening?”

“What always happens when a new Supreme rises,” Ariel interjected.

“The old one fades away,” Behold explained.

“We demand what’s ours,” Ariel added.

Myrtle scoffed, “You’re a pompous ass.”

Michael stepped forward, an air of confidence and power about him. “I did everything you asked,” he started. “I descended into Hell, and I did what you couldn’t. I brought her back. I passed the Seven Wonders. Unless you want to add another one?” He challenged.

“No,” Cordelia answered. “There can be no doubt. You are the next Supreme.” She collapsed to the ground, losing consciousness again.

…

The staff and other students were beaming with pride over the accomplishments of their brother. Michael was elated, he was one step closer to fulfilling his purpose.

In celebration of the return of Misty Day and the rise of a new Supreme, everyone gathered in the music room. While you were on your way to join the rest, Ariel stopped you.

“Y/n,” He called.

“Grand Chancellor,” you greeted.

He smiled, but it was obviously forced just like the tone of his voice, too pleasant. “I was hoping to have a moment of your time.”

You raised your brow, “I suppose.”

“We’re all so proud of Michael and what he has achieved,” he began, hands clasped in front him. “It’s truly a major turning point for our kind, to finally rise out of the shadow of our counterparts, the witches.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” you muttered, hearing music play from the room and a woman singing.

“It has been such a struggle to get to this point,” he stressed.“It would be a great setback for warlocks should Michael be unable to focus on his duties as Supreme.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” you took a step back.

Ariel sighed, losing his patience, “You are a distraction. You are not the person Micheal needs to concern himself with, you’re not a warlock or a witch, you’re just some girl.”

“But I-“

“Don’t you see,” he interrupted you, getting heated. “He’s with his people now, he no longer needs you.”

You closed your mouth as his words sunk in. Maybe he was right. You hated to admit it, even just to yourself, but it was as if he was speaking your own fears out loud. You weren’t sure how you fit into all this, and for the last couple of months, you worried that Michael truly didn’t need you.

Standing on the interior balcony, Michael’s eyes narrowed as he watched Ariel enter the music room late. Michael had been waiting for you to join him but you were nowhere in sight.

The two warlocks nodded in acknowledgement at each other as Michael waited a few moments longer, he could care less about the performance taking place below. Concerned about your tardiness, he went to find you. Ariel shook his head in disappointment as he watched Michael leave.

Michael headed upstairs and entered your room. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” you answered, taking a seat on the bed and mustering a smile for Michael.

He could tell you were lying, you were visibly upset and on the verge of tears. “Don’t lie to me,” he said firmly.

“Michael,” you started, your eyes finally meeting his. Looking up at him you couldn’t help but think of all the things he had accomplished lately, developing his powers, passing all these tests, he was doing so many great things, so why were you here? “Do you still need me?”

“Of course, I do,” he responded without pause. He then shook his head. “Even if I didn’t need you, I want you.” He wondered where all this was coming from, was this because he wasn’t spending enough time with you? Was Ariel’s idiotic plan affecting you?

Michael sat across from you at the desk. “Are you thinking about leaving?”

“I don’t want to leave,” you said softly. “But are you sure I’m not distracting you?”

“Is this Ariel’s doing? Did he say something to you?” Michael pursed his lips, jaw clenched. The Grand Chancellor was really pushing his luck. Michael figured it might be necessary to remind him who was the Alpha, the future Supreme.

Getting to his feet, his brow lowered as he thought about what to do. His hands curled into fists that were shaking out of anger.

“Michael,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards you. “Stop, please.”

“He wants you to leave me,” he snapped angrily. “I won’t let that happen.”

You rushed after Michael as stormed out of the room. The sliding black doors of Ariel’s office slammed open with a flick of Michael’s wrist.

“Michael-“ Ariel started but was immediately flung to the wall.

Your eyes widened, watching as Ariel’s hands grasped at his neck, his nails puncturing his skin as he scratched while desperately gasping for air. His legs were kicking and flailing about as he was being suffocated.

“Michael,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. “Micheal, stop,” you begged.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him. “And Ariel finally understands.” You looked at Ariel who managed to nod. “See,” you said, rubbing his arm. “You got your point across.”

Ariel fell to the floor, landing on his hand and knees, panting.

“What’s going on in here?” Behold questioned wandering into the office.

“Nothing,” Ariel croaked, slowly rising to his feet.

Behold didn’t look convinced. He was figuring out that Michael couldn’t be trusted, wasn’t what he had presented himself to be. John Henry was missing and the witches had their suspicions as well.

“Michael lost control, just for a moment, he’s been under a lot of stress,” you explained calmly. “He’s due for a break.”

Behold lifted his brow, Michael just looked straight up pissed in his opinion. “Alright,” he muttered, the last thing he needed was for Michael to turn that anger on him. He stood there watching as you and Michael left, before asking Ariel if needed anything.

Returning to your room, Micheal immediately embraced you, hugging you from behind as he buried his face into your hair. You two stood there for several minutes, his arms holding you firmly in place.

“I should speak to my father,” he murmured finally.

You nodded.

Michael’s hold loosened, “I should go alone.” He sighed, touching your hair gently. “I won’t be gone long.”

…

When the witches, Bubbles and Myrtle, arrived, you were tasked with entertaining them until Ariel and Bladwin returned. They had no trouble making themselves at home while you served champagne and Myrtle played the theremin.

When Ariel and Baldwin entered the music room, the two witches insisted that you join them and the warlocks for the dinner they had prepared.

“Bubbles, you’ve exceeded your promise,” Ariel complimented. “This is a meal fit for a Supreme.”

She chuckled, “Oh, thank you so much.”

It truly was quite a spread, platters of food you probably couldn’t even pronounce, sat on the table presented in a most lavish way. It seemed excessive that there was so much food for just 5 people.

“Where is our dear Michael?” Myrtle questioned looking at you. “I was hoping he could join us.”

“In the wilderness,” Baldwin answered for you, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Literally. Michael has decided that he needs to be completely alone.”

“I’m surprised you’re not with him dear,” Myrtle stated, her eyes still on you. “The two of you seemed attached at the hip.”

You could feel Ariel watching you closely. “He just needed some time to himself,” you shrugged with a smile.

“Cordelia had a similar awakening,” she shared with you, before offering Ariel more wine.

You listened attentively to Myrtle’s story about the amazing little shop in Madrid where she attained the bottle of wine. You didn’t know much about wine, but from what you gathered from her story, this was most likely the nicest and most expensive wine you’d ever try in your life.

“This has been such a delight,” Myrtle announced. “I knew, if we could dine together, we could find commonality and, dare I say, friendship.”

“Oh, my. It’s getting late,” she added with a slight yawn.

“Oh. It is.” Ariel agreed, laughing weakly. “Very late. But I feel like we’ve finally gotten to know each other.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Bubbles said, gesturing to the full table. “We’ll clear everything up.”

You offered to stay and lend a hand with cleaning to the surprise of Bubbles and Myrtle. How a kind girl like yourself wound up with someone like Michael, seemed like such a cruel fate.

During dinner, Bubbles had already determined that you were innocent. You weren’t involved with John Henry’s death or the plot to overthrow their coven and kill the witches. Seemed that Michael kept you out of all the seediness and corruption happening around you.

“Thanks again for dinner,” you said, clearing the plates from the table. “You really are a fantastic chef.”

“I’m a woman of many talents,” Bubbles boasted.

“How did you become involved with our future Supreme?” Myrtle inquired, taking a sip of her glass of wine.

“I’ve known him for a long time,” You answered vaguely, but Bubbles could see right through you, she could see directly to the feelings you harbored for Michael.

They watched as you carried the dishes into the kitchen. Bubbles sighed, “Poor girl’s only crime is falling for the bad guy.”

“Suppose we can’t hold it against her,” Myrtle commented. “We've all been there at some point or another.”

Bubbles chuckled, “You’re right, but few can say they’re in love with the devil himself.”

“It’s terribly romantic, isn’t it?” Myrtle mused, tilting her head. She sighed, “Well, what else did you hear?”

“They murdered one of their own,” Bubbles answered in a serious tone. “And now they mean to murder all of us.”

“Well, it’s perfectly clear,” Myrtle continued, swirling her wine glass. “It’s kill or be killed.”

…

“Ariel Augustus. Baldwin Pennypacker. For the murder of your fellow warlock, John Henry Moore, and conspiring to commit treason against this coven, I, Cordelia Goode, on behalf of this council, sentence you to death by fire.”

The coven guards doused Ariel and Baldwin in gasoline.

“Our people have long stood by an agreement that no witch may kill a condemned warlock,” Cordelia added. “Only your brother may light the flame. I do not intend to break that tradition today.”

John Henry emerged to the surprise of Ariel and Baldwin, gracefully, striding between the stakes to join the witches at Cordelia’s side.

He scanned the area, eyes moving from stake to stake. He furrowed his brow, “Where’s his girlfriend?” He turned to Cordelia, “We need to destroy her. It’s the only way we can really hurt him.”

“We’re not burning an innocent girl on the stake,” Cordelia defended. “She wasn’t involved in your murder, Bubbles verified that already.”

John Henry shook his head, they were all blind to the facts, he didn’t want to kill her, but he could see it just like he could see what Michael truly was. “She’s his weakness…” he argued. “I’ve seen how he is with her, he’d fall apart.”

“No,” Cordelia stated firmly.

John Henry tsked, snatching one of the gasoline cans, dumping the contents all over Ms. Mead.

“Any last words?” He asked, returning to Cordelia’s side as he faced his brothers and murderer. “Ah, right,” he teased, motioning to his mouth.

“You think death is a punishment?” Ms. Mead shouted. “I do not fear the fire. It cleanses me, as it will cleanse this world. I’ve seen the end. I bear witness to the darkness.”

She looked up to the blue sky, “Father! Take me in your arms. Your kingdom is nigh.”

John Henry and Cordelia shared a look. She nodded to him signaling that it was time. With a wave of his hand, John Henry ignited the torches. The guards, then, set the lit torches at the feet of the condemned. In a matter of seconds flames engulfed Ariel, Baldwin, and Ms. Mead.

…

Michael’s hand cautiously reached out towards the last corpse, after he identified the first two as Ariel and Baldwin. He stumbled backwards, hands shaking, as he saw his Ms. Mead being burned alive.

An emotional and raw scream erupted from him, as pain and sadness filled him. With a hand over his chest, he wailed, it felt as if he couldn’t get any oxygen to his lungs and like his heart was being constricted by a snake, its tail coiling tightly around it as if it was a weak little mouse.

“It’s over,” Cordelia said, appearing behind him. “We know who you are.”

Michael turned to face her.

“Your allies are all dead,” she announced. “You failed.”

“I’ve already proven that I can defy death. I’m just gonna bring her back,” Michael retorted. “And when I do, my Ms. Mead will stand by me as we watch you die.”

“You can certainly go to Hell, but you won’t find her there,” Cordelia warned.

“What have you done?”

She explained that Ms. Mead’s soul was hidden away and that the spell was one only she could break. As Michael realized that he’d never see Ms. Mead again, he dropped to his hands and knees.

“You’re alone,” she added.

“I’m never alone. I have y/n and I have my father,” he snapped.

“That poor girl deserves better,” Cordelia said coldly. She took several steps toward Michael. “And where is your father? Why did he let this happen?”

Michael looked up at her as she knelt down.

“You don’t have to follow this path your father laid out for you. You can write your own destiny. You can still turn away. There’s humanity in you. I see it,” she stood back up and offered Michael her hand. “If you come with me, maybe we can find it. Together.”

He accepted her hand, but aggressively moved closer, his eyes burning with hatred towards the witch. “Somehow, some way, I am gonna bring her back. And then I’m gonna kill every last one of you.”

As the threat left his lips. A thought crossed Cordelia’s mind and images flashed in Michael’s head. His eyes widened, staring at Cordelia in disbelief.

The witches had revived John Henry, back from the dead, and he and Behold were returning to the school. Michael’s hands began to tremble, releasing Cordelia’s hand, as he could hear the words John Henry had spoken to her during the execution. John Henry had made threats towards you, expressed that he wanted to dispose of you to hurt Michael, to stop him.

Michael made up his mind at that moment, he wouldn’t allow John Henry to have the opportunity, he’d kill them all to protect you. He couldn’t believe they’d stoop so low, would the witches be the next to try?

Without time to waste, Michael left towards the school.

He sat there panting, the lifeless corpses of his brothers laying all around him. Michael had no one except for you, he had no Ms. Mead to guide him, he had no support with his magic anymore, no followers. And the witches were still a threat.

He felt like he was crumbling beneath the weight of it all, but he had to make sure you were safe. He may have been able to keep you safe and massacre the warlocks, but what if the witches went after you next?

Taking in a deep breath, Michael stared up at the staircase towards the direction of your room. He would do anything to keep you safe.

Rising to his feet, he slowly made his way to you.

“Michael?” You asked, sitting up on the bed as he entered the room.

He wished that he could just crawl into bed next to you. But there was so much that needed to be done. He had to kill the witches, avenge Ms. Mead, and fulfill his purpose.

He crouched down beside the bed in front of you. “The witches, they killed Ms. Mead,” he said quietly, voice hoarse from screaming.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, leaning down to embrace him.

Michael placed his hands on your shoulders, pulling away from you a bit, he wanted to get a better look at you. He stared at your face, committing every detail to memory.

“I need to put you under a spell,” Michael started to explain. “I have to hide you from anyone who’d want to hurt you.”

You furrowed your brow as his words sunk in. He was going to leave you behind. Your lips quivered as you started to cry.

“Who’s… who's going to take care of you?” You hiccuped, cupping his face, your thumbs gently wiping the tears from the apple of his cheeks.

Picturing Michael alone, without anyone to turn to, no one to make sure he was okay, was literally breaking your heart. You couldn’t leave him, you couldn’t let him do this. You had promised to stay with him forever.

He placed his hands over yours. “I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to put on a brave face. “But I can’t lose you too, I can't… you're all that I have left.”

Your shoulders shook as you cried harder.

“I’m going to take care of you this time,” Michael promised. “I’ll figure it out and then we’ll never have to be apart. You’ll be at my side forever.”

Micheal closed the distance between you and him, his lips finding yours with ease. His first real kiss was an emotional kiss goodbye, one in which he desperately wanted to convey his devotion for you. Your eyes fluttered shut, his hands squeezed yours tighter, you pressed your lips to his tenderly, returning the kiss.

He casted his spell before pulling away, and watched as you fell into a deep sleep like a princess in a fairy tale. As an extra precaution he wiped your memories as well.

***Present***

“It’s alright,” Michael comforted, tucking your head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around you.

It was a lot to take in at once, an entire lifetime coming back to you in a matter of seconds. Michael waited patiently, hand drawing circles on back, as you composed yourself. Having you back made him feel whole again, the one constant in his life. He was never letting go of you again.

“What is it?” He asked as you sat up and cupped his cheek.

“You’ve changed,” you whispered, gazing at him. He looked older, more mature and refined, his long golden hair somehow made him even more handsome than you remembered. He now exuded confidence that almost bordered on conceitedness.

He lifted his brow, “Have I?”

You nodded, causing him to smirk, you were always so honest.

“In what ways?” He teased, titling his head, and holding your hand to his face. “Am I more attractive now?”

You shook your head, laughing lightly, “Not sure how you managed it, but yes you’re more handsome than I remember.”

“So,” he murmured lowly. “You like the new me?” Michael turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand. “Tell me,” he said against your skin.

“Didn’t we have this conversation earlier?” You questioned.

“But that was before you remembered,” he challenged, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“My answer is still the same, everything, I like everything about you.”

“I believe you,” He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, and then opening them again. He examined you for a moment, just like before it was as if he could see right through you.

“You haven’t changed,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s comforting.” His lips tickled your fingertips as he returned your hand to you.

Michael may not have the typical image of home as most, but he suspected that being reunited with you, is what it felt like to come back home.

He leaned forward, hands firmly on your thighs, as his lips lightly grazed against yours. You felt the side of his nose caress yours, your hands slowly raised up from your lap and clung to him.

Suddenly he groaned in frustration as the bedroom door opened.

“Ladies, I’m a little busy right now,” Michael muttered, breaking the kiss as he glanced at Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead who entered the room uninvited.

Ms. Venable gave you a cold look, she couldn’t say she was surprised to see you here. She long had her suspicions, this only confirmed them. “This won’t take long,” She addressed Michael, walking further into the room.

Michael sighed, exasperatedly, his touch leaving your form as he straightened up and turned his chair to give Ms. Venable his attention. “What’s this?”

“We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon,” Ms. Venable stated, standing tall across from Michael. “And I’m afraid that neither of you made the cut.”

Michael bursted out laughing. “I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold it in,” he gestured to himself.

“You think this is funny?” Ms. Venable pressed, obviously unamused.

“I think I’m impressed, Ms. Venable,” Michael

“I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

Gracefully, Michael rose to his feet. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for The Sanctuary.”

“Mrs. Mead,” Ms. Venable ordered.

You scrambled off the bed, moving in front of Michael, the moment Ms. Mead drew the gun out from her jacket. You didn’t understand what was going on, or why Ms. Mead was following Ms. Venable’s orders.

Michael looked at you fondly, with a slightly amused expression. His sweet y/n ready to protect him, to defend him, even knowing that he could literally kill people with a snap of his fingers.

Of course, you weren’t in any real danger. He knew Ms. Mead would never hurt you, just like she was programmed to never hurt him. He placed his hands on your shoulders.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he warned Ms. Venable before glancing towards Ms. Mead and giving her a silent command.

“Ms. Mead,” Ms. Venable repeated, her tone irritated as she turned to face her co-conspirator.

Ms. Mead, with some unwillingness by the look of her face, went from pointing the gun at Michael to directing it toward Ms. Venable. Without hesitation, Ms. Mead fired.

You flinched at the sound of the gunshot, drawing back against Michael, who reassuringly squeezed your shoulders while smirking with satisfaction over what just transpired.

Ms. Venable dropped to the floor gasping as she started to bleed out from the wound in her chest.

Michael’s hands slid down your arms, walking around you towards Ms. Venable.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Ms. Mead questioned, sadness laced in her voice. “I was always loyal to her.”

“It’s all right,” Michael spoke calmly, crouching down, his arms resting on his knees as he watched Ms. Venable die. “You were obeying commands, like you’re programmed to do,” he explained. “My commands.”

You knitted your brows together finally piecing together what was going on. You had been so invested on your and Michael’s reunion, that you hadn’t ask how he was able to revive Ms. Mead.

“Did you enjoy executing the poison apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?” Michael asked Ms. Mead, standing back up.

“You wanted everyone dead?”

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” he reasoned. “Learned that from my father.”

Ms. Mead’s lips trembled as she processed all the new information and her grief.

“Always more fun to entice men and women to do dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed,” Michael mused.

“What do you believe?”

“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus, are evil motherfuckers,” he declared. “All except for y/n, of course,” he chuckled, looking at you before returning his attention to Ms. Mead.

“I’m having trouble with this,” she shook her head. “I know I’m just a machine.”

“Never say that,” he said forcefully. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked The Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed, I gave them a prototype to model.”

“A prototype?” She asked, hanging on to each and every word Michael said.

“Someone from my childhood,” he shared, approaching her slowly. “Someone very dear to me.”

Her expression changed as realization struck her. “The beautiful boy.”

“That was me,” Michael answered, his eyes glossy as he held back tears. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind, just like I had to with y/n.”

“Why?”

“To protect you and the plan,” he said. “But now it’s time to remember it all.“ His eyes flickered to the ground for a brief moment, head shaking slightly as he continued to speak.

“I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. And after that, I had to hide y/n to keep her safe.” His heart ached recalling all the pain, misery, loneliness he felt after losing the only people who loved him. “I can’t imagine a new world without you both by my side.”

Her eyes darted to you, “So that’s why I felt connected to you, like I needed to watch over you.”

You smiled at her and nodded, “You’ve always been good to me.”

Michael embraced Ms. Mead tightly. He finally had the only people who mattered back. The only people who ever showed him love and kindness. The rest of the world could burn now.

Pulling back, Michael smiled at you and offered you his hand. His thumb caressed your knuckles lovingly while his other arm lingered around Ms. Mead. “You both are the only people I never stopped trusting or loving.”

His eyes narrowed as he noticed the blood splattered on your dress. “There’s a dress for you in the armoire,” he motioned towards it. “Go change, I’ll catch Ms. Mead up on things.”

In the adjoining bathroom, you stripped out of your purple dress, letting it fall to the floor. Looking at your reflection, you fixed your face, wiping away the streaks of mascara from under your eyes.

The dress was more contemporary than the purple attire you had grown accustomed to. The black fabric was smooth and luxurious. Pulling it on, it fit you like a glove, hugging the curves of your hips and thighs.

You frowned as you found that you couldn’t reach the zipper on the back. You cleared your throat as you emerged from the bathroom. “I can’t zip it up.”

Michael strode towards you and stood behind you, his fingers ghosting over the exposed skin of your back as they traveled down to the zipper. Taking his time he pulled it up.

His eyes traveled up and down your figure as he admired the dress on you, “A perfect fit.”

Michael tensed suddenly, eyes darting to the side, standing still as if waiting for something to happen.

“What is it?” Ms. Mead asked.

“I sense a powerful presence,” he responded, eyes shifting as he concentrated on whoever just arrived.

“What do you mean? Everyone’s dead,” she said, looking concerned.

“Not anymore,” Michael answered. He extended his hand out towards you, fingers curling around your palm. “Let’s greet our guests.”

Ending 1

Ending 2

#michael langdon #reader insert #female reader #ahs apocolaypse #ahs coven #ahs Michael Langdon #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #american horror story fanfic #American horror story apocalypse #ahs #canon rewrite

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wasjustred · 1 year

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Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you.

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings.

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen.

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you.

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew.

She’s never been more beautiful to you.

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore.

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down.

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck.

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

#i’ve been super stressed trying to live up to ‘easy does it’ tbh so i hope this is at least decent 😅#don’t think i’ll ever beat the sugar mommy fic lol #ah well!#i love exploring/constructing the parts of larissa we never saw (like her childhood) ﹠. i hope you guys do too!#my girl’s def a rider #i’ll stand by that till the day i die #accompanied by expensive purebred well-trained dogs throughout childhood #but is more of a cat person now – relaxed and easy #guilty pleasure romcom is ‘the proposal’#and not just bc that’s also MY guilty pleasure romcom 😇#n e ways hope you all enjoy :)#lmk your thoughts! 🫶🏼#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #wasjustred

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g4yforethan · 8 months

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always forever

pairing: tate langdon x gn!reader

summary: reader moves into the murder house and encounters tate who is curious of the new owners

warnings: cursing, kissing

a/n: tate is not a criminal in this story i just find evan peters hot ! also i love y’all smmm!

you and your family had moved to los ángeles after a fire engulfed your previous house in flames. you never found out the cause of the fire but your mom put the blame on your dad for "leaving the stove on at night." you were also sad that you were going to leave your hometown and all of your friends but stayed optimistic for a new beginning. when you arrived at the house, you felt an energy. a strange energy. the house was victorian style and had lots of space. you could see why your parents chose it in the first place. after getting all your things inside, your parents went out on a date to celebrate the new move. they had invited you but you were too tired to go out and decided to stay in and order a pizza instead.

after getting into bed and watching a movie you hear a thud in your closet. you were scared but courage ran through your body and quickly opened it. there was a boy inside. you screamed for him to get out. "wow wow relax. i was just trying to see what cds you have here." he said as you back up from him scared. "first of all who are you and how the hell did you get into my house?!" you could've sworn you had locked all the doors so it was impossible for him to have snuck in. "let's just say i know all the ways to this house. i live right next door to you and seen plenty of people move into this house." "okay well then what are you doing in my room? and you never told me who you are."

"i told you i'm just tryna see what kind of albums you got here. not good ones though. and my name is tate. what's yours?" he got closer to you and now you could see he had blonde hair and soft skin. "i'm y/n. we just moved here today." tate started to move around your room and noticed some your posters that you had hung up on the wall. "mhm scary movies huh? i'm a big fan of friday the 13th." you laughed and found his sense of humor entertaining. "same the sequel's better to be honest. well my parents are coming home soon so maybe you should go." he gave a disappointed look at you. "sure i can't spend the night here? we could listen to some cds and maybe have a quick make out session or something?"

you were taken back by what he said but you couldn't deny the fact that he was exactly your type. "i mean we could listen to an album or two." his face lit up with excitement. the two of you sat on the floor listening to a rock album while tate discussed his life and asked you about why your family moved. "it was just a lot. i mean we never knew what caused the fire but we basically lost everything. i'm just nervous for this new part of my life and meeting new people and-" you started to tear up and tate took note of this and started to hug you. "hey hey. everything is gonna be okay alright? i mean it's gonna take time but at least you got me here so." you smiled and found comfort in tate. with his arms wrapped around you, the two of you locked eyes as your lips met his.

the two of you kiss for what seemed to be hours but it was a good 5 minutes of kissing. tate began to kiss your neck as you ran your hands through his hair. he lifted your shirt and placed his hands on your waist. “god you’re so beautiful.” he whispers in your ear as your face warms up and your cheeks turn red. he lays you on your back and starts to leave kisses and hickies on your chest and belly. his soft lips leaves you wanting more and more of his touch. his hands start to reach your zipper. “can i?” he asks you. you nod and he smiles and starts to unzip your pants.

all of a sudden, a knock on the door interrupts you two. “hey y/n we’re back home!” your dad yells outside from your room. you look at tate in fear while tate has a calm look on his face. “oh my god you have to go now!” your dad starts to open the door and you close your eyes and cringe in fear. “hey honey is everything okay?” you open yours eyes and look around your room. tate was gone. he was there just a second ago. “uh yeah i just woke up right now.” your dad asks you to come downstairs for leftovers. you agree and look around your room. how did he do it? you look in front of you. “boo!” it was tate. “oh my fucking god tate! how did you hide so quickly?” “let’s just say i know this house a little too well.” he leans in for a quick kiss before disappearing again into thin air.

#male reader insert #malereader #male reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #evan peters #tate langdon #american horror story #ahs murder house #ahs fandom #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x you

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lostgirlfandom · 1 year

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Reunited

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: mentions of an apocalypse, afab reader

Words: 1.1k

Summery: Michael finds his Queen in the last place he expected.

Sitting in the office with a soft orange glow to the room from the fire place and candles spread throughout the room, your hands sat in your lap with your finger pads rubbing together in an anxious tick. Your eyes flicked from the man sitting at the desk, to the fire, to the candles... anywhere but at the man whose aura stunk of power and intimidation. His mid-back length golden hair looked like silk and made your hands want to run through the tresses, which is why you were trying to keep your hands busy. His sharp stare never left your form as he examined you... your hair down your face, lips twitching as he watched your eyes flick anxiously around the room. His eyes left a hot flush down your body as he kept watching you.

After a thick silence befell the room for close to ten minutes, he broke the silence. “Y/N Y/L/N...” his smooth voice spoke surely and softly into the room. Sounding like butter as he spoke your name.

You took in a slow breath as you looked up and finally locked eyes with him. He noticed your eyes dilate as you focused on his eyes... his beautiful eyes that made you melt and become submissive.

Feeling your throat become dry, you blinked and swallowed the saliva in your mouth before licking your lips. “Yes, sir” You gave a delicate whisper.

His lips twitched in a smirk as he tilted his head at you. “Why are you here?” He asked you. Leaned back in his desk chair, his arms on the arm rests as one arm lifted to place a hand to his face. His rings glinting in the fire light.

Blinking again, you snapped out of the daze you were in and looked back down at your hands. Your hands grasped the purple dress you were basically forced to where for the last 18 months at the Outpost. “I...” You paused to take a deep breath. “I was told that I was chosen because of my DNA... that I had special genetics or something of similar nature.”

The tone of your voice told anyone that was paying attention that you didn’t believe a word you just said. Langdon’s brow frowned as he observed you. Not that you noticed as your gaze was still on your lap. Your body language went from behind nervous and anxious to a little depressive but accepting.

“You don’t think so?” He asked as his gaze stuck to your body.

Your brow frowned and lips pursed before speaking. “I don’t know why I’m here to be honest, Mr. Langdon.” You took a small glance from under your eyelashes to look at him. “I had average grades in school, was working at Walmart before this shitstorm while getting an associate's degree. I’m not..” You took a deep breath and corrected yourself. “I wasn’t rich or poor...”

You paused as you examined his face as you slowly lifted your head. He licked his lips and then sighed. “Like Timothy and Emily, you were picked specifically for your DNA and good genetics... None of that stuff matters anymore... You are here because I hand-picked you and several others because you had prime genetics to survive. You were never sick growing up, were you?”

Tilting your head, you nodded. “Mom always said I-”

“Had a perfect immune system.” You both spoke at the same time. He nodded with a grin.

“Exactly... And I think I picked you for good reason.” He left the comment hang in the air as he held your gaze, making your body flush. Twisting the fabric of the dress in your hands, you couldn’t look away from his eyes.

“I-I-I" You slightly stuttered before biting your lip and looking into the fire.

In a split second, you felt hands fall over yours. You’re head quickly turned and saw Langdon knelt in front of you, his hands softly pulling yours from the dress. The heat from his hands was soothing and calming. His fingers caressed your hands and fingers as you locked gazes with him again. A soft smile sat on his lips as he gazed up into your eyes. Flicking his eyes between both of yours, bringing your hands to his mouth slowly and gently. Pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“You are here because I wanted you alive... Ms. Y/L/N.” His right-hand lifted to caress your neck with his thumb on your jaw, rubbing it gently.

Your lips parted softly as your eyes because entranced with him again. You didn’t notice the fact that he was in front of you in seconds... or the fact that he was leaning up slowly... But you did notice his eyes that glinted and shined with adoration and glee towards you.

Involuntarily, your eyes closed when his did and your lips met his. You took in a sharp breath at the feeling of his soft lips brushing yours, a tingling spreading down your spine causing goosebumps over your skin.

Then images... no memories flashed through your mind.

Memories of Langdon... Michael. How you first met, the time you spent together, the Black Mass, the time you first kissed and made love, the I love you’s. The fight between him and witches, them taking you away.

Coming back to your senses, you pressed back against him and cup the sides of his neck to kiss him desperately. Passionately, your lips danced with his. Pouring all the love you had for him into the kiss, him doing the same. Feeling the difference from moments before, joy spread through his chest. You both now feeling your hearts feeling full now... beating at the same time and swelling with love for each other.

Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead to his and opened your eyes at the same time as him. Staring into his eyes, you felt your eyes well up with tears as you whispered out with broken words. “Michael.”

His own eyes welled up as his jaw clenched up. “Y/N... My Queen.” He gave a husky gasp before smiling widely. “This time... you’re not leaving my side.” Speaking with convection, he stood up and pulled you with him.

You smirked at him. “Never, My King.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist while your hands went to wrap around his neck and play with hair just at the base of his scalp. “This time the witches die... at both our hands.” He smirked at you, seeing your eyes flash with fire.

“No hesitation.” You whispered out before pulling him to press your lips to his hungrily. His grip tightening on your sides as he kissed back, devouring your moans as your tongues entangled.

Neither of you noticed the candles and fire rising at the joint power of King and Queen of the Underworld finally reunited.

#ahs imagine #ahs one shot #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x female reader #reader insert #female reader #plus sized reader #plus size reader #michael langdon x plus sized reader #chubby reader #ahs apocalypse imagine #fandom imagine #american horror story imagine #american horror story one shot

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yandereunsolved · 2 months

Text

Fool Me Once - ,, you being James successor

cw(s): murder, drugging, obsessiveness, asphyxiation, thoughts/acts of sh

☾ James March who saw your aura in the color of gray and was immediately fascinated by your presence in his hotel. He's seen a handful of colors, even black— but this gray was something new. You are like a lost lamb that just needs his guidance. He only wishes to bring out your full potential. His hand aches to hold your own, just so he has a chance to feel your living pulse.

☾ Who watches you around the hotel. He purposely allows the ghosts to terrorize you to see how well you hold up. He won't allow them to kill you but you may leave with a few scars if you aren't skilled enough.

☾ Who invited you to a private dinner before you leave. He may or may not have definitely drugged so the food so you are a little loopy. What? He just needs to make sure that you listen to his message. He talks with you for hours and 'convinces' you to stay, or at least come back if you have other challenges responsibilities.

☾ Who demands that you eat every meal with him. He needs to make sure that you are eating correctly to ensure top performance. He really just wants to spend more time with you. He needs you to begin craving his attention and affection. It makes the entire process so much easier.

☾ Who guides you into picking out victims. He shows you the ropes, both figuratively and literally. Sometimes he tells you that he needs you to act with him. You'll both 'act' as if you are married to seduce couples and lost lambs into death. No one is allowed to touch you except him. If they try their death will come much quicker.

☾ Who asks you to pick out your favorite weapon. He goes into great detail about each one. He watches your face contort into furrowed contemplation. He feels himself growing fonder of your company. He can't wait to allow you a private torture chamber of your own, one day. Your willingness to please him only being another thing that intrigues him.

☾ Who asks the most intimate questions about you. He only wants to learn more about his protégé, and who he has to kill to make you his. Are you a virgin? How many exes do you have? What are your favorite positions? How much do you fancy killing people? What are your special interests? Are you attracted to men? What kind of men are you attracted to?

☾ Who nearly dies a second death when he sees your Devils Night costume. You dressed up as him! You even used make-up to recreate his neck slit. He wants to kill you right there. You would look so perfect to eternally mimic him.

☾ Who makes you watch his killings and take notes. It doesn't matter how he is killing them. He'll make you watch. If you close your eyes, he'll make you open them. He'll grab your chin and tilt it to look straight into your eyes. He'll make you drink the blood of his victims— bathe in it. It's like an aphrodisiac for him.

☾ Who wants you to own his hotel as the living owner. He doesn't want his hotel in danger of being destroyed or changed in a drastic way. He wants you owning his hotel as a symbolic gesture. A sign of his trust for you.

☾ Who chokes you and sloppily makes out with you after you kill your first person. He traps you against the wall and nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He promises you more for each person you kill.

☾ Who makes you sleep in room sixty-four. You aren't allowed any other room. That is the only room you are allowed to stay in. So what if he is watching you sleep? So what if he is watching you during your 'alone' time? So what? You are his protégé after all."

☾ Who makes that maid of his— Miss Evers is it? make sure all of your linens are extra clean. You have nothing that is ever dirty. All of your messes are cleaned up, even before his own. Miss Evers is immensely, violently, extraordinarily jealous of you. She does her best to sabotage you behind her masters back. James has more than just a few words to her about that.

☾ Who insists you have a title of your own. He is The 10 Comandment killer. What is your trauma? How are you going to fuel it into your gruesome killings?

☾ Who fuels your worst thoughts. No, not the self depreciating ones or the ones that make you harm yourself... yet. Never bad to keep those thoughts in his back pocket for if you disobey him, or he needs to manipulate you. He fuels those thoughts that you immediately push away. He fuels your anger, your anguish, your pain towards people.

☾ Who will make you hurt yourself and watch if you ever try to leave him/disobey/displease him. He can do it himself, but your punishment will end a lot sooner if you just do it yourself... and sob so loud that he can't hear his own thoughts.

☾ Who gets you to shed all of your electronics when you are with him. He supposes you can have those horrid things, but not when he is around. His handsomely talented protégé cannot be distracted by some electronic drivel! He will not allow it. You cannot get off that phone? He'll make you. Break it. Kiss you until you can only focus on him.

☾ Who carves his initials into you so that people know you are his. He really, really wants to carve them into your neck... but he realizes that would probably, most definitely, kill you. He settles between two different places. You can either have him carve them into your inner arm or your thigh. Tattooing is boring. Scarring is fun.

☾ Who treats you both as his equal and below him simultaneously. He respects you but you are like a baby bird just learning to fly. His hummingbird. Just don't leave the nest too soon. You could fail flying and break your neck. That would be a pity.

☾ Who is adamant that you are very careful when it comes to killing. He cares in his own twisted way. He was caught, his failed successors were caught. He does not want you caught. He wants you to infinitely succeed. He wants you to have a moderately normal life.

☾ Who will hold you too hard or choke you for so long so that he leaves bruises. He tells you that he is teaching you how to resist these things. He would never fully poison you though. Drug, yes. Poison, no. Why no poison? He sees poison as very un-gentleman-like. Poison is reserved for your worst enemies, not your successor.

☾ Who will randomly trauma dump the worst things that happened to him. Those moments are fleeting and scarce. However, they do happen. That is his sign of an ultimate reverence to you. He bares the scars in his soul to you. If you press him on it or even joke about it his walls will be back up. He'll kill twice as many people as he usually does just to exterminate that pesky emotion of hurt from his heart.

☾ James Patrick March who will always be there when you fall. Who will slaughter those in the village so only he can give you warmth.

#american horror story #james patrick march #jpm #imagine #jpm x reader #james patrick march x reader #ahs hotel #reader insert #x reader #possibly yandere #cw: murder #ahs fanfiction #headcanon #headcanons and stuff #ahs headcanons

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velvetwyrme · 1 year

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A soft scene from chapter 3 of Flipping Fate, the (reader insert) fic I'm co-writing with @collegecomics18!

(alt version used in the fic under the cut)

#me: *draws art for reader insert fic without including the reader*#me: great brilliant this is going so well #anyway #my art #undertale #underfell #utmv #i am Not going to tag all the macarons #undertale au #papyrus/reader #anyway come read our fic its enemies to lovers underfell papyrus / reader #reader insert #ah dang i gotta figure out tagging again #flipping fate

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emmaloo21butwriting · 11 months

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As a minor, when I block tags like ‘Tw smut’ ‘smut’ ‘lemon’ etc, why do people not tag that? And if you write that at least put a warning and a keep reading! It’s really annoying

Edit; replaced right with write because I’m dumb

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chaostheoryy · 2 years

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Duly Noted (A College AU)

[Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X GN!Reader]

Summary: As a studious undergrad on track for graduating with stellar marks, missing class because of the flu was by far the worst way to start your week. Fortunately for you, there’s one bright-eyed classmate who cares about you more than his reputation as a C-minus college athlete.

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Well, since my inbox has been dry as the Sahara, I decided to come up with an idea of my own. So, without further ado, here’s the college AU Rooster fic that no one asked for! (No beta, per usual. We out here raw dogging these mistakes.)

Where are you?

Still in bed…

You’re playing hooky without me???

I’m not playing hooky! I’m sick!

You okay?

Yeah I’m alright. Got the flu I think.

Need me to get you anything? I can bring you medicine or snacks after class.

Nah, I’m good. Thank you though!

If you change your mind, lemme know.

Bradley frowned. As benign as the flu was, the thought of you being ill left a bad taste in his mouth. He knew fully well just how much that course meant to you and your degree. While he spent every class lounging in his chair and letting his mind wander to God knows what, you would bury your nose in your notebook or laptop and take notes on everything the professor said as if your life depended on it. He could only imagine just how disappointed you were missing out on a whole lecture’s worth of information.

Dammit…

As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew right away what had to be done.

“Hey, ’Tasha,” he whispered. “Natasha.”

The dark haired woman one row in front of him turned. Eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a sharp line of irritation, her gaze made daggers feel blunt.

“The hell do you want, Bradshaw?”

“You got a pen I can borrow?”

The question took her by complete surprise. Her brow raised, the scowl on her face melting into an amused smirk.

“You’re joking.”

Bob Floyd, her glasses-wearing friend and study partner, was drawn to her disbelief. “What is it?”

“Jockstrap over here is actually going to take notes.”

Bob glanced between her and Bradley. It took him a second to process what was happening but as soon as it hit him, he cracked a massive grin that rivaled Natasha’s.

Bradley rolled his eyes. “Alright, don’t make a big deal of it. You gonna lend me a pen or not?”

“Y’know, part of me wants to say no,” Natasha mused, “But watching you exercise those dusty ol’ brain cells is honestly a rare treat.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She reached into her bag and grabbed an extra pen which she tossed back to him. “Give that back to me after class or I’m gonna beat your ass.”

Bringing two fingers to his temple, he gave a little salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unable to hide smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

For the first time that semester, Bradley Bradshaw’s untouched notebook was stained with ink.

* * * * *

You had fallen back asleep within minutes of his last text. The previous night had been an absolute nightmare. Violent chills had racked your body and made it impossible to get comfortable. Combining the shivers with the upset stomach and stuffy nose, you were miserable. Any rest you could get throughout the day was God-sent.

Your early morning nap lasted a good two hours. It was the most sound, dreamless sleep you’d had in the past week and, if it weren’t for the fact that Bradley called you just after 10am, you probably would have slept three times as long.

“Hello?” You answered groggily.

On the other end of the line, Bradley hissed. “Shit. Did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got all day to sleep. What’s up?”

“I don’t wanna make you get out of bed but I kinda need you to open the door.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Well, I know you said you didn’t need anything but I stopped at the store for stuff anyway. Can you come let me in? I would have one of your roommates open the door but I guess they’re both in class or something.”

You blinked. He was outside of your apartment.

“Yeah, hang on. I’ll be right down.”

Despite the protests of your body, you hurried out of bed. You ditched the sweat-soaked pajama shirt in the laundry basket and threw on a clean tee before stepping out of your room into the main hallway. A short walk to the front door and you pried it open to find Bradley standing on your welcome mat with paper bags of groceries nestled in both arms. He perked up the second he laid eyes on you.

“Hey,” he greeted with a soft smile.

“Hey. Come on in.”

You stepped back to let him inside, closing the door behind him as he headed for the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time he’d come over and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As one of your closest friends and long-time classmate—it was honestly crazy to think you’d been in classes together as far back as the 7th grade—the two of you spent more time together than apart. Neither of you would have had it any other way.

“I’d give you a hug,” you said as he started unpacking the grocery bags, “But I don’t want to get you sick too.”

He chuckled. “I think I could take the hit.”

“Just ‘cause you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

You spotted a bottle of Gatorade on the counter where he’d unloaded stacks of soup cans and Tylenol. Taking the bottle, you slunk over to the couch where you could watch from a safe distance. The last thing you wanted was to share your germs with one of the school’s star baseball players. As much shit as Jake Seresin gave you and Bradley, something told you that the dickwad would be all the more annoying if he found out you were the one to force Bradley onto the bench for a week.

“How was Simpson’s class this morning?”

“Oh, thrilling as always,” he replied caustically.

“Bob answer every question?”

“You know it.”

You laughed. “Figures. At least we know that means somebody besides me knows their shit. I’ll have to get his notes later so I can catch up.”

“No need. I got you covered.”

Bradley paused his kitchen organization and dug in the backpack he’d discarded on the dining room table. Grinning proudly, he pulled out his notebook. Yes. His notebook—the one and only busted red spiral notebook with a sticker of a goose in aviators slapped on the bottom right corner of its cover.

“Wait. Don’t tell me…You actually took notes for me?”

“Sure did!”

He strolled over and dropped the notebook in your lap before collapsing on the cozy little armchair across from you. The look on his face as he watched you go through his notes was priceless. With big eyes and a triumphant smile, he bore an uncanny resemblance to a golden retriever waiting for his owner to give him a treat. And boy did he deserve one.

The thoroughness of his notes left you stunned. With six pages of organized, neatly scripted notes, it was by far the most effort you’d ever seen him put into classwork.

“Jesus, Bradley,” you said, “You really went all out on this didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “If I wanted any shot at making something up to your standards, I kinda had to. Plus, Bob and Natasha were eyeing me the entire lecture. I think I finally get what peer pressure’s like now.”

A dull ache echoed in the back of your head as a reminder of your crappy night’s sleep and irritating affliction. You should’ve gone back to bed but you couldn’t pry your eyes from Bradley’s notebook. It meant the world to you that he’d done that. To think that he’d actually put that much effort into notes taken on your behalf when he wouldn’t even have bothered to jot down a single bullet point for himself.

You flipped through the pages again, unable to hold back an awestruck sigh. “God, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

The statement was out of your mouth and lingering in the air long before your brain processed the consequences. What on God’s green Earth compelled you to say that? Were you high on over the counter flu meds? Or had the fever actually fried your brain?

You wanted to take it back. Especially when you dared to glance up and found Bradley gaping at you.

Oh, for the love of God, you thought as fresh, non-fever related color rushed to your cheeks. Of all the ways to confess, this is the one you go with?

In all honesty, you should have seen it coming. It was only a matter of time.

He’d been your best friend for the better part of a decade. Inseparable from the moment you met. Every big life event from birthdays to buying your first car, he was the first one to celebrate with you. Hell, the guy passed up a full ride to play baseball at the University of Florida just so he could go to the same school as you.

Slowly but surely, as the years rolled on and childhood faded into the past, the friendship that you treasured became the key to your happiness. The goofy, thrill-seeking kid you’d come to adore and trust with your entire being grew into a selfless gentleman. Though he never lost that edge that separated him from perfectionists and academics, he’d clearly come into his own. It would have been impossible for you not to fall for him.

“Did you just say you wanna kiss me?”

Bradley’s voice reeled you back in from the sea of your internal torment. He didn’t sound angry or even disgusted by the notion. In fact, he almost sounded delighted—a theory that was backed the moment you looked over and saw a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and, despite the outcry from every defense mechanism tucked away in your subconscious, you forced yourself to reply. “I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice registering just above a whisper.

“Good.”

Your brow furrowed at his reply. You wanted to ask what he meant, to see if your confession was something the foundations of your friendship could withstand. But he was on his feet and crossing the distance between his chair and the couch before a question was even formulated in your mind.

“Bradley, hold on. I don’t wanna get you si—“

The protest died on your tongue. Warm, gentle hands cupped your jaw as his lips met yours. It was a sweet kiss. There was no hurry, no hesitation. Just the taste of a decade’s worth of fondness and pent up intimacy. Between the soothing caress of his fingertips at the nape of your neck and the bristle of his mustache just above your upper lip, you swore his kiss was better than heaven itself.

His hands kept their post along your jaw when he pulled back to look at you. The smile on his face was unbearably reverent. Anything softer than that look in his eyes and you would have suffocated.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” You asked.

“How long have we been friends?”

Both of you chuckled. Turns out you weren’t the only one who’d gradually fallen over the years.

“Well, thank you,” you said.

“For what?”

You patted the notebook still sitting in your lap. “For thinking of me this morning. And for not flipping out when I said I wanted to kiss you.”

“This may come as a surprise,” he said with a lopsided smirk, “But I think about you a lot.”

Your brow cocked. “Oh, really?”

While it was clear from his tone that he meant it in an innocent, heartfelt manner, you couldn’t help but toy with the more explicit connotation of his words. And let’s be honest, you were guilty of having thoughts that strayed a little too far off the path of purity.

“Hey!” Bradley’s hands fell from your neck and one of his palms playfully shoved you back against the couch by the forehead. “Settle down. You’re supposed to be sick, not horny.”

You reached out to smack his thigh. “And you’re not supposed to be kissing people when they’re sick, dumbass. Jake’s gonna kill me if you end up missing a single practice.”

“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll just OD on Emergen-C when I get home.”

He ignored your childish pout and plopped down on the couch next to you. Rather than drape his arm over the back of your seat like he normally did, he hooked it around your shoulders and pulled you into the warmth of his embrace. Your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck where the scent of his cologne lulled you into dream-like contentment. You’d always thought he smelled good but nuzzling into him like that made it hard to overlook just how right it felt to be engulfed in his presence.

“You need anything?” He asked after a long moment of agreeable silence. “I can make you some soup if you want. I also got some mac n’ cheese if you’re feeling up to it. I don’t know how bitchy your stomach is acting right now.”

“Bradley?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up and let me fall asleep on you.”

A delightful, weightless sensation twisted in your stomach when you felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. Now there was a feeling you never realized you wanted.

“Alright. You sleep. We’ll get you to eat something when you wake up,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You hummed your approval and closed your eyes. All of your senses zeroed in on him. The way he smelled of cedarwood and ocean breezes, the way his chest rose and fell beneath you with each breath, the way his thumb absentmindedly stroked your shoulder. All of it was new and exciting. And yet, at the same time, it was as if you’d been indulging in the gifts of his adoration your entire life.

In a stark contrast to the evening prior, you fell asleep in record time.

#Ah yes a shameless Friends to Lovers trope story #Do people even write AU reader inserts?#Well I do I guess #Until I get prompts and story ideas we're just gonna have to take whatever my goofy little brain comes up with #Bradley Bradshaw X Reader #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw X Reader #Rooster X Reader #Reader Insert #Top Gun Reader Insert #Top Gun Imagines #GN!Reader #My fic #Top Gun: Maverick Fic #Miles Teller X Reader

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fillinforlater · 2 years

Text

Spaceship: Horizon - Part 10: A Train to Drain

Male Reader x Kwon Nayeon (Nana), Nicha Yontararak (Minnie), Lee Chaeyoung (Isa), Kang Mina, Kim Yeonhee, Jung Chaeyeon, Im Yoona (ft. Kim Yerim, Choi Yena, Miyawaki Sakura)

Length: 6066 words

Tags: 8some, exhibitionism, post-sex, danger lol, aphrodisiac, possibly drunk sex, making out, kissing, sloppy blowjob, deepthroat, no gag reflex, cum swallowing, snow balling I guess, sharing is caring <3, undressing, bend-over, daddy kink, hard sex, voyeurism, lingerie, hairy, cumming inside, breeding kink maybe, mommy kink, sweet sex, fingering, titjob, titsplay, very rough sex, degrading language, braids as handles, cum everywhere lmao, missionary, lesbian play, butt-plug, cursing, squirting, femdom, femsub, female mommy kink, clit play, forced sex maybe, hair pulling, female orgasms en mass, anal, stand and carry (with help), fainting, too much sex, too many tags, I probably forgot like ten

TW: a little bit of drugs (aphrodisiac), and exhibitionism and little degradation, also polygamy lmao

Credit: @midnightdancingsol for editing. What would I do without you? Thank you, as always!

(A/N: Yes, this is an 8some. Seven idols of seven groups I haven’t written yet. This is also the setup for the season finale! Enjoy!)

“Attention, everyone! Head to your sleeping quarters or headquarter immediately! This is an order. Those that will not arrive at their respective quarters within fifteen minutes will be punished severely. Achtung an alle—”

The roaring siren wakes you up. It lasts only for about ten seconds, before Helper’s robotic, threatening voice interjects. In multiple languages he repeats the warning—at least, it’s what you assume in your half-sleepy, half-exhausted state.

Yeri is the little spoon to your big spoon. Except for her beautiful legs and feet, she is covered by a yellow blanket. Your flaccid dick rests on her firm ass cheeks, enjoying their smoothness after long sessions of usage. The two of you made a mess underneath the blanket, and by removing it, it's revealed.

“Yeri, get up. This sounds serious.”

“Five more minutes,” she says, a few wrinkles appearing on her forehead.

“Stop joking, we have no time for this shit!”

You jump up and take the blanket with you. Yeri mewls and squirms on the bed in need of the cozy object. Just like you, she is completely naked, but unlike you, she is not scrambling to get all of her clothes back on.

“Why are you in such a hurry? What are they going to do, kill us?”

“Uhm, yeah? Maybe they are doing this as an experiment? A test, to find those that are disobedient and execute the—where the fuck is my shirt?”

It’s seemingly nowhere. No matter how thoroughly your eyes scan the room, you cannot find it. You don’t even remember where Yeri tore the garment off your torso. In front of the large mirror? At the end of the creaking bed? Behind that shaky stool? Even after scanning them two times, three times, you’re still shirtless.

“Aw~ Are you looking for this?” Yeri asks in a playful voice. She leans backwards and makes a show out of pulling the striped shirt from in between her legs.

“Do you still want to wear this? Look—”

She points at streaks of glassy, white liquid at the hem of the shirt.

“—that’s yours! Oh, and this—”

Yeri points at large stains of wetness all over the blue and white fabric.

“—is mine. Damn, it smells nice—”

With a scoff you tear it from her hands. The piece of clothing feels unusable. Yeri giggles and stretches her limbs across the equally unusable bed—if you were able to sleep in this, you might as well put the shirt on. It might save you a lot of trouble after all.

“Hello! Oh my, am I interrupting something?”

A distinctive, ecstatic voice booms over the monotonous repetition of the speaker. Yena’s smile is distinctive, equally happy and sly, as she slowly walks towards you. You flail backwards, before narrowing your eyes. Embarrassment and anger rise in your head for just a moment, but then you resign yourself to utter confusion.

“Ah, fuck it!” you shout out and sink into the chair on which you pounded Yeri, “I give up, do whatever you want, I—"

"Nice, next round?" Yeri asks. Seductively, she spreads her legs and uses her fingers to show off her folds. Despite the exhibitionistic behavior, both Yeri and Yean do not pay attention to one another. The latter is much more focused on getting information across to you.

"You two will have to wait for that. We have to win before that."

You roll your eyes. Yena's words leave you utterly lost in their mysteriousness. She sounds like an edgy teenager in their rebellious phase and you have no time for it. In only a couple of minutes, you might be in big trouble.

"Yena, I'll go now. This is too stupid for me."

"They won't come. They won't do anything to you, they can't."

"What the fuck? Explain! You sound like a conspiracy theorist or some moron—"

Yena raises her fist. A sparkle of determination and joy shines in her eyes. Her appearance is cute yet her behavior is still as vague as one can be.

"Okay, I'll give you a very brief, unsatisfactory explanation now. If you follow through, I'll give you a ten hour lecture about—literally everything you want."

"Really, now? Fuck you, Yena, you’re so annoying. Is it that hard to tell me—"

A moan in the background interrupts your one-sided fight with Yena. Yeri starts to masturbate by rubbing her clit in gradual circles. Yeah, this was to be expected of her. Somehow, she is not yet satisfied, even after hours of sex.

"One more video—"

Yena's voice is suddenly deep and honest. A weird, unfitting change with Yeri's moans and the wet sounds of her pussy in the background, but with every passing second, things seem to make less and less sense.

"One more video and we will be free from them. Make the craziest fuck session ever and they will all disappear."

"Your drinks, ladies."

With elegant steps and a swing of your hips, you glide through the delighted crowd towards the full table in this crowded bar. The tone of your voice is not as elegant. It's been an hectic evening after all. Dozens of customers want to be served and your colleagues are eager to do their bare minimum for some reason. Would've been nice if they at least increased their speed by a factor of 1.2, but no, they still move at a snail's pace.

A cynical person might call the table you're serving a 'consolation prize'. Sure, the seven women order drink after drink and put you under severe pressure, but they all look absolutely stunning. Beautiful girl after beautiful girl, all very distinct, with their own style, yet their synergy is immaculate. They laugh, bicker and raise glasses with no end in sight.

"Hey, Mina! That's mine—stop!" Chaeyeon complains.

"Chill, you can have a sip of mine too," Yeonhee interrupts the arising argument.

While you place down the next round of drinks, your eyes scan the seven faces quickly. Should I go for it and ask for her number? Ah, no, they all look too rich or out of your league to tell you. It's no use, and work is still going to keep you occupied for a couple of hours.

"You two, always sticking tongues in the same thing…" Nicha’s witty response finds a quick counter by Chaeyeon.

"Nicha, you too kissed guys who had girlfriends before, so—"

"That's totally different!"

"Uhm, hey. I'd like to order an, uhm."

Oh, this one is directed at you. The quietest girl looks at you with her puppy eyes. She is adorable, but her extremely expensive outfit forces you to throw out every fantasy of ever asking her out.

"Ah, yes. What can I get for you?" you eventually respond with a shy smile.

"Nana, do you really think you can take another?" Yoona, the oldest, says worriedly.

"Yes!” Nana oozes confidence, “I want the, what's it called, oh yes! Limoncello Martini, with extra lemon juice, please."

"Sure, thing," you say. To your surprise, the background noise gets louder as the seven beauties fall quiet. Fourteen eyes in different sizes and colors fly open wide. A feeling of uncomfortableness creeps up your spine and you quickly leave the table.

That was creepy. Ah, whatever. Probably just an inside joke.

A cocktail here, a beer there, a bowl of peanuts to the back. Water, vodka, wine, cola, then a tequila-filled glass hits the floor. A lot can happen in ten minutes, but eventually the Limoncello Martini reaches Nana. Its strong lemon smell reaches your nose and you can't help but to grimace at the acidity. Her friends are caught up in an excited chatter that quiets down when you arrive.

"The Limoncello, extra lemon, for you."

"Thank you very much~" Nana responds with a bright smile. Her eyes show signs of the alcohol taking its well-known effect: unfocused, slightly dizzy, yet just as sparkling as when she first entered the bar. Why shouldn’t this be the perfect time to ask h—

“Give me some too!”

“Hey, Yeonhee, stop! Order your own drink!”

“Give me money then.”

“You have your own money!”

“Stop fighting, you two.”

A calm, confident voice interrupts the two girls before they can spill the drink. Yeonhee, a blonde girl with pure features and cute lips that now furrow to a pout, leaves the cocktail glass alone and Nana immediately dives in to take a sip. The muscles on her cheeks and forehead contort as the boozy liquid finds its way down her throat. You chuckle.

“I thought so. I never saw someone order extra lemon. Is it too sour? Can I get you a new one?”

“No,” Nana whispers while putting the glass down, “but you can give me your number, hm?”

The bar is closed. Most people left hours ago. The sun has been up for a couple of hours now and everyone who drank one or two cocktails over their limit is dozing at home. Behind the counter, your boss is counting stacks of cash, while your co-worker cleans the remaining glasses and tables.

You’re not helping them today. You always do, but your luck is beyond reason this morning. Nana’s arms wrap around your neck while yours are on her exposed waist. In short intervals, you two engage in a wild battle of tongues, before pulling back with groans. Her hands find your back, abs, pecs, whereas yours go down from her breast, to her ass, and end at her thighs.

“Touch me more,” Nana moans. You’d respond, but she leaves you speechless with her lips as a seal and tongue as a plug. Answering isn’t necessary of course, since you can just continue to squeeze her delicious curves. Her breasts are a nice handful, but a white top with weird, wide see-through plastic straps keeps you from feeling their texture.

All it takes is a pull and the straps glide down Nana’s arm and the top down to her midriff. No bra. You both smile into the kiss. She frees her arms and unbuckles her pants to let both pieces of garment drop to the floor. You want to dive in immediately—

“Did you know I like sharing~?”

“Uhm, well you didn’t share your drink back then.”

“Just because I knew she wouldn’t like it.” Nana unbuttons your shirt, then continues her explanation in a sultry tone, “I share different things. Men like you, for example.”

Your heart has been racing ever since Nana pulled out her phone to type in your ten digit number and now it picked up the pace once more. The question of if she is serious becomes unnecessary when you see the door slowly open to reveal one of her friends—Nicha. The punk-like outfit she wore back at the table is nowhere to be seen. Her hair is a mess, the same goes for her loosely-hanging bra and drenched crimson panties.

“She’s hot, huh?” Nana whispers. Sucks at your now-bare collarbone can’t distract you from the tipsy Nicha walking towards you. The sway of her hips is deadly, the same for her lips. Never before have you seen a woman with matching lingerie and lipstick. It’s an insane sight.

“Sit down,” Nicha orders. Nana struggles to get your belt open, leaving her friend's waiting. An eye roll later and the girl in black hair yanks down your pants. As these pants still fall, she shoves you into the couch. Your gasp again when Nicha goes down to her knees before you and frees your cock from its underwear cage with nothing but her mouth.

“You’ll love this. Her tongue and mouth are incredible.”

Nana’s statement is confirmed instantaneously. Nicha licks your cockhead in swirls like she is engaging in a passionate kiss with it. The texture of her tongue is all over your sensitive tip, then proceeds to move further down the shaft to reach your base. To your surprise, Nicha doesn’t gag, even with multiple inches in her throat. It takes her little effort to leave red imprints on your shaven base.

Nana nibbles and licks on your earlobe. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you still can't stop staring down at Nicha and her black bangs as they move through her blowjob. The sound of wet sloshes of saliva mixes with Nana's whisper right next to your ear.

"Do you like that? Two girls, all over you? I can make it more, if you just… cum.”

“Fuck.”

Your groan encourages Nicha to smear more of her lipstick on you. Your arousal and sensitivity reach their peak when Nicha does a quick corkscrew motion with mouth and Nana drags her tongue along your jaw. Nana moves down your throat to your chest, her black-haired friend down your length to your balls. Nicha takes them into her mouth. Pop, pop. They are full and you’re close to unleashing what's inside them.

“F-fuck,” your groan out in bliss.

“Nicha~”

Nana’s cutesy voice resonates from your navel where the journey of her tongue ended.

“I know you want it all. Take it.”

“Shut up!”

Angrily, she goes down on you again, the chin grazes your saliva-glazed balls. With an elongated hiss you announce what they both know: your orgasm is imminent. In a moment of blind enthusiasm, you grab Nicha’s sweaty hair and pull it down. A gasp from Nana, as she is cheek-to-cheek with Nicha comes simultaneously to your final groan.

Gulp, gulp, gulp. Three times is not enough for Nicha to fully swallow the sticky whiteness. She backs off and the rest drips from her mouth, only to be caught by an eager Nana. Coos and giggles in between slurps of semen are Nicha’s song before she finishes it with a shout.

“Next~!”

Your vision is dizzy. Your eyes switch from an exhausted Nicha to an amused Nana to your hard cock to foreign hands on your cock to massive thighs to covered breasts. After a short recovery you recognize the new faces with their respective attributes: Isa and Mina, also part of the friend group from last night.

Isa’s gorgeous face does not include her familiar smile, but a red hue, probably from the copious amounts of liquor she consumed. She is almost brash, completely different from Mina. Isa does not hesitate to put her fingers around your cock to stroke it. You groan in surprise at the pleasure and Isa takes the chance to kiss you. However, her dance is a mess and her teeth are a constant obstacle. A sting when she accidentally bites your lip interrupts the attempt.

“I’m sorry, fuck.”

“It’s fine, I—”

“No, no, I know I’m bad at that. Can I still get uhm…?”

She nods towards your phallus and you chuckle.

“Sure. How would you like it?”

“How about—”

Isa climbs off from the couch, her right hand lingering on your chest a little, her left hand lingering around your cock a little longer, and stands up straight. She looks lost and stressed, her eyes darting around the room. With every step her breasts jiggle a little and her thighs jiggle a little more, as she walks towards a dark oak dresser in the corner of the room.

“—here?”

Isa ignores the vase, mirror, and glass beads atop the dresser and rests her elbows in between them, then she shakes her head to free her stupidly gorgeous face from any stray locks, spreads her wobbly, smooth legs and looks back at you. It works like an aphrodisiac.

Mindlessly, you jump up and almost butt heads with Mina. Fuck. Isa had occupied your brain to the point that you forgot about the busty cutie before you. Unlike Isa, she is still wearing something: a simple white bra with matching panties. Conservative, but beautiful. It fits her. After all, she is still covering her cheeks and timidly looks away. What gives away her hidden desire is a wet spot of arousal on said panties.

“Damn, you're beautiful.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Wanna join us?”

“Uh, I, uhm, don’t—”

“You don’t have to—”

“No! S-sure, I’ll c-come with you.”

You stretch out your hand as an invitation. It must look odd when you're completely naked and your cock swings. Nevertheless, Mina’s shyness subsides a little and she reaches for your hand. As your digits entwine, you hear a desperate cry from Isa.

“Pleeeeease, hurry!”

Mina follows after you and rests on the wall next to the dresser. Though she looks shy and flushed, her eyes still follow your body and Isa’s body when they meet in a backhug. Your dick glides into the gap beneath Isa’s leaking pussy. Her velvety insides might not squeeze you right now, but her thighs, her godly thighs create suffocating pressure.

“Fuck, your thigh—”

“I know. Can you fuck me now?”

“Hm? Am I not fucking you?” you joke, thrusting into the gap while gently caressing her hair. If you’re honest, this is easily enough pleasure to make you ignore the risky fuck of a pussy. After about ten thrusts, ten claps on her firm butt, Isa breaks:

“No! Fuck. My. Pussy! Hard, no more bulls—ah!”

Isa screams out in pleasure. Finally, your cock has found its way between her slick folds and then into her hot depth. Your fingers now entwine with her silken hair and pull. There is no turning back for her, for you, for Mina, as she gawks at the rapid fire jolts of your hip.

Ripple after ripple turn Isa’s thighs into an ocean of waves. Your heavy thrusts of your pelvis against her ass, causes her to whine adorably. Isa’s whines turn to moans when you hit the entrance to her womb with hard smacks of your leaking tip. The glass beads tremble, the vase almost tumbles, the mirror shakes dangerously. Isa’s hot, rampant breaths cause it to mist up and your relentless pounding almost causes its downfall.

Unbeknownst to you and beyond her self-control, Mina leans in closer. Drool leaks from her lips and onto the brown wooden surface. Her face is visibly heating up and her legs rub together frantically. The friction makes her panties become a useless towel. They fail to hold the nectar dripping from her pussy as she tries to hold onto the shaking dresser.

“Good, good, Daddy! Fuck me, fill me!”

“Wh-what?”

“Yes, Daddy! Give me your milk!”

Confusion and fear overtakes your head. You spin it to the side; this plain, gray wall won’t help you. To the other; an undressing Mina is no help either. Over your shoulder; Nana fortunately provides an explanation:

“She is on birth control, don’t worry! She just likes being full.”

And you definitely like her pussy, its divine texture, glorious heat and virgin-like grip. This is a gift you cannot refuse. Isa is not only begging for it with her words, her body also moves to match your pace. Only second until you cum for a second time, yet you don’t want to leave the second girl unsatisfied. Use your unoccupied hand and go on an adventure. The treasure is her clit, which you stimulate with quick rubs to push her into climax. It should always be this easy.

“Oh my God, fuck!”

Cross the finish line together with Isa. It feels like pumping a week's worth of semen into the twitching, unstable girl. When you pull out of her and back off, Isa slowly sinks to the ground. Her breaths are deep, quick and satisfied. Something is off though. For some reason, you’re still energetic, still hard, still feral—or is it actually the other way around?

You somehow turned into an animal in heat. Nothing can stop you.

Mina gaps when you grab her hand and throw her onto the sofa. She mewls when you tell her to remove her bra, but still follows through. The astonishing sight of her breasts gives your dick-controlled brain an idea.

Climb on top of her and align your shaft with the gap in between her big mounds, then grab said mounds and squeeze. This pocket around your cock is soft and Isa’s fresh juices serve as a lubricant. In this weird position where you have to balance yourself to not crash onto Mina’s trained stomach makes the tit fuck hard, but absolutely thrilling.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Your order came out harsher, more desperate than you would’ve wanted. Mina’s aroused face shows no signs of being startled, on the contrary: she obliges. Her small tongue protrudes from her luscious lips, and with more aggression you try to reach it. A couple of thrusts and you groan. A drool-covered tip meets a pussy-juice-covered tip. Not a huge difference, until yours leaks pre-cum and sprinkles it. Mina laps it up and grimaces at her first taste of the clear liquid.

“Good girl. I’ll give you a reward.”

You stop and move your attention away from Mina’s bust. Your fingers glide over her midriff and without hesitation dive into her sodden panties. A wild bush, almost as wild as your attack onto her vulva, is no obstacle for your goal to pleasure her. Mina mewls like a kitten when you finger fuck her.

Find the nub in her dark pubic hair and rub it with your thumb. Your finger thrusts go faster and faster. Mina’s breasts make sure you don’t go flaccid and suddenly, she squeezes them together and down your length. It’s no use, holding your moan back and luckily Mina joins you. This becomes a duel, a battle of who can pleasure the other better.

A moment of hesitation, contemplation, then overstimulation for Mina. She jerks her tits up and down to have any semblance of winning this competition, but her lower body is giving up on her. It goes up on its own, fucking your finger, and suddenly unleashing. A clear stream of squirt flies across the couch and onto your rubbing fingers.

Mina throws her head back just in time for you to do the same. Four spurts of cum streak over the beautiful girl, from her forehead to her nipples. A little bit drips into her mouth while she moans. The saltiness makes her whine as the wave of pleasure abates.

You laugh.

“Damn, that was amazing.”

“Wow. You were right, Nana, he’s still hard,” a new voice whispers.

Chaeyeon gives Nana a back hug and nibbles on the younger woman's neck. Nana moans and bites her lip. Through the sudden attack of affection, she points over at the small living room table. On it lies another girl. The sight makes your brain lag and you forget her name.

Does a name really matter if she is already nude, legs spread, fingers on her clit?

You turn your body towards her. She looks impatient, so you hurry to get off of Mina and cover the small distance. It’s not fast enough however. With an annoyed gaze, she speaks her mind with no filter.

“Hurry the fuck up! Please me!”

“Woah, chill! Your face is cute, but you’re a needy bitch, huh?”

Long, golden blond braids are favorable handles for you. With your first, merciless pull you remember her name again. Yeonhee. Innocent-looking, but absolutely bratty. Maybe she is just confident and really wants your dick. Either way, she gets it.

Plunge into her. Yeonhee’s legs tremble like she is currently experiencing an orgasm. You ignore it and only chase your own release. It will be the fourth of this morning and because Yeonhee’s insides are hotter than the sun itself, you’ll soon be there. Each drill is proof of the mind-blowing texture of the blonde’s velvety walls. You complement it with another pull on her braids.

“Argh, fuck.”

“You get what you want—or should I stop?”

“No, fuck me—ah!”

Yeonhee is a mess of trembles once more. Could it actually be this easy to make her cum? You wouldn’t dare to complain. She milks like her life depends on it whenever you give her pain and pleasure in the form of pulls and thrusts. Because of the contortion of her adorable face, you haven’t paid attention to her breasts yet. The handfuls bounce up and down, and you lean in to lap at her solid nipples.

The sweat on her back makes her glide centimeters over the glass surface of the table. Jiggles on her perfectly endowed go unnoticed, at least by you. From behind you hear moans and giggles from Nana and Chaeyeon. The thought of them pleasuring each other while watching you makes you increase your speed.

Yeonhee screams. She throws her arms back off the edge of the table and her clean, sweaty pits get exposed. Instinctively, your tongue moves down from her mound to the exposed pit to lick up more of her addictive body. This time, you won’t care if she can get pregnant or not. You just want to unload in this damn body, and she wants you as well.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop! Fuck, never stop. I want more!”

“Yeonhee, me too. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Your pelvises only meet once more. Her braids are handles only once more. Your cock only spurts into Yeonhee once more. It’s all worth it. When you pull out, cream flushes out of her red pussy. It runs in between her ass cheeks and makes a sticky mess on the table. You move away from her, just a step, to take the beautiful girl into view. She has her eyes closed and—

“Aw~ Are you going soft in Mommy’s hand~?”

A mocking voice. A delicate hand. A painful groan. Perky nipples press into your back, in fact, you feel the entirety of a toned, bare body. Like this, you cannot see her face, but you have a feeling who it could be. Chaeyeon confirms your assumption when she calls out:

"Yoona-unnie! I want to go next!"

"Oh, sweetie, I'm not taking him away from you. Actually, I'm helping you."

She pulls back her hand at a snail's pace. You squirm and lean back even more into Yoona's body and her second hand makes sure you'll stay like this. Your thoroughly used cock twitches like crazy and it was about to go soft—

"I'm keeping him hard. Look~"

It's not only her hand. Yoona's voice, with its sultry, mocking, demanding tone is like a pacemaker. It forces blood to go back to your cock. You stay solid, physically ready to go, but your brain is lagging. This morning had been too crazy.

"Mommy did her thing. Now~go give it to our cute Chaeyeon here."

"Stop calling me cute, Unnie!" Chaeyeon says angrily. She abandons her intimate hug and kiss session with Nana and lays down on the couch, next to a snoring Mina.

"I want you now, mister waiter," the stunning brunette says, spreading her legs high and wide.

"Will you really keep her waiting~?" Yoona asks, her lips right at your ear.

A stupid question. Of course you don't want to keep a willing woman with perfect legs and juicy breasts waiting. Your mind is failing you. The constant stimulation and switch in partners made it a mushy mess.

Yoona guides you from behind. Each movement of her limbs forces you to move yours as well- Her legs and hands cover the miniscule distance to Chaeyeon's shaven slit. Her eyes sparkle in need.

"Put it in, put it in, please,” Chaeyeon begs.

"Fold her, press her, fill her, do it for Mommy.” Yoona’s seductive voice is inescapable.

"Y-yes, Mommy."

And you do it. Your fingers wrap around Chaeyeon's ankles. In one swing, you press her smooth legs back and down. Chaeyeon gasps in anticipation, so you continue. Align your cock with her awaiting pussy and you find that she has a surprise for you: the heart-shaped gem of a butt-plug in between her small cheeks.

"Our pretty Chaeyeon has gotten kinky~"

Before Chaeyeon can respond to Yoona's remark, you flick, tug and lightly twist the protruding end of the sex toy.

"It looks hot."

"It feels amazing. I always wanted to try it with a cock in me—shit!"

A curse from her tender lips. It's only the first of many, many curses an elegant woman like her should not spout, but then again, no one who it could bother will ever know. It's just her, her six equally horny and naughty friends, and you.

"How does she feel? Come on, tell Mommy~"

Yoona massages your shoulders as she watches you massaging Chaeyeon's insides. Both their pussies leak down your legs, from the front, from the back. Quickly, you get on your toes to get more leverage. Glide deep and groan your answer.

"Mommy, she is—fuck, incredible. She feels so tight and I can f-feel the plug."

"Good boy~"

All of a sudden, Yoona jolts her hips forward against your ass. Your formerly careful thrusts are gone. Yoona makes you fuck her friend harder than planned and consequentially, Chaeyeon grips the pillows harder.

"Unnie, what are you—fuck!"

"Shhh, baby girl~! You're mine now."

You're stuck. Trapped between the bodies of two women. Yoona uses you as her tool, to stimulate the younger Chaeyeon. Never before felt being used this good. Luckily, Chaeyeon seems to melt and falter to the pleasure a faster-than-expected fucking gives her.

Kiss Chaeyeon's womb and simultaneously Yoona kisses your nape. Even with her lips and tongue she is eager, thus it's no surprise that Chaeyeon succumbs to the double thrusts.

"U-unnie, it fee—" Chaeyeon is cut off by a harsh Yoona.

"No, sweetie. Wrong."

"M-M-Mommy, fuck, it feels so good. My pussy, my ass—make me cum, please."

Yoona's hands wander over your waist to her friend's clit. What happens after is unbeknownst to you. All you see is Chaeyeon's eyes jumping open wide and here the pleasure-filled scream from trembling lips. Then the pressure around your dick becomes unbearable. Yoona forces a quick array of thrusts, but then you burst.

After so many loads, it's no surprise that this one is tiny and not near as creamy as before. Still, the pulses from Chaeyeon's cunt make you feel an indescribable heat and the joy of sex makes you slowly tumble into dreamland. This victory of Yoona is your final part in this scene.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me! I still haven't had my share!"

Nana shouts and shakes at your shoulder. She pulls you away from the couch and the other girls and pulls you into a hug. Your semi-hard cock grazes her folds, but it's too late. You become flaccid.

"No! This is so unfair."

"Give him more of it," Yeonhee says from behind. You don't see her, as your eyes are focused on the disappointed Nana.

"But is it safe? I don't want him to overdose."

"O-overdose? What do you mean?"

Nana sighs.

"Do you remember the Limoncello Martini? The extra lemon has a… special effect. It makes you last longer."

"What?"

Any follow-up question is stuck in your throat. Considering your current environment and predicament, the existence of such a substance is not surprising at all. How did they get their hands on it though?

"Yeah. And because I still did not have you in me, I want you to smell a tiny bit of it. Is that okay with you?"

"How could I possibly refuse such an offer? I think you’ve deserved it now."

Nana giggles and you hear steps behind you. One of the six woman you had sex with before holds her finger underneath your nose. The distinct smell of the citrusy fruit hits your nostrils. It's not even close to the Limoncello Martini, so you suspect that its effects will not be enough, but Nana shows confidence.

“This will do.”

Then she kisses you. Once again, your tongues play and dance with each other as you feel the effects on the lower part of your body. Once again, the two of you have your hands at the other's body, although this time only certain spots are of interest. Once again, you get horny for this frisky girl and the lemon-stimulus makes you hard in her squeezing hand.

“One load?” Nana asks jokingly, as her fingers wander down to your balls and cup them super gently.

“More would kill me.”

“Then I want it… in my ass.”

Nana’s whisper was not quiet enough. The part of her friends that’s able to stand up does so and hastily positions themselves next to you. Their eyes are bright, their grins as well.

“Nana, finally.”

“We’ve waited so long for this. Good girl~”

Both Yoona and Nicha hook their arms around Nana’s legs and lift the light woman up. Her wetness rubs on your hardness now as she once again wraps her arms around your nape. You instinctively help in stabilizing her, but now your arms are occupied. There is no way for you to align with her puckered entrance.

Luckily, a third girl staggers over and finds stop at your shoulders. Chaeyeon completes the circle of beauty around you and her sweaty hands reach for your sensitive shaft. When you hiss, she giggles.

“Hm, I’m glad I get to touch this snake, Daddy.”

“Daddy? What?!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you made me pregnant just now. So take—”

With no warning, she shoves your tip into Nana’s ass.

“—responsibility.”

Nana screams and you almost join her. This is too much. A man isn’t made for feeling the narrow, scorching confines of so many holes in such a short amount of time. A heart, a brain, a cock can’t possibly survive such frequent usage and stimulation. They will surely break at some point.

For Nana, however, you’ll accept this fate. Even if you fucking die through this, you will not stop.

The brunette girl has tears in her eyes, while her Unnies praise her and coo with every inch you push into her ass. At times, she feels too tight to get your entire length into her, but eventually, with a lot of help from her friends, you bottom out. Muster all the strength you have to pull her close. Thank God that Chaeyeon is like a pillar behind you or you would have lost balance.

“I-it hurts m-more than I thought,” Nana whimpers, a few tears running down her flawless cheeks.

“Y-you good? We can stop whenever you want. This is not a competition.”

“Yeah, baby,“ Yoona softly says, “you did good, you don’t have to prove anything~.”

“My first time hurt too,” Nicha adds, while adding kisses to Nana’s back.

“No! J-just go v-very slowly, okay?”

Take a look at Nana’s sparkling eyes. They reaffirm her words and so you, with a lot of help, begin your first thrust. It’s easily the slowest you’ve pulled out of a girl this morning, but it’s also necessary. Nana’s face is distorted by pain until your glans is the only thing inside her butt.

“You can do it.” Chaeyeon’s words are amplified by her massaging Nana’s legs.

“Yes, I can.”

You groan. Even at such a slow pace, this thrust feels great. Nana’s ass grips tightly and soon, every part of your cock gets milked from her walls. Who could last longer than a minute inside this amazing hole?

Your brain starts to fail. First your nose. The smell of sweat, juice and sex escape you. Then your vision. Gorgeous faces, bare chests and slender limbs become fuzzy. Finally, your own body. Yoona, Nicha and Chaeyeon are the only reason you and Nana are still upright.

“I-I can’t anymore.”

“Please, just a couple more thrusts.”

Her plea, your only energy. You begin to thrust faster. She winces. You repeat the motion, and suddenly she groans. Your perception of time has gone haywire. Suddenly you feel yourself pounding Nana faster. She doesn’t cry anymore and seems to fit perfectly around your length. Moans and cheers make a cacophony that reassure you: it’s working now.

“So good! Please, cum inside! Cum before me!”

What an odd request.

A hole in your memory. All you do is feel and hear. Ropes of cum flee your body, Nana trembles around you. Her wetness lubes your torso, her fingernails scratch your neck. There are moans, there are sighs, there is a door being opened. Confused, excited, panicked voices—and in between all of them, you immediately recognize one.

“You did it! We are free, finally!”

Sakura. What is she doing here?

(A/N2: Sorry for all those tags, and thanks for reading! If you find missing tags, comment them or sth lmao)

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