#back on my Michael thirsting bullshit yet again

[ingravinoveritas]

Michael looking gorgeous with Ruth Wilson at the Amazon special screening of A Very Royal Scandal.

[jenna-ortega]

Resist (Michael Langdon xReader)

Summary: Michael Langdon had been able to have anyone and anything he wanted, until he came across you. Your resistance would have him wondering of ways he could break you. Would he move on, or would it drive him mad?

Warnings: Possibly angst? 

Word Count: 1700

A/N: This will probably be a few chapter, i didn’t want to rush into anything just yet, but i feel like this is gonna be fun! this is inspired by an anon from @thelangdoncooperative, check their page out! 

Part 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 The Finale 

You’d been so secluded for the past 18 months. Barely speaking to anyone, just being where you had to be. You were always a bit reserved, only speaking out when you felt it needed. In these few months, you didn’t bother. Between the hairdresser Gallant and his snobby client Coco, you knew you were not here to make friends, simply survive. If you had to pick someone that you enjoyed, it’d only be mallory. It was always a bit awkward having her “serve” you. You were what they called a purple, and she a grey. Social class can’t even be demolished after the end of the world. 

The outposts leader was a lady named Ms. Venable, and her weirdo accomplice Ms. Mead. You were less than thrilled every single time they thought to speak with you, who cares about rules. Who cares about anything when the world is dead, and you were mustered into this thing by men who said you were fit for the new world. What does that even mean? your running thoughts were quickly interrupted by Ms. Venable introducing someone. You’d been in the main living area lost within your own mind. You looked up to see a glimpse of a man with long blonde hair, his blue yes on you as he entered the room walking straight to the front. 

“My name is Langdon and I represent the cooperative.” your eyes scan him, examining his outfit, “his outfit is almost as ridiculous as ours, he has to be in on this.” You felt yourself smirk at your thought. You felt someones eyes burning a hole into you, looking up from your folded hands your eyes met with his. Langdons head titled a bit, staring at you. Almost as if he heard you. You shot him a half smile and his focus shifted back to the entire room.

“I won’t sugar coat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. The other outposts have been overrun and destroyed. We are assuming they’ve all been eliminated.” Langdons words make the hair on your skin rise. Did you really survive the apocalypse just to die anyway. 

“What happened to the people inside?” your voice a bit shaky, everyones eyes were on you stunned at the sudden appearance of your voice. His head turned to you, his eyes glowed, you took a deep breath not knowing how he would reply. To your confusion, a smirk grew wide across his face. 

“Massacred.” his voice sung the word, still holding eye contact with you. Your heart sunk, the anxiety inducing response only made your hands sweaty and your heart race. 

“The same fate that will befall on almost all of you.” he continued his monologue, being interrupted again by a small voice at the back of the room.

“Almost all?” mallory seemed intrigued by his use of the word. 

“Knowing this could happen, we built a fail safe. The sanctuary. It has security measures that prevent it from overrun. The sanctuary will survive, so people populating it will survive, therefor that means humanity will survive.” the room fell silent for a second, Gallant quickly chiming in.

“Who’s populating it?” his question was one you’d been thinking too, just didn’t want to intervene yet again.  

“That’s classified.” his tone sharp and cold. 

“However, i’ve been sent here to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The cooperative has developed a particular questioning technique we like to call...co-operating. I will use the information gain to determine if you belong.” his act was clearly trying to be intimidating. He looked like a regular ole’ white man, what made him so special?

Langdon had went on about this questioning for a little longer. mentioning if you did not want to partake you would end up dying. Your eyes rolled a bit, over the dramatics he was pulling. 

“Y/N.” the sudden sound of your name surprised you, again looking up at a particular tall man by the name of Langdon. 

“Since you seem so excited, our interview will began...now. Follow me.” the room seemed scared for you, their eyebrows raised and mouths agape. Since he came into the room it was as if he’d been trying to pick on you. You were less than happy about this way of determining who gets to live, but you’d rather some weird question than radiation. 

//

You had arrived to his office, following him like a lost puppy throughout the halls. You entered the sliding door, looking around and taking it in. The room dimly lit, his desk was a few feet from a fire place with two leather sits in front of it. He was living better than everyone else and to your knowledge he had just arrived. 

“Please, have a seat.” his hand gesturing to the chair across from him. You shrugged your shoulders taking his hint, and plopping down for a seat. It had almost felt like you were having a staring contest. Neither of you were speaking, just looking at each other. 

Langdon was looking at her as if he was rummaging through her idle mind. He knew from the moment he stepped into the outpost he’d be drawn to her. The smell of her was so--pure. He was disgusted walking in, she was too good. He had to break her down somehow, show her how much evil she can really do, how disgusting she can really be, if someone were to push her a bit. 

“So...how does this work?” you decided to break the awkward silence. His face of disgust really not sitting well with you. 

“I’m not going to tell you what criteria i’m using to grade you. Things you may feel are helpful may be hurtful, things you may think compel rejection may be just what i am looking for. If you lie, i will know, if you try to trick me i will know and this interview will be over and you will die here. Are we clear, Y/N?” his voice echoing through the room just as ominous as its original source. 

You nodded shyly, waiting for his next move. You were a bit frightened, but didn’t want to show him that. He was just a man with some power. Nothing to be afraid of, so you thought. Your eyes and his met again, his blue gaze was intense. He radiated an energy that made you want to cower in front of him. 

“What is your opinion of me?” his mouth turning up in a smile.

You titled your head a bit confused “Why? am i supposed to kiss up and then get my ticket to the sanctuary?” you giggled at yourself, apparently he didn’t find you as funny.

“I don’t have time for your jokes, answer my question.” 

You raised an eyebrow at his serious tone, clearing your throat out of nervousness. 

“I think...um, you’re intimidating?” hoping that was an okay answer, you folded your hands in your lap.

“What about me is intimidating.” his question more of a statement. You’ve quickly learned he doesn’t care for any bullshit. 

He was trying to bait you. He could read how nervous he made you, knowing well that was going to be your answer. He wanted to manipulate your feelings, get you to admit something more. You watched him get up from his seat, making slow strides to you. Looking up at his figure, you gulped loud and continued your response. 

“I don’t know- something about your aura i guess. You’re just...i don’t know.” you shook your head now looking down at your hands once again. You felt the chair move, he had pulled your chair out just a bit to kneel before you--feeling the warmth of his hand on your thigh. 

“Tell me. Tell me how i make you feel.” his eyes seemed so much darker, looking into yours. Your heart raced with fear, something about him seemed so malevolent. You were a bit turned on. Not knowing if it was the 18 months alone or the fact that your virginity had you thirsting after anyone who touched you. 

You had yet to answer him, growing more uncomfortable as the time went on. His hand caressing your thigh, and the other moving to your face. His fingertips traced your cheekbone down to your jaw. You body gets so hot, you feel your breathing heavy, it’s like he was seducing you with his touch. Your eyes fluttering as he smiled at you. Satisfied with how you’ve been reacting to his touch. 

“Y/N, i’m growing impatient with your silence. I know how bad you’re burning for me. My touch making you weak, tell me.” you shook your head at his statement. Pushing his hand away from your face, you adjusted yourself in your seat.

“No, that’s absurd. You’re crazy. I need to leave.” you nervously ran from your seat, wishing the door was closer there until--a strong force grips your wrist pulling you back. You almost lost your balance, turning around to see Langdon snarling at you. His grip twisted on your arm, looking much darker than you ever imagined.

“TELL ME. YOU CAN’T LIE TO ME.” his voice raised making you wince, pulling your wrist back with all your might you just couldn’t get out of his grip. In your adrenaline induced state you decided to use all your body weight to push him to the ground--”I’M NOT LYING, LET GO OF ME!”--his hand finally releasing from your body as he stumbled on the floor. 

You ran far from that room, not looking back. Leaving him there to bask in the defeat. He was for once confused at a human response. He tried so hard to break your walls. He knew somewhere in you could be manipulated into being sinful for him, usually people don’t fight the lust he places within them. The pathetic and weak humans of the old world give into their carnal desires within seconds of it being presented. You were different, he knew he had work to do with you. 

[wroteclassicaly]

Fiercely Vigilant

Michael Langdon / Reader

A/N : Requested by an anon was a jealous Michael. I made him jealous of the emotional friendship the reader has with Mr. Gallant. Hope you all like this! Feedback is welcomed! Let me know how my writing of Michael is, cause’ I’m quite nervous about it. Hope you enjoy, Anon! Keep the requests coming, folks! ;) - Kristen

Warnings : Smut, nasty language, some violence, Michael being a cruel asshole Anti-Christ. I think that about covers it. 

You have to laugh at yourself for seeking out a dictionary, of all things to read. Another reason hand in hand with your status of sizzling gray to be ridiculed for. But really, you need to extend your vocabulary on describing this place that stretched beyond basic "This is bullshit. I'm bored. I'm hungry. I'm horny." pleas of exasperation. You were all starting to get on your own nerves. Even the purples were drained on energy most evenings.

Except Coco. That woman never shuts the fuck up. Whatever is in her cube must be a higher dosage. Perhaps Meade is sneaking in tranquilizers? Sleep deprived, wiping your blurry eyes you find yourself laughing at images containing everyone in the compound combusting into trunks and tails, humps and Dumbo ears.

Jocular. This is the word you're currently stuck on, fingernail pressed tightly into worn paper.

"And then she cut my credit card off like it was my dick, which, by the way, she wanted to suck. I'm like, honey, you're not a Hemsworth brother." A deep voice butters into your absurdly caught giggles. He raises a manicured chocolate brown brow, peering first at the thesaurus in your lap, then you. "Should've known that's what you were laughing about. You're such a fucking weirdo." Gallant pouts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You snort with a mildly affectionate pat to his strong hand, that is resting across your ankle.

"You know I could ask you to wipe my ass instead of talking to you, right?"

Though his tone is meant to be more dignified, you know he's not serious, just being sour. You understand him though, oddly enough. Which is something most people don't here. He's not purple through and through. Coco might be Barney though, jury still has its vote out on that one. If there was a jury alive.

"I'd rather manscape you," You say tiredly, closing your words up, holding tightly to your new nightly read.

Relaxing, a sigh to accompany, Gallant's posture goes slack beneath his velvet smoking jacket, his fingers back to caressing the overworked heels of your stocking clad feet. It's rare. So fucking rare for this deep of a companionship to have formed between two more opposite people. The grays work for elites and leaders here, they do nothing but serve and take what little they are permitted. They don't have night long conversations, sneak down into the library after the fires are put out to search the library together for soft core porn or even poetry, and they don't share secrets they'd never dare tell anyone else, and they sure as hell wouldn't be caught together so casually, a gray looking as if she's an elite's queen, feet in his lap, being pampered to, when she is supposed to be kissing the radiation soaked ground for the chance to serve here, to live what life she can.

Yet here you both are, closer than Gallant's friendship with Coco, closest thing you've ever felt for another human being since years before the bombs fell. It's an unexplainable thing, you feel compelled towards Gallant's company and he to yours. Beneath all his shallow and hyper - vibrant exterior is someone in pain, angry. So you soothe him, you listen. You two be. You two are.

"Ugh, I can't believe you touch her more than a straight man would. If you wanted to touch a woman then you know you have me. This is so idiotic." Comes a slouchy whine to your left on the couch across from you two. Her dress fans around her the moment that she hits the cushions and your eyes roll, feet tensing in Gallant's lap with a tight flex as they also slide out.

His exterior is changing, fighting a gapped bridge where he's more settled, to his stuck up and snotty attitude that comes so natural to him that he breathes insults over air. You don't give him the chance to decide which persona he's taking on, for you've got your book tucked away, all too aware as you stand, knowing how much time it has taken to get you relaxed enough that your chores are way behind. A plummet frolics inside your muscles, all melted things hardening like ice, shocking, spilling sharp through your veins in spreads. Tucking away your yellow treasure into your apron, you go about fluffing pillows in chairs, checking candles, making sure things are in perfect order. Doesn't matter how clean things are, they can always be knuckle raw, fingernail bed bleeding - cleaner.

They're talking now, a secret smile cracking into the corners of your mouth at Gallant still directing his part from the conversation your way. "Wish I at least had Fifty Shades in these hands. With the right lighting and a little Christian Grey, it makes one happy man."

"Nora Roberts sounds pretty good. What I wouldn't give for a solid insta feed though, holy shit in Louboutin heels. " Coco agrees, sighing into a melancholy trail off.

"You know what I think?" Gallant has you both looking his way again. When he sees in special delight that he's got your attention, he edges on his seat before continuing, fingers tightly clasped together, licking his lips in thought. "I think Langdon has some kinky shit he brought with him around here somewhere."

"Like what?" Coco is damn near exploding now, bunching her knuckles white against the rustling fabric of her dress.

And you, your feet forget what the floor is and they sink as they still to hold you up. The mention of the man that's been combing your subconscious, your consciousness, your dreams, your fucking nightmares and your nerves, automatically hatches a slash through any calm serenity you've previously picked up. Everyone here has been obsessed or occupied with thoughts of and about this cooperative man. He claims salvation by test, paradise promised by sanctuary. While others are starved for stars, your last hopes are seeing their final hours.

There's no way someone is just going to come here, make this much of an impact, promise such things, then use hideous humiliation to gain a dangerous upper-hand without a flaming hellfire catch. It doesn't help you that in your previous life you were too scared to start drama when McDonalds messed up your order. Forget keeping your calm around Langdon, especially in your interviews. You feel stupid, guilty you even let yourself ease off knowing he's still very much present. Gallant has these looks he shares with Langdon, ones that baffle you, irritate you, worry you.

Guess he's handsome's favorite. Like you have a chance no matter what orientation Langdon is.

"Chains, leather, lots of fucking leather." Gallant damn near moans himself into the floor, snapping your reverie, your ears rearing back zone impact into their conversation.

In this moment you want to simply blend in with these people for the sake of solitude. Despite your weariness to whisper Langdon's name, let alone what you're about to say, you can't help a hot excitement prickling your flesh. "Like maybe a sex swing he hangs from like Tarzan?"

Coco looks more intrigued than you've ever seen her, Gallant is sliding his tongue over his lips more than necessary. Yep, you've succeeded in getting your naughty point across.

"Gray girl has a nasty ass mind. Gotta say that I'm impressed I wasn't the only one besides Gallant, looking at his dick. What you can see of it through that designer coat. I bet he has a studio of things back at the sanctuary. I can't wait for him to take me there." She babbles on, back resting into the plush couch, coasting on her own fantasy.

~*~

You didn't say goodnight to either elite after your little sexy pillow talk and wishes session. Gallant escorted Coco off to her room, the two of them gossiping about sex swings and fresh air, as you tried to lug your large mop bucket up the winding staircase. The heat from the candles is dizzying, your vision blotching out around your thirsting lips. You'd kill Venable for a drink of water right now but you're already behind. Thanking your newly acquired upper arm strength, you heave the heavy tin onto the landing, safely tucked away for you to start your last night time task.

By the time you've scrambled back down to pick up your propped mop, an electricity seems to charge the air, candles swaying without breeze. You know he's here before you actually know. Your body bows in his direction like a violent tornadic spin-up, your dingy boot paused cautiously on the final top step, your fingernails biting into the wood of the mop handle. Langdon is doing what he does best : observing you like a wild beast, something even predators are afraid to speak of. You don't tell yourself to calm down, you know it's ill advised and won't work with him.

"Working late tonight?" He pesters, Cheshire smirk pressing his beautiful features, though his eyes this playful mood does not reach.  

You shut off your brain that's screaming alarms at you head on fractured, blurting out whatever you come up with.

"I am, Sir. Which is my fault. I got caught up, I was -"

"Talking to Billy Idol?" He cuts you off, your jaw snapping shut.

"Billy Idol?...." You give yourself a second to leap the reference, shaking your head. So Langdon is pop cultured.

"I was talking to him, yes. And trying to finish my work. I didn't know if he or Miss Coco would require my services, so I stayed around the area."

You think you're coming out strong, halfway truthful but you believe in your words, your grip loosening slightly. That strength is shattered within moments. It's as if you can taste fire on the air, its nasty breath singing your neck. You rear back to see Langdon's polished boot kick your tin bucket to the front of the stairs and over, sending it crashing to its side, soapy water drenching your skirts and flooding the stairwell. There's a red hot heat to match your fearful shock, French kissing your disgusting embarrassment, rolling right into the sheets with your unbalanced temper.

You catch your upper lip wobbling, much to Langdon's unguarded pleasure. He sloshes his shoe to splash some water up at you, laughing, like he got what he wanted in some sick form of vengeance. You didn't think he noticed, nor cared enough to try to upset you this way. Guess that's not how things truly work with him. Your silence halts his laughter, forcing your curiosity to face him.

He's watching you watch him, but this time it's as if you're on equal footing. You're seeing through one another. He tilts his head, his hair casting brief shadows across his sharp face. He's fucking undeniably breath taking. You're trembling, he's recharging, no, he's surging on your emotions.

"Maybe you'd like to have Mr. Gallant assist you? Somehow though, I don't think he'd be pleased with this line of work, nor your presence in this state. Which is why it's difficult to understand why he puts himself in your pathway when he's walking on marble and you're the mud stained earth."

"I-" You suddenly fight for the air Langdon is invisibly holding vice, hostage max.

"Though if you promised to fill his hole with Venable's cane, then hold him after, maybe he'd indulge you."

There's a spark he recognizes with astonishment, not blocking, not surprised to get you, but for the first time powerless to bewilderment. You aren't thinking, you're feeling. Feeling your way through every damned patch of thorns, of bullshit, using your hands to battle your way. Your palm connects with a warm, muscular-bone shaped flesh, fingertips brushing slight into plump, soft lips. The echo your hit on Langdon causes is haunting, an eerie flush dusting across your skin.

You would swear on everyone's lives here that you saw nothing human in his eyes moments after he gets his bearings. Your pride is short lived, arm suddenly branded by his painful grip, hot like an iron, banishing your bones to dust, muscles twisting in being drug to his room, his office, whatever it is. Your body is seemingly everywhere at once, the room flying violently past your vision. Your legs crumble at the same time your back collides-tailbone first into the heavy double doors, locks sounding, making you itch. Langdon is tossing you by your wrist into his desk, your hip jutting into its sharp edge.

Scrambling back you decide it's fight or flight. He's already circling you, unyielding, so you need to do this. Propelling backwards behind his chair you reach for something glass, a stupid paper weight, holding it tightly. "I'll smash your fucking skull into your brains, Langdon, and I don't care what will happen to me after. It'll be worth it to see you die if you fucking touch me!"

You don't want him to meet death's door, though, you are startling to realize you've felt this way since you laid eyes on him, and that sets off a powerful lurch in your step, paperweight slipping, forgotten, rolling around his approaching feet. You let him grab you, let him seal your fate, permission all granted. If someone is going to die then it will be you, you just can't hurt him. He grips your apron strap, your book clattering in a thump, and then you're one with the cold floor below you, inches from the confines of the area rug. When he straddles you, you forget how to breathe, choking.

Bowing up, then down again, your arms fold to your sides, body holding. Langdon descends above you like an angel forged out of dark, enriching blood, whispering things like wings to his shadow, his coat black feathers you hunger to stroke. His leather clad legs have you caged in, his chest eases atop yours, his hair cascading a private curtain to enclose you in fate. His nose nudges yours, not giving in, changed, in synch with this newly slow dance tempo. You're gliding, gliding somewhere where only you two can walk on the dance floor, where the music exists solely for your ears.

This is more terrifying than you had felt before with him. Suddenly you're unsure of anything you've ever done in your entire life, questioning every waking decision. Hitting him is all you can be proud of, because it led to this. And this.... this scares you, being moved by violence towards a dangerous soul, it binds you. Langdon's ring clad finger strokes down your chin, across your jaw, up to your cheekbone to smear around dried tears of humiliation that you never knew you had cried.

He's got a red patch wound across his mouth from your imprint, an urge to lick at the skin, taste your hot hit on him tempting enough you feel your pelvis jolt off the floor, directly colliding with his.

You shiver into motions you can't control, gasping on cans of air that reach Langdon's lips. He tastes them, drawing his fingers back down the path they came, working to cup your breast through your apron and your overshirt. If you thought his presence fucked your nervous system up, then you know you're going to hell in a handbasket now. But you don't have time to question it, no. Langdon easily brings you up onto your shaky footing, holding you around your waist, fingertips skimming your breast, whilst he lets his other hand grip your tightly worn and issued twist at the top of your head, pulling until it releases your hair.

You sigh into a pregnant tremble, your head lighter, everything spinning, spinning to stillness. For an unusual amount of moments Langdon is quiet, observant in concern, defeating his voices to silence. He won't hurt you, not really. He can't.

The fact that that wasn't what actually upset him stirred his demon, spoke to his soul. You were guarded around him, shielding yourself by sheer emotion. No magics, no seduction, no wit. You didn't want him to see, but you let that idiot Gallant inside. The one that was so desperate for love Langdon was honest to Satan scared he'd try to find something with you.

Physical or not, he couldn't bare it.

"Why did you do this? I don't understand what happened," You whisper gently, seeking.

"You're an obstacle I did not expect to find here, nor do I want you. Gallant is a fucking problem. I should end you both, drive a fucking stake through your hearts as you're embracing. What a sweet little death for two insatiable romantics." And he's mocking you again, only this is tipping over into the bottom of the ocean cruel.

You scoot from his grip, appalled at what he's implying. Is the male ego that thick? Even now?

"Then you're not who you claim to be, because if you were, you'd know that Mr. Gallant would carry you over this buildings' threshold, ride off in your god forsaken carriage with you and leave us here to fry feed the cannibals." You finish, ignoring the sting in your eyes at him stating clearly what you already know.

He doesn't want you. But you shouldn't care beyond lust and competing for affections, having him when no one else does, that should be all you want. Not hurt that runs so damn deep you want to carve your heart out and demand he step on it, finish you. What's this otherworldly reason for wanting someone you don't even know, a sociopathic egomaniac - to love you? If love were to catch you, wrap itself around you like poison-why is it running so ahead of you that an abyss can't even capture its rapture, with a.... a man like this?

Langdon can read you so well again, continuing his monologue, spoken tongue to mouth, yours.

"Given the right environment, deprivation of human contact until the body cries out for something, any-fucking-thing, emotional stimulation, anyone can become more than they should, or ever knew that they could be together, Y/N." His voice is speaking to you, not down on you. And he's moving closer again, forward.

You don't know anything but this man on this earth. Who is everyone? Who the fuck are you? You just want to be in him, he in you. Together. No separation. You don't fight Langdon's touch, his forehead softly propping against yours. "I want every single part of you that you cling to, so I can shatter you, then put you back together. I want you to let me in the way you let him in."

Fucking breathe, don't forget that. No, you can't use Langdon's air. Not yet.

"I may not want you, but I need you. I shouldn't, but I ache for you. And I've eaten, but I could ravish you until there is nothing left but what I desire to be." He's crowning your chin in a gentle touch, feather-like, almost as if you can share the drumming pulse right from his fingertips through you. He too is a little more shaky, something you are too slack-jawed to comprehend.

It settles like snowfall, quiet enough for live clouds to form above your heads. Langdon guides your cold and sweaty palm to wipe off on his shirt, taking note to your nerves, not entirely objecting. He still likes you squirming. You're swung by a force so inhuman, you believe it has prayed over you in hisses, forever winding into your skin. There's no turning back, but you knew that from the moment he got here.

You're moving, like ghosts, fast paced, not quick enough. There's orange and yellow blurs pattering across your vision in fuzzy shapes, candlelight. This place is leaving you flabbergasted. It's like any other room but it's his. His sanctuary.

Your body is laid back across some sheets, stretched out like an art exhibit on the mend, striving for greatness. Langdon's coat is off, his scarf following, drifting into the chair you were unaware is here. You don't know exactly what you should do, your animalistic instincts trying to snap their violent jaws through leashes of your thinly held self-control. There's a wisp that snaps an air so warm you bite into your cheek, fisting the covers beside you, head lolling to the side, a moan vibrating throughout your entire body. You arch to it like a willing prisoner on the verge of her freedom.

What are you doing to me?  You don't voice it, all stomping surround sound guides it. You sense cosmic connection, fucking space extended, mother nature pumping your blood. You wither around like a fish on dry land, thirsting for a stream of whatever Langdon offers you. Maybe you can hear music, anything you wish.

Are you dreaming? Did you fall on those stairs? What is this?

"Don't restrain it, don't hold back, don't let the human reservations consume what your body wants. I can smell you," Langdon breathes, giving you his supply, knees pressing into his bed. "How openly ripe your heart is, how I want it bared to me, unguarded, the way Mr. Gallant takes you to try and make his pathetic existence matter."

"I'm not, I'm just," Fuck, it's like he's controlling the weather in here, executing your every attempt at a clear breath. " We talk, that is it, Sir. I'm just here to be whatever it is they deem me-"

"Bullshit!" Langdon roars, arms wildly flailing out, posture still staying perched nearer to your knees. "You're spouting a previously written verse. How dare you think you can lie to me, even now? Even after you struck me and I never slit your weak, little throat?"

His temper doesn't level quickly, not like you're used to seeing if he's irritated. The changing movement coaxes you to be bold once more, tears nearing your lash line, shame dripping past your slick thighs. "If you know I'm so weak then why are you getting off on trying to keep proving I am, Langdon? That seems below you, doesn't it? Like me, like I am to Gallant outside these walls. Hell, in them if he could have a shot at something more, a shot at you."

His brow raises, chest shapes his ribs visible beneath his black undershirt at your usage of his last name. He notices your acidic hiss as you spit out the last part of your sentence, zeroing in on him. It's clear. So you dislike your friend's adoration, yearning for him? So many complicated layers between human beings.

He wasn't aware he clouds his own knowledge. This further proves that you're unhinging him to a sway he can't fathom. A sturdy hand filters above, up, to lay beside your knee, your body still locked in place. "You envy one another in ways, then you act as if you care for each other, despite everyone here thinking you belong outside, or that you should be licking the very floors they fantasize were built for them."

"It's not that way all the time. Better than nothing, knowing him more than they do," You softly respond.

"And this is why you continue to let him in? Because his presence feels good enough to make you forget the loneliness?" Langdon questions, seemingly so very interesting now he's tilting his head, making his hair fall over his eyes. You want to object to those beautiful things being covered, but you remain mum. He's got it and he lets it click.

"We share the most degrading human emotion," says Langdon, this time dropping a knee to your right, lifting himself above you slowly.

"Is that the answer to why you're interested in me and Gallant, Sir?" You rasp, wanting to scoot away, brain warning you, everything else unraveling fast.

"Michael." Another knee that presses, bringing him atop you like your dark angel. For a moment you think he knows Gallant's first name, then it sweeps you into a magnetic design, your thighs hitting his kneecaps.

"Use my name however you see fit, Y/N. Let me break this lonesome disposition inside you. Give it all to me, not to a worthless attention seeking man. I don't care what he wants, I don't care if he doesn't pine for what's between your legs. He'll overtake you before either of you know it."

"He's doesn't want me like that," You stutter. "You're mad because I won't fold into you like the rest?"

"You won't let anyone in but him, when I should be already inside you." Michael confirms, as if this is so obvious a rat could figure it out.

"So just your ego. To conquer. Okay then, I'm out." Your body does start to move this time, salty tears spilling, bypassing your wishes, before Michael completely wipes himself from your space. You have to blink a few times to make sure you can still see him, far away, like he can move without even walking. He's not close enough, you want to hit him, take him, taste him, give all he wants even if you're terrified. How can he mess with you like this? It must be in this air, polluting, veiling.

"We share jealousy, you and I. But together we can cure it, rid ourselves of unsatisfaction." His back is firm against the heavy wooden door, candlelight curving out every space you can see from your placing. "If you let me in, let me be the one to break those walls down and build mine around you."

"Michael, please.... Just." You choke on your stretching gasp, a fist to your throat, arm holding across your lungs. What more can you say? He wants you to stop being guarded, stop letting what little you let out with someone that isn't him. Some man that reeks power, god-like, is chewing on his lip, wetting it, unbuttoning his shirt to smooth his fingers across his glowing flesh, what he lets you see of it.

"Open your fucking legs." Michael barks out, striding quickly, meeting in front of you.

A searing heat releases your leashes, uncaring. You sink your teeth into your lip, trying to draw blood, needing to taste something soon. You throb even more than you have been, tumbling, spinning, stumbling into Michael Langdon. Doubt is trying to wave itself in there, more warnings. Michael cuts them away, peeling back his shirt without eye contact faltering, muscles in his neck moving.

"You could have anyone here. This is too easy. There's better people for you." You try one more time. Denying yourself, this is insanity at its finest.

"I don't want anyone else this way, I never really have had the use for it beyond release. These morons here, they don't count for that kind of time. I want this endeavor to be...worth it." The fabric of his shirt drops at his booted feet, his entire chest expanded to your line of sight. He's taut, not overly so. Skin slightly tanned, creamy to blend. His muscles are strong, but they're not overpowering, no, that is elsewhere.

He radiates everything your mother warned you wasn't good, but you can't let this be wrong when it feels so fucking right. You attempt for your final-failed try.

"I can't please you, you're judging me as if I'm some key you've finally gotten. I'll disappoint you, Michael, I will." You berate yourself in shameful truth, already petrified of shedding your clothing, your skin, warped against his hard body, all the while you're pussy is growing more damp, threatening more tears if it's not attended to.

He gives a sigh so loud it could be a beasts' rumble. It lets him give his body to you, pressing over you, so hot you're sharing his heartbeat, breasts straining to be freed, to feel his delicious skin that houses whatever he is. He dips, rolls his hips like a snake dancing for its helpless prey, knees working against you, pelvis thrusting in tilting circles. Your apron, your skirt goes up your body, over your knees, his leather covered legs nudging it, commanding it around your hipbones. His knuckle moves so fast that it's not until you hear fabric rip, a shining glint off his ring that vanishes between your thighs, its sharp body slicing the fabric of your stockings apart down the middle, leaving a gateway to your panties, closer to you.

He's not talking, he's performing. His ringed finger circles your navel, brushes back and forth across your abdomen, spelling, shaping, mapping the elastic of your underwear, causing you to shake away, not getting anywhere. It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity. Just him testing you, stroking, getting your body slick with perspiration that sparkles like jewels in the rooms' lighting. And when you think he's done talking for tonight, planning to take, he startles your glazed over gaze at his working fingers - that pause on you.

"I'm not judging you by your cunt," Michael unravels on a long brush with a deep breath, inhaling you at the same instance he cups you warm, firm, fingers slipping between your sticky folds, kept covered by your sopping cotton panties. "Although, if I were.... yours would be filled with my cock, womb drowning in my seed. And that's something I'm not willing to give to just anyone, Y/N."

This time you do get closer to him on your own accord, hands finding purchase by nails biting painfully into your palms, pumping to push against his chest. He hums, a genuine grin pleasuring his features. Easing, you're sharing a way into you, he's finding you, you're coming together. He's denying you now that he sees you want it, teasing you, however. You bite off painful insults, he's chuckling, swiping a finger in circles, pushing down so hard you cry out.

Michael is saying something that you try to wake up for in your swollen state. He's showing you his damp finger, commenting how your juices coated him through a layer of fabric. You're halted, stamped to his watchful eye, the pop of his finger sucking your taste off. "You want to touch me more than you want my fingers to spread you apart, don't you?"

You're whimpering, nodding yes, trying to keep a hold of being here, but you're slipping, losing yourself in him, damn near begging.

"Don't hold back. Tell me what you want and then we'll take it, Y/N, together."

"Break me down and be with me, Michael." You find yourself answering immediately, right away, throwing yourself off this precipice.

Hefty arms draw around you and they drag you close, hands working to free you of your apron, buttons ripping, scraps, meaningless clothing everywhere. You need to get back to what Adam and Eve were. Bared, nature covering them barely, concealing enough to birth their story. You and Michael. You want nothing to stand between you two.

Concept of time isn't meaning anything anymore, it's rare and stops for you. Your clothing piles beside the bed, Michael's boots thump to hardwood, your hearing swerving in and out, sensitive to each sound you hear past your roaring heartbeat churning blood through your ears. You engulf tightly, parting your legs further like he called for, heels of your feet pressing into the backs of his strongly moving knees. Your hands are shoving themselves to the button on his pants, impatient, maniacal. He can't stop to assist you, too caught in pressing his lips to your collar bone, leveling a reward to your breasts in stride.

Firm planes of muscular structure drag across your nipples that harden with temperature, the promise of temptation full-filled. You have his zipper down by the time he's taking a neglected peak into his mouth, a gasp thrust into the air from you. His hair trickles across your chest, soft and sweeping. You maneuver a scoop into each side of his leather, noting he's simply wearing thin boxer briefs that cling to him like a wet t-shirt would. It lights you like no other.

Desperation doesn't cover what possesses you in this instance, so close to having this, taking this with him. Exerting yourself to extract this specimen form his too tight for any one person - bottoms, causes you to grit your teeth to challenge. Michael sucks, kisses, prods his tongue at your nipple, paddling the pumping throb your cunt is beating into you. A willing dance partner you sway in his steps, swallowed by his shadow, his solid golden fresh skin glued to your heaving body. You want to cry wantonly that you're coming, yet Michael hasn't touched you enough for it to peak.

Then again.... he doesn't need to, he.... he just. Can. You can't explain how the wheels in your head are turning as your bodies meet over and repeat. You're spinning in suspense, hung out to float, cunt clenching around nothing, recognizing him already, as if its been made to house him. Patting yourself on the back is what you want to do, a giggle tossing over your bare shoulder, Michael's pearly whites grinning into your skin.

You've gotten his leather pants down below his ass, eager fingers measuring bravely. It's there, it's thick, silk with slick, straining deliciously that you're salivating, not shy like you'd pictured you be in all your fantasies. Drawing your nails like claws protruded, your rake them down his shoulder blades which work to hold him up, streaming his back, resting purchase on his ass, then you give it your all, both of you swirled into a gusting gasp. Your sense of smell is stronger, alive, heady to the copper you know you've set free tearing into Michael's skin. It pleases you.

This King reigns in his self-control, eyes damn near black, blowing out all that icy blue. His lips red and wet, inviting you to taste your own salty sweat off his mouth. A kiss, an offering. You launch at it, granting yourself permission to tangle your fingers into his air, wrapping around your wrists, yanking in your fist. Each movement you make glides his heavy cock through your slit, rudely scattering what is overflowing from your pussy.

He's getting huffy, you're abruptly impatient.  Michael finally frees back, lingering his look on you, fighting for his own oxygen. He's flushed, soaked, needing. And it's you whose to give it to him. You're to surrender.

It's what this whole thing was about. Letting him in.

Dropping your legs from around his lower waist, you watch him, unsteady breaths trampling your chest cavity into pathetic particles, then you slosh two fingers in voyage all across your dripping sex. Your thighs shake, knees struggle to frame this. His eyes are nearly growing impossibly black, almost hollowing him out. If it hurts then oh well, but you can't keep going on like this. You have to have him before the next second passes.

"Come here," You whisper, using your hands to separate your folds for him.

Alight, mischievous with a given gift, Michael takes his cock through your lips and gives no formal warning. Only foul, filthy, fitting, and desirable.

"You're going to let me push my cock into you now, aren't you? Fuck you until I'm emptying myself inside you, hiding." He dribbles to his knees, holding you by your thighs, keeping you shown. "Do you want me to hurt you? I can make it hurt, oh how I can make it hurt." He's dropping by your ear in a bend, lips letting you in on this choice.

"Michael just take it all, you can have it all. It's yours, it's been waiting for you," You belt out, whimpering like a frightened animal, spooking Michael into a fast thrust.

It's brutal, it stretches you beyond your means, bouncing your body up the bed. Those razor claws sink to Michael's wrists, your ass trying to meet his experimental rhythm, fast and punishing. You can hear everything full blast again, like a roaring train louder than the bombs were, the destruction, the night noises, the loneliness. Michael walks his fingers down your ankle and drags your leg over his shoulder.

You turn to press your face into the bedsheets beside you, a searing pain locking your muscles around him so hard you can feel your sticky wetness seep out from around where you're joined. He strikes a hand out and forcefully cups your chin in his hand, moving up and down in front of you, like he's gliding. Your mouth is shaped to form an O, not able to look away, pinpoint.

"I want you to look down and watch me fuck your selfish, greedy cunt." Is Michael's demand, wrought out iron to steal and every other damned thing you can think of that holds structure.

Who are you to refuse? Intrigued, ride hitched, you hang onto him, dash into his painful thrusts and moan loud enough to wake whatever is left of the world's population. You're swollen around him, your thick and creamy arousal pooling all over the sheets, noisily mashing at his cock, against his balls with each slam they make against your ass.

"That's it, Y/N. Let me in, let me deep inside. I'll never leave you."

"Michael, fuck, more, let me kiss you."

He surprises you both by answering without pause, biting into your plump lip, licking his tongue into your mouth, letting his lips workout the breaths he tries to inhale -into your shared airspace. You release his wrists, moon marks a bracelet of markings to him. He nuzzles your breast, hips slamming into the bed just as you grab his neck's nape, cradling. And then it happens faster than either of you knew you needed it to. He gives a little more into you, focused, discovering.

Piles of debris could've fallen on you both, unbeknownst to you. Michael barely grazes your clit on an upstroke that hits a slick spot you didn't know exists, sending your cunt to sheathe him tightly, your warmth milking his cock, raining down on him that he curls into you, crying out. You're overheated all too much, shivering, panting, an explosive shake clasping your pussy, pulling until you're boneless,  Michael's body lax to keep atop you. You feel like your ears are hearing static. Only white noise and Michael Langdon.

It's a deep-set fascination watching his cum spill back down your thighs, white and hot. You lick your lips, already starving for so much more. It's there, it has to be. Michael doesn't put himself away yet, instead hums looking over you, settling in front of you on his knees. He's gotten the key and this door is sealed behind you both.

[missantichrist]

i wanna feel you in my bones

Sojourn!Michael x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Smutty Smut you know how it is

Note: I kind of deviated from what actually happened in Sojourn, I know Madelyn only had Michael over for like one night before she drove him to Jeff and Mutt’s but I thought this would be an interesting storyline so here you go. Also sorry if this is unreadable I wrote it because I was procrastinating something else at 2:30 in the morning lol

You were staying at your aunt Madelyn’s house for a little while, and while you didn’t mind your aunt you thought she was fucking crazy. She worshipped Satan and she had told you about times that she’d gone to black mass and even sacrificed innocent people to Satan. Of course, you didn’t believe her stories, or any of that Satan and God bullshit, until she brought home the literal antichrist.

When he first arrived he was dirty as hell and smelled like pine, blood and dog shit. You questioned your aunt’s sanity even further that night than you had before. Bringing home a dirty, broken man who definitely had blood on his clothes. A man from the church of Satan! How could she be so stupid? Not only was she putting herself at risk, but you at risk as well. That same night he revealed himself as the antichrist. Your aunt was basically kissing his shoes, doing anything and everything for him. Meanwhile, you hid in your room, hoping he hadn’t noticed your presence.

You couldn’t hide in your room forever though, and throughout the weeks that your aunt housed him, you got to know him very well. He cleaned up nicely at least. You might have even found him attractive if you didn’t hate him so much. He took up so much time with your aunt that you felt like a character in the background of your own movie. God, he was so damn needy. And whiny. You couldn’t stand him.

So that’s how you found yourself straddled over his hips in the middle of the night, pressing a knife to his throat as he held his hands to yours.

Pressing the knife further into his neck, drawing blood, you rasped, “I’m going to fucking kill you Michael Langdon.” He just chuckled, the bobbing of his adam’s apple causing the knife to draw even more blood.

“Oh please Y/N, I could end your life with a snap of my fingers. I’m just letting you play because it’s entertaining. Give in to your hatred. Do it. Kill me.” You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but your vision was starting to blur because his grip on your neck was so tight, you didn’t even hesitate. You slit his throat in one fluid motion, the arterial spray from his carotid artery covering your body. You got up and started to walk out of the room but just before you went to open the door you froze. You couldn’t move. You tried, but your feet were firmly planted on the ground where you stood. Panic settled in. What the fuck.

And that’s when you heard him. His stupid laugh. “I’m impressed, Y/N. I didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, lifting himself off of the bed and walking over to you, “but you’re going to pay for that one.”

How was he still alive? You just slit his throat down to the bone. Any normal person would be dead right now. Right. But he’s the antichrist.

“Fuck you,” you seethed.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He said, his lips brushing against yours.

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on Earth.”

“Really...” His gaze travelled down to your exposed underwear. “Because your soaked panties are telling me a different story.”

You felt yourself turn beet red, whether it was from embarrassment or anger you weren’t sure. Your own body had betrayed you and you couldn’t even try to hide it. Your instinct to rub your legs together to numb the growing heat between them was completely in vain because Michael had your body completely frozen. You looked up at him and saw that his blue eyes were blown with lust. He wanted you. Watching the literal son of Satan thirst after you made you want him too.

As if he could read your mind, you body came unfrozen and you crashed your lips to his, you both let out small moans of pleasure at the sudden contact, not seeming to get enough of eachother. You could feel his hard member pulsing against your thigh, his precum leaking through his boxers.

His hands travelled up your body and he began to massage your breasts through the fabric of your bra as his soft lips suckled and nipped at your neck, licking his blood off your body. You ground against his hard member, eliciting a loud groan from him.

“Not yet,” he growled as he tossed you onto the bed and pushed your soaking panties aside so he could start teasing your clit with his fingers. You squirmed under his touch, egging him on. He abruptly slid two fingers between your folds and began pumping them in and out at a rapid pace, curling them inside you each time causing you to let out needy little whimpers. When Michael couldn’t take it anymore he removed his boxers, revealing his massive length. “Take off your panties.” He demanded. You obliged and slipped them off your legs. Michael took his leaking cock in his hands and pumped it a few times.

“What do you want Y/N?” He groaned as he continued to pump his cock.

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me so hard I feel you in my bones, and then I want to kill you. Again,” You breathed, your head clouded with anger and desire.

With your vulgar words Michael pushed himself into you, a low growl ripping from his chest. “Mmn, fuck,” he groaned, “you’re so tight.” He took no time letting you adjust to his size and immediately started fucking into you at a rapid pace. “You know,” he said between thrusts, “you’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for to rebuild this world in my father’s image.”

“What do you mean?” you breathed as he continued to rapidly fuck into you. “Fuck, harder,” you gasped as he brushed up against that spot inside of you that made you see stars. “Michael fuck me until I’m bruised,” you moaned. With that he picked up his pace, thrusting even deeper and even harder inside you, groaning animalistically. The sound of his cock sloshing in and out of your dripping cunt and the groans and expletives spilling from his mouth sent you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you suddenly and violently. “Oh fuck, Michael!” you moaned loudly, clenching your walls around his cock. You felt him twitch inside you and his thrusts started to stutter.

“Mmmn,” he moaned as he released his hot load into you and stilled. “I mean, you unapologetically give into your sins, your anger, your hatred. I think we could work together,” he said as he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you on the bed.

You scoffed, “You want me...to work with you.”

Michael shrugged, “it’s your decision. But I see a fire inside of you, and I think I could help you unleash it. Think about it.”

“Alright, I won’t kill you. For now,” you said as got up off the bed and slipped your panties back on.

Michael just smiled, “You can’t kill me, I’m the antichrist.” You turned to go back to your own room and thought to yourself, maybe working with the antichrist to bring about the end of the world would be fun. You always did thrive in chaos.

As you walked out the door you heard Michael say, “I look forward to working with you, Y/N.”

Feel free to send me Michael Langdon/Duncan Shepherd/Jim Mason x Reader requests! Can be smutty, fluffy or angsty.

Tagging my inspos & favs:

@ccodyfern @yourkingcodyfern @icylangdon @katiekitty261 @wroteclassicaly @langdonfern @ritualmichael @lvngdvns @langdonsrapture @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @xtheinevitableprophecyx @michael-lngdon @lovelykhaleesiii  @nightlylangdon @queencocoakimmie @sojournmichael @sassylangdon @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @duncvn

Lmk if ya’ll want a pt 2

[featherymalignancy]

Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this for elriel

PART I—Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots: An Elriel Story

Summary: On the eve of Rhys and Feyre’s nuptials in Big Sur, California, Az decides to end two years of pining by finally telling Elain how he feels. The only thing standing in his way is Graysen, Elain’s selfish, on-again, off-again boyfriend.

PLEASE BE ADVISED: As with everything I write, this story is *not* appropriate for children, WHICH INCLUDES TEENAGERS UNDER 18. If you a teenager under the age of 18, please be advised this story’s mature themes were NOT intended for your consumption; please consider seeking more age-appropriate media.

This is part I of IV. Click HERE to jump to the Navy Suits Masterlist!

Part I: The Rehearsal–Day 

If there were two things Azriel Macar hated, it was asking for favors and people prying into his personal life, so as he sat in front of the shi-shi resort in Big Sur, the irony of his purpose for being there was not lost on him.

Not only was he about to ask that irritating prick Vanserra for help, Azriel was all but inviting Lucien into him private business. Under any other circumstances, either one of those things would have been enough to dissuade Az from going inside. However, the wedding was tomorrow, and he was out of options. If ever they were an occasion to swallow his pride, he was pretty sure it was now.

He remained in the car for another minute, drumming his fingers on the wheel as he debated. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, though; he didn’t get up at six am and make the drive from LA just to sit here and twiddle his thumbs.

Finally, he glanced at his watch and got out, wondering for a moment if the hotel bar would be open yet before fetching the carefully wrapped chandelier from his trunk and flicking the keys to the valet.

The place was full of what were clearly preparations for the ceremony tomorrow, and he was glad for it; it made his showing up here less suspicious. Though, he supposed, it didn’t really matter. The minute he started asking questions, he knew Lucien would puzzle out why he’d come and tear the mickey out of him for it.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Azriel pushed his sunglasses into his hair and glanced at the girl bobbing behind the reception desk.

“Lucien Vanserra?”

She opened her mouth before closing it, her eyes going over his shoulder in answer.

“Macar, you must need a new watch. You’re…” Azriel turned on a booted heel, trying not to react as Lucien consulted his own sickeningly-lavish timepiece “Six hours early.“

He gave Azriel a lazy grin, the kind that always made Az want to punch him.

Reminding himself to keep it cordial, at least to start, Azriel shrugged and said, “I was dropping off the arbor.”

Azriel had built Feyre and Rhys a bespoke arbor from California cedar for their rustic—if wedding held at a resort that cost $1,300 a night could ever be considered rustic—nuptials in the redwood forest that yawned out behind the hotel.

“What?” Lucien said dryly. “In your two-door Benz?”

Azriel only pursed his lips as Lucien eyed him gleefully. The younger man had an uncanny knack for spotting a lie and a seemingly insatiable thirst for gossip, both of which set Azriel’s teeth on edge.

“You’re full of shit,” Lucien observed, eyes still keen. “Your guys dropped it off yesterday.”

Azriel held up the chandelier—which would be attached to the arbor for the ceremony— in answer, and Lucien rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling faintly.

“You drove six hours through LA traffic to drop off a glorified lamp?”

“This thing is baccarat crystal, you uncultured dick,” Azriel snapped, and Lucien rolled his eyes again, gesturing to the left with his chin.

“We can store it in my office until the light guy gets here tomorrow morning.”

Azriel followed Lucien up the grand staircase, helping him to carefully get it settled in the walk-in safe before watching Vanserra slouch into the chair behind his desk.

Not sure how to go about finding out what he’d come here for, Azriel braced his hands on the supple leather chair across from Lucien, surveying the view of the pool and forest beyond that was visible through the large window.

”I can’t believe you own parter of this place,” Azriel remarked, aware that his tone was a little south of friendly.

Lucien only laughed.

“It’s an equity investment,” Lucien said. “I don’t even have the controlling stake. And this is all pretty rich coming from the dude who build Beyoncé’s dining room table.”

Azriel flushed. Maybe it was a consequence of growing up poor in a part of the country where flashing wealth was considered a mortal sin, but name-dropping and talking about money always made him uncomfortable.

He’d certainly acquired a taste for the finer things since his design shop had gotten successful, but he didn’t see what joy there was to be gained from bragging about it all the time. Besides, there wasn’t really a need: the orange Lamborghini Aventador parked in his garage back in LA was more than happy to do it for him.

“What’s this about?” Lucien said, the shadow of that knowing smirk still faintly visible on his face, even though he wasn’t currently smiling. “No offense, Macar, but I really don’t have time for your ‘Man of the People’ routine today, and I know you didn’t get here half a day before the rehearsal dinner just to drop off that stupid chandelier, bacca-ra-ra crystal or not.”

“Baccarat,” Azriel corrected, and Lucien rolled his eyes. “And I didn’t get the frame finished before my guys left with the truck yesterday. I just wanted to make sure it got here okay.”

Lucien surveyed him with a critical eye before shrugging.

“So we’re good? Great, I’ll get Jessica to check you in, then. I assume you’ll want to go to do push-ups or scowl in the mirror or whatever it is you do for fun, considering you have six hours before the rehearsal starts.”

Lucien started out of his chair, and Azriel tensed, making the former smirk.

“I thought so,” he crowed, dark eyes glittering. “I know what you want to ask me, so go ahead: ask me.”

Azriel only clenched his jaw in response. Jesus, this was such a dumb idea. He should have just taken his chances and gone to Palo Alto. Hell, even gone to Feyre, annoying as her meddling could sometimes be. Anything to avoid that smug, shit-eating grin that had begun to spread across Lucien’s face.

“Fine,” Lucien said, clearly enjoying every second of Azriel’s discomfort. “I’ll go first: you want to know if Elain’s bringing someone tonight.”

Azriel only crossed his arms, and Lucien laughed.

“I knew it!” he said, banging his fist on the table. “I knew you had the hots for her! Man, you are so fucking transparent.”

Azriel rolled his eyes.

“What do you want, a medal?”

“That’s alright,” Lucien practically cooed. “Watching you squirm is prize enough.”

“Cut the shit,” Azriel said, patience waning. Please god let her be single again. He wasn’t sure he could handle having sacrificed this much of his pride for nothing. “Is she bringing anyone?”

Azriel hadn’t seen Elain since she’d gone back to grad school at Stanford a month ago; that was more than enough time for some other guy to slide in and try and sweep her off her feet. His only saving grace was the fact Elain was not easily wooed. It was one of the many things Azriel found so alluring about her; she was quietly but fiercely independent, and self-possessed in a way most twenty-four year olds weren’t.

Lucien only shrugged.

“How should I know?”

“She’s your best friend; don’t pretend she doesn’t tell you everything.”

Lucien pursed his lips this time, clearly slipping into his long-held role as gatekeeper to Elain’s highly-sought after affections.

“Say what you really mean: you want to know if she’s back with Graysen.”

Okay, yes, that was what Azriel wanted to know, though he didn’t admit as much out loud. Graysen Van Baas, for all this faults, always seemed the dog to beat in the fight for Elain’s attention. None of their friends could really figure out why—he was a grade-A douche—but Elain had been dating him on-and-off since college, and had even turned down a scholarship at the Department of Art History at Yale to follow him to Stanford instead. Graysen was a second year law student there, a fact he felt the need to remind them of with sickeningly frequency.

For the three years, Elain and Graysen had been in a constant cycle of breaking up and getting back together, much to everyone’s chagrin. The last time she’d brought him down to have dinner in LA, Cash ended up having to drag a snarling Nesta out of the restaurant to avoid a scene. According to him, it had taken dirty sex in the back of their Land Rover and a new Michael Kors handbag to convince Nesta not to drive up to Palo Alto and kill Graysen in his sleep.

“Well?” Azriel prompted, giving Lucien a deadpan look that Lucien rather impressively matched.

“Not that I know of.”

“Not that you know of?” Azriel repeated, and this time, Lucien did stop smiling.

“Elain and I had to make a ‘No Graysen talk’ policy for the sake of our friendship.”

“So you have no idea if she’s bringing him or not?” Azriel said, and Lucien gave another shrug.

Well wasn’t that just fucking fantastic.

Azriel waited for Lucien to continue, but he didn’t, much to Azriel’s mounting annoyance.

“Vanserra, I don’t have time for your dramatic timing or your bullshit. Just tell me if you think she’s going to bring Graysen or not.”

“I don’t think so. She’s pretty garbage at hiding when she’d seeing him again, and I haven’t heard her mention him even in passing, though—” Lucien paused to give Azriel a vulpine smirk.  “She does seem to find plenty of ways to casually bring you up in conversation.”

Lucien put on an affection of Elain’s sweet, sing-song voice and continued, “'How’s Az doing? Did you know that Gwyneth Paltrow bought one of those reclaimed accent tables Az makes? What day’s Az coming up for the wedding, do you know? Did you read that article about Az’s designs in—’”

“You better not be fucking with me,” Azriel interrupted in a low voice. His heart was beating so hard he could feel like in his throat.

Lucien’s mouth tightened.

“Look, I know you and I aren’t exactly friends—though please know I would take you over Cash or Rhys any day of the week—but Elain has been my best friend for ten years, and I love her more than anything. I would never fuck with her happiness, and I certainly wouldn’t send some surly dude after her if I didn’t think she wasn’t at least open to the possibility. Do with that information what you will.”

“A charming sentiment,” Azriel said, already miles away from the conversation. He needed to call Cash. He and Nesta were meant to pick Elain up from Palo Alto on their way down from San Francisco. It was nearly impossible to convince Nesta Archeron to change her plans once they’d been made, so Azriel would need to buy Cash as much time as possible to bribe her into agreeing. Hopefully this time, Cassian would leave out the logistics; Azriel had heard enough details about their sex life to last a lifetime.

“Excellent,” Lucien said. “Well now that that’s settled, I have actual work to do. Are you going to stay here, or—“

“No, I’m leaving,” Azriel said, check his watch. It was noon already—he needed to get on the road.

“Are you seriously driving down to Palo Alto right now?” Lucien said, seemingly amused. “Damn, son, I hope your boss is reimbursing you for mileage.”

“Stay out of my business,” Azriel said curtly, seeing no point to being polite now that he’d gotten what he came for. “And don’t ever call me ‘son’, again.”

“No?” Lucien goaded. “What about Daddy?”

“Vanserra,” Azriel said, squeezing his eyes shut and praying for patience. “Don’t make me kill you.”

“Oh please,” Lucien said, kicking his feet off the desk. “You’d never do that to Elain. And you owe me, by the way. Maybe you could tell Mor—“

“She has a serious girlfriend,” Azriel cut off, “But I will put in a good word with her friend Vassa—apparently she’d got a thing for gingers.”

Lucien rolled his eyes, though Azriel could tell he was secretly pleased with the prospect of Jes’s attention.

“See you this evening, then,” Lucien said in dismissal. “Please, do not feel the need hurry back.”

Azriel flipped him a foul hand gesture and sauntered out, reminding himself not to seem to eager on the trip back to his car. Once in it though, he put the petal to the floor, letting his new E-Class purr into fifth gear and linger. It was then he called Cash

“What’s up, brother?” came the answer after three rings.

“Hey, have you and Nesta left to pick Elain up yet?”

“No, she called earlier and said she’d had some breakthrough on something with her paper, and that she’d just meet us there. Why?”

Azriel gripped the wheel a little harder, bracing for impending impact with Cash’s needling wit.

“No reason.”

Cassian only laughed in response.

“You’re driving up to Palo Alto, aren’t you?” he said mirthfully. “Man, you have it bad.”

“Fuck off.”

“Damn, Feyre’s gonna be so smug; she bet you would make your move before the rehearsal dinner. I had you waiting until the reception! Where’s the heads-up, handsome?”

“Feyre knows?” Azriel demanded, feeling his cheek warm slightly. “I told you not to tell her. And stop betting on my love life; it freaks me out.”

“I didn’t tell her, Nesta did. And before you bite my head off, I didn’t tell Nesta, either. She just figured it out. Also, don’t be so uptight; stress can cause impotence, and trust me, you don’t want to start this Elain thing off with a limp dick.”

“Christ,” Azriel said, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Please stop. And just keep Nesta’s phone away from her for a few hours. I don’t need Feyre waiting on the front steps like a welcoming committee.”

“Tough ask, my man. The only way to keep her that distracted is to—“

“Goodbye Cash,” Azriel said with emphasis. “See you in a bit.”

“Go get ‘em, champ,” Cash cooed, and Azriel grit his teeth in annoyance before ending the call.

It was about a two hour drive down to Palo Alto, and Azriel spent the entirety of it wondering the best way to handle the situation.

It felt rather abrupt to simply confess himself the minute she opened the door, but given how well—or rather, how poorly—the subtly angle had played so far, he didn’t feel like he could rule it out entirely.

By San Jose, he’d run through ever possible iteration of their conversation, ranging from doing nothing to just kissing before she had a chance to speak. He found all the speculation was just making me more agitated, so he permitted himself to daydream about what she might wear instead.

Unlike her elder sister, Elain wasn’t usually one for dressing up, but when she did, it was always to devastating effect.  Azriel thought of the tantalizing little cocktail dress she’d worn to Cash’s 34th birthday in July and bit his lip; she’d looked good enough to eat that night.

Though, Azriel mused, that wasn’t the Elain he liked best. He preferred her usual style, her quirky overalls and graphic tees, that long braid forever swinging behind her as she laughed or talked animatedly about Cinquecento Rome and the artistic milieu of the Papal Courts—the topic of her Masters thesis.

Fuck, he should have done this months ago. He should have done it the moment she broke up with Graysen at the beginning of the summer, or that day they’d watched the sunset together over Golden Gate park after the dinner to celebrate Nesta’s latest win in court.

Sitting on the hood of the Benz that night, he’d wanted to, so badly. But watching her with her knees tucked to her chest like she was a little girl while she explained all the constellations as they emerged, he hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment. Besides, she’d only just broke things off with Graysen the week before, and he hadn’t wanted her to think he was taking advantage of her.

He should have just done it, though; should have explained that it wasn’t about her breakup, and that he’d fallen for her the moment he met her, and had  continued to fall with every new thing he learned about her. It was true she was gorgeous, but somehow, that was the least alluring thing about her.

Swearing to himself, Azriel pulled up in front of Elain’s quaint bungalow and parked, drumming on the steering wheel again to try and dispel the nerves. He really wished he still had that bottle of Jamo in the glove box; he really could have used it right now. Instead he just took a deep breath, glancing in the rearview to inspect his hair and run a hand through it before getting out of a the car.

Right, he could do this. As Lucien had so tacklessly pointed out, he’d been personally invited into Beyoncé’s house before; if he could keep his shit together for that, he could be cool about this.

He would just be casual, friendly. They had the whole drive up to chat—there was no reason to blurt it all out now. Besides, why explain he was basically in love with her on her front porch when he could do it as they drove down the breathtaking California coast?

He blew out another breath and knocked, fumbling a bit for what to do with his hands before leaning in what he hoped was a casual way on the doorframe. Women liked when guys leaned on things, right?

He listened to the door click, and he pressed his nose to his shoulder to quickly insure the cologne he’d put on that morning was still fresh before the door swung in.

Elain appeared, and his heart stuttered a step. She looked as gorgeous as he’d ever seen her, and it honestly made it hard for him to breathe.

“Hey Ellie,” he managed, pushing sunglasses into his hair and grinning the way he only ever had an urge to when she was around.

“Az,” she said in delighted surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, grin widening a little.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said, and she laughed, her teeth bright against her rose pink lips.

Az tried not the check her out as she did, but she was perfection in the pink tulle cocktail dress she wore, and my God did her tits look amazing. He’d promised himself before he got here he wouldn’t look at them, but the dress was cut nearly to her sternum, and there was truly no not looking. Az had always been—if such a thing wasn’t too ungentlemanly to admit—a breast man, and hers were without equal. Still, they had nothing on the intelligent, merry glimmer in her doe brown eyes, which had him falling just that little farther in love when she met his eye.

“From LA?” Elain teased, craning her neck to grin at him and fisting a hand in his shirt at the hip as she did.

Ordinarily he didn’t like to be touched without provocation, but Elain was a tactile person, and he’d come to crave her calming touches, even knowing they were completely platonic.

He flicked her nose in answer, and she batted him away, laughing.

"Cash mentioned that you were driving yourself down,” Azriel explained, wishing he could invent another reason to touch her again. “And since we all know there is only about a fifty percent chance Jafar can actual make it that far, I’d thought I’d see if you wanted a ride.”

Jafar was Elain’s embattled ’87 beetle, so-named for his villainous predilection for losing A/C in the summer.

Elain laughed again before biting her lip, her expression going penitent.

“I wish you’d called,” she said, frowning now.

Oh no. Azriel knew that look; it was the one she always gave saps at the bar when she wanted to let them down easy.

“Are you that deadset on taking Jafar?” Azriel teased, desperately trying to right the ship. “You still haven’t replaced the radio from when it got ripped out.”

Elain laughed.

“No, fuck Jafar. You know I’d much rather ride in the Benz and hang out with you. It’s just—” she broke off, wincing a little now, too. “Don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” he said, but he knew what was coming next, and he was already so mad her could barely keep from blurting a very impolite swear word, one that rhymed with both “duck” and “truck”.

“Graysen’s on his way to pick me up right now.”

Azriel felt his shoulders falling in obvious disappointment, and he caught them with effort, his traps aching with the stain of not letting them slump.

“You’re seeing Graysen again?” he forced out, still straining to sound conversational.

She blushed a little. At least she wasn’t oblivious to how much they all disliked him.

“We got back together last week.”

“Great,” he said, running a hand through his hair for something to do. “Well that’s..perfect. Nice.” 

He glanced down at her, at the sweet dolefulness in her expression, before squeezing his eyes shut and blurting, “no actually, fuck this. Ellie, please don’t bring that dick to your sister’s wedding.”

Elain pursed her lips and turned away from the door, and Azriel took it as a silent invitation, following her in and closing it behind him.

“Please,” she said, biting her lip again. God, he wanted to do the same so badly in hurt. “I’m already going to get enough crap from Nesta and Luc; I don’t need it from you, too.”

“Well tough shit, because you’re getting it.”

She crossed her arms somewhat defensively, and he softened.

"C’mon, El, we all know how this ends, and honestly, you could do so much better.”

“You don’t even know him,” she said. “And I realize you and Cash and Rhys love playing big brother, but I’m not some little teenager you have to look after. I’m a grown-up, and I’m fine. ”

He groaned in agitation, wondering how this had gotten off the rails so quickly.

“You’re not like a little sister,” he said, wanting to be sure it had been stated for the record. “At least not to me.”

He hoped in vain she would read between the lines and get what he was trying to tell her. Understandably, she didn’t, and she just rolled her eyes.

“So you’re telling me you drove two hours out of your way just to see if I wanted company?”

Yes, that was exactly what he was telling her. Before he could debate the merits of saying this out loud, she narrowed her eyes and continued.

"I know my sisters sent you to spy on me after I cancelled on Nesta.”

He groaned again. They had to get out of this “family drama” zone before he got branded as an overbearing older brother for all eternity.

“Jesus, Ellie, that is not what this is.”

“Okay,” she said somewhat hotly. “Then what is it?”

Azriel fumbled for the words, but he’d always been more a man of action than eloquence, so he advanced to gently cup her cheeks instead, hoping she didn’t slap him as he kissed her.

Her lips were so soft he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and at this close distance, he found himself inundated with her pretty floral perfume. However, after a second her lips were still tight under his, and hating himself for forcing the kiss on her, he jerked back.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” he began in a panic, beginning to back away. “Ellie, I—“

He didn’t get far in his doleful retreat. She had a hand in his t-shirt before he could even blink, and suddenly she was the one kissing him. He thought to question it, but didn’t, simply wrapped a hand around her back to steady her so he could get a proper taste. She’d obviously just brushed her teeth, and her breath was fresh as she opened her mouth so her tongue could touch his.

The left-brain part of him was distantly screaming at him as they continued to kiss, demanding he parse through the events that had lead them to this point so he could make sense of it. The rest of him didn’t care. He didn’t care that her dumb ass ex boyfriend was still on his way over here, or that he had no idea what it meant that she’d kissed him back. All he cared about was that she had.

He moaned when her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt and down his bare back. Not to seduce, he realized, but simply to feel his warmth against her own and ground them more solidly in the moment. He melted into her touch, suddenly struck by the feeling that after 29 years of wandering the Earth like a nomad, he’d finally found a place safe enough to call home.

The dizzying delight of it made him slightly unstable, and they careened backward, his hand bracing on the wall and caging her to it as they continued to kiss. He groaned as she let her hands slip out of his shirt so she could run her fingers through his hair, knocking his sunglasses to the ground as she tugged on the strands, her teeth echoing the motion on his bottom lip.

He was so wrapped up in it that he didn’t hear the annoying bugle of the camero’s engine as it trumpeted into the driveway, and it was only when someone knocked on the door that he realized Graysen had arrived.

“Babe? Are you ready? Let’s go.”

Elain stiffened, and she and Azriel shared a look.

“Just don’t answer it,” he mouthed, but he felt his stomach twisted into a grotesque double windsor as she flashed him penitent look, pushing gently on his chest and eying her overnight bag where it sat packed near the door.

No, this could not be happening. There was no way this was actually happening.

Except it was.

Elain slipped from beneath his arm and called, “Umm, be right there!”

“You said two,” Graysen called back. “It’s 2:07. Hurry up, please.”

Azriel watched in horror as Elain smoothed her hair before gathering her things.

“Elain,” he whispered, but she shook her head, still looking—despite the royal screwing she was about to give him—like the girl of his dreams, the one he’d been in love with for two years.

“I’m so sorry, Az,” she said in the same tone, giving him a sympathetic frown as she touched his cheek. “I just can’t.“

“Wait, Elain—“

He reached for her wrist to hold her there, but it was too late. She was wrenching open the door, and Azriel had no choice but to listen as she kissed Graysen, still flattened to the wall like a teenager trying not to get caught. He only dared move when he heard the Camero pulling off down the street, taking a staggering step back before hearing a crunch and glancing down to see his sunglasses snapped in two.

What a fucking joke.

Part II: The Researsal Dinner

[ingravinoveritas]

Michael looking thoroughly handsome in a photo from Wear London (he will be wearing some of their clothes in an upcoming photo shoot for Virgin in-flight magazine!).

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Michael looking quite handsome with the staff of Meat and Greek in Pontypridd.

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Michael looking delicious beyond words at the Sheffield DocFest today.

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Michael ahead of appearing on BBC's The One Show tonight and looking absolutely gorgeous...

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Absolutely loving these pics of this beautiful, bearded man...

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Incredibly cute pic of Michael and his curls via Huw Stephens on Twitter.

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Michael looking adorable and happy at the Mansfield & Sheen - the two Michaels event in Cardiff today!

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Super cute picture of Michael with Michael Mansfield and moderator Danielle Fahiya at the Mansfield & Sheen - the two Michaels event in Cardiff yesterday.

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I am not at all emotionally able to handle this adorable picture of Michael and Matthew Rhys in 2019...

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Thigh day Friday with Michael Sheen.

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I saw this image in a meta post by vroomvroom.... Though to share it with you so as to brighten up your day XD

Haha well thank you so much! This is quite lovely, as there are few things more gorgeous than Sheen booty...other than the man said arse is attached to, of course. I actually had a really rough day at work yesterday--which is why I haven't answered Asks/temporarily turned off Asks entirely, because there are so many in my inbox and I didn't want to disappoint yet more of my followers by being behind in answering them-so this is just the pick-me-up that I needed.

I will also say that we talk a lot about the costume choices for Crowley and how tight David's trousers are, but there is something to be said for excellent tailoring--regardless of tightness. Aziraphale's trousers are not tight, but they are perfectly tailored and show off Michael's shape gorgeously. I know Michael had some input into Aziraphale's clothing choices, but it's just amusing to me that he's supposed to be so "stuffy" and "soft," yet when you put those clothes on Michael, it's all softness underlined by barely concealed strength and muscle, which is quite visually appealing, albeit in a completely different way to David/Crowley.

So yes, I very much appreciate this delightful gift, and you thinking of me when you saw it. xD Thanks for writing in! x