#dating michael langdon would involve

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Kinks & Cuddles

kol mikaelson x reader

summary: comforting kol after he faces his mother's rage

tags: hurt / comfort, mentions of abuse, cuddling, mild smut, mommy kink, blood drinking / sharing

word count: ~1.6k

note: this is inspired by a michael langdon fic i read years ago. i felt the kink fit kol, too. linked on my ao3 if i can track it down. also, i’m publishing this drunk :)

“Hello, love,” Klaus greets as you enter the mansion, “I assume Rebekah’s called you for the intervention?”

You nod, “is it bad this time?”

“One of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

You purse your lips, wondering how you’ll tackle it. 

“Of course,” he continues, “we could just leave him like that. Eventually he’ll snap out of it and go on a killing spree to deal with his emotions instead.”

“No, I’ll get him better before it comes to that. It’ll be okay.”

“Alrighty then. Oh, but Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“He may be hungry. There’s bags in the fridge if you need.”

“Thank you, Klaus.”

“I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

After giving him a polite smile, you make your way up the stairs to Kol’s room.

Ever since you’ve started dating, you’ve become more involved in the Mikaelsons’ family business, which, unfortunately, includes their mother’s torment. It isn’t uncommon for the witch to punish them like children, no matter how old they are. Most of it is yelling, but there are times you’ve seen her be more physical, too. Elijah’s the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her, but that’s because he’s never the troublemaker. And while he can often calm her down mid-argument, sometimes, his efforts are futile. 

This is one of those times. Yesterday, Esther had gotten so angry at Kol that not even Elijah could stop her rage. You hadn’t been there, but his siblings recounted it to you. He had come back from The Mystic Grill a little drunk and the woman was furious, yelling about how he could’ve attacked someone and wouldn’t have been able to properly heal and compel the person away. Kol tried to defend that he wasn’t that drunk, but the defiance earned him a slap to the face. The boy gave up instantly, retreated to his room, and hadn’t been out since. As for their mother, she had left early in the morning, no note nor anything else. This unpredictability isn’t unusual for her, but it sure is maddening. 

After Rebekah and Klaus had searched the entire mansion for their mother and found no trace, they called you. You have become sort of like a guardian angel to the family - saving them on multiple accounts, helping them through tough situations, and comforting them after episodes with their mother. Yes, it’s Kol that you’re dating, but you love the rest of them like siblings. 

Their mother, of course, doesn’t know how close you are with the family. There’s no way she would allow it - not for someone to know the family secrets, nor for someone to love Kol the way you do. At the very least, she’d put a boundary spell around the house to prevent your entry; at the worst, she’d set out to kill you. The siblings wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Kol?” You ask gently as you reach his door. He only groans, muffled by his pillow, in response. “It’s me, baby. Can I come in?”

“Fine.”

You’re just as quiet about turning the knob and sitting beside him on the bed. “Hey, you.” You brush your finger down his cheek. “You look quite cuddly.”

He doesn’t answer, opting to bury his head deeper into the pillow. His hair rests messily against it, and his eyes are closed. Strong arms keep it in place under his head, and the way that they’re flexed shows off his back muscles, which peek out from under the blanket. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Is it okay that I sit with you?”

“Yes.”

“Mmkay, good boy.” You murmur, cuddling up beside him. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

He’s quiet for a minute, then asks, “who called?”

“Bex, this time. She’s worried about you.”

“It was her last time.”

“I remember that. And it was you that called me.”

“Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“Why do you always come when we call?”

“Because I love you all,” you reply instantly. “You’re the family I never had. Except for you, though,” you boop his nose, “because I love you in a different way.”

“I love you, too. Hey, um… can you do that thing you were doing last time?”

“What thing?” You try to rack your brains to what you did last time you comforted your boyfriend. 

“This.” He haphazardly moved a piece of your hair as an example. 

“Ah! Yes, I certainly can.” Immediately, you reach up a hand and pull it through his hair, playing with the locks, and massaging his scalp. 

“Thank you. Feels nice.”

“Good. I’m glad. You need anything else?”

“No, just cuddles.”

“Okay.” You smile. Before you know it, you’re both fast asleep. 

◇◇◇◇

You’re not sure what woke you up, but some hours later, you’re disturbed from a deep sleep. One of your hands still rests in Kol’s hair, while the other lies under your own cheek. When you open your eyes, though, instead of him being at eye level with you, his head is ducked down to your breasts. Before you can ask anything, you sigh involuntarily as you feel your nipple being tugged between his teeth. His tongue is swirling around your breast, wetting it, and then releasing it to flop back to its sideways position. His head then dips to take it in his mouth again, repeating the process. 

As soon as you come to your senses, you try to find your words. “Kol?”

No response. 

“You okay, baby?” You run your hand back through his hair. 

This seems to wake him up, quickly. He snaps out of an apparent trance, removes his mouth, and refuses to look at you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I should’ve asked. I’m sorry, mommy. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, there,” you hook a finger on his chin, “no apologies, you’re perfectly okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He finally looks up at you, “but I touched you without asking.”

“It’s okay, baby. In fact, I’m glad you found the comfort you needed. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Not at all. Do you feel better?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Good. Good boy.” His body shivers at the praise. “Do you need-” You stop mid-sentence. “Did you call me ‘mommy’?”

His face pales. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” His head drops back to the sheets in embarrassment, “I don’t remember.”

“Kol…”

“Please don’t hate me.”

“Oh, pumpkin, I could never hate you! Actually, I find it endearing.” He swallows hard enough that you hear it. “Did you mean it?”

His eyes narrow, “Mean it as in…?”

“As like… was that a slip of the tongue, or was it something you’ve wanted to say?”

“I…I…”

“It’s okay, Kol.”

“I meant it.” He wets his lips. “I just… every time you come help me after mother yells at me, you make me feel safe. Like how a mother should. I don’t know why exactly it makes me want to call you that, but… it does.”

You tilt his chin back up again, and this time he obeys, “to make you feel safe and to love you are all I want to do, Kol. And yes, those are jobs your mother should be fulfilling, too, but if she won’t, I’ll gladly take on both roles.”

“Wait, really? It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. And you already know I love it when you suck on my breasts, baby. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you…”

“You can say it.”

“Thank you, mommy.”

“Of course,” you kiss his head, “mommy loves you. She’s here to take care of you. And, speaking of, are you hungry?”

Before he can answer, his grumbling stomach gives him away. 

“Ah, so it seems.”

“I don’t want to go downstairs, yet. Please don’t make me.”

“Oh no, no, no, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you do anything, baby. I know what it’s like to be in that kind of headspace, and you really shouldn’t go down there until you’re out of it. Not only do I need to take care of you now, but I have first-hand felt the embarrassment of being in public while in a special headspace, and I don’t want you to go through that, okay? No, we’re gonna stay right here.”

He blinks up at you, wanting to cry at how thankful he is for your understanding, yet having no words to say about it. You catch onto this and kiss his forehead. 

“Alright, baby, you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Mmkay, I want you to feed on me, okay?”

“Wait - no, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, Kol. I trust you.”

“But-”

“You need to eat, Kol. And I’m not leaving you, nor letting you go down there. Now, come on.” You lift your wrist to his lips. 

Slowly, he drags his teeth along your skin, still hesitant. 

“Feed, sweetheart.”

He takes a deep breath, then finally pierces his fangs into your skin. You gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back in your head. 

“Good boy, keep going. Keep going.” You play with your hair as you encourage him. “Mommy’s got you. She trusts you.”

After about a minute, the color returns to his face, and he drinks with more confidence. Then, he stops, and immediately bites his own wrist to bring to your lips. You take it, watch your wound heal, and smile up at him. 

“Do you feel better?”

“A lot better. Thank you, Y/N, for the blood. And for comforting me. And for loving me. And for, y’know, not making fun of me.”

“I would never make fun of you. Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. Do you need anything else?”

“More cuddles?”

“I’d love to.”

[obscure-imagines]

-meeting him before the apocalypse

-back when he was a soft boi

-lets just say you’re a witch and you kind of act like an in between for the warlocks and witches

-so when the warlocks find Michael they call you to come meet him

-meeting him for the first time and he’s just so attractive

-you show him around and you end up talking for hours

-somehow ending up outside looking at the stars

-your first kiss starts of sweet but ends kinda rough and thats when you realize this boi has a dark side

-he’d take while to trust you and once he does he tells you his entire plan to take over as supreme

-you’d totally have to be a secret couple

-the witches would not be happy about you dating ‘the enemy’ seeing as Michael is trying to overthrow Cordelia

-both of you sneaking out to see each other

-stolen kisses in dark hallways

-once he learns how to do transmutation he just zaps into your room

-i just think like meaningful conversation would mean a lot to Michael

-so lots of cuddling and talking

-but now lets get into the rough stuff, i know why you’re all here and i got you fam

-he likes pinning you down with his body

-he’s an absolute tease, he loves making you beg

-choking is totally a thing

-yeah he a dom anti-christ thats for sure

-marks are definitely a thing

-but its still secret which makes it more exciting

-tangling your fingers in his curls because yes

-please make this boi a flower crown

-then the apocalypse happens

-Michael would have totally seen it coming

-but so did Cordelia and she wipes your memory just like Coco and Mallory.

-there’s so much going on that Michael has to really stop himself from going and getting you right away because he knows the witches would try to use you against him

-when he finally shows up at the compound he restores your memory

-and its just like immediate power couple

-he’s the most adoring boyfriend every

-like i feel like he’d want to be with you 24/7

-especially with how dangerous the world is

-since you’re his ‘weakness’ he protects the shit out of you

-you can protect yourself but he likes showing how powerful he is

-he sees you often for ‘interviews’ but everyone knows whats really going on

-ooooh i feel like he’s a biter

-like got make outs and his hand is on your neck and he just bites slightly on your lip then pulls back

-that grin

-he is honestly just beautiful

-so like... you either like the hair or you dont... you know what i mean?

-he’s formal in front of others but he likes to call you Baby or Kitten

-calling him Babe or sir or daddy

-wearing his cape

-like... just his cape

-i dunno he has really good fashion and it would be fun trying on some of his stuff

-he likes to rest with his head on your lap as you brush through his hair with your fingers

-he either lets you curl up against him to cuddle or he’s the big spoon but on very rare occasions he’ll be the little spoon

-he likes intertwining his fingers with yours

-he’s that person that just looks at you so intently, like he really looks at you

-he gets very concerned for you when you’re upset and he’ll do anything to make you feel better

-probably showering together after he does rituals and you make sure he’s okay and all the blood gets washed off

-honestly just so much time in bed. i’ve mentioned it already but like seriously

-others have to treat you with respect

-or else

-he gives you one of his rings and it would be really big on you

-he just likes to drag his fingers across your skin

-he just loves touching you

-pressing you against the wall

-like i said, pinning you down or like against things, keeping your hands restricted while he teases

-how have i not yet mentioned dirty talk?! like this boy has the dirtiest mouth 

-”you like that kitten? hmm? i dont think i heard you. better speak louder Kitten or i might not let you have your reward.”

-taking his rings off for sex cuz lets be serious, his finger game is strong

-fingers... in your mouth... because... like.... yes

-imagine him just growling, like deep rumbling in his chest, damn boi

-hand kink to the max yo

-he likes brushing your hair out of your face

-he’s the guy that just cups your face and lets you nuzzle into your hand because soft boi still present

-he is a toll boi so yes please

-also just how perfect is the view in that gif. i mean... like. i dont even have to say it, we’re all thinking the same thing *wink wonk* (its a blow job we all know it)

-maybe just like slow dancing together alone in your room because thats cute

-he would definitely tease you for your purple outfits because they’re mainly kind of old fashioned with lots of lace and bows

-he takes his sweet ass time undoing your corset

-well shit. this keeps going back to sexual shit because this boi is just such a snack. i am so sorry. 

******* gif credit @mhysaofdragons thank you to this gif maker for giving me permission to use their gifs! im addicted to the new American Horror Story season and im so glad that gif makers like the one who runs this blog is in the same state i am haha <3

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

Dating Michael Langdon Would Involve...

Want to read more headcanon? Click ‘Masterlist’ In My Bio!

Dating Michael Langdon would involve:

Michael is a very hard a person to get to know- and he is a very particular about who he is close with, and who he let’s in to his life.

Even he was surprised when he found himself becoming fond of you.

You had originally met him when he is living in the Murder House (fully grown), and had developed a friendship with him after you had broken into the Murder House out of curiousity, and found Micheal in the what you had assumed to be an abandoned house.

He had initally been very cautious of you (Constance hadn’t exactly socialised him very well).

But, he soon found himself wanting to spend time with you. 

AKA obssessed.

You kept up with his emotions in a way no one else could, and you promised him you would stay with him no matter. He took that promise of loyalty very seriously.

Being very possessive of you.

Keeping you by his side as he gets older and discovers his true fate (to bring the end of days).

You know you’re probably being blinded by your love for Michael, but you would follow him to the ends of the Earth. (Little do you know at that time, but you end up literally doing that).

You are Michael’s first everything basically.

His first relationship.

His first kiss.

His first... time.

Despite being so inexperienced, you learn together- and he is a very fast learner. He is new to it all (everything human, really), but he is eager to please.

He enjoys PDA, but knows you have boundaries so is always super conscious of asking you.

Michael enjoys any type of affection, though.

Especially considering his childhood.

Michael loves spoiling you, and he use to take you on dates before the apocalypse.

[“Are you sure this outfit isn’t too much, Micheal?”

“No, my love.”

“Promise-”

“-You look divine. Never doubt that. I love this on you, I promise. Now, let’s go before we are late.”]

Brushing his hair. (Especially with his head laying in your lap).

He makes a fuss about this, but he sees the way you look at him when you play with his hair and he gives in easily.

Pesents a very cold exterior to everyone else but you. He melts at your touch; Michael will beg for your attention and can be very needy when he wants to. (Blame mommy issues, or daddy issues- Michael has a lot of issues).

Keeping up appearences in front of other people (especially at the out post), but is different in private.

You’re a part of all his future plans in his head. World domination. The Apocalypse. The End Times.

Being a Power Couple (in every sense of the word).

[7-wonders]

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Summary: Christmas arrives during your quest to show Michael why humanity is worth saving, and you decide to broach the topic with him to get his thoughts.

Word Count: 1,928

A/N: Welcome! This is the first part of a Christmas mini-series in my Mad Love universe. For lack of a better term or until I come up with a better title, we'll call this mini-series "A Michael Langdon Christmas." I hope you all enjoy! Let me know your thoughts; my inbox and DMs are always open. Likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!

“What are you looking at?” Michael asks on the morning of December 1st when he hears you sigh next to him.

“Flights home,” you explain. Pulling your phone off of the charger, you roll over in bed to face him, taking a moment to admire how beautiful he looks in the golden morning light. “I wanna book my ticket now before the pricing goes up for…”

Too late, you realize that you’ve walked yourself into a trap. Somehow, the topic of Christmas and the holiday season has never come up in conversation with Michael before. Said man tilts his head curiously, picking up on the hesitation in your tone before you even realized you were about to hesitate. “‘For’ what?”

“Um, for Christmas.” You close your eyes with a cringe, worried about the smiting that is sure to happen at any moment now.

Interestingly, Michael doesn’t spontaneously combust. “Do you not like Christmas? I thought everyone enjoyed presents.”

“Wait, you know what Christmas is?” You probably should have tried to hide your bewilderment better. Oh well, next time Michael decides to reveal something, you’ll hide it better.

Michael, of course, laughs at this. “I know what the day is, and what it traditionally means.”

“And yet you don’t burst into flames upon mentioning the birth date of your antithesis?”

“Is that what you were expecting?”

Embarrassment heats your blood, and you purse your lips. “No,” you say in a tone that conveys that’s exactly what you were expecting. “Anyways, I want to book a flight before Christmas makes tickets too expensive, but the prices are already starting to rise.”

“What does your family do for Christmas?”

Honestly, you’re not sure how you want to answer this question, or the right way to go about it. You know that Michael wouldn’t be mad at you, of course, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable by talking about your Christmas traditions. “I should start off by saying that my family doesn’t celebrate the whole religious part of Christmas. For us, and for a lot of people, this is like a time of giving and being together with those that you love. There are, of course, people who do recognize it as you-know-who’s birthday–”

“I’m fine with you saying Jesus, Y/N,” Michael says dryly. “He’s not Voldemort.”

“Sorry! Anyways, yeah, there are Christians that celebrate Christmas as being Jesus’s birthday, but my family doesn’t do that.”

“But you do celebrate?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t really aware I was soulmates with the Antichrist when I was singing in my kindergarten Christmas program, or decorating gingerbread houses with my friends.” Scrolling through a couple more flight options, you realize that now is as good a time as any to finally ask Michael the question that’s been on your mind since Thanksgiving. “I want to ask you something. Feel free to say no if you’re uncomfortable with what I’m proposing; I promise you won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Well, now I’m nervous.”

“Michael, would you be open to celebrating Christmas with me?” He immediately looks wary, and you feel stupid for even asking. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I just…well, I suppose I never thought that I could celebrate such a holiday.”

“We’re obviously not going to do anything that involves religion! But decorating the tree, and watching Christmas movies, and exchanging presents–those have nothing to do with religion, and they’re some of the best parts of Christmas.”

While he looks unsure, he also looks, dare you say it, intrigued. Michael is the first to admit that he certainly didn’t have a normal upbringing, but he has heard tales of Santa Claus and stories of baking cookies whenever he’s encountered people that aren’t Satanists around this time of the year. He’s never voiced it before, being the son of Satan and the harbinger of evil, but he wants that, and you know that he does.

“You could…even come home with me for Christmas if you want?” you ask hopefully. “My parents could finally meet you.”

Michael looks shocked, and you realize that you’ve never actually told him that you talk about him to your parents.

“They don’t know about the marriage or who you are. They just know that I have a boyfriend named Michael who I really like.”

He smirks. “I’m a little wounded that you merely ‘like’ me. Here I thought our professions of love meant something.”

“Okay, and I’m not really about to tell my parents that through text.” You grab his hand and stroke your thumb across his soft skin. “So? How does all this sound to you?”

“If you’d be willing to teach me, I think I would really enjoy celebrating Christmas.”

You grin. “I’d love nothing more.”

///

The first order of business when it comes to Christmas is, obviously, to put the Christmas tree up. You decide to ease Michael into this and not get a real tree this year–he really doesn’t like mess, and you think that pine needles would automatically make him detest Christmas. Michael sits on the couch in the living room, watching the cat as she wriggles her way into one of the bags you had brought home with you. You shoo her away, grabbing the boxes of ornaments and placing them next to you.

“How do we do this?” Michael asks.

“Like…how do we put the ornaments on the tree?” He nods, and you stifle a laugh. “However we want. This is our tree, and we can put the ornaments anywhere.” You shoot a glance at the cat. “Well, maybe not on the lowest branches. We don’t want the cat breaking all of them.”

You bought simple glass ornaments in a variety of colors, and Michael carefully looks over them, taking his time to decide which ornament he wants to be his first ever ornament. Surprisingly, he doesn’t take a red one, instead selecting purple. He glances at you, as if asking for your permission, and you hold a hand over your mouth to hide your smile before nodding.

Hesitantly, Michael circles the tree to find the perfect place to hang his ornament. He decides on a branch near the middle, and makes sure it’s secure before letting it go and looking to you for approval. It’s an honor getting to teach Michael about all of the joys of life, and you’ll never get over the way his eyes shine when he does something new.

“It looks great,” you encourage him. “Okay, I have a surprise for you. I was going to wait until we were mostly done with the tree, but I’m terrible at keeping secrets.”

Picking up a bubble-wrapped item, you carefully unwrap it before presenting it to him. It’s a simple ceramic ornament with a heart drawn on it, yours and Michael’s names in the middle of it. “Our first Christmas!” is written above the heart, with the year below it. Michael takes it from you, looking at it silently.

“I know it’s kind of cheesy,” you say, trying to fill in the silence as you worry about Michael’s reaction to this, “but I thought it would be a nice way to–”

He silences you with a kiss. “This is perfect. Nobody’s ever cared about me enough to want to get me something personalized and intimate.”

“I thought you would have realized by now, I’m going to continue to smash every opinion and belief you’ve ever had until the day we die.” You stand up, taking the ornament from him. “I think it should go on the front of the tree, yeah?”

Michael’s next to you, placing his large hand over yours so that you can both put this ornament on the tree. “Beautiful,” Michael says, and you hum in agreement before realizing that he’s looking at you instead of the tree.

Groaning, you playfully shove him away from you. “I can’t believe that, after the sweet moment we just had, you pull that cheesy shit!” Michael laughs, dodging the pillow you pick up to throw at him with ease. “Keep hanging ornaments, I’m gonna find a good Christmas music playlist.”

Once you find a good playlist with no traditional (i.e. no mentions of religion) Christmas music, you bounce between putting ornaments on the tree with Michael and keeping ornaments out of the cat’s clutches. When the tree’s finally completely decorated, you place Michael on the couch and run to turn the lights off.

“This is my favorite part,” you explain before flicking the light switch and plunging the living room into darkness.

Luckily it’s not too dark, as you’d feel pretty humiliated to eat shit on your way across the room. Fumbling for the outlet, you find it and plug in the lights of the Christmas tree. You can hear Michael’s soft gasp of wonder from the couch, and you grin before sitting next to him. Laying your head on his shoulder, Michael’s arms wrap around you. You fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.

“I love to just sit in front of the tree at night with all the other lights off. There’s something peaceful about it,” you mutter, knowing that he can hear you.

“I’d have to agree.” He kisses the top of your head. “I think that, even if this were the only Christmas-related thing that we did, I’d still be pretty happy with my first Christmas experience.”

“Don’t worry, there’s still plenty more for you to learn. And we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet!”

“Which is?”

“Christmas morning. Which we’ll get to spend with my family, so that will be extra fun. My mom’s already asking what you like so that she can get you presents and stuff for your stocking.”

“Your mom is getting me presents?” Michael’s voice comes out choked, and you know that he’s glad you’re not looking at him so he can have this emotional break in peace.

“Of course she is. This may come as a surprise to you, but you’re the first long-term relationship I’ve ever had. You’ll also be the first boy I’ve ever brought home, so she’s over the moon right now.”

“She doesn’t even know me.” He sounds astounded that this stranger could be so kind to him.

“She wants to know you, though. My family wants you to feel included, and like you’re a part of it. They know that I think you’re a keeper.”

“First you say that you only ‘like’ me, and know you just ‘think’ I’m a keeper. Ouch,” Michael jokes to ease his own tension.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to explain that I was forced to marry someone I hated but it’s okay now because we’re in love.” You smirk, imagining how well that would go over with your dad. “One day, maybe I’ll try. But until then, I’m content to call you my boyfriend.”

“I’m happy with that too. Makes our relationship feel a little bit more…”

You help supply a word. “Conventional?”

“Exactly.” Michael smiles. “This year has certainly helped with that. My first Halloween, and now my first Christmas.”

“I hope you’re prepared to be the most conventional couple in the world, then.”

“If every activity is as great as this one has been, then I’ll be more than happy to bask in our conventionality.”

For now, though, you’re both happy to sit in the dim light of the tree, sharing each other’s company on a mostly silent night…next time, you’ll have to remember to put the boxes away first so the cat doesn’t bat them around.

///

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @dark-mei-rose @blakescoven @wroteclassicaly @michaellangdonstanaccount @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860 @we-did-it-joe @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @bellaisasleep

[pastelbatfandoms]

ABCs of your OCs-Helena

A list of oc questions in alphabetical categories - i made each category based on the first word I could think of in alphabetical order, so enjoy!

Decided to try and answer these using Gifs and Images of My characters (aka who or what reminds me of My character)

Doing this for My AHS Witch Helena. Michael Langdon’s Soulmate and Dandy Mott’s Ex.

A: Aptitude 1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?  Her witchy abilities have always been apart of Helena,she was also good at group activities where she could be in charge. 

2. what activities have they participated in? is ritual magic an activity? lol I’d say writing in her book of shadows and creating new spells is her favorite solo activity. She only participated in group activities in school and at the orphanage.

3. what abilities do they have? Shadow work,Blood Magic,Sex Magic. Dark Magic in general.

4. what things are they bad at? I don’t think Helena would admit to being bad at anything. But inside she is bad at letting go of her past and letting herself be as powerful as she truly is. Michael and Lucifer are helping her with that. 

5. what is their most impressive talent? Coming back from the dead multiple times lol Astral Projection. (Although she isn’t good at controlling the latter) Allowing the living to see and touch her in spirit form.

B: Basics 1. what is their hair color? It changes every reincarnation or rebirth. Auburn when she was born,more red after she died. Bleached it blond for awhile when she was in the coven,then back to her more natural color,then black when she was in Hell/came back.

2. what is their eye color?  

3. how tall are they? All My female characters are under 6′0″ (unless they’re supernatural)

4. how old are they? 25 (when she died) 

5. how much do they weigh?

C: Comfort 1. how do they sit in a chair?

2. in what position do they sleep? like the dead. If she does sleep.

3. what is their ideal comfort day? Being with Michael.  Helena rarely likes being alone as she was alone for far too long as a Ghost. But when she does need her down time she prefers practicing her Spells in The Woods alone at night or in her Darkened room with a glass of Wine while reading an Erotic or Historical Romance Series,or taking a blood bath.

4. what is their major comfort food? Wine and Steak now that she can eat again.

5. who is the best at comforting them when down? Michael and Ms Mead. Constance used to be.

D: Decoration 1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?  Somewhere Regal like a Mansion,A Castle or a Sanctuary.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room? Very unconventional think of The Addams Family or Munsters.

3. how do they decorate their own?  Anything Retro or Vintage (like from The 1920′s to 80′s) Classical with a Dark Ambiance.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear? 

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends? She likes to look good yes.

E: External Personality 1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality? I suppose she shows of her Leadership personality more in public though.

2. do they do things that conform to the norm? No

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing? A bit of both.

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads? Not really

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it out on their own? Already answered.

F: Fun 1. what do they do for fun? Stay at home watching TV.  After discovering TV again Helena recently fell in love with The Craft,Interview With a Vampire, (because Lestat reminds her of Michael),Dusk Till Dawn and AMC’s Freakshow (it reminds her of simpler times) She also has a weakness for Slasher Films. She also likes writing,reading and when she was with Dandy going to Disney World. 

2. what is their ideal party? When she has to go to a party it usually involves death. But she loves a good murder mystery.

3. who would they have the most fun with? Michael,Violet and Tate.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules? lol Nope

5. do they go out a lot? Not really

G: Gorgeous 1. what is their most attractive external feature? I mean have you seen her?

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality? 

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

5. what parts of others do they envy?

H: Heat 1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

2. do they prefer summer or winter?  Being a Spirit for so long Helena doesn’t really notice the changing of the seasons until she becomes Human again and even then she doesn’t care to notice it much,though she does like The Sun,something She misses after The Apocalypse.

3. do they like the snow? No

4. do they have a favorite summer activity? Spending it with Michael.  Just alone in there room,the two of them,or taking a stroll talking about anything & everything,including The end of the world. Michael is very curious. Followed by Ritualistic Sex that evening.

5. do they have a favorite winter activity? Staying in. 

I: In-the-closet 1. what is their sexuality? Straight

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality? No

3. have they ever questioned their gender? No

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT? No

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

J: Joy 1. what makes them happy? Her Surrogate Family

2. who makes them happy? Michael,Ms Mead,Tate and Violet.

3. are there any songs that bring them joy? Yes I will list them later

4. are they happy often? Sure

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

K: Kill 1. have they ever thought about suicide? I don’t write that. They may have dark thoughts but never act on them,this is not 13 reasons why.

2. have they ever thought about homicide? Yes

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who? Dandy but Michael already got to him first. Has tried to kill the coven.

4. who would miss them if they died? Michael and The Cult

5. who would be happy they died, anyone? Dandy and Cordelia maybe Madison.

L: Lemons 1. what is their favorite fruit? 2. what is their least favorite fruit?

3. are there any foods they hate?

4. do they have any food intolerances?

5. what is their favorite food?

M: Maternal 1. would they want a daughter or a son? Wouldn’t really care.

2. how many children do they want? 1

3. would they be a good parent? I think so

4. what would they name a son? Lucien

what would they name a daughter? Sabrina

5. would they adopt? Yes

N: Never Have I Ever

1. what would they never do? I’m not sure. Helena thought she’d never do alot of things that she has done.

2. what have they never done that they want to do? Have a child.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do? Look down on others because of their social class. 

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do? Murder someone

O: Optimism 1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

2. are they openly optimistic?

3. are they good at giving advice?

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

5. were they always optimistic?

>>>P: Personality 1. what is their best personality trait?

2. what is their worst personality trait?

3. what of their personality do others love?

4. what of their personality do others envy?

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities? <<<Might fill that out later,

Q: Questions 1. do they ask for help? Not usually

2. do they ask questions in class? She did.

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable? Yes

4. do they ask weird questions? No

5. are they curious? Yes

R: Rules 1. do they follow rules? Sometimes.

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent? A good balance.

3. have they ever been consequences for breaking a rule? 

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking? 

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous? 

S: Streets 1. are they street-smart? Yes

2. would they give money to someone on the streets? Probably

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets? Not on the streets.

4. has anything happened to them on the streets? No.

5. are they cautious when out? Sometimes

T: Truth 1. are they honest? Yes

2. can they tell if someone is lying? Yes

3. is it obvious when they’re lying? Not always

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about? 

5. have they ever been talked about behind there back? Probably

U: Underdog 1. have they been bullied? Yes

2. have they bullied anyone? No

3. have they been physically attacked? Yes but she can hold her own.

4. have they ever been doubted? Yes.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something? Surprised Michael with how good she could fight.

W: Water 1. do they drink enough water? 2. have they learned to swim? 3. do they like to swim? 4. can they dive? 5. can they swim without holding their nose?

X: Xylophone 1. what is their favorite genre of music? Oldies,Classical and Black Metal.

2. do they have a favorite song? Birdy- Strange Bird

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer? In This Moment & Nightwish

4. can they sing well? Sure

5. can they rap? lol No 

Y: You 1. how old were you when you created them? It was in 2019

2. what inspired you to create them? Watching AHS Apocalypse

3. were they different when they were first created? No

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?  She’s not the easiest to write,but I do enjoy writing her.

5. what’s your favorite thing about them? Her Confidence,her loyalty and romantic side. 

Z: Zebra 1. what’s their favorite animal? 2. do they like animals? 3. cats or dogs? 4. what’s their dream pet? 5. do they have any pets at the moment?  Not be stereotypical but she really likes Snakes and Crows,as well as Raven’s. Her favorite Mythological Creature is The Cerberus. I don’t think it would be a good idea to have a pet around Michael though...

[sloppy-little-witch-bitch26]

My Dirty Little Secret Part 4

Warnings: Swearing, angst, drama

This chapter is quite short, the next chapter is more full on, Previous chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, 

Thank you so so so soooo much for all the love I've received for this series! I love you babes! 

Summary: You’re happy with your boyfriend Duncan Shepherd, until certain events and people start to get in the way…

“And if you could also add something about how they pay off ex-employees so they keep quiet about their dealings”

“Mom”

“They think they’re going to tarnish my campaign?! Well they can think again, no one messes with the Underwood’s”

“Mom!”

“You need to be one step ahead of them, I’ll arrange for a meeting, you and their previous Head of Operations...”

“MOM! Seriously, will you stop! I came by to say hello, not to take part in a he said, she said War you have going on with whoever” you said exasperated.

Your mother was such a handful. You completely understood being the president of the United States was a high profile job, but you always had boundaries. You never needed or wanted her help to get where you were and you weren’t the meddlesome type.

“Well I’m sorry for assuming my own daughter would help towards her mothers campaign” she said, albeit sarcastically.

You sighed, getting impatient with her attitude.

“I’ll see what I can dig up” you mumbled whilst rolling your eyes.

“Great. Now to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I can’t just stop by and say hello to my mother?” You questioned.

“I’m a busy woman, Y/N, you should’ve called” Ever the diplomat was your mom.

“Charming” You retorted.

“Watch your attitude, young lady”

Throwing her a petty smile, you gathered yourself ready to leave her office until she stopped you.

“Wait! How’s it going with Duncan?” She asked.

Not that she really cared.

After her and Annette barged into your apartment and almost caught you both going at it, and dealt with your post-coital blow up, she made it a habit to not enquire about your relationship.

“It’s good” you assured her.

“Don’t forget, we’ve been invited to the Shepherd Foundation Charity auction next weekend” she reminded you.

“Well aware of that mom, I am dating one of the Shepherds” you reminded her.

“Much to my dismay” she mumbled, trying to make it sound as if she said it under her breathe.

You just rolled your eyes again, too exhausted to get into another petty argument with her.

“The limo will pick you at 8, be ready”

“I’m not going with you, I’m going with Duncan” You stated.

“Change of plans” she admitted. “The limo will be picking you up at 8pm sharp and we will arrive together. I expect you to be ready” She told you, so matter of factly.

With no energy to argue, you grabbed your things and made your way out of her office.

“I’ll see you then dear” she said aloud, knowing full well you weren’t paying her any mind.

“Sure, bye mom” you said as you were already half way out the door.

You’d arrived back to your office with yet another headache. Courtesy of your mother no doubt.

“Sooo, how’s it all going in the glamorous life of Miss Underwood?” Came the sing song voice of your Editor, Matthew.

“Hey Matt” you laughed.

“You know as well as I do my life isn’t glamorous”

“Except you’re the daughter of the president, and dating that hunk of man, Duncan Shepherd” he replied theatrically.

You rolled your eyes playfully at him as you gathered yourself to work on one of your articles.

“Any more news on the embezzlement scandal? I want to get that out by tomorrow at the latest before any other outlets do” You told him, technically he was your assistant yet he seemed more involved assisting in your life rather than work.

“Other than what you got the other day from Mr Johnson, we’ve had no other leads. According to him he was promised immunity if he gave up his other clients”

“No new leads then” you murmured

“None as of yet. They did hire an Admin girl for their office who they then tried to use as an undercover ploy but she’s disappeared apparently”

“Disappeared as in ‘sleeping with the fishes’ disappeared or what?” You asked

“Disappeared as in ‘didn’t want anything to do with it’. No conspiracy theory, no underground mafioso murder. She was only an Admin Assistant” Matthew replied as if he thought you were insane for suggesting anything else

You just nodded at his response and went back to typing.

“Soo, can we expect Mr tall dark and handsome to accompany you at the awards event next month?” Matt pried.

“Mmm” You murmured. Not really in the mood to partake in gossip.

“And are you attending the Shepherd Foundation Charity Gala next week”

“I am” You replied

“Do you need a date?” Matthew asked, hopeful.

“I don’t but I can get you an invite”

“I love you, so what are we wearing?”

“I don’t really have time to discuss this right now, Matt”

“Fineee, well then how about we grab a drink after work?” He asked you.

“Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs” You told him, hoping he’d finally leave you alone to get some work done.

This article was taking its toll and there’s still gaps missing that you couldn’t seem to fill.

There was only one person you could think of that would be able to help you with this.

Grabbing your phone, you quickly dialled Duncan’s number.

“Hello, Mr Shepherd’s office, how may I help “

Well that threw you.

“Is there any particular reason as to why you are answering my boyfriend’s phone?”

“Y/N wasn’t it? It’s Tiffany. Duncan is in a meeting, I have diverted his calls so he doesn’t get distracted. Would you like me to let him know you called?” Her faux posh voice was really starting to grate on your nerves.

You scoffed at her tone although not loud enough for her to hear.

“If you could let him know it’s urgent” you ordered.

You weren’t a rude person but this woman set you on edge, you didn’t trust her.

“Of course, Miss Underwood, ta-ta” and then you heard the click.

Sighing, you got back to your article. You couldn’t let your anger get you since you were on a deadline.

*****

Duncan’s POV:

“Who was that?” Duncan asked his secretary as he walked into his office

“Oh no one, just another reporter asking for an interview with you, I told them you were busy” she smiled at him.

“Thanks, I need you to do me a favor. I’ve placed an order with the florist on Wisconsin Ave, can you go and pay for them and make sure they get delivered?” He asked

“Where would you like them delivered?” Tiffany asked, all the while keeping that smile on her face.

“Miller & Wilson Media Group. Make sure they include the name tag for Y/N” He replied while going through a stack of papers on his desk.

“Hmph, flowers for the lady huh? Making up for something are we?” She asked, trying to not sound like she was prying into his love life.

“Not that it’s any of your business but no, just do as I asked” he ordered as he walked out of his office.

“Yes Mr Shepherd” She agreed. She needed to tread carefully if she was going to pull this off.

From the moment she was assigned as his secretary, she knew he would be a tough man to crack. She thought she had finally broken through his tough demeanor yesterday convincing him to allow her to tag along to his business lunch however this morning, he was back to his stone cold, business like persona.

Grabbing the phone, she quickly dialed the florist he had placed the order with.

“Hello, yes this is Alice Coleman, I’m just calling regards the order placed by Mr Duncan Shepherd for YN Underwood at Miller & Wilson Media Group?”

“Yes, those are the ones; there has been a mix-up, see this order was meant for someone else. If you could please change the name on the card? Mr Shepherd has asked for the name to be changed for the attention of Miss Tiffany Turner? Thank you for your help”

Smirking to herself as she hung up the phone.

If she couldn’t get a hold of Duncan’s attention, she was going to make sure it was diverted away from anyone else. One way or another.

@kellysimagines, @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning, @alexcornerblog, @cotomandra, @frucienlover, @michael-langdon-appreciation, @avesatanormalpeoplescareme, @ccodyfern, @sojournmichael, @gelukstraan, @stupidocupido, @petersfern-fics, @confettucini, @queencocoakimmie, @queenie435, @langdonalien, @sweetlangdon, @dunc-donut, @lovelykhaleesiii, @sassylangdon, @sassyhollandx, @holylangdon, @sodanova, @master-langdon, @1-800-bitchcraft, @langdons-rep, @miss-diamonds, @kaigitana, @athiestangel

[descensummichael]

My Heroine (Michael Langdon x Fem!OC)— vii. monsters much bigger than I can control

I’m sorry if this fic is seeming like it’s slow-going, I’m just really trying to set up a decent arc/plot so I don’t end up rushing thru it like I always do when I write (lol) 

Warnings: mentions of religion/god, me jus making shit up as I go??? A lot of this fic in general will probably not follow canon

If you’re new, catch up on the rest of the story here and let me know what you think! xo

She could remember quite clearly when it started happening. While they were small flickers and fragments seeping in at first, they became increasingly harder to ignore or excuse as childhood imagination.

And this utterly terrified her.

Arella was well acquainted with her familial origins and history. Her mother, Elizabeth, made absolutely sure she was, consistently drilling into her young daughter's head how much she despised every last part of it. There was no way Arella would get tangled up in the mess that their predecessors had created and she herself had managed to avoid.

But when the girl's temper got out of control on one occasion, and dinnerware smashed into the walls seemingly on their own, the woman knew that she had some trouble on her hands.

Arella was young; barely six years old at the time of the incident. No witches had ever come to their powers that young, especially not at that level.

On another occasion, she walked into the living room to find her daughter standing on the coffee table, various objects levitating around her as she laughed gleefully. At this point, she became desperate for an explanation. Desperate for anything to explain away the possibility that her absolute pride and joy was becoming everything she hated.

"It has to be something else," Elizabeth insisted, lifting her face from her palms as she spoke with her husband. "There's no way she- she didn't do that. It has to be this house, my mother, the energies-"

So, they moved and prayed to God that their daughter would get over this, whatever this was. It seemed to work until she hit her teens when she started having visions that gripped her consciousness so tightly and viciously that she was having a hard time focusing in school. While she tried her best to suppress what was happening to avoid suspicions from her mother, her grades started to slip.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, okay?" Arella blurted, frustrated with where the conversation was going. "Maybe I am a witch-"

"Stop," her mother interjected, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's simply not possible, Arella. The lineage was broken."

Arella had descended from extremely powerful witches, and they dated back to the very conception of their class as a whole. Her mother, however, marked the very first break when she never came into power like those before her. Her absolute hatred of the practice— and her family in general— appalled her elders, but when she turned to the guidance of Catholicism to completely renounce her bloodline was when things seemed to come to a screeching halt. Elizabeth never came to be a witch, thus effectively ending her lineage.

Or so she thought.

After their argument, Arella was sent to Catholic school, where her mother hoped her delusions would be washed away and they could put everything behind them. But when Arella was kicked out of school for breaking a girl's arm who she insisted she didn't touch, Elizabeth knew avoidance was no longer an option.

"I'll just go stay with grandma, and I won't be a burden to you anymore," Arella suggested. At that point, anything would be better than living under the pressures of her overbearing parents. She could hardly remember her grandmother, having not seen her since before her first display of magical tendencies, and even then visitations were sporadic due to the overall distrust in the family. Elizabeth had somehow linked her daughter's outburst to the elderly witch's influence and forbade her from being around, and she hadn't been seen since.

Her mother scoffed at this. "I don't even know why you'd even think to suggest that. Your grandmother is an evil woman, and I have spent every second since you were born from keeping you away from that."

"You kept me from who I really am," she shot back, her tone laced with malice. "Don't you think it would have been easier on me if you wouldn't have suppressed everything and gotten me the help I needed when I started showing signs of-"

"Arella Rae Bellion," Elizabeth cut her off, her voice growing louder to match her daughter's. "Enough. Don't chastise me on how I raised you. None of this should have ever happened in the first place."

"Right, so it's my fault now."

"I'm not saying it-" she stopped herself mid-sentence. "Look, I don't know how to deal with this, but you need someone to help you control your powers. You can't just go around breaking people's arms when they inconvenience you."

"She was the one who instigated it by-"

Elizabeth held up her hand, stopping her. "We're going to get you help, okay? Bottom line."

Arella had begun to research who she was on her own and became intimately involved with a group of other young witches. They provided a sort of solace that she was unable to find in her real life. During her chats with them, there had been whisperings of a place, a sanctuary of sorts, for girls just like her. She had never taken the idea of it seriously.

Until now.

"I think I might know of where I can get it," she took a deep breath before continuing. "Have you heard of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies?"

                                                       ❦❦❦

"New Orleans?" Elizabeth practically choked, exasperated that Arella would even suggest this. "That's hundreds of miles away!"

"Look, they have excellent success rates. Maybe I can finally find a place where I'll fit in-" Arella began. Trying to convince her mother that the distance between them would be worth it was going to be a monumental task, to say the least. Accepting who Arella had become was hard to swallow, and at times downright unbearable to the point where she could barely look at her, but she was still her baby. She nevertheless felt an inherent need to protect her by all means necessary.

"I just... I don't know if being that far away is such a good idea," Elizabeth cut her off, scrolling through the photos of the supposed academy on her daughter's computer.

"I'm eighteen, mother. I can handle it, I promise. I'll get a support system, and you'll have me out of the way. It's a win-win."

Elizabeth sighed, turning her attention from the computer to her daughter, meeting her gaze. "I don't want to be rid of you, Arella. I just-"

"You wish this wasn't me. You wish I wasn't like your mother. You wish-"

"Please, enough," she stopped her. "We'll try it, okay? We'll try it."

Less than two weeks later, Arella was on the long journey to New Orleans, starting the beginning of what would be the rest of her life.

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Forget Me Not Jim Mason x Reader 50 First Dates AU Pt 10 *Final Part*

@michael-langdon-appreciation

AFTER THE CHAOS of the birth scene, quiet finally descended. Everywhere except in Jon's brain. Well, his heart-that too was going a million miles an hour, and the reason was right there in his hands.

The doctor had left after giving them a wink and placing his finger against his lips. Medina had left.

Y/N had stepped into the shower, and the nurse had pushed him back into the chair beside the bed. Without so much as a "here you go” she’d placed the baby in his arms. Then she'd left the room, giving Jim no opportunity to do anything but sit there and stare at the tiny person he held cradled in his hands.

Honest truth? He was fucking scared to death. By a bundle of humanity the size of a bread loaf. The baby boy wiggled, and Jim pulled him closer, soft flannel pressing the side of his arm as he cradled the bundle. "Oh, man. This is…”

The kid's face was all scrunched up-no way to tell family resemblance to anyone when he looked like that. Jim glanced around the room to double-check he was alone then carefully laid the baby in his lap and loosened off the blanket.

It might be stupid, but he had to see. He wasn't looking for a distinguishing mark or anything, but... Jim wanted to count toes. And fingers. And look again at how perfectly human, and yet perfectly tiny the baby was.

Baby James complained loudly about being poked and prodded. His arms flared out, fists waving in the air, and Jim did his best to rewrap him. The trick eluded him, and things were a bit of a mess, but James settled down, his bright purple eyes seeming to stare straight through Jim.

"So. You're here."

Another thing that might be stupid, but it felt right to talk to the kid. Tell him...

"You know, your mom is pretty incredible. You have no idea what she just went through for you. Frankly, you probably don't want to know, but right off the bat, you picked a good one, kid. She's loved you with everything in her since she knew you were coming, and she wants nothing but the best for you."

The words stuck in his throat for a minute as that really, truly registered. How much Y/N loved James. The fact she'd said she loved Jim as well?

It wasn't as if there was a limit to love. Only so much to be doled out a little at a time before you had to hold back and save some for another day.

The baby lying in his lap was proof that love wasn't about what you could do, or where you’d come from. Love was a gift, and damn if emotion wasn’t welling up in a way that made Jim gasp at the sharpness of it cutting away the bloody edges inside.

Did it really matter if James was the result of his genes and Y/N's mixing? Or did it matter more that Jon would be called daddy? That he could be a father James looked up to-he'd teach his son to do all the fun things in life, and to deal with all the responsibilities, but most of all he could teach his son how to love unconditionally.

If it turned out Rick had started this life, and the courts decreed he had to be involved, Jim would find a way to make sure even that was somehow a positive experience. He'd protect James, like he would protect Y/N going forward. Not with fists and violence, but in a way that would make a difference in the end.

God, somehow, he would find away.

"So, here’s the deal. I'm your daddy. Well, I need to do some convincing to get your mom to marry me before it will be official, but whatever else happens, or however long that takes, you and me? We're the real deal. We're going to be having a lot of talks over the years. About doing chores you hate, and girls you like. And maybe we'll talk about cars or computers or whatever else comes along. But I'm going to be there for you. For you and your momma. And it doesn’t matter to me one bit if you’re someone else’s son, because you're mine, and I'm so damn thankful for you."

He had to wipe away a tear. "Not at all what I expected, but it's exactly what I needed-you coming into my life. And maybe we'll fight at times, or you'll get grounded-hell, I kind of expect you will if you're  anything like me-but no matter what, I'm your daddy. And that’s never going to change."

He'd been so intent on the pain that was leaving him in a rush he hadn’t noticed the shower had turned off.

The first thing that registered was the soft touch of hands slipping over his shoulders as Y/N draped herself up against his back. She touched her cheek to his, moisture connecting-his tears or hers? She snuck a hand around his torso and laid her fingers over his where he gently held James. "I love you, Jim. we'll find a way."

"We’ll make memories, good ones, and we'll find a way," he agreed.

He opened his arms and pulled them in close. Opened his heart and did the same. This wasn’t about his past, it was about his future. A grown-up, straight-up heart-and-brain decision to be there for the two people who mattered the most.

His lover.

And his son.

Five days later

THE TEST RESULTS came sealed in an envelope. One page, with all kinds of numbers and details at the bottom, but all Jim could see through his tears was the beginning.

The results of the paternity test are consistent with the alleged father Jim Mason being the biological father of the child James Mason Jr. The probability of paternity is greater than 99.9%.

Y/N took another box off the shelf, peeking inside briefly before abandoning it with the others. In the background, she heard the sounds of water splashing, and a momentary protest rang out as James squawked. Jim's answer came immediately, soft and reassuring as he soothed the baby.

It was one of the wonderful parts of being a family. Jim had taken over the nighttime bath routine, leaving her a few moments to accomplish something without the little one around.

Tonight she'd grown serious enough to venture into the storage room. She'd created a one-of-a-kind scrapbook to record James's milestones-crafted together from a hardcover book Medina had gifted her and some of her new artistic talent. The details were caught up, but now she wanted to compare it to what was recorded in her own baby book.

Only where was it?

She pulled the lid off yet another box, surprised to find the decorative book that used to sit beside her computer.

She'd used it for taking notes and jotting down recipes, and as she flipped through the pages realized she had stashed a backup of all her passwords.

Driven by curiosity, she tucked the book under her arm and headed down the hall, pausing in the door of the bathroom to watch her guys. Jim carefully washed James's hair chatting all the time about engines and torque, and other things that made her smile. The baby did nothing more than gurgle in response, but Jim didn't seem to care.

He must've sensed she was there, and he glanced over his shoulder momentarily, his smile ratcheting up a notch as he looked her over.

"Well, whatever you're doing I look forward to joining you later." He leered at her, his hands carefully guarding James as their son wiggled his limbs happily.

Y/N stuck out her tongue and twirled away, the short shorts and tight tank top she was wearing to beat the August heat clinging to her body with a slick of sweat.

She sat at the computer and went to her long-since-abandoned email account. Stared at the password sign-in and wondered if it was even worthwhile. She loved Jim, trusted him. That wasn’t even a question anymore. The only reason to look would be to satisfy her curiosity.

She really should go wash up the dinner dishes instead. Or clean up the mess she'd made with the new set of paints Jim had bought her to explore another artsy area that had caught her interest.

Curiosity won.

She checked the information in the flowery notebook, inserted the proper password, then hit enter. The entire screen bloomed with unread emails. She rolled her eyes and scrolled back through months’ worth of spam. It wasn't until she reached the previous October that there were some real emails for her, most of them containing information she had received after her accident. Information that had been duplicated and sent to her new account.

She knew the date she was looking for. By this time it wasn't a case of need to see it, but it was strangely comforting all the same that the email Jim had told her he had sent was there. She clicked it open and smiled, her heart filling with even more love as she read it through.

There was no room for sadness. No room for regrets that her accident had taken some of this from her.  No room for anger at the lies Rick had told, first in insisting they'd gotten back together and then his manipulation toward the end.

As the sounds of her laughing husband and a contented baby carried into the main room, Y/N had nothing inside but happiness. Filled to the top with love for two people, one of whom hadn’t even existed this time last year.

She paused to print out the note, though. Not to show to Jim, but to slip into the other memory book she’d started. The one where she’d pinned the picture he had taken immediately after their first official kiss. The book she'd taped the ticket stubs from their first movie. Pasted the PG sketch she'd done of him-the dirty one she had tucked elsewhere to keep it from anyone else's eyes.

The printout was a new memory of the truth and commitment he’d offered her, even before she'd known how much she was going to need him.

Jim stepped back into the living room, James in his arms. "Someone is ready for a cuddle." He lowered their baby into her embrace then stepped back only far enough to drape his arm around her shoulders as he leaned against her, their bodies close and intimate.

Scrubbed and clean, eyes drooping with sleep, James stared up at them both, little mouth opening wide with a yawn.

"He's so gorgeous." Y/N slipped a finger over his tiny lips, and he puckered, looking for something more.

"Of course he is. He's our kid." Jim reached over and tucked his finger into James’s tiny fist. Baby fingers barely reached around, but the kid hung on tight.

The soft touch of lips against her temple as Jim kissed her was the final blessing on the moment. Y/N tucked herself and James tighter into the embrace then looked up into the sincere gaze of her lover. The father of her child, in not just blood but all the more important ways.

"I love you, Jim Mason. Heart and soul."

His grin widened. "I love you too, and you'd better never forget it."

She laughed as he turned her to face the backyard where he'd planted so many flowers. The brilliant blue flower petals had faded, but the message remained.

As his arms circled both of them, Y/N leaned back and soaked in the wonder that was her life. The one full of memories with even more to be made in the future.

[junker-town]

College basketball’s most important questions as March Madness approaches

Photo by Michael Hickey/Getty Images

It’s OK if you’ve been too distracted by football to pay enough attention to college basketball. We’re here to answer your questions and get you ready for the stretch run.

Have you been so consumed by football for the last five months that you’re woefully behind on what’s been happening in the world of college basketball? Would you like to change that so you sound like you know what you’re talking about once March Madness rolls around in a month?

Once again, we here at SB Nation college basketball have you, the diehard football fan who is finally ready to start paying attention to college hoops now that the Super Bowl is over, covered.

Let’s hear your questions.

So tell me who’s good

Diving right in. All right.

This one is actually a little bit bit trickier than it has been in years past.

Since the first few weeks of November, college basketball’s defining narrative for 2019-20 has seemed to revolve around parity and the notion that there are no great teams this season. Here are just a few of the dozens of fairly ridiculous facts and figures to back that up.

— A total of seven different teams have sat atop the Associated Press top 25 poll this season, tied for the most in the history of the poll, which dates all the way back to 1949.

— With over a month still to play in the regular season, top-five teams have lost to unranked opponents a whopping 15 times. That only happened six times all of last season.

— Top-10 teams have lost to unranked opponents 28 times in 2019-20. It happened 27 times all of last season.

— If you’re looking for a perfect synopsis of this season, look no further than this past Saturday. Nine top-25 teams were handed losses, and three of those losses happened to ranked teams playing at home against unranked opponents. Three ranked Big East teams lost at home on the same day, the first time in the history of the conference that has happened.

OK, but, like, who’s gonna win the tournament?

Well, that’s an impossible question to answer in any year, but because of all the stuff we just talked about, it feels especially impossible to answer right now.

Why don’t you just tell me who’s No. 1 right now and we’ll go from there? Which traditional powerhouse is at the top of the polls?

The No. 1 team in the AP Poll at the moment is actually the Baylor Bears.

You’re shittin’ me.

Nope.

Well are they good?

Clearly.

How good?

Baylor is No. 1 in a season for just the second time in program history thanks to a sensational 19-1 start that includes home or neutral court wins over Villanova, Butler and Arizona, and road wins over Kansas, Texas Tech and Florida. Their only loss came on the first week of the season to Washington in a game the Bears controlled all the way up until a collapse in the final couple of minutes. Also, that game was played in Alaska.

Why?

I don’t know, man. I think Trajan Langdon turned 50 or something.

All that matters is Baylor is very good and is absolutely capable of making its first Final Four run since 1950. Point guard Jared Butler is the name to toss around if you want to make it seem like you’ve been watching the Bears since November. He’s their engine.

So if Baylor is 19-1 and ranked No. 1, I assume there are no undefeated teams remaining, correct?

Incorrect.

The mighty Aztecs of San Diego State will begin post-Super Bowl play with a flawless 23-0 mark. They scored impressive non-conference wins over Creighton (by 31), Iowa (by 10) and BYU (on the road), and have won their first 12 Mountain West Conference games by an average of just under 12 points per contest.

SDSU will be a solid favorite in each of its final six regular-season games. If the Aztecs win all of those and then win the Mountain West tournament, they’ll become just the second team since 1991 — joining 2013-14 Wichita State and 2014-15 Kentucky — to enter the NCAA tournament with an unblemished record.

Steve Fisher, man. I always thought he got a raw deal at Michigan. Guy can flat-out coach.

Fisher actually retired in 2017. His longtime associate head coach Brian Dutcher — with him for a decade at Michigan and 18 seasons at San Diego State — is now the head coach of the Aztecs.

Whatever. So we’ve got Baylor and we’ve got San Diego State in the top five. Who else is there?

This is actually the first time since the 2002-03 preseason poll that the top four teams in the current AP top 25 poll — Baylor, Gonzaga, Kansas and San Diego State — are all schools located west of the Mississippi River.

Hasn’t it been like a billion years since a West Coast team won it all?

Yep. No team west of the Rocky Mountains has cut down the nets since Arizona did it all the way back in 1997. Obviously, Baylor and Kansas don’t fit into this discussion, but Gonzaga, San Diego State, Arizona and Oregon are all teams that have legitimate shots at ending the West Coast’s run of futility.

Louisville rounds out the current top five, by the way.

Yeah I’d forgotten the question. Tell me some other weird teams that are good in this weird season.

How about Dayton? The Flyers have only lost to Kansas and Colorado, and both of those losses occurred in overtime. They have one of the best offenses in the entire country, a leading national Player of the Year candidate in the freakishly gifted Obi Toppin, and a legitimate chance to win the school’s first national championship.

The Flyers are one of a handful of teams that have never won the national title before that seem to have a serious shot in 2020. If one of those teams does win the tournament, it’ll be the first time college basketball has seen back-to-back first time champs since 2002-03.

So how much is Zion dominating this year?

Uhh, well actually he —

I’m just messing with you, man. I know he’s in the NBA.

Ha, ha. OK, good. For a second there I thought I was gonn—

Played his one year at Duke, got that national title, and then bounced.

You know what? Sure.

Who is the Zion of this season?

No individual player this season has or will be able to generate anywhere near the level of buzz that Zion Williamson was able to a year ago. In fact, this might be the strangest season of all-time in terms of college basketball’s relationship with the projected top picks in the next NBA Draft.

LaMelo Ball, a projected top-five pick according to pretty much everyone who does that sort of thing, never set foot on a college campus. Neither did projected lottery pick R.J. Hampton, who spurned Kansas in favor of joining Ball in playing professionally in New Zealand.

James Wiseman, another projected top-five pick, played three games for Memphis before the NCAA declared him ineligible because of a whole deal that we don’t have time to get into. Eventually the NCAA suspended Wiseman for 12 games, and in the middle of serving that suspension, Wiseman decided that none of this was worth it and he would start preparing for the NBA Draft.

North Carolina freshman star Cole Anthony, another potential top-10 pick, has missed more than half of this season with a knee injury. He just returned to the court this past week.

The highest-rated NBA prospect who is currently a healthy and active member of the college basketball scene is potential No. 1 pick Anthony Edwards. The only problem is he’s playing for a Georgia team that is 12-9 overall, has lost six of its last eight games, and seems to have little hope of making the NCAA tournament.

Team relevance is also an issue for potential lottery picks like Tyrese Haliburton (Iowa State), Jaden McDaniels (Washington) and Isaiah Stewart (Washington), who play on teams that are firmly on the wrong side of the tournament bubble at the moment.

The good news for star power in the sport is that it has Toppin. The bad news is that he plays in the Atlantic 10 and won’t be back under the sport’s brightest lights again until March.

Hey, show me some buzzer-beaters.

With pleasure.

Oregon’s Payton Pritchard is another national POY candidate, and he’s made a habit of hitting ridiculous shots in the final seconds of close games this season.

PAYTON PRITCHARD FOR THE WIN! (via @CBSSports) pic.twitter.com/tfP2mjYPk4

— NCAA March Madness (@marchmadness) January 18, 2020

If you’re looking for a true buzzer-beater, how about NC State’s Markell Johnson from halfcourt to beat UNC-Greensboro?

Isaiah Stevens for Colorado State to beat Nevada was nice.

And finally, D’Shawn Schwartz of Colorado at the overtime horn to hand Dayton its second and still most recent loss.

Buffs beat Dayton at the buzzer. This game was awesome. pic.twitter.com/MHC72DFIGi

— Matt Norlander (@MattNorlander) December 22, 2019

There have been countless others already this season, but that should be enough to whet your palette before March.

What about bad-ass dunks? Any of those?

Sure.

Toppin is probably the closest thing this season has to Williamson. He’s been putting on a show since night one.

Washington’s Nahziah Carter can absolutely fly.

Greg Williams of St. John’s showing teammate Mustapha Heron how it’s done was nice.

OMG GREG WILLIAMS ———— Former Lafayette Christian star Greg Williams Jr just DETONATED on a Brown defender @gthemenace pic.twitter.com/cJCRQlpM4I

— FastBreak Entertainment (@FastBreak__ENT) December 11, 2019

Just like with the buzzer-beaters, there are tons more out there.

So even without Zion, is it safe to assume that Duke is still pretty awesome?

Despite an absurd early home loss to Stephen F. Austin, they’re definitely good. The Blue Devils are 18-3 and the No. 2 team in the country according to Ken Pomeroy.

Coach K also recently had a hilarious meltdown directed at the Cameron Crazies that is worth a few minutes of your attention.

Kansas rolling too?

They are. The Jayhawks won the Maui Invitational in November and have just three losses as we head into the final stretch of the regular season. A couple of weeks ago they were involved in a nasty fight with Kansas State that resulted in some hefty suspensions. Those two teams will play again Feb. 29.

And I guess North Carolina is just hammering fools too?

Ummm. Not exactly.

The Tar Heels are just 10-11 overall and a miserable 3-7 in ACC play. Star freshman Cole Anthony missing a lot of time with a knee injury certainly hasn’t helped matters, but UNC wasn’t exactly thriving before he went down. In its first game with Anthony back and available, North Carolina lost at home to Boston College on Saturday. Earlier in the season, they lost at home to Clemson for the first time ever. The Tigers had been 0-59 in Chapel Hill before the game.

Unless Anthony and company do something ridiculous at the ACC tournament, Carolina is going to not hear its name called on Selection Sunday for the first time in 10 years.

Which conference is the best?

In terms of overall quality, it’s probably the Big Ten. Northwestern and Nebraska are both very bad, but the other 12 teams in the league all have very legitimate shots at making the NCAA tournament.

If you’re talking top to bottom, the Big East has a case at well. Every team in the conference is at least two games over .500, and at least four teams from the league have been in the top 25 virtually every week this season.

So does that mean ... Rutgers is good?

It does. The Scarlet Knights recently cracked the AP top 25 for the first time since 1979 and are tracking towards making their first NCAA tournament since 1991. That drought is the longest of any power conference program.

And DePaul!?

Not so much. The Blue Demons had a fantastic non-conference run, taking down Minnesota, Iowa and Texas Tech on their way to a 12-1 start. They’ve since gone 1-8 in Big East play and are once again looking like they will miss the Big Dance for the 16th straight year.

I had so much hope this year.

We all did.

Give me your Final Four.

I don’t really like to do that before we get the actual bracket.

Why?

It’s a totally pointless exercise to pick a Final Four when so much of who makes up the Final Four is based on tournament draw. If you pick four teams right now, two or three of them might end up being in the same region on Selection Sunday.

Well I’d stay away from Virginia. I always forget what happens a few months after March, but the one thing I ALWAYS remember is that Virginia chokes.

This all feels like it may have been a massive waste of time, but yes, you’re probably going to be OK if you don’t have Virginia in your Final Four this March.

That’s all I needed to hear. Much appreciated.

Anytime.

[dawnajaynes32]

3 Degrees of Inspiration: Chad Michael, Curtis Jinkins & Simon Walker

Editor’s Note: This is part 56 in Emily Potts’ inspirational series. Every other week she features three artists whose work offers fresh, fun, and stimulating creative inspiration. Each artist picks the next link—someone who personally inspires him/her. Check out the fifty-fifth part in the series, featuring Stuart Geddes, James Langdon & Gavin Wade.

We’re starting fresh this week, with one of my favorite logo designers …

Chad Michael

I love Chad’s logo designs, primarily the detailed renderings he does for his spirits clients. Each client has a story, and Chad is able to succinctly tell that story in the design. Every line, letter, and image contributes to the brand legacy, even if it’s a made-up history.

Hopes & Dreams is one of those instances, where the story behind the image is better than … err, worse than fiction. The founders initially built their distillery, but due to lack of experience, it accidentally burned to the ground, so Chad included a burning building on the package design that is complimented by the intricate type-based logo.

Everything on this label just works. From the hand-crafted lettering, to the barrel renderings, so the logo on the bottle. Beautifully executed.

Chad Michael is well-known in the pages of HOW, earning accolades in our design annuals on a regular basis. The St. Laurent Gin packaging above was recognized in the 2016 International Design Awards. Enter your own work in the 2017 Awards to see your work recognized on a global scale.

Chad Michael is inspired by …

Curtis Jinkins

Curtis has gorgeous work that can be spotted from a mile away. When you can spot a designer just by looking at his work you know they are doing something right. He masters a style few can handle successfully. It’s a hand drawn, roughed yet soft-edge look that if not done perfectly can miss the mark entirely and look like complete shit. I’ve yet to see Curtis miss the mark.

This is the second deck design to be birthed by Curtis, and it is without a doubt my favorite deck any designer has done to date. This design broke the expected when it comes to luxury deck design, and has a western/handkerchief look that is beautifully balanced and executed. It’s one of those few project you think “Shit, I wish that were in my portfolio.”

This logo has all the ingredients to make a designer like me drool. It houses some smooth typography, iconic illustration, and finessed detailing that leaves you wanting to stare at it for a long while.

[Related: Read more about the Fifty-Nine Parks poster series, and see what Eric Nyffeler created for it.]

Curtis Jinkins is inspired by …

Simon Walker

Simon has serious range. Envious range. Lubalin-esque with some fresh bubbles and pop, sometimes he hits me with a ligature so subtle that by the time I realize what’s happened, I feel like I’ve been robbed. Just before I call the police, I grin and whisper, “Bravo Simon. You got me again.”

Anyone who’s attempted a custom script can tell how many hours this typeface (Blackbike) must have taken. Thinking about the amount of combinations and ligatures involved in the entire alphabet is relatively mind boggling and it’s obvious that Simon didn’t cut any corners. The result is classic and clean with a dash of badass. Very well done.

These concepts for Pepsi products have just that right balance of new and old, embellishment and restraint. Super fresh and yet still somehow familiar. Hopefully these come to fruition. It would be great to see them silkscreened onto some vintage glass soda bottles.

Tune in next time to see who inspires Simon Walker!

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The post 3 Degrees of Inspiration: Chad Michael, Curtis Jinkins & Simon Walker appeared first on HOW Design.

3 Degrees of Inspiration: Chad Michael, Curtis Jinkins & Simon Walker syndicated post

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

Headcanon/Would Involve Master List 2021/22 [PART 6]

[2015] [2016] [2017] [2018] [2019] [2020] [2021/22]

Head Canons/Would Involves Tagging Master List

[In Chronological Order]

2021:

JANUARY-DECEMBER

Being A Modern Girl And Meeting (The Men Of) Vikings Would Involve [PART 2]

Being Snape's Daughter And Dating Harry Potter Would Involve

Being Sirius Black's Child And Dating Harry Potter Would Involve

Thor And Loki Being Your Older Brothers And Dating Steve Rogers Would Involve

Ravenclaw!Reader Dating James Sirius Potter Would Involve

Gryffindor!Reader Dating Tom Riddle Would Involve

Being Piotr Raspution’s High School Sweetheart Would Involve

Dating Alfie Solomons Would Involve

Dating Michael Langdon Would Involve

2022: JANUARY

Being Tony Stark’s Younger Sibling Would Involve

Being Tony Stark’s Daughter And Dating Steve Rogers Would Involve

Being Pregnant With Tommy Shelby’s Baby Would Involve

Irene Adler Being Jealous Would Involve

Bobby Singer Being Your Grandfather Would Involve

Being Grindelwald’s Daughter Would Involve

Being Plus Size Twenty-Something And Dating Jim Hopper Would Involve

Sandor Taking Care Of You When You're Hurt/Sick Would Involve

[7-wonders]

Labyrinth King!Michael Langdon HCs

As a college student, you’re always looking for a way to earn extra money

You work a steady job at a local bookstore, which pays the bills, but having some pocket money is always a plus

That’s why you’re so grateful to babysit for a family with a little girl named Genevieve

She’s two years old and one of the spunkiest kids you’ve ever met, but she’s also extremely well-behaved

Tuesdays and Thursdays, you pick her up from daycare, bring her to her parents’ house, feed her dinner and play with her until around 6:00, when her mother comes home

She’s easy to entertain, usually playing contently with her vast collection of toys

Lately, however, Genevieve (or Gen, as her parents refer to her as) has been especially enjoying stories

She had you work through every board book she has in the short time that you’re with her for two days in the week, eventually getting bored after reading “Goodnight Moon” for the third time in one evening

So you had to get creative

Working at a bookstore, and being a lover of books yourself, means that you have a pretty active imagination that helps when you need to make up stories off the top of your head

Her favorites involve strong heroines (you knew there was a reason you decided to take this job) and fae creatures

A race against time, and a mysterious antagonist

These stories don’t come from a book, though you’re sure you’ve read bits and pieces of such tales when perusing the inventory on your break

For weeks, maybe months, you’ve been having the strangest, most vivid dreams

Dreams of walking through an endless maze, desperate to find some missing object

A series of increasingly-difficult challenges as you’re taunted by some otherworldly entity

Your dreams have become so fascinating that you often catch yourself daydreaming about this world that you’ve created in your head

The labyrinth that sits nestled in the Underworld, inhabited by a variety of demons and goblins

The traps and changing paths and the deliberately vague way that everybody speaks in an attempt to confuse those who are journeying the labyrinth

Mostly, you think of him

The man whose face you never fully see, but whose eyes, bright blue and mischievous, captivate you

In your dreams, he’s the ruler of this Underworld, the man who his subjects refer to as the Labyrinth King

He lures you down to his domain, promising the return of something you hold dear in exchange for finishing his labyrinth

He’s seductively dangerous, and you want nothing more than to see his face

Tonight’s a Friday, which means you wouldn’t normally be babysitting Gen

Her parents, wanting to go on a date, had asked if you would look after the little girl for the evening

They wouldn’t be back until midnight, at the earliest, which leaves you in charge of bedtime duty

After getting Gen bathed and ready for bed, you’re continuing where you left off in your story yesterday

The protagonist is lost in the middle of the labyrinth, feeling hopeless after those she had befriended left her following threats from the Labyrinth King

“Oh, why did I have to say those stupid words?” you lament as the heroine. “I should have never made any sort of wish!”

Gen claps her hands. “A wish, a wish!”

“But this isn’t a good wish, Gen. This is a dangerous wish, one that the Labyrinth King can take advantage of.”

“Say the wish!” Gen screeches in anger

“I can’t do that.” You don’t know why, but you’re wary of even mentioning a wish. Just the thought of it makes a lump form in your throat, like something terrible will happen if you keep thinking about it

She starts to scream then, face going bright red as she gives all she has to yell at you

“Alright, fine! You get your way, spoiled little miss.”

Then, you say the words that you’ll live to regret

“How did she end up in the labyrinth, you may ask? She had been frustrated at being locked up in the house while her parents went out, and so, in a fit of anger, she picked up her baby sister, looked her in the eyes, and said ‘oh Labyrinth King, I wish you would take this child away from me!’“

Gen squeals in excitement at the dramatics, startling suddenly when thunder claps in the sky above

The power goes out immediately after the thunder stops rumbling, and you spring up with Gen in your arms

“Stay here,” you place her in her crib, “I’m going to see if I can turn the power back on.”

You cautiously make your way to the kitchen, where the breakers are located, and begin to check the switches

When you hear a crash and Gen screaming, your heart drops as you run back up the stairs

The window in her bedroom is now open, the curtains billowing inwards and casting moonlight on the now-empty crib

You’re so focused on your missing charge that you don’t notice the being standing in front of the window until you hear a musical laugh

Immediately, the breath is stolen from your lungs

This has to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen

His long, golden hair flows over his shoulders, which are draped in a cloak as dark as night and decorated with just as many stars

Every part of his face is perfect, from his sculpted cheekbones and jawline to his full lips that are twisted in a wry smile

What captures your attention the most is his eyes

Highlighted with a red color, they’re the exact same as the pair that you’ve been dreaming of for months

“Who...are you?”

He steps forward, glitter following him like a shadow

“My dear,” he croons with a melodic voice, “I’m what you’ve wished for.”

[7-wonders]

Thinking of Sin

Summary: Michael, having fully embraced his title as Antichrist and heir to the throne of Hell, invites you to join him as his father’s church, the Church of Night, celebrates one of their most sacred holidays: Lupercalia, the festival of passion. (a Chilling Adventures of Sabrina au!)

Word Count: 6374

A/N: (hello this is a re-upload bc it wasn’t showing up in the tags last time. if it continues to do this I think I’m gonna throw my computer out a window) This is, by far, the longest thing I’ve written for this blog. I’ve been very excited to write this, and I hope that you enjoy this take on Michael Langdon and Lupercalia! Reader is a human in this one, but I’ve got another version in the works where reader is a witch! Feedback is greatly appreciated, and if you liked this, I’d love if you left a like, comment, reblog, or note in my inbox! Enjoy!

Warnings: Sex, Satanism, mentions of Pagan rituals, oral (female receiving), fandom crossovers, blood mentions.

The small, 50’s-style diner is decorated with all varieties of traditional Valentine’s Day symbols: hearts and Cupids and bows and arrows, all in hues ranging from the blushiest of pinks to the deepest of reds. The fluorescent lighting, which normally washes patrons out, only serves to make the man sitting across from you look even more sculpted. He smirks when he catches you staring again, hooking his foot around your calf playfully from under the table.

Although a roadside diner might not be an obvious choice for a date, anything is better than yet another date spent on the grounds of the Hawthorne School, where Michael currently studies magic. The teachers are all extremely strict about their star pupil, which means that Michael usually sneaks you in in order to spend time with you. Today is different, however, with a prelude for some magical holiday warranting an early weekend for the students. While you don’t possess any magical abilities, it’s not at all difficult to skip a couple of classes on a Friday, allowing you a last-minute date with Michael.

“It’s so easy to tell when you’re not listening to me.” Michael teases, long fingers drumming on the table. “If you’re not staring at me, then it’s the far-away look in your eyes.”

“Who can blame me for not being able to focus when I have someone as beautiful as you sitting across from me?” You relish in the light blush that paints his cheeks, Michael obviously not being used to you turning the tables and complimenting him suddenly.

“Anyways, where did you zone out at?”

“Hmm, right after you started explaining why you get an early weekend. Lupus column or something?” Michael snickers, sipping his strawberry milkshake to avoid laughing loudly in the quiet diner.

“Lupercalia.” He corrects.

“Lupercalia, then. What exactly is Lupercalia?”

“Well, it’s an ancient festival, originally started by Roman witches and warlocks. It was instituted as a way to purify Rome and bring about health and fertility. It’s a very sacred holiday for us-”

“Even though you’re not just an average warlock.” You interrupt, winking conspiratorially.

You figured out Michael’s ‘secret’ pretty quickly after you saw Ms. Mead convulsing in the driveway next to yours. Not knowing that she was now a robot and was shorting out, you had assumed the woman was having a heart attack. When Michael had opened the door to your incessant knocking and you had barged in with the unconscious woman, the pentagram and vague smell of sulfur made you a little extremely suspicious. It was the sight of Michael being covered in blood that made you demand for him to tell you what was going on, or else you would call the police and have them investigate.

“Yes, even though I’m not an ‘average warlock,’” he agrees, “it’s still a sacred holiday for the witches and warlocks who worship my father.”

Being the Antichrist guarantees that Michael is treated like a prince at Hawthorne, which is directly ruled by the Church of Night. Michael’s treated like a prince at most of the ‘witchy’ places he takes you to, something that you’re still getting used to.

“I’m guessing it’s not like Valentine’s Day, though?”

“Not exactly. The Church, as you know, directly follows my father’s teachings. These include giving into your wants and desires, especially those of the…carnal nature.”

“The carnal nature? Oh! Ohhh…” Heat quickly rises to your cheeks, avoiding eye contact while Michael chuckles. “So it’s like a sex festival?” Your voice drops at the word ‘sex,’ even though there’s nobody within hearing range.

“Well nobody calls it that, but sort of.”

“What do you, uh, do to celebrate?”

“The festival’s made up of three different events. There’s the Matching, where witches dance with ribbons around what’s basically a Maypole and are paired with a random warlock once the music stops. After that is the Courting, where the couples participate in a ritual to ensure health and wellness. The last event is called the Hunt, where the witches hunt their warlocks. Once caught, they…” Michael’s voice breaks as he grimaces, making your eyes widen as you quickly realize what he means.

“Is this a mandatory holiday? Like, the underage witches and warlocks do it too?”

“No! No, it’s not mandatory, and nobody under the age of sixteen can participate.”

“So…you’ve participated in it before?” Although Michael’s always been deliberately vague on how old he truly is, you know that he’s at least 20, if not older. That means, considering he’s the heir to the throne of Hell, he’s probably been involved in his father’s festivals and holidays. It makes you mildly jealous to imagine him participating in something like this with a pretty, powerful witch.

“I haven’t. Last year was my first at Hawthorne, and I was still just trying to get the hang of being at a new school. I wasn’t sure if I would participate this year, which is why I wanted to ask you.”

“Michael, I’m not your mom. If you want my permission to be a part of Lupercalia, you really don’t need it.” You grumble, snatching a stray french fry from your plate and eating it to avoid showing that this bugs you. Since it’s Michael you’re sitting across from, though, he automatically knows.

“I was going to ask if you’d participate in Lupercalia with me, (Y/N).”

“Oh.” You avert your eyes, embarrassed at how blatantly jealous you got. “I thought you said the pairing-up of the witches and warlocks was random?”

“Leave that to me.” His eyes twinkle, and you just know that he’s going to use some sort of magic to rig the festival if you agree.

“Well, what about the fact that I’m a ‘mortal?’ I thought that the Church didn’t like mortals intermingling with you guys.”

“One, you’re not just a regular mortal, you’re my mortal.” To increase the sentiment, he reaches across the table and grips your hand in his. “And two, I’m not just a regular warlock. They sort of have to let me do what I want.”

“Bullying your teachers into letting you bring your mortal girlfriend to a dirty magical festival? You truly are your father’s son.” You joke.

“You’re stalling.” It’s not a question; you and he both know that you’re stalling. It’s not like you and Michael haven’t had sex before, but encroaching on this sacred festival that’s also extremely intimate makes you feel very hesitant.

“Promise we’ll get paired up?”

“Of course. Does that mean you’ll do it?”

Sighing, you nod. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

You defeatedly sit back in your seat, grabbing your own milkshake and taking a hearty drink while Michael grins. Even though you’re pouting, you can’t deny the tiny butterflies of excitement starting to spring up in your stomach. You’re jumping headfirst into a world that’s dark, supernatural, and a little sexy. Who couldn’t be slightly excited for that?

The Matching

The Matching, which you assumed would be at Hawthorne, is actually at Hawthorne’s ‘sister school,’ the Academy of Unseen Arts. Michael had easily transmuted both of you to what had first appeared to be an abandoned train depot. Apparently, the old adage of “never judge a book by its’ cover” applies to buildings as well. The moment you stepped foot inside, you were taken aback by the large, gothic-style school. The walls are all a rich red, with a golden railing encircling the second level that overlooks the entryway. A giant statue of what you’re assuming is Satan is pushed to the back, a large Maypole with red, black, and white ribbons taking center stage. Witches and warlocks mill about, all bowing their heads respectfully whenever they pass Michael and speaking in hushed tones while sneaking glances at him.

You cling tightly to Michael, free hand tightly grasping the hem of your black dress that’s accented with white flowers. All of these witches are so dark and beautiful, looking at Michael from under their heavily-painted lids. You can practically feel the power oozing off of them, sending chills down your spine. Michael has a protective arm around your waist, sensing how nervous you are. In an effort to distract yourself while the host school gets everything set up, you glance up towards the ceiling.

The stained glass windows that act as a sun-roof are beautiful, but the longer you look at them, the more you can see the Satanic imagery that makes up a larger story. There’s flames, stakes, the goat-headed figure of Satan, and magic. There’s also a man with bright blue eyes and golden curls, standing amongst one set of flames while someone who looks almost like you (if you’re squinting hard enough, you try to convince yourself) stands at the man’s side. Casting your eyes slightly downwards, the teachers from the various schools and academies stand on the second floor. Michael’s professors were not exactly pleased that he was bringing his mortal girlfriend, but Father Blackwood, the so-called ‘High Priest’ of the Church, was more than welcoming.

“He has to be,” Michael had explained to you, “or else I’ll report back to my father. Blackwood’s on thin-enough ice as it is.”

When Michael stiffens beside you, you look away from the teachers and towards him.

“What’s wrong?” You’ve been with Michael long enough to know that something has to be extremely wrong for him to even have a reaction like this.

“Sabrina Spellman is what’s wrong.” You look in the direction that Michael’s glowering, only to see a small blonde girl chatting with her friends.

“She doesn’t look very threatening.” You tease, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Sabrina fled her dark baptism and abandoned the Church, while still trying to keep her powers. She fights Satan at every turn and is convinced that she’ll ‘take him down,’ whatever that means.” Michael says lowly, clenching his jaw.

“So, not your friend, got it.” You mutter.

You’re both startled by someone yelling for the men to take their places. A ring of chairs has been placed around the Maypole, backs facing the ribbons. Michael grabs the ribbon attached to the chair closest to him, unlooping it and handing the white fabric to you before he takes a seat. Your hands are still interlocked, and he smiles reassuringly at you while the same person starts giving directions.

“Alright ladies, you know the rules! When the music stops, take a seat on the warlock…or Antichrist…” he stops as everyone giggles, making you look at Michael with panicked eyes, “closest to you.”

“I’ve got it all under control, remember? Enjoy yourself.” He reminds you one last time, rubbing his thumb over the ring on your right index finger; an onyx band with blue and white stones forming starry constellations, given to you by Michael for your birthday.

The music starts up, the violinist playing a folksy tune. Michael grins at you one last time before you start moving in the same direction as the rest of the women. You don’t know this dance, and even if you did, there’s no way you’d look nearly as graceful as everyone else. Still, you try your hardest to copy the moves of the witch next to you, a redhead that has her eyes dead-set on Sabrina Spellman. Michael turns his head to watch you dance, smiling the entire time as you start to get the hang of things. It’s not that long of a song, you realize as the violinist plays one last, long note, and your heart thunders when you see that you’re all the way across the room from Michael.

He can sense your trepidation, winking at you before coughing into the crook of his elbow. The note continues to echo through the room, much to the confusion of the man no longer playing the instrument. The same tone continues to play until you’re right in front of Michael, stopping the moment he coughs again. You nearly fall into his lap, laying your forehead against his gratefully.

“Told you I had it all under control.” You giggle at his cocky statement, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours.

“I didn’t doubt you for one second.”

“Yeah right, I could practically taste your fear when you thought the last note was being played.”

“Because I didn’t know what you were planning on doing!” You argue playfully, not able to fight the large smile working onto your face.

“Was this as terrible as you thought it would be?” Michael asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Considering I ended up with you as my match, I’d say yes.”

“You brat!” Michael’s eyes gleam as he grabs your lower lip between his teeth and pulls, eliciting a squeal from you.

You’re not sure if it’s the sensuality of the festival itself, the intoxication that happens whenever you’re around someone whom you share feelings for, or if there was an actual spell being performed during that dance, but every couple in the room is currently engaged in various levels of PDA. And really, you can’t complain, since your gorgeous Antichrist is right under you.

The Courting

Silver light from the near-full moon peeks out between the gnarled tree branches forming a canopy above your head, bathing the group of teens and young adults in a soft light. It’s chilly out, a fog floating low towards the ground the only remaining sign that there was previously rain. You can still smell it, a fresh scent mixed in with the earthy smell that’s so prevalent in a forest. Breathing out through your mouth, you watch as your breath forms visibly in front of you. Michael’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, the sight of his red leather gloves coupled with his black leather trench coat sending your heart racing. Your overcoat isn’t nearly as nice, but then again you didn’t expect to be making a fashion statement in the middle of the woods.

When Michael had told you that ‘the Courting’ was a ritual for health and wellness, you didn’t envision it taking place in a dark forest. That’s really your own fault, though, since nothing can ever just be normal when it comes to witches and warlocks (and a stray Antichrist).

“Witches, warlocks, Antichrist, and mortal,” the same man who played the violin at the Matching says, not even bothering to hide his smirk, “congratulations, you have been matched.”

Michael glances at you the same time that you look at him, both of you rolling your eyes at how clever this man thinks that he is.

“Tonight, you and your paramour shall go into the woods and re-enact the Courting. What that means is that each couple shall go into the woods and disrobe and anoint themselves and lie under this blessed Lupercalian moon, absorbing the potency of the Goddess Selene herself.”

Although Michael had explained to you that participants still kept their undergarments on, the idea of taking off any layer of clothing in this weather is not too appealing.

“Anoint ourselves with what?” You whisper to Michael.

“Patience is a virtuous skill, (Y/N).”

“And you’re one to lecture me on virtues.” You fire back, snickering when Michael lightly pinches your arm.

“Abstinence is encouraged….” The warlock emcee is interrupted by a chorus of boos from the people surrounding you, “…in anticipation of the powerful release that concludes Lupercalia.”

Michael looks at you when you stifle a laugh, winking at the innuendo.

“However, should couples be moved to unite, well, I’m sure the Dark Lord would not oppose.”

“Glad we have your dad’s unholy blessing to get it on tonight.” You mutter, making Michael bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.” He retorts, burying his face in your hair to hide his blush.

A beautiful dark-skinned girl with bleached, cropped hair produces baskets from behind a tree. You can’t see what’s under the blanket that tops each basket, but you can hear something clanking around inside.

“The milk and blood are for the purification, the oysters and figs are for fertility and virility. The cherries are for…popping.” The girl says, leaning in close to Sabrina Spellman in what you assume is a way to tease her.

“A word or two of caution.” Father Blackwood steps forward. “Each couple must stay together the entire night, and, above all, do not stray from the path. All manner of lust-filled creatures stalk the woods during the Lupercalia. Now, with the Dark Lord’s blessing, let the Courting begin.”

A long, low note sounds from a horn, spurring the couples to all start moving down the path. Michael grabs your hand in his, and you can feel the chill of the cool leather through your own knitted glove.

“I can’t believe that this is how I die. From knowingly and willingly going into a scene that’s the beginning of a horror movie.” You lament, letting Michael lead you behind all of the others.

“We’re not going to die, (Y/N), don’t be so dramatic.”

“Are you kidding me? Imagine this as the synopsis: ‘A group of young adults jaunt off into various parts of the forest in order to participate in a carnal ritual, that is, if they can get past all of the hungry beasts that lurk just out of their eyesight.’” You say dramatically.

“How did you manage to successfully make a festival of passion into a horror movie?”

“It’s pretty easy when the material’s right in front of me.”

The deeper Michael leads you into the woods, the warmer it gets. Soon, you’re tugging off your gloves and unbuttoning your coat in an attempt to cool down.

“How is it suddenly so warm?” You wonder.

“The magic of the Lupercalian moon. The further into nature we get, the more potent the moon is.” He finds a clearing among the trees just off of the path, deeming it acceptable enough to set the basket down.

“So if you don’t want to have sex, the ever-rising temperature is still gonna force you to take your clothes off.” You grab the blanket out of the picnic basket, the bottles and other items knocking against each other. Unfolding it, you lay it on top of the earth, Michael straightening the other end out.

“It’s just a way for everybody to be able to fully enjoy Lupercalia, even if it is in the middle of February.” Michael unpacks the bottles, as well as two knives.

“What are the knives for?”

“We don’t actually cut ourselves, it’s just an easy way to get the anointing oils onto ourselves. You use the flat edge of the blade.” He explains, standing up once he’s satisfied.

The red gloves come off first, Michael removing them one finger at a time. After shrugging off his coat, he looks at you expectantly.

“Are you going to take your clothes off as well?”

“Oh, right!” You blush, letting your coat fall to the forest floor as Michael looks on with a wide grin.

After taking your clothes off, you’re left standing in your matching bra and panties (black, of course, just like everything when it involves witches and warlocks), and Michael in only his boxers. Although this is definitely not the first time that Michael’s seen you like this, you still avert your eyes and cross your arms over your chest in shyness. Michael’s skin almost glows under the light of the moon, his eyes looking nearly luminous while he reaches down to grab the first part of the ritual. Dipping a knife in the bottle of blood, he hands it to you before repeating the action for his own knife.

“Do you remember what to say?” He asks, not at all shocked when you shake your head. “‘By Lilith’s blood,’ okay?”

Twirling the knife in your hand, you grip the cool, ridged handle of the weapon that you’re supposed to use to sensually drag blood across your boyfriend’s forehead. You glance at him, waiting for him to nod before lifting the knife.

“By Lilith’s blood.” You recite, Michael breathing in deeply as the blood makes contact with his skin.

“By Lucifer’s love.” Michael lifts his own knife, and you wrinkle your nose as blood is applied to your forehead.

“Can I ask you a question?” You and Michael both sink to your knees, Michael dabbing a cloth with the provided milk.

“Of course.”

“Is the Lilith in the myths real? Like…Satan’s concubine and all that? The mother of demons?” Michael grimaces, rolling his eyes quickly.

“Basically, yes.”

“So is she sort of like your step-mom?”

“My father and Lilith aren’t married, (Y/N).” You giggle as Michael wipes the wet cloth across your forehead. “Good, keep laughing. We’re supposed to laugh during this part of the ritual.”

“Why?”

“I honestly have no clue.” You can’t stop laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and the conversation, Michael handing you the cloth once he’s done. “But yes, you could say that she’s technically my stepmother.”

“But you’ve never met her.”

“No, not at all. Not that I’m complaining, though. I’d rather meet my father.” Michael laughs when you cross your eyes and stick your tongue out at him, taking the opportunity to wipe the blood off of him.

“Do you think you’ll get to meet him one day?” He’s never really talked about his ‘true’ family before, and the only time he’s ever mentioned the parents who were a part of his infernal conception was when you got him so drunk on Mike’s Hard Lemonades (who would have thought so-called ‘bitch beers’ would make the Antichrist a weepy drunk?) that he ended up setting his own hair on fire.

“I hope so. Here, eat.” He holds a fig up to your mouth, and you grimace while taking a bite of it.

“Eugh, that’s probably the grossest part of this whole thing.”

“But wait, there’s oysters too.” Michael eats the rest of the fig, winking while you shoot him a horrified look.

You just want to get eating an oyster over with, so you reach over and grab one. Taking a deep breath, you plug your nose before tossing your head back and swallowing it down like a shot. Shuddering, you stick your tongue out as the slimy texture forces you to choke back a gag. Michael knocks back the oyster far easier than you did, only slightly grimacing and pulling a face.

“So what do we do now?” You ask.

“We lay next to each other and soak up the light of the moon.”

“Now that’s something I can get behind.” Michael grips your hand, tugging you down on top of him easily.

You roll off of Michael, still not letting go of his hand. Looking up at the moon, your eyes widen at just how big and bright it is. You’ve never quite seen anything like it, and if it weren’t for Michael’s laughter you wouldn’t tear yourself away from the sight.

“What?”

“I’m just…extremely lucky to have you.” You let your head fall to the side, grinning at Michael.

“I’m lucky to have you, too.” He leans over and kisses you softly, the sounds of wind rustling through the trees and owls calling out to one another forming a symphony above your heads.

Sleep claims both of you before you can even think about progressing to anything beyond lazy kissing. When you wake up, the gray light of dawn paints the forest in a new light, one that’s much colder than it was last night. At some point during the night, Michael draped his large coat over your bodies, which is greatly appreciated right now. Michael sits up and runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the tangles.

“I’ve never seen your hair so out of place before.” You tease.

“This will be the last time you see it like this.” He warns, standing up and finding his clothes from where they were thrown last night.

“Sorry we fell asleep before either of us were ‘moved’ to unite.” You quote, catching the sweater Michael tosses your way with ease.

“That just means tonight is going to be even better.” Your heart jumps at the reminder, causing Michael to look up when he hears. “Are you nervous?”

“No, I just don’t know what to expect!  Seeing as how each ritual has just gotten more and more strange, I’m assuming that this one’s is going to be wild.” Michael smirks, helping you stand and wrapping you in your coat.

“Hmm, guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I guess so.”

The Hunt

Your earlier suspicions were dead-on; not only are you back in the same area of the woods that are now lit with a bunch of torches, but you’re also wearing nothing but a white satin slip and a pair of black stockings under a red cape that makes you look like Little Red Riding Hood. A bright red lip completes the look, as it does for all the witches around you. For the first time since Lupercalia started, you don’t feel entirely out of place surrounded by all these mystical women. You’re all dressed the same, and you’re all here to participate in Lupercalia. Tonight, you have far more important things to worry about than judgemental witches.

When you first found Michael, your knees nearly gave out on the spot. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black jeans and a wolf’s pelt. The head of the pelt hangs over his forehead, acting as a sort of hat. He looks wild, uninhibited, and utterly happy; it makes your heart melt to see him so carefree. He couldn’t even stifle his grin when he had grabbed you to kiss you in greeting, too excited for the events to come to worry about keeping up the stern Antichrist demeanor.

“Welcome to the final night of the Lupercalia!” Ambrose (yes, you’ve finally learned his name) yells. “Hoods hunt wolves, witches hunt warlocks. The outcome of the Hunt shall determine the year ahead. Will it be bountiful or barren? Fruitful or fallow? Tonight, we hunt and are hunted, releasing our blessed magicks into the night. Warlocks, are you ready?”

The warlocks all howl and cheer in response, Michael included. The closer it gets to the start of the Hunt, the more excited you find yourself. Maybe the rituals of Lupercalia actually work, or maybe it’s just the fact that you haven’t slept with Michael in days and he looks particularly delicious in a wolf’s pelt.

Ambrose plays a long note on the same horn as last night, sending the warlocks running into the woods. You giggle as Michael darts off, pushing past the other men in an attempt to get as much of a head start as possible. Although it may not be a formal competition, Michael will always find a way to make some aspect of what he’s doing competitive.

“And witches, are you ready?” The women all around you yell, and you join them. When Ambrose plays another note, you dart off.

The woods are more disorienting than you remember them being last night. The fog makes it impossible for you to see more than thirty feet ahead of you, and the wolf heads all look the same from the back. Witches and warlocks sprint all around you, finding their partner and tackling them to the ground. You’re mildly impressed at how voracious some of these people are, going at it right on the ground and in the open. Your lungs burn as you continue to run further into the forest, hoping that soon the pack will thin out and you’ll be able to find Michael by the process of elimination.

You only stop when a stitch in your side forms, bending over and placing your hands on your knees while you try to catch a breath. There’s nobody around, everybody having already been reunited, and you can’t stop the disappointment that you feel. If you were a witch, surely this would have been much easier, you think to yourself. Standing up straight again, you start to walk back in the direction that you came from when a force grabs you by the shoulders and slams you back against a tree.

You shriek breathlessly, panic gripping you until the eyes staring at you register as Michael’s. His eyes glimmer with lust and excitement, and he bites his lip while smiling widely. You roll your eyes and lightly slap his chest, hand lingering on the firm pec.

“Did I scare you?” His voice comes out raspy, and you have to stop yourself from letting your eyes roll back in your head.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one who found you.”

“Hmm, I got bored waiting around.”

Leaning the weight of his body against yours, Michael traps you in place while he kisses you deeply. You throw your arms around his shoulders, the fur of the wolf pelt tickling your arms. His large, calloused hand grabs the cool skin of your upper thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist. You’re sure that the rough bark of the tree is leaving scratches even through the thick material of the cloak you’re wearing, but that’s honestly the last thing on your mind right now.

“You look so sexy tonight.” Michael gasps out, only removing his lips far enough to be able to breathe. “You look sexy all the time, but you know what I mean. The red lipstick is a really good look on you.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Your heart skips a beat; Michael compliments you all the time, but usually on the emotional traits you possess: how smart you are, how strong, how funny. He often compliments your physical appearance too, but with sweet words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘stunning.’ If any other person were to refer to you as ‘sexy,’ you’d knock their teeth in. Michael’s use of the word, however, has your heart racing and blood pumping.

Michael nods eagerly, head falling to your collarbone as he sucks and bites the skin there.

“Absolutely. I always knew you’d look dangerous in a cloak, but this is beyond my wildest fantasies.”

“On that note, you should consider keeping the wolf’s pelt.” Michael raises an eyebrow at you before growling playfully, making you giggle loudly.

Those giggles quickly turn to a groan when Michael rips open your white slip, the soft fabric tearing easily under his grip. Your nipples immediately harden from the cool night air while you lift your hips away from the tree, allowing the now-ruined lingerie to pool around your ankles. The thin panties you’re wearing do nothing to hide your arousal, and Michael’s nostrils flare as his supernatural senses pick up on the heady scent.

The powers of this Lupercalian moon were hardly exaggerated. You can practically feel the magic of the light that you and Michael are being bathed in. It heightens everything you’re feeling, as well as acting as an aphrodisiac of sorts. In this moment, you’ve never wanted Michael more than you do now, and your legs are almost sticky with the arousal that’s starting to track down your thighs. He looks to be in the same state right now, eyes blown wide with lust and prominent bulge digging against your lower stomach.

Your hands go up to the silver clasps on your cloak, stopped when one of Michael’s large hands grips both of your wrists.

“Leave the rest on.” He says lowly, causing you to gasp as intense want curls in your stomach.

“Michael, I need you.”

Michael sinks to his knees in front of you, ghosting his lips down your body the entire way before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He can’t stop himself from licking his lips at the sight of your pussy, swollen and glistening right in front of him. The moment his hot breath hits your core, your hands lock into his hair in an attempt to stay upright as your knees buckle.

He immediately dives in, sucking and licking at your cunt like it’s his last meal. The sensation immediately sends shockwaves through your body that not even the jolt of pain from throwing your head back and smacking it against the tree bark can diminish. Michael wraps his hands around your thighs, hoisting you further up with preternatural strength. The heels you’re wearing dig into Michael’s shoulders, but if it bothers him he isn’t showing it.

Michael’s nails digging into your skin is the only thing keeping you grounded as his tongue draws shapes against your clit, stopping every so often so Michael can suck harshly on it. You’re a whimpering mess above him, legs shaking from the exertion of being held up off of the ground. He pulls away from you momentarily, licking your arousal off of his face while he surveys you to see just how close you are.

“What do you want, baby? Wanna cum in my mouth first, or do you want me inside you?”

You think for a moment. Although the idea of a near-instant release and gratification is tempting, you can’t deny the throbbing from your pussy that makes you want to be completely and utterly filled to the brim with Michael. The man in question, who has been listening to your inner dialogue the entire time, smirks when your lust-drunk brain comes to a decision. He keeps his grip on your legs as he stands again, wrapping them around his waist for you. Your ankles cross over one another, locking him in your grip. Michael doesn’t even bother to get undressed all of the way, pulling down his trousers and underwear just enough to free his cock.

You swoon at the sight of it, thick and veiny, already flushed red and dripping precum at the tip. His cock is one of your favorite things, and if both of you weren’t so desperate you’d fall to your knees and return the favor. He enters you as quickly as he can without hurting you, groaning loudly as your walls flutter around him while you adjust to his familiar size. Your hands, needing to find purchase on something, snake their way under Michael’s pelt and dig into the skin on his back.

He kisses you deeply, tongues tangling together while he starts slowly thrusting in and out of you. Your body rocks up and down against the tree, working your hair into knots and wearing down parts of the cloak that you’re still wearing. You pull away from his lips only to fill your burning lungs with air, but by then Michael’s moved on to the smooth expanse of your neck, sucking bruises onto the clean canvas of your skin.

Michael is truly a sight to behold as his thrusts increase in speed, hitting deep right where you need him. His hair sticks damply to his forehead, the golden curls only looking more like a halo as they’re backlit by the moon. When his eyes focus on you again after being rolled in the back of his head, there’s only a thin blue ring surrounding the blown-out pupils. His lips are fuller than normal, swollen and red from the constant pressure being placed there by your own lips. His muscles ripple under the skin, trying to keep up with the brutal pace that he’s set. The sheer beauty of Michael Langdon would have Greek gods and goddesses weeping in both envy and want; Donatello and Michelangelo could only dream of sculpting something as perfect as him.

You cry out, hips snapping up in an attempt to match Michael’s thrusts. Your legs, which are already wrapped tightly around his torso, attempt to pull him in even closer. If that was even possible, you’re not sure there’s enough of you for him to fill. You can hear yourself speaking broken sentences, but you’re not sure if the words don’t make sense because your brain is too clouded or if you’re just so far gone that you can’t form actual words.

“Michael, I–please-” Your uneven breathing cuts you off, but Michael nods in understanding. He’s close too, thrusts becoming shaky and more erratic as he nears the edge of his own peak.

Your cunt clenches around him, making him groan lowly as he attempts to thrust deeper. The attempt works, and you can feel the fat head of his cock brushing against the the innermost, spongy part of your walls that has you releasing a sound that’s a cross between a moan and a scream. Michael doesn’t stop there, reaching a hand in between your connected bodies so he can rub harsh circles on your clit. There’s enough lubrication there, whether it be sweat or arousal, that your clit is already slick enough for him to easily manipulate.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re cumming with a shout, limbs seizing as the electricity of your orgasm runs through you. Your head swims, eyesight blurred from the intense pleasure as you try to watch Michael. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, eyebrows furrowed together and mouth shaped like an ‘O’ while he teeters on the verge of his own orgasm. You regain control of your body just enough to moan his name, purposefully clenching around him and allowing him to fall over the edge of ecstasy.

The sensation of his warm release coating your walls sends aftershocks through you, tightening your arms around Michael while he continues to ride out his orgasm with his head buried against your chest. When you’re both completely spent he pulls out of you, wrapping his arms under your ass while he lowers you both to the ground. The beautiful red cloak spreads out underneath you enough for both of you to lay on, neither of you caring about getting dirty.

“Y’know,” Michael says breathlessly, still spent from your previous activities, “I do believe that this is the best holiday I’ve ever participated in.”

“Ambrose was right when he said this was a blessed Lupercalian moon.” Michael hums from beside you, neither of you bothering to put any effort into actually moving your heads to look at each other.

“A blessed Lupercalia, indeed.”

Tag List: @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom@pastel-cloudz @sebastianshoe@nana15774@lichellaw@ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58@dandycandy75@trimbooohgodplsnoooo@alexcornerblog@everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern@jimmlangdon@langdonsdemon@langdonslove @kahhlo@omgsuperstarg 

[7-wonders]

Shatter pt. 9

Summary: Witches? In my Outpost? It’s more likely than you think. Alternatively, the final boss battle of the Apocalypse.

Word Count: 4272

A/N: Wow, can’t believe we’re nearing the end here! I know I’ve neglected this lil’ story for a while, but honestly I was just really lost as to how I would continue it. Thankfully, making a snazzy Pinterest aesthetic board for Shatter helped me to figure out where I wanted to take these last couple of chapters. Feedback is always appreciated, and I would love if you would drop a comment or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter!

Read Part One HERE | Read Part Two HERE | Read Part Three HERE | Read Part Four HERE | Read Part Five HERE | Read Part Six HERE | Read Part Seven HERE | Read Part Eight HERE

Michael’s arms are still wrapped around you while you both remain in a comfortable silence. The songs have long since changed time and time again, with Paul Anka currently crooning through the unseen speakers. Time has passed by at an indeterminable rate, the only constant being the slow swaying that reminds you that you’re actually here, in the arms of your beloved Michael. It’s ironic, how being with the literal Antichrist makes you feel like you’re in heavy, but it’s an oxymoron you’re willing to embrace.

The music cuts out automatically when a knock sounds at the door. You unbury your head from Michael’s chest to look up at him. He doesn’t seem to have an inkling of confusion on his face, innately aware of who it is before the door even swings open. Your lip curls when Ms. Venable storms in, Ms. Mead trailing behind her, an ever-present shadow.

“Ladies,” Michael greets curtly, “I’m a little busy with finalizing my selections for the Sanctuary.” You have to stifle a laugh at his blatant and half-assed lie, pursing your lips to keep from grinning.

“We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon, and I’m afraid you didn’t make the cut. Neither of you did,” Venable smirks, believing she’s won some great battle. Michael releases you from his arms, but keeps your hand interlocked with his as you both share a silent conversation with one long look at each other. Michael bursts into laughter, but you remain silent at his side.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold back.” Ms. Venable scowls at Michael’s complete lack of fear, so wrapped up in her anger that she can’t see that she’s already lost.

“Ms. Mead,” she snaps, the robot producing a gun from her jacket pocket. You barely even blink when the gun is pointed at you, having already faced death numerous times in just the past two days. “Kill (Y/N) first. After all, we still require blood atonement for the aborted punishment yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Michael stares at Ms. Mead, the gun quivering in her hands as she freezes. You know what Michael’s planning on doing, your connection with him being evolved enough to where you can sense his ideas, but the dramatics as he allows Ms. Mead’s system to try and override his commands get tiring to watch. You want action; you want blood.

Something changed in you the moment that you got your memories back. For nearly three years, you’ve been used as a pawn in everyone else’s games. To them, you’ve been something to be used, to be won or owned. For Michael, it was his victorious capture as he ‘freed’ you from the coven. Miss Cordelia saw you as the secret weapon to be tucked away and used when the time was right. Ms. Venable asserts her role of power by controlling your every move, even making up her own rules in the hopes that she’ll be able to satiate her need for murder in her corrupt Outpost.

You’re tired of being pushed around and treated like you’re not your own person. Everybody seems to want something from you, regardless of how you feel about it. Even Michael, the love of your life, is guilty of this very same crime. After all, a golden cage, with all of its fine decorations and elaborate disguises, is still just a cage.

The first sign that something is off with Ms. Venable is her eyes widening, mouth falling open. Michael’s perturbed, but he doesn’t show it beyond the crook of an eyebrow. You smile softly, serenely, as your hand clenches and further cuts off her air supply. When a blue tinge appears around her lips, an odd noise escaping from her mouth as her lungs desperately try to fill themselves with the air that they won’t be getting, Michael looks towards you. Still, he doesn’t stop you. When you finally get bored of teasing her, a simple flick of your hand is all that it takes to snap her neck and send her toppling to the floor, dead.

Ms. Mead lowers the gun, stuttering as she tries to comprehend why she didn’t take the shot as commanded, but you can only stare at your hands. They’re shaking slightly, as if your emotions are finally catching up to realizing what you’ve just done. The gravity of the situation, though, doesn’t fall on you like you’re expecting it to. It’s a shock, of course, that you’ve just murdered a woman. You don’t regret what you did to her, feeling nothing but contempt as you stare down at her still-warm corpse.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls, and your eyes snap up to his. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, “it-it felt...good, to do that.”

“I knew that the poisoned apples plan would be enjoyable for everyone involved. Not only did Venable believe she had killed everyone and won, but--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you cut off Michael’s victorious monologue, “go back a bit. ‘Killed everyone?’ You’re joking, right?”

“The Outpost residents needed to die for us to win. It was the only way that we could lure the witches here,” Michael sighs, reaching a hand out towards you. “This is why I kept you away, (Y/N). You’ve never been good with the deaths of those that you’ve formed attachments to.”

The room spins as the gravity of what Michael’s just said starts to sink in. They’re all dead, every single one of them. Gallant, Timothy, Emily, Mallory. Your friends, and the only people left on this world, besides Michael, who understood you. You let out a yell and surge forward, determined to use Vitalum Vitalis and bring them back to life, but Michael’s firm arms wrapping around your waist stop you. He hauls you back, entrapping you against his body while you futilely kick your legs against his shins.

“Enough,” he says sharply. “Do you feel that?” When you do calm down, you realize what he’s talking about. You can feel the magic that thrums through the air, magic that you haven’t felt for years.

“Cordelia,” you mutter, eyes shifting up to look at Michael. He’s staring at you, gauging your reaction at the arrival of your Supreme and coven. You don’t need to tell him that you harbor nothing but animosity for the woman, having already sensed it in you from the moment your powers picked up on their arrival. “So this is it, then?”

“This is it. What I--what we have been working towards for years.”

He releases you from his arms, and you stumble as you regain your footing. When you straighten up, you meet Michael’s cold blue eyes. He’s questioning you, trying to figure out your allegiances without breaking his promise to not use magic on you without your permission.

“Hey, remember what I said last night? It’s just the two of us now, no matter what.”

“Promise?” Ms. Mead approaches him, a velvet red dinner jacket in her hands. You can’t help but to smile as you take the jacket from her hands and help Michael into it; even after all these years, he still seeks validation just as much as he did when you first started dating.

“I promise you, Michael.”

“What do you think?”

“Hail Satan,” Ms. Mead says, smiling proudly at her surrogate son.

“Not quite, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Michael holds his arm out for you, looking down at you proudly. “Shall we?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in you as you reach your hand out, fingers grasping his firm bicep. Michael kisses you, almost as if he’s claiming a victory, before pulling away. Your eyes flutter shut as he fixes your mussed hair, making sure that you’re both ready for the imminent ‘reunion’ with the coven. Your eyes shoot open again when new life forces burst across the blank canvas behind your eyelids.

“They’ve revived the others,” you mutter, looking up at Michael.

“Then let us go and greet our guests.”

Cordelia’s light, airy voice hasn’t changed a bit. It floats up the stairs, making your back stiffen as your body reacts to your once-mother figure’s presence. Cordelia ended up as a ‘mother’ for all of the girls under her charge at Miss Robichaux’s, and it’s still difficult to come to terms with how she betrayed your trust.

“We need your help. All of you,” Cordelia stands in front of the three witches: Coco, Mallory, and Dinah (although Dinah would slit your throat if she heard you saying that she was a witch). “It’s the only way we can defeat him.”

They don’t notice when you and Michael reach the landing at the top of the stairs, too wrapped up in their own world to realize the lion that stalks them from a hidden perch.

“You’re on your own with that shit. I’m not here to defeat anyone,” Dinah quips, rolling her eyes as if insulted to be brought back to life in an effort to defeat the Antichrist.

“How can any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?” The six women whip around at the sound of Michael’s voice, and you’re startled to see that Madison and Myrtle managed to survive with Cordelia.

“You haven’t won,” Cordelia steps forward, eyes flickering to you standing arm-in-arm with Michael.

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

“It’s almost as bad as your dinner jacket, but at least the world can be saved,” Myrtle speaks up, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her take on fashion.

“I must admit, Michael, it was very clever of you to reach (Y/N) and take her for yourself before we could find her. Release her from whatever spell you have her under. You know she would never be on your side willingly,” Cordelia says, believing that you’ll come running into her arms once you’ve been rescued from the big, bad Antichrist.

“Whatever spell I have her under?” Michael laughs, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Cordelia, I freed (Y/N) from your spell. Imagine my surprise when I learned that you had wiped the memories of my beloved in an attempt to weaponize her against me.”

“No…” Cordelia gasps, finding it impossible to believe that you would turn against her.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls, and you hum in response. “What do you remember?”

“I remember everything. Being lied to about Michael, led to believe that things would be alright if I escaped him. I remember making it back to Misty’s swamp, and you luring me in with a false sense of security. I remember you tackling me to the ground before forcibly taking my memories away from me, all so that you could use me as some secret weapon,” You say sharply, glowering at the woman in front of you.

“(Y/N) or no (Y/N),” Cordelia is obviously thrown off her rhythm by your admission, but chooses to continue, “the world will still be saved.”

“By you?” Michael’s incredulous tone permeates the silent room.

“By all of us.”

“Hey, get the wax out of your ears, I’m here to watch,” Dinah declares.

“But I’m not,” Coco moves to stand by Cordelia, her smirk fading into a grimace. “Just don’t let me die again, okay? It really sucked the first time.”

“When we’re done, you’ll all wish you were still dead,” Michael’s lip curls into a sneer as your eyes lock with Mallory’s. You can see every emotion that’s currently flashing through her eyes: the confusion, the apprehension, the betrayal, and the determination. You just hope that you can get to her in time to use that determination so that you can both exact revenge on Cordelia for what she did to you.

“I always thought the world would end with fire and ice, not witches and warlocks,” Myrtle says.

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

“Darling…” Myrtle chuckles, “it seems Daddy didn’t tell you the most important rule of bringing on the apocalypse. If you want to finish the job, the thing you have to do first is get rid of all the witches.”

“Big mistake,” Coco pipes up.

“I could annihilate all of you in a second and the world would go on without missing a beat.” Michael’s getting angry now, starting to lose his cool, and you tighten your grip on him in an attempt to calm him down. “You, and all of your work, will be forgotten in the rubble of the past. But we want to give you a future.”

Michael steps forward with you, keeping you side-by-side with him as his equal. When you steal a glance towards him, your heart rate increases. He looks strong, assured, and pissed. He’s ready to burn the rest of his enemies, and kiss you in the midst of their remains. You smirk when he looks at you for a split second, the fire in his eyes evident.

“Fall to your knees and accept me as your lord and savior, accept (Y/N) as your queen and I as your king, and we will bring you to the table as our obedient subjects.”

Cordelia audibly laughs, though the humor in this situation is not evident to you.

“Imbeciles!” Ms. Mead speaks up from where she’s been standing behind you. “Fall to your knees before the king and queen! Hail Satan!”

Michael had never discussed you becoming the ‘queen’ alongside him before, so it’s a shock to hear him implore your former coven to accept you as such. Still, you can’t deny the images that flash through your mind, of you and Michael ruling together and creating a new, perfect world for everyone. It would work, and you’re more than willing to do your part to help, but not in the way that he’s planned it. This carnage, the smoldering remnants of a once-thriving world, are not sustainable for any sort of world, even one ruled by the Antichrist. You can’t watch more people be slaughtered all in the hopes that Michael will be fulfilling his father’s plans.  

“The only way we would sit at your table is if your decapitated head were the centerpiece,” Cordelia nearly spits the words out of her mouth like they’re coated in venom.

“Cordelia, you raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side,” Dinah moves to stand next to Cordelia, the two women looking at each other. “But if you know anything about who I am, you know that the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.”

Dinah bows her head in respect, averting her eyes to the floor as Michael holds his hand out towards her.

“You’re half-right, Dinah.”

“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen, but that ain’t you, sis.” You can only gape at the sight of a woman with long, braided hair and a deep Southern accent who can only be Marie Laveau. You had never met her before, your arrival at the academy being a few years after Cordelia’s ascension to Supreme, but every witch had heard the stories of the legendary voodoo queen. “To release me from hell, Cordelia promised Papa Legba the darkest and most corrupt voodoo queen’s soul for mine. You’ll serve him well in my place.”

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

“No!” Marie Laveau disappears, and then reappears a moment later behind Dinah with a machete. Even those who seem indomitable, such as Dinah, meet their death at the hands of something as simple as a well-placed throat slash.

Dinah bleeds out on the floor below you, Marie Laveau declaring her victory before the woman is even fully dead. Michael, who is completely over the theatrics at this point, looks behind his shoulder towards Ms. Mead. The robot removes her hand, revealing a machine gun underneath. When Cordelia starts speaking Latin, your limbs freeze. It’s been too long since you’ve studied Latin, and your knowledge of the language is too rusty to keep up with what she’s saying. When Ms. Mead starts convulsing and smoking, you realize too late what the spell was.

“Michael--” You don’t get to finish your sentence before the robotic copy of Ms. Mead explodes.

The force of the blast propels both you and Michael over the side of the railing, your hands being ripped apart from each other in the process. Michael, being the Antichrist, is largely unscathed from the fall. You, however, are nothing more than a witch. Your head hits the concrete floor with a sickening crack, bouncing like a basketball from the force of the impact. You don’t remember blacking out, but the next thing you remember is the sound of gunshots breaking through the ringing in your ears. Your head throbs as you’re hauled up suddenly, and a strangled scream rips through your body at the sight of Michael’s bullet-riddled corpse against a wall.

“Shed the ego. Disengage from this realm. Place myself there and say the words. Tempus Infinituum. Then take him out.” You force your eyes to remain open, looking at Mallory who has you propped up against her as she speaks. Cordelia stands on your other side, keeping you steady with a firm arm around your shoulders. The two women drag you up the stairs, ignoring your cries as you lamely try to fight their grips.

“You guys, you don’t have to do this. There’s another way, one that doesn’t involve going back in time and killing Michael.” Your voice is rough from the screaming that you’ve done, and speaking louder than a whisper sends lightning bolts through your head, but you need to stop this. You know what they’re planning to do with Tempus Infinituum, having watched as Mallory went back in time to try and prevent the execution of Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov.

“(Y/N), you are an integral part to saving the world! I promise you, the love that you think Michael has for you? It’s not real. He’s the Antichrist, (Y/N), he’s incapable of love,” Cordelia impatiently explains, hustling you down one of the many hallways of the former Hawthorne school.

“Mallory, why?” You turn your attention to your best friend. “You were in the exact same situation as I was when we got our memories wiped. Neither of us wanted it, why would you blindly follow Cordelia?”

“B-because it’s what we’ve been working towards for years,” Mallory stutters, looking unsure.

“I’m telling you, there’s another--” A sharp pain in your abdomen cuts your sentence off in a gasp as you look down and find a knife embedded in your stomach.

“I should have been on that plane!” Brock, Coco’s old boyfriend, yells. You don’t have time to wonder why he’s here, or inspect just how the radiation has ruined his once-pristine appearance, as he yanks the knife out of your torso.

Mallory and Cordelia both scream as you stagger back, shaking hands attempting to cover the wound that’s steadily producing blood. You sink against the wall, the world turning blurry as your head lolls to the side. Something wet dribbles past your lips and down your face, and you weakly poke your tongue out to make sure that you’re not somehow drooling on yourself. With a faint note of alarm, you realize that blood is coming out of your mouth, too.

Myrtle steps around you to yell something at Brock, but you can’t really figure out what’s being said. Cordelia’s pressing her hands to your abdomen, trying desperately to stop the bleeding while Mallory strokes your face and attempts to comfort you. A flash of light draws your attention towards Myrtle, and you can see that she’s set Brock afire, his burning body falling over the railing. Falling to the ground limply, Cordelia’s face appears in and out of your vision.

Michael can feel that something’s wrong from the moment that he rises again and blows that ungrateful bitch’s head off. He doesn’t start panicking until he realizes that the pain in his abdomen and intense fear he’s feeling isn’t coming from him, it’s coming from you.

“(Y/N)!” Michael’s loud voice cuts through the rest of your swimming senses, coming through like he’s standing right next to you. He’s frantic, something that you’ve never seen from him.

“He’s coming!” Marie Laveau’s voice sounds like you’re submerged underwater, but you’re still conscious enough to know that she means Michael.

“M...Mi--l…” You try to call for him, to let him know that you’re here, but blood blocks your airway and bubbles up past your lips when you try to speak.

“Shh, shh.” Cordelia soothes, urging you not to speak so that you don’t lose as much blood. You’re dead weight now, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you start to float in and out of consciousness, so the three women grab your arms and start dragging you down the hallway. Your eyes focus just long enough for you to see Michael’s bloody face as he tries to get past Marie Laveau.

“...” This time, when you try to say his name, you can’t even force a breath of air that sounds anything like a syllable out of your mouth.

The next minutes pass by in a blur. One moment you’re on the floor, the next you’re in someone’s arms, and the next you’re in a large tub of water. Your ears are ringing too loudly for you to hear clearly now, and you’re only able to catch snippets of the conversation. They’re chanting, each touching your body as they attempt to do something to heal you.

“Can’t...without her!” Mallory yells.

“We...time…” Even Myrtle sounds concerned at the situation, and if you weren’t mortally wounded, you’d laugh.

“I won’t…” Cordelia’s shaking her head profusely, refusing to believe what’s currently happening. Your blood is rapidly turning the water that you’re situated in red, and your eyes focus on Cordelia when Mallory shifts your body to try and make you more comfortable. Weakly, you grip the Supreme’s wrist to get her attention.

“...don’twannadie…” You rasp out, desperate to try and speak. In your eyes, Cordelia sees everything you’re feeling. Your love for Michael, your love for your coven, your regret that things had to end this way. Cordelia realizes suddenly that, while she’s felt weak for years now, she now feels almost as strong as she did when she first became Supreme. Smoothing your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead, she smiles at you before standing.

“Mallory is not the Supreme.” It’s like you’re having an out-of-body experience as you watch the events that are happening as your nearly-dead body sits behind the elder witches.

“What? Cordelia, that’s ridiculous, we’ve been training for--”

“She’s right,” Mallory speaks up. “Haven’t you been able to feel (Y/N)’s power from the moment you arrived here? I’m strong, but my power is nothing like her’s.”

“I know what I have to do,” Cordelia says, casting one last look at you. Your eyes roll back into your head again, but for a brief second your piercing gaze pins her to her spot.

You pass out as Cordelia leaves the room, Mallory lightly slapping your face in an attempt to wake you up. You have that same feeling of time both freezing and passing by at the speed of light, just as you did when you were in Michael’s arms at the beginning of this evening. When air suddenly floods back into your lungs and you jolt up straight, you’re not sure how much time has passed. All you know is that you’re in the same position as you were before you passed out, and that the power running through your veins is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s cloying, it’s intoxicating, and it charges every nerve ending in your body to the point that you’re surprised you’re not shaking.

“Give me his hair,” you hold out your hand to Mallory, who still looks shocked that you basically rose from the dead. You know what you need to do now, to save the world and save Michael.

“You’re going to…?” She’s not sure what you’re going to do, but hands you his hair anyways.

“We can’t kill him. If we do, Satan will just find another way to conceive an Antichrist, and there’s no guarantee that we can stop whoever that will be. But we can help him, convince him to be on our side and that there’s a way to get what both sides need. I need your help, though; I can’t do this alone. Are you in?”

Mallory stares at you for a second, but you can see that she’s made her mind up even before she moves. You shift to one end of the basin, allowing her to clamber in with you. Immediately, the water starts bubbling and turning black. She grips your hands in hers, holding on tightly.

“I love you and I trust you,” She nods, touching her forehead to yours. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Shed the ego,” Mallory coaches, “disengage from this realm, place us there.” You breathe deeply, knowing the exact time and place that you have to go. Mallory can sense that you’ve successfully completed her instructions, and smiles. “Now, we say the words.”

“Tempus Infinituum!”

Tag List: @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @girlycakepops @pastel-cloudz @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce  @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @kahhlo @omgsuperstarg 

[7-wonders]

Thinking of Sin (re-upload)

Summary: Michael, having fully embraced his title as Antichrist and heir to the throne of Hell, invites you to join him as his father’s church, the Church of Night, celebrates one of their most sacred holidays: Lupercalia, the festival of passion. (a Chilling Adventures of Sabrina au!)

Word Count: 6374

A/N: (re-uploading for the third time, this time on Chrome instead of Safari. I will keep the last upload up, just so you don’t have to reblog if you’ve already done so). 

This is, by far, the longest thing I’ve written for this blog. I’ve been very excited to write this, and I hope that you enjoy this take on Michael Langdon and Lupercalia! Reader is a human in this one, but I’ve got another version in the works where reader is a witch! Feedback is greatly appreciated, and if you liked this, I’d love if you left a like, comment, reblog, or note in my inbox! Enjoy!

Warnings: Sex, Satanism, mentions of Pagan rituals, oral (female receiving), fandom crossovers, blood mentions.

The small, 50’s-style diner is decorated with all varieties of traditional Valentine’s Day symbols: hearts and Cupids and bows and arrows, all in hues ranging from the blushiest of pinks to the deepest of reds. The fluorescent lighting, which normally washes patrons out, only serves to make the man sitting across from you look even more sculpted. He smirks when he catches you staring again, hooking his foot around your calf playfully from under the table.

Although a roadside diner might not be an obvious choice for a date, anything is better than yet another date spent on the grounds of the Hawthorne School, where Michael currently studies magic. The teachers are all extremely strict about their star pupil, which means that Michael usually sneaks you in in order to spend time with you. Today is different, however, with a prelude for some magical holiday warranting an early weekend for the students. While you don’t possess any magical abilities, it’s not at all difficult to skip a couple of classes on a Friday, allowing you a last-minute date with Michael.

“It’s so easy to tell when you’re not listening to me.” Michael teases, long fingers drumming on the table. “If you’re not staring at me, then it’s the far-away look in your eyes.”

“Who can blame me for not being able to focus when I have someone as beautiful as you sitting across from me?” You relish in the light blush that paints his cheeks, Michael obviously not being used to you turning the tables and complimenting him suddenly.

“Anyways, where did you zone out at?”

“Hmm, right after you started explaining why you get an early weekend. Lupus column or something?” Michael snickers, sipping his strawberry milkshake to avoid laughing loudly in the quiet diner.

“Lupercalia.” He corrects.

“Lupercalia, then. What exactly is Lupercalia?”

“Well, it’s an ancient festival, originally started by Roman witches and warlocks. It was instituted as a way to purify Rome and bring about health and fertility. It’s a very sacred holiday for us-”

“Even though you’re not just an average warlock.” You interrupt, winking conspiratorially.

You figured out Michael’s ‘secret’ pretty quickly after you saw Ms. Mead convulsing in the driveway next to yours. Not knowing that she was now a robot and was shorting out, you had assumed the woman was having a heart attack. When Michael had opened the door to your incessant knocking and you had barged in with the unconscious woman, the pentagram and vague smell of sulfur made you a little extremely suspicious. It was the sight of Michael being covered in blood that made you demand for him to tell you what was going on, or else you would call the police and have them investigate.

“Yes, even though I’m not an ‘average warlock,’” he agrees, “it’s still a sacred holiday for the witches and warlocks who worship my father.”

Being the Antichrist guarantees that Michael is treated like a prince at Hawthorne, which is directly ruled by the Church of Night. Michael’s treated like a prince at most of the ‘witchy’ places he takes you to, something that you’re still getting used to.

“I’m guessing it’s not like Valentine’s Day, though?”

“Not exactly. The Church, as you know, directly follows my father’s teachings. These include giving into your wants and desires, especially those of the…carnal nature.”

“The carnal nature? Oh! Ohhh…” Heat quickly rises to your cheeks, avoiding eye contact while Michael chuckles. “So it’s like a sex festival?” Your voice drops at the word ‘sex,’ even though there’s nobody within hearing range.

“Well nobody calls it that, but sort of.”

“What do you, uh, do to celebrate?”

“The festival’s made up of three different events. There’s the Matching, where witches dance with ribbons around what’s basically a Maypole and are paired with a random warlock once the music stops. After that is the Courting, where the couples participate in a ritual to ensure health and wellness. The last event is called the Hunt, where the witches hunt their warlocks. Once caught, they…” Michael’s voice breaks as he grimaces, making your eyes widen as you quickly realize what he means.

“Is this a mandatory holiday? Like, the underage witches and warlocks do it too?”

“No! No, it’s not mandatory, and nobody under the age of sixteen can participate.”

“So…you’ve participated in it before?” Although Michael’s always been deliberately vague on how old he truly is, you know that he’s at least 20, if not older. That means, considering he’s the heir to the throne of Hell, he’s probably been involved in his father’s festivals and holidays. It makes you mildly jealous to imagine him participating in something like this with a pretty, powerful witch.

“I haven’t. Last year was my first at Hawthorne, and I was still just trying to get the hang of being at a new school. I wasn’t sure if I would participate this year, which is why I wanted to ask you.”

“Michael, I’m not your mom. If you want my permission to be a part of Lupercalia, you really don’t need it.” You grumble, snatching a stray french fry from your plate and eating it to avoid showing that this bugs you. Since it’s Michael you’re sitting across from, though, he automatically knows.

“I was going to ask if you’d participate in Lupercalia with me, (Y/N).”

“Oh.” You avert your eyes, embarrassed at how blatantly jealous you got. “I thought you said the pairing-up of the witches and warlocks was random?”

“Leave that to me.” His eyes twinkle, and you just know that he’s going to use some sort of magic to rig the festival if you agree.

“Well, what about the fact that I’m a ‘mortal?’ I thought that the Church didn’t like mortals intermingling with you guys.”

“One, you’re not just a regular mortal, you’re my mortal.” To increase the sentiment, he reaches across the table and grips your hand in his. “And two, I’m not just a regular warlock. They sort of have to let me do what I want.”

“Bullying your teachers into letting you bring your mortal girlfriend to a dirty magical festival? You truly are your father’s son.” You joke.

“You’re stalling.” It’s not a question; you and he both know that you’re stalling. It’s not like you and Michael haven’t had sex before, but encroaching on this sacred festival that’s also extremely intimate makes you feel very hesitant.

“Promise we’ll get paired up?”

“Of course. Does that mean you’ll do it?”

Sighing, you nod. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

You defeatedly sit back in your seat, grabbing your own milkshake and taking a hearty drink while Michael grins. Even though you’re pouting, you can’t deny the tiny butterflies of excitement starting to spring up in your stomach. You’re jumping headfirst into a world that’s dark, supernatural, and a little sexy. Who couldn’t be slightly excited for that?

Night One: The Matching

The Matching, which you assumed would be at Hawthorne, is actually at Hawthorne’s ‘sister school,’ the Academy of Unseen Arts. Michael had easily transmuted both of you to what had first appeared to be an abandoned train depot. Apparently, the old adage of “never judge a book by its’ cover” applies to buildings as well. The moment you stepped foot inside, you were taken aback by the large, gothic-style school. The walls are all a rich red, with a golden railing encircling the second level that overlooks the entryway. A giant statue of what you’re assuming is Satan is pushed to the back, a large Maypole with red, black, and white ribbons taking center stage. Witches and warlocks mill about, all bowing their heads respectfully whenever they pass Michael and speaking in hushed tones while sneaking glances at him.

You cling tightly to Michael, free hand tightly grasping the hem of your black dress that’s accented with white flowers. All of these witches are so dark and beautiful, looking at Michael from under their heavily-painted lids. You can practically feel the power oozing off of them, sending chills down your spine. Michael has a protective arm around your waist, sensing how nervous you are. In an effort to distract yourself while the host school gets everything set up, you glance up towards the ceiling.

The stained glass windows that act as a sun-roof are beautiful, but the longer you look at them, the more you can see the Satanic imagery that makes up a larger story. There’s flames, stakes, the goat-headed figure of Satan, and magic. There’s also a man with bright blue eyes and golden curls, standing amongst one set of flames while someone who looks almost like you (if you’re squinting hard enough, you try to convince yourself) stands at the man’s side. Casting your eyes slightly downwards, the teachers from the various schools and academies stand on the second floor. Michael’s professors were not exactly pleased that he was bringing his mortal girlfriend, but Father Blackwood, the so-called ‘High Priest’ of the Church, was more than welcoming.

“He has to be,” Michael had explained to you, “or else I’ll report back to my father. Blackwood’s on thin-enough ice as it is.”

When Michael stiffens beside you, you look away from the teachers and towards him.

“What’s wrong?” You’ve been with Michael long enough to know that something has to be extremely wrong for him to even have a reaction like this.

“Sabrina Spellman is what’s wrong.” You look in the direction that Michael’s glowering, only to see a small blonde girl chatting with her friends.

“She doesn’t look very threatening.” You tease, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Sabrina fled her dark baptism and abandoned the Church, while still trying to keep her powers. She fights Satan at every turn and is convinced that she’ll ‘take him down,’ whatever that means.” Michael says lowly, clenching his jaw.

“So, not your friend, got it.” You mutter.

You’re both startled by someone yelling for the men to take their places. A ring of chairs has been placed around the Maypole, backs facing the ribbons. Michael grabs the ribbon attached to the chair closest to him, unlooping it and handing the white fabric to you before he takes a seat. Your hands are still interlocked, and he smiles reassuringly at you while the same person starts giving directions.

“Alright ladies, you know the rules! When the music stops, take a seat on the warlock…or Antichrist…” he stops as everyone giggles, making you look at Michael with panicked eyes, “closest to you.”

“I’ve got it all under control, remember? Enjoy yourself.” He reminds you one last time, rubbing his thumb over the ring on your right index finger; an onyx band with blue and white stones forming starry constellations, given to you by Michael for your birthday.

The music starts up, the violinist playing a folksy tune. Michael grins at you one last time before you start moving in the same direction as the rest of the women. You don’t know this dance, and even if you did, there’s no way you’d look nearly as graceful as everyone else. Still, you try your hardest to copy the moves of the witch next to you, a redhead that has her eyes dead-set on Sabrina Spellman. Michael turns his head to watch you dance, smiling the entire time as you start to get the hang of things. It’s not that long of a song, you realize as the violinist plays one last, long note, and your heart thunders when you see that you’re all the way across the room from Michael.

He can sense your trepidation, winking at you before coughing into the crook of his elbow. The note continues to echo through the room, much to the confusion of the man no longer playing the instrument. The same tone continues to play until you’re right in front of Michael, stopping the moment he coughs again. You nearly fall into his lap, laying your forehead against his gratefully.

“Told you I had it all under control.” You giggle at his cocky statement, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours.

“I didn’t doubt you for one second.”

“Yeah right, I could practically taste your fear when you thought the last note was being played.”

“Because I didn’t know what you were planning on doing!” You argue playfully, not able to fight the large smile working onto your face.

“Was this as terrible as you thought it would be?” Michael asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Considering I ended up with you as my match, I’d say yes.”

“You brat!” Michael’s eyes gleam as he grabs your lower lip between his teeth and pulls, eliciting a squeal from you.

You’re not sure if it’s the sensuality of the festival itself, the intoxication that happens whenever you’re around someone whom you share feelings for, or if there was an actual spell being performed during that dance, but every couple in the room is currently engaged in various levels of PDA. And really, you can’t complain, since your gorgeous Antichrist is right under you.

Night Two: The Courting

Silver light from the near-full moon peeks out between the gnarled tree branches forming a canopy above your head, bathing the group of teens and young adults in a soft light. It’s chilly out, a fog floating low towards the ground the only remaining sign that there was previously rain. You can still smell it, a fresh scent mixed in with the earthy smell that’s so prevalent in a forest. Breathing out through your mouth, you watch as your breath forms visibly in front of you. Michael’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, the sight of his red leather gloves coupled with his black leather trench coat sending your heart racing. Your overcoat isn’t nearly as nice, but then again you didn’t expect to be making a fashion statement in the middle of the woods.

When Michael had told you that ‘the Courting’ was a ritual for health and wellness, you didn’t envision it taking place in a dark forest. That’s really your own fault, though, since nothing can ever just be normal when it comes to witches and warlocks (and a stray Antichrist).

“Witches, warlocks, Antichrist, and mortal,” the same man who played the violin at the Matching says, not even bothering to hide his smirk, “congratulations, you have been matched.”

Michael glances at you the same time that you look at him, both of you rolling your eyes at how clever this man thinks that he is.

“Tonight, you and your paramour shall go into the woods and re-enact the Courting. What that means is that each couple shall go into the woods and disrobe and anoint themselves and lie under this blessed Lupercalian moon, absorbing the potency of the Goddess Selene herself.”

Although Michael had explained to you that participants still kept their undergarments on, the idea of taking off any layer of clothing in this weather is not too appealing.

“Anoint ourselves with what?” You whisper to Michael.

“Patience is a virtuous skill, (Y/N).”

“And you’re one to lecture me on virtues.” You fire back, snickering when Michael lightly pinches your arm.

“Abstinence is encouraged….” The warlock emcee is interrupted by a chorus of boos from the people surrounding you, “…in anticipation of the powerful release that concludes Lupercalia.”

Michael looks at you when you stifle a laugh, winking at the innuendo.

“However, should couples be moved to unite, well, I’m sure the Dark Lord would not oppose.”

“Glad we have your dad’s unholy blessing to get it on tonight.” You mutter, making Michael bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.” He retorts, burying his face in your hair to hide his blush.

A beautiful dark-skinned girl with bleached, cropped hair produces baskets from behind a tree. You can’t see what’s under the blanket that tops each basket, but you can hear something clanking around inside.

“The milk and blood are for the purification, the oysters and figs are for fertility and virility. The cherries are for…popping.” The girl says, leaning in close to Sabrina Spellman in what you assume is a way to tease her.

“A word or two of caution.” Father Blackwood steps forward. “Each couple must stay together the entire night, and, above all, do not stray from the path. All manner of lust-filled creatures stalk the woods during the Lupercalia. Now, with the Dark Lord’s blessing, let the Courting begin.”

A long, low note sounds from a horn, spurring the couples to all start moving down the path. Michael grabs your hand in his, and you can feel the chill of the cool leather through your own knitted glove.

“I can’t believe that this is how I die. From knowingly and willingly going into a scene that’s the beginning of a horror movie.” You lament, letting Michael lead you behind all of the others.

“We’re not going to die, (Y/N), don’t be so dramatic.”

“Are you kidding me? Imagine this as the synopsis: ‘A group of young adults jaunt off into various parts of the forest in order to participate in a carnal ritual, that is, if they can get past all of the hungry beasts that lurk just out of their eyesight.’” You say dramatically.

“How did you manage to successfully make a festival of passion into a horror movie?”

“It’s pretty easy when the material’s right in front of me.”

The deeper Michael leads you into the woods, the warmer it gets. Soon, you’re tugging off your gloves and unbuttoning your coat in an attempt to cool down.

“How is it suddenly so warm?” You wonder.

“The magic of the Lupercalian moon. The further into nature we get, the more potent the moon is.” He finds a clearing among the trees just off of the path, deeming it acceptable enough to set the basket down.

“So if you don’t want to have sex, the ever-rising temperature is still gonna force you to take your clothes off.” You grab the blanket out of the picnic basket, the bottles and other items knocking against each other. Unfolding it, you lay it on top of the earth, Michael straightening the other end out.

“It’s just a way for everybody to be able to fully enjoy Lupercalia, even if it is in the middle of February.” Michael unpacks the bottles, as well as two knives.

“What are the knives for?”

“We don’t actually cut ourselves, it’s just an easy way to get the anointing oils onto ourselves. You use the flat edge of the blade.” He explains, standing up once he’s satisfied.

The red gloves come off first, Michael removing them one finger at a time. After shrugging off his coat, he looks at you expectantly.

“Are you going to take your clothes off as well?”

“Oh, right!” You blush, letting your coat fall to the forest floor as Michael looks on with a wide grin.

After taking your clothes off, you’re left standing in your matching bra and panties (black, of course, just like everything when it involves witches and warlocks), and Michael in only his boxers. Although this is definitely not the first time that Michael’s seen you like this, you still avert your eyes and cross your arms over your chest in shyness. Michael’s skin almost glows under the light of the moon, his eyes looking nearly luminous while he reaches down to grab the first part of the ritual. Dipping a knife in the bottle of blood, he hands it to you before repeating the action for his own knife.

“Do you remember what to say?” He asks, not at all shocked when you shake your head. “‘By Lilith’s blood,’ okay?”

Twirling the knife in your hand, you grip the cool, ridged handle of the weapon that you’re supposed to use to sensually drag blood across your boyfriend’s forehead. You glance at him, waiting for him to nod before lifting the knife.

“By Lilith’s blood.” You recite, Michael breathing in deeply as the blood makes contact with his skin.

“By Lucifer’s love.” Michael lifts his own knife, and you wrinkle your nose as blood is applied to your forehead.

“Can I ask you a question?” You and Michael both sink to your knees, Michael dabbing a cloth with the provided milk.

“Of course.”

“Is the Lilith in the myths real? Like…Satan’s concubine and all that? The mother of demons?” Michael grimaces, rolling his eyes quickly.

“Basically, yes.”

“So is she sort of like your step-mom?”

“My father and Lilith aren’t married, (Y/N).” You giggle as Michael wipes the wet cloth across your forehead. “Good, keep laughing. We’re supposed to laugh during this part of the ritual.”

“Why?”

“I honestly have no clue.” You can’t stop laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and the conversation, Michael handing you the cloth once he’s done. “But yes, you could say that she’s technically my stepmother.”

“But you’ve never met her.”

“No, not at all. Not that I’m complaining, though. I’d rather meet my father.” Michael laughs when you cross your eyes and stick your tongue out at him, taking the opportunity to wipe the blood off of him.

“Do you think you’ll get to meet him one day?” He’s never really talked about his ‘true’ family before, and the only time he’s ever mentioned the parents who were a part of his infernal conception was when you got him so drunk on Mike’s Hard Lemonades (who would have thought so-called ‘bitch beers’ would make the Antichrist a weepy drunk?) that he ended up setting his own hair on fire.

“I hope so. Here, eat.” He holds a fig up to your mouth, and you grimace while taking a bite of it.

“Eugh, that’s probably the grossest part of this whole thing.”

“But wait, there’s oysters too.” Michael eats the rest of the fig, winking while you shoot him a horrified look.

You just want to get eating an oyster over with, so you reach over and grab one. Taking a deep breath, you plug your nose before tossing your head back and swallowing it down like a shot. Shuddering, you stick your tongue out as the slimy texture forces you to choke back a gag. Michael knocks back the oyster far easier than you did, only slightly grimacing and pulling a face.

“So what do we do now?” You ask.

“We lay next to each other and soak up the light of the moon.”

“Now that’s something I can get behind.” Michael grips your hand, tugging you down on top of him easily.

You roll off of Michael, still not letting go of his hand. Looking up at the moon, your eyes widen at just how big and bright it is. You’ve never quite seen anything like it, and if it weren’t for Michael’s laughter you wouldn’t tear yourself away from the sight.

“What?”

“I’m just…extremely lucky to have you.” You let your head fall to the side, grinning at Michael.

“I’m lucky to have you, too.” He leans over and kisses you softly, the sounds of wind rustling through the trees and owls calling out to one another forming a symphony above your heads.

Sleep claims both of you before you can even think about progressing to anything beyond lazy kissing. When you wake up, the gray light of dawn paints the forest in a new light, one that’s much colder than it was last night. At some point during the night, Michael draped his large coat over your bodies, which is greatly appreciated right now. Michael sits up and runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the tangles.

“I’ve never seen your hair so out of place before.” You tease.

“This will be the last time you see it like this.” He warns, standing up and finding his clothes from where they were thrown last night.

“Sorry we fell asleep before either of us were ‘moved’ to unite.” You quote, catching the sweater Michael tosses your way with ease.

“That just means tonight is going to be even better.” Your heart jumps at the reminder, causing Michael to look up when he hears. “Are you nervous?”

“No, I just don’t know what to expect!  Seeing as how each ritual has just gotten more and more strange, I’m assuming that this one’s is going to be wild.” Michael smirks, helping you stand and wrapping you in your coat.

“Hmm, guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I guess so.”

Night Three: The Hunt

Your earlier suspicions were dead-on; not only are you back in the same area of the woods that are now lit with a bunch of torches, but you’re also wearing nothing but a white satin slip and a pair of black stockings under a red cape that makes you look like Little Red Riding Hood. A bright red lip completes the look, as it does for all the witches around you. For the first time since Lupercalia started, you don’t feel entirely out of place surrounded by all these mystical women. You’re all dressed the same, and you’re all here to participate in Lupercalia. Tonight, you have far more important things to worry about than judgemental witches.

When you first found Michael, your knees nearly gave out on the spot. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black jeans and a wolf’s pelt. The head of the pelt hangs over his forehead, acting as a sort of hat. He looks wild, uninhibited, and utterly happy; it makes your heart melt to see him so carefree. He couldn’t even stifle his grin when he had grabbed you to kiss you in greeting, too excited for the events to come to worry about keeping up the stern Antichrist demeanor.

“Welcome to the final night of the Lupercalia!” Ambrose (yes, you’ve finally learned his name) yells. “Hoods hunt wolves, witches hunt warlocks. The outcome of the Hunt shall determine the year ahead. Will it be bountiful or barren? Fruitful or fallow? Tonight, we hunt and are hunted, releasing our blessed magicks into the night. Warlocks, are you ready?”

The warlocks all howl and cheer in response, Michael included. The closer it gets to the start of the Hunt, the more excited you find yourself. Maybe the rituals of Lupercalia actually work, or maybe it’s just the fact that you haven’t slept with Michael in days and he looks particularly delicious in a wolf’s pelt.

Ambrose plays a long note on the same horn as last night, sending the warlocks running into the woods. You giggle as Michael darts off, pushing past the other men in an attempt to get as much of a head start as possible. Although it may not be a formal competition, Michael will always find a way to make some aspect of what he’s doing competitive.

“And witches, are you ready?” The women all around you yell, and you join them. When Ambrose plays another note, you dart off.

The woods are more disorienting than you remember them being last night. The fog makes it impossible for you to see more than thirty feet ahead of you, and the wolf heads all look the same from the back. Witches and warlocks sprint all around you, finding their partner and tackling them to the ground. You’re mildly impressed at how voracious some of these people are, going at it right on the ground and in the open. Your lungs burn as you continue to run further into the forest, hoping that soon the pack will thin out and you’ll be able to find Michael by the process of elimination.

You only stop when a stitch in your side forms, bending over and placing your hands on your knees while you try to catch a breath. There’s nobody around, everybody having already been reunited, and you can’t stop the disappointment that you feel. If you were a witch, surely this would have been much easier, you think to yourself. Standing up straight again, you start to walk back in the direction that you came from when a force grabs you by the shoulders and slams you back against a tree.

You shriek breathlessly, panic gripping you until the eyes staring at you register as Michael’s. His eyes glimmer with lust and excitement, and he bites his lip while smiling widely. You roll your eyes and lightly slap his chest, hand lingering on the firm pec.

“Did I scare you?” His voice comes out raspy, and you have to stop yourself from letting your eyes roll back in your head.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one who found you.”

“Hmm, I got bored waiting around.”

Leaning the weight of his body against yours, Michael traps you in place while he kisses you deeply. You throw your arms around his shoulders, the fur of the wolf pelt tickling your arms. His large, calloused hand grabs the cool skin of your upper thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist. You’re sure that the rough bark of the tree is leaving scratches even through the thick material of the cloak you’re wearing, but that’s honestly the last thing on your mind right now.

“You look so sexy tonight.” Michael gasps out, only removing his lips far enough to be able to breathe. “You look sexy all the time, but you know what I mean. The red lipstick is a really good look on you.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Your heart skips a beat; Michael compliments you all the time, but usually on the emotional traits you possess: how smart you are, how strong, how funny. He often compliments your physical appearance too, but with sweet words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘stunning.’ If any other person were to refer to you as ‘sexy,’ you’d knock their teeth in. Michael’s use of the word, however, has your heart racing and blood pumping.

Michael nods eagerly, head falling to your collarbone as he sucks and bites the skin there.

“Absolutely. I always knew you’d look dangerous in a cloak, but this is beyond my wildest fantasies.”

“On that note, you should consider keeping the wolf’s pelt.” Michael raises an eyebrow at you before growling playfully, making you giggle loudly.

Those giggles quickly turn to a groan when Michael rips open your white slip, the soft fabric tearing easily under his grip. Your nipples immediately harden from the cool night air while you lift your hips away from the tree, allowing the now-ruined lingerie to pool around your ankles. The thin panties you’re wearing do nothing to hide your arousal, and Michael’s nostrils flare as his supernatural senses pick up on the heady scent.

The powers of this Lupercalian moon were hardly exaggerated. You can practically feel the magic of the light that you and Michael are being bathed in. It heightens everything you’re feeling, as well as acting as an aphrodisiac of sorts. In this moment, you’ve never wanted Michael more than you do now, and your legs are almost sticky with the arousal that’s starting to track down your thighs. He looks to be in the same state right now, eyes blown wide with lust and prominent bulge digging against your lower stomach.

Your hands go up to the silver clasps on your cloak, stopped when one of Michael’s large hands grips both of your wrists.

“Leave the rest on.” He says lowly, causing you to gasp as intense want curls in your stomach.

“Michael, I need you.”

Michael sinks to his knees in front of you, ghosting his lips down your body the entire way before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He can’t stop himself from licking his lips at the sight of your pussy, swollen and glistening right in front of him. The moment his hot breath hits your core, your hands lock into his hair in an attempt to stay upright as your knees buckle.

He immediately dives in, sucking and licking at your cunt like it’s his last meal. The sensation immediately sends shockwaves through your body that not even the jolt of pain from throwing your head back and smacking it against the tree bark can diminish. Michael wraps his hands around your thighs, hoisting you further up with preternatural strength. The heels you’re wearing dig into Michael’s shoulders, but if it bothers him he isn’t showing it.

Michael’s nails digging into your skin is the only thing keeping you grounded as his tongue draws shapes against your clit, stopping every so often so Michael can suck harshly on it. You’re a whimpering mess above him, legs shaking from the exertion of being held up off of the ground. He pulls away from you momentarily, licking your arousal off of his face while he surveys you to see just how close you are.

“What do you want, baby? Wanna cum in my mouth first, or do you want me inside you?”

You think for a moment. Although the idea of a near-instant release and gratification is tempting, you can’t deny the throbbing from your pussy that makes you want to be completely and utterly filled to the brim with Michael. The man in question, who has been listening to your inner dialogue the entire time, smirks when your lust-drunk brain comes to a decision. He keeps his grip on your legs as he stands again, wrapping them around his waist for you. Your ankles cross over one another, locking him in your grip. Michael doesn’t even bother to get undressed all of the way, pulling down his trousers and underwear just enough to free his cock.

You swoon at the sight of it, thick and veiny, already flushed red and dripping precum at the tip. His cock is one of your favorite things, and if both of you weren’t so desperate you’d fall to your knees and return the favor. He enters you as quickly as he can without hurting you, groaning loudly as your walls flutter around him while you adjust to his familiar size. Your hands, needing to find purchase on something, snake their way under Michael’s pelt and dig into the skin on his back.

He kisses you deeply, tongues tangling together while he starts slowly thrusting in and out of you. Your body rocks up and down against the tree, working your hair into knots and wearing down parts of the cloak that you’re still wearing. You pull away from his lips only to fill your burning lungs with air, but by then Michael’s moved on to the smooth expanse of your neck, sucking bruises onto the clean canvas of your skin.

Michael is truly a sight to behold as his thrusts increase in speed, hitting deep right where you need him. His hair sticks damply to his forehead, the golden curls only looking more like a halo as they’re backlit by the moon. When his eyes focus on you again after being rolled in the back of his head, there’s only a thin blue ring surrounding the blown-out pupils. His lips are fuller than normal, swollen and red from the constant pressure being placed there by your own lips. His muscles ripple under the skin, trying to keep up with the brutal pace that he’s set. The sheer beauty of Michael Langdon would have Greek gods and goddesses weeping in both envy and want; Donatello and Michelangelo could only dream of sculpting something as perfect as him.

You cry out, hips snapping up in an attempt to match Michael’s thrusts. Your legs, which are already wrapped tightly around his torso, attempt to pull him in even closer. If that was even possible, you’re not sure there’s enough of you for him to fill. You can hear yourself speaking broken sentences, but you’re not sure if the words don’t make sense because your brain is too clouded or if you’re just so far gone that you can’t form actual words.

“Michael, I–please-” Your uneven breathing cuts you off, but Michael nods in understanding. He’s close too, thrusts becoming shaky and more erratic as he nears the edge of his own peak.

Your cunt clenches around him, making him groan lowly as he attempts to thrust deeper. The attempt works, and you can feel the fat head of his cock brushing against the the innermost, spongy part of your walls that has you releasing a sound that’s a cross between a moan and a scream. Michael doesn’t stop there, reaching a hand in between your connected bodies so he can rub harsh circles on your clit. There’s enough lubrication there, whether it be sweat or arousal, that your clit is already slick enough for him to easily manipulate.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re cumming with a shout, limbs seizing as the electricity of your orgasm runs through you. Your head swims, eyesight blurred from the intense pleasure as you try to watch Michael. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, eyebrows furrowed together and mouth shaped like an ‘O’ while he teeters on the verge of his own orgasm. You regain control of your body just enough to moan his name, purposefully clenching around him and allowing him to fall over the edge of ecstasy.

The sensation of his warm release coating your walls sends aftershocks through you, tightening your arms around Michael while he continues to ride out his orgasm with his head buried against your chest. When you’re both completely spent he pulls out of you, wrapping his arms under your ass while he lowers you both to the ground. The beautiful red cloak spreads out underneath you enough for both of you to lay on, neither of you caring about getting dirty.

“Y’know,” Michael says breathlessly, still spent from your previous activities, “I do believe that this is the best holiday I’ve ever participated in.”

“Ambrose was right when he said this was a blessed Lupercalian moon.” Michael hums from beside you, neither of you bothering to put any effort into actually moving your heads to look at each other.

“A blessed Lupercalia, indeed.”

Tag List: @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @pastel-cloudz @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @kahhlo @omgsuperstarg

[7-wonders]

Shatter pt. 8

Summary: Finally, after nearly two long years spent scared and alone, you’re reunited with your Michael. And now that Michael has you back, his final plans can finally be set in motion.

Word Count: 4438

A/N: Folks, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for--SMUT! Woohoo! Thanks for putting up with me and my weird updating schedule lately. Finals suck, school sucks, I just wanna drop out and live alone in a little cabin in the woods. Anyways, feedback is always appreciated, and I would love if you would drop a comment or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter!

The night involves a lot of you and Michael reacquainting yourselves with each other’s bodies; your lover’s stamina is truly unmatched. You don’t exactly remember falling asleep, but you realize you must have when your eyes flutter open and you yawn. Stretching your arms above your head, you groan quietly at the popping that your joints make. The feeling of feather-light touches on your arm makes you tilt your head to the side, a lazy smile appearing on your face when you see Michael. He’s always had a bad habit of watching you while he waits for you to wake up, requiring less sleep than the average human.

“Good morning. Or...whatever time it is.” You murmur, goosebumps appearing on the flesh where Michael draws intricate designs.

“It’s technically morning.”

“I hate it here, there’s no way to tell what time it truly is. For all we know it could be midnight and Venable could have set the clocks forward eight hours.” You grumble, carding your fingers through Michael’s tangled locks.

“We only need to spend a couple more days here, my angel, and then we’ll be on our way to the Sanctuary.”

“Oh? Have you made your selections already?”

“The only ‘selection’ you need to worry about is yours.”

“Well, Mr. Langdon? Do I pass?” You smirk. In a split second you’re on your back, Michael propping himself up above you.

“Hmm, what do you think?” Your eyes light up when he surges down to kiss you, hands immediately tangling in his long hair.

“This still doesn’t feel real.” You note when Michael pulls back to lay soft kisses on your neck.

“What doesn’t feel real?”

“This. Being with you, having my memories back, all of it.”

“However could I possibly help to convince you that you’re truly here?” Michael questions, smiling cheekily at you.

“Well...oh!” Your back arches when Michael’s sneaky hand makes contact with your bare core. “That’s...that’s definitely a good start.”

Michael looks up briefly from your breasts, where he’s currently working at sucking a hickey into the already-bruised skin. You nearly come when he winks at you, dipping back down to bite your nipple while he continues to gather your wetness with his hand. He shoots you a confused glance when you gain control of your limbs long enough to pull him up towards you.

“I just need to be with you.” You explain, avoiding eye contact with him. You know your cheeks are pink, you can feel the heat rising off of your skin at your declaration.

Your sexual relationship with Michael has never been the softest thing. You like when he’s rough, and he likes taking control. It’s an off night if you don’t have any bruises on your skin and you haven’t cum so many times that you can’t even form sentences, at least in Michael’s opinion. But you had your share of that last night. Whether it be a post-sleep haze, or having gotten over the initial euphoria of remembering your lover, you just want him close to you. Your eyes flicker back to Michael when he places his thumb against your full bottom lip, a soft smile on his face.

“Say no more.”

A slow kiss follows while he enters you easily, your body fitting against his like two pieces of a puzzle. You both pause, savoring the feeling of completion before rocking your bodies against each other. Michael’s movements are languid as he lays open-mouthed kisses on your face and neck. His movements are something that have always captivated you, you manage to muse while holding tightly to Michael’s neck. Everything about him is calculated, all the way down to how he holds himself. He oozes power, strength, and something that sends most people cowering the moment he walks into a room.

Not with you, however.

With you, Michael’s uncharacteristically soft. Every touch is delicate, as if he fears you’ll break into pieces the moment his hands caress your skin. When you and he first started dating, you could see the brief flash of fear in his eyes whenever your hand would brush against his. He’s never said it out loud, but you know Michael from the inside-out. He’s worried that you’ll disappear, a mirage sent by his father to tempt him. Surely something as heaven-sent as you could never have crossed paths with something as evil as him, Michael had pondered once during a late night spent in each other’s embraces, long before the thought of witches being slaughtered had ever even crossed his mind.

“Where did you go?” Michael’s voice jars you out of your head, your eyes focusing back on him.

“I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

You shrug. “About how much I love you.”

Michael has a way of making everything he does look utterly angelic. You suppose that’s the irony in it all: the deadly beauty that Satan’s son possesses, meant to lure unsuspecting victims right into his clutches. The beautiful smile that splits across his face, along with the light pink that dusts his cheeks, could easily send you into an early grave. You can’t help but to smile back at him, ducking your face into the pillow bunched up against your head in mild embarrassment.

“Angel, I can promise you that there is nothing in the entire universe that I love more than you.”

A moan slips past your lips when he nips playfully at your jaw, hips pivoting and hitting the spot deep within you that makes stars burst in front of your eyes. His pace picks up, enough to where both of you are gasping out terms of endearment.

“Do you,” Michael’s interrupted by a deep groan, “do you remember the first time I made love to you?”

You nod breathlessly, eyes meeting his own cerulean ones. “Of course I do.”

Flashes of your first time together play through your mind: the soft blonde curls that framed his face like a halo, the quiet noises that slipped out against your wills, having to be as silent as possible so as not to have one of the many wary witches and warlocks investigate and come upon Michael’s room, and the shy clumsiness of it all. This isn’t Michael’s old room, thankfully; you’re not sure you could handle the embarrassment of reliving getting caught by both of your head teachers. The soft tendrils of magic that are so entwined in this building that they might as well have been built into the foundation, however, are. They’ve always been the same, welcoming you home like an old friend who you hadn’t seen in quite some time.

“I was just as entranced with you then as I am now.” Your back arches when his hand, which had sneakily been sliding down your body, makes contact with your clit.

You can tell that Michael’s close, the intense rhythm that he set faltering as his hips snap desperately against yours. Your veins burn with the fire that courses through them, and you lock your legs around Michael’s waist to urge him to go faster. Michael whines almost pitifully, pressing his lips against yours in the hopes that you’ll swallow the sound of his vulnerability. You pull away, wanting to see him lose it as you clench around him.

“Cum for me, Michael.” You mumble, brushing a hand through his hair.

The words you utter have him throwing his head back, almost yelling out as his cock pulses inside of you. His hips slam against you one last time, holding you in place while he finally releases. Michael’s always been one to test his endurance, continuing this tradition as he continues to fuck into while he’s still coming down from his high. The combination of him orgasming inside you and his hand, which has still been working relentlessly against your clit, has you cumming moments later. A high-pitched moan is the only sound you can make while you shake against Michael, the aftershocks of your own orgasm causing you to jolt up into his arms.

You hold each other for a while, Michael laying on your chest while you both attempt to regain a normal breathing pattern. His room is mostly silent, the intermingling sounds of heavy breathing and the crackling fire providing the soundtrack. Time passes in a sluggish pace as you start to doze, groaning when Michael shakes you lightly.

“Ms. Venable will soon be requiring your presence in the dining room. Mandatory breakfast.” Michael notes with a sneer.

“Don’t make me go, I just wanna stay here with you.” You whine, looking down at him with an exaggerated pout.

“I wish I could keep you here, truly. Unfortunately, we must not let anyone catch on to our relationship, at least for the time being.” He kisses the pout right off of your lips.

“Fuckin’ Venable and her stupid fake rules.” You grumble, Michael rolling off of you so that you can sit up.

He props himself up on his arm, watching as you stumble around the room in an attempt to find your clothes.

“Don’t you want to shower first before going back to your room?”

“Hah, because we both know how well that will go.” You jokingly glare at him, seeing right through his ‘innocent’ suggestion. “I’ll see you later though, right?”

You know that Michael sees the fear that briefly flashes through your eyes, making it obvious how terrified you are that he’s just going to disappear once again, along with your memories. He pulls you towards him from where you’re perched on the edge of the bed, trying to roll your stockings up your feet.

“I promise you that we will see each other again today.” He reassures you, stroking your wild hair back from your face. “Now go, I would prefer not to start my day by having that insufferable woman barging in here on her quest to make every resident of this Outpost all the more miserable.”

It’s surprisingly noisy when you finally make your way to the main area of the Outpost, which is noisier than you’ve heard it for the entire eighteen months you’ve been here. You feel a little discombobulated being here now that your memories are back. This place is so much more than an Outpost, but nobody knows that except for you and Michael. Breakfast, better known as the gelatinous cubes you’re forced to choke down, was eliminated last week, so you head towards the library where everyone’s trying to quell the pangs of hunger with water. It falls silent when you walk in, and you smile awkwardly at the stares before remembering that you attempted to sacrifice yourself just last night.

Timothy jumps up and crushes you in a hug, the only sign that he was pistol-whipped being the lump on his forehead. Emily stands slightly behind him, a protective hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He mutters into your ear, pulling away so he can see with his own eyes that you’re actually okay.

“I think I should be the one thanking you, Tim. You knocked the gun out of Mead’s hand.”

“Yeah, we all see how well that went.”

“Ah, and just when we were beginning to get worried.” A cold voice speaks up from the entrance of the library. You turn around to see Ms. Venable herself, smiling tightly at you. “(Y/N), you missed my announcement.”

“Your announcement?” Your voice drips with disdain, your confidence having been boosted immensely now that your memories are back.

“Yes. We will be having a Halloween masquerade party here, tonight. Attendance is, as always, mandatory.” Her smile widens, sending chills down your spine.

“May I ask why we’re suddenly celebrating holidays?” You can’t help but to be a little suspicious; holidays have never been observed here. In fact, they’re often discouraged. The sudden change in Venable’s rules is mildly shocking to you.

“It’s been a very trying few weeks for us, Ms. (Y/L/N). I figured that a little party would be a welcome distraction.” Her eyes sweep across the room, patrolling to make sure everything is to her standards, before she leaves dramatically.

“Where’s Gallant? I’m sure he almost passed out from excitement after he learned there’d be a party.” The easy smile on Emily’s face dims at the mention of your bleach-blond best friend.

“About that…”

Emily barely had time to finish explaining last night’s events before you’re sprinting up the stairs, dress in your hands while you try to make it to Gallant’s room as quickly as possible. The door’s locked, which isn’t too surprising, but you still jiggle the knob in the hope that it will suddenly turn.

“Gal! Let me in before I break this damn door down!” You yell, pounding on the door with an open hand.

Grabbing a bobby pin from your hair you kneel in front of the door, fully prepared to start picking the lock. When you remember that you’re a witch, you toss the bobby pin to the side and just use your magic to unlock the door. You have to hold back the smirk that crosses your face at how easy and familiar the act is, the door opening widely and allowing you to step through. Gallant’s laying on his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes, but he sits up when he hears you close the door behind you.

“How the hell did you get in?”

“I picked the lock.” You lie easily, sitting down next to him. “Emily told me what happened to your Nana.”

“What, how I killed her?” He snorts, shaking his head as tears spring to his eyes for what you’re assuming isn’t the first time.

“No? She said Evie died in her sleep.”

Gallant’s silent for a few minutes, and you let him have his time to think while he attempts to figure out what he wants to say next. Unfortunately, you know all too well what it’s like to grieve for those you’re so close to.

“This is going to sound absolutely fucking insane, but I thought it was Langdon.”

“What?”

“Remember how I told you yesterday about getting fucked by the man in the rubber suit? Well, he showed up again in my room last night. I thought it was Langdon, so when I was on top of him I grabbed a pair of scissors and stabbed him. I heard a noise, and when I looked up Langdon was standing at the door, just like watching me. I looked back to who I thought was Langdon and instead, it was my Nana.” He gets choked up at the end, and you slide your arms around him.

“But...if you stabbed her, how come everyone’s saying that she died of natural causes?”

“I have no clue. Venable and Mead examined the body, and there were no wounds on her.” He rubs his eyes, leaning his head against your shoulder. “Weird shit’s been happening ever since Langdon showed up here, y’know?”

You laugh awkwardly, nodding at what could be considered as the understatement of the year. “Yeah, that’s one way to look at it.”

“Call me on it if I’m wrong, babe, but you’re acting really weird today and I want to know why.”

Gallant shifts so he’s sitting up, looking you in the eyes. “What? No, I’m not.”

“(Y/N), I know you like I know a pair of real Loubs from a pair of knockoff ones. Something’s up.” You hate that he can read you like an open book; being a temporary amnesiac left you vulnerable and needy.

“Um, we’re here so that I can comfort you about Evie, not so that you can psychoanalyze me.”

“Okay, and it’s not like she was the most loving person. She literally tried to get me killed to improve her chances of making it to the Sanctuary. So? Tell me. It’d make me feel better.”

“Ugh, fine! I really hate it when you’re persuasive.”

“Oh, but I’m just so damn good at it.” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to go on about why you’ve been acting ‘weird.’

“Well, to put it simply: I got my memories back.”

You cringe slightly, knowing that Gallant’s reaction will go one of two ways. He’ll either provide you with an underwhelming response, a simple shrug and calmly asking you how it happened and what you remember. His other reaction could be to scream with joy, bouncing across the room and chattering about how this is a soap opera for the ages. With Gallant, any information that you tell him could garner a hit-or-miss reaction.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” A grin splits his face so widely that you’re worried he’s going to pull a muscle. “(Y/N)!”

Definitely the latter reaction, then. Still, his infectious behavior spreads to you, watching with glee while Gallant grabs your shoulders and pulls you towards him.

“Tell me everything. You have to! How did you get your memories back? Do you remember everything? Is your name still (Y/N)?” He gasps. “Wait, can I still be your best friend?”

“Whoa, slow your roll. Let’s start with one question at a time.”

“Fine. What do you remember?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?” You nod, smiling.

“I remember it all. Everything that happened to me before I woke up in that apartment.”

“How did you get it back?”

“That’s actually a funny story. You remember how I told you that I thought Langdon was somehow connected with my past?” Gallant slaps the bed, eyes lighting up.

“Shut the fuck up! He is?” You don’t even have time to answer before Gallant is launching into how he believes you’re connected. “Oh my God, he really is your blue-eyed honey! Did you guys have a thing before the amnesia?”

“You could say that…”

“How serious was it?”

“I’d say pretty serious.” Gallant lets out a breathless gasp, clapping a hand over his chest.

“Long-lost lovers? I’m living right now!” Your face flushes bright red as you teasingly smack your best friend.

“Gal!”

“So what brought them back, then?”

Your smile freezes on your face as you think about what to say next. Do you share your secret and out Michael, not only as a wielder of magic, but also as the Antichrist? You know that he would take your secret to the grave, but you also worry that he’ll make it painfully obvious the next time that he sees Michael that he knows what Michael truly is. It’s a risk you’re not willing to take yet, at least until you can talk to him about it.

“I think just being around him, and having one-on-one conversations with him. He also helped me out too, told me some stories of the two of us to try and jog my memories.” It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the truth.

“Gallant, we have-oh, am I interrupting something?” Coco’s shrill voice pierces through the air as she waltzes into Gallant’s room without knocking. You share a quick look before simultaneously plastering fake smiles onto your faces.

“Nope, not at all, (Y/N) and I were just chatting.”

“I can come back later, if you’re still talking.” The pinched look on her face, almost like she just caught a whiff of sour milk, makes it clear that she does not want to wait around for you two to finish.

“You’re fine, I’ve got some stuff to do anyways.” You stand up, but not before giving Gallant a quick hug. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“See you tonight.” You sidle past Coco, who refuses to move even an inch out of the way for you, and make your way back to your room.

Parties have never been something you’ve enjoyed, and that’s extremely obvious while you procrastinate for as long as possible. It takes you an hour to ‘pick out’ what you’re going to wear (a dress that you had modified a long time ago, which Venable had then banned for breaking the rules), and another hour to manage to even put it on. You’re standing in front of the mirror, smoothing out some non-existent wrinkles in your outfit, when a loud knock sounds on the door.

“Come in!” You call, knowing that the only one who ever knocks just once is Ms. Mead.

The short woman promptly enters, standing in the doorway with her hands clasped together. It’s mildly disconcerting, seeing the woman you now remember as a robot who aided in the murder of your sisters standing right in front of you. Still, you put on a polite smile as you turn around to look at her.

“How can I help you, Ms. Mead?”

“Langdon has requested your presence in his quarters. You’re to follow me.” She quickly turns around, missing your silent chuckle and eye roll. Of course he couldn’t handle being without you for more than a few hours.

Ms. Mead does her signature knock once again when you reach Michael’s door, waiting a second before opening it.

“I have (Y/N) here, sir.”

“Thank you, Ms. Mead.” You can’t see him, but his voice lilts through the air like smoke. Entering his room, Ms. Mead closes the door behind you quickly.

Michael’s sitting at his desk, working on his laptop that you’re still uncertain of how it’s still functioning. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, waiting until he looks up at you to kiss him.

“She hasn’t seemed too excited to be reunited with you.” You note, allowing Michael to pull you into his lap.

“I had to wipe her memory before the bombs.”

“Why?”

“It was all a part of my father’s plan.” You hate when he uses that line, but you nod anyways. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. I had redesigned this probably a month after the bombs, and Venable nearly chewed my head off when I wore it. She told me that the next time she caught me in it, she would leave me outside for the cannibals.” You’re not sure if it’s because you stripped all of the lace and frills off of the purple dress or if it’s the lack of sleeves that gets her all fired up, but she was absolutely fuming after she had seen what you did to ‘precious resources.’

“Are you not scared of her now that I’m here?” His self-satisfied smirk falls when you start laughing.

“What, did your invitation not say that it was a costume party and that we’re allowed to get creative?”

“I actually declined the invitation, much to Venable’s chagrin.”

“Oh, she let you do that?”

“You forget, angel, that I outrank her. Not only that, but I also own her.” He nips your jaw playfully, eliciting a giggle from you that has his heart soaring.

“I wish I could just ‘decline’ her invitation.” You sigh, leaning your forehead against his.

“Hmm, another perk to owning this Outpost and those who lead it: I get to decide what is mandatory, and for whom it is mandatory for.”

“You talk like a fuckin’ English duke now, did you know that? When’d you pick that up?”

“I do not!”

“Michael, you literally said ‘whom.’” Michael huffs, rolling his eyes towards the back of his head.

“I tell you that you get to skip out on Venable’s Halloween party, and you choose to mock my dialect?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Thank you for getting me out of going to the party.” His face turns to one of mock surprise, making you want to go back to mocking the way he talks.

“You are so welcome.” He smiles cheekily, standing up with his arms around you. Your legs immediately lock around his waist, letting him carry you to where he wants to go. “I was thinking that we could possibly have our own little party in here tonight.”

Michael sets you down on your feet, and you sit in one of the large chairs by the fireplace while you wait for him to elaborate. He remains silent, instead turning around with two glasses of alcohol. A quick sniff and a small drink confirms that it’s a fine wine, typical of Michael and his lifestyle. He watches your face, smirking as you light up at getting to have something other than water and nutrition cubes. Once he’s satisfied that you’ve had enough, he waves a bejeweled hand in the air.

The overhead lighting goes out, replaced by the soft glow of candles that decorate the room. It reminds you of the quiet nights spent with Michael in his dorm after curfew, having to keep only a single candle lit for fear of being caught. Music fills the room, but you can’t quite pinpoint where it’s coming from since the sound is all around you. You look up when Michael approaches you, a hand outstretched.

“Dance with me.” You used to always dance with him, back when things were simple (simpler, at least) and you only had to worry about passing your hexes exam and making sure Michael didn’t die during the test of the Seven Wonders. Sometimes there wouldn’t even be music playing, it was just two people swaying softly to the soundtrack in their minds. You take Michael’s hand, letting him pull you up.

“Your choices of music haven’t changed in the slightest.” Michael’s always been fond of the ‘older’ music, a habit that, though he would never admit it, he inherited from his grandmother. It’s the type of music that can manage to be specific to any situation you’re in; all soft instrumentals and lyrics about veiled love. It’s very telling that Michael’s favorite type of music tends to fit his personality, at least, the personality that he shows you.

You’re sailing softly through the sun

In a broken stone age dawn...

“Does that surprise you?” He murmurs, drawing you into his embrace. Your hands easily fall to their places, one on his shoulder and the other interlocked with his own hand. Michael tightly grips your waist, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent as he starts to sway with you.

You fly so high…

“Not at all. It’s comforting, actually.”

“How so?”

I get a strange magic

Oh, what a strange magic

Oh, it’s a strange magic…

“Because no matter how much your looks may have changed, or how much confidence you’ve gained to change your demeanor, you’re still the same Michael I fell in love with. My Michael.” You don’t see it, but a tear or two escapes Michael’s eye before he can stop them.

“And you’ve always been my angel, (Y/N).”

Got a strange magic

Got a strange magic.

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