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7-wonders · 1 year ago

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Requiem

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

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

Word Count: 6.3k

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

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

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

Mad Love Masterlist

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

“She gonna help us?” she asks warily.

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

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

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

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

“Welcome back,” Mallory says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You haven’t won,” Mallory says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do. You’re going to betray me?

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

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

“That’s ridiculous,” Michael says.

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

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

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

“Ms. Mead?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mallory, I’m scared,” you admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•••

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mallory!” Michael gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tempus Infinituum.”

•••

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

ALSO the Jeff and Mutt thing is canon!

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

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

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

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

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

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ask-michael-langdon · 7 months ago

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*Langdon steps toward you, his fingers drifting against the shelving of old and dusty books littered across the walls as he takes in the sight of where you’re sat in the lobby of the outpost*

Should you be looking through those?

*He chides, eyes drifting to the book in your hand*

#open starter guys pls imso bored #only light roleplay I am notttt writing paragraphs rn #<3333 #michael langdon #michael langdon roleplay #ahs rp #cody fern #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #villain roleplay #evan peters #Tate Langdon #dagan gera

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velangdon · 2 years ago

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AMATIVE→Michael Langdon: Chapter 1

The oppression in my chest remains constant with each step I take. I can occasionally feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I try to keep them at bay. Though I feel an oppressive knot settling in my throat, preventing me from breathing freely, I summon enough courage to approach the entrance of the Palace where the last and greatest party of the cooperative is going to take place.

Despite not yet finding the answers or the adequate reasons to understand how so many people here can feel comfortable celebrating an event that will mark a before and after in the world, the end of everything and everyone, the end of an era and the beginning of another.

Everyone is celebrating the future deaths that will occur tomorrow.

My body is trembling, and although I'm trying my best to keep my legs from collapsing at this moment, I cling to my father's arm. Gripping the fabric of his coat sleeves between my fingers and taking gentle steps to maintain my balance due to the anxiety and nervousness my body is experiencing.

"Calm down, Vitney. We're just approaching the entrance."

My father's harsh voice echoes in my ears, and my stomach tightens as I hear his words. I can't keep calm in a celebration like this, and especially not when I know the secret behind it all.

As we approach the entrance, the knot in my throat continues to tighten, preventing me from uttering a single word. I want to look at my father, but I know that doing so would only dig my own grave since my emotions would collapse and my vulnerable gaze would cause problems between us, not to mention I would receive a lecture from him calling me too sentimental about simple things.

Unfortunately, what seems simple to others is as important to me as my life itself. And this celebration is no exception.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally arrive at the entrance of the Palace where a man and a woman are welcoming all the guests. The woman, who appears to be no older than 25 years, wears an elegant dress with many details in the sleeves, but it's a very dull gray that makes her look sad and drab even though she gives a friendly smile to all the guests. She is in charge of collecting the invitations, and her partner, a man with tanned skin and a friendly expression, is in charge of keeping track of the guest list. He also wears a suit that seems expensive, but it's the same depressing gray as the girl's dress. My mind wanders a bit regarding their role here, which, although they don't appear to be slaves, they somehow manage to give off the impression of being servants of the place. And for some reason, a pinch registers in my chest as I dwell on this naive but profound thought.

When it's our turn for the reception, the girl in the gray dress gives me a sweet and cordial look. I make my best effort to return the same kind of friendly look, but I'm so overwhelmed by all my thoughts that I can barely manage to give her a smile. To my father, who is engaging in small talk with the man in the gray suit and making sure our names are on the list, I give a discreet and suspicious look. He looks so excited to be entering here that it gives me shivers.

"Everything is in order, your names are on the lists of second-tier guests" The man at the reception tells us. "Welcome, and don’t forget to grab a black mask from the box at the end of the hallway. The theme for this last celebration is a masquerade ball."

The mention of a masquerade ball surprises me a little. I've never had the depressing opportunity to attend a cooperative party, but I was completely sure that all the times my parents had attended similar celebrations, the theme was never taken into account, except for the dress code. And I didn’t know if it was something I should be worried about or not, but the idea that this could be deeper than it seems makes me feel anxious and impatient.

I'm lost in my thoughts until I feel my father gently pushing me to start walking again. The woman and man in the reception area lift a pair of elegant silk curtains in a deep crimson color that covers most of the palace entrance, and gesture for us to enter. I hold onto my father's arm tighter, practically just following his steps, unable to control myself.

As we enter the palace, I realize how gloomy and drab the atmosphere is. The decoration is so gothic, elegant, and dreary that I feel as if I am in a castle from the 18th century. The lighting is dim, but it allows me to see a bit of the style of the place, where the walls have details in gold and black. There are some chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the light they emanate is a peculiar reddish tone due to the candles, which are the same shade. The windows have arches as the main detail, and the glass they are made of is slightly dark, as if it has some extra-material that does not allow light to pass through completely. Additionally, there are statues at each corner of what appear to be angels made of marble. They are enormous but beautiful, and it is easy to notice that they are very expensive. I can't completely distinguish the identities of the angels, as they are not familiar to me. But as we move farther and farther in, finally my gaze is frozen on one of the marble angels situated on the side of me, next to a dark hallway leading to deeper stairs. I force myself to stop walking and stand in front of the divine image.

"Lucifer" I quietly whisper to myself, as I am surprised and confused by the sight of the statue of the angel.

I can hear my father sighing next to me, and clearing his throat. My mind races for a moment and something in my chest presses firmly.

"What's surprising you so much, Vitney?" my father asks, a hint of confusion in his voice "There is nothing there"

"The statue, don't you see it? It's Lucifer, the angel..." I reply, pointing to where the statue is. His gaze is so confusing that it makes me want to cry.

"I said there's nothing there, Vitney. Enough" he says harshly, grabbing my wrist with some violence and dragging me away from there, making me walk quickly. "It's already late. We should have been at the celebration for half an hour"

I feel like protesting because of how harshly he speaks to me, but something forces me to keep quiet. The palace belongs to the cooperative, or at least that's what I understand. This means that everything here, including the decorations, are symbols that belong to what this society is. My father has just denied having seen the statue, but I'm sure that the marble angel was Lucifer.

Why does the cooperative have a statue related to the fallen angel?

"Vitney, you have to stop daydreaming" He puts his palm under my chin, forcing me to look at him "I need you here, darling. You know that this celebration is very important to me and your mother, don't you?"

"But dad, I was just..."

"Vitney, no. That's enough. We will enter the celebration and you will put a big and beautiful smile on your face, do you understand? You are my daughter, the daughter of one of the most important cooperative members" he says, squeezing my chin hard, making me gasp for air from the pain "Don't you dare ruin this, Vitney"

His words hit me hard in the heart. Again my throat closes and the prickling in my chest returns. I have never been enough for my father, and my role has always been to be what he wants me to be. The perfect daughter who acts like a shy and well-mannered young lady. Always wearing the most expensive and elegant clothing; the type of woman who has her life mapped out and resolved.

But none of that is who I am.

My father removes his grip from my chin and observes me sternly. Tears form in my eyes, but I hold them back to remember I have makeup on and my vulnerability will likely cause even more anger in him. I lower my gaze to the floor for a moment, until in my vision I see a very elegant and feminine mask in silver and gray tones with some crystals embedded in the edges, as well as lace around the corners of the mask. My father makes a gentle gesture for me to take the mask and place it. I do as he asks, tying the ties of the mask behind my head, a little clumsily because my fingers tremble softly.

"You look beautiful. Now all you need is to remove that bitter face and smile a little. I know you can do it, darling"

I take a deep breath and nod uncertainly. I try to smile as best I can, but I know it comes across as more of a grimace. My father's face lights up in response to my silly expression, and he puts his arm through mine. We walk down the hallway again, and with his free hand he puts on the mask he chose to use. There's nobody around, but the murmurs and music are starting to build. My body tenses a little, and the mere idea of being about to enter a celebration full of greedy and sick people like the cooperative makes me nauseous.

After a few minutes, we arrive at another long passage, but this time there is a delicate shimmer of light at the end of it. Some laughter and shouts of excitement approach, and a shiver runs from my feet to my head.

"Your mother must be completely hysterical not to see us coming." my father says, guiding me towards the entrance at the end of the corridor "You will have to explain the reason for our delay to her."

After hearing his comment, I press my lips together and frown slightly as I divert my gaze towards the new room we are approaching to. Many people belonging to the cooperative are in front of us, and they seem happy and incapable of allowing anything to ruin this moment that is so important to them. Some women are wearing high-end designer dresses, and utterly stylish masks. Men are wearing suits tailored from exclusive materials, and some masks are eerie. I don't know if I'm awestruck or scared, but the surprising thing is to see the repetitive colors in the outfits of everyone.

Red and Black.

As we move forward, the music becomes clearer and the murmurings a little softer. There are walnut wooden tables everywhere. Some attendees are sitting taking appetizers, and others are simply drinking their glasses or having a pleasant conversation. My eyes move from one person to another, and I realize with a start that some impudent and curious glances are directed at me and then at my father. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, but the corners of my eyes betray me and before I realize, I realize that all the attention is centered on me.

It could be because of my dress that doesn't even match the theme or the fact that we arrived with a visibly late delay. But in any case, discomfort begins to affect me, and I have never wished for anything as much as I want to escape from here.

"Look, there is your mother. I'm going to introduce you officially with important people. Be kind and polite, Vitney. It's the only thing I ask of you."

He points to a table in the corner of the room where a group of women and men stand, their masks and masks even more unusual than those of the other guests. I squint my eyes a little, distinguishing my mother thanks to his jet-black hair tied in a typical bun on the back of her neck. I see her laugh joyously, and for a moment her smile is contagious, spreading the delight that she emanates.

In a short moment, she throws a quick glance our way as we approach her table. Her lips part in surprise at our appearance.

"Vitney, my princess!" My mother screams enthusiastically. She quickly rises from her seat and runs forward a little, making her heels clatter against the fine marble floor "You look beautiful, sweetheart!"

She gasps with excitement and hugs me tightly as she reaches me, closing my eyes for a moment, as I feel the sensation of my eyes forming more desperate tears.

"I apologize for the delay..." I reply in a low voice, hugging her around the waist "I was just a bit nervous, and Dad got frustrated again, as always..."

My mother sighs and then separates from me. She gives the people seated at the table a quick glance before turning to me and walking with me to a place away from everyone. She strokes my arms and shakes her head softly.

"It's understandable sweetheart, these kinds of celebrations can be overwhelming and ... especially knowing that it's your first time in our world." She smiles. "Don't let your father ruin this last night for you"

Don't let your father ruin this last night for you.

An impulse of disappointment grips me, and again the oppression in my chest weakens me. My mother's words sound so harsh and true that I want to burst into tears. I don't know how I can bear being in this place, considering that the Apocalypse is around the corner. And that surely anyone who is underneath one of those masks or masks is the mastermind behind the next catastrophe.

My mother hugs me again, and even though I try to prevent it, I'm feeling emotional again. Tears run down my cheeks like a river, and I hold her tightly. I can feel that some people are looking at us, but the only thing I can think about is staying close to the only thing that has helped me stay on my feet since I was a child, and that's my mother.

It feels like a farewell, and that's what hurts the most. Because I'm sure she has no idea what's going to happen with us either, even though my father made it clear that the cooperative has built a kind of bunkers around the world to serve as a refuge for the elite.

We are supposed to be part of that elite.

"Don't make it sound like a farewell, Mom" I reply with a quivering voice "Please. We'll be fine, right?"

She looks at me, smiling sadly. She strokes my hair without saying anything, and then joins her hands with mine. More tears form beneath my eyes, and now I cannot stop them. She gives me a gentle squeeze on my hands. I'm about to ask her for all possible explanations she can give me because desperation is killing me slowly, but quickly she takes me by the waist, turning me to the opposite side of the room. She squeezes one of my shoulders, and I watch her in confusion.

"Mom, what are you..."

"Vitney, be quiet. Your father is coming here" my mother squeezes my shoulders, looking in a specific direction "Stand up straight, dear"

A few seconds later, my father is already standing in front of us. He wears an overly visible smile on his face and moves to my side, separating me from my mother's arm.

"Dear, you're coming with me. I need to introduce you to someone" my father says with enthusiasm, placing a hand on my waist and leading me through the tables "Be on your best behaviour, okay?"

"Who do I need to meet?" I ask, a bit irritated, not understanding the situation.

My father does not reply, and he forces me to keep walking between the tables, holding on to my wrist firmly. I want to get out of his grip, but he is stronger than me, and he does not notice my discomfort. I am a few seconds away from yelling at him to let me go, when a voice becomes present behind us, and my father stops abruptly. He turns quickly and forces me to do the same. I lower my gaze and close my eyes, refusing to face my reality.

"Good evening, Mr. Lacey" an unknown but authoritative, discrete, and masculine voice reaches my ears. It speaks to my father. I tremble a little but do not have the courage to look. "It's a pleasure to have you here, I thought you might not come"

"Sir, what an honour. Of course we would be here, we just had a small mishap" my father responds and laughs nervously.

I squeeze my fingers around my father's arm, and feel his body leaning towards me. He squeezes my waist and I jump in place a little.

"Stop acting like a frightened, immature girl. Be educated, Vitney. You have the most important representative of the cooperative right in front of us" he whispers in my ear in an ironic and aggressive tone. "You are already a woman, you have to stop running away from everything around you"

A tear runs down my cheek due to the hostility of his words. I have no choice, but I feel so anguished and nervous that I don't dare to look anyone in the eye. My father squeezes my arm aggressively, as a warning to let me know that he won't repeat things twice. Finally, I take the courage to open my eyes and lift my gaze. My vision is clouded by tears, but I manage to glimpse the outline of a man in front of me.

"Miss Lacey" the voice makes itself present again, and this time it speaks to me. I freeze in my place, but the man moves, walking in my direction.

I can't answer. I know that if I do, I'll start crying.

"My name is Michael Langdon and I am the representative of the cooperative" the man says in a formal tone "It is a pleasure to meet you, miss."

Then, for some unknown reason, as I hear his name, I feel my heart skip a beat. And I realize that I am on the verge of falling into my own perdition.

[Hey! The first chapter of "Amative" of my Michael fanfic is finally published. It was quite a challenge because my English is not very good and my novel is originally written in Spanish, and if there are any errors, please have patience as I still struggle a bit to translate my story into English.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, btw. <3]

#ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon #cody fern #american horror story #michael langdon x fem!reader #ahs fandom

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nephilimsss · 1 year ago

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𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 ! michael langdon masterlist

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x ooc brides of dracula GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST

o.oi :: too bad, so sad !

#michael langdon imagines #michael langdon smut #michael langdon #michael langdon series #cody fern #american horror story #ahs: apocalypse #brides of dracula inspired #brides of dracula

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thepencilnerd · 2 months ago

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Feels Like Trouble

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3

It started at the nurses’ station.

You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too close—Jackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.

"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"

You gave a polite smile. "I’m not really a spirits person, but thanks."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"You said drink, right? I’m more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."

He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.

"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "That’s the fourth time this week. It’s painful, man."

Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."

"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.

Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you.

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked.

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."

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carmenlikeme · 19 days ago

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—would you still love me if i was a worm?

summary: I wanted to make the old smau content I did with my older blog so this is the first instance and the classic "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

characters: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Trinity Santos, Samira Mohan, Jack Abbot, Melissa King, Frank Langdon, Dennis Whitaker, Mateo Diaz.

a/n: it was so fun making this!! i'll definitely make a part two if you want to see more characters hehe, which one was your favorite? I'll make my post to open requests soon if you enjoy this! if you see any typo no u didn't, I wrote this without checking

#carmenlikeme #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt imagine #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robinavich x reader #trinity santos x reader #samira mohan x reader #jack abbot x reader #melissa king x reader #frank langdon x reader #dennis whitaker x reader #mateo diaz x reader #the pitt smau

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words-4u · 2 months ago

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healing hands - f.l

pairing: frank langdon x nurse f!reader

wc: 1.2k

a/n: a lil rusty after a year and a half of not writing so forgive me but i am so pitt-pilled. love this show soooo much

the PTMC is sometimes one of the best places to be. every shift is full with fresh faces and most often than not, people getting a new lease on life with life saving/changing surgeries but other times, like today, it's the last place you and your fellow practitioners want to be... and yet you push through.

"okay jason, you're gonna feel some pain but it will be over before you know it," you say to the patient sitting across from you. it's an easy case, a late twenty something came in with serious shoulder pain. you were able to diagnose it off of first glance.

"what like now, here?" the look on his face made you smile. "trust me you'll be fine."

you scoot over on a stool with wheels.

"got a girlfriend, jason? boyfriend?" you ask as you take the affected arm, putting it on your shoulder.

"single but dating in pittsburgh is hell," he winces.

"on any apps?"

"tried tinder but i'm-- AAAHH," he yells out. you pushed down on his arm and realigned into his socket. his eyes almost fall out of his head when he whips his head over to you.

you try to mask a smile.

"hurts less when you don't expect it," you say apologetically.

as you take off your gloves robby walks over. "y/n, need. any help?"

"nope, just a shoulder dislocated which i just corrected. jason here just needs a brace and some ibuprofen for the pain," you say with a smile.

"good, can i talk to you for a second?" robby motions his head over to an empty hallway.

"of course," you say. "hey, princess, can you finish this off? just a brace and ibuprofen."

"got it!" princess says, continuing where you left off.

you walk off with robby. he stops you placing his finders on your elbow.

"how are you?" he asks, more sincerely tis time.

"good as i can be. what's up?" you notice his small smile turn into an uncomfortable look.

"robby, what's going?"

"listen, i know i'm not supposed to know about you and frank but he needs you right now," he says in a low tone.

"i- okay," you manage to say. how else do you respond to your boss saying he knows about your secret, clearly no-so-secret, workplace romance. "um... langdon, w-where is he?"

"ambulance bay. i sent him outside to get some air,"

you nod. "okay, thanks robby," you say moving out of the hallway and trying to making it outside without running.

the ambulance bay door opens and you are hit with the cool evening air. you whip your head around trying to find your boyfriend until you see it, two feet on the back of a parked ambulance.

the shuffle of your feet alerted him to our presence. he sniffles trying to wipe the tears off his face, he stops when he sees it's you. his eyes soften but voice still rigid.

"shouldn't you be with a patient?" he asks.

"i was. robby told me where you were," you softly. "frank, what happened?"

"it's nothing, really, i'm okay," he says and you both know it's a lie. his still covered in blood.

you move closer to him and without saying a word you reach your hands around his neck and untie the white disposable surgical gown coloured with dry blood. you scrunch it up and put it to the side.

"i know you don't like to talk about these things, that you think keeping it in is somehow better... but i'm here, frank." you say taking a seat next to him. you place a hand on his knee, stroking your thumb up and down.

for a moment you just sit there listening to him catch his breath. frank langdon's not one to share his hardships. you try your best to coax it out of him but you've learned he'll share what's on his mind and heart when he's ready.

"she was young," he began. you look at him, ready to take on the sadness that was weighing on him. "not child young but mid to late 20s. it was her fucking wedding day"

you fully take his left hand now holding it between yours.

"she came in with her husband, blood all over her gown. it was liver failure and i tried... we tried everything, did all the right steps. we intubated, we got her more blood, reduced her ammonia levels and it was looking good for a while until..."

frank gets choked up again.

"she had cerebral edema i was so focused on what i could see that i wasn't paying attention to thing i couldn't. i didn't see the full picture,"

"hey, no. no, frank we don't do this," you say. "we don't blame ourselves for things we can't control."

"i could've saved her, y/n, she died on her wedding day. her husband is a widow at the age of 30 because of me," the hurt was clear in his voice.

"if she succumbed to her brain injury that quickly there was nothing you, nor dr. garcia or anyone could have done to save her," you say. you see him nod slightly but he needs more convincing.

"look at me," you say softly. "hey..."

you take your fingers and move frank's head to face you. "you're one of the best fucking doctors i know, okay? i don't have to have been there to know that you gave it your absolute all just like you do for everyone who walks through those doors seeking help. you have healing hands, frank, but sometimes it's just out of our control and we have to live with that. you know this."

he nods more definitively this time.

"i just kept picturing you," he says honestly and you're slightly taken aback. "i know i shouldn't have but i couldn't help it,"

"i'm here... and i'm okay," you say moving even closer. you loop your arm through his and lay your head on his shoulder. your fingers laced with his. "you're not getting rid of me that easily."

frank chuckles. "yeah, i guess you're right," he kisses your head before resting his head on yours.

after a moment, you ask, "…who the hell told robby about us?"

you feel frank still under you. you pick your head up and face him with an accusatory look. "frank..."

"we were in the lounge together last week and he maybe saw a glimpse of my contact photo for you when you called," he said super quickly.

"the one of us in bed?!!? oh god, my boss knows what my sex hair looks like," you put your head in your hands, very embarrassed.

frank laughs. like a real belly laugh. and while you were still mortified at the though of robby seeing that picture, it was even better to hear him laugh like that.

"i'm glad my trauma bring you pleasure," you joke, slightly shoving him.

frank leans in and whispers, "that's not the thing of yours that brings me pleasure,"

this time you laugh, "shut up," you say cupping his face pulling him in for a kiss. frank tries to deepen it but you break away.

you get up from the back of the ambulance. "c'mon, lover boy. you got lives to save."

you hold out your hand and he takes it.

"we got lives to save," he says back to you, finally getting up.

#the pitt #the pitt imagine #the pitt x reader #frank langdon #dr langdon #frank langdon imagine #frank langdon x reader #langdon #langdon imagine #dr langdon x reader #dr. robby #robby imagine #robby x reader #michael robinavitch

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nfr-girly · 2 months ago

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can we talk about how FINEE the cast of the Pitt is

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fandomfucker · 2 months ago

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You Can Be My Patient | Dr. Mel King x Gn!Reader

Synopsis: Firefighter!Reader runs into girlfriend Dr. King after they get hurt on the job.

⚠️TW⚠️: Talk of suicide, guns, gunshot wounds, lots of blood

A/N: There are for sure medical inaccuracies in here, apologies in advance. Doesn't follow the actual plot of the show so no spoilers, also heavily inspired by 9-1-1 🙂‍↕️

Word Count: 1,788

Noise clung to you like static. The only thing you could really make out was the thunderous sound of your heart beating in your ears. The last thing you remembered for certain was an ear-splitting boom, before nothing.

It was called in as just a kid on a ledge. Something you were the best on the team at. What no one had noticed, was that this kid wasn't just suicidal.

He had wanted to take others out with him.

None of the several 911 callers had seen the gun, what with him standing at the top of a billboard why would they have? He wanted to lure someone up there with him.

And that someone just so happened to be you.

You stood at the edge of the aerial ladder as your partner slowly rose you up enough to step onto the billboard where you called out to him. You never saw it until it was too late. And by then, the officer that had been canvassing from below took a shot as well.

The two of you hit the rungs at the same time, your name being screamed over your crackling radio the last thing you could make out over the buzzing in your ear.

Your eyes shifted, taking in your bloodied surroundings as a means of control as your nervous system began to override everything else. You were just in your team’s ambulance, but you had never seen it from this perspective before, and where you formerly felt confident you now just felt foreign.

Adrenaline coursed through you, leaving you shaking and breathless even as you just laid on the gurney.

Callie, your favorite paramedic at your station, stroked your hair with one hand as she kept pressure on your wound with the other.

"Hey, we're almost there, 'k? We're getting you to the best doctors possible. We're two minutes out alright, just hold on."

As your panic began to increase as whatever initial shock you had started to wear off, you were more and more aware of the bullet wound in your shoulder. The agonizing burn of it, to be more specific.

You could feel the hot sticky liquid flowing down your arm and your back, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that it coated the floor as well. You could smell the metallic properties of it, unsure if part of it was fused with the burnt metal of the bullet.

"Where's the kid?" You managed to ask her, your voice dry and cracking.

"He's in the other ambulance, GSW to the head. Don't worry about him though, just worry about you."

You closed your eyes, overcome by a sudden bout of nausea as the ambulance came to an abrupt halt, the wheels of the gurney shaking you.

They rolled you through the doors of the E.R., the bright lights making you close your eyes tightly as a reverberating pounding began from the back of your head. Callie shushed you gently as a small groan left your lips.

Fingers pulled your right eyelid back right as a bright light was shone directly into your eyeball. You knew what they were doing, but in your dazed state, all you wanted was to keep every light possible out of your line of sight.

The hand holding your eyelid dropped it but immediately picked up the other eyelid and shone the light in that eye while another set of hands held your head still.

Words you couldn't quite comprehend were thrown at and around you as your head was released and you felt the movement of the gurney you laid on. You heard "Dr. Langdon" and managed to open your eyes on your own to a squint. You recognized that name from what your girlfriend had told you about a few of her colleagues. Namely, Dr. Langdon, with whom she’d been working very closely.

You didn’t recognize his face but with the way he seemingly commanded the room you could tell who he was. He helped Callie and the other paramedic, Danni, move you from the gurney to a bed, making you bite back a groan of pain as more blood seeped through the tattered remains of your shirt.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I’m Dr. King-“ The woman entering your little cubicle stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you. You probably looked a mess, with what you were sure was blood spattered on your face and your hair stuck to your sweat-soaked skin, not to mention the sheer amount of blood just all over everything.

“Y/N?” She spoke softly in horrified shock. You managed a small grin as Dr. Langdon got to work removing the rest of your shirt, removing every obstacle between him and your wound. He spared a glance towards Dr. King but never actually stopped for a second. “Hey, Mel.”

Her eyes were wide, glued to the amount of blood still coming from your shoulder that Langdon now gripped, prepared to move you to see the full extent but waiting for Mel.

He glanced at you before looking back at Mel. “Dr. King? Is there a problem here?”

You gave her a small nod of encouragement; you trusted her to heal you so long as she was okay with it. She twiddled with her pen against her clipboard as she searched for a proper response.

“Dr. King?”

It’s like she was shocked back to the present, she ran to your injured side and began doing a check of everything as she began to ramble. “Do you have any dizziness or nausea? A headache?” She braced your upper body as the two of them raised your injured shoulder. You hissed in pain, gritting your teeth.

“Through and through,” Langdon stated, grabbing some gauze to put in each side of the wound before wrapping it up.

You took in a deep breath, trying to remember the questions Mel had asked you. “No dizziness, but yes nausea and double yes, headache,” you groaned.

Mel walked around to your other side as Langdon began to cover up the bullet holes. She brushed some of the sweaty hair off your forehead and you closed your eyes, leaning into her touch.

“Are you on any medications that we should be aware of? Have any allergies?” Langdon asked, glancing at you before doing a double-take at Mel’s fingers in your hair.

Before you could even get a chance to answer, she was answering for you. “No allergies, but they’re on escitalopram.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow at where your fingers now clutched tightly onto the hem of Mel’s scrubs. “And, you would know that how?”

Mel looked sort of affronted at him as if he should’ve known already despite having never met before. “They’re my partner. I would hope that I know their medical history.”

Langdon let out a small laugh, finishing up the wrapping. “Well, in that case, you can help fill out all their paperwork. I’ll let the OR know we’re ready when they are.” He turned to you just before he left the room, “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

She pulled up the small stool on wheels next to your bedside and took up residence as she filled out your paperwork. Only leaving your side once to get you some pain medication. She kept you entertained while also making sure you stayed awake until they put you under for your surgery.

You tried to explain to her what happened, through your hazy memory and brain currently turned to mush. It wasn’t your first concussion and certainly wouldn’t be your last with your line of work which made Mel all the more nervous.

When the OR was finally ready for you, Mel made sure to be the one to bring up upstairs. She hesitated at the end of your bed before she had to leave, visibly anxious. “Come here.” She smiled softly, holding out your good hand for her to hold. “I’m gonna be okay, I promise. I’ll be in recovery waiting for you before you know it.” She smiled slightly, knowing you were in the best possible hands. “I love you, Mel, this isn’t going to keep me away from you.”

She ducked her head, a small blush coating her cheeks. She squeezed your hand, a small smile gracing her lips. “I love you too. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You grinned, as much as you still could to recite something the two of you had originally bonded over when you first started dating. “Always?”

“Always,” She laughed, sounding like pure heaven.

**********

“How long 'til I can go back to work, Doc?” You had woken up from surgery a little over an hour ago. Mel had been able to get the rest of her shift off to stay with you until you could go home the next day.

Mel frowned at you slightly, “At least a month or two, and possibly a little bit of physical therapy depending on if any tendons were torn. But I want you to get as much rest as possible. You don’t always have to rush back to work. You’re allowed to rest.”

You sighed softly, this was a conversation the two of you had had a few times before. Maybe now that something serious happened, you would be more open to slowing down. If not for you then for her.

"I was.. I was really worried about you." She kept her gaze on the ground as she let out a large breath that, by the sound of it, she'd been holding in for quite some time.

You reached out your hand, knowing that while she did enjoy your touch, she typically preferred it to be on her terms. She softly grabbed your hand, pulling herself closer to you as she gripped it harder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. And, I would’ve been more careful had we known the kid had a gun.” There was a lump in your throat as you swallowed, suddenly being the one to avoid eye contact.

“But you didn’t know, and there was no way to know.” She absently drew different shapes on the back of your hand as she cradled it in her lap. “But, it’s okay because I’m a doctor, and that’s what I’m here for. You can be my patient.” She smiled at you, in that cute way she does that reminds you of pure sunshine.

You squeezed her hand, your head lolling to the side as some of the residual drowsiness snuck up on you.

“I love you,” and a kiss on your forehead was the last thing you remembered before you were totally asleep. Comforted in the knowledge that your girlfriend would still be there when you woke up, and every second afterward.

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booksandteaandtears · 3 days ago

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Building something

Michael 'Dr. Robby' Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

continuation of Teaching Hospital (was meant to be a short, but now I can't stop myself from turning it into a mini-series)

summary: something starts building between the two. quite literally. ft. chaotic mornings, highly interested colleagues, furniture and a very stubborn reader

genre: pure fluff, a few shorter snippets, an overview of them falling in love, Robby is a simp

about 2.1k words

masterlist

You hadn't expected Dr. Robby to call you literally fifteen minutes after you left the hospital, but that wasn't to say you weren't happy with it. He'd opened the bottle of wine two days later, seated on your balcony, heaps of Indian food in front of you, Elle Fitzgerald playing in the background -your choice.

He'd been a real gentleman, especially because your arm was still in the sling: pulling back your chair, cutting pieces that were too big, insisting you were not allowed to do the dishes. There were jokes and prolonged eye contact, subtle touches when reaching for the wine bottle and flirty remarks.

When he was saying goodbye on your doorstep, you promised him you'd cook next time. "Next time?" He asked. You nodded at him. "I'll pick you up when your shift ends Friday. Try not to be too late. Emphasis on try." Then you kissed him on his cheek, turned around and closed the door. Robby was stunned on the step for a minute, unaware that you were squealing on the other side of the door.

All your dates flowed easily, conversation was great, the banter even better. The second date (where he had been late, because a trauma had come in ten minutes before he was supposed to leave), had earned Robby a peck on his lips. By the third date he couldn't help himself, and pulled you against him when you tried to make it a quick kiss again. After a second he could feel you melt into his chest, hands gripping the hair in his neck. When you both came up for air he leaned his forehead against yours, noses touching. "Sorry," he whispered. "I've been wanting to do that since you came into my ER. Couldn't stop myself this time." You smile back at him, turning you lips towards his ear. "I know." You whispered. "I was trying to test when you'd finally make a move. Took you two dates longer that I thought." Upon hearing this, his hands shot towards your jaw and his lips found yours again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Dana tried to be subtle. Keyword: tried. It just did not come naturally to her. So when Robby turned up to work with a smile on his face after date three, she could not help herself. "Did you help the lady with her wine? Got your hoodie back yet? You're looking less of a sad boy every week." By some unfortunate miracle both Langdon and Abbot were near enough to hear her ask, and they abandoned whatever they were doing to join the questioning committee. "The lady? What lady?" "You gave your hoodie away? You never allow me near the thing." Robby sighed. "Thanks Dana. I'll be withdrawing your wingwoman title." He turned towards the break room, the two men stalking behind him.

"Come on, brother. You can't keep this stuff to yourself." Abbot was saying as Robby poured himself some coffee. "I can, and I will." "What can't he keep to himself?" Collins had chosen that moment to join them. Robby sighed. Timing was not on his side today. Collins grabbed the coffee from his hand and took a sip. "Is this about the patient wearing your hoodie a couple weeks ago? The one with the pretty face? How did your flirting turn out?" "Fli-flirting?" Langdon stuttered, "In the ER? With a PATIENT?" Robby sighed, again. "Yes, Langdon. Flirting. In the ER. With a patient. Did you think I had forgotten how to?" Then Robby turned out the door and fled from his residents.

Half an hour later a betting pool was started on when exactly Dr. Robby would admit he had a girlfriend. Dana's money was on four months, Jack's on five.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning after date four Robby had woken in your bed. He smiled to himself when he realised where he was and pulled you closer against him, breathing in your hair. There had been no awkwardness, not the night before, not that morning as you took a shower while he made breakfast. He was fascinated by your morning ritual, the speed at which you shoved eggs into your mouth, while somehow simultaneously applying mascara and reading emails. He leaned back in his chair, calmly sipping coffee. "You know, you told me you hated mornings, but now I see why. I know women can multitask, but this is too much too handle at once, for anyone." You smirked. "You caught me on a good day, Michael. If it'd been a court day there would be stacks of paper everywhere. And I would have taken an extra fifteen minutes getting dressed." It had taken you a good half an hour already today. Robby blinked and mumbled something about efficiency. When the last of breakfast had disappeared you sprinted upstairs, grabbing you bag and heels, and came charging down the stairs again. "Right," you mumbled as you sifted through your bag, "Keys, laptop, charger, phone, wallet." You wobbled on one heel as you tried to put on the other. Robby stepped in and stabilised you. "Thanks," you smiled at him. "Thanks for last night, and for breakfast. It was calm this morning because of you." Robby chuckled at you. "This was calm? I can't wait to catch you on a bad day." You pulled him towards yourself and kissed him, closer to his lips now you were on heels. "Sleep over again tonight and you might experience it tomorrow. I'll be back around 8, you up for some Chinese food tonight?" Robby smiled and kissed her again. "Text me when you leave, I'll take care of the food." With another peck she bolted out the door.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

By month three of dating you decided Robby needed some wardrobe space in your house. He'd started taking extra clothes to work so he'd have a chance to change after he'd spend the night, but you hated that. You wanted him to feel at home in your place. Robby argued that he felt quite at home, as he'd spend almost every night of the past two weeks there, but you wouldn't hear it. You had decided on it, and nothing an nobody could steer you from it now. Robby was learning to work with that stubbornness, so he'd agreed on it eventually. There was, however, the small issue of actually making space in your wardrobe. It should have been easy, having a massive walk-in, but it had been filled to the brim for years, piling over into other rooms recently.

At the moment you were both staring at the walk-in. Robby tried to keep the smirk of his face. Your eyes pinched in determination and gestured towards a cabinet at the back. "If I fit more shoes into the right side of that cabinet, I can give you a plank on the left." As you opened the right side, shoes fell out and you were nearly buried beneath them. Robby was working hard on keeping a poker-face, knowing you'd stop being stubborn when you were ready for it, but not before. He kept his distance in the doorway. After you'd opened two more cabinets and the floor was littered with clothes and shoes, he'd had enough of it. You were sat amid the chaos, feeling defeated. He shuffled in front of you, knees groaning as he sat down. His back was leaning against one of the closet doors that wasn't opened. "I think," he started carefully, "You might have a few too many clothes to be making space." You pouted at him. "How about you pick out an extra wardrobe, we put it in your spare bedroom and I take a drawer there? You can fill the rest with your overflow. Might even be able to buy that new dress you've been eyeing since we saw it in town last week." You shuffled yourself towards his laps and straddled him. "Excellent problem solving skills, Dr. Robinavitch. I can see why you're good in an ER." You laughed and kissed him, his hands finding your waist. "But you'll be the one putting that wardrobe together, cause I've got two left hands and I don't want to end up in your Pitt." "Deal." He whispered against your lips and pulled you closer towards him on his lap. The two of you stayed in that wardrobe quite some time.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

While Robby had thought a new wardrobe would mean a trip to IKEA, you had tastes that pointed you the opposite way. That was how Robby was now stood in you spare room, looking at the pieces of an antique wardrobe you had picked out. You were in court all day, and he had a day of, so he'd decided that this would be the day he'd try to build the thing. No audience when he'd inevitably end up cursing at the wardrobe. IKEA building he could do, that was as easy as following the manual, but this required actual skill in carpentry. After ten minutes of staring at the heavy wood he decided he'd need to call in back up.

Court was adjourned for fifteen minutes when you finally dared to take a peek at your phone. Your background was still a picture of a trip to the Alps a couple years back, but you were debating on changing it to the close up picture you took of you and Robby holding hands at the farmers market last weekend.

Robby: So, I'd rather not admit it, but I need to call in back up for that wardrobe of yours. You okay with me inviting a friend into your home? 😅

You: As long as you serve him the good coffee I'm all for it! 😉 Top cabinet next to the mugs.

You: And with a friend you mean Jack, right?

Robby: Yep, he's coming over in ten

You: Will said friend stay for dinner? I'd like to meet him. Planning on making pasta alla norma! 🍝

Robby: He'd be delighted 😘

And so there were three of you on the balcony that evening. Abbot had saved the day. As a reward, you had taken a nice, Italian red from your stash and were enjoying it slightly chilled. Robby had learned early on that he had nog choice in wines, not at home, nor at a restaurant. He had picked up a very sour white wine once and was banned from ever choosing wine again.

He'd been worried about you meeting his best friend, but in all honesty, not a second had been awkward between the two of you. You were in excited conversation about the workmanship that had gone into your new wardrobe, Abbot apparently got just as animated about good carpentry as you, so Robby had zoned out of the conversation a while ago. He was quite content looking at the view, hearing you and his friend go on about dovetail joints and how to best treat mahogany. At some point you stood up to get more wine, leaving Abbot and Robby.

"So," began Jack. "Why the hell have you been hiding her from us all these months?" Robby rolled his eyes. "It's been barely three months, give me a break." Jack laughed. "She's a catch, brother. And you know it. She gets it, doesn't she? Your life? How work overtakes it all some days?" Robby nodded. "It's not the same, being a prosecutor, but it's similar in some things. Work never stops, the responsibilities are massive, making mistakes hurts people. She understands the pressure, the stakes. She knows the hurt people can bring about, the terror a human being can bring onto someone else." It was Jack's turn to nod. Robby looked at his friend and smiled. "It hasn't diluted her though, that life, she's so bright and happy and sure. She's strong." "And Dana approved of her." Jack replied. Robby laughed, a genuine smile reaching his eyes. "Yes, that she did."

When Jack had left, the two of you were sat on the sofa, staring out of the balcony doors, enjoying the end of a lovely evening. You had snuggled up into Robby, head resting on his chest. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of your head. "Michael," You whispered, "I think I love you." You looked up at him. A warmth filled his heart. "I know I love you." He whispered back.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch #dana evans #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #heather collins #the pitt imagine #the pitt fic #noah wyle #the pitt hbo #jack abbot #dr abbot #frank langdon

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7-wonders · 1 year ago

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At the Edge of the Universe

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

Summary: It’s time to meet the residents of Outpost 3 as Michael begins his interviews to see who will make it to the Sanctuary (spoiler alert: not many).

Word count: 4.1k

A note from the author: Surprise Mad Love drop! We are down to our last three or four chapters, can you believe it? I've told myself that I'm not allowed to write anything else until I finish this, so expect updates semi-frequently. Goal is to get this bad boy finished by June! As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!

Mad Love Masterlist

This is your fourth Outpost visit, and as you look out at the small crowd of survivors gathered in the sitting room of Outpost 3, you believe that you can confidently say that every one of them looks exactly the same.

Not appearance-wise, of course. Overseers are allowed to establish their own rules for their respective Outposts, including wardrobes. Most had been pretty laidback, actually. Outpost 3 is by far the most draconian, and you’re already regretting not pushing back on Michael’s decision to have you join him as you sweat in your stiff Victorian gown.

Though outfits and rules may change, what doesn’t is the faces. Every single time, when you and Michael arrive and make your introductions, the faces of the survivors are filled with hope. The hope of new drama, the hope of continued survival, the hope of a way out of the Outpost. It’s so familiar now, and each time, it’s pained you to see. These people that the apocalypse has spared, whether due to circumstance or societal standing, have no idea that they’re just pawns in Michael’s game of chess. No, worse than pawns. They’re nothing but dolls, amusement for Michael to play with before tossing them to the side like they’re worthless.

“My name is Langdon,” Michael starts. Instead of introducing you, he looks to you to introduce yourself, and you press your lips together to keep from smirking. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.

He immediately does the moment that you introduce yourself with your first and last name. Your legal last name, the one you were born with, and not that of your infernal husband. You can feel him looking at you, surely with barely-contained rage. Instead of looking back, you simply smile warmly at the occupants of Outpost 3, waiting for Michael to get back with the program.

“We won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says after a brief stumble. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here is crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.”

There are a couple of other things that don’t change from Outpost to Outpost, you note as you watch the interaction that unfolds. The questions, for instance, are almost always the same, and almost always asked out of turn in a way that is guaranteed to infuriate Michael. What happened to everybody, what’s the Sanctuary, will some survive, etc. You clock every single question—even robot Ms. Mead’s, though that one wasn’t too surprising since you knew how she was reprogrammed—and listen as Michael gives the same answers that he always does.

Something else that doesn’t change? The abject lust displayed by a good contingent of the survivors. Michael’s a very attractive man, which you obviously know. 18 months is a long time to be surrounded by a very small amount of people day in and day out, and now that there’s fresh blood offering them a chance at salvation, they’ll do anything to convince him that they’re worthy. You frown as the survivors jockey for his attention, to be first.

Not because you’re jealous or anything. It seems as though the only aspect of Michael’s personality that has remained untouched through his rebirth into a full-fledged Antichrist is his devotion to you. No, you frown because you know that Michael loves to use this to his advantage. After all, lust is one of the seven deadly sins.

“What was that?” Michael asks after the introduction is over and as soon as the doors close behind you in the office in which the interviews will be conducted.

“What?” you ask coyly, playing a game of your own.

“You know what.”

“Oh, that?” Michael nods exasperatedly. “Langdon’s not my last name.”

You’re not sure if he looks more angered or bewildered, though the combination does have a pleasing shade of red creeping up his neck. “Of course it is, you’re my wife!”

“Not legally,” you retort.

“Well, we can’t exactly go to a courthouse to make it legal.”

“Hmm, maybe you should have waited for us to get to the point where I wanted to get legally married before ending the world.”

Michael’s jaw clenches, and he smirks. “Clever, though I have to say that your attitude is getting old.”

“And yours isn’t?”

You’re both breathing heavily as you glare, daring the other to continue. You fight with Michael so often now that this is a familiar dance, and you know the next move. He goes to kiss you, and though you’re certainly tempted, you put a hand up to stop him.

“No! No, we are not having sex right now.” You try to sound convincing, though you might be attempting to convince yourself more than Michael. It’s just so easy to resort to sex. It’s the one thing that you both agree on in this new world—that you’re good at having sex together. Plus, that’s one of the only times that you don’t completely hate him, and though it pains you to admit it, you look forward to those moments when you forget why you should think him a monster.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “We could, though.”

“No.”

To drive the point home, you put as much space between you as possible and go to the desk that holds all of the files of every Outpost 3 resident. If there’s one thing that gets Michael’s mind out of the gutter, it’s talking about his magnum opus: the apocalypse.

“What’s Dinah doing here?” That had been quite the shock, to greet Outpost 3 and find yourself meeting the eyes of the (now former, you suppose) voodoo queen. Though her own had widened in a frightened recognition, she looked down at her hands and kept her gaze there for the remainder of the meeting. The man next to her, her son, was one of those who instantly fell a little bit in love with Michael.

“She bought her spot, just like all the other rich fucks.”

“So she won’t be joining us back at the Sanctuary,” you tease.

“Absolutely not, especially now that I have no use for her and her powers.”

Ever since ending the world, Michael’s powers have blossomed into a whole different beast. He’s so powerful now that you don’t even know the extent, and you don’t think you want to. Where before, he would have needed the help of a voodoo queen or the Supreme when doing something especially complicated or out of his wheelhouse (such as enlisting Dinah’s help when you ate Satan’s poisoned apple or getting a spell from Mallory to reveal the ghost of Cordelia Goode), now, their powers would be worthless to him. You’re no expert when it comes to magic, but you think that his power must be equal to at least ten Supremes.

You certainly don’t want to test that theory.

“How many survivors will be accompanying us back to the Sanctuary, do you think?” you ask.

“Considering I’m not hopeful about interviews, there will be two. A man and a woman, both selected for their optimal genetics.” The interviews are never something to be hopeful over, because they almost always are a disappointment. In the other twelve Outposts, there have been a total of nine survivors that impressed Michael enough with interviews alone that he spared them from their original fates and gave them a spot at the Sanctuary.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the two that are very obviously in love with each other.”

“Which ones?”

You rifle through the folders until you find two with pictures that match who you were looking at in the library. “These two. Timothy and Emily.”

He looks up at you curiously. “How could you tell?”

“When they weren’t watching you, they were staring at each other.”

Though the two were sat across the room from each other, their eyes were continually drawn together like magnets of differing polarities. You’re a little shocked that Michael couldn’t tell, considering his ‘night vision of the soul,’ as he calls it.

You just call it his creepy Antichrist powers.

You try not to, but you find yourself beginning to look through all of the files. They’re all fairly simple; a headshot, a bio, medical information. Really, Michael only uses them to look official and mysterious as he begins to pick their personalities apart bit by bit. For you however, they help to get to know the survivors, even just a little bit.

That’s precisely why you don’t like looking through these, why you don’t like these visits at all. Because knowing them, and knowing their ultimate fates, is something that makes you sick. Maybe that’s the price you’re forced to pay by the universe for being the Antichrist’s wife. You’re forced to be complicit in the continued mind games and eventual deaths of these people who thought that they were somehow safe after the bombs dropped.

Michael scoffs at the next file you flip open. “That’s one interview I’m dreading.”

“Her?”

“Mhm, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt.” His words drip with disdain.

Coco…the name strikes some level of familiarity, but you can’t remember where you would have met a Coco. She didn’t look familiar when you saw her and her…interesting hair in the sitting room. She’s obviously a socialite, so maybe she was trending for some scandal or another in the Before. It’s so hard to remember that time, not only for the pain, but because it feels like an entire lifetime ago.

(Was it really only eighteen months ago that you were preparing for graduation, scrolling through social media, and participating in regular 21st-century society?)

One person who does look familiar? The white-haired stylist whose work Coco sports and the one who claimed the first interview spot before anybody else, Mr. Gallant. You’d recognize him anywhere—his confidence in you was one of the sole reasons you had the courage to go down the stairs and join Michael for your first Cooperative function. But as for him?

“Mr. Gallant didn’t recognize us,” you broach.

“No, he wouldn’t. Those whose services are needed by the Cooperative but aren’t trusted enough to keep their mouths shut are…conditioned to forget.”

“You brainwash them,” you clarify.

“I don’t.” His lips twitch at his own joke. Of course, he doesn’t. That would be getting his hands dirty, which he hates doing, especially now that he has all the resources in the (under)world at his disposal.

“My bad.”

“You’re so interested in this group of survivors. Does that mean you’ll be joining me for interviews?”

When you joined Michael for the first time, at Outpost 6, you said yes when he asked you this question. It was something different, after all, and you were at first interested in being a part of the process and getting to know some new survivors. Of course, this was all before you actually sat in on the first couple of interviews and witnessed Michael’s interview ‘style’ firsthand.

You roll your eyes. “Ugh, no. I hate all the weird sexual tension you have with everyone you interview.”

Naturally, Michael gets the wrong idea and thinks that you’re jealous. He places his hands on the arms of your chair, and leans in until he can meet your eyes. “You’re my one and only, you know that.”

“I do.” You stare back at him unflinchingly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“The sexual tension or that you’re my soulmate?” You simply raise an eyebrow in response, and Michael sighs before straightening up. “Well, a Gray should be arriving at any moment with Mr. Gallant, so if you don’t want to see any ‘weird sexual tension,’ I would suggest leaving now.”

“Alright then, guess I’ll give myself a tour around ol’ Hawthorne.”

Michael pouts. “I was planning on taking you around tonight after Venable’s curfew.”

“Oh, that sucks. Have fun.” You give him a friendly pat on the shoulder as you leave the room.

Outpost 3 isn’t the largest Outpost you’ve visited, but it’s still pretty expansive. In most cases, this would mean lots of exploring to do. Unfortunately, it seems that Ms. Venable has stripped this place of anything that would make it unique. Hall after hall looks exactly the same in a way that would be disorienting if you weren’t keeping track of your whereabouts. The same boring, gray walls, the same black doors, the same frightened Grays scurrying around.

(If you had to pick the worst part about this Outpost so early on, you’d have to go with the forced servitude of some of the survivors here. Most of the other Outposts had a glorified chore chart that distributed tasks equally among survivors. Others had special privileges given to those who volunteered to work. This system? Well, this system has you hoping that Michael’s especially tough on Ms. Venable during her interview.)

After coming to the unfortunate conclusion that this is about as interesting as it’s going to get for you, you make your way back to where it all started: the library. This room at least has some character, between the fireplace and the music playing. Yes, it might be the same song on repeat, played on a vintage radio, but at least it’s something.

As it turns out, you won’t be alone. The two that you had noticed earlier, the ones that couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, are holding hands and whispering to each other on the couch. They spring apart when you enter, and it’s obvious that they’re not expecting anybody to see them. Their attitude, and the way they’re trying to play it off like they weren’t conspiring, gives you pause. What other severe rules has Ms. Venable imposed on those under her care?

“Hello,” you smile at the two warmly in between appraising the titles on the shelves. “Timothy and Emily, right? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy says warily.

Emily, who doesn’t have that same tact, immediately gets to her question. “Are you here to interview us?”

You shake your head. “No, I let Langdon do the interviewing.”

“So…what do you want with us?”

“I don’t want anything with you. I am trying to find some entertainment, because this place is already incredibly boring and I’ve barely been here six hours.”

Timothy laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get better.”

They watch as you continue to peruse the books, waiting to see if this is some sort of trap devised by you and Michael. It’s not—you genuinely just want to find a book you haven’t read yet and escape to your bedroom for a few quiet hours. Unfortunately, nothing is modern here, not even the books, and you end up settling on Frankenstein, which you’ve read a couple of times now.

“Is it alright if we ask you a couple of questions?” Timothy asks when you turn back around.

So much for a quiet few hours.

You sigh and sit down on the couch opposite the pair. “I can’t guarantee that I can answer all of them, but I’ll certainly try.”

“What’s it like out there?” Timothy asks the question, but both his and Emily’s eyes shine, desperate for any sort of news about the world outside the walls of Outpost 3. You wish you had better to share with them.

“Lawless. You remember the movies about the apocalypse?” They nod. “It’s worse than that. The world is completely unrecognizable, decimated by the bombs. If it weren’t for a map, I wouldn’t even know where we are. Those who survived the blast have been affected by the radiation from the fallout in the most terrible of ways. They have…sores and growths and cancer, all over their bodies. People kill each other for the smallest scrap of clothing. I’ve seen cannibals picking clean the bones of someone they once traveled with, someone that was once their friend.”

“My god,” Emily mutters.

“When M-–Langdon traveled to Outpost 2, his carriage was almost overrun by a band of survivors. They believed there was food inside, and even if there wasn’t, they wanted the chance to hurt somebody that hadn’t yet been hurt by nuclear fallout.”

That had been a terrifying ordeal to hear Michael recount. He wasn’t scared at all, knowing both that the radiation couldn’t hurt him and that he could (did) kill all of them with the snap of his fingers. But you were, for the simple fact that the world that you had once lived in was completely gone and replaced by one where people hunted each other out of necessity, because it might be the only true meal they could eat in weeks.

“How did he get out of it?” Timothy wonders.

The true answer obviously isn’t something that you’re able to share, so you instead go with what would have been the answer if it were any other member of the Cooperative in the carriage. “The bodies of the carriage have an electric current that can be activated in case of emergency. The attackers were all electrocuted with the push of a button.”

“Langdon mentioned a Sanctuary,” Emily says. “Is that where you live?”

“We both do.”

“What’s it like?” Timothy asks, while at the same time, Emily questions, “Where is it?”

“The Sanctuary is…well, it feels like the world never ended, that it just moved underground. As for the location, I’m afraid that’s classified.” You smile sympathetically, feeling a lot like Michael.

Now that this line of communication has been established, that Emily and Timothy now feel like they can trust you, you can practically see the plethora of questions that they want to ask.

“So how do you end up working for an organization like the Cooperative?”

Now that’s a question you haven’t been asked before. “It’s kind of a long story,” you say with an awkward laugh, wracking your brain to come up with a lie convincing enough that they believe it.

Before you can, the sound of a cane clicking slowly across the floor stops you. You look in the direction of the entryway, where none other than your dour host stands. Her bright orange hair stands in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit, black like yours. She smiles at you with darkly painted lips, but it’s a smile that holds absolutely no warmth.

“Dinner is served,” she announces.

The three of you stand, but only two start to follow Ms. Venable to the kitchen. “I’ll take my leave, then,” you say.

“You won’t be joining us?” She sounds a tad incredulous, as though nobody’s told her no in quite some time. That’s likely the case.

“The Cooperative supplies us with rations of our own, so as not to take from the Outposts’ stockpiles.”

It’s technically true. Michael would rather starve than eat the gelatinous cubes that constitute nutrition, and thanks to the endless powers he’s gifted with, meals remain the same as they are when at the Sanctuary.

“We shall see you tomorrow, then.”

You nod before smiling at Emily and Timothy. “It was nice talking to you.”

As you walk towards the office, you can already hear Venable questioning what it was that you talked about, trying to determine if the two gained an edge on making it to the Sanctuary. If only she knew that they’re practically guaranteed spots, you think with a quiet laugh.

Michael arrives at the office at the same time as you do, which is odd, considering he’s meant to be inside the office conducting his interviews. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently before opening the doors and leading you in.

“Where were you?” you ask.

He waves a hand and the doors close behind you. “Finishing up an interview.”

“Doing a little field work?”

“Something like that. Now, I’m starving, and I would very much like to enjoy dinner with some good company.”

At first, you felt a little bad eating your favorite foods while the rest of the inhabitants were forced to eat what was left of their rations. Why should you enjoy while they suffer? And then, you met the survivors, most of whom were filthy rich, and you felt okay with it.

Now, as you sit across from Michael enjoying an actual meal, you allow yourself to pretend for a little bit that your life is still as it was before the end. That this is a regular day after classes, and you’re eating a quick meal and enjoying the company of the man you love before you’re off to finish homework, go to an activity, or just hang out with friends. You miss the simplicity that you didn’t know you had, even still after eighteen months.

“How were your interviews?” you ask, trying to bask in that normalcy for as long as you can.

“Nothing to write home about, though I did learn that Ms. Venable is…shockingly self-conscious beneath her hard exterior.”

You scoff. “And that’s surprising to you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I talked with Emily and Timothy,” you mention.

“Please tell me they’re not as vapid as the rest of the inhabitants of this Outpost.”

“No, they’re…actually kinda cool.”

If you’re being honest with yourself, the reason that you immediately liked them so much is because they kind of remind you of you and Michael, before the apocalypse. They’re so in love with each other, so eager to just be near one another and enjoy their presence. It brings you back to New Orleans, walking through the market arm in arm as you searched for the perfect gift for Kate and he eagerly shared what he had learned when looking up grad schools for you. What you wouldn’t give to be showing him how to catch fireflies, or enjoying a sugary treat together.

Shouting sounds from downstairs, a loud argument starting to take place and distracting you from your thoughts. While you strain to try and hear what’s being yelled about, Michael simply smirks. “Took them long enough.”

Neither of you is surprised, because this is what always happens when Michael arrives at an Outpost. He, quite literally, brings Hell with him. It’s an interesting side effect of what happens when an Antichrist inhabits your space. Those walls that people put up, the rules that they live their lives by, crumble when the living embodiment of sin walks in. From there, it’s only a matter of time until everything unravels and they begin giving in to those seven deadly sins. As you listen to wrath begin to cloud minds, you can practically see Michael becoming more powerful thanks to it.

Later, wrath continues, along with a side of lust.

High-pitched shrieking, so different from the argumentative yelling of earlier, wakes you from the dozing you had taken to while trying to read Michael’s interview reports after dinner. You scramble to sit up in your chair, looking at Michael with wide eyes.

“What was that?” you ask.

He doesn’t even tear his eyes away from the computer to look at you, simply waving a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, Timothy and Emily have just been caught having sex. They’re about to be executed.”

“What?” You stand up in alarm, sure that this is actual cause for alarm. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t even react to your reaction. “Michael!” you snap, desperately wanting him to show some kind of humanity.

Finally, he turns around in his chair and sighs as though you’re interrupting your work, which you know for a fact you’re not. “Yes?”

“We can’t let them die.”

“We won’t.”

You look at him in disbelief, because it sure looks like he’s going to let them die. “Then why aren’t you stopping this?”

Michael finally joins you in standing, taking your hands in his and squeezing reassuringly. “It’s sweet of you to worry about them, and I promise you that they will not die before reaching the Sanctuary. I’ll stop this when the time is right. First, however,” he smiles, “I’d like to enjoy their terror for a bit.”

“Every time I think you can’t possibly let me down more than you already have, you prove me wrong.”

Michael’s face falls at the barb that hits unexpectedly deep, but you don’t have it in you to claim any sort of victory in this. Anger, that heady emotion that’s fueled you up until now, has completely left you at this latest example of Michael’s lack of humanity. All that remains now is disappointment, and it’s a disappointment that leaves you tired. Tired of these games, tired of the life that you’ve found yourself in, tired of being able to do nothing but watch.

Except, you can do something this time. In this Outpost, you have the same amount of power as Michael. With that in mind, you pull your hands free and make for the door.

“C’mon, where are you going?” Michael calls after you.

You don’t answer him, because he knows as well as you. If he won’t put a stop to this, then you will.

///

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff

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

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ask-michael-langdon · 9 months ago

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Mr. Langdon, you said you don't believe in love at first sight. Can a casual glance arouse your sympathy or interest? Do you have a favorite eye color that makes you feel a thrill, for example?

Sometimes I find something interesting within those I cross paths with, yes. But perhaps not in the way you would relate to as a human... Something to pry into, something to toy with like strings on a puppet. A weakness from faith, or lack there of. A weakness, in any capacity, is arousing.

#michael langdon #michael langdon roleplay #ahs rp #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #villain roleplay #cody fern #american horror story

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velangdon · 2 years ago

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AMATIVE → Michael Langdon Fanfic x OC Fem!

❝In a world where the lives of millions people are at stake, love and desire do not always go hand in hand. Humanity is a ticking time bomb, but fate is a whimsical lady who decides to bring together two souls with beliefs and convictions that are diametrically opposite yet strangely similar: Vitney Lacey and Michael Langdon.

Vitney and Michael try to run away from their own feelings, but the way they see life has no comparison. They are searching for a safe place away from each other, but they don't realize they are running in the same direction. And the refuge they are seeking is the same for both of them.❞

→ CHAPTER 1

#ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon smut

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nephilimsss · 1 year ago

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𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱, 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝗱 ! michael langdon

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x brides of dracula inspired ocs GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST

the voice of coco st. pierre vanderbilt was annoying, to say the least. to aleera, marishka, and verona, it was worse than nails on a chalkboard, which was surprising because they had a heightened sense of hearing than the rest of the residents of the outpost they stayed in. whenever she began complaining, they would find a way to sneak out of the room she was in, going back into the room they shared against venable's wishes. "why can they wear that," coco points an accusing finger towards the three vampires standing together in the corner of the room, "and we have to wear this? it's not fucking fair!"

"aw," marishka placed her hands on her knees, which were clothed with the thin white fabric which shone brightly with small encrusted diamond dust, and tutted her tongue. "too bad. so sad!" she flashed her brilliant teeth, which, for some reason, always put coco on edge. she hated whenever the three women showed their pearly white teeth, something about the action seemed dangerous and wrecked her nerves. marishka was the only one of the three to wear pants, the other two opting for dresses of the same fabric and edging, the same concepts but different designs being put to good use.

coco never had clothing like that before the nuclear apocalypse. she crossed her arms, wishing she had spent her money beforehand to create something as beautiful as the three women were wearing.

venable stayed quiet. she never knew why she allowed the women to wear their own clothes instead of the purple dresses every woman was required to wear here in outpost three. something about them had set her on edge, and she never outright said anything to them about breaking the rules. yes, she hated the fact that they were not following her rules or the dress code she had put in place, but she did not dare say so. she just allowed her disgust show on her face, and that was all. she could not bear to go against them, for whatever reason. coco opened her mouth to say something snarky, but seeing aleera, standing to the right of marishka, made her snap her mouth shut and simply say a small, "hmph" while crossing her arms and looking toward the fireplace. no one dared to answer coco's question. they were all uneasy, being watched by the three women, which they had little knowledge as to why, and the news that had come to them that morning, that the perimeter had been breached.

who came close to the outpost? what did they want? were they inside the building now? here to hurt any of them if they were to come out any day soon?

everyone sat in silence for the emergency meeting venable had called for, the purples, the greys, all sitting or standing as they waited for any word. footfalls in the distance make them raise their heads, wondering who had been missing from the room, and verona, the vampiress with the dark hair, raised her head as she breathed in deeply. a smell of sulfur and death began coming closer to the dining room, a smell she hadn't come from anyone else but her and her wives. aleera grabbed onto verona's sleeve, looking excited at what's to come. what other unimaginable creature of the dark had come to the outpost? this one with the smell of death and sulfur, all but missing the scent of iron and blood that they carried themselves? marishka merely stared at the entryway, brown eyes gauging at whoever was going to come through them.

a man with long, straight blonde hair appears, hands behind his back as he wears a look that screams he is unimpressed. the smell became stronger once he stepped in, and the vampiresses stared down at his clothing. expensive fine black fabric covered him from head to toe. a long trenchcoat went down to his claves, his shirt made of silk and his shoes of expensive black leather. the inner corners of his eyes had been highlighted with a red eyeshadow, and the clear blue eyes that adorned his fine face swept across the room.

they fell on venable, and as he walked along the right side of the room when he smelled blood and death to his right, he ripped his vision away from the cane-using woman at the head of the table. they landed, instead, on the vampiresses who stared at him with wonder rather than the fear the others were staring at him with. they flashed smiles at him, grasping onto each other's sleeves as they continued to gauge him. like him, they were something other than human.

he continued his walk and looked away from them once he reached the spot venable stood in. he stopped an inch away from her, his face coming near her cheek as he stared her down, daring her to do anything other than move. venable turned to face him with a proud smile, but his glare upon her was unnerving, forcing her to look down and walk away, her cane echoing in the silent room.

"my name is langdon and i represent the cooperative," he began, sweeping his eyes across the faces that stared back at him. fear, determination, curiosity, and with the three curiosities standing in the corner, excitement. "i won't sugarcoat the situation. humanity is on the brink of failure." one of the women giggled, covering her smile with her hand. "my arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. the three other compounds - in syracuse, new york, beckley, west virginia, and san angelo, texas - have been overrun and destroyed." marishka shook aleera's shoulder as she continued to giggle uncontrollably. mr. gallant scoffed and looked back at them, angry that they were finding the doom of humanity hilarious.

"we've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated."

"what happened to the people inside?" one of the men asked.

"massacred," michael says the word as if were a love letter, and tilts his head to the right as he looks down at gallant's grandmother. she looks uneasy, happy that she was one of the few that was still alive here in the outpost. "the same fate that will befall almost all of you."

"almost alll?" mallory can't keep her mouth shut, standing in the back by the entryway, her glasses reflecting the light of the fire behind michael's body.

michael sighs, hating that he was being interrupted again. "in the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe - the sanctuary." he brings his arms from behind his back and large rings, with what looked to be onyx stones set into them, glittered in the firelight.

"the sanctuary?" venora rolled her eyes at coco.

"the sanctuary is unique," michael was beginning to get angry at the people of the outpost, but was still in surprise of the same three standing women. "it has certain security measures that will prevent overrun."

"excuse me, sir, what measures?" ms. mead interrupts, but michael could not be angry at her. "why weren't we given them?"

"that's classified," he waves her off, however, having to keep up pretenses that he did not know her. "all that matters is that the sanctuary will. . . survive so that the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive."

"who are the people who are populating it?"

"also classified," michael points both pointer fingers in his hands. "however. . . i have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us." murmuring begins to come across the room, people wondering who will go and who will stay. "the cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous question technique we like to call. . . cooperating." he shifts his focus to the wives. "i will then use the information gained to determine if you belong."

"what is this, the hunger games?" coco exclaims, hating over the fact that they were being plucked as if prize horses in a show. "this is bullshit. i paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating i plan on doing."

"that's no longer a viable option, coco," the accented voice of marishka forces everyone to look at her. "the governments are all over with. banks, homes, and important places that were once the standpoint of our lives are gone. you, like everyone else who survived the nuclear fallout, are broke. money is no longer an influential power. everyone here is starving, the people still outside are starving. your best bet is to give food away for your spot, but oh!" she gasps, looking over to verona, placing a hand over her heart. "we have none. we are down to half a gelatinous cube a day, and you have zero control over it. so you, like everyone else here, are going to get questioned, and you will wait in line for your answer!" her eyes flashed, and a different look came over them. instead of the brown they once were, they became a white iris with a ring of red and black covering part of the sclera.

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