#and that was the last sort of meeting between them and meade felt really awful about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tazzytypes · 3 years

Text

Apocalypse: Sanctuary -- Chap 18

Hey guys! Still working on my professional writing endeavors, getting past some BETA reading stages atm. However, I had this unfinished chapter in my WIP pile, so I thought I'd add more to it to work past some writer's block. Thank you guys for all the continued support both for this story and my professional writing career! I'm hoping to respond to some of y'all's comments soon!

Read More on AO3 or see MASTERPOST for more chapters!

Michael let out a sigh as he entered his room, the smile he had been wearing all day finally leaving his lips. He could handle the attention if he didn’t need to smile at every moment. It was annoying, their pride. As if they were the ones who had descended into hell. As if they had seen the river Styx and spoken to the devil himself. Michael had known they would treat him like a puppet, but he hadn’t expected it to be so annoying.

Ariel tried his patience the most. The blond boy could barely get in a word when he was around, hand on his shoulder and speaking for him. If not for Miss Mead, Michael wouldn’t be able to bear it. Who did the man think he was? His father? Then again… the two weren’t as different, he supposed.

He let his bag fall off his shoulder and onto the floor. Why he even bothered with classes anymore was a mystery. What little friends he had — if he could call them that — shrank away from him. Such was the cost of power. That’s what Mead always said.

He missed her.

Pulling off his tie, he settled into his desk chair. Taking a book from the collection in his room, he set to reading. That girl had been looking at it while the witches and warlocks discussed the semantics of the Seven Wonders. He could still feel the way his finger burned, the way her green eyes bugged from her head before she tossed the book back on the shelf.

The last thing he needed was some inexperienced witch accidentally putting a hex on him. What sort of fool read magic spells aloud without considering the consequences? Had she not seen a single horror movie?

Michael remembered her eyes, the milky film that came to them in hell and the fire that burned in them when she faced that demon. If she were a fool, she was certainly a competent one.

Written mainly in Latin, Michael did his best to translate the words of the tome, some of them lost to water damage or tears. Speaking Latin, which had slowly become a synonym for the devil’s language, was simple for him to master. He thanked Satan for that ability. It was the only thing that could have put him behind his fellow warlocks. Ariel and the others had to think the blond boy was perfect. Anything less would ruin his plans.

Even so, perfection wasn’t easy. Mead assured him he was, but perfections seemed more impossible than hell itself.

He tutted at himself. So, this is what the girl had been talking about.

With a sigh, Michael moved to ready himself for bed. Passing the Seven Wonders only ensured him more work during the day. Ariel may not be a demon, but he certainly worked to possess the boy day and night. Nothing would satisfy the man until Michael moved like him, sounded like him, ruled like him. A perfect replica.

It was pathetic, really.

He tossed his tie onto the bed and slowly went to work unbuttoning his shirt. There was not a moment in the day where he wasn’t deep in thought, planning, re-planning, checking the chessboard to see how his pawns moved in his absence. The only time his mind was silent was when he dreamed. Even then, they felt like fevered visions, quickly forgotten when his alarm rang in his ear.

Unbuttoning his sleeve, Michael was startled by a flurry of pages. He jumped and his eyes were wide for only a moment before they hardened into an unreadable mask. When he turned, the pages of the tome were moving on their own, the force behind it frantically searching for something.

“Finis venit, ante initium.” A chilling breeze whispered.

The end comes before the beginning.

Slowly, Michael moved closer, body tense and on alert. He half expected the book to fling itself from the desk. His father was always impatient.

Finally, the pages settled. Craning his desk light closer, Michael saw the layout of a summoning circle. The spell, its components and the words to be spoken, were laid out in perfect detail. What it was to summon, however, was but a blur of intelligible ink.

The faint voice continued to whisper, “Mulieres gladius tuus sic recensetur. Tempus belli.”

Your sword has awoken. It is time for war.

Emily stood in a field, a sea of green reaching out for miles around her, no sign of ever stopping. She spun like a dog chasing its tail, hunting for something familiar. There were no wildflowers, no clouds in the sky. The air was not too warm nor too cool. It was, in all ways, perfect.

She didn’t know tranquility could be so suffocating.

Panic rose in her bell. In hell, at least she had Michael, but here she was alone. Emily ran towards the horizon even though she knew it would never end, tall grass catching at her legs like a million tiny hands. They whispered as she pushed on.

Alone.

The mere thought was enough to make her breath catch in her throat. If she had any need to breathe, that is. Dreams were peculiar that way. You could be strangled even when your body needed no air.

“You’re back!” A voice cried. Emily turned to the familiar figure, tripping over her own feet before righting herself. Her chest heaved and her eyes were dilated in alarm. A dark figure stood in long robes, unaware of the heat. How long had the heat been there? “They said it would take longer, but I knew you’d get Cordelia’s help.”

“Nan?”

Emily’s mouth had opened to say the name, but it was not her voice that spoke. Instead, another’s passed her lips. It was an unpleasant feeling — as if someone had reached down her throat and pulled out her tongue.

Her head turned as if someone were doing it for her. The brunette’s resistance only made it worse. Behind her, Cordelia stood almost swallowed by the verdant grass. Each step she took was careful and calculated. If she ran, the pair would only get further away… or so she believed.

Nan.

Then she was by Emily’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. They felt like talons instead of flesh, digging into her shoulder; a breath away from being painful. She did not want to look. Looking made it real.

“What are you doing here?” Cordelia asked.

“I was asked to be here,” Nan replied, then nodded to Emily, “to meet a friend.”

The younger witch spared a glance to her Supreme, brown eyes meeting green for a fraction of a second. Those brown eyes quickly flicked back to Nan, unwilling to give anything else her attention. Emily opened her mouth to speak, to ask Nan all the questions that had been plaguing her since Hawthorne — What voice had spoken to her? Why had it spoken to her? What did it all mean? Why her?

Why?

Once again, she was spoken over. The words caught in her throat by something she could not see. Green eyes narrowed and grew dark, annoyed as Cordelia spoke once more.

“Nan, where are you?”

Emily’s heart fell. This was her Supreme’s true intention. She shouldn’t have been surprised. When Cordelia had said the spell would unleash the true potential of her powers, Emily had expected something different. Optimism had made her foolish.

The sky turned dark, gray clouds replacing azure skies. Emily did not notice, far too consumed by her doubts and fears. Why were her dreams always subverted? Why did they always get torn out and turned into another’s designs?

Why?

Nan’s eyes dashed from Cordelia, eyes narrowing as she observed the changing sky. She did not have time for this. Cordelia was a side effect and the spell would only last so long. There was work to do, work Cordelia would never comprehend or appreciate. Nan walked towards Emily, shuffling through the tall grass, her hand reaching into her cloak to pull out a bright, shining orb from the void and shadow.

Emily was nice. Her thoughts were nice. Overcast skies peeled away into bright blue once more. Nan’s eyes flickered towards her former Supreme whose brown eyes looked upwards in silent awe. Her thoughts were less nice. Then again, they had always been that way. She blamed Fiona.

With a flourish of her robe, Nan’s face lit up with a proud grin she couldn’t control.

“I believe this is yours.”

Confusion laid wake to slow joy which reminded Nan of a child on Christmas. It flickered in and out, but never disappeared, her mind warring between blinded optimism and pessimistic doubt.

It was beautiful, more than beautiful; opalescent and scattering light like the brightest star in the sky. Blue skies and the bright sun paled in its wake. A rainbow of refracted light scattered colors here and there.

Dainty hands hovered over the orb as if the smallest touch would burst it like a bubble. It was warm, magnetic — like a fire on a cold day.

The dead witch held the orb out even further, nodding to Emily with enthusiasm. Cordelia should appreciate the girl more, Nan thought. Perhaps, after this, she would. There were so many plans for the girl. More plans than a mortal mind could comprehend.

Emily cradled the orb like a child, her chest thrumming. A buzz filled her body. She looked between Nan and the object in her arms, unsure which she should focus on.

“What is it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, “is it—”

Nan smiled, “Exactly!”

Emily stared at her. Reading her thoughts, Nan smiled and nodded, giving the girl time to process.

“Your power,” Cordelia said.

Her eyes fixated on the orb as if it were a star held in Emily’s arm. “I’ve never seen—”

“I tried to give it to you last time,” Nan said, leaning in to whisper, “but you weren’t ready for it yet.”

“Ready?”

She looked to Cordelia, but the woman held no answers for her. When Emily turned back to Nan, the girl was gone, carried away by the breeze.

Cordelia looked to Emily only to stumble back and fall to the grass. Swallowed whole by verdant green. There was no pain. No sense of impact. Even if there were, she would not have noticed. All she could do was stare.

Emily’s green eyes had become a solid, glowing white that matched the glow of the orb in her hand. The girl looked ethereal — skin as clear as marble, hair swaying as if it were in water instead of air. When Emily knitted her brows and cocked her head in confusion, she didn’t look human at all. She looked… more.

Her gaze quickly returned to the orb, curling around it like a content cat. The smile on her face was that of relief, of a mother holding a newborn babe. Her hand gently brushed over the orb, trying to convince herself it was real.

“I’m afraid it will disappear as soon as I awake,” Emily said, a faint laugh leaving her as she said the words and looked back to Cordelia. “No matter how hard I try to pull it into the physical realm.”

Even her speech sounded different. Cordelia, at that moment, realized why Emily was so different than her other girls. With a power rooted in the limbo world — the world of visions, dreams, and hellish realms — Emily belonged more there than she did in the physical plane. The strain, the spark not quite a flame, was not her power trapped in this plane, but her body trapped in theirs.

Emily watched Cordelia, a flicker of anxiety and fear breaking past the overwhelming joy, “What must I do?”

The Supreme sputtered. She and Myrtle had worked tirelessly to create this spell, to get them into this limbo, but the next steps were lost to her. The blissful smile left the girl’s lips, Cordelia’s doubt hanging in the air like suffocating humidity. Why? Why did she torment her like this — with intangible possibilities and crushing hope?

The brunette’s voice caught in her throat. The sound startled the Supreme. “Please.”

For a moment, it seemed golden tears would pour from eyes of pure light. “I have missed it so much.”

One moment Cordelia was sprawled in the grass. The next she was standing. She had not moved to stand. It just, quite simply, was a fact. Something in her hand threw her off balance, hard and cool — A dagger, sharp enough to cut stone and polished so well she could see the conflict dancing in her eyes. Those eyes looked to the weapon with furrowed brows. Then, they looked at the girl before her.

What was this power? If she looked in her own soul, would her eyes be consumed by the same light? She thought of the dream Emily had told her, the child witch nearly burned to cinders. Was this the force that saved her that day?

Would this be a force that could save them?

But why was Nan there? Was it even Nan or was it a spirit playing pretend? You could never trust anything in a dream.

Emily stood, enamored by the orb, wanting to commit it to memory before it was lost for good.

Cordelia spared one last glance to the shining beacon in her student’s arms. The knife felt heavy. That heaviness only grew as the moments passed. It was divine, that light. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to bask in its light till the world stopped spinning.

But she was the supreme.

She was a leader.

She had lives to protect.

She had no choice.

In the end, it took little force to strike. Weight was but a concept in this realm. Cordelia’s ears rung as blinding light burst forth, a bomb of magic. Its comforting warmth burned with the heat of a thousand suns.

She had no choice.

The good of the coven had to come before all else.

“Delia? Delia, are you alright?”

Cordelia was pulled from her dream by an urgent voice. A blur of red was all she could see of Myrtle, a blur that refused to go away. Her hands shook over her face as she tried to rub her sight back into existence. Was she blind again? What had she done? She couldn’t be blind. Not now. There was far too much work to do. Far too much—

The Supreme swayed ever slightly and steadying hands tightened around her arms.

“Get me a chair,” Myrtle ordered.

“I’m fine,” Cordelia insisted, “Did we get it right? Did we—”

“Calm yourself, Delia. Getting worked up won’t help anyone.”

Cordelia felt a stood hit the back of her leg. With shaking hands, she reached back and lowered herself upon it. She couldn’t do this again. The girls could not see her fading. The warlocks could not see her fading. Not now. Not like this.

“Emily?” Cordelia called out, “Emily?”

Misty came beside her Supreme, brows knit with worry and hands reaching out for hers, “Miss Cordelia—”

Words were torn from her mouth as a loud gasp filled the room followed by a gust of wind that those of the inner circle could not shield themselves from. Queenie ducked to the ground, Myrtle to the table, and Madison to Zoe. If not for Misty, Cordelia would have been thrown to the ground. They shielded their eyes from the dust and debris that had accumulated over decades and when the wind stopped all they could do was stare with open mouths.

The greenhouse had always been well-loved. It had been attended to over the years by many a witch, creating a chaotic accumulation of plants, dirt, and tools. Cordelia herself had spent many an hour inside those walls. However, with her role as Supreme, she had found herself there less and less. The plants that did continue to grow were stubborn and dry, the colorful petals of flowers muted and wilting.

Cordelia rubbed her eyes and the blur receded from her sight, details coming into focus. First her fingers, then the table, and finally beyond.

“Oh, my god,” Zoe said, hardly louder than a whisper. Cordelia’s vision continued to clear, but she did not need sight to know the look upon the young woman’s face.

Queenie looked to her friend, muttering out, “holy fucking shit.”

Every brown, dry, and twisted stem now grew a verdant green. The flowers were brighter than any they had ever seen. Vines curled and moved before their eyes, curling up the table and around Emily’s arms.

She was still panting, covered in a cold sweat as if she had woken from a nightmare, but she could feel the vines slowly creeping up her hand. She held it up before her, eyes wide as the vine continued to advance up her arm. Her body was buzzing. The vine seemed to be a part of her, yet entirely separate from her being, a phantom limb or a tail that moved in instinct. It reached towards her wrist and settled in the palm of her hand, blooming a single small wisteria flower.

“Behold,” Myrtle spoke, “our oracle has awoken.”

Emily’s green eyes danced around her. Her heart drummed in her ears and nearly burst from her chest.

“Did I — Did I do this?”

Misty left Cordelia’s side, content now that the perceived danger had passed. A smile came to her lips as she came to Emily’s side, a spring in her step. She regarded Emily’s wide-eyed awe with amusement.

“I’m going to teach you about Louisiana mud now.”

“O— ok.”

“I don’t think she needs Louisiana mud,” Queenie noted, pulling off a few plants that had rooted themselves around her leg.

Misty frowned, “A little mud never hurt nobody.”

“Say that to my neck,” Madison scoffed, “I still have to use a bottle of perfume to mask the smell of shit.”

“I think that’s just you,” Zoe said.

“Whatever.”

Queenie moved closer to Emily as the two began to bicker.

“Did you see Nan again?” she asked.

Emily regarded her expression, the grief in her eyes and the heavy weight which pressed upon her shoulders. She nodded.

“Did she say anything?”

The expression on the brunette’s face spoke louder than her words. “Nothing beyond the circumstances.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you done being a killjoy?” Madison snapped from across the table.

Queenie’s grief quickly melded to annoyance, “You done being a bitch?”

“You say that like a bad thing.”

“Because it is.”

“Whatever.”

Flicking some dust off her shirt, Madison sauntered to the door only to turn back at the last moment.

“Welcome to the coven, bitch.” She said, “You’re our new Sabrina.”

When Emily stepped out of the greenhouse, the sky was scattered with stars. Time was different in the other. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but her mind was still buzzing, her ears still ringing.

She was a witch.

She was powerful.

She was something.

“Someone looks happy,” Misty noted, linking their arms together. Emily wasn’t even put off by the contact. All she could do was beam until her cheeks hurt. Words were intangible. Not a single one could describe the elation that beat in her chest with every step. If she could, she would soar.

“Careful there!”

Cordelia’s voice cut through the night, the songs of crickets and frogs stopping in their tracks. A hand latched on to the back of Emily’s shirt, pulling her back like a toddler on a leash. Her feet sink into the grass… or, should she say, back on the grass. The light from the house was enough for her to see Cordelia’s expression turn from that of surprise into one of amusement.

“Let’s save the levitation for later.”

“…my bad.”

The Supreme couldn’t quite place the look Emily gave her. It felt like she was looking past her… into her. She didn’t move, a deer caught in headlights. Her hand remained balled around a piece of Emily’s shirt until another voice broke the silence.

“Don’t worry, Miss Cordelia,” Misty assured, tightening her hold on the girl as the Supreme fell back into pace with her red-haired mentor, “I won’t let her float away.”

Queenie bumped Emily’s shoulder. “What else you got? Besides that, Airbender, Earthbender shit.”

“I… have no idea,” Emily said, “What else is there?”

Cordelia’s voice rang out behind them once more.

“Perhaps we should leave the experimentation for later.”

“You’re the one who keeps telling us to push ourselves.” Queenie reminded, reaching into her pockets and presenting a coin. “Here. Take it.”

Emily did as she was told, plucking the coin from her hand.

“Not like that, idiot. With your mind.”

“Oh.”

Holding the coin in her palm, Emily focused on her hand. Her fingers curled around the coin as if she were holding an apple instead. A picture of the coin pushed into her mind, she imagined plucking it up with her fingers, turning it in her hand.

The coin rose, fell, then rose again. Twisting her hand, it began to travel towards the girl before dropping in her empty palm. Emily shook her hand free of the buzzing, cracking her fingers for good measure.

“Smart-ass,” Queenie muttered.

“But you said—”

“I’m teasing, girl. Relax.”

“At least now you can actually participate during lessons,” Zoe noted, stepping aside to let Emily up the back steps of the mansion.

The brunette frowned, reaching for the handle of the back door, “I participate.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Look—”

One moment she was opening the door and the next she was in the hall. The breath left her lungs as she fell face-first onto the hardwood floors.

Zoe’s voice came from down the hall, “Emily?!”

“I’m fine,” the girl groaned, rolling over and laying on her back. When she looked up, the inner circle was coming around the corner. Queenie and Misty were snickering at the sight. She frowned.

“Oh. shut up.”

“At least you weren’t impaled,” Zoe offered, moving to help the girl to her feet.

“At least I wasn’t what now?”

“Don’t worry. Misty would make you good as new. You’ll smell like shit for a while, though — Louisiana Mud and all that.”

“Okay. Wait. Hold on.” Emily said, pushing up her glasses just so her hands had something to do, “Let’s go back for a second. You were way too calm about that. How often does this shit happen?”

“What was it?” Queenie asked, looking to Misty as she counted on her hand, “Madison died twice, Zoe died and came back, you died and came back and died again. Plus Nan, then me. So… seven times?”

“Don’t forget Myrtle.”

“Oh shit, you’re right. That’s two more deaths — so nine?”

“She died twice?”

“You were dead the second time,” Zoe interjected. Misty simply nodded in acknowledgment. “And don’t forget Fiona.”

“Fiona doesn’t count. She was a bitch.”

“So is Madison.”

Madison, who had been regarding the interaction quietly, frowned. “Hey!”

“Fair point. So that’s a total of ten.”

Emily looked to the three women with an expression of concern — like watching the village idiot run into a wall over and over and over.

“Only one impalement, though,” Misty reassured.

Emily sighed, “This place really needs to come with a liability warning.”

Zoe shrugged, “Just don’t use it to play tag and you should be good.”

“Well damn, that ruins all my plans for tomorrow.”

Zoe smiled and shook her head, “I think all that power is going to your head.”

“… maybe a little.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“One question: How do I stop the spontaneous…” Emily said, gesturing about her, “y’know?”

“Only by training and hard work, my dear” Myrtle spoke. “Which is why my dear Cordelia made you this.”

From her hands, a necklace hung. It wasn’t fancy or ornate. A simple thing, really. It looked like something you might find in a thrift store. At the end of the leather chain was a gold coin with a singular line carved in the center.

“It’s —”

Emily interrupted before she could finish, “The Isa rune.”

Myrtle smiled and nodded. Good. The girl was prepared. She would need that knowledge in the coming conflict.

“Simple, but effective,” The red-head said, “It should help you channel your power properly until you can do so yourself.”

The brunette looked at the amulet for a moment, turning it this way and that. Had runes always felt so… alive? The closest way she could describe magic was the buzzing of bees in your body mixed with a magnetic pull. Her eyes flickered between Myrtle and the coin.

“Thank you,” She finally spoke, moving to place the object around her neck. It weighed more than she thought it would and rested right under her heart.

“Think of it as insurance,” Myrtle said, “we’ve got enough destruction with our younger girls.”

“At least now I can keep up with them.”

“Or join them,” Madison said, pushing herself around the small crowd they had formed in the center of the hall, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do… like sleep.”

Emily listened to the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her. Then, she turned.

“Madison.”

The woman sighed and turned around, “What?”

“Thank you.”

The former starlet was silent for a moment, then turned around and kept walking. “… Whatever.”

Emily smiled ever slightly and turned to the other girls. “You guys, too.”

“You know what they say:” Myrtle said with a knowing smile, “blood of the coven is thicker than the water of the womb.”

Her words echoed in Emily’s mind as she prepared for bed; rosewater for her face, rosemary for her hair. Before, they were household remedies. Rose was an anti-inflammatory that helped with redness. Rosemary promoted hair growth. There was something more to them now — her skin glowed and freckles danced across her face like stars, her hair was soft under her fingers and shone in the bathroom light.

Misty was already snoring when she made it back to her room, curled up on a thin mattress set up beside Emily’s bed. The brunette tip-toed across the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboard she had come to know by heart.

Heavy eyes pulled her towards the realm of dreams. The bed was warm, the sheets just heavy enough to sink her into the bed. Her thoughts began to slip into white noise, echoes of words that could not be recalled.

“Finis venit, ante initium.” A voice whispered, just as she was about to doze off. She hummed in annoyance, turning over on her side.

A cry made her blood turn to ice. She shot up in her bed, looking around for the source. She had nieces and nephews. She knew the sound of a baby’s cry. Footsteps paced the floor above and the cry continued — the attic.

“Misty,” She hissed, “Misty!”

Silence consumed the room, only broken by the baby’s cries. Emily climbed across her bed and reached to shake the woman awake.

“Misty! Do you hear that?”

The woman groaned and swatted at the hand that shook her. Her words came out low and slurred. “’Is jus’ a bird. Go t’ sleep.”

Emily looked to Misty, then back at the ceiling. Footsteps came from above once more. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the crying stopped. She regarded the ceiling with narrowed eyes, then slowly lowered herself back in the bed. Someone must have taken care of it. One of the younger girls probably had a nightmare.

With a sigh, she turned on her side, willing sleep to return to her. Her hair continued to stand on edge and an intense need to move plagued her limbs. With the grace of a mouse, she scampered over to the door, locked it, and threw herself into the covers once more.

The moon cast the room in a pale glow. Emily had lucked out, the room facing the back of the house where she was free from the obnoxious yellow lights from the street lamps. She looked at the plant on her bedside, wilted flowers now proudly blooming. She reached out a hand, picturing water crawling up the stem. Yellow petals turned blue, the color sweeping across them like an ink stain. Even when she pulled back, the color proudly stood. One minute, two minutes, three — the color remained.

Emily stared at it with pride. Something had awoken inside her, something she had yearned for since the moment she was born.

Power.

She finally had power.

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine

14 notes · View notes

twittytelly · 5 years

Text

What Happens in Vegas Does Not Stay in Vegas

Steve Rogers X Reader

A/N:This is my contribution as part of @teamcap4bucky‘s 2K celebration. My prompt was “I don’t see how it could get any worse.” “Hey look, we got married last night!” “I stand corrected.” Hope you enjoy and check out @teamcap4bucky

Summary: When a mission goes drastically wrong, can you and Steve bear the brunt of the fallout? Mostly angst, but fluffs up at the end.

Warnings: Some swearing.

The blinding sunlight had startled you awake, warning you that something was wrong. You were usually up and about before dawn like clockwork, to the point that you could not remember when you last slept in. You quickly sat up to see what the time was, but you sat up too quickly and waves of nausea hit you like a freight train. Your head began pounding as you tried to put together the hazy pieces of the night before.

You and Steve were in Vegas on an undercover mission. After months of chasing tips and leads that ran dry, you were meeting with Jasper Sitwell, hoping to gain more intel on the location of the Winter Solider. You could remember that the evening had started well, but then after the second drink it became fuzzy and you could not recall how you got back to your hotel room. Except...

You were in Steve's room, not yours. Panicking, you jumped out of the bed and started looking for your things. Thankfully you were still in the figure-hugging black dress you had worn the night before. Make no mistake, for years you had dreamt of waking up in Steve's bed, but not like this. Anything but like this. You thanked your lucky stars that Steve was not currently there to see you in this state. Before you could wonder where Steve was, the bathroom door opened throwing you back into reality.

Despite just having a shower, Steve looked as rough as you felt. Dressed in a pair of sweats an old t-shirt he looked like he had gone ten rounds with The Hulk. His piercing blue gaze met yours and you noted how full of hurt and regret they were, your heart sank. He sat at the foot of the bed and motioned for you to sit next to him.

“So” he started nervously, “how much do you remember of last night?”

“Honestly, hardly anything” you replied. “I remember the beginning of the meeting with Sitwell, but then he pushed that second drink on us and then it's all just a blur.”

“Just as I suspected, it hit you a lot harder than it did me-”

“What did?” You butted in, Steve was starting to scare you.

“Someone must've tipped us off” he began. “Those second drinks were drugged. I don't know what the substance was, but it affected me pretty quickly and if I was effected-”

“Then I had no chance” you finished. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?”

Steve gave a sigh that confirmed your suspicions, the mission had been derailed. “Sitwell took advantage of our condition to get away, but that was not the worst thing that happened” he started.

“I don't see how it could get any worse.”

“Hey look,” he started nervously, trying to find the right words “we got married last night.”

“I stand corrected” you contemplated. “Wait- WHAT did you just say?!”

“Well guess I can call you Y/N Rogers now” Steve said attempting to lighten the mood.

“Don't you give me that shit Rogers!” you expressed your anxiousness giving way to anger. “It's not funny when Stark pulls this and it certainly isn't funny now. Tell me how this happened!”

“Well...um...” Steve started. His eyes were avoiding yours.

“Tell me now Rogers, I do not have all day!”

Steve took a deep breath. “You see we were trying to look for Sitwell, when we bumped into a group of girls who said that we made a cute couple.”

“Why did they think we were a coup-”

“-I don't know, but after they said that we were talking about what a great team we were and you said that seeing as we worked well together and we weren't getting any younger-”

“- We might as well be married” you finished in horror, the memories flooding back. Not only had the drugs cost you your biggest lead on Bucky in months, but they had caused you to betray your deepest desires. Feelings that you had expertly kept locked away, except in those rare, quiet moments when you were alone. Steve read the expression on your face, and reached out to grab your hand.

“Don't blame yourself Y/N” his thumb drawing circles on your palm. “It was the drugs and I should have stopped myself from getting carried away.”

You sighed and found the courage to look into his eyes, confirming your fears. He didn't want to be married to you. Not now. Not ever. Of course you didn't want to be with him like this. You had loved him since the day you were recruited to the S.H.E.I.L.D/Avengers joint taskforce dedicated to finding the Winter Solider. As the pair of you had worked together and became friends your feelings had deepened. You knew that you could never tell him how you felt, but there was that small part of you that lived in hope that he felt the same way. But now looking at his eyes full of remorse that hope was gone.

“So what do we do now?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence that had descended.

“I've already given Fury the heads up and the legal team are working on getting this annulled as we speak.”

“Oh” you uttered, not really knowing what to think. “I should probably head back to my room and have a shower.”

“Y/N-”

You got up and left before Steve had the chance to say anything, hoping he didn't see the tears streaming down your face. You did your best to keep some control of your emotions until you were in the shower, where you broke down and sobbed. Heartbroken and humiliated, you beat yourself up for being so stupid. How could you have not realised that the drinks were drugged? How could you have completely let go of your inhibitions? How on earth were you ever going to live this down?

As you suspected, what happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. It did not take long for what happened that night to get out when you both returned to the tower. The pair of you had royally fucked up and the higher ups had demanded answers. Between the many debriefs, tests to find out what the mystery substance was and of course, the annulment; inevitably everyone knew exactly what had happened.

You were able to take the teasing from Stark, Romanoff, and the rest of the taskforce as you were able to shut them up with a witty comeback. But you couldn't stand the constant staring and whispering that followed you around. It was just what you needed on top what you were already feeling. You had started to avoid Steve wherever possible, but soon you were both back to working together and it was beyond strained. Every time you looked at him, all you could think about as that night and the look on his face the next morning. It was too much.

Eventually you couldn't take it any more and asked to be reassigned. While you were waiting for details of your new assignment back at S.H.E.I.L.D Headquarters, you had started ignoring Steve completely; figuring it was time to move on and avoiding any ungainly goodbyes. However, Steve had other plans.

A week later you were given the details of your next posting, and you started to prepare to make the move back to Washington, D.C. While sorting through your belongings you couldn't help but smile at the life and memories you had made at the tower. You paused temporarily to look through some Polaroids taken at a party about a couple of months before that fateful night in Vegas. The Avengers had taken down a Hydra stronghold in Sokovia. There had been no strong leads on Bucky's location, but the mission had been declared a success and Tony just had to throw a party to celebrate. Steve, looked impossibly handsome wearing a navy blue shirt and jeans; and you wore your favourite skirt and top combo that made you feel sexy and confident, That night Thor had managed to get most people drunk on his Asguardian mead, but you had turned it down and until recently it was believed that Steve was immune to all substances. So while everyone was trying to drunkenly lift Thor's hammer, you and Steve retreated to a quiet corner, where you put the world to rights.

You didn't realise that you'd started crying until a teardrop hit the photo you were holding. You and Steve had your arms around each other's waists, drinks raised in your free hands, laughing at something you couldn't quite remember. Before that awful night you used to look at photo and trick yourself into believing that Steve was looking at you like he loved you as much as you loved him. But now because of that awful night, you knew the cold, harsh truth and it reaffirmed your decision to leave.

A sharp knock at the door brought you out of your thoughts. Wiping the way the tears you went to answer it, and was shocked to Steve on the other side of the door. You noted that he seemed to be as nervous as you suddenly were. You took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Whatever it is Steve, make it quick. I'm moving to D.C. In a few days and I need to be packed up as soon as possible.” Your words came out harsher than intended and Steve recoiled as if you had slapped him in the face.

“Y/N, we really need to talk about what happened in Vegas.”

“What is there to talk about Steve?” You snapped back. “We threw years worth of work down the drain, I made a complete fool of myself and you were so horrified by the idea by the idea of being married to me that you practically got the annulment before I had the chance to wake up!”

“Y/N -”

“But don't worry, in a few days I'll be gone, so you can find Bucky with no problems and you can forget that we were ever married!”

“Is this what this is about? You wanted to stay married?”

“No of course not Steve, but you should have given us a chance to talk thing through before acting and it doesn't make a girl feel good when she hears that their friend thinks that being married to you is worse than failing a mission.”

“Oh,”He muttered, the realisation of what he had said that morning dawning on him. “Y/N please don't leave because of a stupid comment, I was still processing what had happened and I wasn't' thinking straight.”

“No it's because of that comment I have to leave” You stammered tears threatening to fall again. “For years I have been living in the land of make-believe, but now I need to head back to reality.”

“Y/N I'm so sorry” Steve uttered moving towards you, attempting to pull you into his arms.

“No!” you almost shouted, stepping away from him, blocking his attempt at an embrace with your arms. Tears were cascading down your face now, but you didn't care. “Do you know how humiliating it is that everybody knows that I'm the last person you could ever want?! You might be able to live with the constant gossiping, but I can't. I need to leave. I need to move forward, I need to-”

Before you could finish, Steve had stepped forward, cupped your cheeks with his hands and brought his lips to yours. Initially you froze, but then you quickly relaxed into the kiss. When Steve sensed that you weren't going to push him away, he deepened the kiss. He kissed you with a sense of urgency as if he was trying to convey something words could not explain.

Eventually, both of you needed air and the kiss ended, Steve resting his forehead on yours. You looked into Steve's perfect blue eyes and saw that there were tears threatening to spill.

“I know I'm an idiot, but please don't leave, you're vital to the team, I can't do this without you, I love you.”

Stunned by Steve's confession, you pulled away. Your mind was reeling, and your heart was close to bursting out of your chest. He had felt the same way all along.

“I'm sorry I started the annulment before you knew what was going on. But I was scared and I thought that the longer it went on for the less chance we would have at being together. I was so nervous about how you were gonna react that I couldn't get my words out straight. I promise I wasn't rejecting you.”

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something; but you were still processing what he had just said. You had spent all that time wishing and praying, not noticing that he felt the same way.

“Say something Y/N, you're beginning to scare me.”

Instead of saying anything you grabbed his shirt by the collar, and pulled him towards you, brushing your lips against his. He put his arms around your waist and pulled you into him. You responded by putting your arms around his neck. Ultimately, the kiss came to its natural end, and you knew it was your turn to confess.

“I have always loved you Steve, but I guess that I thought that if I told you, it would ruin our dynamic and the mission.”

“So you'll stay.”

“I'll talk to Fury first thing, but I have one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Called me old fashioned, but I believe that you should date someone for a bit before heading down the aisle.”

Steve's eyes lit up as he chuckled.

“Y/N, will you make me the happiest man alive and go on a date with me?”

“I will” you answered beaming up at Steve, neither of you able to contain yourselves. Before you had the chance to say anything else Steve pulled you back in for another intoxicating kiss.

#teamcap4bucky #teamcap4bucky2k #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #Chris Evans

235 notes · View notes

kyliehorsegirl · 6 years

Text

Just a Sketch (Michael Langdon x Reader) REQUEST

A/N: This was a quick something i wrote up for a request I got today. I have a few other requests I’ll be working on as well as a prequel to Black Wedding and Ch. 3 of Snakes.

If you would like to read any of my other Lagndon Fics you can find them in the MASTERLIST

REQUESTED BY: @artisticlales ‘reader is an artist before the apocalypse and she does not know why she is at the outpost. She doesn’t get along well with others so read draws and reads alot. When Michael arrives she is captivated by him and he approaches her. She doesn’t remember him because she had to move. He does and he is in love with her’

WARNINGS: FLUFF, FLUFF AND MORE FLUFF.

WORD COUNT: 2552

Please enjoy.

***********************************

In a small house, there was a young boy. He had bouncy gold curls. His eyes were soft. In a house across the way there was a young girl. She was kind and artistic. He always found her outside, sitting against a tree with her sketch book.

“What are you doing?” He would ask her. She would smile up at him and close her book.

“Just a sketch.”

The two got along extremely well. Michael was the boy. Y/n was the girl. Michael didn’t understand how emotions worked, what he did know is he really cared for her. She was his best friend. Y/n knew she loved Michael. They were so young, it wasn’t a romantic love. She appreciated him for him. She thought he was talented and funny. He was so tender and caring to her. He wasn’t like that with anyone else.

Y/n ran to Michael’s house. Her vision blurry from the tears pouring out of her eyes. She slammed her fists onto the door, hitting it over and over again.

“Hey hey, Y/n what’s wrong?” Ms. Meade’s eyes were wide with worry. She grew to adore Y/n as a daughter. She saw the good she was for Michael.

“I need Michael, please Miriam, is he home?” Ms. Meade did her best to understand what she was saying. Before Miriam could say anything, Michael appeared out of nowhere. Y/n threw herself into his arms. He instantly wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close.

“Shh, what happened?”

“My parents are making me move! I don’t want to be without you Michael. You’re my best friend.” She sobs into his chest.

“What? Where are you moving to?” Tears started to swell in his eyes.

“Montana. We are moving all the way to Montana. My dad had an affair and they want to start over. They are getting rid of phones, computers everything! They don’t want to have contact with the internet in this new life! I don’t want to leave you Michael.”

“I’m so sorry Y/n. I just want you to know I love you.” He sobs into her hair.

“I love you too Michael.” She looks up to him and holds him tighter. Ms. Meade get tears in her own eyes.

“I will always love you Y/n.” He kisses her on the lips. She leans into the kiss. He gripped her shirt in his hands holding her so tight, that maybe she won’t disappear, but she would forget. With that kiss, he made her forget him, to free her from pain.

5 years later*

The missile fired. The world was in pieces. Y/n was now in a holding facility. There were two others with her. A boy named Timothy and a girl named Emily. Y/n had a small bag mostly containing her old sketch book.

The three were forced into large military vehicles. They arrive at their destination. They were handed radiation suits before they make it outside. There was fog everywhere. They see two people get shot on their way in.

Once inside they were greeted by Ms. Venable. They are escorted to their rooms. Y/n runs her fingers along her new garments. Victorian dresses in different shades of purple. Y/n sits on the floor holding her knees. She breaks down and cries. She is alone.

Her time at outpost 3 was nothing to be jealous of. Everyone saw her as a weirdo. She was quiet and all she did was draw. No one cared to ask about her drawings. They had their own drama to deal with. Time that wasn’t spent sketching, she was reading in the library. She was thankful for all the books at her disposal, but she was alone.

Days dragged on. There was no change to the routine. She was able to keep track of time by drawing a new sketch every day. She drew every single person in the outpost. Y/n was very observant.

The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and months turned into a year and a half. Y/n had several sketch books in her room all full of drawings. Not only did she draw people or aspects of the outpost, she drew things she tried to remember from the time on the outside.

Just a sketch. A sketch of a boy. She didn’t know where she saw him. She drew a boy, with an innocent face. His hair curling down to his ears. She felt comfort drawing him. Y/n found herself sketching this boy every day.

An intruder. No one knew who the intruder was.

Y/n sits on the far side of the room, no one to talk to. Sketch book in hand. A picture of the boy haphazardly drawn on the thick sheet of paper. A man appears in the room. He is adorned in elegant black clothing. His hair cascades down his shoulders in golden curls. The face of someone in power. Hands laced behind his back.

He’s beautiful. He’s terrifying. Y/n is intrigued by him. She notices the little details he put into his look. Red eyeshadow brushed along his inner lid. He’s beautiful.

He gives a look to Ms. Venable, dismissing her from his spot in front of the fire. He takes a moment to look among all the occupants. His eyes stop at hers. She thinks she sees some sort of relief before his eyes are off of hers.

“My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative.” She is enamored by his voice. Like silk ribbons dancing through the air. From that moment she tunes out what he says. He speaks to the rest of them. She allows herself a quick glance to the sketch on her page. There are uncanny similarities between the two. It’s just a sketch.

The lot of them try to ask him questions, in which he quickly responds with ‘classified’. What gets her attention, is the mention of sanctuary. She still has no idea as to why she is here. The guards who retrieved her offered no information.

From what she can hear, it seems like he will enact a rigorous interview process.

“What is this the hunger games? This is bullshit, I paid my way to be here.” An uproar from Coco. The look of udder boredom on Langdon’s face makes Y/n want to giggle. She looks down into her lap allowing a small smirk.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning.” Langdon states matter of factly.

“What happens if we don’t sit for questioning?” Andre asks with genuine curiosity. Langdon throws his head in Andre’s direction. Curls bouncing with him.

“Then you stay here, and die.” It’s sound so harsh, but Y/n can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“I volunteer to go first.” Mr. Gallant raises his hand like a kid in class.

“And so you shall.” Langdon proceeds to explain how they can stay and allow cannibals to come knocking or down a pill that will kill them on spot.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

Several hours later*

Y/n made her way to somewhere with less noise. The whole lot began to complain about who would make it, who would not. It was too much to deal with. Y/n found solace in a quiet place.

She made her way to her room, her nose in her sketch book. She looks up when she hits a hard surface. Holding the book tight to her chest she sees she ran into Langdon.

“O, forgive me Mr. Langdon. I wasn’t paying attention.” She looks down with embarrassment.

“That’s quite alright Y/n. I guess I wasn’t paying mind either and for that I’m sorry.” He speaks so genuine to her. The note of apology shocks her.

“Of course, Mr. Langdon.” He holds a hand up to her.

“Please, call me Michael.” She takes a small gasp. It strikes a chord with her, unknowingly. Y/n takes a step back. Looking him in the eyes. There is comfort in his icy blue eyes.

“What do you have there?” He looks down to the small book in her hands.

“O, its um, my sketch book.”

“May I see?” It was a rhetorical question as he takes the book from her hands, brushing his fingers over hers intentionally.

“Um, sure. I guess.” She looks down nervously, hoping he doesn’t notice the drawing that looks an awful lot like him.

“What’s this?” He turns the book to show the image of the boy.

“O that’s, just a sketch.” She looks to him once more.

“It’s wonderful for being, just a sketch.” Rose colors her cheeks.

“Thank you, I like to draw.” He smiles warmly at her. Handing her the book he brushes his fingers over hers once more.

“Maybe you could draw me sometime.” He speaks kindly and knowingly.

“Maybe.”

Y/n truly was an artist. She made an effort to have her hand in everything. She makes her way to a small room. There’s a piano. Running her fingers along the keys, she closes her eyes missing the feeling of a piano. With the arrival of Langdon, it awakened her need to play but she didn’t know why. Moving her dress to the side, she allows her self to be seated at the bench.

Y/n hovered her fingers over the keys. She takes a deep breath as a song instantly pops in her head.

(Play I’ll never love again By Lady Gaga movie version)

Wish I could

I could have said goodbye

I would have said what I wanted to

Maybe even cried for you

Her finger glide across the keys, like riding a bike she hasn’t forgotten.

If I knew it would be the last time

I would have broke my heart in two

Tryin’ to save a part of you

The occupants of the outpost follow the beautiful voice echoing through the halls

Don’t want to feel another touch

Don’t want to start another fire

Don’t want to know another kiss

No other name falling off my lips

Don’t want to give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No I’ll never love again

I’ll never love again

Oooou ooou oou

They begin to crowd behind her, enough distance where she doesn’t notice them behind her.

When we first met

I never thought I would fall

I never though that I’d find myself lyin’ in

Your arms

Mmmm mmmm

And I wanna pretend that it’s not true oh baby

That you’re gone

Cause my world keeps turnin’ and turnin’ and

Turnin’ and I’m not movin’ on

Even Ms. Venable and Ms. Meade stand with the group, listening to her sing.

Don’t want to feel another touch

Don’t want to start another fire

Don’t want to know another kiss

No other name falling off my lips

Don’t want to give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No I’ll never love

The group parts like the red sea with the presence of Langdon. He makes his way to her.

I don’t wanna know this feeling unless its you

And me

I don’t wanna waste a moment

Hoooo ouuu

And I don’t wanna give somebody else the

Better part of me

I would rather wait for you

Hooo ouu

Michael leans into her.

Don’t want to feel another touch

Don’t want to start another fire

Don’t want to know another kiss

Baby unless they are your lips

He begins to sing quietly so only she can hear.

Don’t want to give my heart away to another

Stranger

Or let another day begin

She stops playing, he replaces her hands with his.

Wont even let the sunlight in

Oooo I’ll never love again

Love again

I’ll never love again

I’ll never love

Again

Y/n turns to see Michael’s eyes looking down to her. She takes a quick glance around the room to see, literally everyone watching them. Mr. Gallant starts off a round of applause. Y/n blushes with embarrassment.

“You are as beautiful as I remember.” Michael whispers to her before taking he rises. “Meet me in my room Y/n.” With that, he makes his way elsewhere. The group part once more making way for Langdon.

“I didn’t know you could sing Y/n.” Mr. Gallant states excitedly. Y/n looks down.

“Yeah! You’re amazing! Where did that come from.” A small moment of selflessness from Coco. Y/n gets up and makes a bold statement.

“You guys would know a lot more about me, if you would’ve got to know me.” She passes by all of them and makes her way to Michael’s room. Leaving everyone in utter shock.

Y/n knocks on Michael’s door and opens when he grants permission. He stands to meet her. He gently takes her hands in his.

“Y/n, I know this is hard to understand, but I know you. You know me. I had to hide your memories from you. I couldn’t bare to see you in pain. You are the most important person to me.” She furrows her brows and looks up to him.

“I don’t understand Michael. You know me? You hid my memories?” He smiles longingly at her. He brushes her cheek tenderly. Cupping her cheek and snaking a hand around her waist, he presses his plush lips to hers.

Her eyes snap open, memories coming flooding in like a movie reel. She sees a boy and a girl. She could feel the emotions, the amount of love the two felt for each other and the first kiss they shared before it all went away. He eyes overflow with tears.

“Michael?” Her lip quivers and his own eyes become full with tears. She shoves herself into his arms just like the last time she saw him. Just as much raw emotion when she had to leave him. He holds her head, bringing her close to him in a tight grip.

“It’s me my love. I’m so sorry I had to take your memories away. I was always watching you from afar. I always cared for you. I never wanted to hurt you. I knew, I had to bring you here. I am so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” He holds her face in both of his large hands. His rings nip at her cheeks.

“Michael, I didn’t know what was going on. Before you came, I was drawing photos of this boy, I had a feeling I knew him, but I didn’t know where. That was you. The boy I was sketching. I never knew how much I missed you, but I feel it now.” Tears run over his fingers. Michael presses his forehead to hers. His tears falling onto her face.

“I love you Y/n I love you so much. Now that I have you back, I will never let you go again.”

“I love you Michael. I will always be by your side.” She tilts her head up to press her lips to his. A kiss full of longing, emotion, love and heartache. Michael rests a hand on her neck and another on her waist. She lays a hand on his chest and the other gripping one of his lapels.

They would never love again, unless it was with each other.

On his bed was a single drawing, a drawing of her, but it was just a sketch.

********************

I hope you all enjoyed this. it really made me happy to write I literally cried.

Langdon Taglist:

@artisticlales @creepy-jazzy @albeeox @shado-cat @skullchik89 @delicatefishtreedream @wth-trippy @teenagevampirebouquet @glamorous-without-the-guilt @first-son-of-finwe @aerite @no-salvation-no-forgivines--blog @homeschool-prom-queen @majestichoechlin @bryandechartisasmolbean

#Michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x fem!reader #Michael langdon imagine #Michael langdon imagines #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs8 #ahs coven #american horror story #American horror story fanfiction #american horror story imagine #American horror story apocalypse #apocalypse

690 notes · View notes