! Michael Langdon Masterlist

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 !

tom blyth

// credit ©endlesslove

@manderleystuff

𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘁𝘂𝘀. coriolanus snow masterlist

PAIRING ➨ coriolanus snow x fem!oc (named brutus) GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ taken after the song brutus by the buttress, it essentially goes lyric by lyric, and the chapters will be based off the lyric i choose that day ! WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, the hunger games, friends to enemies, enemies to fake lovers, fake lovers to murderers. MAIN MASTERLIST

oo.i :: i've been watching him for my entire life

oo.ii :: i hate the air he breathes

oo.iii :: his foolish decrees, his words so contriving

oo.iv :: and i hate the way the townspeople gather outside. . .

give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still. 

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin. 

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine. 

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight. 

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son. 

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either. 

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall. 

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father. 

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together. 

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma. 

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up. 

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head. 

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms. 

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household. 

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating. 

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?” 

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

if you've reached the end of this page, thank you so much for reading! do tell me what you think, reblog, send me asks, thoughts, ANYTHING. i would LOVE to hear your opinion!!!

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.

I NEED taboo anakin somno shit NOWWW. The worse, the better. The more fucked up and taboo, the better

yes!!

—somnophilia with dilf!anakin who’s your fiancés older brother

-might make something similar but with boyfriend’s dad anakin. This was kinda tame tbh.

She was already pushing it with her fiancé, he was 10 years older than her. Now she was really pushing it since his older brother was around 20 years older than her. Who could blame her though? He was tall, classy, so charming, and unbelievably sexy.

“Not sure golfing is for me after all .” Her fiancé laughed, he finished telling a golf story to the table, which consisted of his mother, father, and older brother. Her fingers mindlessly played with his own as he spoke, she wasn’t there mentally. Not with the way his older brother’s eyes would catch hers every few minutes.

They’ve all had a few drinks and she blamed the incessant lustful thoughts on it. Why else would she be imagining Anakin’s strong hands? Maybe they’d pull her hair, force themselves into her mouth, inside of her. Even just the thought of how well they could grip her skin made her head dizzy. But the way her eyelids began to droop and become heavy wasn’t something she could ignore any longer. With a soft, sleepy yawn, she tapped her soon-to-be husband’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go to sleep, okay?” He nodded, barely registering what she was saying before going back to speaking.

“Goodnight guys, I’ll see you in the morning.” The smile that graced her face faltered slightly as she made eye contact with Anakin again, her skin felt as though it was going to catch fire as it warmed. He rubbed a hand over his chin as he said goodnight, the small act seemingly very loud. The tension between them, unknown to everybody else, steadily rose and it had her walking a bit quicker up the stairs to the guest room.

It was wrong, obviously. No matter how much her body craved whatever skills he possessed, it was wrong. With a huff, she got ready for bed, soon crawling under the covers almost half asleep.

The dreams conjured up in her unconscious mind weren’t any better than the day dreaming she’s been doing. In her dreams Anakin had a sinful way of talking, a sinful way of touching her.

“That’s it, god I want my cum leaking out of your nose” He’d say, gripping her hair tightly as he forced her further down his cock. He shivered at the tightness of her throat as he slid into it. “Would you like that?” His deep voice was velvety, painfully smooth as he spoke. All she could do was moan around him, spit bubbling from the sides of her mouth.

Back at the table Anakin excused himself, saying he was going to the bathroom. His tall figure stalked up the stairs, stopping in front of the guest bedroom’s door. He leaned closer, slowing his breathing to check if he could hear her. It was silent, proving that she was probably asleep.

With a gentle turn of the doorknob, he pushed the door open, his eyes landing on her sleeping figure almost immediately.

His heart beat faster in his chest as he shut the door behind him, stepping closer to gaze at her sleeping face, the only light came from the tv that softly played in the background. From what he could tell, she was perfect. Perfect face, perfect lips, perfect body.

Oh, he loved her body. The way she’d wear low cut tops, her cleavage almost spilling from the fabric. The pants she’d wear were tight, sometimes too tight and he’d have to excuse himself to jerk off in the bathroom. All he wanted was to get his hands, his mouth on her and do as he pleased. He knew he could treat her better, fuck her better than his brother. She needed a man like him, someone who could handle her, fuck her tired when she couldn’t sleep, when she was bratty, he’d do it all with a smile.

He’d teach her how to be the perfect whore, he knew she’d be eager to please him, to learn how to take it.

His pants tightened at the thought and he couldn’t stop himself from hooking his fingers in the comforter and dragging it down to her ankles. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, shorts that would have killed him if she wore them around him. The globes of her ass strained the material and he thanked whatever god was listening to his prayers and brought her into his life.

“So pretty.” He mumbled, his voice thick with need. The shorts were cute but had to go so he softly yanked them down and off, leaving them discarded on the floor. He bit down a smile at the panties she adorned, white lace, it was almost like she was doing this on purpose.

His gaze flicked upward, checking if she was stirring awake at all. When he knew it was safe to keep going he spread her legs, almost moaning at her panty-clad mound. It took every ounce of self restraint to not tear the lacy material off and force his aching cock inside of her.

She laid on her stomach, shielding her breasts from him which he didn’t really appreciate. He thought about flipping her over but that was too risky and he was on a time crunch. So he pushed down his pants and boxers just enough to free his cock, his hand lazily stroking as he positioned himself behind her. She had such an effect on him, his tip already leaking pearls of pre cum as he pushed her panties to the side.

The gentle musk of her had his eyes rolling to the back of his head, oh what he wouldn’t give to press his face against her pussy and live out the rest of his days there. Another shaky breath left him as he leaned on his hands over her, guiding himself to her core.

The first touch had goosebumps spreading over his clothed skin, and this time he couldn’t stop himself from fully pushing forward and filling her up. His mouth parted and his hips stuttered at the heavenly feel of her tight walls enveloping him. It took a few soft thrusts to fully get inside her but he didn’t care, the house could be burning down at that moment and he still wouldn’t have cared.

She made a few sounds in her sleep, moving a little but didn’t wake up. His gaze was fierce as he stared at the side of her face as his thrusts picked up, her eyebrows knit together a moment later. Lowering himself to her back, his chest pressed against it and he nudged his hands under her to get to her breasts, harshly groping when he made contact. Anakin lets out a strained groan into her neck, feeling like he was on cloud nine.

He fucked her like they’ve been married for years, like this wasn’t the first time, like she wasn’t engaged to his little brother. Her body lunged forward every thrust and soon her eyes were creaking open.

He didnt care, his hand made quick work of leaving her breast and pressing tightly against her mouth. His cock twitched when she fully came to and tried to push him off, her feeble attempts made this so much hotter.

“‘uh-uh, baby, you’re not going anywhere. Be a good girl and take it.” He panted into her ear, his forehead pressed against the side of her head.

She was beyond confused, but the one thing she knew is that he felt amazing in her. Anakin’s tip kissed her cervix every thrust, her fiancé had never done that before.

Anakin was big, she could feel the veins on his shaft, she could feel how he split her in half to accommodate his size. It was mind numbing as he picked up the pace, even just the way his broad frame shadowed her own. He could break her in half if he wanted and it had a muffled whimper leaving her throat.

The man above her smirked, it was lewd and predatory. He was right, she was a whore, a slut for good dick. He hummed against her ear, pressing harder against her mouth so her head was pushed back further. He slowed his hips, opting for pushing deeper in her.

She groaned into his hand, pushing back into his hips as best she could, trying to signal for him to speed up again. He chuckled darkly, digging his teeth into his bottom lip, the action threatened to draw blood but he didnt pay any mind to it.

Most people would’ve been distraught by now, but not her. She wanted this and he knew it. She stuffed her hand down and into her panties, toying with her puffy clit in fast circles.

“You want more? You’re fucking pathetic, begging your fiancé’s brother to fuck you faster. What would he say if he saw you dripping all over my dick? Hm? If he saw you being fucked stupid.” He taunted cruelly, he decided to drive into her again, fast enough to make her brain stop working but not fast enough to have the bed make any noise.

The realness of his words caused her stomach to tighten in worry, but the idea that his brother could walk in any moment and catch them had her squeezing Anakin’s cock and coming around him hard. A broken moan leaves her, still muffled by his hand thankfully. Humiliation nips at her because of how fast she came, but she couldn’t help it. She’s touched herself to this exact scenario multiple times, being taken roughly and without choice by him.

The euphoric feeling had her toes curling, her fingers digging into the sheets below, and her eyes rolling.

“That’s a good girl, pussy so fucking tight.” The feeling of her orgasm had his balls tightening, he was getting close. Her gummy, wet walls almost suctioning around him was lethal, and he would happily die right then and there. Lodged in the most perfect pussy he’s ever fucked.

“Gonna cum inside you, fill you up. Kay, baby?” She nodded quickly, sweat dripping down the sides of her face. Anakin wasn’t any better, drops of sweat dripped onto her hair and the back of her neck.

A muffled “please” came from her and he groaned, probably a bit too loud before his hips stuttered once more. He pressed himself as far as he could inside her and pressed his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, painting her walls white.

“That’s it, taking it so well.” He murmured, gently thrusting before coming to a stop. The pair panted, catching their breaths before he gripped her hips and pulled out. White leaked from her abused hole, making it almost impossible for Anakin to get up.

But he did, pulling his pants and boxers back up. She thought he was going to leave just like that, but he leaned over to firmly grasp her hair, tugging her head backwards so he could duck down and sloppily connect their lips. It’s all teeth and tongue but has a familiar feeling stirring in her gut again.

“Don’t waste what I gave you, I’ll check tomorrow.” His gaze bores into hers and she dumbly nods. Tapping her cheek meanly, he stood back up straight, stretching his arms to get rid of the stiffness in his joints before he cast one last glance at her debauched form and left. She tried to call out to him softly but he didn’t turn back, only shutting the door silently.