Credit goes to the writer on tumblr to
@nightlylangdon
so i'm a little rusty but i spent a while editing this the best i could so hopefully it's good. i got the idea when i was drunk and reminiscing on my royal fuck ups as a teenager ;) enjoy!
plot: you resented the card you were dealt when they offered you a place of refuge at Outpost Three and regretted the way you left things before the nukes destroyed everything you cared about. Michael Langdon enters the outpost to offer salvation to those he deems worthy, but instead he finds an ungrateful young girl (you) who is dumb enough to challenge him at every turn. so he does her a favor and puts her in her place.
warnings: fem!reader, 18 year old reader, degradation, bratty!reader, fingering, finger sucking, dubcon, mentions of teacherxstudent relationships, mentions of infidelity, dom!michael, mean!michael lol
//
The atmosphere seemed different down there. Cold and stagnant, never moving. It reminded you of your high school biology classroom whenever it was frog dissection day—overwhelmingly sterile. The smell of formaldehyde-soaked amphibians had always made you gag, and down here in this never-ending labyrinth of asymmetrical stairwells, hallways, and rooms was no different.
Still, you made a habit of reminding yourself that nothing could be worse than what awaited on the outside. The broken and haunted pieces of what remained above ground scared you more than being trapped underneath earth's core. On the other hand, you tried not to think about what became of the world you used to know— your girlfriend's, your favorite coffee shop, that equestrian center on the outskirts of town, the old swing-set on OakHurst your mother pushed you on when you were a little girl. Your mother. It was all gone, and so were they— diminished to ash and rubble.
You were so young. You'd hardly gotten the chance to live before your supposedly 'perfect DNA' granted you access to the underground asylum and saved you from the end of the world. You would never get to go to Paris, experience college, get married and have babies, sit on a porch swing, wrinkled and grey-haired with the love of your life while your grandchildren played in the front yard. That was the hardest pill to swallow— but you knew that you were alive for a reason. There was a bigger picture somewhere; but you just couldn't see it yet.
You sat on one of the couches in the commons with your elbow resting on the arm, face leaned against it, forced to endure yet another day of hearing CoCo St. Pierre-whatever her name was go on and on about some superficial thing that just didn't matter anymore. There was something about her voice that felt like nails on a chalkboard, and you often found yourself leaving the room when she went on a spiel. The others weren't as terrible. Gallant was pretty entertaining, and the girl with the pretty, coffee colored skin was kind. However, something about the way she undressed Timothy with her eyes every second sort of made you want to puke.
Perhaps, they really were all decent people; but even so, the circumstances you found yourself in had made you cold, cynical. Standoffish. Truthfully, you resented the way you had left things in your life before the nuclear winter. You allowed people to hurt you, and in turn you hurt others. You let them use you for their own benefit and when good things came your way, you turned your nose up to it because deep down you enjoyed feeling set apart. But down here, being alone was never an option. You're just alone, right from the start.
Suddenly, there was commotion coming from the entrance of the outpost, the rhythmic sound of heels hitting concrete floor reverberated off the tall walls and vaulted ceiling. Venable and Ms. Mead turned their heads toward the dim corridor, and the others followed. Appearing at the frame of the door stood a tall man dressed in black clothing. All eyes were on him, and it was easy to understand why as he advanced forward to take Mrs. Venable's place at the center of the room.
He was beautiful—almost inhumanly so. Appearing to be in his late twenties, the man had long, silky blonde hair that ended in loose, styled waves and framed his slender face perfectly. He had an androgynous air about him. You found yourself unashamedly mesmerized by the way the soft pink eyeshadow on the corners of his lids brought out the blue in eyes that seemed to hold all knowledge of what was, is and yet to come. His hands were large and adorned with long, slender fingers. You started to imagine how those hands would feel on your touch-deprived body or how nice they'd be raking through your hair. How they would feel around your throat while he takes you from behind and what kind of marks they would leave on your supple skin.
"My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative."
You found yourself snapping back to reality when you heard him speak. You heard that mysterious word once again, The Cooperative: some secret legion of higher ups that none of you, not even Venable and her henchmen knew much about. Langdon explained how humanity was on the precipice of failure, and your eyebrows furrowed. Wasn't that why you all were in here in the first place? He continued on, explaining how every other outpost scattered around what once was the United States had been overrun. Mentions of a Sanctuary in some classified location and how he would be taking those he deemed worthy of salvation via an interview caused looks of speculation to spread throughout the room. The smug, superior attitude he had set you back a bit.
"So you just show up out of the blue in a long black coat and we're all supposed fall on our knees? Why should we trust you?" You spoke out bravely amongst the others. Soon, all eyes shifted to you, including Langdon's. His gaze tore directly into and through you, as if he could see your soul and beyond. He stared curiously, half a smile forming on his full lips.
"You shouldn't." He professed.
You turned away, smoothing out your dress and adjusting the choker around your neck in hopes that it would somehow take the heat off of you. Bringing his hands together with a loud 'clap', he asked the group who would do the honor of being the first person he interviewed. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. No one seemed to want to be the guinea pig for this mysterious man and you couldn't blame them. Something about Langdon and his god-like complex both terrified, infuriated, and fascinated you, the feelings so intense that you thought it would be safer to ignore it completely.
When you felt his piercing eyes on you for the second time around, it wasn't as easy to keep from looking his way. The next collection of words that came out of his mouth caused a wave of heat to rush through your body, hoping that your face didn't give away the cluster-fuck of emotions you were experiencing all at once.
"You seem to have a lot to say. How about you, miss?" Langdon asked with a tilt of his head.
In that moment, you knew that his word was the law, and you found yourself giving him a small nod, not wanting to think about what would happen if you denied him of his request but biting your tongue in opposition nonetheless. You weren't used to obeying orders on a whim and you didn't care for this feeling at all— like you were on a leash awaiting command from a complete stranger. Regardless, you found yourself following him down the hallway like some lost puppy.
//
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...
Seconds turned to minutes without a word from Mr. Langdon, just a cold, unimpressed stare, fingers running through a few strands of soft hair, one leg crossed over the other. You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, tapping your foot against the floor and trying your hardest to be patient. But you had lost count of the minutes now, still with no word from him. Impulsively, decide to give him an earful. What was the worst he could do, kill you?
"Is this a part of the interview? You haven't said a word to me since we've been in here!" You snapped. "Look, I don't know what your game is, but I don't want to play. So, take me to the sanctuary or don't because at this point I think I'd rather be eaten alive." The tone of your voice tasted bitter on your tongue. You looked down and saw that your body was leaned over the table, palms flat against the surface. Slowly, you slid back down and bit your lip, finding his gaze the second he finally spoke.
"So much rage for such a young girl," he murmured in a sultry, sing-song voice that seemed to be able to pull whatever he wanted from you right out by the fucking root. His back was leaned against the chair with an air of casualty—long, ring decorated fingers folded neatly in front of him.
"I'm not that young," you said almost immediately, trying your hardest to keep the fire inside you stoked and prepared for whatever Langdon threw your way. The beginnings of an amused expression formed on his face at your defensive remark, eyes flickering onto the opened file laying on the mahogany desk that put distance between the both of you. He stood up slowly, eyes never leaving yours as he approached you, the soft, intimidating, steady click of expensive boots on cold concrete floor echoing in your ears.
"It says here in your file that you're the youngest survivor in Outpost Three. Eighteen," he began, sitting down on the edge of the desk with his boots resting on the chair adjacent to you. "Not young enough to be considered a child anymore, yet not old enough to be taken seriously." A smug expression began to form on his sinful features and you weren't stupid, you knew he was taunting you.
The streak of defiance inside you caused you to glare at him directly. "What the hell does that mean? Do I have a better chance at getting into the sanctuary or something?" You asked bluntly, arms folded against your chest as you try and challenge Langdon's aura. You were playing with fire, you knew that. Somehow, your hot-headedness would end up getting you killed.
His lips curved into something that resembled a half-hearted smile. You could tell he was growing tired of your attitude. "Your impulse control, or lack thereof, is extremely exhausting." He leaned forward so that the two of you were face to face.
"I could care less how old you are. I could care less whether you live or die. And I most certainly will not let you know the criteria I'm using to decide whether or not you're worthy of salvation." His voice never faltered, silky hair falling in front of his face as he glared at you. That cruel, velvety tone caused you to swallow harshly and for once, you didn't have to bite your tongue to keep from saying something you'd regret, because it felt as though he wouldn't hesitate to cut it off if you gave him any more difficulty.
"What do you want from me, then?" You asked, voice barley above a whisper.
He studied your face as if it were a rare piece of artwork that he could either admire or destroy, ringed fingers tapping the dark wood of the table. "Tell me why you're such an angry girl," He demanded.
"Tell me about your teacher."
His words caused a sinking feeling to form in the pit of your stomach, tensing immediately and averting your gaze to the lace on the front of your lilac dress.
"I-I don't," you stuttered, searching for the words that didn't seem to want to escape your typically loud mouth—words you swore you would never utter to another human being as long as you lived. You could almost relive it all in that one second, as if it had been planted in your mind, every detail as clear as polished glass. The image of him, his large body pressed against you, forcing you against the chalk board of your empty eleventh-grade English classroom—The ring on his left index finger especially blinding when it hit the sunlight coming from the window as he forced himself into you, hoping to god no one walked in.
It embarrassed you— that this was all your history before the apocalypse had to show for. Had the circumstances been different perhaps you could have grown from it, but here you were, frozen forever in time as the naive girl who had an affinity for dangerous affairs with men twice her age like some manic pixie dream girl in a pretentious novel you probably would have enjoyed in secret.
"This is your only chance, Y/N, tell me what I want to hear." He insisted. Reaching to stroke his knuckles along the softness of your cheek, he spoke once more. "Be a good girl."
Those four words caused a tightness to form in your belly, the hairs on the back of your neck rising along with your pitiful heart rate. Your lips parted and you wondered if that was somewhere in your file. Leaning into the feather-light touch that burned like a hot iron, you almost whine when he pulls his hand back and waits for a response from you.
"I-I slept with him... I slept with my English teacher." You admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Your voice was dripping with shame and he watched the scarlet heat rise to your cheeks with humiliation. He could tell you were deeply bothered by it, yet still looked at you with that same cold, collected expression he had kept from the start of the interview, urging you to continue your confession.
"My married English teacher." You added, biting the inside of your lip. "It all happened so fast. At first it was just to get a grade changed," A fact you weren't proud to admit in front of anyone, let alone the man who held your fate in his hands.
"But you kept seeing him." Langdon inferred. "Why?"
"Because it-it felt so good. No one had ever touched me that way before." You found yourself slipping deeper and deeper into whatever spell this man had you under, the vulnerability made your skin crawl. "But then he never spoke to me again. He lived happily ever after in his quiet, boring little subdivision at the end of the culdesac with his boring wife and boring set of golden retrievers. So, there."
He drew in a quiet breath, tilting his head to the side as he listened intently to what he succeeded in pulling out of the darkest parts of yourself. It was quiet for a long while and the silence was nearly deafening, the tension between the two of you able to cut glass.
"So you like older men?"
It was the last thing you expected to hear in that moment; but the question caused your already flushed cheeks to burn hot with embarrassment and something else that felt familiar. Your stubbornness allowed you to avoid his gaze, but every part of you was secretly begging for him to just keep going.
He orders you to stand up and you do, without a hesitation, like a puppet on strings. You try your hardest to keep calm as the long haired man sauntered toward you like a lion about to devour its prey. He had everything he needed to know now, and you're pretty sure he knew anyway and just wanted to hear it come from your mouth.
"Which part excites you the most? Is it the wisdom? The power?" he asked in a mocking tone. He then broke the distance between you both, his face merely inches from yours, looking down into your widened eyes—pupils blown so wide the icy blue irises were hardly visible anymore. He brought his thumb up to run across your bottom lip. "The experience?"
Your breath hitched. Once again you leaned into Michael's touch, tongue pressing to his thumb as it slid against your lip. "Mr. Langdon..." you breathed, chest heaving as you took in the sweet scent radiating from him and God damn it, you were so gone.
"You've been thinking about it since I arrived, haven't you, Y/N?" He said coolly, forcing the digit into your mouth and pressing down with enough force to make you gag. "Thought about how good my cock would feel, filling your needy little jailbait cunt."
You let out a long, pitiful moan, wrapping your lips around his thumb and sucking on it obscenely, pressing your body into him, searching for the friction and the heat that you so desperately searched for.
"Hm, you crave it don't you, pretty thing?" He cooed, dragging his fingers along the hollow of your throat before they made their way toward your clothed breasts, dancing over the velvet and lace. And you did— you craved it. You craved the feeling of being fucked and wanted and lusted over. It had been so long. Your hormones were running rampant and you couldn't seem to control what you were doing. It was as if you were in high gear and this man, if he was a man at all, was flooring the gas.
"You like being taken care of, wanted. So you sink your claws into some older, married man because knowing he wants to fuck you makes you feel special, then you cry your little lungs out when he doesn't leave her for you like he promised every time he came inside you." His words cut you like a switchblade, trying to swallow the lump in your throat from his cruel words that at the same time caused you to throb at your center. "You're pathetic. I can see why he fucked you and dumped you."
"Please..." you breathed, a sound so small and desperate that it was barely a sound at all. You felt like your legs were going to give out at any moment and every part of you was begging him to just do something.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," Langdon murmured, full lips brushing against your ear. You couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, just leaned into his sinful touch, feeling the wetness between your thighs seep through the thin cotton of your panties.
"No pussy, no matter how tight, how wet, how perfect, is worth that amount of trouble." He murmured coldly, brushing the hair away from your face. You tried to control your breathing, have a little dignity while he peeled you away layer by layer like the petals of freshly bloomed flower.
You felt the tickle of the zipper on the back of your dress slither down your spine until it reached its stopping point, your heart rate speeding up as the heavy Victorian-style dress fell from your frame and onto the floor. You were left in a white silk slip that ended just above your knee. You hadn't been this exposed to another person since you came to the outpost, and you almost melted when you twisted your neck around to find Langdon's eyes running up and down your body, feeling the hard length of him press into your ass.
"But maybe you could convince me otherwise," his voice trailed off into silence and you gasped as he jerked you around to face him, body pressed against his. He looked absolutely dangerous as he pushed you onto the edge of the table, forcing your legs apart and seeing how embarrassingly wet your panties were. He scoffed, sliding a hand along the expanse of your inner thigh before running a finger down the saturated fabric. "You're soaking wet and all I've done is tell you how pitiful you are."
Your chest heaved and your skin felt feverish, pushing your hips forward in desperation. He was torturing you every second he didn't give you what you wanted. What you needed. He smiled deviously, pushing his thumb against your aching clit through the cotton material.
"The cold, unapproachable act doesn't fool me. Deep down we both know you're just a sad, scared, needy little brat with no self control." He growled. You couldn't tell whether the tears forming in your eyes were because you were hurt or because you were so turned on. Lifting your hips and pulling your panties off in one fluid motion, he brought them to your face.
"Clean them."
You were taken back, but had no time to consider what he asked of you before he was forcing them to your mouth. You drug your tongue across the soaked fabric and tasted yourself, a mixture of arousal and humiliation pooling in your tummy. Langdon licked his lips at the sight, feeding off the power and control he had over you. Suddenly, you felt a long finger run down your slit, then adding another before pushing slowly inside you, a satisfied sound bellowing deep within his chest at the feeling of your tight pussy around his fingers.
You threw your head back in complete rapture, lips parting with a strangled moan as he added another, pulling them out only to fuck back into you relentlessly, keeping a steady rhythm as he reached around to tangle his free hand into your hair, keeping you in place.
"Oh, god, please.." you whimpered, grinding down on his fingers and jerking your hips forward when he began to rub hard, fast circles on your swollen clit.
"Don't ever question me again. Do you understand, brat?" Langdon threatened through clenched teeth, his fingers pushing into you roughly enough to cause you to wince in pain. You nodded so quickly you thought you might give yourself whiplash, letting out a strangled "yes sir" while he fucked his fingers relentlessly into you, hissing a the way your walls began to tighten around them.
"I could just as easily kill you as I can fuck you. You're nothing, Y/N, nothing but a pretty face and a pretty pussy." The long-haired man growled, eyes black with lust. You could barely make out what he was saying as he reached the spot inside you that caused you to cry out, coils of white, hot pleasure coursing through your writhing body, your vocabulary dwindled down into a string of "uh uh uhs" that were in time with his thrusts.
"Slit my t-throat afterwards, leave me here to rot, I don't care, just let me fucking cum, please. I need it-" the desperation in your voice caused a smug smile to creep into his lips, pressing his fingers repeatedly into that same spot that no other person had ever reached. His thumb pressed down on your aching clit and it was enough to send you over the edge. You let out a strangled sob, walls contracting around his fingers as they slowed their pace, legs spasming as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. It was euphoric.
Your body fell limp against him, trying to take control of your breathing but before you could even comprehend the intensity of what just happened, he pulled his fingers out of you with a vulgar sound, bringing them to your lips. You took them into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue, cleaning yourself off of his long fingers. Langdon abruptly pushed you off of his warm body and you fall to the floor, hair tangled, tears trailing down your cheeks. You couldn't imagine how pathetic you must look from where he stood.
You finally got to the point where you could hear yourself over the heaving breaths that filtered through your lungs, face and ears bright red with humiliation when reality set back in and you really were nothing. Licking your dry lips, your teary eyes once again found his beautiful, unforgiving face. He had engulfed the fire inside you with the inferno that raged within him— you knew that there was something different about him. Something dark and powerful.
You swallowed dryly, mustering what little you had left in you to speak.
"Do I pass?" Your voice tapered off into a barely audible string of words and you saw his expression soften, lowering himself to your level. The man placed two fingers under your chin and lifted them so that you were peering straight into his cold eyes, feeling his breath fanning your face while his lips met you ear. He whispered a drawn out 'no', before pulling away completely, turning on his heels toward the sliding doors.
Your heart sank, bringing your legs to your chest and burying your face in your knees. You'd never felt more degraded. You'd also never felt so good. The two factors danced and battled each other in your mind, a lump forming in your throat at how cold you suddenly felt. Your head snapped up when he pulled the doors open and heard him acknowledge you one last time.
"Stop by my room, perhaps I'll consider changing your grade."
