Summary: Lost in the woods, Michael finds the light when he least expects it.
Warnings: Religious trauma, panic attack, antichrist stuff (Michael is going through it).
Word Count: 2076
A/N: Sometimes Babygirl™ is the literal antichrist.
Michael wanders with no real destination in mind, boots crunching against the damp carpet of the forest floor as the trees close in around him. They are tall here, ancient, their branches knitting together overhead like a ceiling meant to box him in.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking. Time has lost all meaning since Miriam’s death, since he turned his back on the silent Devil who was supposed to be his father. Grief clings to him like a second skin. As do the thoughts; obsessive, manic spirals that intertwine in an endless vortex of panic.
Images flicker at the edges of his vision. Whispers echo through his mind. Sometimes he sees faces between the trees, or hears his name carried on the wind. Michael wonders if it’s all in his head. If it’s all something he conceived in his sad, broken mind. Maybe they are messages from a higher power? He can’t tell anymore.
His chest feels tight, his breath is shallow. He drags a hand through his blond curls, nails scraping his scalp, drawing sharp lines across his skin as he tries to ground himself. Miriam’s voice echoes in his head. Constance’s laughter follows close behind. Both God and Satan’s silence scream louder than either of them.
A branch suddenly snaps behind him, causing Michael to whip himself around, the world seeming eerily quiet now. You stand a few feet away, in a small clearing where sunlight barely manages to break through the thick canopy.
You don’t come across as imposing or threatening, and yet the sight of you strikes him harder than any vision had before. Something about you feels… wrong, and right, all at once. Your presence is steady, seeming to ground him without even lifting a finger.
For a moment, all he can do is stare. “Are you alright?” You ask. Your voice gentle and warm, if not a bit cautious, cuts through the noise in his head without effort. It sounds better than anything he’s heard in months.
Michael opens his mouth, then closes it, words refusing to come, tangled in the back of his throat. His heart hammers painfully against his ribs as he continues to stare, as if looking away might cause you to disappear.
“I- I’m lost…” He finally manages. Your brow furrows. “Well…” You start gently. “What are you looking for?” He lets out a shaky laugh that breaks into a sob halfway through. “I don’t- I don’t know anymore.”
You don’t flinch at his tears. You don’t recoil from the way his composure collapses in on itself. Instead, you step closer, your movements careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. “Come now.” You say softly, holding out a tissue for him. “Tears won’t help you with this.”
He takes it, just barely missing your fingers. “Come.” You continue, turning away. “I don’t live far from here. You can bathe and change into some clean clothes while I make you something to eat.”
You begin to walk, acting as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to invite a strange, sobbing man into your home. Michael hesitates for half a second, then scrambles after you, panic spiking at the thought of losing you among the trees.
Your house is small, tucked away on the boarder of the forest and the city. Inside, it’s pleasantly warm. Your home in scattered with soft lights, worn furniture, and the faint smell of herbs and something sweet lingering in the air.
You hand him some spare clothes and send him upstairs to shower. The water washes away all the dirt and sweat he’d accumulated in the forest, relaxing his muscles, tight with something he didn’t realise he’s been carrying.
When Michael comes back down after, hair damp and clothes clean, he finds you in the kitchen, stirring a pot. Golden late afternoon light pours in through the window, catching you in a way that for a fleeting, dizzying moment, almost makes it seem like you’re glowing.
You then glance up, snapping him out of his daze, eyes flicking over him as you look him up and down. Michael has the strange, unsettling feeling that you’re actually looking through him, past his flesh and bone and straight into his soul.
“Good to see the clothes fit you.” You say, snapping Michael back to consciousness. “You can sit down at the table. I’m almost done.” He sits stiffly, watching you move around the kitchen as he fidgets with his hands.
He can’t quite place what you’re making him feel. Gratitude, certainly. Suspicion, confusion, hope. Why would you care for him like this? Do you know who he is? What he is? And if you found out, would you stop?
His spiralling thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a steaming bowl being placed in front of him. “Eat.” You say, sitting down next to him. “It’ll make you feel better.” He hesitantly picks up the spoon and takes a bite. Then another, and another, and another. He didn’t realise how hungry he was until now.
“Do you want another?” You ask as Michael scrapes the bottom of his bowl clean. He looks up startled, suddenly aware that you’ve been watching him scarf down soup like a starved animal.
“Oh- no, thank you. It was really good though.” He rushes out, heat creeping up his neck as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I could tell.” You said chuckle, picking up his empty bowl and your seemingly untouched one.
“Wait-” He reaches out and grabs your arm, not harshly, but you seem to flinch anyway, like his touch burned you in some way. It’s subtle, as though you tried to hide it as quickly as he noticed it
“Sorry, I-” He releases his grip on your arm. “I’m Michael.” You tell him your name. He repeats it after you under his breath, savouring the way it rolls off his tongue “Thank you.” He adds. “You didn’t need to do all this.”
You smile at him again, the quirk of your lips causing his heart to skip a beat. “I know.” You say. “I wanted to.” You turn back to the kitchen, getting ready to do the dishes. “I have a spare room upstairs. You can stay as long as you like.” And stay he does.
He had some trouble in the beginning, though. He wasn’t used to the routine, to the absence of control and manipulation that tended to loom over his head. Life with you is nothing like what he’d had with Miriam or Constance. It isn’t overbearing or filled with malevolence. It’s soft and gentle, something he’d told himself he despised only a few months ago
It took him a while to figure out what’s different this time around. It’s not the comforting food or the warm home. It’s you. The realisation came to him on a walk through the forest one afternoon. You’d said it was good for him, fresh air and such, you’d said.
While walking next to you, listening to you talk about one thing or another, he’d seen a dove sitting by the road. There hadn’t been anything special about this dove. It had just been sitting there, white feathers pristine against the dirt as it looked up at him, head tilted ever so slightly.
Yet, the primal urge he’d almost forgotten to hurt, to kill, had clouded his vision, disrupting the sound of you chatting idly as you had kept walking. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers curling around the handle of the small knife he carried, just in case.
“Michael?”
Your voice had snapped him out of the haze. Disgust had hit him with a sickening wave as he watched the dove flutter away, unharmed. You had come up beside him, staring wordlessly at the bird as it found another.
They danced around each other in the air briefly before disappearing beyond the trees. Your hands had brushed as you watched, its touch, however small, had burned with something he hadn't felt before.
He’d buried the knife in the garden the next day. He came to you after. He didn’t explain, but then again he never seemed to have to with you. You’d just sit with him, listening to him talk, sharing stories of your own when he asked.
He learned about your troubled past, something you prefer to stay vague about. You had a sheltered childhood, which would explain your odd way of speech, your aversion to physical touch, and your restless need for peace and quiet.
He asked once if you still talk to your family. “I tried for a while.” You had said, a distant look on your face. “But it was quite one-sided.” You'd traced the seams on the couch, avoiding eye contact. “Do you miss them?” He had asked. “It’s… complicated.” You had sighed. “Yeah.” He had murmured. “I get that…”
With time, you became less of an enigma to him. The parts of you he found so mystifying, so enthralling, so endearing, now slowly fell into place. And then, one night, it just clicked.
He waited for you for the remainder of the night, going over all possible scenarios of confronting you. Would you lash out at him? Prove for once and for all that he’s undeserving of all the kindness and love you’ve shown him. Or would he finally snap? Ridding the world of the one person who dared to make him soft.
When you finally come down, Michael jumps up from the couch where he’d been ruminating all night. You look slightly messy yet content, like you’ve had the perfect amount of sleep. He almost melts at the sight of you before remembering himself.
“You were sent by Him.” Michael blurts out. You look at him, tired confusion flashing across your face for only a moment before it clicks for you too. “I wasn’t sent.” Your voice is calm, much too calm for his liking.
“Liar!” He growls, heart beating so hard against his ribs he’s convinced it’s physically trying to get to you. “You know, I’m not actually sure I’m capable of that.” You say over your shoulder as you head to the kitchen as if this is a normal domestic dispute.
Michael follows closely behind, frustrated by your lack of a reaction. He watches as you get ready to prepare breakfast like nothing’s wrong. Like his mind doesn’t feel like it’s being torn apart. “You’re an angel.” Michael’s voice shakes with anger. You tense before turning on the kettle.
“I was.” You retort calmly, turning to face him. The look you give him almost makes Michael regret the whole thing. “And you’re the Antichrist.” His throat makes an odd sound, like he’s holding back a violent sob. It’s been so long he’s even properly thought of himself as such. Michael swallows away the lump in his throat. “…I was.”
He runs a hand through his hair, not improving his already messy curls. “If you weren’t sent, why did you help me?” Michael asks, voice unsteady, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.
“Because you were sad, and scared, and you needed help.” You say simply. “So you pitied me.” Michael spits, voice cracking with emotion. “I understood you.” You retort sternly, taking a step in his direction.
Silence stretches between you. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife as you simply stare at each other, deciding what to do next. “What are we?” Michael finally asks, his question seeming to scare both of you.
You take a moment to process the implications of Michael’s question before giving a small, tired shrug. “We can be whatever we want.” You say, a slight smile tugging at your lips. “What?” Is all he manages.
You take another step closer, now practically chest to chest. “We can finally be what we’ve both been aching for.” Your voice drops down to a whisper, eyes glimmering as you smile at him.
He leans in without realising. “What’s that?” He whispers, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Human.” You breathe, the air fanning his lips. “And all the wonderful things that come with it.”
Your lips finally meet, finding his hellish skin doesn’t burn your divine one anymore, not that you would have cared at this point. You melt into each other, smiling into the kiss as a weight is lifted off both of you, Gods and Devils alike long forgotten.
Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 2 - Mirror Sex. Michael is staying at Robichuax Academy, awaiting the Seven Wonders test. He takes a liking to one of the witches to pass the time and is determined to get her alone, no matter where that might be.
Tags: Mirror sex, P in V, Unprotected sex, Mildly dubious consent, Mild red flags, Praise kink, Biting, Marking, Bathroom sex, Out of character Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, Reader is a witch, SoftDom!Michael (sorta?), Antichrist!Michael (alluded to), No plot.
Word count: 2k
all fandom masterlist | ahs masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: I haven't watched Apocalypse in so long so a million apologies that this is definitely out of character!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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The halls of Robichaux Academy had never been tenser. Michael Langdon was staying in the academy, waiting to take the Seven Wonders test. A snake in your midst. He mostly kept to himself and his fellow warlocks but he had seemed to have taken an odd liking to you. He would flash you charming smiles as you passed him in the halls, make a point to sit beside you at dinner, pull out your chair for you and make a show of being the perfect gentleman. Despite him being considered the enemy, you could tell many of the witches felt deeply jealous at the attention he was lavishing on you. Michael, for all his flaws, was an extraordinarily handsome man, it was almost unnatural how flawless he looked. Sometimes, his perfect smiles almost unnerved you, made you feel that there was something almost wrong with him. However, then his eyes would land on you, almost softening slightly and you were swept away by his looks once more. You couldn’t understand the attention he paid you. None of the other warlocks had batted a single eye at you. Someone like Madison seemed much more deserving of this attention, but he was giving it to you, and you could hardly complain.
His temporary room in the academy was on the same corridor as yours, you passed him often on the way in and out. He would smile and try his best to ensnare you into conversation, but often you were busy, heading to classes or to bed. You could see his displeasure all over his face whenever you would make your excuses, but he remained measured and polite, suggesting he catch you some other time. Tonight, you left your room, toothbrush clutched in hand, heading for one of the shared bathrooms. He emerged almost instantly after you had, making you wonder if he’d been listening out for your door to open. He approaches from behind, snaking a hand across your back and onto your hip, using his grip to turn you to face him. He smiles charmingly as you flush a little.
“Good evening, my darling,” he purrs, tugging you a little closer. He’s never been quite this forward before, you find you don’t hate it.
“Good evening, Michael,” you smile back shyly. He’s still dressed in his pristine Hawthorne School uniform, though he’s ditched the tie and the outer layers, still in his crisp white shirt and dress pants. You’re just wearing some old loungewear, an oversized sweater that hangs slightly off of your shoulder and a pair of sweats. It makes you feel shyer than normal, the contrast of how the two of you must look together, but he just smiles pleasantly.
“What are you up to?” he muses, toying slightly with the hem of your sweater. You lift your toothbrush to his gaze.
“Heading to brush my teeth… wash my face… that sort of stuff,” you shrug, averting your eyes to one of the paintings on the wall by the staircase. He hums in acknowledgement, his finger dipping slightly under your sweater, brushing innocently against the skin of your side.
“I suppose that means you’re once again too busy for a chat,” he mutters with a resigned tone, but he’s smiling in a way that tells you he isn’t feeling all that down at all. You open your mouth to answer, but he interjects. “Unless I join you,” he muses with a grin.
“Join me?”
“Yes, actually that’s a fine idea… let's go, shall we?” he chuckles, guiding you by a hand on your waist toward one of the bathrooms. You follow silently, feeling a little bewildered. The two of you enter the bathroom, he flicks on the lights with a finger and clicks the lock, making you tense a little. He just smiles, coming to stand behind you as you wet your toothbrush at the sink. You look up, meeting his eye in the mirror, before quickly averting your gaze again. He looks unbelievably smug, like he’s got you where he wants you and you realise with a start as his arms snake around your waist, that he has. His fingers gather up your hair, pushing it gently over one of your shoulders, baring one side of your neck to him. His breaths are warm as they wash over your neck, he presses himself against you, watching you in the mirror. You continue silently brushing your teeth, staring down into the sink as his nose nudges at the underside of your ear. “You smell lovely,” he hums, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been waiting so long to get you alone,” he presses his lips softly to the skin of your neck. You blush deeply, dipping down for a moment to spit your toothpaste froth out. He seems completely undeterred, holding you even closer as you straighten back up. You gasp, your eyes widening as you feel something hard against your lower back. He chuckles deeply. “Do you feel what you do to me?” You nod without words and he smirks. He peppers more soft kisses up and down your neck, making his way down to your bare shoulder and back up again. Through the reflection of the mirror, you watch his lips latch onto your neck, sucking gently. His eyes open to meet yours as he leaves a tangible mark on you, evidence that you’d let him this close without so much as a protest.
“What are you doing?” you question finally, but it’s already too late. Withdrawing from you slightly, he presses soothing kisses to the newly forming bruise on your neck. It’s clear he’s ignoring your question, enjoying the look on your face as you watch him, taking in the size of the mark he’s left.
“Want another, my darling? They look perfect on you, don’t they?” he purrs, nuzzling at your skin. Your eyes skim your neck in the reflection, watching as he leaves several smaller marks on your skin. His hands venture just beneath your sweater once again, skimming the skin above your waistband. He looks completely engrossed in you and you can’t help but feel his admiration of your body pooling in your stomach. “Can I take this off of you?” he murmurs. You hesitate, watching him in the mirror. He looks up to meet your eye, grinning smugly as he notices your breath hitching. He pushes your sweater up slightly, a reminder of his question.
“Yeah,” you breathe. He’s tugging the sweater over your head in a fraction of a second, discarding it onto the sink counter. You avert your eyes from the mirror as your topless form comes into view, feeling weird to be looking at yourself like this. His hands snake worshipfully up over your stomach to cup your breasts. You make a tiny noise of pleasure as he does this and he grunts in response. He’s watching you reflection as he kneads at your soft flesh, continuing to shower your neck with kisses.
“Been wanting this more than you understand,” he mumbles against your ear. “Been thinking of you every moment since I got here,” he brushes his fingers over your nipples gently, making you gasp. “I’ve never felt so needy in my life,” One arm remains around you, cupping and kneading your breast, the other snakes down and starts to push down your sweats. The waistband is loose so they fall down to your thighs with minimal effort, he helps them the rest of the way down. “Step out,” he whispers gently, you do as you’re told and step out of them. He kicks them aside and presses his rock hard arousal against your rear, letting out a little hiss. His hands leave you just long enough for him to yank off his own clothes, seemingly with little regard for whether the garments survive this encounter. He presses back against you, working his thumbs into the sides of your panties. “Will you let me have you, my angel?” he exhales shakily, teasing his fingers against the lace edge of your panties, waiting for your permission. His angel, the words echo in your mind, they feel both enticing and decidedly dangerous in some way.
“Have me,” you whisper back, meeting his eyes in the mirror. His eyes look almost blackened with lust, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. He sighs in relief, bending you slightly against the sink counter, you prop yourself up on your hands as he presses desperate kisses between your shoulder blades, tugging your panties down slowly. Your face is dangerously close to your reflection and you try your best to avoid your own eye as he positions himself behind you, arms wrapping around you securely.
“Thank you, my angel,” he coos, pressing against your entrance gently and grunting softly at the feeling. His hands hold you in place as your body tries to twitch away at the sudden sensation. He shushes you gently as he begins to press forward into you, your back arches and your lips fall open in an elongated moan. His eyes are glued on your reflection as your face twists in pleasure, your body welcoming him in like a treasured guest. “Perfect,” he sighs. “You look and feel perfect,” he begins to rock his hips gently, watching your eyelids flutter and your teeth bite at your lower lip. “Look at you,” he murmurs, taking ahold of your chin and turning your head so you meet the eye of your reflection. “Look how well you’re taking me,” he grunts as his actions speed up, his hand moving down to your hip to keep you in place as he thrusts. You blush at the sight of yourself, looking utterly sinful. You’re flushed all down your neck, your skin glimmering with perspiration, your pupils blown. You jolt forward with each of his thrusts, glancing up at his intense expression in the mirror as he watches you like you’re a gift from heaven. He grips your hips tighter. “My perfect angel,” he growls, pulling you back against him at an increasingly rapid pace. You throw your head back for a moment and you feel his hand on the back of your head, tangling in your hair, angling your head back down. “Keep your eyes on you,”
“Michael…” you whine, half in embarrassment, half in pleasure. He just speeds up, pressing his chest to your back, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You watch each other's faces in the reflection, both twisted in ecstasy. He grunts louder and louder, his thrusts growing harsher as he approaches his peak. His hands grip you hard, leaving fingertip indents. You whine and cry in pleasure as he ravishes you, you see tears of pleasure forming in your eyes in the mirror and feel utterly pathetic, though unable to do anything about it. He leans forward to kiss at your cheek, muttering sweet praises against your skin that send your mind reeling.
“Come for me, my angel, show me how you’re feeling, you’re doing so well,” he coaxes in your ear. Suddenly, as if something has possessed you, you scream out, your whole body arching and shaking. You sob loudly as you come around his cock, making him fall apart in tandem. He bites down on your shoulder, growling and shivering furiously as he empties into you. You collapse forward, your cheek pressing against the cool surface of the mirror, giving your overheated face some much needed relief. You pant, trying to blink away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes. He withdraws from you, but continues to hold you against his chest, kissing all over your shoulders. After a moment of composing himself he chuckles breathlessly against your ear. “I think the entire academy just heard you fraternising with the enemy,” he taunts, nipping at your ear.
“Oh God…” you hang your head, his lips follow you, pressing against your lips for the first time. You kiss back despite yourself, desperate now for his touch.
“I’m your God now, my sinful little angel,”
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Summary: In the middle of a ruined world, you stumble upon a secluded cabin hidden deep in the woods.
The snow was falling when you first saw the cabin.
You had been walking for hours, maybe days, time had become unreliable since the world ended.
The cabin stood like a fortress in the clearing.
Smoke came from the chimney. Light glowed through shuttered windows. You approached with numb feet, heart filled with hope.
You knocked. Once. Twice.
When the door opened, he stood there barefoot in the snow.
Tall. Bare-chested.
Eyes like ice and fire all at once.
Golden hair curling over his shoulders. A face sculpted from something not quite human. And grief behind his gaze.
He stared at you.
You spoke first. "I’m lost."
He said nothing. Only stepped aside.
Inside, the room smelled of cedar and old smoke. He watched you from a distance as you removed your soaked coat, your boots, your gloves.
"You live here?" you asked.
He nodded. "Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
That night, he gave you a blanket and the floor by the fire. He didn’t ask your name. He didn’t give his.
He only said, "Don’t go into the woods at night. They listen."
You did not ask what that meant.
Not yet.
Days passed.
You cooked meals with the remaining tins in his pantry. You mended a ripped shirt you found hanging by the door.
You spoke softly. He listened. Sometimes he vanished for hours into the trees, returning with wild berries or mushrooms or fish.
He barely ate.
He barely slept.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked one evening, staring into the fire.
"No."
"You should be."
"I’m tired of being afraid."
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
That night, he slept beside the fire place, just close enough to share the warmth.
His name came later. In the dark.
"Michael."
You whispered it back. "Michael."
He flinched as if hearing it aloud hurt him.
You didn’t ask.
But the silence changed after that.
Became friendly.
Sometimes you found him watching you as you chopped vegetables or swept the dust from the corners of the room. Not like a man watching a woman. More like a man watching a star, he thought he’d never see again.
"What happened to the world?" you asked, days later.
Michael didn’t answer right away. He traced a pattern in the ash on the table. His voice was quiet when it came.
"I destroyed it."
You stared.
He met your gaze.
"Not alone. But I wanted it. And it happened."
Your throat tightened. "Why?"
"Because I was born to do it."
Silence.
Then, gently, you reached out and placed your hand over his.
He flinched. But didn’t pull away.
"I don’t think you’d still be here, mourning it, if that’s all you were."
His eyes glowed in the firelight.
"People don’t usually talk to me like this."
"People are gone."
He laughed, bitter and low. "I guess they are."
Spring came slowly.
Michael fixed the roof.
You planted herbs near the window. You found a stray cat and named her Mercy.
Michael pretended not to care, but you often caught him petting her when he thought you weren’t looking.
He began to eat more.
He began to smile.
One night, he cooked for you.
Real food. Berries and fish. He even poured water into a cracked cup and said, "For wine, pretend."
You laughed.
He looked stunned. Like he'd heard something holy.
You stood beside him at the hearth, your hands brushing.
He turned to you.
"Do you still think you’re evil?" you asked.
He paused.
"I think I was made for it."
"And now?"
His breath caught. "Now... I think I want something else."
You touched his cheek. Warm. Human. His eyes fluttered shut.
When he kissed you, it wasn’t rough or desperate. It was beautiful.
A man not begging to be loved, but fearing he could be.
He was wrong. You already did.
Time passed, slow and golden. You bathed together in the river.
You read old books by candlelight. You rebuilt what had been lost, not civilisation, but something better.
Quiet. Tender. Real.
Michael told you, one day, that his magic had begun to fade. He sounded relieved.
"I think I used it all to destroy everything," he said. "Maybe this peace… maybe it’s the price."
"Then it’s worth it," you whispered.
He kissed you again. "You are worth it."
Years later, the woods still whispered, but they no longer frightened you.
Not when Michael stood beside you, barefoot in the grass, one hand resting gently on your growing belly.
"A child in a dead world," he murmured, forehead against yours.
"Not dead," you said. "Reborn."
You could feel his tears on your skin.
Not pain. Not grief.
Gratitude.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
The chamber was eerily silent, illuminated only by the flickering candles and the warm glow of the fireplace. You were seated in a plush armchair, stiff and cold beneath your fingers, your back pressed tight against the cushions.
The air was thin, as if it was being slowly siphoned away. You felt small, trapped. Like an insect in a glass jar. Langdon had only arrived at the outpost a day ago, but already, you could feel the shift in power. Even Venable—the high and mighty bitch who ruled over all—was clearly shaken by his arrival.
No one knew much about him, only that he was important. And dangerous.
The interviews with Langdon had quickly become a topic of annoyance among the other inhabitants. Each person who had been interviewed complained about his cryptic nature and nonchalant attitude. Whatever his purpose here, it felt like a game to him—a clever farce meant to toy with you all.
And now it was your turn to entertain him.
You kept your gaze fixed ahead as Langdon rose from behind his desk, the sound of his boots against the floor the only disruption to the stifling silence as he approached you. He did not bother to sit. Instead, he stood before you, arms clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable as he studied you.
“You’re the seventh,” he announced, and his voice was smooth, like a glassy winter pond. You nodded, swallowing hard, unable to tear your eyes away from him as he began to circle you. The way he moved was languid, graceful.
You fidgeted slightly, trying to suppress your nerves. Langdon was, undeniably beautiful— angelic, even. He looked as if he had been sculpted from marble, with sharp, almost impossibly perfect features—chiselled cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. Long, golden hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, and his pale skin stood out against his all-black attire. The dark clothing gave him an air of authority, likely because he was sent by The Cooperative.
“Tell me. How do you feel your life here, at the Outpost?” he purred, his voice curling in the air around you. The question seemed casual, yet there was something in the way he said it that made you feel anything but.
“It's...” You paused, your throat suddenly dry. “It’s fine,” the words felt hollow on your tongue, laughable, given the bleak reality of your existence here. Sure, you were relieved to be alive, the temptation of sweet oblivion often lingered at the edge of your thoughts. Langdon moved behind you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could feel his bright blue gaze drilling into the back of your skull.
When he spoke again, his voice was a soft, coaxing whisper, like honeyed velvet.
“What do you miss the most?”
The question struck you off guard. It wasn’t what you had anticipated—then again, you hadn’t known what to expect.
“…I’m sorry?”
“Prior to… all of this,” he clarified, gesturing vaguely at the surrounding walls,
“What do you miss most?”
You exhaled shakily, gripping the armrests tighter as you spoke.
“I… I miss the colours. The sky, the sunsets. And the trees, the ones that lined the sidewalks. The way they change in autumn.”
He chuckled softly, and you swore you could detect genuine humour in the sound. Embarrassed at the wistfulness in your tone, you stared down at your lap, at the monotonous gray of your uniform.
“You miss beauty, don’t you?”
he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw in the lightest of touches. Stunned into silence, you simply nodded.
He stopped in front of you now, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if appraising your response. The silence stretched, tension pulling at the edges of the room until it felt unbearable. Then, he deadpanned,
“The world outside is a wasteland now,”
There was no trace of emotion, his words as detached as if he were reading from a script. He stepped closer, leaning in. The cool press of his hand settled against your cheek, the metal of his rings biting into your skin. You froze under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.
“But perhaps,” he mused, his voice soft, almost to himself, “some beauty has survived after all.”
Just as quickly as he had touched you, he withdrew his hand and resumed circling. Every step he took only made the knot of anxiety in your chest tighten further.
The questions that followed were innocent but somehow, simultaneously intimate. He asked about your favourite book, about what scared you most as a child, your childhood best friend.
Throughout it all, his piercing blue eyes never strayed from you. They stripped you bare, as though he was peeling back the layers of your very soul. You answered as best you could, because you had a nagging suspicion that he already knew the answers before you spoke.
Then, just as quickly as it had started, the interview ended.
“That’s all for now.” Langdon turned on his heel, striding toward the door with the same measured grace. His fingers brushed the sleek panels, sliding them open with ease. He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. His expression was unreadable, yet there was something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite put your fingers on.
“I look forward to our next meeting.”
You blinked, unsure if this was the end. The knot of nerves tightened in your stomach as you stood from the armchair, wringing your hands together.
“Wait,” you called after him, your voice trembling slightly.
“Have I… did I get in?”
Langdon turned fully to face you, a faint, almost amused smile curling at the corners of his lips.
“You were already in before the interview,” he murmured, as if it were an afterthought.
“I just wanted to speak to you nonetheless.”
fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
"Youre a pretty little thing" | Michael Langdon x F! reader.
Summary: based off this request. Michael Langdon showing off to the coven witches and using the seven wonders to impress you because he has a crush on you
A/N: guys i love him im a catholic and he's the antichrist we're like romeo and juliet. also the writing on this one is questionable n clunky but im on wine and cider so it needs to be forgiven
When the warlocks had told Cordelia they wanted to have Michael perform the seven wonders, Michael had felt determined to get it done quickly and better than Cordelia could do it, to prove he was the next supreme, and no one could argue it.
However, when the witches had arrived telling him they agreed to it, and he could attempt to perform the seven wonders, Michael had found himself a little distracted by one of the witches, you. His new goal was to impress you.
First wonder: Telekinesis. This one was easy and simple, he just had to move something without touching it. He did so, quickly and with ease, shooting a cocky smirk at the witches, eyes lingering on you a little.
Second wonder: Concilium. Michael knew he could be crafty with this one - control of the mind. He looked at you, and as you made eye contact, you knew you were going to be the victim of him showing off this power.
You could feel yourself moving towards him, very much against your will, and you took mental note of the fact that though you yourself were a very powerful witch, he was powerful enough that you couldn't even try and fight it.
To your surprise, despite the weird evil vibe you've all been getting from him, all he makes you do is dance with him. You uncontrollably slow dance with him, unsure whether it's his pretty face or the magic thats making you kind of nervous, but whatever it is, you scold yourself for thinking that way about a man that even one of the warlocks is scared of.
When he's done making you dance with him, you awkwardly do the walk of shame back over to stand next to Zoe, awkwardly smiling at her.
Third wonder: Transmutation. Another easy one, Michael thought. Madison had tapped him on the shoulder, and in turn, he had appeared behind you to tap you on the shoulder.
By the time you had turned round, he had dissappeared again, leaving everyone looking around for him. Your eyes dart around the room, a little puzzled. Whatever he was doing, it was successfully intriguing you more and more by the second, drawing yourself to the unsettling boy.
"Look up"
You can all hear the cockiness in his voice, the same annoying smirk as before present on his face, as you look up to the ceiling, to see Michael attatched to it, looking down on everyone, like one of those sticky animals you get from toy machines.
Fourth wonder: divination. Once again, Michael already knew he could do this, another easy one. He had to do this one as it was given to him, unfortunately, and couldn't do anything extra to inadvertently flirt with you more. And so, he makes a small bit of eye contact with you, before he takes the small pebbles and usea them to figure out where the pocket watch is, finding it almoat instantly, and walking over to where it was to pick it up and show the witches.
Fifth wonder: Pyrokenesis. Michael decided the best thing to do, would be to conjure a ring of fire around where you and madison were stood, making piercing eye contact with you through the fire, and getting rid of it as quickly as he had conjured it up.
To you, the danger and mystery of him was considerably attractive, though Cordelia didn't seem too impressed that he was practically targeting you.
Sixth wonder: Vitalum Vitalis. Michael was given a rat to bring back to life, which proved another easy task for him, doing so pretty much instantaneously, and moving on to the seventh wonder.
Seventh wonder: Descensum. Cordelia had ordered for Michael to not only successfully come back from this, but also to retrieve Misty Day, who had been lost to this particular task when she tried the seven wonders.
This, of course, had caused an arguement between her and the warlocks, who were claiming it wasnt fair, and that it's not a part of the rules.
You and Michael, had been making eye contact the whole time, and the tension between the two of you was so thick you could almost see it. He broke eye contact to look at the warlocks, holding up a dissmissive hand to them "Relax, I'll do it"
He did, and you watched intensely as he lay there, seemingly lifeless. You started to feel a little nervous, even though you didn't know him at all really, nor would you ever admit to having the slightest care in the world how this played out, you told yourself you were nervous because you wouldn't wish death upon anyone.
Sure enough, he did return, and Misty did - eventually - return with him. Much to everyones shock.
You stood there and gawked, eyes flicking between Michael and Misty, and he smirked at you.
A short bicker between the witches and warlocks ensued, before the witches had all turned there attention to Misty.
You however, had turned your attention to Michael, your gaze locking with his for what felt like the millionth time today.
"You seem impressed, little witch," he smirks a little at you, and you nod in response.
"I am impressed" you confirm, trying to be cautious, undeniably attracted to him, but still acknowledging that there's something off about him.
"That was the goal, i wanted to impress you" he sounds serious about it, and you tilt your head a little, cocking an eyebrow.
Welcome to the haunted drive-in where many terrifying and salacious films are premiering. On a chilly and spooky night, it’s best to stay in your car, settle in and watch a thrilling tale unfold. From creatures rising from the grave to love spells gone wrong, there are many stories waiting for you. So during this Halloween season, grab some popcorn or candy and get ready for some frightening fun...
NOW SHOWING
Oct. 6th - Red Flags and Long Nights (loving the monster) - Tyler Galpin
Oct. 23rd- Body Electric (back from the grave) - Isaac Night
Oct. 27th - Fear and Loathing (a gothic tale of isolation & blood) - Roman Godfrey
Oct. 31st - Under Your Spell (a bewitching tale of desire & diabolism) - Michael Langdon
These stories are rated 18+ and will include dark content. Read the warnings before buying your ticket.
