#sojourn!michael x reader

[langdxn]

how different stages of michael, how he raised his child with s/o?

on this day last year, i published my first fic here (things haven’t changed much since sanctum, i’ll admit) so it seems only fair we go back to that fluffy domesticity with daddy!Michael!

Grunge!Michael is an adorable hands-on dad, not wanting to let your beautiful little girl out of his sight for fear of losing his new family. He’s trying his hardest to control his powers around you both, especially as he’s not entirely sure how strong he is yet. You come home to find him visibly seething as he sterilises baby bottles buried under a mountain of laundry and ironing, but there’s something different about the curls tumbling in front of his face today — a glittering silver tiara perched atop them. “I... I can explain,” Michael stutters as he yanks down the royal addition to his mop top and stows it behind his back. “I... couldn’t find her favourite apple juice and she was crying so loud, so I made the refrigerator blow up and now our daughter thinks I’m... Elsa.”

Hawthorne!Michael is starting to realise his purpose in life, even more so when your baby boy arrives to complete your family — now he has a future Hawthorne boy of his own to raise. Naturally, he teaches your toddler all the best spells when you’re not looking, poring over his own study books to find something to really amuse you after a hard day in class. As you bundle back into your family dorm, you discover Michael’s babysitting skills have left him tearing his blonde curls out while your son dangles from the ceiling, chuckling away while juggling building blocks and toy trucks suspended in mid-air. “I know I’m not one for admitting fault,” Michael sighs with a pout as he keeps his gaze fixed on the troublesome boy. “But I really shouldn’t have taught him salire per spatium.”

While Sojourn!Michael may have lost his way in a spiritual sense, the arrival of your daughter brought him back down to earth in more ways than he can imagine. For the first year of her life, your little girl knew her father’s stubbled countenance as her comfort, the way he would graze her cheek with his like sandpaper and the unbridled giggles that ensued. One day, however, he decides it’s time to pull himself together and shave off that five o’clock shadow. Pacing back into the room wiping his fresh face dry, your baby girl bursts into uncontrollable, hysterical tears. Michael’s heart breaks as he races over to comfort her. “Baby girl, it’s me! It’s daddy! You don’t recognise me?” Scooping the crying girl in his arms, he cradles her and coos softly but nothing works until mom walks in. “Honey, our girl thinks I’m an imposter.”

Fire and Reign!Michael may be a busy bee, flitting between Cooperative meetings and Kineros Robotics, but he will always find time to care for you and your little boy, who’s the spitting image of him minus the flowing black coat and inimitable red gloves. Did we mention the Antichrist has an unlimited Disneyworld pass to whisk your little family away for the weekend? He’s still got a mountain of work engagements to attend while you stay in the most expensive suite on site, but as he stumbles wearily into the room after an exhausting day, his tired eyes find you and little Lucifer curled up on the couch still wearing your Mickey Mouse ears as you doze. Silently tiptoeing over to you both, Michael tosses his coat and gloves aside and slumps into the seat beside you. With one arm protectively curled around your waist and pressing sleepy kisses into your hair, the dictatorial bringer of the apocalypse melts back into his true form — a soft-centered, blissfully happy father.

With the apocalypse well and truly under his thumb, Outpost!Michael has all the maturity and command to make a go of being a cruel-to-be-kind father... at least, that’s what you thought when you first discovered you were expecting twins. Fast forward 18 months and he’s careering down the corridors of Outpost 3 with one little boy perched on his shoulders and your daughter speeding ahead of him, a high-speed chase to the library in search of their favourite book. Fast forward an hour and he’s curled up with your two bundles of joy reading them bedtime stories of angels and demons... tales of supernatural events that your children are blissfully unaware once happened to their father, the cuddly daddy whose velvet suits make the perfect comfort blankets.

[langdxn]

dance macabre part ii: recognition | sojourn!michael x reader

SUMMARY: Michael meets another Cortez resident... someone familiar.

WARNINGS: Nothing but angst and tension here, chief.

WORDS: 1400 - I’m getting better!

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! I had to make sure I did this interaction properly and make all my usual cross-references, I really hope it’s okay! (again I’ve lost the gif credit, sorry!)

read part i here

Michael’s feet dragged wearily across the burgundy honeycomb carpet of the Hotel Cortez, his legs limp and his knees trembling beneath him. He’d walked so far to reach this 1920s sanctuary, he could barely put one foot in front of the other.

Every corridor looked identical to the last, but the monotony didn’t cross the mind of the aimless wanderer. Michael slumped along each hallway unfazed, swinging recklessly from the walls around every corner as if the merry-go-round were a source of entertainment.

It wasn’t that he was drunk, in fact he hadn’t had chance to touch a drop of whiskey in the Blue Parrot thanks to the intrusion of one James Patrick March, but the dehydration and sheer exhaustion left him in a state of quasi-hallucinogenic stupor, dizzying himself as each doorframe buzzed out of his periphery.  

“You need help finding your room?”

The low female voice calling from behind him suddenly startled Michael out of his daze, but not because of her intrusion on his quiet meandering — her tone sounded familiar.

“I’m fi—I’m fine,” he dismissed with a wave, weakly spinning on his heels to face her. As her stout form came into his kaleidoscopic, exhausted view, Michael’s breath hitched sharply.

“You don’t look fine, kid.”

Iris trudged toward him, her arms swinging dutifully by her side and her dowdy white blouse floating with her.

“Ms… Ms Mead?” Michael squinted harshly, propping himself up against the nearest wall and leaning in to get a closer look at his company.

Could it be? Surely not. He’d seen her body, touched her scorched flesh, watched her death in a vision — every last agonising breath snuffed out before him. Cordelia swore he could never find her again.

“Not quite, young man, the name’s Iris,” she corrected, sauntering toward him with a reassuring grin. “Let me help—”

“No—no,” Michael hissed sharply, firing his palms in the space between them, eyes darting frantically around him. “D—don’t come any closer.”

“Look kid, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m the least of your worries in this place.”

“You’re... you’re not real!” His fragile voice broke as his jaw trembled, processing the sight before him as a repetition of his earlier traumas. “You’re lying, I’ve seen you before... out in the woods!”

“Believe me, I haven’t been in any woods for a long time, sir,” Iris chuckled to herself, stepping tentatively toward him as he shrunk into a doorframe and slumped against the wood beyond. “This hotel really takes all the tree-hugging and bird-spotting right out of you.”

Michael swooped a despairing hand through his hair, congealed with patches of dried mud and dust from his sojourn.

“You’re trying to distract… distract me from my purpose,” he cried out, searing hot tears welling and clouding his vision of the short woman as she approached his side. “You’re not here to help me.”

Michael slipped down the door and crumbled into a heap on the carpet, his face buried in his knees to avoid looking at Iris, who instinctively dropped to her knees in front of him.

“I’ve been here long enough to recognise a lost soul when I see one.” Her sarcastic tone faded, replaced by one of maternal concern. “What’s a beautiful blonde boy like you doing here, kid?”

“I’m… looking for my father?” His tone raised as he trailed off, questioning himself as the words tumbled from his tongue. “I think I am, anyway. I don’t know anymore.”

Iris let out an understanding sigh, a pout curling her thin lips as she steadied herself on her knees before Michael.

“I lost my son too.”

Michael’s head lifted slightly, straining to see Iris at his level.

“Y—you did?”

Iris nodded softly. “He lost his way in the world, his purpose. I didn’t do the best job of bringing him up, admittedly. So he left, he left this hotel and I won’t ever get to see him again. But I still see him when I’m walking the halls sometimes, or at least I think I do. I hear footsteps and for a split second, my head goes, ‘Is that Donovan?’”

“Donovan?” Michael’s eyes widened, realisation washing over his face. “So you’re not my Ms Mead?”

“I told you, kid, I’m someone else’s devil momma,” Iris joked, hauling herself to her feet and outstretching a hand to Michael. “Now are you gonna get up and let me show you to your room? Or are you gonna sit here all night hoping your room will come to you?”

With a distinct rebellious pout, Michael accepted, pulling himself up and standing straight, before wobbling weakly and stumbling against the wood again.

“Easy there,” Iris lunged forward, looping an arm around his waist. “You look exhausted. Which room are you in?”

“I--I think,” Michael stuttered, falling into her arms and tipping his head onto her shoulder. “I think it’s room 64.”

“Well today’s your lucky day, young man,” Iris smirked, cocking an eyebrow toward the number on the door Michael had fallen against.

64.

“C’mon, l’ll get you cleaned up.” Iris reached into Michael’s top pocket, retrieving the clunky keychain and unlocking the door.

“Iris is a pretty name,” Michael sniffled softly as he slipped through the door on her arm.

“It is? Huh, I’ve never thought about it like that,” Iris scoffed, helping Michael across the room and tumbling his limp body onto the bed. “What’s yours?”

“Mi... Michael,” he murmured, just loud enough for Iris to hear as she skittered off to the bathroom.

“Michael’s a nice name too,” she called out from the en suite, her echo booming through the empty room. “Very Biblical.”

“I don’t think my mom was going for Biblical,” Michael chuckled softly to himself.

“So you said you were looking for your father? I haven’t seen a Mr Mead in the guest book but—“

“My father doesn’t sign guest books,” Michael interjected, the clattering of shaving products in the bathroom suggesting Iris was on a mission.

“So what makes you think you’ll find him here?”

“I...” Michael rattled through his scrambled mind for a sensible explanation, trying not to scare Iris with the truth but at the same time comforted that she was trying her best to help him. “I felt something bad when I walked past this place.”

“Yeah, this place does that to a lot of people. You go looking for trouble all the time or...”

Michael rinsed his face in his hands, prizing his exhausted eyes open to stare at the dingy wallpaper beyond the bed. Aged, worn, decaying; synonymous with his own life — once splendid and perhaps even celebrated, now torn recklessly at the edges, splaying into paths it never should have taken in the first place.

The silence between the curt clanking of toiletries ripped apart with the sound of carpet-muffled footsteps in the corridor, accompanied by a harsh female voice closing in on the room.

“Iris, which room is the new gir—“ the cackling voice halted mid-sentence, footsteps halted as they reached the room. “Jackpot!”

Michael swung around to find a woman leaning in the doorway, her predatory eyes boring into him as she consumed his figure slumped on the bed. Her jagged blonde hair sparked from her head like a bolt of electricity, a leopard print coat draped over her lithe figure as she leaned against the frame, a cigarette idly burning away in her fingers.

“Shit,” Iris cursed from the bathroom, rushing out amidst a crash of shampoo bottles. “Sally, don’t—“

Michael jolted back as the woman sauntered towards him, a devilish grin plastered beneath her lipstick, a deep red smudge smeared over her lips as she licked them hungrily.

“If you’d told me you’d found something far more tasty in here, I wouldn’t be looking for that new girl that arrived yesterday!”

“What did—what did you do to her?” Michael stammered nervously, almost curling into a protective foetal position as the woman neared his side. Her heels nudging his scuffed shoes as she stopped to tower over him.

“Oh nothing, yet,” Sally sneered, a predatory smirk distorting her words as she leaned down to observe Michael.

“Sally, please, leave him alone—“

“Shut it, Iris,” Sally barked, waving a dismissive hand behind her. “Go and find someone to check in or... dust your pigeonholes. You’ve meddled in my affairs for far too long.”

She lifted a curious finger to press under Michael’s quivering chin, lifting him up to face her as she hovered her lips over his.

“This one is mine.”

[langdxn]

dance macabre: the arrival | sojourn!michael x reader

SUMMARY: Michael’s sojourn leads him to the Hotel Cortez.

WORDS: 700... pitiful I know but I had to start somewhere!

WARNINGS: An average, tame amount of angst you can expect from Sojourn!Michael, but nothing beyond that... yet.

A/N: Firstly, I apologise for going AWOL over here. I’ve had an inspiration drought on top of a heavy workload and it’s taken me this long to find something to commit to! Secondly, this isn’t even long enough to be a one shot, it’s just a teaser to see if anybody would be interested in seeing this story progress into a series. Let me know if you’d like to see Michael explore more of the Cortez and its residents! (gif credits unknown, I’m so sorry!)

“What a pleasure to see you again,” Mr March’s eloquent notes boomed from across the Blue Parrot lounge toward Michael, nursing a tumbler of whiskey in his dirt-smudged hand. Idly spinning the glass on the bar, he rolled his eyes and refused to face his company.

“Not right now,” Michael sighed under his breath, a defeated weariness lacing his words with lazy indifference.

“The last time I saw you striding into my hotel, you were positively incandescent.” James neared the scruffy outline of a man hunched over the bar, head dipped low to stare at the icy shards circling his glass like predatory sharks. “What has become of you, dear boy?”

“I lost my way,” Michael sniffled, wiping his nose in his sleeve. “I lost my father… I lost my purpose.”

“People come here to find purpose,” Liz interjected, her glistening earrings projecting a shard of light onto the face of the miserable visitor as she leaned on her elbows on the bar. “Some even come to find their father.”

“I don’t think I’ll find my father here.”

“Now now, young man, that is a defeatist attitude if ever I heard one,” James rebuked, curtly tapping his cane on the bar beside Michael’s grubby hands. “You may find exactly what you’re looking for within these wondrous walls. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Michael,” he muttered, his shoulders dropping weakly as if delivering the name alone sapped his energy. “Michael Langdon.”

“Michael?!” James’ repetition carried an air of horror. “Someone so mysterious in his mortality goes by the name of Michael?”

A dismissive dirty palm waved in the air between them as James perched on the next stool.

“What’s it to you, James Patrick March?”

“I like to acquaint myself with every unusual dweller propping up my Blue Parrot lounge,” March enthused, leaning in closer with a quirked eyebrow and his trademark sinister grin. “After all, I may be able to help you find the senior Mr Langdon.”

“He’s not a Langdon,” Michael scoffed, his head finally lifting to survey the Art Deco interiors shining and shimmering around him. “And I don’t think he’d be seen dead in this place.”

“You say that, good sir, but the dead can be seen all over this place.” Lifting a gesturing finger at the patiently eavesdropping Liz, March soon also found his hand cradling a whiskey, only with a little more conviction than Michael’s weak grip.

“I had noticed that.”

“So tell me, what news of my beloved Queenie since you so unceremoniously stole her from me? One man can only play so many games of Solitaire before he gets a touch of cabin fever, you see.”

“She’s… thriving,” Michael murmured, a gentle pout puckering his cheeks while he sternly avoided eye contact with both curious characters. “The witches burned my Ms Mead.”

“Such wanton destruction of a perfectly good alcoholic beverage,” James gasped, craning back in surprise. “Heathens!”

“She was the only woman that ever truly loved me,” Michael sighed defeatedly. “The only woman I ever truly loved.”

As Michael strained to lift his glass to his lips, a soft motion in the corner of his eye distracted him from his drink. A woman, gently ascending the staircase toward the rooms behind the lounge. You. Spinning his stool to face you, Michael’s jaw dropped open gently, consuming your figure scaling the steps. Your figure-hugging red dress, your stilettos thudding delicately upon the carpet, your confident, carefree stride.

“Ah, I see,” March observed, a broad grin tapering his pencil moustache as he turned to watch you treading the hall beyond. “The pretty girl entices you too.”

“Who… who is she?” Michael couldn’t tear himself from you, gazing longingly as you disappeared through a far doorway.

“Unfortunately I hadn’t considered asking,” March sighed. “She may not be here for much longer, you see. The Countess has her heart set on her. Or rather ending her.”

“No—”

Michael threw a terrified hand toward March, leaping to his feet and stirring to run toward you. Before he could leave the bar, a firm hand wrapped around his arm and yanked him back.

“I don’t think so, old boy,” March sneered, gesturing a finger toward Michael’s face. “If you wish to enrapture her, you may need to groom yourself first.”

Michael shot a panicked gaze between both his advisors, examining Liz’s disapproving gaze from beneath her reading glasses. Her slender fingers reached beneath the bar and retrieved a golden keychain, dangling it toward Michael.

“Go upstairs and freshen up before she comes down for a drink tonight,” Liz’s comforting tone allowed Michael to loosen his shoulders, breathe deeply and sweep a hand through his mud-slicked hair. “Room 64 is free.”

[langdxn]

Ok I need your perfect writings skills! How would all of Cody‘s characters react to discovering that the reader got pierced nipples? (I am an absolute sucker for nipple piercings, they look soooo fine)

Aww I’m no perfect writer but thank you so much! I too am all for nipple piercings, especially on guys… and girls... sorry, where was I?

Sojourn!Michael is obsessed as soon as he notices those familiar bumps beneath your bra. So much that he can’t take his eyes off them, he just stares and pants whenever he catches sight of them. “Hey honey, how do you fancy a cinema date tonight? There’s a good mov—,” he stalls as he walks into the bathroom to find you clasping your bra. His jaw drops, swallowing hard and fixing his gaze on the lace protecting your modesty. “I—I... sorry, I forgot what I was talking about.”

You might like to think you can keep your pierced nipples a secret from Xavier as you play hard to get and make him wait for sex, but he knows well before you get a chance to break it to him. “Babe, I spotted them the moment you walked in the studio,” he cracks while prepping for his next class, hands fixed to his hips in the sassiest pose he can muster. “Call me a nipple piercing magnet, I just know these things.” Beware when he’s fucking you up against the studio mirror and his lips latch onto that bar, twirling the tip of his tongue around it — he lives off the jolts of pleasure that bolt through your chest with every flick.

Duncan adores the idea of your body modification that only he gets to see, it’s a kind of ownership and laying claim to you that sends his hormones into overdrive when you’re stuck entertaining mind-numbing republicans at formal galas. One morning, when you’re dressing for work at the Washington Herald, he stands behind you and unhooks your bra, then snakes his arms around your bare waist to admire the view in the bathroom mirror. “You won’t be needing this today, baby girl, I want everybody to see what you’ve got underneath there that they can never touch.”

The moment Jim finds out about your piercings, he’s a kid in a sweet shop. “That’s awesome, how much did they hurt?” He’s hanging off the edge of your car bonnet, brimming with questions so he can gauge whether he’d like to get one himself. Before long, the curiosity becomes too much to bear and he’s hovering his hand over one bar, desperate to touch it. Once he’s given permission, he slides the bar through your nipple and gazes up at you, ocean eyes blown with lust. “Does that turn you on as much as it turns me on?”

Shy baby Richard is a little lost for words (that’s nothing new) when you tell him about your piercings in an innocent clinic game of truth or dare. You’ll find him cocking his head to one side as he tries to spot those bumps in your t-shirt from across the lounge. When you’ve fallen asleep in his arms that night, his hand wanders to cup your boobs just to finally get his hands on them. You blink an eye open and he clocks you watching him palming at your piercings, but he has zero regrets. “I haven’t stopped thinking about these all day, I love them.”

David is a puppy-eyed romantic so the thought of you being put through (admittedly temporary) pain to get an intimate piercing makes him just a bit uncomfortable and squeamish at first. However, once he lays eyes on them for the first time, his negative thoughts are banished by his lovelorn gaze at those little silver bars. “I’ve gotta hand it to you… they’re really gorgeous!” His beautiful smile lights up the room whenever he thinks about them and when you’re cuddled up on the couch in front of the TV, his hand wanders to your chest and holds them protectively all evening.

It’s obvious from the first date that Jerome is a touchy-feely kind of partner, but not in the conventional way — the Travelling Salesman likes to touch and feel with his lips. His eyes almost pop out of their sockets when he spots the bars nestled in your nipples and a surge of dominance flows through him, pinning you down on the sheets and sucking on both of them in turn, flicking his tongue over the cool metal and twisting them just enough to make your back arch into him. “These are fascinating, they’re unique and most importantly, they’re mine.”

[langdxn]

Okay that ask about Cody's characters going to an adult store was amazeballs!! But seriously you should do one with all the different stages of Michael Langdon to see how he's evolved.

Aaah thank you darling, I’ve been thinking about these a little too much! Thank you for the ask babe, I’ve been dying to get around to one of your song requests but I’m drowning in work so this is really helpful! 🖤🖤🖤

read grunge!Michael here // read Outpost!Michael here

Hawthorne!Michael pretends to be unfazed as you enter the adult store arm-in-arm, a steely exterior concealing the unbridled elation inside that threatens to burst free simply because you finally asked him to help you pick out sex toys. He peruses the cabinets with an almost aloof air, hands clasped politely behind his back, but once he catches your eye over a Rampant Rabbit, a devious smirk curls the corner of his lips. “Think we need this, little witch?” Gazing intently at your wide-eyed reaction, he smiles further and swipes one from the shelf. “You know I can do all this with my powers, right?” He mutters into the shell of your ear, close enough to feel your heart racing out of its cage. “Oh I see, it’s for when I’m not home.”

Sojourn!Michael is an open-minded man, so he will happily lead you by the hand into any adult store, the seedier the better. However, the moment he steps inside, his thoughts are 100% on you - spoiling you, treating you like his queen. He’s on the lookout for relaxing massage oils to help you unravel into his touch after a hard day at work and he’s not ashamed to show it, to the point he’ll even tell the cashier it’s all for you. That said, he can be easily tempted by the presence of edible bedroom enhancers. “I’ve had an idea,” he purrs, clutching a bottle of chocolate sauce like his life depends on it. “Can we go straight home and try this? Please?”

Let’s face it - Fire and Reign!Michael owns an adult store. An adult chain, even. So any trip to an establishment is basically restocking all the things he’s ripped off you and burned in the last fortnight. Scooping up a revealing lace thong that brings out his hungry, lust-drunk eyes, he grins manically. “The Co-operative didn’t tell me they’d stocked these,” Michael growls lowly, his mind racing through images of you bent over the meeting table wearing nothing but that skimpy lace, dripping with sweat and his own cum. Grasping at all the stock in your size with his signature red gloved hands, he steams toward the exit. “We’ll be needing a few of these… this week.”