michael-langdon-owns-my-soul - Tumblr blog

michael-langdon-owns-my-soul · 2 years

Text

Summary: Sanctuary is the hottest new club on the West Coast. There's no rules in there, allowing patrons to let loose and enjoy the darkness that lurks within them. When you manage to make it inside the exclusive nightclub, you also manage to capture the attention of its enigmatic owner, Michael Langdon. However, you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Word Count: 7.5k

Notes: I promised you a whopper of a fic, did I not? Here it is, in all its entirety. Let me know if you liked it, or let me know if you didn't like it! I enjoy chatting with you just the same.

Warnings for mentions of Satanism, drinking, lots of pining, general creepy vibes? Reader is written as female (but you can always replace pronouns if you want!)

About halfway through planning the end of the world, Michael Langdon, Antichrist extraordinaire, realized that the actual act of ending the world meant getting rid of most of what makes humanity so appealing to creatures like him. The depravity, the sinful nature, the need to cheat and lie and hurt and steal–it would all be gone with the drop of a few nuclear bombs. Why would he want that when he’s hoping to find the very worst parts of what makes up humans and nurture it to its full power? So, he pivoted. The world will be spared, so long as he can cultivate this vision that he has. But how would he accomplish this?

The idea came to him like most ideas: on the backs of the imbeciles who consider themselves in charge of The Cooperative. He had been attending a very informal meeting at a nightclub one of the members owned, and though he hadn’t wanted to show it, he was very impressed. The dark, sleek decor was captivating, as was the way that people seemed to release all inhibitions the second they walked through the door. Their meeting was in a private booth, close enough to hear the muffled thumping of the music but far enough away and well-secured enough to make it clear that these were VIPs.

“Does this particular venture of yours bring in a lot of money?” Michael asked, idly swirling the random alcohol that had been placed in front of him when he arrived (contrary to popular belief, he’s not much of a drinker).

“Oh, the club brings in good money, sure, but it’s what’s behind the curtain that proves particularly fruitful.” The other men chuckled, and Michael scowled while they did so. He really hates being out of the loop.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean.”

The group at least has the decency (or fear) to not laugh when he admits that. “Of course. My apologies, Mr. Langdon. My club is a…front, let’s say, for less-than-legal pursuits.”

Michael raised an eyebrow in intrigue. “Pursuits such as?”

He shrugged. “We offer a number of services for those with enough money, including gambling, a brothel, a very nice strip club–”

“Top of the line,” another associate chimed in, making the others laugh.

“So others say. We also have a number of sellers. Drugs, foreign imports…if somebody wants it and they have the money to buy it, they’ll find it here.”

“And people enjoy this?” Michael asked.

“People love it.” The man gestures to the dance floor as proof. “Just look for yourself, Mr. Langdon!”

Enter Sanctuary.

It’s truly hell on Earth, which Michael views quite favorably. It operates as an exclusive nightclub, which also serves as a front for the darker pursuits: gambling, strip club, escort services, a “market” for various sellers. Michael allows others to run those aspects of his empire; as long as it’s earning him money and accomplishing his mission of world domination, he’s okay with lesser Cooperative members managing those tasks. After all, gambling and exotic dancing are both below his station and far too messy for him to be involved with.

The regular set of rules that governs society is shunned here, ignored in favor of giving in to the most sinful of wants and needs. Those that make the pilgrimage to Sanctuary view Michael as a God, and he loves it. Why shouldn’t he? This is his birthright and what he’s been working towards. His father has voiced his approval for Michael’s new plans, and that’s the only opinion that Michael cares about.

It’s better than any apocalyptic plan he could have thought up, especially considering plans to expand into the East Coast and, eventually, overseas. World domination seems to be just out of Michael’s grasp. And he didn’t even have to set off a nuclear bomb to achieve that.

•••

You already know it’s going to be a bad night the moment that your friend Allison snatches your book out of your hands. She and your other roommate are planning on going out tonight with a few other mutual friends, and they’re both getting ready in the shared bathroom. You’re more than happy to decline the invitation, waving off her pleas to come with and promises that you’ll have a good time. Evidently, she’s not taking no for an answer tonight.

“C’mon, Al, give it back.” Thankfully she doesn’t lose your page, but she does place your bookmark where you left off and slams the book shut so that she can hide it behind her back.

“Just hear me out! You get dressed up all cute, come and have a couple drinks, maybe do a little bit of dancing? Then you can come back home and read all you want!”

“I’d rather skip all that and go straight to the reading.”

She sticks her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Please.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please!”

You groan and look up at Allison from your spot on the couch. “Why do you want me to come so bad?”

“Because you never come out with us! You always just hang out at home.”

“I like being at home. It’s comfy and familiar, and there’s no fuzzy blankets at a club,” you point out.

“You’re gonna become a hermit if you only ever hang out with people when the hangout is at someone’s house.”

“Pretty sure that’s not the definition of a hermit at all.”

She huffs, flopping down on the couch next to you and grabbing your hand in an attempt to persuade you. “What if I told you I’ve got an in at Sanctuary?”

You hate to admit it, but that piques your attention. Of course you’ve heard of Sanctuary, the notorious club that hosts everybody from criminals to the upper echelons of society. People will do anything to try and get into that club–you’ve heard of everything from second mortgages to fucking senators just for a spot in line; hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if people even try to sell their souls for the privilege of going inside. The club, rumor has it, allows people to do anything they want, be anything they want. There’s even whisperings of a whole other club within the club, even more lawless and sinful than the one that everyone knows of. One that you have to have a certain amount of money and power to get into.

Allison smiles, knowing that she has you. “So?”

“How did you get on the list anyways?” you ask. “I thought this club was super exclusive.”

“Jess works there!”

“Since when does your brother work at Sanctuary?”

“Since four months ago. He’s a bartender.”

“So that means he gets to invite anybody he wants to this club?”

“From what I’ve heard, they did a very thorough background check when he applied and made him sign a really strict contract of employment. There’s things he can’t even tell me about.” She notices the perturbed look on your face and shrugs. “The tips are really good.”

You sigh and rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know. That place isn’t exactly safe, right?”

“Which is why you should come! If you don’t go, then you’re just leaving all of us to be victims of those unsafe forces,” she points out.

A scowl crosses your face. “I really don’t like being manipulated.”

“It’s working though, isn’t it?” When you remain silent, she whoops, running back to the bathroom to tell your roommate that she roped you into coming with. “I’ll text the gang!”

That’s how you find yourself in a pair of ripped jeans and a top that shows enough cleavage that you would only wear it on a night out. When you reach the club, with its brick exterior and cursive neon sign, you’re certain that this is where the night ends. There’s no way that they’re going to let a group of random twenty-somethings into a club where most have to be in a certain tax bracket to even be considered for entrance. When you voice your concerns, Allison simply smirks and pulls out a card that you assume Jess gave her to hand to the security guard. Much to your shock and disbelief, they only glance at the card before letting all of you in. You were sure they were going to make you sign a contract in your own blood or something of the same vein.

Sanctuary certainly plays up the whole “sinful” vibe. All of the lights have a red tint, bathing the club in a hellish glow. There’s mirrors on the ceiling, presumably for those vain enough to enjoy watching themselves dance, and private booths with black curtains obscuring them from the view of the rest of the peasants that make their way through the club. You can’t tell if the smoky haze that you wade through as you walk further inside is from thousands of vapes being hit at once or if there’s a hidden smoke machine somewhere; probably both, if you had to guess.

The dance floor is already packed, but your friends thankfully give you a little more time to mentally prepare for that when they drag you to the bar. Allison waves her hand in an exaggerated manner until Jess, her twin, finally turns around after serving customers and notices her. Even if you didn’t know them, it would be impossible for anybody to mistake these two for anything other than siblings. From their dark skin to the mischievous smirks they carry, their identical noses and the way that they seem to telepathically communicate, Allison and Jess are practically the poster children for twins.

“Thanks for giving us your ‘friends and family’ card, or whatever the fuck it is!” Allison yells above the music.

“You didn’t have any trouble getting in?” he asks, waiting for you all to shake your heads before he smiles. “Alright! Shots before y’all go dance?”

Since you’re a sucker for peer pressure and it’s just one drink, you don’t deny him when he sets down a round of blue shots for everyone. Part of you wants to ask what’s in it, but you think you might be better off not knowing, so you just clink your glass in cheers with your friends and toss it back. Satisfied with your one drink of the night (after all, you only agreed to come out to make sure everybody gets home safe), you let yourself be led to the dance floor by your friends.

Dancing with your friends is always fun, and this is no different. However, it’s a lot less fun to dance when you’re surrounded by no less than a hundred other people, all of them pressed up against you. You’re proud of yourself for making it through as many songs as you do–a whopping six–before you’re finally a little too uncomfortable and tap out to tell your friends you’re going to go to the bar and get another drink.

Jess doesn’t look surprised to see you back at the bar so soon, though you have to wait for the crowd to thin enough for you to push yourself onto a barstool. One of the other bartenders serves you first, and you just ask for water. One shot was more than enough for you, and the water is much needed after sharing personal space with a bunch of strangers. You’re content with just watching for a bit, taking everything in as you recharge.

“Does it suck to be working and watching your sister have a bunch of fun?” you ask Jess when he’s finally near you, cleaning glasses and doing a quick inventory check now that there’s enough of a lull that only one bartender needs to be attending to customers.

“Well, being on the sidelines as she has fun is nothing new for me, so.” He shrugs in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of manner, and you laugh.

“Oh, don’t be so self-deprecating, Mr. Prom King.” You reference the pictures that you’ve seen of him winning prom king his senior year of high school.

“Are you their waitress now? If your friends aren’t expecting to have to share a single glass of,” he glances at your glass, “water, they’re gonna be pretty disappointed if that’s what you come back with.”

“I’m not their waitress, and this water’s for me. I’m the DD tonight. That’s the only reason I really came out, really. I’m not a big fan of clubs.”

“You came just to make sure all your friends get home safe?”

“I’ve heard rumors about all the shit that happens at this place, Jess.”

“I promise it’s not that bad.” He tops off your water once you finish it. “So what are you going to do while you wait for them to be done for the night?”

“Hmm, I was thinking of just sitting here and reading, if that’s alright with you.”

“Even if you weren’t my favorite one of my sister’s friends, I can’t say no to a paying customer.”

For the most part, this is how your night goes. You’re re-reading The Shining, a favorite, on your e-library app, which keeps your attention even among the thumping bass and the drunk people occasionally falling into you as they try to order a drink. Every so often, you chat with Jess for a bit after you finish reading a chapter. It’s actually not a bad way to spend your night. You’re out of the house, which gets people (i.e. your mother) off your back about not socializing enough, but you’re still getting to do what you enjoy. Even if you did want to go home, which you kind of do, you remind yourself that you’re being a good friend by agreeing to keep everybody safe and together while they do the things that they want to do.

Speaking of your friends, it’s been a while since any of them have come up to the bar to check on you (“Are you sure you don’t want to dance to another song?” one had asked. You had smiled at her and pushed your water to her while making a vague promise that you might join in later). You scan the room to make sure that you have an accurate headcount of all of your friends. Finally, you locate them near the front, dancing with a couple of people that you’ve definitely seen at least once before at a friend of a friend’s birthday. Satisfied that your mission has been completed, you begin to turn back around in your seat before a flash of gold catches your eye.

Looking up, you find a blond man with the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen staring back at you. He stands above the crowd on a balcony like a king stands over his kingdom, and he knows that’s how he looks. No, he loves that that’s how he looks. Not only does he look like a king, he acts like one too. You can tell, from the immaculate blood-red suit he wears to the proud way that he carries himself.

The man tilts his head just slightly, and you realize that this must be some sort of power play for him. He’s expecting you to falter, to submit, to get nervous and look away from him all blushing and flustered. You refuse to give him what he wants. So, you do the exact opposite and continue to stare back, tilting your own head just slightly.

This, you can tell, he wasn’t expecting. His eyebrow quirks up, and you can see his lips twitch in the beginning of a smirk. You bite the inside of your cheek in an attempt to keep a straight face. Eventually, even that doesn’t work, and you end up smiling at him. The man gives you a quick, fleeting smile, and you feel a sense of victory wash over you. When you hear Jess calling your name, you’re forced to turn around to face him.

“What were you looking at?” Jess asks.

“Who’s that?” You point in the direction of where you were just staring, hoping that Jess can shed some light for you.

He looks up to where you’re pointing. “Where?”

“Right…” When you turn around, there’s no sign of him. “Oh. There was somebody on that balcony just a second ago.”

Jess leans over the counter and pretends to sniff your drink. “Did I give you liquor instead of water?”

“Stop!” you say with a laugh, playfully swatting at him before turning back to your phone. No matter where in the club you are for the rest of the night, be it pulled back into a dance or in the bathroom helping a friend with her makeup, you can still feel that piercing gaze on you.

•••

Michael stands on the balcony above the main club, admiring the view from on top. This club is truly everything he could have ever imagined. People here are unabashed, unashamed. They don’t care that they’re not in the confines of their homes, or that there’s hundreds of other people around. They know that they’re free to be as depraved as they want, and that unleashes something dark and primal in them, even if they don’t think that it would. The smell of sex and violence, of blood and sin, fuels Michael’s blackened soul.

He’s not here every night, having other ventures to attend to, but he does like to enjoy the empire he’s worked so hard to make succeed and take part in the fruits of his labor (i.e. fucking beautiful people and enjoying the way they all fawn over him). Tonight, however, is different. Though he tries not to, he continually finds his eyes drifting towards the bar again and again. He had noticed you a couple of hours ago when you were distracting one of the bartenders. People often flirt with the bartenders to try and get free drinks, but you talk to him as though he is a friend. Maybe he is a friend (Michael doesn’t exactly have many friends, so he’s not quite sure what constitutes being able to call someone a friend).

Regardless, you’ve been there, sat on that same barstool, for a couple of hours now. Occasionally a couple of women will come up to you and say something that he can’t decipher, or you’ll laugh at what the bartender says to you. For the most part, you just read on your phone. For the life of him, Michael can’t understand why you would come to a club, the most exclusive club on the West Coast, just to read.

That should have been the end of you being on his mind. He should have just made note of the odd girl reading in a club and gone on with his life. Instead, he chances one more time to look at you. And that one look has him hooked.

You’re too fast for him to look away. You had been scanning the crowd for something, someone, when your eyes flitted up to the balcony and caught him staring at you. It had almost made him panic, which is something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. But why? You’re certainly not anybody special, just a girl in a bar. Yet, maybe that is what makes you special. You don’t know who he is, or at the very least, you act like you don’t.

Michael’s expecting you to look away quickly, as most do when they get caught looking. You continue to stare, and he tilts his head as he tries to figure out what your game is here. Much to his surprise, you tilt your own head, mirroring his actions. He wants to laugh at this random game he’s playing with a stranger across the bar, but he’s in too deep now. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, as if to question what your next move is.

The longer that you stare at him, the more Michael’s heart races. There’s something in the way that you look at him, like you can see through every careful, calculated movement he makes and every mental block he’s put up to keep himself safe. It feels like you know his darkest secrets just from a simple glance, which sends shivers up his spine. He’s nervous, he realizes. He loves it.

Finally, you break. Much to his joy, you break by smiling. And oh, is it a radiant smile that you give him. What good have I done to deserve this? Michael thinks. He’s being rewarded for something. Whatever it is, he’s not sure, because he has certainly not done anything in his life worthy of commendation or reward. But the way that you smile at him, all bright and unashamed and like he deserves it, confirms that something in his life is going right.

Slowly, carefully, Michael chances a small smile back at you. Though it seems impossible, your smile only gets brighter. Eventually you’re forced to turn around, the bartender demanding your attention in the middle of this showdown that you’ve found yourself in. While you’re looking away, Michael disappears inside his private suites that sit behind the red velvet curtains on the balcony.

The opulence of Michael’s private suites are comforting to him, chandeliers and all. He’s never been one for the trendy minimalism that makes up the club. No, he enjoys Gothic, Victorian styles of design. Michael falls onto the black couch and is almost immediately surrounded by what’s basically a glorified harem. These people, followers of the Church of Satan that are loyal to a fault, are happy to serve each and every one of Michael’s needs.

“Can I get you anything, My Lord?” one of his devotees asks, looking up at him with wide, eager eyes. Michael doesn’t even bother to learn the names of those that would gladly kill themselves if Michael asked them to do so. Why should he? They’re nothing to him, just bodies.

“No, no.” He waves them all off, waiting for them to finally give him some room before he feels safe to think.

He’s paranoid, jarred by what he just experienced with you and worried that he actually is as transparent as he felt under your gaze. You stripped him down, layer by layer, until he felt vulnerable. The anonymity that being a normal person affords is working to Michael’s disadvantage, considering he can’t use his connections in The Cooperative to deep dive for information without questions being asked. He’ll have to get answers the old-fashioned way: by finding it himself. And the best place to start, he knows, is with the bartender that you had been talking to for most of the night.

Michael’s not a patient man, which makes waiting for the club to close an arduous experience. Though time seems to move in slow-motion, the club finally empties out at the close of the night. When the bartender looks down to start counting tips, Michael makes his move. He enjoys the way that this bartender jumps in fright when Michael appears in front of him. Not only does sudden transmutation add to his mystique, it’s also a lot of fun just to scare people. The bartender tries to look as though he wasn’t surprised, straightening up and awkwardly smiling.

“Mr. Langdon!” he greets, a tinge of fear in his voice. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

It’s good to see that the staff is still being trained well, Michael thinks. They all know enough to know that Michael should be immediately catered to. “As a matter of fact, there is. Who was the woman that you were talking to?”

“Which woman? I talk to lots of people through the night.”

He’s not sure if he’s playing dumb or actually dumb. “The one at the bar for most of the night.”

“Oh! That’s my sister’s friend, Y/n.” He looks at Michael nervously before divulging a little more. “She’s pretty laid-back, and the only reason she came out was to make sure her friends got home safe.”

“Hmm.”

The bartender bounces on his heels awkwardly, waiting for Michael to say something else. When he doesn’t, he finally says, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No. You can go.” Even though Michael’s the one that caught the bartender, he dismisses the bartender as though he were the one intruding in the first place.

Once he’s alone, Michael tries out your name a couple of times. He decides, with great satisfaction, that he rather likes the way it sounds coming out of his mouth.

•••

You had never expected to be back at Sanctuary again, let alone a mere three weeks after your first experience. Why did you allow yourself to be dragged back here? You should have just said no when Allison asked you to go on a double date with the guy she’s started seeing and one of his friends. Yet, something in you was urging you to say yes, and so you did.

Of course, that turned out to be a massive fucking disappointment when your date left you within the first thirty minutes of being at the club to dance with a woman who you’re pretty sure is a mid-level influencer. Allison was wrapped up in enjoying the night with her own date, and since you didn’t want to ditch her and leave her alone after taking a Lyft here together, you found yourself in a familiar spot: back at the bar, chatting with Jess.

You know that there’s definitely worse ways to spend an evening, like being stuck in the emergency room or having to do taxes. Still, your date barely lasting thirty minutes before abandoning you is a pretty bad way to spend the night. You’re trying not to let it get to you, especially considering that your date was probably in the same boat as you and dragged along by his friend for a “double date”. At least everybody else is having a good time.

Throughout the night, you find that you keep glancing towards the balcony where you saw the blue-eyed man standing during your first visit to Sanctuary. You know that the chances of seeing him again are low. There’s hundreds, if not thousands, of people that visit this club every night. What makes you think you would see the same man after three weeks? Still, you can’t help but to hold out some hope that this might be the one night where the stars align and luck is on your side.

“What are you doing?” Jess asks when he notices that you’re not really listening to him as he recounts the story of the drunk guy he had to escort out yesterday.

You turn back towards him, embarrassed at being caught. “Just…people-watching, I guess.”

“You’re in the right place for that activity,” somebody says next to you. When you turn, your breath is taken away. Somehow, improbably, he’s here. The blue-eyed blond that you’ve been thinking about stands mere inches away from you.

“Oh!” The man appears from out of nowhere; one moment there’s nobody next to you, and the next he’s right there.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice is tinged with amusement. You notice that even though it’s nearly too loud to hear yourself think in here, he doesn’t have to raise his voice to be heard.

“I think that was exactly your plan.” It’s a thrill to be so close to him, and you only realize how close to him you are when your shoulders touch.

“I was under the assumption that you’re bored.”

“What makes you say that?”

His eyes flit to the dance floor, packed with people laughing and dancing and just having a great time, before landing back on you.

“Point taken. In my defense, I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”

“So you visit such an exclusive club just because…you can?”

You roll your eyes with a smile. “I’m trying to be a good friend.”

“Like you were three weeks ago?”

“So you were watching me?” It should make you feel violated, like you’ve been stalked. Instead, you’re only immensely pleased at this turn of events. How did you capture the attention of such a dangerously beautiful man?

“What can I say? I’ve never seen someone be a good friend at this place without engaging in any of the activities that people usually enjoy here.”

The man invites himself to sit down next to you. For some reason, you don’t mind.

“How are you enjoying my club?”

“Your club?” you scoff.

“Yes.” He smiles, teeth glinting in the red light. “Michael Langdon. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/n.”

“Should I be wary that you know my name?” You don’t need an answer from him; alarm bells are set off in the back of your head, some sort of primal sixth sense that’s screaming ‘danger, danger!’ at you. You push them down inside and ignore them.

“I suppose that’s up to you to decide.”

“Ah, now I know why you’re here. You’ve come to kick me out for loitering and pestering your employees.” You can only assume that there’s not too many people who come to this club just to sit at the bar and chat with the bartender.

“That thought did cross my mind at one point, but I decided against it. For now.” He’s got a dry sense of humor, where you would think he was serious were it not for the way that he seems to be just waiting for a reaction.

You nod awkwardly, not sure why he’s here if he didn’t personally come to ban your ass from his establishment. Glancing towards Jess in the hopes that he’ll help you out, he just lets you down with a furtive shake of his head to let you know that you’re on your own for this one. Are the people that work here really that frightened of their employer that they won’t even look him in the eye when he’s mere feet away from him?

“So why has the owner of Sanctuary decided to grace me with his presence if not to kick me out?”

“Maybe I just wanted to talk to a pretty woman.”

“There’s lots of pretty women here. And men.”

“I’m not talking to any of them, though.”

He’s quite the charmer, and you’re not sure why he’s chosen to focus that charm on you. Honestly, you’re not even sure what’s brought him down to the main level of his club. He doesn’t really seem like the type of person to want to fraternize with the people patronizing his business.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Sorry, my mom told me not to go take things from strangers.” You’re teasing him, seeing how far you can push him and how he’ll respond to you facing off with him at every turn.

“I introduced myself to you,” Michael explains. “Therefore, we’re no longer strangers.”

“Touche, Mr. Langdon.”

Studying him for a moment once you realize he’s not going to give up, you try to gauge what he’s after. Though you’re pretty good at reading people (one of the perks of being extremely wary of everyone and everything), Michael Langdon proves to be an enigma. He lies about many things, you can tell. The air of importance that he carries with him is a pretty good indicator of that. But looking at his eyes–you can only look for a second at a time, lest you find yourself in the situation you did when you first saw him–you can’t see any of that deception.

Finally, you nod once before turning to Jess. Michael puts a hand on your shoulder to guide your eyes back to him, and you can feel the cool metal of his rings through your shirt. “I was actually thinking we could have a drink alone, in my private suite.”

You can tell by the confused look in his eyes when you laugh that he’s not used to people responding in this way. “People usually fall all over that offer, yeah?”

“Normally, yes.”

“That’s exactly why so many people go missing these days.”

“I can assure you that there’s far too many eyes here for anyone to go missing or fall victim to a crime.”

You can’t believe you’re even considering this. What could possibly, logically happen though? Jess would know who you went with, and you have multiple people, Allison included, who know that you’re here in the first place. Finally, you say, “Promise not to kill me and use my skin to make furniture?”

He seems taken aback for a moment before he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not an awkward laugh, but an actual laugh. You get the feeling that not many people are privy to hearing that sound from him, especially based on Jess’s poorly-concealed look of shock. “I promise.”

You check your phone. 11:30. “If I’m not back by midnight,” you say to Jess, “call in the cavalry.” The cavalry is, of course, Allison, who would literally fight to the death if it meant saving a friend.

“No harm will come to you, Y/n,” Michael assures you.

“It never hurts to be overly cautious.” You hold your hand out to him and allow him to take it as you jump off the stool. Tingles shoot up and down your arm, though you’re not sure if it’s from touching Michael or if you’re having a stroke. Probably the latter. “Lead the way, then.”

The suite that you’re in is a small, intimate booth that’s shielded from the public eye by a couple of thick, velvet curtains. There’s already a small cart of various liquors and mixers, and you wonder how long Michael’s had this planned for. He notices your appraising eye, waiting patiently for you to take it all in before fixing himself a drink.

“Can I get you anything?” Michael asks.

“No thanks. I’m not a big drinker.”

Michael stares at you for a moment before smiling. “Then why did you agree to my offer of a drink?”

“Maybe I wanted to use your connections to get away from all the people,” you say with a shrug.

“If you won’t accept a drink, then I believe that getting to know you is acceptable payment for using my connections to escape from social situations.”

“And how do you propose getting to know me?”

He contemplates that before appearing to come up with an idea. “You ask a question, I ask a question, and so on.”

You stare at him, bemused. “Twenty Questions? Is this a middle school sleepover?”

Michael laughs. “Pardon me for wanting to get to know you.”

“I mean, we can play! I just haven’t heard anybody suggest that type of game in years.”

“Yes, then?” You nod, and Michael gestures for you to ask a question. Even the way that he moves is regal. “Guests first.”

“Hmm. Is it nepotism?” you ask.

“What?”

“Is nepotism how you came to own such a successful business so young?”

“I suppose it is, in a way.”

You smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s not how the game is played. You’ll have to wait until the next round.” You groan, waiting for Michael to ask his question. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“Double date with my roommate, the guy she’s seeing, and one of his friends.”

Michael glowers. “I’m sure that your…date must be missing you, then.”

“Not really. He found some Instagram influencer almost right when we got here. Haven’t seen him since.” It’s impossible to not feel awkward when talking about a date dropping you faster than a Free Fall ride at the county fair. “I don’t blame him though, we were both forced on this date.”

“That’s still no excuse for somebody, especially a date, to just abandon you,” Michael argues. You get the feeling that he’s taking it far more personally than you are.

You feel your cheeks grow hot, and you look away from his intense gaze. “Anyways. What was your vague answer supposed to mean? You only kind-of benefitted from nepotism?”

“The status that I enjoy thanks to who my father is has allowed me to pursue a number of ventures, including this club. It’s easy to get investors involved when you have connections with rich and powerful people.”

“So you’re famous? Or at the very least, your dad is famous.” Michael smirks and raises an eyebrow, challenging you to try and figure this out. “Your last name sounds familiar, but the only person that I can think of is that school shooter from the nineties.”

“Not my father, I can assure you.” Michael moves on before you can tell him that you didn’t think some teenage mass murderer was his dad. “You mentioned that your friends forced you to come with them to this club both times that you’ve been here.” You nod. “Why would you come here if you didn’t want to?”

“Asking the tough questions, Michael.”

He smiles. “And yet, you haven’t given me an answer.”

“Because it’s kind of complicated! No, I didn’t exactly want to come here, but they made some good points about how I don’t ever go out.”

“That was enough to convince you?”

You can’t help your laugh when you realize what you’re going to have to say. “Mainly it was because my mom was also right.”

Michael’s moved in closer to you, close enough that your hand is brushing his. “I–”

“Nope, you already asked two questions in a row. My turn.” He gestures again for you to continue, and you face him to meet his eyes. “Why were you staring at me that first night that I was here?”

“Asking the tough questions, Y/n,” Michael repeats back to you.

It’s your turn to repeat to him what he said to you, and you find yourself being drawn in closer to him. “And yet, you haven’t given me an answer.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that it’s complicated?” You’re both almost whispering now, your proximity erasing the need for speaking very loudly. You can feel his breath on your skin: mint and something sharper, almost iron-like.

“Is it?”

“I’ve seen thousands upon thousands of people in this club since it opened, each one blurring into the next until they’re all just faceless masses. But you, the girl sitting on a barstool and reading while she waits patiently for her friends? I hate to say that you’re unique, but you certainly are when it comes to this club.

“The people that come here are looking to find trouble, to unleash the sinful nature that lurks just under the surface. Just stepping into the club is like a drug for them, or a pass that gives them permission to do whatever they want. It brings out the darkest parts of people. Not you, though. Naturally, my curiosity was piqued.”

You’re not the type of person to do a lot of the things that you’ve found yourself doing lately. You never thought you would be the club-going type, nor did you think that you would allow yourself to be roped into a double date. You definitely never thought that you would allow yourself to indulge in the attentions of this very powerful, very attractive man. Now, though, you can’t say that you regret any of it.

You lick your lips, suddenly realizing just how dry your mouth has become. Too late, you notice Michael’s gaze follows the movement. His thumb comes up to drag along your bottom lip, and your breathing stutters until he removes it.

“And?” you ask breathlessly. “Have I sated your curiosity?”

He shakes his head, his lips so tantalizingly close to yours. “If anything, you’ve only made me want to know more.”

Right when your lips meet, your phone buzzes harshly against the table and makes you jump away from Michael in surprise. You glance at the screen, grimacing when you see both the time (12:07 a.m.) and the Caller ID (Allison, with the 🥵 emoji after her name). “Sorry,” you apologize to Michael before picking up your phone. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him sigh heavily before resting his head on you.

You don’t even get the chance to say a greeting before Allison is yelling over the music, “Where are you? Jess said you were gonna be back at the bar at midnight, and you’re not! Are you being murdered?”

“Nope, not being murdered.” You can feel Michael laughing from where his forehead still sits in dejection on your shoulder.

“Okay, so where are you? I’m ready to get some Taco Bell and go home!” she whines.

“I’ll start heading to the bar right now.”

“‘Kay love you bye!” Allison’s hung up before you can say anything else.

“Sorry,” you say again to Michael, who concedes defeat by kissing your forehead.

“Don’t be. I knew that our time was limited.”

“I should, uh, get going. You don’t want to fight Allison when she’s sober, but especially not when she has a couple of drinks in her.” Michael helps you stand from the booth, and you notice that he doesn’t drop your hand even after you’re both standing up.

“I won’t test that, then. Goodnight, Y/n.” Finally, Michael kisses you, but it’s far more soft and chaste than what you had originally been hoping for.

“Goodnight, Michael.” You both smile at each other one last time before finally dropping hands so that you can turn and find Allison. You only make it a couple of steps before clarity comes back to you and you remember that you don’t have his number. “Oh! What’s–”

When you turn around, you’re faced with nothing but air. Michael Langdon is gone without a trace, leaving nothing but a glass of melting ice on the table and the ghost of his lips on your skin.

Allison quickly locates you and orders a Lyft. After you’re both safely inside and on the way home, she begins to chatter about her night (top-tier), her opinion of the guy she was with (cute, but not ‘serious relationship’ material), and her Taco Bell order (Crunchwrap Supreme). You can only nod and add half-hearted interjections into the conversation, your fingers instead continually finding their way back up to where you had been kissed.

The next morning, you’re nursing Allison back to health after a hangover and cooking breakfast so that she can have some actual food in her stomach to soak up the remaining alcohol. Music is playing through the speaker on the kitchen counter and Allison keeps laughing, interrupting your concentration when she watches a TikTok that she just has to show you. It’s your favorite way to spend a weekend morning that you almost miss the knock on the door.

You both look at each other, mentally deciding that you’ll be the one to answer the door. Allison, with a silk bonnet on her head and clothed in only a bathrobe, is in no position to see anybody that she doesn’t live with. You take the pancakes off of the burner before hustling to see who’s at your door on a Saturday morning.

The answer? Nobody. Instead, a long, slender box sits on your front doorstep, with absolutely nobody around to claim ownership of it. You pick it up and close the door behind you, Allison peering over your shoulder in curiosity.

“Who’s it for?” she asks.

“I don’t know. There’s not a name on it.” Even though there’s no name to designate the recipient, something inside of you knows that it’s for you.

“Well? Open it!” You do as she says and gently open the lid of the box.

Wrapped up neatly in tissue paper to protect it sits a single rose. It’s fresh, fresh enough that it looks like it was just picked off of a bush. The petals are a blood red, and as you take the rose out, you run your fingers over them and admire how soft and silky they are. There’s a black ribbon tied around the stem, with a small notecard hanging from the ribbon.

“Definitely not for me,” Allison laughs. “There’s no way the guy that I went out with last night would be that romantic.”

You flip open the notecard to reveal neat cursive: “I look forward to getting to know you more. Hopefully next time we’re together, we won’t be cut short. -M.L.”

It feels futile to even attempt to question how he got your address, because of course Michael Langdon would be able to find out where you live. As Allison makes her way back into the kitchen, talking about how chivalry isn’t dead and the Victorian language of flowers, you open the front door one more time. Looking left, and then right, you still don’t see anybody lurking in the hallway. Yet, you feel that same prickle on the back of your neck that you felt on your first visit to Sanctuary. The one that unquestionably lets you know that somehow, someway, those haunting blue eyes are watching you.

•••

Tag List (message me if you'd like to be tagged!): @thatonehumanbeing05 @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @dark-mei-rose @hecohansen31 @trelaney @blakescoven @codycrazy @wroteclassicaly @michaellangdonstanaccount @michaellangdonswhore @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860 @we-did-it-joe @love-on-the-murder-scene @nsainmoonchild @anojaisasleep @langdonwh0re @au-honey @superwarsofthrones @littlelokilover @allthingssecret @langdonsjoyy @ferndolan @aftertheglitterfades @sojournmichael

657 notes · View notes