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heavymetalover · 5 years

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Heart-Shaped Box (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

Summary: On your way out of the Satanic church, you and an inexperienced Michael share an intimate encounter.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, slow burn, choking, oral sex (female receiving), sassy reader.

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: thanks to everyone in the ahs/cody fan base for being so kind and reading my shitty writing :) youre all dope mfs

i only did minimal editing so i hope there arent too many mistakes !!

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You exhale a long sigh when hanging up your cloak in the empty church. You take in the atmosphere of the church; you’re going to miss being a Satanist. You finally felt like you belonged somewhere, felt like you finally had a home, but things changed once Michael came along. Everyone was on their toes, trying to one-up each other, it was first grade all over again and everybody was the teacher’s pet. Part of you blames yourself for succumbing to the desire of having external support, your own little dysfunctional family. But you blame Michael. He ruined everything for you, and you didn’t want to be apart of his crusade.

You take a seat on the first bench, observing your surroundings for the last time. The mood lighting from the lit-up candles, curtains hanging on either side, the walls painted an ominous blood red, the upside-down cross hanging above the alter… God you’ll miss this place.

Dress shoes click on the polished wooden floors and you stand from your seat, preparing to bolt without having to engage in conversation about why you’re leaving. You know the rest of the members would give you great shame for not kissing Michael’s ass. Fuck him. Fuck the people at this church. They all claim to be different, evil, but they’re just like God-fearing Christians. As soon as their “saviour” came, they kissed his feet. Not you.

You brush past the person who walked in, keeping your eyes glued onto the floors. They grab your arm and you stop, still not turning around to look at them. A sick feeling turning in your stomach suspects you already know who it is. “It’s… y/n, right?” the man asks. His indistinguishable smooth voice sings your name like a lullaby and your heart drops. He hasn’t said two words to you before, the closest you’ve gotten to speaking with him is exchanging glacial stares, so how did he know your name?

“Michael,” you reply. “Sorry, uh, Mr. Langdon,” you redress him. “How do you know my name?”

“You can call me Michael,” he says, “I like to know all the people who have been worshipping my father.” He pulls you by the lacey fabric of your dress, trying to turn you to meet his gaze. You spin around and hold your head high. His body is twisted towards you, carrying himself confidently. He doesn’t scare you, even if he is a head taller than you... and the antichrist.

Your eyes meet his, the candles in the room give him an intimate lighting on his porcelain skin. His blonde feathered hair done to perfection, as always. The princess always has to look damn good, doesn’t he?

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks, cutting your observation short. You open your mouth to speak, but he holds up his finger. “Let me guess… coming up with an excuse on why you just hung up your cloak and were about to leave my father’s church,” he guesses.

You’d rather affirm his assumption than explain what you were actually thinking about. Of course everyone in the church had a crush on Michael, but they openly admitted it. You’re a little more stubborn. You hold your hands up in vanquish, “You got me.” You walk backwards, hoping to leave the conversation as is. “I should head out then,” you add, but Michael takes a step toward you with every step you take back. You stop, annoyed by his tenacity. Maybe he’s more like you than you thought.

“And why is it that you’re leaving?” his voice is surprisingly warm. “I’m not what you expected I’d be? Unsatisfied with my leadership?”

Michael’s never grovelled for anything, not even a lousy reply; you smile at his zeal. “I just don’t want to swim too close to… a drowning man,” you respond, hesitantly choosing your words.

“Oh?” the word immediately slips from his lips, an eyebrow cocked. He turns around to the alter, his silky black cloak flowing behind him. Michael reaches under the podium to grab a chalice and a bottle of merlot. A little inside joke your church had, mocking the blood of Christ in Catholic churches. He fills the glass with wine and hands it over to you, “A drowning man, huh? Did I strike a nerve?”

You take a sip of the bitter beverage, somehow the flavour is both pleasant and unpleasant. When you look at him as he awaits your answer and meet his deep blue eyes, it’s hard for you to answer truthfully. “Nope, no nerves struck,” you lie, taking another big gulp.

“You’re not a very good liar,” he quips. He takes a step back from you and walks around the benches, your eyes follow him around the room. Dragging his feet across the floor, eyeing up the church just as you were. Even as he’s just being observant and not really doing anything, Michael holds a certain hostility to his presence. “What have I done to displease you? I’d like to know,” his voice echoes.

You glance around the room for anything to save you, he’s stopped in his tracks to watch you squirm under his influence. You look at the exit of the room, then back at Michael. “Look, I was just planning on leaving,” you explain with a passive shrug.

He steps away from the exit. “You can if you’d like. I’m only curious… and I wouldn’t want you leaving my father’s church on a bad note,” he answers. He walks towards you and you back up closer to the alter, it feels like he’s intentionally closing in on you to make you feel threatened. You won’t let it work. “Again, just so there are no animosities,” his voice is lower, “what have I done?”

You take the last sip of wine, realizing your lips haven’t parted from the glass for nearly the entire time. It’s much easier to tolerate Michael with a drink in your hand. Although you could easily put it back under the podium, you decide to hand the empty cup back to Michael. At first his eyebrows furrow in confusion, then a moment passes and his lips twist into a cunning smile. If he wants to act dominating, you will too. “You know where that goes,” he says in a mere whisper.

“So do you,” you retort, the alcohol giving you an extra boost of courage.

He walks past you, brushing you with his cloak as he goes and ignoring the cup you hold out to him. You smile to yourself, biting your lip from calling him stubborn. You thought that you were the most obstinate person you’d ever know, but Michael might take the cake. Two can play at that game; you purposely put your cup in the wrong spot.

Michael takes a seat on the alter, still waiting for your response. You sit across him on the first church bench. “It’s not anything you’ve done, it’s what you’re not doing,” you finally respond. He stops fiddling with the pentagram necklace hanging on his chest to glare at you, you got his attention. “Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “I haven’t seen so much angst in a grown man, you’re practically a child.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think you’d speak with that conviction if you knew what I’ve been through,” he spits.

“Obviously losing people isn’t fair, but you’re literally the antichrist and you’re hiding behind the fact that your friend died,” you rebuttal. You shiver at the thought of all your losses, now this church is also going to be added to the list.

He’s shaking his head, dismissively rolling his eyes at you in dissatisfaction. He’s so much like you, it makes you hate him even more. This boils your blood; maybe it’s the alcohol, but his bullheadedness is sending you over the edge. Before he can answer, you want to ruffle his feathers a little more. “I can’t take over the world because my friend died and daddy doesn’t love me, boohoo,” you tease. “Grow up, we’ve all lost people.”

He takes a moment before responding to you, his eyes trailing down your body in disgust. You freeze under his stare. Then his frigid gaze falls back onto yours. “Maybe you’re just too stupid to realize how miserable you should be,” he responds callously, “Does a dumb harlot like you have no bounds?”

You clutch your legs together, his blistering words cause a tingling in your core; he’s never spoken to anyone like this before. Michael can come across as a contemptuous dick, but he’s never purposely been disrespectful. You try to answer him quickly, making sure he doesn’t notice that he knocked the wind out of you. “I’m far from a harlot, Mr. Langdon,” you keep yourself composed. “Tell me, with everybody’s heads up your ass, do your shits just fall out?”

You’re rewarded with a laugh. “You’re a snappy little thing,” his voice is small.

“I’m merely a confident woman refusing to kiss your ass.”

“You’re merely a confident woman who squeezes her legs together when being degraded by a man,” he barks back, no uncertainty in his voice, “I see how you tense up every time I’m around. Every time you’re on your knees praying to my father, praying to me.” You cement in your seat by his sudden bitterness, taken aback by his personality change. “You’re ashamed of your sexual desires, pretend to be a pure flower, but deep down an insatiable little whore.” Baffled by his vulgarity, your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. You’ve never been muted by the words of another person, it irks you. He dusts off some of his cloak, still sitting pretty like he hadn’t broken his customary tone. “Have I made an erroneous observation, y/n?” he asks, still refusing to look at you.

Your first instinct is to shrug, but he doesn’t see. He finally stops tending to his clothing and pays attention to you again. You feel a smirk stretch across your lips without your consent, almost like a dark entity moving through you. You’re done trying to piss him off, you want to try something else. “Okay, I’m a whore… and?” you challenge him. He cocks his head in confusion. “I don’t see your hands under that cloak, how do I know you’re not relieving some of your own tension?” your voice drops seductively.

“Impossible,” he snaps.

“Impossible,” you mock him. “Why?”

“Because there is no tension,” he explains, shifting in his seat. You don’t reply, you just watch him uncomfortably try to adjust to the situation. Frustration washing over him when you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, he stands from his seat. You follow suit.

You step closer to him, his eyes locked onto the floors but find yours in an instant. The cerulean lit by the dancing flames of the candles beside him. You’re only inches apart from each other, Michael makes no effort to step away. “Maybe I was wrong about you, Michael,” you whisper. You take another step closer to him, his body lightly grazing yours. He leans into you, pressing his pelvis against your belly. “Maybe all you need is a good fuck,” you bite your lip.

You feel him growing hard against you. He raises an eyebrow. “How are you doing this to me?” his voice is softer than before.

You exhale a laugh almost mockingly. “You don’t need to question it, Michael. Just find the courage to reach out…” your voice low. You run your hands down your body and lightly massage your breasts, a soft moan escapes your lips, “and touch.”

He leans down, his full lips press against yours. You feel him fumbling, so you take the lead. Giving gentle kisses and slowly making them deeper, you run your fingers through his luxurious blonde locks, pulling slightly. He follows your lead, his hands caressing your back and pulling your body into his even tighter. It takes Michael only a few moments to learn how to kiss before he wants to devour you.

His kisses become aggressive and his tongue pushes its way into your mouth. Regularly you’d enjoy being dominated in such a way, but you’re not letting yourself lose control over Michael. You liked having him at your fingertips.

You pull away from his burning hot body and walk to the other side of the alter. He freezes in place, collecting himself from the kiss. You smirk at the lipstick you’ve stained on his mouth. “Did I do something wrong?” he questions.

You shake your head, “No.” He steps towards you again, reaching out to you for more like a bratty toddler. “No more touching,” you order, “and I want you on your knees.”

He grins. “Aaand what makes you think that you’re in charge?” he asks.

“Because you want pussy,” you suggest. He laughs sardonically and you feel your heart sink into your chest. “Seriously, I think you need to learn to be a bit more flexible with your superiority.”

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear and you shift your head to the side, trying to enforce your no touching rule. “I don’t bend,” he retorts.

You step back from him and reach under your dress to shimmy off your panties. He watches your every movement, greedy to have more of you. “Well, everybody knows what happens to things that don’t bend,” you shove your panties in his mouth.

He spits them out. “I’m the fucking antichrist,” he seethes.

“A shitty one at that,” you spit back.

The force of his hand suddenly gripping your throat hitches your breath. Your hands grab his and he squeezes your neck tighter. “You think I’d take orders from a doe-eyed harlot like you?” his blood boiling. You feel yourself soaking from his words, recalling a sick fantasy you’ve had about this exact situation that you’ve concealed deep in your subconscious.

“Then just kill me,” you test his bluff. Now might not be the best time, but you have nothing else to lose. “Do it,” you press.

He squeezes harder one last time before his hand goes limp along with any faith you had in him. You try to discreetly gasp for air, taking in sharper breaths. “That’s what I thought,” you tease him even more. His nostrils flare out in anger and it makes you smile to yourself.

“Show me,” he lowly moans.

You take a seat on the first church bench, still trying to regulate your breathing. “Show you what?”

“Everything.”

You lean back on the bench and he takes a seat on the alter in front of you. You shake your head; a part of you just wants to leave now and be done with the church, be done with him. But a greater part of you wants to taste every inch of his body. To stick around and feel Michael inside you. This part dominates you, and again you feel yourself being possessed by the dark entity.

You reach down and brush your leg with your fingertips, taunting him by lifting the fabric of your dress only to let it drop back to your shins. “You want a peak?” you ask him. He doesn’t say a word; he only watches your hands. You take his silence as admission to reveal yourself to him.

You squeeze your legs together and lift up your dress, opening your legs up to expose your drenched cunt. Michael drops to his knees in defeat, crawling closer to you on all fours. His necklace hangs in front of him, oscillating like a pendulum. He comes so close that you feel his warm breath against your thighs, intensifying the tingling, rather sending an ache through your core.

When your fingers make contact with your throbbing clit, you let out a deep moan. Giving yourself one last rub before withdrawing your hand from your dripping pussy, you suck yourself off of each finger. Michael only watches you, no longer wanting to reach out in momentary greed.

“Do you want to taste it?” you breathe.

“I do,” his voice is faltering, no longer sounding menacing, instead overflowing with lure.

You lift your legs onto the bench, spreading them as wide as you can. “Then show me how hungry that pretty mouth of yours is.”

He starts on your thighs, wasting no time with each open-mouthed kiss he gives. His mouth inches from your pussy, he disregards it to suck on your thigh. You gasp at his hostility, fervently sucking on the inside of your thigh and leaving a love bite. It makes you want to question where he learnt to do that.

He lays his tongue flat on the entirety of your aching cunt, his lips wrapped around yours and he sucks on your folds. You try keeping in your moans, but they escape bit by bit. You feel yourself getting lost with each lick and every suck brings you closer to God. “Michael,” you groan his name.

He buries his tongue deep into you and a moan escapes your chest, you arch your back and impulsively try to close your legs. He pushes your legs apart again and continues to eat you as if you were his last meal. His moans vibrating into your sensitive cunt sends goosebumps all throughout your body.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you feel yourself starting to come. “Micha-” you can’t finish saying his name, you interrupt yourself with a pornographic moan. Your moans echo through the church, it crosses your mind that the people walking by this cheap backwater building could probably hear you as well. You don’t care, if anything, the uncertainty turns you on even more.

You come undone, screaming all the moans you were previously neglecting. Michael’s glossy eyes look up to you, begging for your come. “You’re so fucking good,” you sigh, your fingers pulling his hair again. The way his tongue ravages your cunt restores the modicum of faith you had in him, if only he brought the same kind of dedication to world sovereignty.

You try to even out your breathing, but fail every time he gives an unexpected lick. Your legs are trembling, you feel your whole body acting on every little whim. Even the sounds you’re making refuse to be silenced. You’re no longer in control of your own actions. You grind yourself on his face and he presses your hips hard against the bench, putting you in your place for messing up his rhythm. You finally feel yourself coming onto him, screaming his name one last time. Continuing to ride out the transitory ecstasy, your pussy incoherently spews your juices and Michael attempts to drink down every drop he can.

The wetness from your soaked cunt pools on the bench, but Michael ignores it to finish off with gentle kisses along your thighs again. “Michael, please fuck me,” you hear yourself beg. Even if the tables have turned and now it’s you pleading for him, you’re too detached to care. “Fuck me like the whore I am,” you continue, emotionally divorced from the words leaving your lips, the only goal is to appear irresistible to him.

“No,” he responds, wiping your lipstick from his mouth. You study his expression hard, now wondering if it was you that had done something wrong. Why wouldn’t he want to fuck you? You’ve gotten this far… “Y/n, just because we came this far, doesn’t mean we have to rush things,” he explains.

You shut your legs, “Did you just hear my thoughts?”

You’re both interrupted by somebody entering the room; the priest of your church, Hannah, saunters in wearing her red robe. Your visceral reaction is to stand from your seat, but Michael stays on his knees. You step away from the bench, leaving behind the mess you two made. “What’re you doing here?” she asks.

“Just leaving,” you mutter, beelining to the door before anybody can stop you. A voice booms in your head, not your own, but Michael’s. His familiar, smooth voice leaves you a message. Tomorrow. Same place, same time. I’ll give you what you need.

You want to question how he can project himself into your head, too, but it would be redundant to keep inquiring his powers. You look back, he doesn’t pay you attention, he’s busy putting your cup back under the podium. You smile to yourself while exiting the church.

#if cody doesnt play the villain in s9 they should just cancel the show tbh #ignore my tagsss #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #apocalypse #smut #AHS #sojourn michael #ahs imagine #michael langdon smut #langdon #sojourn #michael langdon x fem reader #ahs fanfic #american horror story fanfic #michael langdon one shot

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