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Hate to Say (I Told You So)

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XV)

Summary: A moral victory gets completely wiped away by the horrors of your life. But fear not, because help is (finally) here.

Word count: 5.3k

A note from the author: I wanted to say "A HOT NEW BOMBSHELL ENTERS THE VILLA" in my summary but figured I shouldn't because I'm trying to keep the tone very serious. The pace of this chapter is pretty fast-paced to keep up with the pace of the show—the chapter starts right where Episode 3 of Apocalypse does. It's so nuts to think that we're finally almost done. As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!

Mad Love Masterlist

“There’s really no need to thank me,” you say emphatically to the two Purples sitting before you.

“You’re the only reason we haven’t been executed. You saved our lives,” Timothy insists.

“I did what anybody would do.” You shoot a pointed glance at Michael, who stands at his desk across the room from you. “What anybody should do.”

The walk to the chamber where you could hear Emily and Timothy pleading for their lives simultaneously felt like the shortest and longest length of your life. It seemed as though with every step you took, the hallway grew longer, like you were in some kind of waking nightmare. Still, you pushed on, for nothing could stop you…except for the sharp bang of a gunshot. That did physically stop you for a couple of seconds as you tried to figure out what just happened.

Immediately, you feared the worst—that you were too late. They can’t be dead, you thought before your brain reconnected with the rest of your body and you realized that you could move. It can’t end like this. You broke into a run, cursing the slight heel of your shoes as you tried to beat time itself to the scene of the crime.

Instead of what you were expecting, which was the two lovers lying dead in a heap, Ms. Mead stumbled past you with her hands cupped over her abdomen. You watched her go with wide eyes, leaking some sort of white fluid on the floor as she did. Ignoring her for now, you finally made it to the door and mentally prepared yourself for what you might see.

Inside, Timothy was collapsed into a heap but groaning and trying to get into a sitting position, while Emily was cowering against the wall. Neither of them had any bullet wounds, but the muscle of this Outpost stood over both of them, cocking the hammer back on the gun that was pointed at Emily.

“Stop!” you yelled, three sets of eyes looking at you.

“On whose orders?” The Fist demanded.

“The Cooperative’s.” It certainly wasn’t often that you invoked your privileges as wife to the Antichrist, but if there was a better situation to do so, you hadn’t found it yet.

They stared you down, so you channeled Michael the best you could, stepped closer to them, and refused to back down. Finally, they sighed and lowered the gun. “Fine. Get them out of my sight.”

You fell to your knees the moment that you knew you had won, wrapping your hands around Timothy’s arms and helping him to his feet. Once he was up and able to balance semi-steadily, you held out a hand to Emily. “Come on, let’s go,” you said softly, ushering her up from her spot curled up against the wall.

They followed you out of that small chamber in a daze, holding onto each other tightly. You wished you had had the foresight to grab a couple of blankets to cover them as you walked with them back to relative safety, but you hadn’t known that they were going to be executed in only their undergarments.

“That’s it?” Emily asked in bewilderment when you stood in front of Timothy’s room, the room closest to where you had all been. “We’re okay?”

You nodded. “Take all the time you need to decompress, but I would like to see you both in Langdon’s office when you’re ready to talk about what happened.”

Emily let out a relieved sob and let her head fall back against the wall in relief. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You nearly choked on the words, undeserving of any such gratitude, and hurried away.

It was all you could think to say at the time, and now you’re here, sitting before them being lauded as a hero when you neither want nor deserve it. Why should you feel proud of such a label, when you’ve been unable to stop the monster responsible for all of what has befallen the world beyond your small act of rebellion?

“Not that I’m not grateful, because truly, I am—we both are,” Emily says, gesturing between her and Timothy. “But why save us?”

You remain silent, having no real answer for them beyond what you’ve already said, which is that it was what any person should do. Since this is not the old world, and doing things out of kindness is no longer the norm, you know that this doesn’t seem like a truthful answer. Michael saunters towards you, laying a firm hand on Timothy’s shoulder. For once, you’re happy for his theatrics, as it gets their waiting eyes off of you.

“I’ve been charged with finding the seeds from which the future of mankind will blossom. It’d be grossly irresponsible to allow a minor infraction to keep out a viable candidate,” Michael explains. “The stakes are too high.”

“We still have a chance at the Sanctuary?” Timothy asks, borderline incredulous. Not that you blame him.

“You didn’t break any rules,” you assure.

Michael nods in agreement. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. Now, I would encourage you both to get some rest. You’ve had a long day, and your interviews are scheduled for tomorrow.”

They get up from their respective chairs, planning to do just what Michael says and fall into bed. While Timothy goes for the door, Emily hesitates, and after a moment of internal deliberation, she takes your hands in hers. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times already, but thank you,” she says yet again. The sincerity in her tone and the earnestness in her eyes are almost too much for your guilty soul to bear.

“You’re welcome.” You accept her thanks begrudgingly, knowing that she would feel entirely different if she knew the truth about you and Michael. “You deserve a chance, both of you do.”

Michael has a proud smirk on his face when he turns to you after escorting them out of the office, though you’re not sure why. His plan didn’t exactly go the way that he was planning, and you’re the reason for it. Michael’s never been fond of changes outside of his control, and the stranger who’s inhabited your husband’s body for eighteen months is almost obsessive in ensuring that his plans play out how he intended. In fact, you’re expecting to meet his ire rather than what you’re greeted with.

“Well, well, well.” His smirk widens into a smile as he takes a seat next to you. “Look at you, taking charge! I’m proud of you.”

“Fuck off,” you snap. After a moment, you mutter, “But thank you,” because you’re not above praise.

“How did it feel? Knowing that you were in charge of their fates?” His eyelids flutter in some sort of ecstasy at the thought of the power that comes with what you believe to be an immense burden.

“Awful. My hands are still shaking.” You hold your shaking hands up to illustrate this. Now that the adrenaline has started to leave you, you’re exhausted. There’s nothing to hold you upright anymore beyond the knowledge that you’d much prefer falling asleep in a bed instead of on this uncomfortable couch.

Michael tsks, taking one of those shaking hands and caressing it in his own, steadier hands. “From what I could hear, you did well.”

“What can I say, tried to channel you.” He chuckles, and you can’t resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder. You really are tired, and that means that your normal safeguards telling you that this isn’t wise are gone. “I thought you would be mad.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, because I ruined your fun.”

“No. You could never. You just…made me pivot. I’ve always loved that about you—how you keep me on my toes.” He kisses your forehead. “You should get some rest, too.”

He’s right, unfortunately, so you stand from your seat. When Michael doesn’t follow, however, you look at him in surprise. “You’re not coming?”

“Not right now. I’m supposed to speak with my father tonight.”

It’s not disappointing, per se—you’re not going to complain about getting to spread out in bed—but it is a little upsetting to be reminded once again of the influence that’s completely warped and corrupted Michael. “Okay…goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” That old, familiar nickname hits home, and you swallow the lump in your throat to steel yourself against the muscle memory of asking Michael to come to bed, a whole different lifetime ago.

Sleep comes to you easily thanks to the exhaustion of the past couple of hours, though you’re a little wary as you feel unconsciousness claim you. Ever since the bombs dropped, you’ve been plagued by nightmares. Most of the time, you feel like you deserve it, like it’s a burden you must shoulder as punishment for your station. You fear them, the horrors that you typically see when you close your eyes. But tonight, at least, your dreams contain far less screaming and torment than usual.

The next few days pass in a manner far more boring than your first 24 hours in Outpost 3. There’s little work for you to do, and the strict way of life here makes it impossible to find anything exciting. While you’re tempted to continue interacting with Emily and Timothy, the first people you’ve felt a bond with since the end of the world, you know that that’s extremely unwise. To allow yourself to get close to anyone, but especially people who are, for all intents and purposes, innocent, can only bring misery to both parties. You don’t think you can take that sort of heartbreak, so you make the decision to stay away.

There are only two events that break up the monotony of your stay. The first is a security breach, although you suppose even that’s nothing too out of the ordinary here. After all, the Outposts only have the absolute basic levels of security, and the survivors that have been left to face the elements of the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape are nothing if not inventive. The other is something that is out of the ordinary, especially here in Ms. Venable’s draconian playland.

Since it was announced two days ago, all anybody in the Outpost could talk about is the Halloween masquerade ball to be held tonight. To you, it certainly doesn’t sound exciting. Standing around in the library drinking water and talking is already Outpost 3’s daily routine, so you don’t see how adding costumes is going to suddenly make it fun. But the idea of getting to do something new catches on with the residents like wildfire, even with Emily and Timothy, who find you when you’re exchanging Frankenstein with Stephen King’s The Stand (maybe a little too on the nose for the current state of the world, but it’s difficult to find a book in this library that you haven’t read).

“Are you going to come?” Emily asks.

You try not to laugh because you know that, if you were in their position and starved of entertainment for so long, you’d probably be acting the same way. “Oh, probably not.”

“You should! It’ll be fun.”

The telltale sound of a cane against the floor sends a rush of chilled goosebumps down your arms. The one and only matron of this Outpost joins your little group, inserting herself in between you and Timothy.

“Hello, Ms. Venable,” you greet semi-politely, which is the most that you can manage around her.

“Emily is right, you should join us,” Ms. Venable says, a smile on her face. “It’s sure to be a scream.”

“I’m sure it will! Unfortunately, we’re very busy making our final selections for the Sanctuary, so I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make it this time.”

“Well, just know that the offer stands.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to let Langdon know as well.”

Ms. Venable’s fake smile falls off of her face as she levels her gaze coldly with Emily and Timothy, both of whom are still facing the full brunt of her wrath for escaping their fates. She returns the way that she came, sending a Gray stumbling out of the way to avoid getting in her path. The moment she rounds the corner, you turn back to them with your lips pressed together to keep your composure.

“Your idea of fun involves Ms. Venable?” you say, taking care to be a little quieter than normal in case she’s eavesdropping.

“No,” Timothy admits, “but we’ll still make it fun.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” you say after a moment of consideration.

Emily grins, satisfied by this answer. “Yay!”

While such events don’t exactly appeal to you right now, you can’t deny that it might be amusing to at least stop in and check out, if only to see what costumes everybody comes up with.

You broach the topic with Michael after his last interviews are concluded and you’re in the room designated as his (Ms. Venable had given you two separate rooms upon your arrival, since nobody in the Outposts knew that you were married). “I don’t think I’ve seen a group of people so excited about a mandatory Halloween party since I was in elementary school,” you say, falling back on the bed and sighing in relief at finally getting to rest.

“Trust me, it was all I heard about in today’s interviews.” Though you can’t see him, you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I'm certainly not sad that we won’t be attending.”

You look over at him, (surprisingly) a tad disappointed. “We won’t?”

“You can’t tell me that you want to spend a couple of hours conversing with Dinah and the Vanderbilt girl.”

Your nose wrinkles, because no, you don’t. “I suppose you’re right.”

Michael kneels on the floor next to the bed, bringing his face level with yours. He smiles at you softly as his eyes map the familiar planes of your face. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had you all to myself, no interviews or selections.”

Pretending is dangerous, you know. After all, you pretended like Michael wasn’t as close to ending the world as he truly was, and it led to you failing in your mission to try and stop him. But beyond watching him play with people’s lives (which is the new normal with him), this trip has been the closest to normal that you’ve felt in a while. You’ve shared meals without fighting, he’s laughed at things you’ve said and vice versa, and you’ve felt…kind of comfortable with him. When you lay your hand on his cheek and rub your thumb against the soft skin of his face, you pretend that this is your Michael, not the Antichrist, looking at you with his big blue eyes.

And when he presses his lips against yours, you pretend like you don’t remember why you’re supposed to tell him no.

Michael moves onto the bed with you, laying your back against the pillows while he straddles your hips. You gladly pull him down on top of you, removing your hands from his face to do so. He’s all over you, from your sides to your thighs to your breasts to your face. Your tongues tangle together, but rather than a fight for dominance, it’s a dance where you’re both equal partners. Loving him, and being loved by him, in this specific way is intoxicating, and you’re happy to turn your brain off for a bit and just feel.

“I want to run something by you,” Michael mumbles between kisses. It’s weird that he wants to do this now, when he’s grinding against you and your fingers are working at undoing his pants, but whatever.

You swallow down a moan and nod. “Okay.”

“This is the last Outpost we have to visit before we can focus on creating our new world out of the ashes of the old one.” His lips go to your jaw, and he begins to suck and nip at the underside of it. “What if we got started on it early, with just the two of us? Ushered in this new world with new life?”

Arousal has completely clouded your mind by this point, and you have to fight to fully take in Michael’s words. It takes another few moments to really understand what he’s said. Now, your stomach is tight for a whole different reason, making you go still. “What are you suggesting?” you ask, hoping against all hope that you’re wrong.

He pulls away from you just enough that he can meet your eyes. “I’m suggesting we have a baby.”

“What?”

Your shock is misinterpreted for surprise, and Michael smiles. “I know, it would be a big change, but can’t you imagine it? Our future. We’d be a family, and our baby would be the very best parts of us and our love.”

He’s right—you can imagine that future, one where you’re a mom and Michael’s a dad, proud parents of a baby with Michael’s cherub features and your eyes. It’s such a vivid picture in your head that it feels like it was meant to be, and you find yourself lost in it as Michael continues to verbally paint your future parenthood. For a moment, you feel like you want it as much as Michael does.

A door slams downstairs, pulling you back to yourself and reminding you that that’s not what you want. Like, at all.

Panic begins to thrum under your skin, making you laugh nervously as you try to wriggle out from under him. “Michael.”

He doesn’t answer, too caught up in his fantasy. “Plus, you can’t deny that we’d make a cute kid.”

“Michael!” He pauses to look down at you, and you use that opportunity to slide away from him. Sitting up on the bed, you grab a pillow and hold it in front of you almost defensively. “Where is this coming from?”

He looks down bashfully and grabs one of your hands. “The timing, us almost being done with the Outposts and, by extension, the old world, had me thinking. An heir would be such a fitting way to bring about this new age on Earth. It just feels…right.”

That word, ‘heir,’ sends alarms blaring in your mind. Michael styles himself as king because that’s the title that his father has bestowed upon him, the title that he only believes himself worthy of so long as his father does. For him to use a term like ‘heir,’ typically associated with royal and noble houses, can only mean one thing.

Your blood goes cold at the realization, bile trying to creep its way up your throat. Hesitantly, you pull your hand away. “Your father’s the one that brought this up, didn’t he?”

He shrugs, not seeming to care that he’s once again letting Satan dictate every aspect of his life. “He mentioned it, yes, but the idea is all mine! So, what do you say? You wanna have a baby?”

It’s obvious that part of him genuinely enjoys the idea of having a child. You can see his excitement, and hear his dreams in the way he speaks of your shared potential future. But the other part, the one that’s all Antichrist and therefore the part that’s completely taken over him, sees a child solely as a means to an end. A way to secure his father’s bloodline and cement their rule on Earth. You wouldn’t submit anybody to that fate, least of all a helpless child.

With your mind made up, you meet Michael’s eyes and shake your head. “No.”

“No?” His brow furrows, taken aback from hearing this answer from you.

“No! I won’t bring a child into this fucked up hellscape of yours.”

Michael’s smile falls. “Yes, you will. Maybe not today, but you’ll come around.”

“That’s a pretty bold assumption.”

“Is it? After all, our contract says that we’ll have a child within five years. We’re three years in, and time is only ticking.”

“The contract?” you gasp in shock, reeling back from the bed. “You’re really bringing up that stupid fucking contract right now?”

You can’t believe that after all these years, all the progress that you made individually and as partners (progress that was, of course, shattered with the press of a button), he’d betray you and bring up the very document that made you feel so much like a prisoner when you first met him. Though you try not to, your eyes don’t listen to your will and begin to well with tears.

Michael remains unmoved by your emotional display and instead attempts to explain. “I only do to remind you of what’s expected of you, of both of us.”

“Fuck you, Michael. I will never have a child with you.”

His eyes steel over as he clenches his jaw. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.”

You charge a path to the door, praying that Michael doesn’t stop you. Somehow, he has enough sense left in his brain to remain where he’s sitting, simply watching you throw open the door. Before you leave, you look back at him.

“Tell your father what I’ve told both of you before. If he wants your wife to be some perfect little Satanist that bows to every one of his, and your, whims, then he’s going to have to kill me and find you another poor girl to force into marriage.”

With that, you slam the door and walk down the hall toward your own room, tears blurring the path in front of you.

It’s only when you’ve locked the door and can feel the sturdy wood behind your back that you allow yourself to actually break down. Sobs rip loudly from deep within your chest, and you slap a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the sound. You’d hate to interrupt the Halloween party currently taking place below you, and you’d hate even more for people to come and ask you what’s wrong right now. If they did, you know what you’d say. That everything is wrong, from the clothes that you wear to the way that people act, and that the past eighteen months are like being the unwilling lead in a horror movie.

Those words can never be spoken aloud, because there’s not a single person alive that would understand them beyond Michael Langdon. Unfortunately, the Michael Langdon that you knew is dead and replaced by the spawn of Satan that’s always been lurking inside of him. Sometimes he does a good job of playing the part of Michael Langdon, a good enough job that it can momentarily fool you. But the demon will always rear its ugly head, reminding you again and again that you’re truly alone in this world.

It feels a little childish to throw yourself on your bed and cry yourself to sleep. But in this situation, you think it’s warranted.

You’re eventually ushered back to consciousness by the feather-light touch of fingers brushing your cheek. It’s a struggle to unglue your eyelids after they grew stuck together due to your drying tears, and you hesitantly pry open one eye to glance at what, or who, has woken you up. Upon making a positive identification, you groan and drop your head against the mattress.

“I hate this dream,” you grumble.

A soft laugh comes from next to you. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.”

It takes a moment for you to work up the courage to actually speak your thoughts. “Because it reminds me that you’re gone.”

The mattress shifts. “Open your eyes.”

You really don’t want to do that, because you know what the result will be. After all, you’ve had dreams along this storyline before. Dreams where you’re taunted with your innermost desires, dreams that feel so real that you wake up expecting them to be fact. They never turn out to be real, though, and you’re dreading being faced with that same disappointment once more.

But hope is cruel, and it’s tantalizing. In the end, you’re no match for hope.

Instead of being greeted by nothing but air when you finally open both eyes, someone is still sitting next to you on the bed. You take in their black wardrobe first—a long-sleeved black dress, with a matching cloak fastened around the neck. Next is the hair, beautiful dark waves, with a golden headband nestled among them. Finally, you meet a pair of warm, brown eyes that twinkle with excitement.

You sit up abruptly in shock. The breath gets caught in your throat, and you have to work to make a sound. Even when you can, your voice comes out shaky and unsure. “...Mallory?”

A familiar smile spreads across her face. “Hi.”

Your hand has come up without you realizing it, and it hovers now above Mallory’s shoulder. Though you want so badly to touch her, you’re sure that the moment you do, she’ll dissipate into thin air like smoke. You don’t know if you can handle that kind of heartbreak, not after what you’ve just been through.

Mallory takes your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers. In your grasp, you can feel the muscles of her hand flex, her skin warm and real against yours. A sharp gasp rips from you, tears already falling once more (you’ve cried so much tonight) when you raise your gaze to meet hers once more.

“Oh my god, Mallory!”

She says your name with just as much tenderness and awe, her voice a balm on your bruised and battered soul. It’s another second before you’re being pulled into a welcomed, bone-crushing hug. You meet her with the same level of enthusiasm, holding onto each other as though, at any moment, forces will try to rip you apart. The forces of the universe can try any tactic possible, but they’re guaranteed to fail. Your best friend is back and in your arms against all odds, and you’re never letting her go again.

“How the—how—you—” Mallory waits patiently for you to remember how to speak. “You’re here. And you’re alive. How are you alive?”

“Witches don’t die easily.”

“I can see that!” You pull back from the embrace just enough so that you can look her in the eyes and be reminded of the fact that Mallory really, truly sits before you now. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

Her face somehow softens even more than it already has. “I’ve missed you too.”

While you could spend hours in silence and simply enjoy her presence once more, there are explanations to be made, ones that, in your mind, simply can’t wait. “I have so many questions.”

“Ask, then, and I’ll do my best to answer.”

You work to untangle the jumbled mess that your thoughts have become. “How are you here? I’m talking the whole process, from surviving the apocalypse to somehow traversing a nuclear wasteland and coincidentally ending up at the same Outpost we’re visiting.”

“To make a very long story short, when you called me that day that you and Michael fought, I knew that we were running out of time. His anger sped up the process of the apocalypse by months, which meant that I had to speed up figuring out how to stop him. While my research in those ensuing weeks was fruitful, there was no chance of actually having enough practice to successfully execute any sort of plan by the time the bombs dropped. So, I pivoted. I’d work as hard as I could, right up until the end, while also knowing that I had key members of the coven in place to help me after the nuclear war.”

“Your coven survived?” you ask hopefully. An army of witches would do a lot to help right now.

Her face twists in pain. “Michael would have sensed it if an entire coven survived the apocalypse, so I made one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make in my life. I sent the girls home on a ‘break’ and told them that I and a couple of their teachers had to go meet with a European coven. They got to spend their last days with their loved ones, which is a small comfort to me.”

“I’m sorry, Mallory.” What you want to say is that you’re sorry that this happened, and that you’re sorry that the man you’re fated to love is the reason why. If you get started on that path, though, you know that you’ll be apologizing for hours about things that, at the end of the day, aren’t your fault (even though they feel like they are). Instead, you give Mallory a tighter squeeze and hope that it accurately conveys all that goes unsaid.

Mallory clears her throat, lifting a hand from you briefly to swipe at her wet eyes. “Anyways. I took only those who I knew would be a great help to me when the time came. Two of my friends, who also taught with me, and I went to ground. Bayou mud carries intense healing properties, and it kept us safe for eighteen months of hibernation, for lack of a better term.”

You’re mildly horrified at the fact that Mallory and her friends basically buried themselves alive, but Mallory continues before you can say anything.

“Then, an older student who comes from a very rich family volunteered to help. I wiped her mind of her identity as a witch and ensured that she would be here, in Outpost 3, so that we would have as many on our side as possible.”

“Who…” you trail off. “Coco!” That’s why her name sounded so familiar! Mallory had likely mentioned her to you in passing during one of your many conversations after she assumed the title of Supreme.

“Yep.”

“Is she always so…” you pause, trying to think of a nice way to phrase what you want to say. “Bitchy?”

“Before she came to Robichaux’s, yes.” She grins cheekily, and you feel your heart twist at how much you’ve missed seeing that. “Hence the bitchy attitude here.”

“Was Outpost 3 just a lucky guess?”

Mallory shakes her head. “No. I knew that Outpost 3 would be Michael’s crown jewel when it came to the Outpost project. He was never shy in his hatred of warlocks and Hawthorne—he hated both of them almost as much as he hated Cordelia. It made sense that he would choose this as his final stop. He wanted to prove to himself, you, and Satan that he was nothing like the boy that first arrived here years ago.”

“So, you sent a spy here and took as much help with you as you could. What’s your plan now?” How are you going to get us out of this mess? you want to ask.

She turns serious. “Before I tell you, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything,” you promise.

“I’m going to ask you to stand with me and against Michael. And if you can’t do that because of your soul bond with him, I understand. In that case, though, I need to ask you to stand aside so that I can do what I need to do.”

There’s no need for any sort of deliberation, nor is there any hesitation in you. This answer comes just as easily and surely as one from mere hours ago, only this time, the result is the opposite. “Of course, I’ll stand with you.”

She sighs in deep relief, apparently worried that you were going to turn her down or, worse, side with Michael. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Mallory begins to explain her plan and your role in it, one that you’re happy to play. You’ve been forced to be a bystander for too long, and now, you refuse to let that be your identity. You want your world back, and with Mallory and her witches at your side, you feel confident that this is how you win.

///

Tag list: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @redroses07

#michael langdon #michael langdon fanfiction

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redroses07 · 12 days

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Heartfirst // Johnnie Guilbert Pt. 2

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader

Summary: Johnnie and reader finally get a chance to finish what they started at Tara's party.

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: Smut 18+ minors dni, P in V, unprotected sex (use a condom guys), swearing.

A/N: Hey guys!!! A ton of people requested this so here it is! I'm not the best at writing smut so I hope this doesn't suck. Anyways, hope you enjoy, love you all and thank you for the positive comments on pt. 1!!!!

Heartfirst pt. 1 here

You lay sprawled on your bed, checking your phone every few minutes. It was mid day, and you should probably bring it upon yourself to do something productive, but you were waiting on something. Or more formally, someone.

It had been a week since Tara's party and you and Johnnie had not had a single moment alone since, and you two were desperate to finish what was started before Jake so rudely interrupted you.

Nevertheless, your schedules unfortunately did not overlap this week. Either you were busy, he was editing, you were filming, and so on and so forth.

Until today, well maybe. Johnnie had told you he would come over as soon as he finished streaming, and Tara was out of the house all day so it was perfect. His stream seemed to be taking much longer than anticipated, and you were getting more frustrated by the minute. Which is why you couldn't help yourself to look at your phone over and over, waiting for that "on the way, see you soon princess!" message.

"Princess", that's what Johnnie had taken to calling you the past week, and it made your heart flutter every time.

God you missed him. Not that you didn't always when you hadn't seen him in a while, but your newly established relationship makes things different.

You heard a knock at the door, causing you to let out an annoyed groan.

You begrudgingly rolled off your bed and got to your feet, heading to the front door.

Who it could possibly be, you didn't know. Maybe the mailman or a neighbor?

You opened the door only to be met with a very welcome surprise.

Johnnie stood in the doorway, a wide smile on his face, waiting to take you in his arms. He was wearing casual clothes with minimal makeup, and you could tell he had left his house in a hurry because his usually messy hair looked even messier.

"Johnnie? I didn't know you were coming, i thought you were streaming."

Johnnie gave you an apologetic look.

"Fuck, I forgot to tell you I was done. I'm sorry! I hope it's still okay that I'm here." Johnnie rambled, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

"No, Johnnie it's more than okay, I've been waiting to see you all day." You pulled him through the door, quickly shutting it behind him.

You had been waiting all week for this, and couldn't wait a moment longer. You need him now.

Johnnie's eyes raked over your body as you pulled him back, and only then did you become aware of how much skin you were showing. It was California, it was hot, and a habit to reach for tiny shorts and short tops.

Johnnie stopped you, pulling you close to him. The tension between the two of you was so close to boiling over. He took your face in his hands, and you could feel his hot breath crashing against your skin.

"Johnnie..." You spoke breathlessly, brushing your lips against his.

That was when the wall of tension between the two of you broke. Johnnie's lips forcefully crashed against yours, causing you to stagger backwards against the wall.

He kissed you as if he was starving, and you were his first meal in weeks. He ran his hands all along your body, stopping to tightly grip your ass.

You rocked back against the wall as Johnnie's hands reached under your legs. He hoisted you up around his waist, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to help him hold you up.

He moved from kissing your lips to biting and sucking at your neck. Johnnie walked you back into your bedroom, not removing his lips from your skin for even a second.

Once he entered the room he slammed the door shut and threw you down on your bed.

You grabbed Johnnie by his shirt and pulled him down on top of you.

Johnnie began clawing at your clothes, reaching his hands under your tight shirt. He effortlessly pulled it over your head along with your bra, and began trailing his lips down your exposed stomach.

You moaned softly, getting impatient. You bucked your hips upward, rolling them against him and giving your clit some of the friction it so desperately needed.

"What is it, pretty girl?" Johnnie muttered, looking up to caress your face.

"I want you."

"Mhm, do you now?" Johnnie took this as an opportunity to palm his hand over your soaked core.

"Fuck." You moaned into him, pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

Johnnie began to take his clothes off, starting with his shirt, then his pants, and boxers. As he took off his clothes you noticed some tattoos of his that were normally covered. You removed your shorts and underwear along with him.

There you were for the first time, fully exposed to this man that you loved. You had anticipated this moment to be awkward, but something about it felt so perfect. You guessed that's what it meant to be in love, no fear of judgment, just love.

"You're so beautiful." Johnnie said, running his hands slowly across every part of your body.

The sensation of his cold fingertips on your warm skin made you shiver. Johnnie looked up at you once more and initiated a soft, yet passionate kiss. You felt the cold metal of his lip piercings press against your tongue.

You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling at his jet black locks.

You broke apart, leaving the room silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

"You ready?" Johnnie asked softly.

You nodded, giving him reassurance that you were in fact okay with this.

Johnnie pushed into you with no hesitation, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

He began thrusting slowly, a tightness building in your core as he did. Johnnie dropped his head into the crook of your neck as he kept a steady pace.

You used this as an opportunity to leave marks on his neck, biting down a little harder every time he hit that sweet spot inside of you.

You thrusted your hips up as you felt the invisible band inside of you about to snap.

"Baby, fuck, I'm close." Johnnie said as he leaned up to press a sloppy kiss to your lips.

"Me too." You managed to say through breaths.

Johnnie's hands made their way to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh.

He let out soft moans in your ear every so often. The pretty sounds he made turned you on even more, if that was even possible.

And just like that Johnnie released himself inside of you, triggering your release as well.

You dug your freshly manicured nails into his bare back as you did, leaving crescent shaped indents on his back.

"God, I love you." Johnnie breathed as he collapsed next to you.

"Not as much as I love you." You rolled over facing him.

He wore a lazy smile on his face, and his eyelids were noticeably droopy.

You placed a kiss on the tip of his nose, causing a blush to appear on his pale cheeks.

You took a moment to relax and enjoy the comfort of each other's touch. Johnnie traced soft circles along your back, and you brushed your fingers through his hair.

"Alright princess I'm gonna go get a bath started." Johnnie sat up, kissed you on both cheeks, and headed into the bathroom.

You two were gonna have to plan your schedules much further in advance from now on.

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°. ✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°. ✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

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