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langdvnshepherd · 5 years ago

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Michael x Male reader fluff ??

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: character death, angst, mentions of smut, fluff

A/N: I’ve never written any male!reader fics so this is a first! I’d love to write more so let me know if you’d like me to take a shot at something else! Under a cut bc this one is way longer than the usual requests I answer!

The timid knocks on his door were quiet, but they startled him nonetheless. It was the middle of the night. Everyone he talked to had been in bed for hours now, the halls were quiet and his social media feeds had died down. He’d been awake, reluctantly, of course, staring blankly at the ceiling, contemplating all of the recent events that had turned his world upside down.

Something inside of him felt like the person on the other side of the door was the same person that had been preoccupying his thoughts for months now, but the greater part inside of him told him to let it go. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. He’d left him alone in the Hawthorne dorm they’d spent initially as roommates, and up until now, lovers.

He heard his named being called by a hoarse voice from outside of his dorm.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Michael?!” he breathlessly exclaimed as he jolted up from his bed and flung the weighted, wooden door ajar.

It was him. He had been so certain that he’d scared him off. Maybe he had been too much. Maybe he’d smothered him in a way that Michael wasn’t fond of. Or maybe Michael was the one that was scared. Too petrified of what others would think to take things any further than they’d already gone. He was convinced for a while that one else in the world existed but him and Michael. That was until Michael had up and disappeared in the middle of the night with no explanation. He’d been gone for days, until right at this moment.

Michael looked like he’d been to hell and back. His hair, the thick, golden strands that he loved to tug on when Michael nestled himself coyly between his legs and made him see stars, was matted and caked with muddy earth. His clothes, ones that Michael took great pride in upkeeping, were ripped to shreds, barely hanging on to his malnourished torso. But the most gut-wrenching part of his entire appearance was his eyes. He’d spent many nights gazing into them. Not saying anything, just staring. He’d memorized every dip and ridge of his blue-green irises, how they changed color depending on the intensity of the lamp on his bedside table. No matter how dark or how light, his eyes were always glimmering. They spoke to him in many ways that Michael often couldn’t communicate with words, so to see them now was quite possibly the hardest part of seeing him again.

They were sunken in and dull, the aquamarine now a deep, sallow grey. Underneath his eyes were dark purple shadows, indicating he probably hadn’t slept well since the last night they spent together.

“Where have you been? What happened to you?” the boy asked, feeling warm, fresh tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

He pulled Michael into his room and shut the door behind him, where Michael immediately collapsed into his arms. The boy lowered both of their bodies, sliding against the wall until they were curled into each other on the floor.

Michael was weeping, his chest heaving, tears soaking the boy’s pajama top. The boy held Michael as close to him as he could, disregarding the clumps of mud that fell around him and onto his lap each time a sob wracked through Michael’s body.

He was almost in shock, in a way. In the days since Michael’s disappearance, he’d convinced himself that he’d never be able to hold him or touch him like this again. He’d stopped going to class, stopped socializing with his friend group, stopped eating. There was something so addictive about the Boy Wonder that waltzed through the doors of the private academy for warlocks just months ago, and to be ripped away from him cold turkey was the worst kind of withdrawal to go through.

“Mikey,” he tried drawing Michael from his chest to look him in the face.

Michael didn’t budge. He stayed in the same position, clutching tightly to the boy’s frame.

“Talk to me, Michael. What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone,” he choked out, inhaling the salty tears that pooled in the center of his dry and cracked lips.

“Who? Who’s gone?”

He was getting closer, getting him to open up little by little. He prayed to whoever was listening that he’d get somewhere with him. That he’d get the clarity he needed to justify the days he’d spent wallowing in his own self-pity. But he also knew that Michael rarely spoke about himself and how he was feeling. Maybe talking Michael through whatever had just happened to him could bring some clarity into his own life.

“My Ms. Mead. She’s dead. They killed her.”

More sobs, more heaving, more tearing apart at the seams. He’d seen Michael cry only once before when Michael told him that he thought he was in love with him, but those were different tears, a different kind of fear and excitement. These tears were forlorn. They were grieving.

The boy holding Michael stroked his spine, occasionally reaching out to work at the knots built up in his back. It felt right, to have Michael in his arms again, but it felt selfish to be savoring the moment like this. Not when Michael had just lost the only other person he’d ever heard Michael talk about loving.

“I’m so sorry, Michael,” he whispered.

“Who killed her?”

“Those fucking witches,” Michael snarled in between breaths, his grip around the boy’s middle growing uncomfortably tight.

“I’m going to murder every last one of them.”

“You’re delirious. Let’s get you in bed. We can talk more in the morning.”

Cordelia was the Supreme, as you’d heard all about it when she visited Los Angeles after hearing word that Michael might have powers greater than her own. Michael was certainly out of his mind if he thought he could successfully take down an entire coven without being burned at the stake first.

Michael nodded weakly against the boy’s chest.

“Actually, I think you need a shower first. Think you can stand?”

Michael shook his head, “No.”

“That’s okay. It’s okay, Michael,” he reassured him, rubbing his back once more.

The boy lifted Michael from the floor, holding him up by the chest as they hobbled to the bathroom connected to the dorm room.

He stripped Michael down, running his fingers over the protruding bones of his ribcage, feeling more and more devastated as each article of clothing was discarded onto the cold tile. He checked the temperature of the shower faucet before removing his own clothing, then carefully held onto Michael’s hand before stepping into the shower with him.

The boy worked the shampoo through Michael’s scalp, feeling the tension literally lift off of Michael’s shoulders at the feeling of being tended to. Clumps of dirt and mud swirled at the bottom of the shower drain as he lathered the rose-scented soap, Michael’s favorite, across his chest and back, then down to the meat of his thighs and ankles. When he was done cleaning up the mess Michael had made of himself, they stood idling underneath the scalding hot, flowing water.

They’d done this many times before, showered together. It often ended in wandering hands and creating more steam than what was caused by the temperature of the water, but this was entirely different kind of needy. He felt like Michael might quite literally crumble if he let him go.

They stayed there until the water ran cold, bodies flush against one another, buried in the crook of either one’s necks.

“You want some clothes to sleep in? All of yours are still here,” he questioned, walking over to the dresser that held all of Michael’s belongings he’d left behind when he vanished.

“Can I sleep in yours?” Michael asked, exhaustion taking over every fiber of his being.

He was perched on the foot of the boy’s bed, shoulders slumped over, tiny beadlets of water dripping from the ends of his freshly washed hair and pooling into the crevice of his closed thighs.

“Of course,” he answered, going back to his own wardrobe to reach for the shirt of his that he knew Michael loved best.

He approached Michael with the fabric in his hands, situating it so that he could slip it easily over Michael’s head. Michael could barely hold his arms up long enough to slide them through the armholes, his breathing becoming manual and deep when he was able to drop them back down to his sides.

“I thought you were gone,” the boy spoke so quietly that Michael almost couldn’t hear him.

Michael looked up at him with more tears in his eyes, an overflow of emotions bombarding him once again to see how much he had hurt the only person he had left.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked as the water ran down his cheeks.

“Don’t cry Mikey,” the boy shushed him.

“I’m just glad you’re back.”

When he reached down to grab the towel Michael had used to dry his body, Michael gripped him back the back of the neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss. They both realized they’d missed the taste of each other more than they had initially thought as their lips massaged one another’s, the tips of their tongues dancing along the edge of each other’s bottom lips. When he pulled away, there was a faint wash of a smile peeking through the features of Michael’s face. The corners of his mouth turned up just slightly, and his eyes seemed to brighten just half a shade at the familiar sense of security, his boyfriend’s comforting touch.

As soon as Michael was dressed in clean clothes that weren’t coated in the remnants of his worst nightmare, he laid his head back onto the mattress on which he’d spent many nights prior to this. Much like the shower, many of those nights had been sleepless and erotic, but other times they were soft and gentle. Nervous, shy pecking on the lips and clammy, inexperienced fingers, but mostly just sleeping. Michael had quickly realized that every night spent in his own bunk right beside his lover’s was a night wasted. He’d slept far better next to him than he ever had on his own.

The boy crawled in bed next to Michael, cozying up to his warm, drowsy body and slipping his arm under Michael’s t-shirt and around his middle. He stroked Michael’s tummy with his palm, refamiliarizing himself with each dip and curve of his torso.

He knew it was no use trying to pry any more words out of Michael. He was snoring the second his head hit the pillow, and he knew that because of the faint snores that escaped his lips almost immediately.

He had wished for this moment. For Michael to come back and lay with him once again. And he’d gotten what he’d asked for. Only it didn’t resemble the way he’d pictured it.

His intuition made his stomach churn, for fear that this reunion was only temporary, and Michael might be leaving again far sooner than he could bear.

Gonna tag a handful because this one’s a lil long!!

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @venusxxlangdon @wroteclassicaly @sojournmichael @1-800-bitchcraft

#GIVE MICHAEL A BOYFRIEND CHALLENGE #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x male reader #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon smut #michael langdon #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story fanfiction #asks #blurb #my writing

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