slimetoad

hello! // 19 // she/her // blogging from the bog

[eufezco]

LOGAN AS A GIRL'S DAD°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

just pure fluff with pregnant!reader and logan <3

BEFORE PREGNANCY

being a dad at his age was something logan never imagined. starting a family seemed so out of reach, after everything he’d lived, he never thought that dad was a title he deserved. but then laura came into your life, and it was hard for him because you were a natural, effortlessly knowing how to care for her.

bit by bit, he began to follow your lead, picking up your habit of checking on her before bed and tucking her in, keeping an eye on her plate and making sure she finished her veggie, checking on her when she played outside and even sitting through her favorite cartoons.

and as you watched him, you’d catch yourself wondering what it would be like to bring another little life into this family you were building. the idea of getting pregnant crossed your mind more than once, and you could see it flicker in his eyes too, like an unspoken thought that made its way between you.

—you ever thought of having kids? —he asked, quiet but serious.

you took a few seconds to think about his question. not that you needed them, you'd always wanted to have his kids, and having laura had changed things, deepened the bond between you and logan, and brought your maternal instinct back. she wasn’t your biological child, but in every other way, she was yours.

the thought of bringing up the idea of getting pregnant to logan felt selfish, especially when you knew how much he had already given and how tired he was, you knew that, so you kept your hopes to yourself, not wanting to ask for more than the peace you had found with him and laura.

—we have laura —. you answered.

—yeah, we do. but… that’s not what i’m talking about.

there was a few seconds of silence while he waited for your answer.

—yes, i've thought about it but—

—have you thought about it recently?

you nodded to his question, feeling guilty.

he slowly nodded back to you. —i've been thinking about it too.

DURING PREGNANCY

logan started helping caliban in the kitchen, something that surprised you at first because he had never been much of a cook. but the two of them would work together, preparing meals that were good for you and the baby. logan would quietly chop vegetables or stir a pot, taking caliban’s instructions (also surprising because he had not followed anyone's instructions in a long time) as they worked to make sure you had everything you needed to stay healthy.

he’d help you with things like showering when it became difficult for you to balance or reach certain places. his touch was always gentle, his movements careful, making sure you felt safe. it became an intimate routine, his fingers massaged your scalp with care.

every night he'd gently rub lotion on your growing belly, helping to care for the stretch marks that had started to appear. he knew how self-conscious they made you feel. he could see it in the way you’d glance at your reflection, letting out a frustrated huff each time you noticed a new one, how you’d try to hide it from him, or how you’d wrap yourself in a towel quickly after a shower. so he took his time applying the lotion with steady hands, his eyes focused as if making sure he was doing it right.

—another one? —you muttered, feeling the weight of it.

—doesn’t change a thing —. logan just shook his head, kneeling beside you. —it’s just a mark. i'm covered in marks, and you never cared, right?

laura sat close to you, her eyes focused on your belly as logan gently massaged your skin. she was waiting, as she always did, hoping to see her future sister move. each time logan’s hand smoothed over your growing bump, laura’s gaze would sharpen, her small body leaning forward saying come on, little sis, just one kick. sometimes she’d place her hand beside logan’s, her touch gentle but curious.

—is she going to move soon? —she’d ask in a hushed voice.

logan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. —she’s already kickin' when you’re not looking —. he teased lightly as he rubbed the cream over your stretch marks, carefully. laura’s eyes never left your belly, waiting for that one special moment.

and he'd give you foot massages, his calloused hands rubbing away the soreness from carrying extra weight. you’d close your eyes, sighing in relief, and he’d smile.

when your clothes stopped fitting, it was he who offered up his own. he’d hand over his t-shirts and flannels, which hung loose on you and smelled like him, making you feel him close to you even when he was away at work.

logan was a bit reluctant at first but when the doctor told him how important prenatal yoga was to you, he didn't have to think about it twice. he wanted to be there and help you in every way he could even though he felt a bit out of place among the soft music, peaceful atmosphere, and expectant mothers, but he never let it show.

he'd help you find comfort in each of the poses the instructor guided everyone. he was often the only man in the class, which certainly caught the attention of the other moms. perhaps they noticed the age gap between you and logan, but more likely, their attention was drawn to your undeniably handsome partner. some of them whispered to each other, half-jokingly expressing their jealousy at how lucky you were to have such a dedicated partner. you both noticed the glances but you were too focused on each other.

as the weeks went by, the mothers would often smile at him, offering you two the kindest words as they saw how attentive he was to your needs.

at the end of the class, logan leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand resting on your back. —you did great —. he murmured, his voice full of pride. as you started to gather your things, one of the mothers nearby smiled and said, you're a lucky girl.

you couldn’t help but blush a little. he gave a small, almost shy smirk in response but didn’t say anything. instead, he focused on helping you with your bag.

the moment you found out you were pregnant, he quit smoking. it was almost instinctive, he wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, and that included kicking the habit that had stuck with him for years.

and giving up cigarettes was one thing, but quitting drinking was way harder. there were nights he’d sit in the kitchen, staring at the bottle in the cabinet, knowing he could just reach for it. but he remembered you asleep in the other room, a hand resting protectively over your belly, and he’d push the thought away. he didn’t want his daughter growing up with memories of whiskey lingering on her father’s breath.

DURING LABOR

logan was more terrified than he'd ever let you know. he had faced, battles survived unimaginable pain, and lived through horrors but this was different. watching you in pain, knowing that your body was going through something so intense shook him to his core.

he stayed by your side, gripping your hand tightly and leaning in close, his voice encouraging you to push. he'd brush the damp strands of hair that were sticking to your face and press his forehead to yours.

when the baby’s first cry filled the room, logan sighed in relief, his grip on your hand softening as he finally allowed himself to breathe. once the doctors placed her on your chest, logan leaned in by your side, his eyes shining as he looked at you. you did so good, baby, thank you so much he murmured as he kissed your sweaty forehead and one of his fingers brushed across the baby’s little cheek.

AFTER PREGNANCY

at first, he was terrified every time he held her, his usually steady hands suddenly unsure. he was afraid that even his touch might be too much. she was so tiny, so soft and fragile, and her chest rose and fell so peacefully even though her small fingers wrapped around logan's thick ones with such strength. he found himself holding his breath whenever he picked her up.

in those first few days after labor, logan seemed to be everywhere at once. checking on the baby, bringing you food, making sure you were sleeping and laura wasn't trying to sneak into your room to see the baby. she was fascinated by her little sister, how could a human being be so small? laura often asked herself.

logan would catch her on her tiptoes, face with curiosity, and he’d stop her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. laura would pout, glancing past him with wide eyes, eager to get closer, but logan wasn’t having it.

you surprised him when you caught him slipping into a soft, almost comical baby voice whenever he spoke to his daughter. but it was completely unintentional, just something that happened whenever he looked down at her tiny face, her big eyes blinking up at him. oh, what’s that little face all about, huh? you got somethin’ to say, little one? he’d murmur, his voice high and gentle as he rubbed one of her cheeks.

logan never thought he’d find joy in something as simple as dressing up his little girl, but there he was, surrounded by tiny clothes, immersed in a world of pastels and patterns. the laughter that escaped his lips as he put together the outfits was genuine. alright, sweetheart, what do you think of this one? he would ask her, holding the little one in front of the mirror. the baby had no idea what was going on, but logan nodded, approving the outfit. he’d try on multiple outfits, taking photos, and sending them to you for your opinion. how about this for school? he’d text you, proudly. this one’s a bold choice, but i think you can pull it off, he’d tease, pretending to be a fashion critic.

leaving for work each day became one of the hardest things logan had to do. he hated those hours he spent apart from the three of you. and every night when he came home, the baby was already sleeping but he'd tiptoe over to the crib, and he'd place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. then he’d make his way to bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close against his chest. he’d nuzzle his head close, murmuring softly, you okay, darlin’? and though you’d only mumble a half-coherent answer, he’d still give a small, satisfied nod.

and when he gets out of work earlier, he comes home exhausted, and you can see it in his face, the tired lines around his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck, but despite that, he is never too tired to play with his baby girl.

as the baby grew, logan took on new challenges, like driving her to school each morning, packing her tiny backpack with her favorite snacks, and doing her hair. with dark brown locks just like laura's and his own, he gathered them into two little ponytails, a bit clumsy at first, his fingers were used to fighting and rough work, not delicate hairstyles.

laura, after seeing how much fun logan had with the little girl’s hair, wanted no less. she’d approach him, eyes bright with excitement. —can you do my hair too, logan?

—your mom can do it for you. she's much better at it than i am —. he answered, not sure if his hairdressing skills would meet the older girl's expectations.

—but i want you to do it!

logan huffed, ruffling her hair with his free hand. he used the same care gathering laura's long hair as he did for her baby sister and he found it incredibly satisfying to see laura's face light up when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

after all, he was meant to be a girl's dad. every moment with you and your daughters reminded him that all those years of solitude and struggles, had led him here to a life filled with love. he might have thought being a dad was beyond his reach, but now, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[beeperis]

if only

warnings; discussions of death, grief, angst pairing; old man! logan x reader reuploaded from my ao3!

Your fingers glanced over the pages, turning to the next. Before you was another familiar illustration, this time of the white rabbit. Of course, you knew what was next. You were barely even reading from the pages anymore. It was easier at this point to recite from memory, you thought.

Your voice was that of a classical piano to Logan. In his eyes, you were a magnificent storyteller, even if he'd never say that out loud to protect his masculinity. What little masculinity he had left at least--from lying in his bed, coughing up blood and wheezing--was sacred. You didn't deserve to see him in that state.

You'd been reading him one of your favorite books, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, ever since the doctor told him he didn't have much longer. Looking into your eyes was so hard; he couldn't stand how much hope was in them. It felt like it was killing him faster.

Though a nonreligious man, Logan prayed he wouldn't die before you could finish the story. For your sake.

"...when suddenly, a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her." There came your voice again. So sweet with a melody unaware of what was to come. He held back another rattling cough as to not interrupt your fantasy.

You must have heard his wheezing breaths, because you stopped. It was a rather uncomfortable quiet, so Logan broke it. "Why'd you quit?" He rasped out. Looking over at you instead of at the ceiling, slivers of moonlight from the window reflected off fresh tears from your cheeks. "Oh, no. None of that, angel."

With a voice much shakier than before, you resumed from the paragraph you stopped at. "In another moment, down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out of it." Even on the verge of tears, you were still so pleasant to listen to.

Logan never much cared for reading. In his older age he'd adapted to a quieter, more serene life, but never once had he thought to pick up a book such as the one you were reading now. Come to think of it, he was a toddler when the story was written.

But in that moment, he found himself paying attention to the characters. You reminded him of Alice. Always in your own world, so full of hope in a hopeless situation, so eager to pursue what cannot be pursued. He saw himself as the white rabbit. Mainly because he was running away from time, and managed to catch your eye during the 200-year-long flee.

"I wish we could stay on this page," you murmured sadly. Noticing you'd stopped reading again, Logan perked up. "Why?" You brought your knees to your chest to hug them. "I don't know, it's stupid. Maybe the longer I read to you, the longer you'll be around to hear it," you paused to sniffle, "I can't imagine not having you to read to."

If he wasn't already dying, that would've killed him on the spot. Logan took a deep breath through battered lungs. "You gotta. Books don't just stop because you want them to. They need an ending, and it's there regardless of how long you wait on one page." His words sounded harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn't bear the thought of you lingering on him and never finishing your story.

As soon as he saw your lip quivering, he wondered if he should've kept his mouth shut. Still, he pulled you into one of the tightest hugs his fleeting strength would allow. The wetness of your tears were like thousands of needles in his heart. Logan patted your back softly, listening as you seemed to be crying yourself to sleep. "G'night. You know I'll always love you." Quieter, he whispered, "that's the only part of the ending that won't change."

[beeperis]

hey so I'm losing it imagining old man! logan with a younger disabled partner. being your age and already needing mobility aids, you couldn't help feeling insecure.

but logan didn't seem to mind. he'd carry a bottle of ibuprofen or any other pain med around with him, always keeping some in the console of his car. wherever you were in public, he'd always be at least 6 feet ahead of you to open a door for you. he did all of this wordlessly, a bit bashful.

in truth, it was pretty easy to move into a caring role. his whole life, his hands had hurt. only hurt. blood had splattered over his old white shirts more times than he'd been able to count. but lifting you up onto the bed to spare your achy joints before joining you with his sore bones felt as though he was making up for all the torture he'd inflicted over the years.

<3 expect more logan stuff, this was so self indulgent lol

[beeperis]

i've been ghosting // Tim Wright/Reader

cross-posted on my Ao3 summary ; tim can't sleep without you. warnings ; implications of suicide, death, fictional afterlife (I just kinda made stuff up as I went tbh), paranormal, angst with slight comfort notes ; the lore may be incorrect but by golly. I need to get this out of my system. also not edited, I need to sleep (currently 3am)

It's easy to assume death is the only way to finally escape the Operator. You figured that all your friends who were formerly tormented by It were no longer suffering, since they were six feet under or missing. It pained you to relive the evening of your death, but it all ended in a bathtub with your favorite song playing in an effort to build up enough courage.

Obviously, there were people you regretted leaving behind: your parents, who you had to distance yourself from in order to protect them. Your friends who laid awake at night questioning what they could've done differently, or why you stopped talking to them one day without warning.

Tim Wright, the one who had unintentionally gotten you roped into what eventually ended your life.

By some odd accord, his drab apartment is where you ended up. You remembered dying. You remembered your lungs filling with water before peacefully falling victim to unconsciousness. And now, you were sitting in the corner of the room watching him sleep.

It wasn't like if you were trying to be creepy. It was one of the only things you could do: watch Tim lay awake all night, get out of bed late in the afternoon, go to the bathroom and occasionally eat, then return and sleep for a long time.

It was depressing, to say the least.

At night, your presence would curl up beside him in bed as he would shiver and pull the blankets further up on his body. You frowned at the idea of him only thinking he was cold. When he got up to go to the restroom, you'd follow right behind and wait outside the door until he was done. You lit up whenever he'd go to the kitchen and actually eat.

That night started off no different than the previous. He got ready for bed as you sat patiently, admiring him like a lost puppy or a stalker. Tim yawned and crawled into bed, covering himself up to his hips. You curled up behind him like you usually did, except this time, he laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"I miss you." Hearing Tim's voice shocked you, causing you to abandon your usual position at his side and sit upright. You stared down at him, his deep brown eyes staring into nothing. Part of you wondered who he was talking about; he'd lost so many.

Almost as though he was answering your question, he continued. "I just wish I could've told you I loved you. That day I went over to your house to check on you, finding you like that…" Tim trailed off, his voice choking up whilst his eyes welled with tears that glistened from the light of the TV.

After a moment's pause, his body slightly trembled with heavy, troubled sobs. The sight broke you. You were sure there wouldn't be any pain in the afterlife, but watching the one you treasured more than the stars crumple into a hellscape of his own mind was simply too much.

Tim curled into a ball, fully breaking and hugged his knees closer to his chest. You wanted to cry too, listening to him mumble, "it's my fault," through broken cries. On instinct, you placed a hand on his arm like how you'd done comforting him in the deaths of his friends. Tim froze.

He stopped crying, but still remained tensed up. He never even made a sound. Instead, his eyes fell to where you had touched his arm. Something felt so familiar about whatever brushed against his arm, but he disregarded it as being a bug. Still, it felt like he couldn't continue crying.

This didn't go unnoticed by you. Finally, you recognized a glimpse of nostalgia in those profound, fawn-colored eyes. Experimentally, you reached out to hold his hand in your translucent one.

Tim abruptly sat up in bed, breathing heavily as he stared at his hand. So cold, yet it held the warmth and fullness of a lover claimed by the inevitable fate of time. You could've sworn you heard him mutter your name.

Daringly, you brought up another cold hand to caress his face. "I'm here," you spoke softly to attempt to reassure him. You had no idea if he could hear you. More than anything, it was a plea for him to notice you. To look you in the eyes and smile with the same familiarity, wrap you up in the tightest hug you'd felt in ages, and promise to never leave your side.

Rather than doing any of the aforementioned, tears continued rolling down Tim's cheeks. "I miss you," he cried once more. You could handle it no longer, and uncertainly tried wrapping him in a hug. To your surprise, it seemed as though he felt it given the way his body relaxed, almost easing into your nonexistent touch.

After a few more heart-wrenching tears and whispers of, "I love you," and, "I miss you, baby," Tim finally began easing himself back down into his bed. You, as always, were curled up right behind him. Your eyes wandered over to his digital alarm clock, red letters lighting up certain portions of the room.

It was 2:22 am when he finally went to sleep, clutching a tear-soaked pillow he imagined was you.

[beeperis]

imo karl heisenberg is perfect for people with daddy issues in the sense that he is exactly like a father without actually being one. he'll bitch at you for getting a 5/16" wrench instead of a 7/16" wrench or not holding the flashlight straight while he's under the hood of a beyond-salvagable truck

[beeperis]

it is an actual CRIME how little I post on here nowadays omg. anyway! 

I’m finally in a stable, happy point in my life to where I don’t need to write for comfort, just out of contentness B) anyway! as long as school doesn’t keep me insanely busy, I’ll try my best to spit out little bits of fnaf (mainly william/michael stuff) drabbles, writings, imagines etc.! 

until then, my ultimate fnaf theory that definitely contributes to the lore

these little crumpled bits of paper on the desk are michael’s sheets he doodles on since it’s confirmed he draws in the survival guide

also. that’s 100% dr. pepper in that red stripey cup. michael is severely dehydrated from never drinking water, only dr. pepper

[beeperis]

still alive i promise!! i've been painfully busy lately but i'm planning on making a list of all the characters i write for and posting it here soon to make it easier for people who want to send requests :))

[beeperis]

I deeply need a part two to your last post 🙈 in fact, 10 more parts would be perfect.

Thank you though fr it’s so cute 🤞

hello! here’s one with michael! i meant for it to be just a short imagine, but it ended up as a small fic so here you go! ^^ -~*~- summary ; your husband’s (william) son michael really dislikes you for some reason. but one night, he comes home covered in injuries from a fight, so you patch him up!  warnings ; brief mentions of parent death, descriptions of nonfatal injuries/bruises pairings ; implied william afton x gn! reader, platonic michael afton & parent! reader notes ; this was so fun to write! i love writing fluff in general, but domestic fluff is my favorite <3 -~*~- Ever since you married William, Michael didn't really like you. He thought you were simply a replacement for his birth mother, whom you later learned had died several years earlier. He was cold, and whereas the other Afton children were quick to see you as a parental figure, it took a long time for him to stand even being in the same room as you. You had made several genuine attempts to get him to warm up to you--but none of them had worked. 

Things like offering to make him breakfast, attempts to make small talk while driving him to school, and simply asking about his music taste were all met with a snarky huff and an eye roll. William reassured you that it was simply because he was just a teenager going through a rebellious phase. "And that's normal, dearest. I love you more than words could ever express," William told you one night, rubbing your shoulders comfortingly. But despite Michael's clear distaste of you, you were determined to befriend him! You just hadn't quite figured out how yet. Any efforts to talk to him often ended with a door being slammed in your face. This kind of thing hurt your feelings, but, like William said, he was just an edgy teen, so you didn't think too much of it.  Tonight was really no different. It was about 8pm, and you were in bed reading a fantasy novel you picked up at the bookstore. William had to work late once more, leaving you alone with the kids. You didn't mind though! Evan was downstairs having a 'movie night' as he called it, where he brought every single one of his stuffed animals to the couch to watch television with him. Lizzie was downstairs as well, scribbling messy doodles of cats and ice cream onto a few sheets of paper. But as for Michael? You had no idea where he was. He said he was going bowling with his friends, but he'd been gone for close to four hours now. You were starting to worry.  As your eyes roamed the pages of the book, frantic and loud knocks at your bedroom door made you snap back into reality. You quickly set the book down, leaving it open on the bed so you wouldn't lose your place. You got up to answer the door as the desperate knocking continued. "Hold on, I'm coming!" You said. Standing at your door was Michael. His bottom lip looked to be busted with how it was swollen, his skin was covered in dark red bruises, his nose was gushing blood, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Holy shit, what happened to you?!" You blurted out. You reached out a hand to caress Michael's face. He didn't even smack your hand away, which seemed strangely out-of-character for him.  He sniffled. "I-I got my ass kicked," he whimpered out between sobs. Normally you'd scold him for that kind of language, but now wasn't the right time. Your parental instincts kicked in immediately. "Shhh, it's okay." You wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to the bathroom located in yours and William's shared bedroom. 

Every so often, Michael would bring a hand up to his face to wipe at the tears, still blubbering about the other boys who "beat the shit out of him," as he put it. You helped Michael up onto the bathroom counter as you started to search the cabinets for a rag. You found one, and as you ran the cloth under the sink for a moment or two, you tried asking him what had happened. Michael's tears had finally eased up a bit as he explained that he wasn't comfortable sharing what happened. "S-sorry," he apologized out of nowhere. You turned off the sink, wringing out the cloth. "There's nothing to apologize for, hun. You're the one who just got into a fight! You've done nothing wrong, I promise." You began softly dabbing at the dried blood around his nose. His light blue eyes looked away from you. "No, for like, everything," he mumbled. You tilted your head a bit in confusion. "Everything? What do you mean?" Michael sighed deeply. He wasn't used to apologizing or even regretting his actions. "For being an asshol--" You were quick to cut him off, "Language."  "Right, sorry. For being...Really rude to you for no reason. You seem like a nice person, and my dad's a lot happier whenever you two are together. I guess I never really got over my mom's death and when you came into the picture, I felt like he was just trying to replace her." He paused for a moment. "But that's clearly not the case. He loves you. A lot, actually. He wouldn't shut up about you when he first met you. God, it was all I heard for like, a month." You chuckled lightly, a warmth seeping into your heart at the mention of William being soft for you.

"Thank you, Michael. That means a lot to hear." You smiled. "But promise to try not to get into anymore fights like this, okay?" You said. Michael shrugged his shoulders, a malicious grin painting his features. "No promises."

[beeperis]

just a short little thing, but:  Imagine being William's partner and slowly becoming a positive parental figure to his kids. Evan waking the both of you up because he had a nightmare--tiny fists rapping at your door in quick time, as if he was being chased by a monster. You open the door, lifting him up into your arms and pressing a small kiss to his tear-stained cheek. "It's okay, little bear. Wanna sleep in our bed tonight?" You offered. Evan looks over at your queen-sized bed, seeing his father still half-asleep. He shakes his head 'no' frantically, small fingers clutching tighter onto your shirt. Noticing his fear, you quickly reassure him, "It's alright! He won't be mad at you. I promise." Evan buries his face in your chest, gripping your shirt even tighter. You get him settled into the soft blankets, and for once, his fearful expression fades, finally relaxing. His brows were no longer furrowed; his mouth was no longer pointed downwards in a frown. Evan was nuzzled between you and William, finally safe from all of the monsters in his mind.

[beeperis]

nightmare comfort. // Michael Afton x Reader summary ; you wake up from a nightmare and Michael comforts you <33 warnings ; none! mention of having nightmares, but that's it. pairings ; michael afton x gn! reader notes ; this was highly self-indulgent and written in like 30 minutes. also my first time writing for Michael :')

It happened again.

You hated nightmares. Despised them. Every morning whenever you'd wake up without having one, you'd smile a bit to yourself, convinced they were no more.

But it happened again, just like it always does.

The memories flashed through your head, all at once. The memories from the event itself and the memories that had been accurately recreated in the nightmare, painfully so. You couldn't help the tears that pricked your eyes. Before you knew it, the tears turned into full-blown sobs, essentially bawling your eyes out.

You felt someone grab your shoulders, ripping you from your thoughts. It was calm, gentle, almost as if the person was afraid of hurting you. "Hey..." Came a soft voice.

Michael.

You looked back to face him. His blue eyes looked tired, his dark brown hair was ruffled by sleep; you could tell he had just awoken. "Go back to bed please," you managed to say through tears.

"It's a bit too late for that now, love." Michael smiled and caressed your cheek, encouraging you to look him in the eye. Your brows furrowed, and before you knew it, you were bawling again.

It was something about his soft, nurturing tone of voice. It was such a major contrast to the trauma you had relived in your nightmare. Michael's words were like a calm summer sky, painted a sweet cerulean with a few small, puffy, white clouds scattered across.

He pulled you into his arms, clutching you to his chest as if he were terrified of losing you. "Shhhhh, I've got you. I'm right here. Was it a nightmare?" He asked gently. 'Christ, this man is a fucking angel,' you thought before nodding your head, still pressed up against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, darling. You never deserved to go through any of that." Michael's words were paired with him rubbing your back in an effort to reassure you. "We've both been through a lot, but you know what that makes us?"

You thought for a moment before shrugging your shoulders. You hadn't even noticed that the tears had stopped quite a while ago. "It makes us incredibly strong. For weathering the storm, for still being here despite what we've endured."

Your head was still buried in his chest, so you didn't see Michael beginning to tear up as well. "I know the nightmares suck. Believe me. But I'm here to help, and I always will be." He pressed a small kiss to your forehead, causing you to smile slightly and bury your head deeper into his chest.

"I love you," you said quietly. This wasn't something you were ashamed of admitting; you loved him with every fibre of your being. Although every time you said it, you found your face warming up with the same flustered feeling you had two years ago when you first confessed to him. Michael smiled softly. "I love you too. More than you could ever possibly imagine."