MiKi :)

Hi !

[lockssteps]

im a fake fan of everything i like because i cant remember anything

[arimari81-70]

How it feels logging onto Tumblr to read fics after joining a new fandom

[elsyageorgia]

I'm Pushing it Down and Praying Index

NEGLECTED READER X BATFAMILY

The therapist child, the obedient daughter, the silent sister.

You are elite, a Gothamite, a perfect public figure. But depression is as real for you as neglect, your showers sting and you don't breathe like normal people. And when you're a Wayne you have to get your act together.

But when your family only uses you as the pillow to cry into or the bag to punch, your finely bound rope begins to break, and you know that when your darkness consumes you, you won't be able to forgive as easily as before.

"I'm the one whose pushing it down and praying. Praying that you would see me! Praying that you would acknowledge me as you daughter! Your sister! I pray that you love me as much as you love each other!"

"But we do love you! Can't you see that?!"

"You love the idea of me. You love that whenever you need to vent I will always be there for you. But I'm done. Done with this family, done with this life and done with you Bruce!"

ACT I : I WANTED TO BE INKED IN, I'LL SETTLE FOR BEING IN WRITTEN IN CHALK

Chapter 1: You left me there cryin', wonderin' what I did wrong

Chapter 2: Always the fool with the slowest heart.

Chapter 3: A pretty line that I adore

Chapter 4: Didn't Realize I Was Hurting You

Chapter 5: Forgive My Northern Attitude, I was Raised Out in the Cold

FILES FROM THE [REDACTED]

Chapter 6: Let the Sun Fade Out and Another One Rise

Chapter 7: Treat You Better

Chapter 8: You Were Thinking Its A Small Thing

Chapter 9: For A Minute, The World Seems So Simple

Chapter 10: : I Don’t Know What To Say Or Do 

ACT II: TAKE MY BONES, I DON'T NEED NONE

Chapter 11: Coming Soon

[cookiedough77]

write that self indulgent fic, you would be insanely surprised how many people are waiting for THAT Fic™

[yomomi]

MOMMY? MOMMY!

synopsis: im so scared of loving some hoe but fuck it we ball

warnings: being loved

music: we are charlie kirk by spalexma 

wc: 1.5k

The thought of being a mother always scared you.

having to be tethered to a man for life with your dreams and aspirations ripped to shreads, all because now, you're a woman.

because now you're someone with resposiblitess, rules, morals and what fucking not.

its not that you didn't like having responsibilities, you loved it infact, being the dependable one and being the one in charge, you loved being free to be the dominator, but this, this didn't feel like freedom.

these felt like chains.

tied to your wrists, simply for the crime of loving someone, and noticing how the world treated a woman in love, the word 'wife' scared you.

every time your past boyfriends' would tease you with that nickname, it wouldn't make you melt like how it should, it wouldn't make you soft and fuzzy

no.

it would terrify you, because all you thought was

''is sacrifice really the price of love for a woman?''

you wanted to be loved, ofcourse, but this price was too high, too high for anything you were willing to pay

until you met him.

he wasn't like your other boyfriends, he never pried beyond your comfort, never protected you where you didn't need it, never hovered over your every action, never questioned your decision, never asked for 'mutual partnership' when it came to your goals because they were YOUR goals, not his.

with him you never felt like you had to 'give up' anything, instead what he felt like was, an addition, and addtion to your already fulfilled life, an additon that you never thought you wanted.

someone who cared you, who'd tease you, play with you, cry with you, understand you, anchor you and finally

someone who loved you.

who loved your presence, just as you were, just as chaotic, and as calm, he loved the little crease in your eyebrow when you'd concentrate really hard on something or how you'd nibble on your lower lip while fidgeting your pen

he loved it all

no

he loved you.

You were dining at one of the most exquisite resturants in New York, it was a beautiful night and you and your lovey boyfriend had just gotten off a rough, exhausting week, finally having time for each other.

while having the main course, you both caught up with how you were doing, which was when you dropped the big question

''Honey, if we were to ever get married''

he looks up from his dish, his eyes glistening

''Hmm?'' his voice rasps

''how many kids would you want?''

''how many kids do i want?''

''mhmm''

''as many as you want love, be that number zero''

you pause, holding your glass to your lips

''or a hundred.''

you kick him under the table wide eyed he lets you a boyish laugh

''thats not even possible you idiot!'' and he just continues to laugh which makes you giggle in return too

''no seriously baby, how many?'' you say in between laughs, tilting your head

''I dont have a number in my head sweetie, never had, never will''

and at that your laughs turn into the most gentle smile

''why though?''

''why?'' he says with an almost teasing scoff

''because thats for my wife to decide.''

''Mommy?''

you shut the door behind you, before you hear a tiny sound blast your eardru— 

''MOMMYYY!!!!''

aaand there he goes

it was 11:45 pm, on a gloomy Friday night, you just returned from work, this had been one of the most exhausting weeks you'd had in a long long while, with paperwork on paperwork pilling up, you almost thought you'd pass out on your work desk, with your eyes hooded, your posture slumped and the half finished can of soda in your left hand. it wasn't hard to notice that you were, tired.

and yet

you see your little rocket ahh 6 year old run over to you, as if it were a bright Monday morning, almost comically tripping on the way before he hugs your waist, immobilizing you and you let out a small 'oh!'

''hey heyy kiddo slow down, you'll hurt yourself'' you coo, ruffling his hair while his just nuzzels himself into you

''He's just as stubborn as his mother it seems''

you hear a deep raspy voice echo from down the hallway and when you look up, you see your husband leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, looking oh so handsome

''learnt from the best huh?'' you tease with a wink, while your husband makes his way over to you and tugs the little man by his arm

''come on now, it's daddy's turn''

''no!!'' yelps the kid, yanking his hand away only hugging you harder, and it makes you laugh while his dad just sighs

''I'll get you that Hotwheels pack this weekend~'' whispers your husband to himself, and its almost comical how the little one perks up

''REALLY!!??''

''mhmm'' he turns his head and bends down to your son's height

''only if, you go to bed and let dad have mom for the day''

you son watches him for a solid second before looking at you, and you just tilt your head with a shrug

''its a good deal'' you say, supressing a smirk

''okiiee!!!'' and your son finally lets go his terrifyingly strong grip and runs off into his room before shuting the door, and after a few seconds, you hear the room's light click off, and you chuckle

''now then'' says your husband which makes you turn back to look at him, right before he replaces your son's deathly grip on your waist, with his own

gosh it really runs in the genes huh?

''i missed you so much love'' his voice rumbles in the small of your neck and you ruffle his hair with a smile

''missed you too honey'' and he kisses your neck in response

''how was your day?'' he asks, his kisses now moving to your cheek

''it was good'' you respond, with that slight hint of tiredness behind your voice

''yeah?''

''mhmm''

''mhmm~'' he imitates you, nuzzeling his nose into your cheek with a supressed smile

''okay, maybe a little overworked'' you admit, rolling your eyes and he simply chuckles

''there we go'' he teases, caressing the small of your back

''what about you? you came back early, i thought you'd come back from your trip tommorow''

''business got over earlier than expected, so i thought i'd book tickets as soon as possible, plus his nanny said he was being an extra nuisance this week so'' he rolls his eyes while saying that and it makes you laugh again, while he simply gazes at you with that boyish grin of his

and when you finally stop laughing

''what?''

''hmm?'' he tilts his head, genuinely confused

''stop looking at me like that, husband.'' you tease, stretching the word

''like what my lovely wife?'' and he does the same which makes the both of you grin like lovesick idiots

''like that.'' you tap his nose playfully

''like what?'' he catches your hand

''that.''

''hmm?''

''that!''

''hmm~''

and you punch his chest which only makes the both of you laugh, trying your best to not awake the little one

because maybe just maybe, being married wasn't so bad after all

and maybe just, maybe

for once love didn't feel like a burden, all because now it was

with him.

DING DONG

both your eyes dart towards the door behind you, your playful banter being rudly interrupted, before you let go of his embrace and click open the door

''DoorDash for Mr. Lastname?'' says the man at the gate with a paper bag in his hands

''ah yes this is it, thank you'' you take the bag from the his hands before turning towards your husband, giving him the ??? expression

and you shut the door

''this late? what'dya order?'' you ask, peeking into the bag

''was kinda' hungry, and the cook called in sick today so got you some some food too''

mozzarella sticks, garlic bread, marinara pasta, a cheesecake, a can of coke, a redbul, a pack of hotwheels, a bag of taki— 

wait

''hotwheels??'' your eyes dart up at your husband, and he simply returns a smug expression while looking at his watch

''well, it techinically is the weekend now''

dividers by: @pixopix thank you once again!!

ib: barak obama, love u twin

just drop a small ''i'd like to be tagged!'' to be added to the taglist !

wrote this while thinking of sylus but bitch fuck it, this is how every man should be so imagine your favs my lovely children, also this isn't my best fic, it was kinda rushed so apologiseeee for that babes i have many more fics coming up !

and god, GOD DO YOU HEAR ME IM FUCKING MANIFESTING THIS SHIT ISTG IF MY HUSBAND AINT LIKE THIS I DONT WANT HIM YOU BETTER GET ME HIM RAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

anyways

as i said, this fic is for literally any character you can imagine, and i unfortunatly can't add 7 million tags so reblogs, comments and likes are super-duper appreciated my loves!

and im so so SOO fuckin' proud of you kid, you're doing amazing so give yourself some more credit you idiot!!!

and as always

I LOVE YOUU SOO MUCHH MY DARLINGG MUWAHH<3

[crazykinkrottenkiwi]

~Continuation Of~

“I’m doing well,” she replies warmly. “And so is everyone else. I hope you are too.”

“…Yes,” you answer. “I’m fine.”

There’s a small pause.

Then—

“I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Your chest tightens, just slightly.

“…Yes?”

“It’s about Seichi.”

The name alone is enough to make your fingers stiffen.

Your gaze drops.

“I was wondering if you knew…” she continues, her tone shifting just a little, “that he’s moved abroad. He’s settled there now.”

You pause.

Just for a second.

“…Um… yes,” you manage, your voice quieter. “I… I did. We talked… for the last time, so…”

There’s a brief silence on the other end.

“Really?” she says, a little surprised. “Then you must know…”

A beat.

“…that he did it for a woman.”

Everything stops.

“I—and the others—we didn’t really like it,” she continues with a sigh. “Him getting involved with a foreigner… it just doesn’t sit right with us.”

Your grip on the phone loosens slightly.

Your thoughts—

They don’t quite catch up.

“That’s why he hasn’t been picking up our calls,” she adds. “He’s avoiding us. Could you… maybe talk to him? I’ll give you his number—”

Her voice continues.

But you don’t hear it.

Not really.

Because—

What?

Him…?

With someone else?

Already?

And you—

You didn’t know?

Not even a hint?

All those years. All those feelings you never spoke out loud, never acted on—

And he—

Your chest tightens sharply.

Your mind goes blank.

You don’t even realize when your finger moves.

The call ends.

Just like that.

Silence.

—

“…Hey.”

The voice comes from nearby.

Calm.

Casual.

Satoru is still in the kitchen, where you left him, hands halfway through peeling beans.

“Come back and help me?”

It sounds normal.

Like nothing happened.

But you—

You don’t respond.

Because you’re not there.

Not fully.

Your thoughts are still somewhere else entirely, tangled in something you don’t even want to name.

“Oi.”

He calls again.

Still light.

Still easy.

No response.

A pause.

Then—

“Y/N?”

That’s when it hits.

You blink.

Reality snaps back into place.

Your head turns slightly, as if pulled back by force.

He’s looking at you now.

Head tilted just a little.

A faint, sly smile resting on his lips.

Watching.

Your hands clench slightly at your sides, nails pressing into your palms as you force everything down.

Every reaction.

Every emotion.

Every thought threatening to surface.

You swallow.

Then step forward.

Back into the kitchen.

Back into place.

Like nothing happened.

—

It comes like a dream.

Blurry at first.

Then clearer—

You see him.

Seichi standing right in front of you, just like before. The same familiar face, the same presence that once felt like comfort.

But something is wrong.

His expression isn’t soft.

It isn’t warm.

It’s… disappointed.

“Fool.”

The word cuts through you.

Sharp. Cold.

Before you can react, he turns.

And starts walking away.

“No—wait—”

Your voice cracks as you reach out, your fingers barely brushing against empty air as you try to follow him.

“Brother…!”

You call his name again, louder this time, desperation bleeding into your voice as your steps stumble forward. Your vision blurs, tears gathering faster than you can stop them.

“Don’t go—please—”

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t turn back.

And no matter how fast you move, the distance only grows.

Your chest tightens painfully.

Your hand reaches out again—

“Seichi—!”

—

“What did you say…?”

The voice is different.

Not his.

Sharp.

Low.

Enough to slice through everything.

Your eyes snap open.

The dream shatters instantly.

You gasp softly, breath uneven, your mind still caught between sleep and reality as confusion floods in. Your surroundings feel unfamiliar for a split second, your thoughts slow, heavy—

Until they settle.

And you realize—

You’re not alone.

Your body tenses.

Because—

Satoru Gojo.

Too close.

Far too close.

Your breath hitches as your gaze drops—

And everything registers at once.

The position.

The proximity.

The way one of your legs is draped loosely over his broad shoulder, your body half-shifted without you even realizing when or how it happened.

Your heart lurches.

“W-What—”

You try to sit up, instinctively pulling back, your hands moving to steady yourself as panic flickers through you.

“Satoru—wait—this isn’t—”

Your words come out rushed, tangled, your mind scrambling to explain—anything, everything—before something worse happens.

Because right now, that’s all that matters.

Clearing it.

Fixing it.

Explaining why you said that name.

Why you—

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t pull away.

If anything—

He stays exactly where he is.

Still.

Watching.

And you can’t see his eyes.

The blindfold is still there.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because you can feel it.

The shift.

The atmosphere around him isn’t the same.

Not playful.

Not teasing.

It’s—

Heavy.

“...So…”

His voice is quieter now.

But not soft.

There’s something underneath it. Something rough. Something edged.

“...you’ve got a brother complex?”

The words come out slow.

Measured.

Mocking.

And yet—

There’s no humor in it.

Not really.

It doesn’t sound like him.

Not the version you’ve gotten used to.

This—

This feels different.

Colder.

Sharper.

Scarier.

And for the first time—

You’re not confused about him.

You’re afraid.

—

Your pulse races wildly in your ears as you twist against the sheets, trying to slide your leg free from his shoulder and scramble back toward the headboard.

The fabric bunches under your palms, slick with a faint sheen of sweat from the dream's lingering haze, but before you can gain any distance, his hand clamps down on your thigh with a grip like iron—unyielding, sudden strength surging through his fingers in a way you've never felt from him before.

It's not the casual hold of playfulness; this is deliberate, possessive, pinning your leg in place as your body jerks in futile resistance, muscles straining against the unexpected force that roots you to the mattress.

“Answer me,” he demands, his voice dropping to a gravelly edge that vibrates through the air between you, cold and unyielding as his thumb digs into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, just enough to make you wince.

“How do you feel about letting everyone know that the mistress of the Gojo clan is crushing over her brother? How shameless.”

The words lash out, laced with a biting sarcasm that twists the knife deeper, his blindfold hiding whatever storm brews beneath but doing nothing to mask the menace in his tone.

You open your mouth to protest, words tumbling out in a frantic rush—“Satoru, it was just a dream, I didn’t mean—Seichi’s not like that, it’s not what you think—” but he cuts you off with a sharp hiss, his grip tightening fractionally, silencing your explanations before they can fully form.

He won’t listen, won’t let you claw your way out of the misunderstanding; the air thickens with his disregard, your pleas dissolving into the heavy silence he enforces.

His free hand trails upward along your thigh now, fingers splaying wide in a caress that's deceptively light—almost tender, if not for the underlying threat that makes your skin prickle.

The touch skims higher, brushing the sensitive crease where leg meets hip, sending an involuntary shiver through you as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“Do you know how long I’ve held back myself,” he murmurs, the sarcasm dripping like venom, each word slow and deliberate, “just to hear you calling out someone else’s name? I’m hurt.”

The last part lands with a mocking lilt, but there's no mistaking the scary undercurrent, the way his voice roughens with feigned vulnerability that feels like a trap, his fingers pressing firmer into your skin as if to mark the betrayal he's inventing.

Then, as abruptly as it started, his hand lifts from your thigh, leaving a ghost of heat in its wake, and he shifts his weight, looming over you fully now—his tall frame casting a shadow that engulfs your body, the mattress dipping under his knees as he straddles your hips without mercy.

The blindfold remains in place, but his presence dominates, suffocating, as one hand drops to the front of his grey pants, palm rubbing over the growing bulge there with unhurried strokes.

You can see the outline of his cock hardening under the fabric, thick and insistent, the material tenting as he caresses himself through it, a low hum escaping his throat at the friction.

His hips roll subtly, grinding into his own touch, before he leans forward, pressing that rigid length closer to your face—close enough that you feel the warmth radiating through the cloth, the faint musk of his arousal seeping into the air as the zipper strains against his erection.

“So,” he says, voice husky and edged with that same terrifying sarcasm, his free hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head up toward him, forcing your gaze to linger on the prominent swell inches from your lips, “how would you like to make it up to me?”

Your lips part, more words spilling out in a desperate bid to salvage the moment, to weave some explanation that might soften the steel in his posture.

“Satoru, please, listen—it was nothing, just a stupid dream, I swear, it doesn’t mean anything—” But he shakes his head once, sharply, the blindfold shifting slightly as his fingers tighten in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to cut off your plea, his expression unreadable yet radiating that cold finality that brooks no argument.

“C’mon,” he drawls, the sarcasm curling around the word like smoke, his hand still palming the thick ridge of his cock through the grey fabric, the heat of it pulsing under his touch as he rubs slower, more deliberately, letting you watch the way it strains harder against the confines.

“You can do this, at least, for me—after stretching your cunny for the past days. I’m kinda surprised you didn’t realize. Guess you were too focused on him, huh?”

His voice dips lower on the last part, mocking and edged with that scary undercurrent, the implication hanging heavy in the air like a threat wrapped in velvet. “Now, do you want me to tell your little secret to everyone?”

The words hit like ice water, stunning you into silence, your eyes widening in raw fear and unease as the full weight of his knowledge crashes down—the secret you’ve buried deep, the one that could unravel everything if exposed.

Your breath catches, chest heaving, a cold sweat breaking out along your spine as panic claws at your throat, visions of whispers and judgments flooding your mind unbidden.

Before you even realize it, the plea tumbles from your lips in a broken whisper, “No—Satoru, please, don’t—don’t tell anyone, I beg you—” Your voice cracks, hands trembling as they clutch at the sheets, the vulnerability stripping you bare under his looming presence.

He laughs then, a childish burst of sound that echoes oddly in the tense room—light and boyish on the surface, but laced with something darker, more unhinged, like the crackle of lightning before a storm.

It sends a shiver racing down your arms, and without another word, he releases his grip on his pants just long enough to tug the zipper down with a slow, deliberate rasp, freeing his cock from the confines.

It springs out, heavy and thick, the flushed length bobbing slightly in the air, veins prominent along the shaft, the tip already glistening with a bead of precum that catches the dim light.

He presses it against your cheek, the hot, velvety skin dragging warm and insistent across your flushed flesh, the musky scent of his arousal filling your senses, making your face burn hotter, flustered heat blooming in your cheeks and spreading down your neck as your body betrays you with a traitorous throb between your thighs.

Hesitation grips you, your lips pressing into a thin line as you turn your head slightly away, but his hand in your hair guides you back, firm and unyielding, tilting your face until the slick head nudges at the corner of your mouth.

“Open up,” he murmurs, voice roughened with command, his thumb tracing your lower lip to coax it apart, the touch sending sparks of unwanted tension coiling in your gut.

You part your lips reluctantly, tongue darting out in uncertainty, and he pushes forward, the broad crown sliding past your teeth to rest heavy on your tongue, the salty tang of him flooding your mouth as you tentatively close around it, sucking lightly, your movements awkward and unsure.

“That’s it,” he breathes, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his hips shift, feeding more of his cock into the wet heat of your mouth, the girth stretching your jaws wide.

His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your head with shallow thrusts, showing you the rhythm—deeper now, the shaft gliding over your tongue, bumping the back of your throat as you gag softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intrusion.

“Properly—use your tongue, swirl it around like that,” he instructs, voice husky and edged with that terrifying control, his free hand cupping your jaw to hold you steady as he rocks forward, fucking your mouth with measured strokes that build the slick sounds of saliva and skin filling the room.

You obey, hollowing your cheeks, lapping at the underside with hesitant flicks that grow more fervent under his guidance, the tension thickening as his cock throbs against your palate, precum leaking steadily to coat your throat.

His pace quickens, breaths coming sharper, hips snapping with restrained force until his body tenses, a guttural sound escaping him as he comes—hot spurts flooding your mouth, thick and bitter, forcing you to swallow convulsively around him.

You pull back as he allows it, gasping and coughing, strings of saliva and cum connecting your swollen lips to his softening length, your chest heaving as you wipe at your mouth with the back of a trembling hand, the taste lingering sharp on your tongue.

He caresses your hair locks then, fingers threading gently through the disheveled strands, the touch almost soothing in its contrast to the roughness before, as he murmurs low and intimate, “I’ll make you forget about him, yeah.”

You look up at him, eyes teary and blurred, the salt of your own tears mixing with the remnants on your lips as confusion and regret swirl inside you.

“Why?” you whisper, voice hoarse from the abuse, before the apologies spill out in a rush. “I’m sorry for hiding it—please, stop, I won’t think of Seichi anymore, I promise—”

But Satoru just pulls back slightly, his hands moving to the edge of his blindfold, fingers hooking under the fabric as he says, “It’s too late now. Just so you know…”

He pauses, the words hanging like a guillotine, before removing them completely, letting the cloth fall away to reveal those piercing blue orbs, glinting with a cold, predatory light that pins you in place, stripping away any illusion of mercy.

“I didn’t kill your father for no reason.”

[Extra Chapter]

[Previous Page]

[goth-queen]

[goth-queen]

[kosmogrl]

once again overreacted and panicked for the whole day and it ended up being alright. no I will not learn and it will happen again

[ryebreadgf]

real yearners miss shit that never even happened

[quasi-normalcy]

Remember today's lesson: whining alone solves nothing but whining en masse can solve a great deal

[importantdogimages]

[eddieslooneymooney]

Just saw something:

“Submissive in the way a guardian dog is submissive to the sheep it kills wolves for.”

Uh um uhhhhh—

[vyva-melinkolya]

Don’t make your younger self into your own dead wife.

[away-at-dawn]

cuddlebug

Summary: Michael's finally got a decent sleeping schedule! But why don't you have one? The third in a now series of sleepytime Michael fics. Fluff. Word Count: 1228 Pairing: (any!)Michael Myers × GN!Reader A/N: went ahead and just made a tag for these fics, it's under "#on michael's sleeping habits series". i'll figure out of i want a masterlist made, too, but i wanted to get this one out here either way! p.s. to anyone finishing up their finals, gl and congrats!! you might find this one a bit more relatable... Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75576236

-. 💻★•°.*_ (turn the page...)

Michael's started something close to a sleep schedule. He still wakes up at odd hours, sometimes quietly enough that you don’t wake up to catch him and haul him back to bed, but he's managed to be up and about in a more diurnal way. He didn't think of it before, but it pleases him, because now he gets more time with you, or around you, getting to watch you do whatever during your waking hours. Or, at least, ideally.

His slippers tap as he walks down the hall. His pullover sweater is soft and breathable, worn just enough from several washings. His pajama pants, notably black-and-orange checkered, are his favorite pair (partly because he remembers how excited you were when you told him they were on sale). And even better, he has a fresh comforter that he slipped out of the closet shelf and draped over his slumped shoulders. He's the picture of comfort, but for him, he's missing something: you. He has been, in all honesty, because for whatever reason, you haven't been in bed, lately, or at least before he falls asleep. And so he went to search for you, even if it annoyed him that he had to do it in the first place.

It helps that you don't exactly hide in the house like he does.

His eyes say it all, the sharpened stare echoing, Hey. You. Why are you down here? This isn't something he does every day, actually feel tired enough to dress down for bed and invite you to join him. Clearly he needs his object for cuddling?

Maybe he's gotten a bit spoiled, but he can barely sleep in these conditions. It's horrible–well, it's been worse before he came across you–but right now, it's horrible enough that he's come to you shuffling in his pajamas, loud enough for you to hear, instead of skulking around the house, blending into the shadows like usual. This is no laughing matter, even if it is kinda funny because of his dramatic self, but you aren't cuddling him. Him, who you always call handsome and pretty, who you love to dote on, who you buy sour candy for. His upsetness is partly selfish, but it also doesn't make sense for your character. You love when he's a little cuddlebug. What are you even staying up for instead of sharing bedspace with him? He pouts–a small huff–and gets all the more frustrated when you don't really react besides giving him a distracted glance. He paces towards you until he can finally assess your problem and how to get rid of it and how to get you to go to bed.

You're hunched at your computer, doing who knows what, fingers in a flurry over the keyboard, windows opening up and closing every which way. Shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, eyebrows knit: you're stressed. And from Michael's intuition, it doesn't seem like your work is going to let up anytime soon. You're enjoying this no better than he is… maybe even less. Michael breathes out another sigh, one that's near silent but obvious enough for it to break your concentration, before his shadow leaves the doorway.

You assume he's gone to go and huddle somewhere else; probably the kitchen, based on the muffled clinks of plates and bowls from the cupboards. A few moments later, however, his blanket cape quietly swishes against the floorboards again. When you look up he's carrying a snack bowl, filled up decently with some of the chips you had bought yesterday. He snags a chair, drags it over, and sits next to you, digging a hand into the bowl. You think he's trying to annoy you in some roundabout way of getting back at you for not sleeping, but then, he taps the table in your field of vision, and when you again look up, he waggles a chip at you, pressing it against your lip.

It becomes something rhythmic; he gets a bite or two (or three) before passing to you, waiting still until you take a bite of your own. After a bit it honestly gets distracting, whether it's because he's doting on you or because you have to lean over to him just enough to be uncomfortable when you get your chip, but it helps the tension in your shoulders and the clench in your jaw.

Time passes, more time than you hoped, but Michael (besides a couple more trips back to the kitchen) stays by your side. There's a contented look in his eyes when you decisively click somewhere on the screen and lean back, the circular loader scrolling as the computer powers down for the night. “All right,” you breathe out, pulling away from the keyboard. “I'm done.”

Seizing the opportunity, Michael leans and sags onto you, his face gracelessly smushed against your body. He looks up at you before registering your own exhaustion and throwing one side of the comforter over your shoulder in a way that he hopes is nonchalant. In response your lips press into his temple, and he sighs. It felt nice… But still, his gaze is sharp, his eyes wide and expectant. Sleeping now?

“Yep,” you say, reading his thoughts easily. “Time for bed.”

His mouth twitches as he suppresses a grin, and it's so endearing that you chance a boop on his nose, and the startled, breathy chuckle that pushes itself out of his mouth reminds you that he can actually be quite ticklish. He shoots up out of his chair and makes it for the hall, but then (to get back at you) he circles back and almost crushes you in his arms, barely giving you enough time to swipe the bowl off the desk, and barely possessing enough patience to bring you to the sink to dump it (you were squirming too much for him not to do it), and then to the bathroom so you can both brush your teeth. Then he hauls you into the room and dumps you on the bed. You get a second to notice the smell of the sheets–nice and pleasant, and… oh, it's the bodywash you buy him–before he flops on top of you, smothering his face into you. Luckily you only have to lurch over to turn off the light–click!–and make yourself comfortable.

“You wanted me that bad?” You ask. His hand reaches out blindly until it finds yours, then he moves it over so it rests against his scalp. You go ahead and indulge him (and yourself, too) by petting him, and he can't help but let out a little sigh. Cuddlebug.

“Well.” Your voice is warmer. “Thanks for waiting on me, Michael.”

He takes a bit to process your words before he stills and huffs noncommittally into your shoulder. Don't question why he waited on you, or for you, or whatever. He did want to cuddle you, even he could admit that, but it wasn't like he would die if you didn't. He was just uncharacteristically impatient tonight. And it's not like he was missing your cuddles for the past… Four? Days? It was just–

You lean in to give him another kiss on the temple before you wrap him up in your arms, holding him just how he likes it.

“G'night. I love you.”

…

“...Nngh.”

He loves you, too.

[m-carrick]

being a hater is so fun until you see someone who is a hater 80% of the time and then you're like christ i hope i dont sound like that person and you stay on your best behaviour for 3 days

[arimari81-70]

How it feels logging onto Tumblr to read fics after joining a new fandom