It's 3am, We're Both Wasted And For Whatever Reason, You Think Now Is The Perfect Moment To Say I Love You For The First Time?
i'm going back to my roots: randomly posting whatever unashamedly. so have a drunk mike x reader drabble. not edited, we die like men. the title is too long too but. who cares.
also, disclaimer, no i have not watched hellraiser and i very much definitely won't. i hate horror movies. so if the characterisation seems off to you, that's because all my knowledge about him comes from a) one too many edits i've consumed and b) my imagination. deal with that or fuck off lol
(this gif is adorable i cannot)
It's late as you stumble through your doorway. It's too late, in fact, to even be stumbling through your doorway. You're making noise - too much noise, you know that - for sneaking around at 3am. But you're also a bit too drunk to notice.
Too drunk on alcohol.... and too drunk on the feeling of Mike's strong arms wrapped around you.
"You smell good", he mutters into your hair and pulls you even closer into him. You can't hold back a laugh.
"Shhh", you caution, fumbling your key from the lock and pushing the door close again. You wince at the horribly loud sound it makes. Mike buries his nose even deeper into your hair and inhales again.
"Shit, you smell so good, Sweetcheeks."
He's so loud, so loud in comparison to the silence all around you. And he's so warm. And so big...
"Be quiet", you warn, even as your hands begin to run along his. You just can't help yourself, not when he's so close, when he's holding you so tightly to him, like he couldn't bear if you left him.
"But I want to be loud with you", Mike mutters, his nose brushing your hair from your neck, tickling your skin. God, he's so drunk. And so tall.
"But you'll wake up my parents", you whine. "And we still have to get upstairs."
Mike groans into your neck.
"Can't we just crash on the couch?", he asks and then his lips touch your skin and you quite literally melt into his arms. Your keys clang to the floor.
"Fuck", you curse, but Mike's arms only tighten around you and he presses another kiss onto your neck. You forget about the keys almost instantly as a shiver runs down your spine. You need to squeeze your eyes shut for your brain to process thoughts at all.
"No", you say then, "We cannot crash on the couch. My parents will wake us up at six."
Mike groans again, then pulls back from you. Your hands slip from his and you stumble for a second before catching yourself and turning around to him.
"So upstairs", Mike says and in the dark of the room, you need a moment until your hand brushes against his again.
"Upstairs", you agree quietly.
Mike pulls you close to him again and steers you towards the stairs - entirely unhelpfully, because he's swaying about as much as you are and doesn't know the layout of your home nearly as well as you do. His fingers are clasped around yours and his arm is around your waist and you have to slow him down at least twice before you even take the first step up the stairs, just so you don't crash into something.
The climb is slow, too. Partly because Mike has decided that it's absolutely unacceptable that he can't look at your ass while you walk up the stairs right in front of him, and so has hooked his thumbs into two belt loops and put his palms flat against your ass instead.
You can barely hide a giggle.
"Mikey", you breathe when you get to the top step and can finally turn around to him, his hands falling back to his sides. "Honey."
He's got you in his arms again in the blink of an eye. His arms around your waist, pulling you close, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath warm.
You have to smile.
"Mikey", you repeat. But his lips are just hovering there. Waiting.
He's hardly ever waited this long to kiss you. You think he might've just fallen asleep momentarily. It would be very much him. You wouldn't be all that surprised.
"I love you", he says then. Soberly.
You freeze.
You must've misheard. You must have misheard.
You hadn't said the L-word. Not once. Not until now.
So you'd definitely misheard.
But Mike kisses you softly, for just a moment, his lips barely grazing yours, and he says it again:
"I love you."
Your hands cramp into the front of his shirt. It's too dark to see his expression - to see much of anything, really.
"Mike-", you whisper, because that's about the only thing you can manage to get out at the moment. Then you break off.
What are you doing?
Fucking god, what the hell are you thinking?
He's just told you he loves you. Twice. And all you're doing is standing there, staring into black nothingness and saying his name? No. No, this won't do. So you press yourself against him and your lips onto his, so suddenly that he almost stumbles back a step. He feels so familiar. So warm and so tall and so familiar. You can't believe he's actually real.
"I love you", you mutter, your lips inches from his. "I love you so much, Mike."
