thunder only happens when it's raining

against my code! - j.jackson

summary: actress!reader is a guest host for snl. after seeing a terrible joke at the expense of her boyfriend!jaafar and his family, she immediately leaves the studio, not giving two shits about the consequences.

long night - m.jackson ♡

wc: 5k

summary: childhood bestfriend!michael hired you to be his personal assistant since the beginning without any hesitation. you're there for the night they recorded 'we are the world' and it turns out you're also there for michael's moral support.

⤷ in the bowl! - prequel

(requested)

wc: 7.4k

summary: personal assistant!reader spends a hectic work day with the jacksons. michael is amused. marlon tests one's patience unlike any other. headache ensues.

i just don't know you yet - m.jackson

(requested)

wc: 3.8k

summary: singer!reader has her big break and is scheduled to be performing in the american music awards. during rehearsal, she meets off the wall!michael and things get absolutely and awkwardly shy.

fates of halloween - m.jackson

wc: 5.3k

summary: thriller!michael and reader's respective friends bailed on them at the cinemas without warning. reader spends the rest of the spooky halloween night with a guy she barely knows... but at least he's funny. and real cute.

clueless - m.jackson ♡

(requested)

wc: 8k

summary: thriller!michael has been your best friend for years. when he discovers you have a date with some random guy, he tells you he's actually been your boyfriend this whole time. go figure, huh?

⤷ confused - prequel (mike's pov)

(requested)

wc: 5.5k

summary: michael likes making you jealous. he's confused because you never seem to react the way he wants you to.

filming - m.jackson

(requested)

wc: 7.7k

summary: thriller!michael wants bestfriend!reader to star in his short film. reader doesn't want to. ola ray, unfortunately, gets sick. take a guess on who's next in line.

prescription for joy - m.jackson

(requested)

wc: 6.2k

summary: thriller!michael doesn't know what to do with all his spare time in the hospital. after noticing medical clown!reader, however, things take turn for the better.

can't stop loving you - m.jackson

(requested)

wc: 10k

summary: having been with bad!michael for three years, reader assumes she would develop a tougher heart. it's a heavy feeling when she discovers she hasn't.

lit from within - m.jackson ✮

(requested)

wc: 5.9k

summary: reader decides to spoil off the wall!michael with a slow romantic night indoors, intending to help him forget all the noise outside

•

Exiting your bedroom, you make sure everything is tidy along the way to the kitchen. Seeing him work so hard, you had an urge to give him a slow night in. You figured it's more than well deserved, with all his busyness and still not failing to somehow provide you just enough attention the whole time. Pulling out all the stops, you prepared a candlelit dinner, rented The Philadelphia Story for the night, even pulled out a record from its sleeve, already placed on the turntable and ready to be played the second he would enter your apartment.

Earlier in the day, there was also a voice in your head telling you to spoil yourself. So, that's exactly what you did. Knowing Michael would arrive pretty late, maybe 9.30p.m., it gives you a reason to purchase a brand new nightgown and preferably, drive the man crazy.

The sleek mesh fabric cascades beautifully, laid out on your curves in just the right places. The sweetheart neckline hugs your chest in the most flattering way, with lace stitched into the center of the top area, covering the inner contours of your front. Initially, you thought it wouldn't provide enough support you actually needed, but after wearing it, you find yourself immediately lost in the pure comfort of the gown. Ribbons are tied to keep the laces held together, and the gown descents into a sheerness ever so slightly, it's barely a tease. 

But you knew it would drive Michael crazy anyway. 

Just as you finish lighting up the final candle on the small table, your ears pick up the sound of keys and the front door opening. 

“Sweetheart?” 

Giggling to yourself, you rush to the turntable and lower the needle to the vinyl. Keeping it to a low volume, you check yourself again right before Michael walks down the hallway and sees you. The moment your eyes meet, you throw your arms up and give him a bright grin. 

“Ta-da!” A playful wave of jazz hands and you almost snort at his face of surprise. He totally didn’t expect to walk into a dim setting with candles all around. And you swore to yourself years ago how you wouldn’t get romantic for a man. Funny how that turned out. You feel an innate sense of delight at his jaw slightly agape, awe filling his eyes. Dropping your gaze downwards, a gasp softly leaves your mouth, noticing his hands holding a bouquet of red lilies and a small box, wrapped neatly in wine red paper.

The two of you stare at each other with the same dumbfounded looks for a good few seconds. A snort finally escapes you, and that breaks him, and then the two of you are laughing like idiots standing five feet apart with gleeful surprise etched onto your faces. 

“Baby, what is all this?” Michael finally asks you, stepping closer and giving you a slow kiss in greeting. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, humming against his lips. Slightly pulling away, you murmur shyly. “Just something I wanted to do for you. You've been so stressed lately.” 

A look of pure adoration appears on his face, and he kisses your cheek, muttering quietly, heavy with love. “Thank you, my love. You're perfect.” 

Taking a few steps back, his eyes trail down your figure, then back up. Then, back down. His gaze darkens by the second, and a sharp intake of his breath tells you just how right you were in buying this particular nightgown. Biting his lip, Michael shakes his head and shuts his eyes briefly, actively holding back from walking closer to you.

“So, so perfect. God, baby. This new?” 

The hoarse in his voice makes you give an internal high five to yourself, and you nod while turning around slowly. Giving him the whole view, and hearing his grip on the wrapped box tightening. Stopping to face him again, you throw your hands up again for the sake of calming things down. There's dinner waiting after all. 

“Yes! You like it?” You ask him, genuine excitement lacing your words. “I thought it was the prettiest thing in the store.” 

“I love it,” Michael replies, his eyes softening at your delighted tone. “It's real pretty. Suits perfectly on you, my pretty baby.” 

Your grin widens, thanking him before flicking your gaze at his full hands again. “Is that… for me, Mikey?” 

“Hm?” He hums distractedly, still staring at your gown before his eyes widen, turning to look at you and the items in his arms. “Oh, yeah!” 

A soft ‘yay’ leaves your lips, melting Michael's heart further. Walking closer to each other again, you slowly take the bouquet from his hands. “Oh, this is so lovely, sweetie. It's perfect for dinner. I'll go find a glass to put these in, just a second.” 

“Oh, no need. The last time I was here I got a small vase and hid it behind your blanket cabinet,” he immediately replies, stopping you in your tracks. Disbelief crosses your face, and a soft laugh escapes you again. 

“You're unbelievable,” you tell him. 

“Why, thank you,” he bites back a grin. Less than a second after that, his face briefly twists into hard focus, ears pricking up as the record keeps playing quietly. The soft music causes his lips to slowly quirk up, gaze meeting yours. 

“The Isley Brothers?” 

“Go For Your Guns, 1977,” you reply with a nod, sheepishly fiddling with the flowers. “The first record you've ever given me.” 

“Aw, sweetheart,” Michael coos and reaches to cup your cheek. “This is wonderful. But if my memory serves correctly, you practically blackmailed me into givin’ you the album, hm?” 

Pouting at his teasing tone, you poke his chest. “I most definitely did not… And even if I did, it's only right. You have all those new records and I only had Rumours by then. I had to.” 

He lets out a low chuckle, still holding your face. Leaning in to press soft kisses on your temple and down to your cheek, he trails his hand down to your waist, the other to intertwine with your fingers. Swaying from side to side, you laugh as he leads you into a half hearted slow dance. His hand on your waist isn't pressed against your skin however, as he was still gripping onto the small box. 

When Footsteps In The Dark start playing, you hold back a laugh as Michael shifts closer and properly dances with you. “Mike, food is getting cold,” you softly speak into the quaint space, only smiling when he presses his forehead against yours. 

“Hey, if I wanna dance with my girl for a minute, I'm goin’ to, okay?” He says, eyes closing in bliss as you move around the living room. A sigh escapes you, knowing whatever he wants, he would get. Especially when it comes to you. Although, your heart sings at the feel of him. The warmth he brings like no other, the utter openness he possesses when showing love to you. Being loved by Michael is otherworldly. 

All your life, you've never had someone so… so passionate with life, and with love. Meeting him was something you thank the stars for every day. 

You snap out of your thoughts when his hand leaves your back, and Michael presses another kiss to your temple and whispers excitedly, holding out the small box, the red of the paper almost translucent from the dim lights. “Take the gift, open it.” 

Pulling away, you stroke his jaw before shaking your head. Before disappointment can wash over him, you motion to the kitchen. “Let's do that after dinner. Come on, it's gonna get cold, Mister.” 

You turn up the volume on the turntable slightly before heading to the kitchen, gripping onto Michael's hand and leading him. Seeing the home cooked meal laid out nicely just for him, the man almost gets down on his knees right then and there to worship you. You pull away your hand to head somewhere else, but he doesn't argue when his eyes are still focusing on the beautifully plated dinner. 

“Baby, did you somehow become a professional chef while I was workin’?” Michael calls out, smiling at the sound of your muffled laughter. 

“Very funny,” you finally reply to him as you enter the kitchen again and position the small orange vase he got for you on the center of the table, this time the flowers arranged aesthetically inside. “I actually learned a lot from that cooking channel you're always watching. No wonder you love it so much.” 

Clasping your hands under your chin in happiness, both of your gazes meet. A soft smile blooms into your face. “Dinner's ready!” 

Making yourselves comfortable on the chairs, Michael places the small box near your plate. He asks you softly, distracting himself from the mouthwatering smell of the blessed food right in front of him. “Open after you finish eating?” 

“Okay, Mikey,” you nod and lift your glass of wine. Clinking his against yours, Michael reaches to pinch your cheek softly, making you hold back a giggle and feign a glare. He chuckles and turns to his food, already brimming with pure joy at the mere thought of a meal cooked by you instead of cold takeouts like he's been having every late night in the studio. 

The both of you talk about anything and everything that comes to mind during dinner. It's been a few days since you've last seen each other, and there's been quite a lot to catch up on. Well, for him, anyway. 

“And then, Jeff just flipped out, yelling all around the office. Meanwhile Mr. Barrett just ignored him and told me to keep at it, he was really sorry about it and everything,” you ramble to him about your workplace, sipping on the glass before continuing to take another bite of the food. 

Tilting his head, he looks at you curiously. “Don't you wonder why Mr. Barrett is always so nice to you, baby?” 

“Well, he told me I reminded him of his daughter or something,” you say while shrugging. “And the fact I'm the youngest in that office probably helps a lot. Not with Jeff though, no. He sees anyone under the age of thirty and all he thinks is how unqualified they would be.” 

Michael frowns while chewing his food, and you'd be lying if you said that's not the most adorable sight you've ever been blessed with. “That's terrible!” He exclaims after swallowing. “Y’know, baby, the more you talk about your new job, the less I like even hearin’ Jeff's name.” 

“Well, what can you do, sweetie? A job's a job,” you shrug again. Softly nudging his feet with yours under the table, you smile at him. “Speaking of jobs, what about yours? How's the recording going?” 

He lets out a heavy sigh, biting his lip and focuses his gaze on his plate. “Okay.” 

Brows furrowing, you reach across the table and take his hand softly. “Uh oh... that sigh of yours didn't sound okay.” 

“Well, no, it's just… it's going great, sweetheart, believe me.” Nodding reassuringly at you, he continues with a quieter tone. “It's just been so time consuming. And a lot of clashin’ heads, I hate when that happens. And I can't even call you as often anymore, so I'm practically deprived of you, baby.” 

A half giggle leaves you, and you shake your head and squeeze his hand. “I hear you, Mikey. I'm sorry that it's been rough for you. But remember what you said to me all those months ago? It's gonna be worth every second when you see people dancing to your songs, right?” 

“Yeah,” he finally says after a moment, eyes lighting up again, and in return, so does your heart at the sight. Holding himself with seemingly less weight on his shoulders, Michael continues. “It’ll all be worth it. But the recording is great, don't worry. I think it really speaks on how I wanna sound.” 

“Hey, that's good, sweetie. That's the most important thing for you, right?” You softly stroke the back of his hand. He nods with a shy chuckle, and takes your intertwined hands to kiss the back of yours. 

“A lot of voices, though,” he adds. “In the studio, I mean. Quincy has this to say, Mr. Temperton has that to say. Others involve themselves at times and I really don't like it when they talk over me. But they do try to listen, so I guess that's fine. And, y’know, Diana thinks because she linked me and Quincy together, she's entitled for some involvement and I don't know anythin’ about that.” 

The fork’s halfway to your mouth before you momentarily freeze. “Diana as in Ross? That one?” You ask him, voice stilting. 

Unaware of the twitch in your eye at the mention of her name, Michael nods as he takes another bite. “Yeah, she visits a lot. Mostly to see Quincy but then he'd tell me somethin’ about the tracks we're workin’ on right after, and I'm starting to think Diana's feedin’ him lines. But I never end up giving in, of course.” 

“You shouldn't,” you reply sharply, finally taking the bite before almost stabbing at the rest of the food. 

“I wouldn't,” he raises his brows, still eating and facing his food and clueless to your mildly heated state. 

“Good, don't,” you say, curt while taking another sip of the wine. 

“I won't,” Michael replies again, this time flicking his gaze to your face. Concern gleams in his eyes. “You okay, baby?” 

“Mhm,” you nod and keep your lips glued to the rim of the glass, averting your eyes. 

He notes the taut pull of your shoulders, tension radiating off of you in small waves. The slight furrow of your brows and the downwards tilt of your lips tell him all he needs to know. 

“Oh, sweetheart, not this again?” Michael sighs out, amusement quickly growing in his voice. 

“What?” You say, still looking away and feigning cluelessness.

“She's just a mentor, I'm tellin' you,” he pressed his words, eyes desperately trying to lock to yours. 

“A really flirty one at that,” you hold back a scoff before glancing at Michael apologetically. The man only shakes his head, reaching to hold your hand again. 

He bites back a grin and stares at your face, asking you in a firm manner. “Baby, why would I ever think about her in such a way when I have a really beautiful, smart, wonderful woman as the love of my life right here?” 

Silent for a moment, you huff and drop your tense shoulders. “Well, you're right about that. I am all of those things.” 

“Exactly,” he whispers and kisses the back of your hand. Gaze slightly darkening, he observes you in a way that has you heated and warm all over. “Absolutely beautiful.” 

Ignoring his look of pure want, you clear your throat. “Finish your food and we can start on that movie night.” 

•

Currently snuggling up to Michael, you absentmindedly lift a popcorn to your lips as James Stewart's character speaks. 

“There's a magnificence in you, Tracy,” he said to the woman who Katharine Hepburn was playing. She turned to him with a look of surprise, longing in the most mournful way. 

Michael pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulder and lips ghosting kisses against your temple. 

“It's late,” the woman hesitantly said, turning around to flee away. The background strums of violin strings grew louder, almost overpowering as James’ character continued. His eyes sparkled with wonder, never straying away from her gaze.

“A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You're lit from within, Tracy!” 

The man next to you hums, murmuring softly. “What a wonderful line.” 

Nodding in agreement, you huff a laugh as Michael turns away from the television yet again to bury his face into the crook of your neck, peppering kisses against your skin. “Mike!” You scold him, hiding your grin as he briefly pouts at you. 

“I don't seem to you made of bronze?” Katharine’s voice spoke in a low, forlorn manner. 

The man didn't think, he let the words escape from his lips without a second thought. “No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight.” 

The two characters stepped closer to each other, music growing more emotional, laced with melancholic passion. Concern appeared on his face, he asked, “What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”

“Shut up, shut up,” she whispered as she looked up at him with innocent desire. “Oh, keep talking, keep talking. Talk, will you?” 

Softly smiling at the scene before you, you whisper softly into the air of the calm living room. “You know, I'd love to meet Katharine Hepburn someday. She brings something to her characters in such a way every time.” 

A slow nod comes from Michael in response. “Hm… that would be a delight, wouldn't it?” 

You hum in agreement before taking another popcorn into your mouth. The film slowly makes its way to the back of your mind as your thoughts revert to the earlier conversation you'd shared with Michael. It's been bothering you a bit, seeing how the process of the album is taking a toll on him, in ways that are slow and quiet. Clearing your throat, you turn to Michael, who was actually focused on the TV this time. 

“Mike?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“About earlier… about what you told me? I hope you're not letting those people take up too much space, sweetie. It's your album, after all.” You tell him with a reassuring look, stroking his face with the back of your hand. 

His eyes flick towards you, noting the sudden change in the mood. A small upwards tilt of his lips and your heart already burns fiercely at the sight. 

“Yeah?” Michael replies quietly. 

“Yeah,” you nod, continuing on. “Don't forget your own sound for the sake of pleasing others, Mikey. Not where it counts.” 

His smile stretches further, and he leans down and presses a chaste kiss on your lips. “Thank you, baby. Truly. I won't, don't worry. You don't know how hard-headed I can get in that studio.” 

“Well, I think I know a little,” you tilt your head teasingly, mind flashing back to a few weeks prior when he spent fifteen minutes arguing with you over the phone about who was better at gift-giving a family member. 

As if Michael is able to read your mind, he feigns a glare and tuts at you. “Don't even, baby. I'm the better gifter. I know the truth and that's me bein’ able to make Mother cry every time it's her birthday.” 

“And that's something you want?” You ask him with a serious tone, biting back a grin. 

“Cry from happiness! I swear!” Michael defends himself, laughing with you. His hand reaches to pinch your cheek teasingly, and he shakes his head. “Don't twist my words! What are you, a reporter?” 

Cackling at his remark, you nudge him in admonishment. The man lets you for only half a second before gently gripping your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, looking at you with mirth in his eyes.

“Now, now. Speakin’ of gifts, I think you almost forgot about this one,” he says with a sneaky smile as he reaches below the couch to pull out the small box from earlier. 

A soft gasp escapes you, and you take the item from his hands very carefully. “Oh, I'm sorry, Mikey. I did forget. But, oh, this is so sweet, thank you.” 

“Open it up then, sweetheart.” 

You bite your lip from excitement and try to unwrap the paper carefully, sighing in frustration when the tape wouldn't budge. A snicker leaves Michael, and he watches on as you continue to fiddle with the tape for a few more seconds before he kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear. “Please, for the love of God, baby, just rip the damn thing.” 

Pouting at his words, you slowly rip the paper, trying to make it as elegant as possible. After discarding the wrapper, you touch the soft, velvet blue box and feel its warmth against your fingertips. You flick your gaze briefly to him, voice firm for only a second.

“Mikey, don't tell me you spent more than you should have for this.” 

“Okay, I won't.” 

Lips parting in disbelief, you softly slap his arm. “Michael.” 

“Baby, hush. Open it!” 

Huffing slightly, you flick your gaze to the box and finally lift its lid. In it is a neatly placed beautiful wristwatch. Its silver reflective, the inner face with maroon elements giving out a pop of colour, the hands ticking ornately designed. There are diamonds aligned in a flush setting on its band, the light it's catching reflecting back to your eyes and putting further emphasis on your look of amazement and love. And Michael could dissolve from the sight just then, his heart warming at the thought of making his girl happy.

“Michael, this is beautiful.” 

“Well, what do you know? Matches just right with you,” he says, gazing at you fondly. Shaking your head, you touch the watch and feel its grooves softly before closing back the lid. Brows furrowing, you cradle the side of his face. 

“I love it so much. It's so beautiful and it's very thoughtful of you, but you spent too much again, sweetie,” you say, guilt over him spending a lot on you starting to grow, making itself apparent in your words. 

Michael shakes his head incessantly. He almost scoffs while dismissing you, “I didn't. I promise, sweetheart.” 

Knowing he will not ever back down when it comes to buying you material goods, you only smile and kiss the box before kissing the apple of his cheek. “Thank you, Mikey. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were getting me a gift. I didn't get you anything.”

The look on Michael's face is so incredulous, it makes you want to laugh. He sighs out, a small grin growing. “Sweetheart, you gave me a home cooked meal after days of trash food. And this whole night was a gift for me. And…” he trails off, eyes flickering downwards to your figure and darkening afterwards.

Biting his lip, he continues, albeit a little more low this time. “And that thing on you is a gift that could last me for ten years, baby.” 

“Mike…” you shyly giggle. 

“I'm serious,” he replies. Leaning in closer, Michael ghosts his lips against yours, eyes already dazed as he pries your fingers off of the box to place it on the coffee table. Continuing to whisper as he pecks you on the mouth, once, twice, three times. “You look like an angel, sweetheart.” 

Laughing quietly, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull him closer. He smiles and properly presses his lips against yours, kissing you slow and soft. Slowly reaching his hand to your cheek, gently stroking the skin with his thumb. He hums into the kiss, “All cute and pretty for me, just sittin’ here.” 

“Mikey,” you pull away just slightly to chuckle before the man chases your lips with a soft whine and kisses you again, this time more deeply. Ever so slightly parting your lips with his, a tongue slips in between and causes you to let out a low gasp. He gently pushes you to lay down on the cushions, making sure your head is placed comfortably on a thicker pillow before diving into another kiss. 

“Truly beautiful baby,” he murmurs, biting his lip after pulling away. Eyes harboring affection and worship, trailing from your nightgown to your lips freshly swollen from his doing, to the slope of your nose, your plump cheeks with heat rising from underneath its skin, and to the dazed look in your eyes. 

“A Goddess, really,” he whispers as he presses a soft kiss on your neck. Trailing to your throat with his tongue, he nips at the skin, eliciting a faint shiver up your spine. Sighing in bliss, you gently hold the back of his head as he continues to kiss down to the center of your collarbone. Michael murmurs against your skin, “Baby, you smell like heaven.” 

“I bought a new perfume too,” you giggle quietly. The man hovering over you laughs and looks at you with amusement in his eyes. Averting his gaze back down, he trails the lace detailing with his eyes, the way it hugs your front, and Michael almost drools at the sight. He shakes his thoughts away and leans down to ghost his nose against the fabric, moving downwards so, so slowly. Stopping on your stomach, he sees the slight sheerness of the mesh, and he almost groans and presses a firm kiss on your skin right there. 

“This is drivin’ me crazy.”

You quietly congratulate yourself. 

“God, this is home to me, baby, you don't even know,” he continues on, unaware of your secret amusement, and rests his chin on your stomach as he looks up at you. His hand reaches to trail up your leg underneath the dress, stopping at your outer thigh. Michael sighs again, almost a whimper, as he presses feverish kisses on your stomach through the fabric. 

“Mike…” You gasp out. 

He almost buries his face to your stomach, groaning hoarsely. “I can't think when I'm here. It's perfect.” 

Stifling a laugh, you just let Michael ramble on and stroke the back of his head gently. He's almost babbling about nothing at this point.

Well, he did have a little too much wine earlier at dinner. Just a little, you think to yourself. 

“Sometimes I think God specifically made me for you, sweetheart,” he sighs and rests his head properly on your skin, closing his eyes. You only smile quietly, stroking the apple of his cheek with your thumb. He continues without even opening his eyes. 

Heaving a deep sigh, a small quirk of his lips appear. “I don't think you know how much I love you. When we're older, I want to marry you. And we'll have kids we love, and you'll finally have a job you like.” The both of you snicker at that, and you softly poke his cheek before cradling it gently again. 

“I could live through days of headache because the second I see you, baby, it's all forgotten noise,” he whispers. Making himself more comfortable, his hold on you tightens, and he presses a soft kiss against the fabric again, this time more timid. 

“I love you so much, angel.” 

Shaking your head at his antics and smiling widely to yourself, you whisper a response. “I love you too, Mike. My, usually wine makes you dance-y, it's strange how it's making you emotional tonight.” 

He snorts before speaking lightheartedly, “I'm always emotional about you. It's becomin’ a problem.”

“Well, I wouldn't say that…” you tug at his ear softly. “I think you're perfect just like this. So sweet on me all the time, honey.” 

He hums and shifts upwards again, leaving soft kisses along your skin, the warmth of his lips making you hold back a shiver. “You deserve all of that and more,” he whispers. 

Landing a slow kiss to your lips, he tilts his head for a better angle, and the languid movements cause faint tingles to run down your spine, and you giggle when he moves and ever so slightly nips at your cheek before moving to your neck, burying his head there yet again. 

You're now fully cuddling, his position somewhat awkward with one of his legs dangling to the side, and his torso is bent in a way that suggests lack of comfortability, but seeing how at peace he really is, you decide to leave it alone for now. 

“You're my forever person,” he whispers into the quiet. “I believe that.” 

“You're mine too, Mikey,” you sigh happily and kiss his temple.

It's a few more minutes of silence before he grunts. “Okay… my leg is numb.” 

The both of you share a laugh before you nudge him off. It seems like a much wiser choice to retire to bed, so that's what you do. As Michael cleans up in the kitchen and the living room – after much debating with you– there is nothing left for you to do except tidy up the bed for the both of you. There is a newfound system for Michael's short hiatus from touring with his brothers. As mentioned before, Saturday nights are decided to be movie nights, and that's also insinuating sleepovers. Sundays aren't necessarily off days for him, but mornings were always fairly free prior to this. With that, you decided with him it's the perfect timing.

So, traces of Michael are slowly growing in your room. A lot of his clothes are folded in a drawer, his razor and aftershave in your bathroom cabinet. Your toothbrush stands next to his in the cup on the sink. It's all very, terribly domestic. 

You love every second of it. 

A yawn escapes Michael as he turns off the hallway lamp, setting his foot into your bedroom and giving you a smile before closing the door almost all the way, leaving a small opening the exact way you prefer. 

“Tired?” You ask him with a teasing smile, fluffing the pillows and brushing off invisible lint from the bedcovers. 

“Yeah, it was a really long day. You made me forget that earlier. Now, all I wanna do is lie here and not move for two days.” He says before plopping himself on the left side of the bed, which should honestly already be established as his side of the bed. 

Huffing a laugh, you eye him with amusement. “Not even a full three days, huh?” 

“Nah, I wouldn't know what I'd be doing for that long without makin’ something, baby,” he waves his hand absentmindedly, eyes already closing from fatigue that's quickly rushing through his bones and body. 

Turning off the bedside lamp, you lay on your side, facing him and making yourself comfortable. Before anything, his hands reach to cradle both sides of your face, smushing your cheeks together until your lips form a pout, and he coos. 

“God, you're beautiful.”

“Mike,” you start, giggling quietly. 

“Sorry… I need to go to sleep. But you're pretty. And the dinner was amazin’. Can't believe I'm marryin’ a chef in a few years,” he murmurs, getting sleepier by the second. 

Smiling and kissing him on the cheek, you whisper in response. “Not a chef, honey.” 

“An angel, then?” He asks, following your quiet tone naturally. Eyes still closed.

“Not that either,” you shake your head. 

“Then who am I marryin’, baby?” He asks again, brows slightly furrowing. 

You're quiet for a moment before leaving another soft kiss on his lips, chaste and quick. “Just your girl, Mike.” 

He slowly opens his eyes, and you're met with the gaze of a man with so much love in it, it's almost a burden for him to bear. Michael shifts closer and nuzzles your nose with his, your lips a hair’s breadth away. Feeling his breath on your skin, you close your eyes at the tranquility he's able to create from just being present with you.

“You're not ‘just my girl’, sweetheart,” Michael says, his voice a soft disturbance against the quiet night. “Love of my life. You're everythin' in between, too.”

Looking away sheepishly, your face inches closer and the both of you properly kiss, slow and sweet. Five full seconds later, you slightly part from him, ignoring his sleepy offended look. “Go to sleep, sweetie,” you let out a low laugh. 

“So, so perfect,” Michael says while covering his yawn, “Goodnight, baby.” 

Whispering a goodnight to him, you note he's fallen asleep already, and you let out a deep sigh. You're so deeply in love with the sleeping man in front of you, it's honestly insane. 

Almost as insane as knowing he loves you just as much.