Michael Clifford Imagines

!!!!

By: lowqualityirwin

That Should Be Me

warning - so much fluff you'll puke

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It was a Sunday night and you were sitting alone at home, eating a bowl of popcorn as you watched your favourite TV show. You had just gotten home from work and barely had had time to take a shower before the doorbell had rung with an unexpected guest. You had rushed to open the door, seeing as how you'd been expecting someone rather eagerly.

To your disappointment however, the person at the door was just your sister-in-law, calling over for dinner seeing as how your brother was overseas on business. You'd been forced to make dinner - instead of calling Chinese takeout, like you'd planned - and forced to sit through nearly two hours of "friendly chat" with your "darling lovely sister" as your mother had said when she called in the middle of dinner, which you thought should be renamed "interrogation of personal life" with "overbearing, way-too-curious and overeager sister-in-law."

Really, it wasn't as if you didn't like Y/S/I/L/N, in fact, you quite liked her. She was your garden variety blonde, with no job save for "homemaker" and whose favourite thing to do was bake you free - and not to mention extremely delicious - cookies and cakes in her free time. She wasn't like the other sister-in-laws your friends had, the kind who bitched about everyone all the time, and who complained regularly and who believed that shopping compulsively would solve all their problems. You were immensely relieved that you had ended up with a nice, great and caring sister-in-law but honestly, sometimes her nice-ness was just too much nice and it made you shudder to think about how someone could always be so smiley and positive all the time.

Finally, after nearly two excruciating hours of having your sister-in-law over for dinner, - and once again, it wasn't that you hated her, you just didn't like discussing your personal life with others - you were alone, and so you jumped at the chance of settling in to watch a few episodes of your favourite show - seeing as how you'd been missing a lot due to work - before dozing off, as had become your habit since you realised that your bed was too empty and too big with only you alone in it.

Suddenly the doorbell rang and you jumped, the handful of popcorn that you held in your hand flying halfway across the room before landing all over the floor. You frowned, wondering who could possibly be calling on you so late at night. You headed towards the door, passing the mirror and looking at your unruly hair and messy pyjamas before thinking, God, I hope whoever it is doesn't give a shit about appearances because I'm not putting on a bra at this time of the night.

The doorbell rang again. Once, twice. You grumbled, wondering who the hell it was, and why the hell were they so impatient? You had half a mind to just ignore them and go back to the sofa but seeing as how you were less than five metres away from the front door, you figured, ah might as well.

You unlocked the door, curving your lips into a smile and hoping that the guest wouldn't be able to read the annoyance in your eyes.

"Hello, ho-" You were in the middle of a perfunctory greeting before you stopped, your words dying in your throat as you looked at the person standing in front of you. He was decked out entirely in black, with a non-descript black tee, black skinny jeans and a black leather jacket over his broad shoulders. His hands rested on a huge red luggage bag and he was smiling up at you, a twinkle in his eyes like he knew something you didn't.

"Mi-mi-michael?" You managed, your hands flying to your mouth as you dashed down the steps and into his outstretched arms.

Michael nodded as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose at the hair gathered there as he breathed in the smell of you, the smell of love and warmth and home, that he'd missed so much during those long months on tour.

"Hey baby girl, how are you? Missed me?" He whispered in your ear, arms circling your waist tightly.

You pushed him away, crossing your arms across your chest. "You asshole. You said you'd be back next week. I was so sad," you pouted.

Michael merely smiled as he pulled you back into his arms, his fingers ghosting over your lips, silently asking for permission, as you knew was his habit. You smiled, wondering when he'd stop being such a gentleman, even though you secretly loved his little gestures that told you he respected you as a human being, no matter your relationship.

He gripped your chin softly and tilted your head back slightly, as you raised yourself on tiptoes and leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft embrace. "I missed you, princess. Did you miss me too?"

You couldn't help the small smile that appeared on your lips as you nodded, your hands slipping under his shirt and up his chest as you ran your fingers along his body. He grinned mischievously as he caught hold of your hands and held them firmly, shaking his head, "We're not even inside the house yet, baby girl."

You blushed, ducking your head in embarrassment as he laughed at your obvious discomfort. "Didn't think you missed me that much, huh?"

"You're home, you're really home," you murmured against his lips, pressing butterfly kisses down the side of his face as your hands looped around the back of his neck and your fingers found their way into his hair, curling and twirling.

"Yes baby, I'm really home. Now get off me and let me go in and put my stuff." He gently untangled your hands from around his neck and pushed you up the stairs, pulling his bag in behind him as you both entered the house.

As soon as he'd kept his things and returned to the living room, you started towards him, your legs unconsciously picking up their pace in your haste to return to his arms. He hooked his arms around your butt and swung you upwards, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, out of habit and he backtracked, heading towards the bedroom.

Michael's legs hit the bedpost and he fell onto the bed in surprise, with you on top of him and you giggled at his expression, silently thanking the Gods above for bringing your boyfriend back to you a week earlier, because if you were being entirely honest, you weren't sure if you could've held out any longer without him next to you.

"Baby, why does the bed look exactly the same as when I left three months ago?" Michael looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed, a questioning look on his face and you felt your cheeks burn. He laughed loudly, tilting your head up so he could look you in the eyes. "Tell the truth now, baby girl, did you or did you not sleep on the bed at all for the past three months?"

You shook your head and mock glared at him as he laughed, his eyes scrunching up and his cheeks turning red from the laughs.

"To think I got jealous of the sheets that got to hold you and keep you warm at night, so much that I decided to go against management and come back early, only to find out that you haven't been sleeping here anyway, huh? I just kept thinking, y'know, about how it should be me, me, keeping you company at night, not the blankets and the TV. That it should always be me."

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, "It'll always be you, baby, don't worry."

"Well then, I guess we'd better start making up for lost time, hmm?"

The atmosphere in the room had changed subtly and there was palpable sexual tension in the air and you smirked. Michael looked up at you with hooded eyes and your eyes widened when you realised that you were seated atop him, straddling him. He grinned, flipping you over in one smooth motion as you landed on your back against the soft material of the duvet, your positions now exchanged.

Michael bent down and nipped softly at your lips, a growl escaping him as his fingers found their way to the nape of your neck where they found themselves tangled in the messy folds of your hair. He pulled a hand away, trailing down the side of your body as he found the hem of your ratty old pyjama top and tugged, a silent question in his eyes. You giggled at his politeness and he pulled the offending material off your body and discarded it on to the floor before turning back to you, a wicked grin on his face. Now, it was your turn. Slowly, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled, watching as he lifted his arms to allow you easier access.

Soon, both your clothes were lying haphazardly around the bedroom floor and you were enveloped in each other, the rest of the night spent making up for lost time; for the nights when all you had of each other was an old sweater and your phone keeping you company.