slow mornings
SUMMARY: a little story about autumn mornings, french press coffee, sunday pancakes and the quiet kind of love that makes ordinary moments feel extraordinary.
CONTENT: michael jackson x reader. established relationship. fluff, just lots of fluff and cheesiness. domestic fluff. cozy autumn setting. insomnia briefly mentioned. not fully proofread.
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Y/N had always been a morning person.
She loved everything about mornings.
The smell of strong coffee drifting through the house before the sun had fully risen. The golden autumn light slipping through curtains she never bothered closing properly. The sound of an old jazz record playing somewhere in the distance while the world slowly woke up.
Mornings felt sacred to her. Precious.
Michael, on the other hand, used to think people romanticized mornings far too much. And then he met Y/N.
Maybe it was because sleep had never come easily to him. For years, nighttime had been a battlefield of racing thoughts and endless ceilings. Hours spent staring into darkness while the rest of the world slept peacefully around him.
But that had changed.
Now mornings meant something entirely different.
Now they meant tangled blankets. Warm feet searching for each other beneath the sheets. Half-finished conversations carried over from the night before. Back scratches. Sleepy kisses. The feeling of waking up and immediately knowing she was there. Peace.
The bedroom was still dim when Michael woke.
Outside, autumn had settled over Neverland completely. Orange leaves scattered across the lawn beyond the windows. The sky still held that pale early-morning color that came just before sunrise.
The house was quiet and, for once, so was his mind.
Michael stretched lazily beneath the blankets, letting out a low sleepy groan as consciousness slowly returned. It took him a moment to remember where he was.
Then he felt her.
His arm was wrapped around her waist.
His cheek rested against her chest.
One of her hands had somehow found its way into his hair during the night.
And suddenly everything felt right again.
A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
Y/N was still asleep. Mouth slightly open, breathing slow and steady. Her hair spread across the pillow in every possible direction. Completely unaware she was being watched.
Michael thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He lifted his head slightly, just enough to look at her. Then immediately smiled wider.
Because somehow, after all these years, waking up beside her still felt a little unbelievable.
Carefully, he rested his head against her chest again, closing his eyes and pulling her a fraction closer. Not enough to wake her. Just enough.
“Stop staring at me while I sleep, you creep.”
Michael’s eyes flew open again.
Y/N hadn’t moved. Hadn’t opened her eyes. Hadn’t even changed position. She looked completely asleep.
“I wasn’t staring,” Michael protested immediately.
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Mhm.”
“You have zero proof.”
“I don’t need it when you’re staring.”
Michael looked genuinely offended. “I wasn’t!”
“Michael, baby,” she mumbled, still half-asleep, “you always watch me sleep.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
He huffed dramatically. She giggled at him.
Y/N finally shifted, turning onto her side and stretching beneath the blankets before immediately wrapping herself around him.
Her face disappeared into the warm skin of his neck.
“Mhm,” she sighed contentedly. “That’s the good stuff.”
Michael giggled quietly at her before slipping his fingers beneath the back of her pajama shirt, tracing absent-minded patterns against her skin.
A pleasant shiver ran down her spine.
And for a while neither of them spoke, just enjoying the warmth. The quiet. The lazy comfort of a chilly autumn morning.
Then Y/N suddenly sniffed the skin of his neck. A deep, comically dramatic sniff, her nose pressed right against him.
Michael frowned. “Baby,” he asked cautiously, “what on earth are you doing?”
Y/N didn’t answer. She just sniffed him again.
Then once more, but more intensely this time.
Michael’s confusion only grew. “Y/N.”
Still pressed against his neck, her voice came out muffled. “That’s like my favorite scent in the whole world.”
Michael blinked. He wasn’t wearing any fragrances.
“What scent?”
Y/N buried her face against him again before finally lifting her head. “You.” She stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Michael stared.
“That’s not a scent.”
“Oh, but it is!”
Michael shook his head. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.” She nodded very seriously. “You smell like blankets that have been tucked away for winter.”
Michael’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “That sounds very concerning.”
“No, no, no, it doesn’t.” Another sniff. “You smell like old sweaters and clean sheets and…” She paused, searching for the right word. Her expression softened. “Home.”
Michael’s entire face softened and he shut his mouth, the teasing response sitting on the tip of his tongue vanishing.
Because oh my god? Nobody had ever described him like that before.
Y/N seemed completely unaware of the effect she’d had on him. She simply shoved her face back into his neck with a content little sigh.
“Seriously,” she mumbled. “I’m addicted to you.”
Michael stared at the ceiling for a second, blinking and asking himself how he had gotten so lucky. Then at the woman currently treating his neck like an emotional support blanket. Then back at the ceiling. “You’re a very strange woman.”
“Mhm.” Another sniff. “But you love me so much.”
Michael laughed quietly and pulled her a little closer. “Unfortunately, yeah, I do. Way too much, actually.”
“Not unfortunately.” She complained, getting a little laugh from Michael.
“You’re right.” He pressed a kiss into her messy-from-sleep hair. “Definitely not unfortunately.”
Y/N smiled against his skin. Then immediately sniffed him again.
Michael groaned, but secretly hoped she kept babying him. “Stop it!”
“Never!”
“Y/N!”
“I can’t help it.”
Another sniff. Then another.
Michael was trying very hard not to laugh at the feeling of her warm nose against the sensitive spot on his neck. “Baby,”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
“I just love you so much.” She declared, voice completely muffled by his skin.
Michael finally lost the battle. Laughter erupted from him instantly. “Oh my god.”
“I’m serious!”
“You’re crazy, woman!”
She groaned “I know!” Y/N suddenly sat up and climbed on top of him before he could escape.
Michael let out a surprised noise.
“Y/N!”
She grabbed his shoulders and shoved her face right back into his neck.
Sniffing.
Kissing.
Laughing.
Michael immediately started squirming beneath her. “Stop it! Stop it!”
“You just smell good!”
“T-that tickles!”
He was laughing so hard tears had started forming in the corners of his eyes. His hair went everywhere. Voice had climbed an entire octave.
Meanwhile Y/N was barely holding herself together.
“I told you, I can’t help it!”
“You absolutely can!”
“No, I can’t, I swear!”
“Baby!”
She kept attacking him with kisses. “I’m addicted to you!”
“You sound like a crazy person!”
“I’m crazy for you!”
Eventually Michael managed to roll them over. Now he hovered above her triumphantly.
Cheeks flushed. Still laughing. One hand held both her wrists above her head while she giggled beneath him, finally surrendering.
“You mad, mad woman,” he accused.
Y/N just grinned, looking completely unrepentant.
Michael looked at her. Really looked at her.
The sleepy eyes.
The messy morning hair.
The oversized pajamas.
The smile she only wore around him.
And just like that his expression softened.
The laughter faded into something gentler. Warmer.
“I love you.”
Y/N’s grin immediately turned into something softer too. Something that always made his chest ache a little.
“I know.”
Michael rolled his eyes at her cockiness. “That is not the correct response.”
“I know.”
He rolled his eyes softly at her. “There it is again.”
She laughed quietly before lifting her head just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you more.”
Then she pulled him back down into the blankets.
Back into the warmth of their little cocoon while the autumn morning slowly unfolded around them. And neither of them had any intention of leaving it anytime soon.
Unfortunately at some point the promise of coffee proved stronger than the desire to stay tangled up in bed forever. Not by much. But enough.
It started with Y/N groaning dramatically into Michael’s shoulder. “Coffee?”
“No.” He complained, eyes shut.
“Mickeyyyyyy.”
“Nooo.”
“Michael.”
He sighed heavily. The sigh of a man who knew he’d already lost.
Y/N smiled triumphantly against his neck.
Then, because she was incapable of leaving him alone for more than thirty seconds and just because she could, she stole one final sniff.
Michael groaned, fighting hard the urge to smile while biting his bottom lip and to keep an annoyed expression on his face. Y/N only laughed.
“Stop it!”
“You still smell so good, my love!”
Michael shook his head negatively. “It’s so hard being so loved.” He complained dramatically while pulling her back into the bed by the waist.
“It truly must be.”
Michael shook his head at her. “You’re so weird, baby.”
“Well, you love me.”
“That I do.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head.
Another sniff.
Michael dropped his forehead against her shoulder dramatically. “I’ve created a monster.”
“You created nothing.” She pressed a lazy kiss against his jaw. “I was born this way.”
Five minutes later they were shuffling through the hallway looking like two people who had only partially joined the land of the living.
Y/N wore one of Michael’s oversized sweaters and fuzzy slippers.
Michael wore pajama pants and fluffy Pluto-themed socks Y/N relentlessly made fun of (she had gotten it for him).
Outside, autumn had painted Neverland gold and copper.
The first one downstairs was always Y/N. It had become an unspoken rule at some point along the years.
Michael lingered behind for a few minutes, usually moving a little slower than she did in the mornings.
Y/N liked those few moments. The quietness of it. Feeling like the house belonged only to her for a little while.
The kitchen greeted her with cool air and pale golden sunlight. Outside, leaves drifted lazily across the lawn. The ranch looked half asleep.
The mornings always felt softer during that time of the year.
She crossed the kitchen. Not towards the coffee, but to the record player. Because there was an order to things. Always.
First the jazz.
Then the coffee.
Then the staring.
A soft crackle filled the room before Ella Fitzgerald’s voice drifted gently through the speakers.
Only then did Y/N move toward the counter.
The french press waited exactly where it always did.
Michael had bought it about a year ago after listening to Y/N spend nearly a month insisting coffee tasted better when it was “made properly.” Neither of them actually knew what that meant, but she had really strong feelings about it.
A few minutes later the scent of fresh coffee filled the room.
Y/N wrapped both hands around her favorite red mug and wandered toward the giant window overlooking the property. And stopped. Just like she always did. Every morning.
Michael found her there a few minutes later. Of course he did. He always did. And she never noticed him immediately, being too busy staring outside. Watching the ducks. The trees. Watching absolutely nothing at all but everything at the same time. Just thinking. Contemplating.
She called it her morning stare.
Michael called it buffering.
He leaned quietly against the doorway, watching her watch the view.
A plaid blanket hung off her shoulder on top of the oversized sweater. The mug cradled between both hands. The sunlight catching the edges of her hair. The jazz floating softly through the kitchen.
There was something almost sacred about it. Like interrupting would somehow ruin the moment.
He could have watched her forever. But sadly (not sadly at all) Michael loved touching her a little too much. So after a minute he crossed the room and slipped both arms around her waist, burying his face against her shoulder with a happy sigh.
Y/N immediately melted backward into him. Not startled or surprised. Just comfortable. Like muscle memory. Like her body had memorized his years ago.
“Morning.” His voice came out rough from sleep.
She smiled into her coffee. “Morning, my love.” Michael felt a blush making its way into his cheeks at the name.
They greeted each other like they hadn’t been tangled together just a few minutes ago. And for a moment neither of them spoke. They simply stood there, watching the morning unfold outside the window. Listening to jazz. Sharing the quiet.
Michael pressed a kiss beneath her ear.
Then another.
Then another.
Y/N hummed contentedly and giggled.
“Someone’s clingy this morning.” She said in a soft, silly voice meant just for him.
Michael tightened his arms around her.
“I am.”
“Very clingy, baby.”
“Yes.” He kissed her neck.
“You’d be a nightmare if I wasn’t around.”
“Yup.”
That earned Michael a laugh from her. He smiled against her shoulder. Mission accomplished, he thought at the sound coming from her.
A few moments later his eyes drifted toward the kitchen.
Toward the cabinet. Toward possibilities. Then back to her. “Pancakes?” He suggested.
Y/N immediately grimaced and shook her head. “No.”
Michael frowned. She loved pancakes on Sundays.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?” He sounded very confused.
She took a sip of coffee. “I’m not having sugar today, no.” She shook her head. “Not after last night’s ice cream disaster.” The two had spent the prior evening curled together in between sheets and pillows while watching old movies and devouring about four cartons of ice cream.
She was met by silence. Michael blinked. Then looked down at her. Then at a half-eaten cinnamon roll sitting on the counter behind her. Then back at her.
“You see, now that’s interesting.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying.” He let out a giggle, holding her tighter and swaying them a little bit.
“Don’t say it.”
“The evidence is not supporting your argument right now.”
“You know the cinnamon roll doesn’t count.”
Michael buried his face in her shoulder to hide a smile. “Oh, I know. Of course it doesn’t.” She was so silly.
“That was a private matter between me and the cinnamon roll.”
“Naturally.”
Y/N nodded seriously.
“Thank you respecting my journey.”
Michael looked entirely unconvinced, a smug grin on his lips. Then kissed her cheek anyway. “Blueberry or chocolate chip?”
Y/N sighed dramatically, already losing the battle. “Michael.” She whimpered.
“Blueberry or chocolate chip?”
“I said I’m not eating pancakes.”
“Yeah, but blueberry or chocolate chip?” He insisted.
Y/N stared out the window again, brows creasing as she thought very hard, as if she had been asked to solve a calculus problem on the spot.
“…blueberry.” She paused. “No. Chocolate chip.” Another pause. “Actually wait,”
Michael laughed softly.
There she was.
His favorite part of every morning.
He ended up making both flavors.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭
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