Should I just start a pregnancy series and allow you all to request parts to it? Also, do you guys want the baby to be a girl or a boy?
By the way, this was a requested imagine. ✨
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"Michael?" You whispered.
He barely stirred. The two of you were sleeping in a hotel suite in Sydney, Australia. The room consisted of two levels. The first level—which had the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom—was where you spent most of your time. A huge floor-to-ceiling window connected the rooms together, giving you a view of the city below. An arched staircase led to the second level, which was where you and Michael were sleeping. The bedroom was large, but the king-sized bed took up most of the room.
"Mike?" You whispered again, gently gripping his shoulder and shaking it.
"H-Hm?" Michael hummed, jolting awake and looking at you, "What? Oh—baby. You okay? What's wrong?"
You smiled softly. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just having a bit of a . . . craving."
"Oh," Michael said, letting out a sigh of relief.
You and Michael were ecstatic about your pregnancy. Though you were always his first priority, he'd heightened his concern for you when you became pregnant. Anything you needed, he was there.
At that moment, you were four months along. Your chocolate and strawberry cravings had begun after three months and they were only getting stronger. To make matters worse, you only felt them during the night hours. You hated waking Michael up for this, but he wouldn't let you get the food on your own. You tried once, but he woke up and stopped you before you could reach the stairs.
"Chocolate and strawberries?" He asked knowingly, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
You nodded sheepishly. "Mhm."
He pulled the covers off of him and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Coming right up."
"Wait," you said, causing him to look back curiously, "Can I come?"
"I've got to run downstairs and get them, baby. We ran out of the servings in the suite."
"I still wanna come," you said, "Come on, baby. You keep me locked up in here like a prisoner."
Michael giggled childishly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I just don't want you to get hurt by walking around excessively."
"I'm only four months, Mike. Our angel's weight isn't weighing me down too much yet."
He sighed. "Alright, come on. But we've gotta stay quiet. You know we aren't supposed to be wandering around the hotel without—
"Without security. Yes, love, I know," you finished for him, grinning and standing up.
Michael shrugged. "Just sayin'."
You swung your legs over the side of the bed and slipped your adidas on. Michael's eyes scanned your figure—for you were in nothing but an oversized PacMan t-shirt, knee-high socks, and tennis shoes. Michael, on the other hand, was wearing a white t-shirt, blue plaid, pajama pants, white socks, and loafers.
He gripped your hand and began helping you down the stairs. With each step, he kept his eyes trained on you, making sure you didn't experience any pain. You turned to look at him.
