Book I Of the 'Not Vanilla' Imagine Series.
𝚃𝚆: includes strong language, Sexual content, Explicit content.
Readers discretion is Advised
Imagines Between you & Michael Jackson.
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♡ 1992. Neverland Ranch Word Count: 2.3k
"I'm over this shit!" Michael shouted as he stormed into the house, the door slamming shut behind him with a thunderous crash.
"Michael, what's wrong?" you asked, hurrying down the stairs, your heart pounding with concern.
"They can't get anything right at all," he fumed, tearing his jacket off and flinging it onto the nearest chair. His face was flushed with frustration, his eyes blazing with anger.
"Michael, relax. It'll be oka-"
"No, it won't!" he interrupted, his voice rising in volume and intensity. "We leave in two weeks, and they can't pull it together. I'm cutting songs back to back because of one single mishap!" He paced the room like a caged lion, his hands running through his hair in exasperation.
"Michael, not everyone is perfect. Everything can't be perfect," you said softly, stepping closer and caressing his arm, trying to soothe him.
Michael stopped and looked at you dead in the eyes, his expression a mix of desperation and determination. "But I want it perfect," he said, his voice breaking slightly.
"Baby, everything can't be perfect. I've told you this," you said, caressing his arm, but he pulled back sharply. "You need to relax. You're stressed, and you know how you get when you're stressed."
Without a word, Michael walked away from you and down the hall to your bedroom. His rehearsals for the upcoming tour were weighing heavily on him. Everything had to be perfect before the first night, and Michael's perfectionism was pushing him to the brink. When things didn't go his way, it felt like the world was falling apart.
"Michael, don't walk away from me," you called out, following him down the hall. You stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind you.
Michael was pacing the room, back and forth, his movements frantic. In a sudden outburst, he flung his fedora across the room, where it hit a picture on the wall, knocking it askew.
"Michael, calm down, please," you begged, your voice trembling.
"I can't," he shouted, his voice raw with frustration. "I can't calm down at all."
You approached him slowly, trying to offer comfort. When you reached out to hug him, he pushed you down onto the bed, his eyes wild and desperate. He hovered over you, his chain dangling close to your face.
"Michael, what are you doing?" you asked, your voice shaky.
"Just shut up," he muttered, leaning in to kiss your neck roughly.
"Michael-Oh God," you moaned, caught between surprise and desire. His intensity was overwhelming, and you could feel the weight of his emotions in every touch.
