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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⚠︎︎ 1987. California Word Count:4.7k
Today, Michael was on set for his Pepsi commercial, and his temper was as explosive as a shaken bottle. He was snapping at everyone, from the production assistants to the director himself.
You were sitting quietly in his dressing room, trying to stay out of the line of fire. Suddenly, you heard him shouting at Karen in the hallway, his voice dripping with anger. "No, I told you to blend it! You can't do anything right, can you? I always have to fix your mess!" Michael bellowed. Moments later, he stormed into the room, slamming the door with such force that you jumped.
He spotted you instantly, his eyes narrowing. "What are you looking at?" he barked, marching over to his vanity and aggressively fixing his makeup.
"Nothing, Michael, but you shouldn't be yelling at your team like that-"
"I don't give a damn!" Michael cut you off, his voice rising again. "They're useless! I'm constantly having to fix their mistakes. Why are you even sticking your nose in this?" He spat the words out, glaring at you through the mirror with an intensity that made your skin crawl.
"I felt like I needed to say something, Michael. You've been acting like a-a bitch all day," you said, your voice trembling slightly with frustration.
Michael turned sharply, his eyes blazing as he walked up to you. "I'm not acting like nothing! I just want this to be perfect," he snapped.
You reached out to touch his face, hoping to calm him, but he slapped your hand away. "Ow, Michael, what the hell!" you yelled, recoiling in pain and surprise. Ignoring you, he grabbed his fedora from the arm of the couch, jammed it onto his head, and stormed out of the dressing room, slamming the door so hard it rattled the walls.
"Fuck is his problem," you muttered under your breath. You stood up from the stool, your heart pounding, and walked to the door, closing it gently behind you as you left.
In the hallway, a crew member approached Michael, clipboard in hand. "Michael, I need-"
Before he could finish, Michael slapped the clipboard out of his hand, papers flying everywhere, and continued down the corridor towards the stage.
"The hell is going on with Michael?" Frank asked as he approached you, his face etched with concern.
"Frank, how am I supposed to know? He lashed out at me too," you replied, exasperated.
"Figure it the fuck out, you're his wife," Frank shot back, his tone harsh before he walked away.
Your mouth dropped open in shock. "What the fuck is going on with everyone?" you muttered to yourself, feeling the weight of the day's chaos pressing down on you.
