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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♛ 1988. Gary, IN Word Count:4.6k
The streets of downtown Gary, Indiana were eerily quiet as you and Michael made your way to his apartment. The occasional car passed by, its headlights casting fleeting shadows against the pavement. Michael had draped his white blazer over your shoulders as a shield against the chilly night air, the fabric providing both warmth and anonymity.
As Michael unlocked the door and ushered you inside, the weighty thud of the door closing behind you sent a shiver down your spine. "Why you scared, girl?" Michael teased, his voice laced with amusement.
"I'm not," you replied, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your true feelings.
Michael chuckled and led the way down the dimly lit hallway, the soft glow from the kitchen casting elongated shadows along the walls. "If you don't bring that ass," he called over his shoulder.
You followed him into a room illuminated by flickering candlelight, the warm glow casting a soft, romantic ambiance. Michael crossed the room to the vintage record player, the scratchy melody of sensual jazz music filling the air as he lowered the needle onto the vinyl.
As Michael disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone in the room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. This wasn't the familiar comfort of your shared apartment; it was foreign and unfamiliar territory. Clutching onto Michael's blazer, you tentatively perched on the edge of his bed, your nerves getting the better of you.
"Get comfortable, or just sit there like a bump on a log," Michael's voice drifted from the bathroom, breaking the silence. Glancing up, you caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing the faint scars crisscrossing his back.
"What?" he asked, catching your gaze in the mirror.
You quickly averted your eyes, feeling exposed under his scrutiny. "Nothing," you mumbled, your fingers fidgeting nervously with the fabric of his blazer.
You averted your gaze, feeling a mixture of discomfort and curiosity as you examined the pictures adorning the wall. Images of you, captured in moments of intimacy and vulnerability, stared back at you. Recent snapshots from nights at the club mingled with older photographs, reminders of the times you and Michael had shared together.
"I forgot to take that down," Michael's voice broke the silence as he emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung casually around his neck. He hung his fedora on a hook by the door before turning to face you.
"You have nothing to say?" he inquired, his tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.
"It's nothing new to me," you replied, your eyes lingering on the most recent picture. "Besides the recent picture, when did you take those?"
