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 St. Louis Word Count: 3.2k
Michael had recently fallen ill with a severe case of laryngitis just before his highly anticipated show in St. Louis, forcing him to cancel the performance. The news of his illness spread quickly, and he immediately requested your presence, indicating just how serious his condition was. You knew that if Michael was asking for you, the situation was dire.
Upon your arrival at the hotel, you were promptly escorted up to Michael's lavish suite, where his doctor was already in attendance.
"Baby," Michael croaked out as you entered the room, his voice barely audible.
You rushed to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently caressing his face. His skin was warm to the touch. "I'm here, baby. Are you okay?" you asked, concern lacing your voice.
He weakly shook his head, "No."
The doctor, noting the strain on Michael, interjected, "Mr. Jackson, please rest your voice. I'll be back tomorrow."
Michael attempted to respond, but you quickly intervened, shooting him a stern look. "Thank you, doctor," you said, nodding to him.
The doctor left the suite, leaving you and Michael alone. You turned back to him, your expression softening. "Don't say anything, okay? Rest your voice," you instructed gently.
Michael looked at you with pleading eyes. "Stay with me," he whispered hoarsely.
"Of course, I'm not going anywhere," you assured him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm going to make you some tea. It'll help soothe your throat."
Michael nodded weakly. "Thank you," he mouthed.
You smiled at him. "Just rest. I'll be right back," you said as you rose from the bed and made your way to the kitchenette.
As you prepared the tea, Michael called out softly, "I'm sorry about the show."
You turned to him, frowning. "Don't even think about that right now. Your health is what matters."
He sighed, closing his eyes. "I hate feeling this helpless."
You walked back to him with the tea, sitting beside him again. "I know, but you'll get through this. You always do."
He took the cup with trembling hands, sipping the warm liquid. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured.
You leaned in, kissing his forehead. "Me too, Michael. Now, rest."
He nuzzled closer to you, resting his head on your chest. "You smell amazing," he said, his voice husky and affectionate.
"Shh, stop talking," you said gently, running your fingers through his hair.
