Welcome to Michael Jackson Imagines Vol. 3!
This is a book full of erotica and different AUs of Michael Jackson.
I hope you brought your holy beverage or food, you're probably gonna need A LOT.
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Awards:
None
Rankings:
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An: If you want, you could think of this as Part Two of "Blood On The Dance Floor"
~ Code Red ~ ~*~*~
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Yn and Michael had been married for six years, their bond forged in the fires of danger and dedication. Their relationship transcended the conventional ties of marriage; they were partners in the truest sense, highly skilled hitmen whose precision and efficiency were legendary in the underworld. Their ability to anticipate each other's moves was almost supernatural, a result of countless shared missions that had honed their instincts into a seamless dance of deadly efficiency.
Their synchronization had become nearly perfect over time. In a high-stakes world where trust was a rare commodity, they had built an unbreakable alliance. Each job they completed was a testament to their unmatched skill, and their reputation struck fear into even the most hardened criminals. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with-a duo whose very presence could tilt the balance of power in the criminal world.
As their relationship deepened, they developed a set of codes for communication when they were apart: Code Black meant "I'm badly injured,"Code Blue meant "I need backup," and Code Red signaled "I'm in immediate danger." These codes were a lifeline, a way to ensure they could always respond to each other's needs even when they were separated.
Yn was currently in her office, the room bathed in the soft glow of a single desk lamp. The minimalist decor-a sleek black desk, a few framed certificates on the wall, and stacks of meticulously organized paperwork-was a perfect front for their clandestine operations. To anyone else, she was just another corporate employee, a woman who worked late into the night to meet deadlines. But beneath that polished exterior lay a woman who had orchestrated countless assassinations, her mind a steel trap of calculated moves and deadly precision.
Leaning back in her chair, Yn let a playful smirk tug at her lips as she twirled a pen between her fingers. Her gaze occasionally darted to the security monitors on her desk-a habit she'd developed over the years. The feed showed the empty corridors of the office building, the only movement the occasional flicker of a fluorescent light. Despite the routine check, the unease that gnawed at her refused to dissipate.
Her phone buzzed on the desk, and she answered it with a casual ease that belied the danger always lurking just below the surface.
"Hey, love," Michael's voice came through the line, warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the icy underworld they navigated daily. The clinking of glasses and the low murmur of voices filtered through the background, indicating that he was at one of their usual spots-a dive bar where anonymity was easy to maintain. "You still at the office? I was thinking we could grab some dinner. Maybe that little Italian place you like?"
