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.
~*~*~
Awards:
None
Rankings:
None
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~*~*~
"What's the special today, Yn?" a patron asked, sliding onto a barstool with an easy grin, their eyes drawn to the gleaming bottles lining the shelves behind her.
Yn glanced up from polishing the sleek mahogany counter, snapping back to the present. A smile curved her lips, but her mind still lingered on the past few months—the whirlwind of change that had swept through her and Michael's lives. The two of them had transformed The Apex from a forgotten, crumbling shell of a casino into a glittering jewel beneath the city's skyline. What had once been an outdated and dilapidated place now shone with new life. Marble floors gleamed underfoot, brass accents caught the warm, inviting light, and chandeliers sparkled overhead like stars. The work had been relentless, exhausting, but it was theirs.
"Today's special?" Yn let out a soft chuckle, wiping her hands on the towel she'd slung over her shoulder. "Depends—are you in the mood for something bold, or something that'll sneak up on you when you're not looking?"
The patron laughed, their curiosity piqued. Yn reached for a bottle of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the light as she poured it with a practiced, graceful ease.
"Whiskey Sour it is," she said with a playful wink, sliding the glass across the bar.
As the patron took a sip, Yn's mind wandered, her gaze drifting across the busy casino floor. The chime of coins clattering from the slot machines mingled with the laughter of high-rollers seated at the poker tables. The air hummed with smooth jazz, weaving its way through the clinking of glasses and the excited murmurs of patrons hoping for a win. The Apex was alive, thriving even, yet beneath all the noise and success, a quiet unease lingered within her.
There was a certain energy tonight—something beneath the surface that gnawed at her, though she couldn't place what it was. Her eyes flicked to the clock. Almost midnight. Still, no sign of trouble. Maybe it was just the fatigue of another long evening at the casino.
As the hours dragged on, she caught herself repeatedly glancing over her shoulder, her thoughts a swirl of worry she didn't want to acknowledge. The faces of the patrons blurred together—smiling, laughing, oblivious to her silent concerns.
Just as she was about to gather herself, Michael's footsteps approached, his gait steady but unusually soft. His silhouette appeared against the warm glow of the lamps as he leaned casually against the bar, his sharp gaze lingering on her for a moment too long.
"Ready to head out?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he were weighing his words.
Yn looked up, meeting his eyes, and forced a small smile. "Almost," she replied, though the weight of the evening pressed down on her shoulders. "You go on ahead. I'll lock up in an hour, tops."
