Book II 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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☾ 1991 Neverland Ranch Word Count: 10.6k
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The air was thick with a comforting silence, the kind that wraps around you like a warm embrace, coaxing you into a sense of peace. The faint scent of baby powder lingered in the room, mingling with the sweet, delicate fragrance of your two-month-old baby nestled against your chest. You cradled her gently as she nursed, her tiny fingers occasionally brushing your skin, her soft breaths steady and rhythmic. Her deep brown eyes, the same shade as her father's, fought to stay open, curious and eager to explore more of the world, though the late hour weighed heavy on her eyelids. The red glow of the alarm clock blinked quietly from the dresser beside you, marking the time—midnight.
It had been a long, solitary day. The spacious house felt even larger when it was just you and your baby girl, the quiet occasionally broken by her soft coos and tiny cries. Michael had been away in the studio again, working late into the night, though he always made time for you and your daughter, even if it was in the small hours. His love was never in question, his presence felt even in his absence.
You sat in the old rocking chair, the gentle creak as you swayed back and forth blending with the stillness of the room. The window framed the night sky, where a crescent moon hung low, casting a silvery glow across your face and your daughter's. Her dark lashes fluttered, catching the moonlight as she slowly succumbed to sleep. You exhaled softly, letting yourself relax fully, the weariness of the day fading. The remnants of your earlier bath clung to your skin—the rich scent of cocoa butter soothing you, a small indulgence you rarely afforded yourself these days. The black satin of your nightgown felt luxurious, smooth against your skin, the fabric cool yet comforting. Your hair was still damp, but the slight chill didn't bother you.
Motherhood had changed you—deepened you, softened you in ways you hadn't expected. It had changed Michael, too. You saw it in the way he looked at your daughter, a new tenderness that you recognized from the way he had always doted on his nieces and nephews. But this was different. This was his own flesh and blood, and the love he had for her was palpable, even when he was away.
