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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☾ 2002 Neverland Ranch Word Count: 9.3k
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It was a late, quiet October night, and the moon hung low over the Santa Ynez mountains, casting a pale glow that bathed the ranch in a soft, silvery light. The air was still warm, the scent of fresh chocolate and cinnamon wafting through the open window, mingling with the crackle of the bedroom fireplace. The wood inside burned steadily, filling the room with the earthy aroma of pine, adding to the warmth that wrapped around you like a blanket after a long, fulfilling day. A day spent with your children—two girls and one boy—their laughter and joy filling the house, lifting your spirits along with their father, Michael.
Michael had taken a rare break from the studio, pulling himself away from the endless cycle of projects and travel to finally spend uninterrupted time with you and the kids. His presence had been a balm for your soul, easing the ache of missed moments and late nights spent waiting for him to return. It felt like ages since you'd last had time just to be together, and now, for these few precious weeks, the world outside could wait. He was here, with you, and the days stretched out in a blissful haze of family breakfasts, movie nights, and quiet walks around the ranch.
But it was the late nights that you cherished most. After the kids were asleep, you and Michael would slip away to the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine in the stillness. He'd lean against the counter, his deep voice filling the space between you as he spoke, soft and unhurried. His words wrapped around you like velvet, soothing every worry, easing the tension that had built in your body throughout the day. You'd sit on the counter, legs dangling, his hands resting on your hips as he stood between your legs, grounding you with his touch. There was something about those moments—when it was just the two of you, alone in the quiet house—that made your heart race the same way it did when you first met. Michael had that effect on you, and he always would.
You often stayed up until the early hours, either lost in conversation or curled up together in bed, his bare chest pressed against your back as you both drifted into sleep. Michael loved that skin-to-skin contact, especially at night. It was when he felt closest to you, the weight of the world slipping away as exhaustion pulled you both under. He cherished it, and so did you—those quiet, intimate moments where nothing existed but the two of you.
