girlll, i am in LOVE w your page already, your so well spoken like i turned ur notifs on SO FAST.
i was wondering if we could get arguing/being mad at michael hcs? ty in advance! 🎀
ִֶָ𓏲࣪ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 🫂༉‧
In which drugs are becoming increasingly prominent in Michael Jackson's life -- needless to say, you're tired of it.
hi, yes, it is i... tati... anywayssss enjoy this guys 💋 ! and also for my requestor, i know u asked for hcs but i've had this idea for soo long.. if u still want hcs tho i got u!!!
warnings; heavy drug mentions. heavy angst, some without comfort but ultimately ends with comfort. michael being a stubborn dick😔
Neverland was dead quiet and empty. The maids had long since left for their off-home housing, chefs retired to their chambers the minute they heard their dismissal, and all was well for Michael Jackson in his fairytale dreams.
He was standing atop a large mountain, a grassy hill with plains of flowers sprawling out before him. A beautiful sight, he turns his head to see his lover admiring it too. You're rolled out onto the grass, little weeds littering your hair, and your milky-covered eyes staring over the hills.
He turns his back, seeing what is behind them.
Down below, way down below was a tiny village.
Citizens talked and chattered, passing through the town square like it was New York. He looks to his right, seeing a cozy cottage and a swing set in the front yard.
That's his house. He knows for sure.
His lover looks up at him, your lips curling down.
"Well then, are you going to just stare and sulk or are you going to come down here?" You smile slyly.
He turns away from the townsfolk and back to the rolling plains of what could've been Italy, or maybe even some quiet spot in Spain. "I do apologize, baby. I was just admiring the life we've built for ourselves."
You chuckle and lay on his chest. "I miss it sometimes, y'know?" He hums confusedly. "The heat of L.A and the city life."
He jumps up. As much as Michael loves his little countryside lifestyle, and would hate to leave it behind, theres nothing he hates more than seeing his girl unhappy. "We can be on the first flight back by tomorrow morning." Your eyes widen as she falls off his chest.
"Oomph!" You too, rise onto your elbows. "What? No no Mike, that's not what I meant. I just miss it. But I love our little life here-- our home is here Mike. Our kids, our friends, they're all here. We can't just up and leave."
He quirks a brow. "Are you sure?"
"Positive." So, with your affirmations in mind he lays back down onto the grassy hills of Italy, watching the view from down below.
All was well, Michael was relaxed and his beautiful black curls framed his face as they entangled with grass below. Until it wasn't. The sound of sniffles hits his ears, and he looks down. You're crying.
Oh god! You're crying! His lover was crying! Your face was puffy and red, swollen with dried tears that had been silently pouring until you just couldn't hold it in. "Nonono, you're crying. Why are you crying? Look at me, pretty girl."
You don't budge, and he reaches out to cup your face into his hands. But suddenly, hes no longer touching you. You fall through his chest like hes a ghost and cradle yourself into fetal position.
Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.
"Baby?" He asks, attempting to console you again.
But his hand goes through you, like something straight out of his 1997 music video "Ghosts".
Suddenly he's falling, down down down like Alice in Wonderland. His breath became hard and raspy as he attempted to gasp for air. Finally, he lands down with a hard jerk and shoots up, gasping for breath. Darkness fills his vision but the man doesn't notice, too caught up in his mist of confusion and delirium.
Maybe the drugs are becoming too much.
From his left, the sound of sniffing fills his ears.
Wait a second. It all clicks. Michael rushes out of his delirious frenzy and to the side of his wife.
Shaking you panickedly, his hand doesn't go through you.
"Baby. Wake up. Baby. Baby. Get up. Hello?Helloo?? Can you hear me?"
He sighs miserably. This night had turned into a nightmare.
"Baby." Finally, he shakes you so hard you roll off the bed with a loud scream. He cringed back as the sound of your body hits the ground. You're even more panicked now, open and exposed to the cool bitter air pouring in from you two's balcony.
You had once told Michael you hated sleeping in a stuffy room. So since then, he's never let you sleep without at least a window open. Even in the freezing cold winters.
The darkness wasn't helping either. "Mike?" You ask hoarsely. When he doesn't respond, too busy caught up in his own confusion, you ask again more panicked. "Michael?"
Finally, he snaps out of it, quickly realizing he has to be the strong front in this nightmare situation.
"Baby. It's okay, I'm here." You sob again at the sound of his voice.
He helps you climb into bed, over the pillows and covers that fill your space and make it the comfortable heaven is it. But something catches your eye behind Michael, and it sends you even further into a frenzy.
It's an IV drip, halfway full with a milky warm substance that has no warmth for its users. You gulp and begin to cry again. Michaels confused, his brow quirks up and the wheels in his head begin to turn.
What in the hell could possibly have you so worked up?
The room is quiet with small sniffles and sobs, and thats when he hears it.
Tossing over, be doesn't hesitate to rip the IV cord off his arm and toss it onto his nightstand. You're sniffles slow, down to just small sobs here and there.
Michael envelopes you into his arms, cradling you protectively.
"Michael." You finally croak out.
He shushes you. "Shh, baby, i'm here."
You sobs again. "Yes, but for how much longer?" His heart seems to shatter, and with how quiet it is you must've heard it. It's no secret he was on drugs, if it wasn't the very obvious pill bottles littering the room, it was his ghastly appearance.
Thinning cheeks, not yet thin enough to frame his skeleton but still thin enough to see his sharp and chiseled jawline, his bobbing apple cheeks.
It was only a matter of time before he began to look sickly.
His skinny, slender hands cradle your face, holding you as close to him as physically possible.
You two had talked about the drug usage. In fact, talked about it is an understatement. 'Argued' would be more plausible. It didn't help that both you and Michael were as stubborn as a mule and often clashed during situations like this.
"What I do with my body is absolutely NONE of your concern. This discussion is over." He sayss sharply.
"Not my concern?" You scoff. "Serious? I am your wife. And incase your nitwitted brain can't comprehend that, your business is my business."
"I will not debate this topic with you no more. / hate when women try to tell me what to do. If you don't like it, leave it. But I am who I am and clearly you cant accept that."
Your eyebrows raise at the honesty. And, in any normal circumstances, you would've found it increasingly difficult to hold back your salty tears. But not a single tear even swelled in your eye, you were so angry it was killing you.
"Y'know what? I want a divorce. I'm tired of this Michael. You think you're so high and mighty because you're the Michael Jackson and what you do doesn't affect others but truth is, some nights when you're knocked out on propofol l sneak downstairs and sleep on the couch." Your admission makes his eyes widen in shock. His eyes harden and he almost starts spitting out anything he could to get out of this situation.
You cut him off before he even starts. "You wanna know why? Because most nights, I can't sleep. The V drip runs and runs and the cords tangle into the bed, I can't sleep knowing you're not asleep, you're in a coma. And I'm tired of it."
He shrugs carelessly. In any other circumstance, Michael would be on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness. But drugs? Drugs were the one thing he had. The one thing that could never betray him. He couldn't let that go.
You scoff, bewildered at his carelessness. "You're willing to give away your marriage for drugs?"
"No Michael, you brought this upon yourself. I love you and I will always love you but I cannot live like this. In this house where oxygen tanks litter each room. So y'know what? You wanna use, use! But the least you could do is own that shit! And, new rule, no more wasting my time!
Stop saying you'll quit when you know you'd rather take a bullet to the head than have to be off drugs."
Luckily, the argument ended in a heavy makeout session and Michael being weaned off drugs and sober for 2 years.
2 years of your life where you saw that little Jackson 5 boy back in him. 2 years where you didn't have to sleep on the couch or worry about entanglement in V drip cords.
You stand up, your legs hurting and the ghost of soberity far behind. "I'm leaving." You croak out.
"I can't live like this anymore, Michael. Either you quit or l quit and I take the kids. I'm done. Either you stop or it's over."
He gulps. It's now or never. Luckily for him he's had a change of heart in the past two years.
Michael nods, curls bouncing. "I'll stop. I promise. I want to be better, I want to get sober."
He's serious, you can tell. And, if it wasn't obvious by the deadpan look on his face, it was by the way he turned over, pushed the V drip away from him and knocked all the pill bottles off his nightstand.
"We'll see." You toss over and bring the blankets back over your body. Your breathing slows and you're nulled into the warm embrace of sleep--only this time its full of love and warmth. Before your consciousness slips, you feel a warm arm slip over your hips and plush lips kiss your cheeks.
You two would make it through this. You always did.
@michaelsfavgirl @mj4eva @mjj-nostalgia @stillovrit @angeline-cake
