Reverie - Michael Jackson Imagines

Aperitif ✨

Dangerous Era

Trigger Warning: This imagine contains depictions of heavy drinking and addiction. If you are sensitive to this topic, please read with discretion. 

Ocean waves splashed against the Malibu sands, a mixture of gin and lime juice mimicked the ocean's motion from the cocktail glass pressed firmly against your lips.

The shrimp stuffed avocado you'd ordered sat cold and deoxidizing, instead, you nibbled on the garnished lime, choosing to ignore the chatter and clinking forks from the other side of the table.

"Another gimlet, Mrs. Jackson?"

The young, floppy-haired waiter peered down at you and could feel your husband's penetrating gaze on you, waiting on the edge of his seat for your response.

He was testing you.

"What kind of question is that?" You smile sweetly. "Keep 'em coming and do be generous on the gin this time,"

Michael's arched brows raise in a challenging manner as his bushy-browed third-wheeling companion pokes around her shrimp cocktail.

"Aht! Make it vodka,"

The waiter walks away with a nod and you notice Michael's handsome face settling into a deep frown.

You'd failed his test.

When your very famous husband had decided to surprise you with a flight out to Malibu for a beachfront dinner, you hadn't been informed that you'd be joined by his good friend, Brooke Shields.

You once loved getting glammed up and going out as Mrs. King of Pop. Dinners and outings with his friends and associates were not an uncommon occurrence but could sometimes serve as tense and boring.

After six years of marriage, you still hadn't quite adjusted to all of Michael's famous friends and the reaction to his fame.

When the two of you married, you'd been a nobody. A regular everyday girl living a real-life Cinderella story.

You were young and starry-eyed, head over heels in love with Michael and totally unprepared for the duties that came with being his wife. Red carpet events, award shows, dinners and tours, salacious gossip, and hateful rumours-Michael made it seem so effortless.

The world of fame seemed so appealing from the outside but no matter how much happiness Michael had brought you, it proved to be nothing but an empty glasshouse.

The constant public attention and media scrutiny was too much sometimes. The only way you knew how to cope with your polarizing feelings was with a couple of drinks under your belt.

The Y/N Jackson of the public was all smoke and mirrors. Spirits made you lively and interesting, talkative and gregarious yet easy-going and glamorous- the life of the party at Grammys dinners and benefit galas.

All your anxieties ceased to exist and you felt invincible.

Your husband didn't approve of your drinking. Having a tipsy wife on his arm for award shows wasn't exactly a part of the Michael Jackson monarch. He was the king and you were his queen. You were supposed to behave like one at all times.

But even queens needed to let their hair down sometimes.

"I love your earrings, Y/N," Brooke speaks. "Emeralds are my birthstone,"

It was the first time that night she'd directed conversation at you after spending most of the time running her mouth to Michael about her new film while you nursed your gimlets.