jexify

AS IF YOU DIDN’T READ SMUT ALL YEAR ROUND, YOU WHOREEEEEE

“oh awesome! What books do you read?”

Talokan and K'uk'ulkan‘s most trusted warriors.

I finally watched Wakanda Forever and (predictably) loved Talokan and these precious idiots. I just know Namora and Attuma grew up rivals and ended up as the best warriors. Attuma being so much taller than Namora is so great bc of how she bosses him around and he just complies kajshdkaj I loveeeeee

(I really love that they keep their skin color in the water, it’s genius that they were true to the comics with the blue skin but only when they’re out of their world)

Summary: Baelor accidentally calls his new wife (aka his brother's daughter) the wrong name during an intimate moment and now he must beg for his lady wife's forgiveness. Will it be granted to him?

Baelor Targaryen x Targwife!reader

cw: MDNI 18+ NSFW, Swearing, afab!reader, angst with no comfort, p in v smut with plot, (only in the beginning) use of female pronouns and y/n, implied age gap, (20's and early 40's) typical targcest, reader is maekar's daughter. reader has targ features (only the purple eyes are mentioned) open-ended ending.

a/n: This is just a quick lil story I wanted to write so I really doubt it's any good. I am severely disappointed in HoTD season 3 so I'm just pretending it doesn't exist ok bye hope you guys like it.

the jackson chronicles: part i (good f—cking journalism)

contents page

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ michael jackson x spouse! reader

summary ⋆ after surviving hours of painfully repetitive interview questions, you finally come back to life when somebody asks about your cats instead of your marriage.

content ⋆ mild language, suggestive, discussions of fame / public scrutiny, not proof-read

author's note ⋆ i had a lot of these little ideas for cute scenarios with michael floating around my head but they were never long enough to justify a full one-shot so i thought making a little series for me to just write them down would be nice! please lmk if you guys like this format and if i should continue it or if i should go back to full fics T-T also they serve as good buffer uploads as i work through my requests which are coming!

the interview rooms had begun melting together somewhere around hour four. by this point, every reporter sounded exactly the same to you.

what’s it like being married to michael jackson?

how do you handle public attention while married to michael jackson?

are the rumours of you being married to michael jackson true?

what’s the secret to your relationship with michael jackson — and so on and so forth, to the point where the name michael jackson had started sounding like complete gibberish.

you had answered so many repetitive questions throughout the day that your brain was beginning to meld into one giant, useless glob. the overhead studio lights felt approximately one degree away from being an actual human rights violation; somewhere between being trapped inside a toaster oven and standing directly on the surface of the sun.

honestly, the only thing stopping you from snapping at these so-called journalists outright was the fact that michael was there to witness your increasingly visible descent into interview fatigue. at the very least, it made the entire mind-numbing experience slightly more bearable. half-hidden beside one of the producers, your husband looked entirely too entertained by the whole thing.

PART ONE: reader is in the music/acting industry in which she's assigned a role in acting in the one and only, michael jackson's music video for "You Rock My World."

warnings: none but FLUFF. also not proof-read at alllll.

wc: 1.5K | part two + part three

a/n: my first piece of work ever! this is def a part one to something that could be more. please let me know if you want more/what you think!!!!

AUGUST 2001

lights, camera, action.

you were on set for what seemed like a long time, but your complaints weren’t spoken out loud. you were fortunate to be able to be a part of something so special, for a very special person. 

you were currently in the stage of your career where while you were loved and recognized by many for your talents, you knew that you needed your name more out there. your manager, whom you loved very much, knew this well enough that after pulling some strings, she got you to be a part of a short film for a music video of a “special someone.” 

while you didn’t ask no questions, you couldn’t help but feel the nerves in your stomach as you and your manager rode in silence down the streets of Los Angeles, California. you had plenty of questions of course, but you chose to keep silent. you trusted your manager enough to know she’d never put you in an uncomfortable situation of any sorts. 

after some time of driving, you come to a stop. you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and turn to your manager. “do i look okay?” 

“y/n, you look amazing. believe in yourself, okay? listen, you deserve to be here as much as these other big names, even bigger than yours,” your manager reassures you. you nod and give her a smile as the car door is opened by a man in his thirties. 

“follow me,” he directed, and you both followed orderly. you looked around, and noticed that the set was very much like a movie. you were shocked, who could afford a budget so high like this? typically, recording companies loan you money to even afford to participate in something like this. keeping the thought in your head, you continue following the man until you come inside a building. there was sound all around. people constantly talking, clothes everything being adjusted, and even music playing the back. 

the environment was a little overstimulating, but you took a breath and smiled as the man wrote down some things on his clipboard. “they’ll be with you in just a sec, okay? hold tight.” you gave a small nod and continued to look around. you were about to say something to your manager before a phone call interrupts her. 

“be right back, y/n. look around if you wish, get comfortable. you’ll be here for some time.” i huff a nervous breath and start walking around, careful not to bump into anyone. i find a beautiful blue dress that catches my attention. looking around, i softly feel the material. it was a beautiful shade of blue with a silky matieral that was perfectly stiched to highlight the curves of whoever was wearing the dress. 

you started to smile, and were picturing yourself in the dress before a voice catches your attention. “do you like it?” 

you turn to look, and it takes every single cell in your body to stop you from fainting. “it’s very beautiful, yes.” 

“good. because that’ll be the dress you’ll be wearing. unless, you don’t really like it and would like something else to be comfortable in?” he says, giving you a small smile. you shake your head and subconsicously lower it, but how could you resist? 

“i’ll be wearing that?” he tilts his head, and you ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you find the move attractive. hey, it’s been a while. 

“sorry, it’s just, i wasn’t told what this project would be about. my manager tried to suprise me, and i can see why. you’re michael jackson. and i haven’t introduced myself… i”m-“ 

“i know who you are, that’s why i asked for you.” you are taken aback. he knows who you are? 

“you know who i am?” you softly ask, shocked at his response. with all his status in the world, you’d think he’d only listen to the greats or his collaborators, not some smaller artist who’s trying to go big. 

“of course i do, y/n. i’m a fan of your music, and your acting. i mean, not everybody carries the talent to be able to do both. you know, one of my sisters has your record in her bedroom. she’d be so mad at me if i didn’t get an autograph for her, if you don’t mind.” michael says, playfully shoving his shoulder into you as you laugh and smile. 

“thank you. that means a lot, especially coming from you.” you’re about to say more before a young man approaches you two.

“mike, i see you’ve met ms. y/n, vice versa. you two will be having lots of chemistry together, so continue to keep this going. listen, i’m meeting some folks for the equipment, but i’ll be back later this evening for some notes. your homework is to get to know each other, and stay close. seriously. mike, your yearning has to show a lot in this video.” we both give him a small and nod and wave as he walks off with some people behind him asking him questions. 

“is he the director?” michael nods, and tucks his hair behind his ear. 

“well, we heard the man. we have homework. want to take a walk around set?” michael asks, and i nod. he grabs my hand and i look down. he looks at me, and i look up. i give him a smile and look away, blushing. i pretend not to notice his smirk as we walk outside the building and down the blocked street of the studio. 

“so, tell me about yourself, y/n. what got you into making music?” michael asks, and i sigh.

“it’s honestly more depressing when i say it out loud. when i was young, i used to struggle making friendships. i used to be the weird kid who couldn’t form a word without feeling anxious or like i messed up. so i would write all those feelings down, and eventually found myself creating music. i started to only use my voice to sing, and eventually, i was pushed to release a song. i didn’t think anyone would listen, but eventually, i started to become known. my manager found me, signed me on a decent record label, and now i’m here. i’ve been acting for some time now, trying to expand my talents.” i didn’t realize i’d been talking for some time until i looked around and realized we were at the other end of the studio, where there was nobody around. i look at michael, and try to find the emotion behind his look. 

“sorry, you were probably looking for some other reason, not some sob story.” i nervously say as i bite my lip. i cross my arms over my chest and concentrate on my shoes. 

“that isn’t a sob story, girl, it’s your foundation, what made you. and that matters. i’m sorry you went through that, truly. every child deserves to live a life full of play, laughter, and companionship.” i nod and notice the sadness behind his eyes as he comforts me. 

“what’s your favorite part about making music?” i ask. i didn’t want to ask him the same question he asked me. while reading tabloids isn’t the best thing in the world, everyone in the world knew about how and why the infamous michael jackson got into making music. the thought of him being coerced into an act he wasn’t in favor of angered me, but i pushed down the feeling. 

“connecting with the fans around the world. i’ve been to different places around this world, and seeing the faces of the people in the crowds as they sing along to my music is something so special. music changes the world every day, and i’m very blessed to be able to be a special part of those people’s lives.” as michael talks, i can’t help but notice his features that make him so trusting. the way his eyes light up as he talks about his fans, the way his smile reaches his eyes. i feel the butterflies swarm up as i listen. 

“i’ve never heard anyone in our industry describe music that way, and i truly do agree with that. i mean, i don’t know where i’d be with my fans.” 

“you’d still be here. you’ve achieved so much because of your beautiful voice and talent, y/n. give yourself credit, girl.” michael softly says as he smiles at me. i nod and lick my lips, tucking my hands into my jeans. 

Unfinished/Scrapped Snippet: Being Michael’s wife you always thought he loved you for you. You weren’t materialistic, you never dressed up, you kept to yourself and the whole package. You never thought your husband would think you were ugly?!?!

A/N: HI AGAIN!! This is an idea I had. It was supposed to touch bases on Body Dysmorphia, eating disorders, trauma responses, not wanting to be perceived or anything but I never finished this. Here is a snippet from it.

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The Shrine Auditorium pulsed with 1988 glamour: bright lights, camera flashes popping like fireworks, the low hum of excited chatter everywhere. Michael Jackson sat alone near the front in his crisp clothes, curls perfect, trying to look unbothered. He had come by himself on purpose. Told his wife the red carpet would be too chaotic, that she’d rather stay back at the hotel in her comfy sweater and those big glasses she always wore.

The real reason burned quiet in his chest: he was embarrassed to be seen with her tonight.

Everyone around him made sure he felt it. His manager kept texting reminders about “maintaining the right image.” The label whispered that the King of Pop needed a wife who matched the fantasy. His friends laughed behind his back, calling her the ugly duckling. His brothers showed up with their glamorous wives, flaunting them like trophies. Even Katherine adored her! She thought she was the perfect, sweet woman for him, but to everyone else it was always the same question: Is she really Michael Jackson’s wife?

She wasn’t materialistic. She didn’t chase designer everything or feel like she had to be a 10 every second. She just wore what felt good—loose auntie clothes, covered up, practical flats, those thick glasses. She was genuinely cool, a real sweetheart who loved Michael with her whole entire heart and believed he’d love her right back for who she was. But lately he’d started wondering too… he could’ve sworn she was more beautiful than this. He hated that he cared, but the pressure was loud.

So tonight he planned to ignore the empty seat beside him and just focus on the awards.

Then the whole room shifted.

A woman walked in and heads turned hard. Cameras went wild, flashing nonstop. She was a straight-up hot ass baddie skin glowing like warm gold under the lights, long wavy hair cascading down her back in shiny waves. People were already murmuring, wondering if it was a wig or her real hair. Her eyes were striking: smoldering, siren almond-shaped, deep color and pulling everyone in. Her body was toned and shimmering, hips that swayed just right in a skin-tight black dress that hugged every curve. Hoops swung from her ears, layered necklaces rested on her chest, rings on her fingers (a wedding band glinting if you looked close). Glamorous makeup made her face pop, and she had a brown fur coat draped over her shoulders because it was chilly outside. She wasn’t extra! She was bad.

She walked straight down the aisle and slid into the empty seat right beside Michael—the one reserved for his wife.

At that exact moment the Eddie Murphy’s voice rang out: “And the winner for Favorite Soul/R&B Male Artist… Michael Jackson!”

He stood up smoothly, not even glancing at the stunning woman who had just sat down next to him. No turn, no smile, no offered hand. He just started walking toward the stage, focused straight ahead, ignoring everything else.

Behind him, soft and disappointed, came the sigh.

That exact little sigh his wife always gave when he’d upset her and she was trying not to show how much it hurt. The same one he knew by heart.

But his wife wasn’t here… right?

He kept walking up the steps. Only when he reached the podium, took the trophy, and finally turned around to face the cheering crowd did he see her. She was standing right there on stage behind him.

Michael jumped back hard, eyes wide with shock and confusion. “Who—?!” His first frantic thought screamed crazy fan!!!! She must have snuck past security somehow.

He looked desperately at Eddie Murphy, who was hosting and now staring back at him with the same bewildered expression, mic still in hand. No one in the room recognized this woman.

She stepped closer, calm and graceful, and reached out to take Michael’s hand the way a wife naturally would.

He snatched his hand back fast, perfect ironed sleeve creasing. “Security!” A guard moved in quickly, tapping her on the shoulder.

“Ma’am, you need to come with me—”

She turned her head slightly, voice clear enough for the stage mics to pick up. “Um… I’m his wife.”

The entire auditorium went dead silent for a heartbeat. Then pure chaos erupted. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Cameras zoomed in tight. People at home were probably yelling at their TVs. This glowing, glamorous vision was his wife? The same woman everyone had been shading for years?

She looked straight at Michael, those eyes soft and genuinely hurt. “Do you really not recognize me?”

That voice.

That sad, quiet tone right on the edge of tears…the one that always hit him deep because he knew he’d caused it.

Michael froze. He still didn’t fully recognize the face—the hair, the makeup, the dress, but he knew that voice. It was her. His wife. The sweetheart who loved him with everything she had.

The room was losing its mind. Women who’d secretly hoped to become Mrs. Jackson looked crushed, their dreams shattering—“How are we supposed to compete with that?!” Men muttered under their breath, pissed—“Fuck, she’s hot as hell… and he’s had her the whole time?!” His brothers in the front row stared at their own wives like they needed to step their game up ASAP.

Eddie Murphy jumped right in, leaning into the mic with that signature grin, making everything worse. “Hold up, hold up! Wait a minute! Wait. A. Minute!~ Mike! You been hiding this at home? I thought you married the ugly duckling! See, this is why you gotta give the quiet girls a chance! One day she’s ugly, next day she’s a bad mama jama!”

Laughter and shocked whispers filled the auditorium.

She flinched just a little at the words. She turned back to Michael, voice small and cracking, carried clearly by the live microphones. “You thought I was ugly…?”

Michael stood there on stage, trophy heavy in his hand, national television broadcasting every second. His mind went blank. He was on live TV. Everyone was watching. He was still shocked this beautiful woman was actually his wife. And worst of all, he felt a sharp twist of guilt. He’d been lowkey embarrassed of her, listening to the label and his friends and his own stupid doubts instead of just loving the cool, sweet person she was.

He had no idea what to say. No smooth line, no quick damage control. How do you fix this with your own wife when the whole world is watching? Because the truth is: YES!!!! A THOUSAND TIMES YES BABY!! I THOUGHT YOU WERE UGLY!!!! You can’t just go everyday in sweats, auntie clothes, hair not done, nails not done, no effort, being a low maintenance to every man’s dream girl the next day!! Michael has never felt the way he has other than right now. He wanted to die. He’s a man! A MAN! It’s in his system to be simple and see only appearance and not personality. To think with his dick and not his heart. He feels stupid. Katherine raised him better than this and even now he’s putting all her hardwork in the oven to burn.

The only thing he could manage was to turn back to the microphone, voice quieter and shakier than it had been in years. “Thank you… for this award. To the fans, to God… I, uh… I need to get back to my seat now.”