Welcome Babes!

Hey, I'm Kay! Talk to me! Ask box is always open!!

[kays-current-obsession]

Masterlist

Beneath the Billows: 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

One Shots/Headcannons:

Blood in the Water 

That Would Be Enough

Happy Endings 

Pein 

Hashirama x You x Madara   (2)

Falling For The Enemy 

Frozen Happiness    (2)   Alt Ending 

Orochimaru 

Finals 

Madara as a Father 

Sharingan Shenanigans:

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4 

Episode 5

Episode 6

Episode 7

Episode 8

Episode 9

Episode 10

Episode 11

Episode 12

Episode 13

Episode  14 

Episode 15

Episode 16

Episode 17

Episode 18

Episode 19

Episode 20

Episode 21

Episode 22

Filler Episode 1

Filler Episode 2

Valentine’s Day Episode 

Crack-Fic

[iceemochaa]

𝘉𝖺𝘣𝘆 𝘉𝗲 𝝡𝗂𝗇𝗲

Michael Jackson x girl next door!Reader

Review ・・ Michael has a crush on his next door neighbor. ⠀ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Sound Check・・ Deep thanks to my pookies @confetti-cakemix and @vampgothicz for enabling me to write this! I said I would never write a rpf but the Michael movie has been on my mind and his music is currently being injected into my brain. ⠀ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎Credits・・ General audience! Fluff. Light teasing. First kiss. Post Off the wall/ Pre thriller! MJ Era. not proof read , I am free. wc. 3k

Disclaimer ‼ I’m basing this on Jafaar's performance of Michael. That means his personality is taken straight from the movies portrayal! This is all purely fictional. Thank You .ᐟ

It wasn't often that Michael had people over to his house. Sure, he had Managers and musicians come and go. The mailman and other various company movers ride through, but he doesn't ever remember a time when somebody so normal, someone whose main task wasn't to appeal to the Jacksons, came through here.

Michael didn't have friends, not human at least. He had Bubbles, Louie, Muscles— but none of them was a girl— a human girl— who was currently sitting in the stables of Louie's pen. Waiting for Michael to introduce another one of his exotic friends. 

You waited patiently, eyes filled with sparkle, cheeks blooming with warmth. You came over, your first time, usually only conversing through the cracks of the walls or by mail due to the massive amounts of fans outside of his gates.

It happened by coincidence, a mistake that turned into a blessing of sorts. 

You had packages delivered to his front door, a mishap by the mailman, but you didn't seem to mind it too much. You simply found the perfect opportunity to catch him while he was leaving from his recording studio, calling for someone to answer because you've been trying to get past the gates all week. 

He heard, remembering that Latoya had mentioned that there were a few packages that weren't meant for the Jacksons a few days ago and he followed the tune of your shouts. 

After another helpless call, he answered. 

"I think we have your packages," he said, your voice immediately stopping. 

He heard silence for a while, the breeze brushing through the trees. "Um, Hello?" He said. The sun was slowly making its way down to introduce the night. He was getting cold, and he had a meeting to get to in the morning. 

He thought you left, but you spoke up. 

"Y-Yes! I'm sorry, I've been doing this every day, I thought I started to hear things!" 

He chuckled lowly, finding it all amusing. "Sorry, the front gates are always guarded, but I can have someone deliver it to you tomorrow."

"Oh, that would be perfect! Thank you!" 

It wasn't the last time he got your packages, occasionally getting them every few weeks. But it was all cleared when he had the mailman return them. 

"Do you really read through all of this mail?" Latoya gasped, opening a red envelope with decorated hearts. "There are so many, it'll be next year by the time you finish." 

"I don't mind, it makes me feel important to people when they take the time to write to me." 

He picked up a white envelope, his eyes immediately drawn to the last name. 

He's seen that name before, on the wrong packages often delivered to his front step.

He opened it, turning away from Latoya who was still in awe of the thousands of letters scattered around on his floor. 

He finally got your name— a pretty name at that. Handwriting that was cursive and bubbly, penmanship you don't see often decorated the paper. 

You thanked him. A few sentences written about how grateful you were that even with the mishap, he didn't mind sending the packages back. You also mentioned how you were amazed at the fact that you could see a giraffe from your bedroom window sometimes, a sight you don't see often but felt delighted by it. 

"I would love to see one up close the same way you do. But maybe when I'm much older and can travel the world on my own, perhaps I will. Thank you once again!" 

And that was it. 

He probably read the letter ten times before he realized that for the first time, you didn't want to see him as everybody else did— hoping they could get something out of him like a picture or an autograph— but you didn't mention any of it. You simply stated that you wanted to see his animals. 

Not him. 

His animals. 

And that is what started his deep infatuation with you. 

He wrote a letter back in the dead of night. The Pen scratching off certain words, frustration hitting through him, and then he was crumpling the paper once more, a fresh sheet already settled under his hand. It's been an hour, the fifth paper so far, and he tried his best to make sure the letter was perfect. It's easier sending a fax to businessmen about his ideas and new musical ideas regarding his career and the next album of his life, but sending a letter to somebody so… regular felt like the hardest thing in the world. 

And sending it out was even harder. 

But it happened. 

And he kicked himself for it. 

When he got his fan mail in two large bags, the only thing he wanted to read was yours. 

The dial rings once before the line is picked up, the receiver immediately placed against his ear. You greet him first, voice trembling. “Oh! H-Hello? Im S-Sorry, is this the Jackson’s residence?” 

“Depends." Michael was lying on his back, the cord stretching from his night stand. “Missing a package again?”

"Michael? Oh goodness, I thought I got the wrong number. I thought that, maybe you were pranking me or something—"

That was a few days ago. 

"Why would I give you a fake number?"

"Why wouldn't you?" 

There's some hidden underlying fact in your words, like this wasn't the first time you've gotten somebodies number and it was fake. But Michael wasn't like that. He was kind and genuine— he liked having someone to talk to, even if they were animals sometimes. 

"No, this is real. My own personal number."

"O-Oh, I see." 

It went quiet on the other line. 

"I hope I'm not bothering you, I know it's late but you said if I needed anybody to talk to you… you were always free—"

"Did I say that?" He sounded dead serious. 

"Huh? I think so? Wait— I'm pretty sure?" You gasped in distraught. "Oh my gosh, did I read that wrong? I'm so sorry, I-I thought the letter —"

Michael laughed behind the line. "I'm joking with you."

“Hey! Come on, don’t be a tease!" you whined. 

He found comfort like this, something he only truly found in his family centric circle— besides Joe. 

"So, what's the matter?"

He heard you shuffling, the line going quiet. 

"I um…needed to hear someone other then my parents… I guess?"

Michael sat up, the tension hardening. "What's wrong with your parents?"

"They think it's okay to control your life," you sighed. "I understand, respect your parents, blah, blah, blah— but I have dreams too you know? I wanna be an actor! Or maybe a journalist? I'm not sure yet, but I'm working it out."

He could relate to that. All of his life has been controlled by Joe. Singing, dancing, shows, music— all of it. His last album was probably the first time he's felt free and the thought of making another one gave him hope but that heavy presence has never left. 

"I get it. I have issues with my parents too." 

The connection sparkled. 

You both talked for hours afterwards, bubbles sleeping besides him, curled up against his side. You talked about more of your dreams, thoughts you had of the world and he listened. 

Eventually it turned into him listing off exotic animals he liked and planned on inviting to his home. He was on number 47, the list already bizarre as it was. 

"— and If I could own a panda, I could have free cuddly hugs every minute of the day." 

"Panda… elephant… koala…" you said in anstonishment. "Gee, what are you going to say next? A snake?"

"No, I wouldn't say that."

"Thank goodness—"

"I already own a snake. His name is Muscles." 

Another slew of chuckles shot through him at how silent you had gotten. "Are you surprised? I mean, do you think that's…" his laughter died, jaw setting tightly. He didn't want to say that word, he hated using that word, but he wouldn't be surprised if you used it. "—That's … not like…weird…to you?" 

"Weird?" You started, voice shooting up an octave in offense. 

"Y-Yeah, I mean, some people say it's weird. My brothers think so, and Joesph—"

"Oh Michael—" He thought he heard an angel on the other line. "—that's not weird at all. If anything, it makes you more interesting. Not a lot of people care about animals." 

He chewed his bottom lip. "If you want— I mean, only if you want, you can say no if you want too. But… You can come over— I mean, visit. I can show you what I have so far."

"You mean that?" 

"Yes. How about tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow is no good—" He kicked himself for asking. "— the day after is perfect though. If you still want me?" 

He jumped from the bed and bubbles snorted in annoyance but went back to sleep. "Yes! yes, of course. I'll have Bill come for you."

"Who's that?"

"He's my body guard, but I trust him like a father."

"Okay." 

Michael got the excited jitters, pumping his fist. 

"The day after tomorrow then?" You asked. 

"The day after tomorrow then," he repeated back, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. 

"Goodnight Michael."

The line cut, and Michael felt like he was on cloud nine. 

You came over, just as he hoped, and he immediately showed you his home. The pool, the garden, his room. Nobody was home but the maids, his brothers and father were off somewhere he didn't care to know. All that mattered was that he got the house to himself so that he could show you around without questions following. 

You were amazed at his room, the collections of toys and posters he had almost made your eyes pop. You asked about his endless figurines of the Disney character Peter Pan and he gave you the simplest answer. 

"He's me." 

You didn't make a face in disgust, but you did ask a question. 

"Can you fly too?"

He laughed at that. "I'm working on it. If we can land on the moon, it's not far off that a man could fly too." 

You introduced you to Bubbles first and while you were scared to get close— holding onto his hand and shaking like an earth quake— you told him that it was very kind of him to rescue a chimpanzee. Muscles on the other hand you refused to go in the room. 

He's never laughed so much in his life. 

Louie made you calmer. Finding that he was cute and cuddly. And the famous giraffe you often saw outside of your window made the time spent perfect. 

You had to go of course, but the late night call was filled with joy. 

After that, the calls only kept coming. When he was away, far off while traveling with his brothers, he would send letters to your home in hopes that you would send back. It made him feel special in some way, knowing that somebody cared more about who he was then just the musical aspects of his character. 

Whenever you felt down, expressing concern about life and your parents exhausting expectations, he would sneak you over to his house and play twisters in his room. 

The maids saw you enough, but they didn't say anything. 

And he was thankful for that. 

But Bill, his bodyguard and trusted friend had a whole lot to say with a sharp raise of his brows and that light smirk on his face. 

"She's your girlfriend now?"

Michael would dodge the question with another question. "So men can't have female friends?" 

Bill didn't push for more, but he knew deep down that as long as Michael was happy, that's all that mattered. 

"I wonder what he's thinking?"

You were sitting besides him, arms stretched out to pet Louie's head, a small grin adorning your face.

He's known you for a year and your friendship still felt new. Like always, you snuck over, played one of his many board games, and he talked about the stress he had over his upcoming album. So, you suggested that some fresh air could do him good. 

Here you were, dangerously close, while showing one of his friends love that he so desperately wanted himself. He believed this was his chance to confess his deepest desire. He chewed the inside of his lips, formed the words in his head, and let it go. 

"I think…" He took a deep breath, eyes scanning your face for your next reaction. You were petting Louie's head, comepletly enamored by him— a girl unlike anybody he's ever seen. "I…um, I think he likes you," He finally said, his breath leaving seconds after. 

Your eyes slowly found his, attention drawn, your hands slowing down but still acknowledging Louie. "Really?" You questioned, lips curling into a grin. "How'd you know that?" 

He gulped, suddenly put on the spot. "He told me."

"Told you?" You titled your head, cheeks puffing with your grin. "Who Louie?" 

If this was anybody else, they would have laughed in his face. Called him insane, maybe delusional— in need of more time with humans and less time with animals— but you didn't do either. 

You stared at him in wonder, your attention all on him. 

Michael cleared his throat, "Y-Yeah, when they like someone, t-they make this small humming noise— sometimes you can tell by the ears. It's down, relaxed— he likes you. A lot." And he probably shouldn't have stumbled on his words so much, painfully obvious, but thankfully you didn't seem to catch it. 

"Oh wow, you sure know a whole lot about llamas." you drew your attention back to Louie. 

He could finally catch his breath. 

"I should probably leave soon. Your family might be back any minute now." 

He didn't want you to leave. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Your probably a very busy man. Don't need to cut your time to spend it with me."

And that was the problem, he wanted to spend it with you. 

He needed an excuse to get you to stay longer. "Wait— can I show you something?"

"Show me what?" You looked at him questionably. 

"I've been working on something but I need input."

"You want my input?" You looked down in thought, "I mean, sure, but I'm not that very good at criticizing things." 

"Don't worry, I don't bite." 

You shoved him with your elbow lightly. "Please, I'm more scared of the snake." 

"Then let's go." He stood up abruptly, dusting off his pants. "It's only a few steps away from here—" 

Michael's jaw almost dropped. 

You were leaning forward, placing a kiss against Louie's cheek, a goodbye filled with love. Michael wasn't often jealous, but standing here, now, watching you show affection for someone other than him filled him with jealousy beyond comprehension. 

"Goodbye Louie." You petted his head once again and stood up. 

Michael swallowed around a lump. 

"Where is it again?" You questioned.

The studio felt warmer than before. Inches away from you once again but this time it was in his most vulnerable field. 

He finished playing a few of his demos, the ones Quincy gave his stamp of approval. You listened and bobbed your head, side eyeing him at particular high ending sections of the songs with a amazement on your face. 

"These were really good," you smiled, "I particularly like Starlight, although I'm a little confused on the meaning." 

"It's upbeat— something to get the crowd moving." 

"Sure,but—" you tapped your chin, "I feel like it's missing something." 

He wrote something down on paper, a few words taken straight from your mouth. 

Good but missing something

He placed his pen down, turning towards you. "The album isn't done yet, but I'm hoping it becomes the biggest album ever. Still working through some other songs, a title for the album, promotional pictures— other tedious things that you probably don't want to hear."

"I don't mind," you looked over at him. "I like when your like this— happy. You get so hyper about music, I can't help but be hypnotized." 

Michael begin to sweat, his face suddenly warm. "You do?"

"We're alike, you and me. Although I'm not a Super Star like you," you laughed. "I can barely handle cleaning my room and your here mixing instruments and doing tours." 

"T-That makes sense." 

A knock on the door startled you both. 

Bill came in, tapping his watch. "You family will be back soon, time to go." 

Michael screamed internally. 

"Guess I'll see you later?" You titled your head, rubbing a hand over his arm. 

"I-I guess so." 

You both couldn't break eye contact even if you tried. 

"Can I do something real quick?" You asked, catching Michael off guard. 

"Sure—" 

He wasn't sure what this feeling was— if he was going through cardiac arrest or if someone was hitting him with a bat at the chest, but all he knew was that he didn't want that feeling to go away. 

You leaned in, same way you did with Louie and kissed Michael's cheek. Your eyes shut close and your hands resting over his knee. You didn't pull away, even when Bill knocked on the door again. Time fell still. The moment so right that everything was swept away and replaced by your presences only. 

Michael didn't know what to do with himself. 

Finally, you broke away and chuckled to yourself. "See you later Mikey." You stood up and left a very flabbergasted Michael Jackson. 

You opened the door, Bill greeted you and you left with a light skip in your step. 

Bill came in, checking in on Michael. "You alright?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah," he shook the shock from his body, cheeks still warm. "I was going to write down a new song." 

"Ohhh, Okay. Well, if you need me, I'll be out here— " before he turned, he called out. "— and Michael?"

Michael looked at him in question. "Yes?"

Bill pointed to his cheek. "You got a little something there. It's red, like a kiss—"

Michael quickly rubbed his hand over his cheek. "O-Oh okay! I gotta get to work. I'm a very busy man Bill." 

Once Bill left, Michael finally left to his thoughts. He wrote something else under your critique, his face still bloomed with heat. 

Good but missing something 

Title track name — Baby Be Mine

[irlapplehead-deactivated2026051]

Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader

Los Angelos, California — 1983

Michael kept one hand warm against the small of your back as he guided you up the walkway toward the Havenhurst home. But the closer you got to the front door, the tighter your stomach twisted with nerves.

You and Michael have been dating for a couple of months, and tonight was the first time he’d invited you over to meet his family.

“You okay?” he asked softly, glancing down at you.

“Yeah,” you lied.

The pants you’d picked out earlier suddenly felt like the worst decision you could’ve made. They hugged your thighs tightly, and every step only made you more aware of it.

Michael noticed immediately.

His hand tightened gently at your waist as he stopped at the front porch. “Hey,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You avoided his eyes, fidgeting with your hands. “I think I should’ve changed.”

“Why?”

“These pants are… I don’t know,” you said with a nervous laugh.

Michael looked genuinely confused.

“I just don’t like how they look on me.”

A small frown crossed his face. “What’s wrong with them?”

You hesitated before admitting, “I’ve gained too much weight lately.” Your voice came out quieter than before. “My thighs look huge.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then he reached up and gently cupped your face in both hands, making you look at him.

“Baby,” he said softly, “you don’t have to be small to be pretty.”

Your chest tightened instantly. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you fought hard against them, embarrassed by how emotional you suddenly felt.

Michael brushed his thumbs carefully across your cheeks. “I hate hearing you talk about yourself like that.”

You swallowed hard.

He gave you the smallest smile. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“But my legs-”

He shook his head before you could finish. “Are fine."

A few tears slipped down your cheeks, and Michael’s expression softened immediately when he noticed.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured gently, wiping them away with his thumbs.

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you close against his chest.

“There is nothing wrong with your body,” he whispered. “Nothing at all.”

His hands rubbed slowly up and down your arms, attempting to comfort you.

“I love every part of you,” he continued quietly. “Please don't hurt yourself, trying to fit into someone else’s idea of pretty.”

Your throat tightened painfully at his words.

You sniffed quietly and wiped at your face. “Thank you.”

Michael leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled weakly against his chest. “I love you too.”

authors note:: hope i did it justice 😣😣.

this reminded me of that clip from ‘rapping with the jacksons’ where Jermaine (i think) asked michael what he liked about girls and michael said he liked their legs big.

but anyway, enjoy!

[sgecat]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ GIRLFRIEND ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

pairing: michael jackson x prince x fem!reader

era: thriller/80s

summary: It’s always been known that you’re Prince’s lover, his muse, the other half of the 80s’ most talked‑about power couple. But what would they say if they found out you’ve been slipping away behind the scenes… straight into the arms of Prince’s biggest rival?

inspired by: "Girlfriend" by Michael Jackson

content: infidelity, secret relationship, celebrity drama, mild angst, tension, media pressure, mild jealousy

“PRINCE’S GIRLFRIEND IS CHEATING ON HIM WITH POP STAR MICHAEL JACKSON — SOURCES CLAIM ‘THIS ISN’T JUST A ONE-NIGHT STAND.’”

The headline slaps you across the face in its bold and messy letters, splashed across every tabloid in the country before you could even have your morning coffee.

Your name is everywhere, and every journalist now thinks that they've discovered a secret you swore would never see daylight.

Cameras already gathered outside, your phone won't stop ringing, and beneath all that noise

you can still feel the warmth of Michael's hands from last night.

"So this is what we're doing now?"

You look up and see Prince standing in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the hallway lights, completely still. His eyes flick to the tabloid in your hand, to the expression on your face, and the room feels like walls are closing in. God, please say something. One word needs to come out of your mouth — or maybe his — just something.

You open your mouth, but there's no sound. Not an excuse, nor a denial. But the truth is sitting heavy in your chest, and Prince can see it before you say a word.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality that makes your pulse quicken. "Well, tell me this," he says, voice low yet steady, "is any of it true?"

"You know he doesn't have to know," Michael whispers, his voice warm against your neck, and you lie next to him on his couch. His fingers brush over yours as they rest on his bare chest — barely, oh, so gently — but it's enough to send your heartbeat into chaos.

"But, y'know, if we keep this up... he'll find out eventually, Michael."

"That'll only happen if I make it known, baby, just relax."

Prince waits, the silence stretches to the point where your ears start to ring, and you can't bear to look at him. Not because you're ashamed — well, part of you is — but because the second you actually do, it becomes real.

Forget the hotel hallways and dark-tinted cars and the late-night phone calls whispered beneath your soft silk sheets. It'll be real.

"...How long?"

You swallow hard, "I didn't think—"

"How long?" he repeats, his tone sharper this time. It makes you flinch, and as you search for an answer, your mind drifts somewhere else entirely to Michael.

His laugh.

His large hand resting at the small of your back.

His absentminded humming as you laid against his chest like nothing else in the world mattered.

"Uh, I don't know... 7 months?" You didn't mean for it to sound like more of a question rather than a confession. But you hear him let out a slow breath the moment he takes in your response.

"So that's why," he mutters bitterly, his hand waving towards you. "All the damn disappearing. The distance. 's because of him, huh?"

You finally look at him, the guilt panging in your stomach.

"I...I'm sorry— It wasn't supposed to happen—"

He laughs under his breath, yet it's humorless. "Nobody ever plans for this type of shit to happen. But you did it." The silence between you two is interrupted as camera shutters continue exploding beneath your apartment windows.

"You love him?"

Your lips part, the pit in your stomach deepening, but before anything could come out, the phone rings, and both your heads turn toward the sound immediately. Both of you know who's calling.

Ring ring ring

"Go ahead, answer it.'

Your heartbeat pounds violently as you reach over to your dresser, your comforter covering the now forgotten tabloid as it falls from your warm skin. By the time you pick up the receiver, your hands are shaking.

"Hello?"

For a moment, there's only breathing on the other end. Then you hear a soft, yet careful voice, and the second you hear him, your eyes start to sting.

"Baby?"

He can't quite make it out, but the small sniffles heard in his ear pain his heart. His voice lowers immediately. "Hey, now... don't cry."

You bring your knees to your chest, letting your head fall between them in an effort to desperately compose yourself, especially since your boyfriend — ex-boyfriend, you don't even know anymore — is watching the entire thing unfold across the room.

"You saw it?" You whisper.

"Yeah." Michael pauses. "You okay?"

For some reason, he doesn't seem to be upset. There's no panic, no irritation, nothing. Like, his career isn't in jeopardy whatsoever.

I mean, what does the public think about him stealing his musical rival's lover? Is there as much outrage as there is for you? And suddenly, after hours of cameras and accusations, his gentleness nearly tears you apart.

"They found our letters. I think everything's ruined," you admit shakily.

Michael goes quiet for a moment, then says softly,

"No," he says, "not everything."

"Is he with you?"

For some reason, you nod like he can see you through the pink phone you hold in your frail and trembling hands. "Yes. He's right here."

You look up at Prince, his posture straightening when he hears your response.

"Put him on the phone."

"Mike..." you whisper cautiously.

"Please."

You hesitate for another second before slowly holding the receiver out toward Prince. The room feels unbearably silent as he takes it from your hands.

“…Hello?” Prince says evenly. You can’t hear Michael’s response clearly from where you stand, only the low murmur of his voice through the receiver. Prince listens without interrupting at first, his face unreadable, then his expression changes slightly as his eyes narrow.

“What did you say?” Prince turns away a little, pressing the phone closer to his ear. Whatever Michael says next makes him let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“You think this is funny?” Your chest tightens anxiously as your eyes flick between Prince’s tense shoulders and the slightly crumpled tabloid still sitting on your covers. Then he suddenly stills, and he lowers the receiver from his ear just enough to stare at nothing for a moment, realization settling over his features.

“You leaked this? The letters—” he asks flatly. “What?” Prince looks over at you briefly before bringing the phone back to his ear.

“You leaked the story,” he repeats to Michael. This time, Michael’s voice is loud enough for you to barely hear through the receiver.

“Somebody had to tell you.”

Prince stares at the phone like it personally offended him before handing it back to you. His fingers brush yours, but there’s no warmth in them. You don’t even have time to breathe before Michael’s voice fills your ear again.

“Baby… you okay?”

And God, the way he says it — all soft like. It breaks you down further because he always talks to you like that.

Like you’re a person, not a headline. Not a trophy. Not a rumor waiting to happen. And you think that's the distinguishing difference between them.

Prince loved you publicly. Michael loved you gently.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Everything’s a mess right now.”

Michael hums a little, the same way he always does when he’s thinking. You can picture him perfectly — sitting forward, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve something he already knows the answer to.

“It’s only a mess cause it’s out in the open now,” he says. “But it'll get better. You've been feeling this way for a while anyway.”

You close your eyes. Because he’s right, and he’s the only one who ever noticed.

Prince loved the version of you that fit beside him — the model. The one who smiled for the cameras. The one who didn’t complain when he disappeared into the studio for days, and expected you to be waiting when he came back.

Michael loved you — the human. The one that existed when the world wasn’t looking. The tired you. The insecure you. The you who didn’t always know what she was doing half of the time.

He never made you feel silly for crying. He never made you feel dramatic for needing reassurance. He never made you feel like you had to earn his softness.

With Prince, you were part of this extravagant show that aligned with his persona. With Michael, you were someone worth slowing down for.

“Why did you leak it?” you ask quietly, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

Michael hesitates, trying to choose his words carefully.

“Because I’m tired of being the secret you run to when you're tired of pretending in front of him.”

Your throat tightens. Prince shifts across the room, arms crossed, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, and somehow that hurts even more.

“You deserve to be with someone who sees you,” Michael continues. “Not just someone who sees what you look like standing next to him.”

You don’t realize you’re crying again until a tear hits your knee.

Prince looks away.

Michael waits.

And for the first time, you feel the truth settle in your chest

You didn’t fall for Michael because he was Prince’s rival. You fell for him because he made you feel like you weren’t living your life on mute.

“Baby?” Michael says softly.

“Yeah," you whisper. "I’m here.”

[kays-current-obsession]

YESSSSSSS!!!! YESSSSSSS!!

[mshoneylover]

Me patiently waiting for a load of Jaafar and Michael fics to drop since my obsession is back

[niteskysx]

So who’s gonna redirect me to the Michael Jackson fanfics 😭😭😮‍💨🙏

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[kays-current-obsession]

MOOD BOARD

Plug!Satoru Gojo refuses to see you in anything other than blue.

[gumy-shark]

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

[kays-current-obsession]

Okay so I had this thought right?

Imagine you being Gojo Satoru’s wife and the wedding pic you post to your socials has the caption -

“Can’t touch me like Gojo, look good in all my photos.”

[beebunss]

pretty good looking family if u ask me

[orochiposting]

“I can fix him dw” [drill sounds] {screaming} [chainsaw revving]

[kays-current-obsession]

Iykyk

[rainbow-taishi]

Sensei crossover

[kays-current-obsession]

Beneath the Billows

Deep within the streets of Kings Landing there lives a young woman. She leads a very ordinary, mundane life and is quite content with it. That is until she meets the Rogue Prince and gets entangled with political affairs, love affairs, family drama and dragons.

You lay on your bed, the sweet whispers of sleep just barely upon your body when you hear loud footsteps and screaming outside your door. Startled by the uncommon commotion you scramble to your feet, yanking the bed side candle from the table. 

Peering out the window you see crowds of people scattering as the clanks of what you can only make to be armor comes closer.

Keep reading

[slytherincursebreaker]

it was suppose to be her first dragon ride but her Nothern mother forbid it.

Aegon and Heleana’s children

[kays-current-obsession]

So close yet so far away

[kays-current-obsession]

Beneath the Billows

Chapter 4

A lot of time has passed since your abrupt departure from Kings Landing in the middle of the night. You hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Lady Keyn or anyone for that matter, and every night you lay awake wondering if she was okay, if she had enough wood for her fires to keep her warm. You vividly remember throwing a bit tantrum when you were awoken by the guards and Daemon. A fit suited for an ill-tempered child, a fit that Daemon had quickly shut that down with a single look.

Keep reading

[kays-current-obsession]

STOOOPP IT!!!

WAIT WHAAAAT?!?

I’m apart of the cool kids club now?!

Firstly, I would like to thank you all for supporting me and reading my stories.

Secondly, I’d like to thank my sleep scenarios for helping me conjure up these fics 😂

Thank you boo @em-likes-to-lurk ❤️❤️