A BLACK GIRL RUNS THIS BLOG BITCH

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@stargirladdy
A BLACK GIRL RUNS THIS BLOG BITCH
Q&A đ„» JAAFAR JACKSON
synopsis:a simple q&a with your boyfriend, jaafar, spirals into chaos when the two of you spend the entire video exposing, arguing with, and laughing at each other instead of answering questions.
á”!á” đđĄđȘđđ âč đđĄđđđ youtuber.áđ§đđđđđ§ âč jaafar
How i be reading smut wth a straight face in bed
A BOYFRIEND?
àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ Michael Jackson 80s x Female!Reader
Warnings àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ: Jealousy, Michael sneaking into readerâs room. Not much else?
Summary àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ: After Michael sneaks into your bed, you accidentally rejects him in your sleep by claiming you have a boyfriend. Once a jealous and hurt Michael wakes you for an explanation, you reassures him it was just a dream and ask him to stay.
Tags àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ: Fluff, Jealousy, Possessiveness,
The halls of Hayvenhurst were never truly silent. Even at three in the morning. There was the distant, rhythmic ticking of grandfather clocks, the faint rustle of the wind through the valley trees, and the occasional, soft vocalisation from the birds in the backyard.
Inside his private suite, Michael was wide awake. Michael found that sleep was the one thing he couldnât command. He paced the length of his bedroom. He felt restless, buzzing energy beneath his skin. A deep, gnawing loneliness that fame only seemed to sharpen.
But tonight, the loneliness was tempered by a secret knowledge, you were only a few doors away.
You had been his closest friend for years, the one person who didnât look at him like a monument. When things got loud, you were the quiet. When the world felt fake, you were the truth. Tonight, after a long evening of watching old Disney movies and eating popcorn on the floor. He had insisted you stay over. The drive back to your apartment was too long, and the hour was too late.
In reality, he just didnât want you to leave.
He stopped his pacing in front of the door that connected his wing to the guest rooms. His heart gave a strange, fluttering thump against his ribs. Michael was a man of often intense, overwhelming emotions, and right now, that pull toward your room was like gravity. He wanted to talk more. He wanted to hear you laugh. He wanted to feel the simple, human comfort of being around someone who actually knew him.
His fingers trembled slightly at he turned the brass handle. The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow of recessed lights. He watched where he stepped, careful not to step on the creaking floorboards.
He lightly pushed your door open an inch, wincing when it creaked.
The room was bathed in the silver-blue light of the California moon, filtering through heavy drapes. He could see the silhouette of your form beneath the thick duvet. The rhythm of your breathing was slow and peaceful that instantly gave him a sense of calm.
He crossed the room, eyes adjusting to the dark. He watched the way your hair was fanned across the white pillowcase beneath your head. The soft curve of your shoulder visible where the blanket had slipped.
Carefully, with precision, he lifted the edge of the duvet. He slid into the bed beside you, the mattress dipping beneath his frame.
âY/N?â He whispered, he had done this so many times, but he had always asked for permission just to be safe not to cross your boundaries.
You stirred. A small, soft groan escaped your lips. He expected you to realise it was him, and offer that sleepy, lopsided smile that he was dangerously obsessed with.
Instead your hand moved.
With the slow, movements of someone deep in the throes of a dream, you brought your hand up, pressing it firmly against his chest. It wasnât a violent shove, but it was firm.
âMmm⊠no,â you murmured, your voice thick and gravelly with sleep. âYou canât⊠stop.â
Michael blinked, a small, playful smile forming on his lips. âItâs just me,â he whispered, leaning closer, thinking you were just confused by the darkness.
But your next words hit him like a bucket of ice water, freezing the blood in his veins.
âYou canât do this,â you mumbled, your eyes still tightly shut, your head turning away from him on the pillow. âI⊠I have a boyfriend. I told youâŠâ
The silence that followed was deafening.
Michael didnât move, he didnât even breathe. He felt a sharp, stinging sensation at the back of his throat, the warmth that had filled his chest moments ago evaporated.
A boyfriend?
The words looped in his brain, each repetition louder and harsher than the last. He searched his memory, frantic and desperate. You hadnât mentioned a boyfriend. Not today. Not last week. Not in the months you had both spent inseparable. You went to dinners with him, sat in a studio for hours with him, you were the one he called at 2am.
How could there be someone else?
Michael pulled away a little, his back becoming as stiff as a board. His eyes wide as he stared at your sleeping vanilla. The jealousy was immediate, a green, jagged thing that clawed at his insides.
Who was he?
He started running through a list of everyone you know. That photographer from vogue? The guy that works at that art gallery you like?
The thought of you with someone else, laughing at their jokes, holding their hand, sleeping in their bed, mad Michaelâs stomach twist in a knot of pure misery. He felt a sudden, childish urge to wake you up and demand an explanation. He wanted to shake you and ask, why? Why had you kept this a secret?
But Michael was nothing if not controlled. He sat there in the dark, his jaw tight, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of hurt and rising possessiveness. He looked at the door, thinking he should leave. Go back to his room, lock the door, and never come out.
But he couldnât leave. He was anchored to the spot by a need to know more.
âWho?â He whispered, his voice trembling with a rare edge of sharpness. âY/N, who is it?â
You shifted again, your brows furrowing in your sleep. You didnât answer the question. Instead you pulled the blanket tighter around you, retreating further into sleep.
He stayed there for what felt like hours, a silent sentinel of resentment. Every time you let out a soft sigh, a new jab of jealousy stabbed through him. Thatâs why she was on the phone for so long on Tuesday, he thought to himself. Thatâs why she didnât want to stay late on Friday.
He imagined you whispering the same soft words of affection to a faceless man that you usually only reserved for him.
Not able to take it anymore. He reached out and shook your shoulder. âWake up.â
You gasped, your eyes snapping open. The room was dark, but you could see the silhouette of a figure hovering over you.
âMichael?â You croaked, squinting. âWhat⊠whatâs wrong?â
âWho is he?â Michael demanded. His voice uncharacteristically sharp.
You blinked rubbing your eyes, trying to process the sight of Michael sitting on the edge of your bed at three in the morning looking like he was about to cry. âWho is who? What happened?â
âA boyfriend?â He snapped. âYou just told me. You told me not to because you have a boyfriend?â
You stared at him, completely bewildered. The fog of sleep was still thick in your brain. âI⊠what? Michael, I donât have a boyfriend. What are you talking about?â
You sat up, the realisation finally hitting you. You remembered the heavy sensation of a dream. Something about being at a crowded party, someone being too pushy, a faceless stranger trying to grab your arm.
âMichael," you said softly, reaching out for his hand. He flinched slightly but didn't pull away. "I was dreaming. I was literally half asleep. I didn't even know it was you."
Michael stared at you, quietly contemplating. Hesitating before speaking again, âare you sure?â
âYes,â you insisted, leaning closer so you could see his face. "Michael, look at me. When do I have time for a boyfriend? Iâm always with you. If I had a boyfriend, donât you think youâd be the first person to know? Or, more likely, the person Iâd be complaining to about him?"
His expression was a mix of hurt and desperate hope. âYou arenât just saying that because Iâm upset?â
"I am 100% sure that I am single, lonely, and currently being interrogated in the middle of the night," you said, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips. "It was a dream, Mike. A weird, nonsensical dream where some guy was bothering me. In real life, if you crawl into my bed, Iâm not exactly going to complain."
The tension in his shoulders melted away, let out a deep long sigh. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.
âYou scared me.â He murmured.
âJealousy doesnât suit you.â You teased gently, running your fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck.
He let out a weak, sheepish laugh. âI donât like secrets. Especially not from you.â
âNo secrets, I promise.â You said. You felt him relax completely, his weight leaning more heavily against you. âSince youâve already ruined my sleep and accused me of leading a double life, the least you can do is stay.â
Michael lifted his head, his eyes searching yours. âYou want me to stay?â
You lay back down, pulling the duvet up, and opened your arms in an invitation. Michael didnât hesitate. He slid back under the covers, laying beside you he tucked his head under your chin, his breathing finally evening into a slow steady rhythm.
"I don't have a boyfriend, Michael," you whispered one last time reassuring him.
"Good," he mumbled, his voice thick with returning sleep. "Because he wouldn't know how to take care of you anyway."
You smiled, closing your eyes and pulling him closer. Outside, the owls hooted in the trees, but inside the room, everything was finally still.
Tag list: @darkgreengrl
Goofy and Michael
ââŽïžËïœĄâ
ᎥᎠáŽÊᎠáŽÊᎠᎥáŽÊÊᎠ, '85
| MICHAEL JACKSON |
oooooh baby this fit
soldier boy x reader
The TV hums low in the background, some black and white film crackling through the speakers. You're half watching it, half watching him.
Ben sits sprawled across the couch like he owns the place because in his mind, he probably does. One arm is thrown over the backrest, the other lazily holding a manhattan. His boots are still on, scuffing your coffee table like it personally offended him.
"You're not even paying attention," you say, nudging his leg with your foot. He doesn't look at you at first, just takes a slow sip. "I've seen this one."
"You've seen every one," you shoot back. That earns a glance, not unkind, but brief and sharp. "Yeah, cuz they don't make 'em right anymore."
You roll your eyes, shifting closer anyway. It's instinct at this point, gravitating toward him like there's an invisible pull. He notices, he always notices, but instead of calling it out, his arm drops from the back of the couch and lands around your shoulders like it belongs there. No comment. No acknowledgement. Just there. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest. The fabric of his shirt is rough, it smells faintly like smoke and something clean underneath. His heartbeat is steady. For a while, neither of you say anything. That's your kind of thing.
At some point, you reach for the bowl of snacks on the table, only for him to intercept your hand halfway.
"The hell are you doing?"
"Eating?" you say like it's obvious. He scoffs, already grabbing the bowl and holding it out properly this time. "You were about to spill it."
"I was not-"
"You were," he cuts in, firm, like it's not even up for debate. You take the bowl anyway, muttering under your breath. "Control freak."
"Damn right." But his grip lingers just a second longer when he hands it over, thumb brushing against your fingers. It's small. Easy to miss. But you don't.
The film shifts into some dramatic scene: soldiers yelling and explosions. You can feel him tense slightly under you, like his body remembers things his mouth never talks about. You tilt your head up.
"You okay?"
He huffs almost as if the question itself annoys him. "'m fine."
"Uh-huh."
A pause. Then quieter, gruffer. "Seen worse."
You don't push, you've learned when not to. Instead, you just settle back down, your hand absentmindedly resting against his side. After a second, his fingers tap once against your arm, almost unsure, before they still. For him, that's practically a speech.
Later, when the film ends and the credits start rolling, you're half asleep against him.
"Hey," he mutters. You hum, barely awake.
"C'mon. Go to bed." You don't move. "'M comfortable."
There's a beat of silence. Then a quiet exhale, half annoyance, half something softer. "Yeah. I know."
The next thing you register is movement. It's sudden but careful. One arm slides under your knees, the other behind your back, and before you can protest, you're being lifted. Your eyes crack open. "You don't have to-"
"Yeah, I did," he says, already walking down the hall. "You'd sleep here all night and then complain your neck hurts."
"That's never happened."
"It has. Twice."
You don't argue. Mostly because you're too tired but also because there's something about this, something about him, that makes it hard to. He sets you down on the bed with surprising gentleness, like you're fragile.
You expect him to leave. That's usually how it goes: him retreating back to the couch, to the TV, to whatever space feels less... this. But tonight, he doesn't. He lingers.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him. "You staying?"
He shrugs, looking anywhere but you. "Don't make a thing out of it."
A small smile tugs on your lips. "Wasn't going to."
Another pause. Then he sits down on the edge of the bed, his solid presence sinking into the mattress. After a second, he lies back beside you, one arm coming up to rest behind his head. You shift closer without thinking. He doesn't comment, but his other arm moves, wrapping around you, pulling you in just a little tighter.
"Don't get used to it," he mutters. You hum softly, settling against him. "Too late."
For a second, you think he might argue. Instead, his grip tightens just slightly, his chin dipping to rest against the top of your head.
"...Yeah," he says quieter. "Figures."
And for once, he doesn't pull away.
âË â§ âââââ±ââ°ââââ â§ âË
im a sucker for soft soldier boy
àł đŽđ°đđ„đȘđŠđł đŁđ°đș đ©đŠđąđ„đ€đąđŻđŻđ°đŻđŽÂ
Secretly loves when you show him new outfits you got (especially if itâs lacy.)Â
Grumbles his way through sephora with you but lets you use him as your personal swatch page.
Keeps his hair longish due to you saying you like it, stops using pomade in it.Â
Very very overprotective.Â
Smells like tobacco, whiskey, old spice, and cannabis.Â
Stays up all night watching tv classics while you sleep.Â
àŒËâđïœĄ BRACEâFACE ( mike wheeler đ fem!reader )
<33# daphyâs note: i have a confession im such a sucker for mini mike x mini reader⊠like s2 mike is literally my baby son i love writing cute little fics about him. so this is homage to 13 year old me who saw s2 mike wheeler and felt her entire world shift⊠this is a short one!! just a cute little idea ive had for years lol also can yall tell ive never had braces (i was supposed to get them in middle school but my mom kept putting it off lmao)
<33# warnings/content: no use of y/n, takes place during s2 (snowball episode), mike and reader are so so awkward and cute and stupid, braces!mike is real to me btw!! even tho finnâs teeth are perfect, i want to make sure everyone knows that the âtaking your relationship to the next levelâ bit is literally just them kissing briefly, since theyre minors and literal small baby children here i wouldnât even fathom writing anything explicit in this!! the most they do is kiss once lmao
<33# w.c: 3.5k
<33# IN WHICH, The winter before high school, you and Mike both have the misfortune of getting braces. After Mike builds up the courage to ask you to the snowball, they become a problem when you want to take your relationship to the next level.
âđ CAN BARELY EVEN TALK, LET ALONE EAT,â Your muffled voice flowed out of Mikeâs telephone. He could barely make out what you were trying to say due to your swollen and painful mouth.
âMy mom has me on a liquid diet. Iâd rather have all my teeth pulled out than deal with this.â Mike complained, drinking more of his room temperature water.
Since you could remember, you and Mike did everything together. Your birthdays were three days apart, so you always ended up having joint birthday parties in your backyard or Mikeâs basement. You guys always did paired Halloween costumes: Princess Leia and Han Solo, George Harrison and Patti Boyd, Princess Zelda and Link.
You and Mike were so codependent, for better or for worse, you guys even got braces at the same time.
Brand New illustration for The Brand New Dayâš
WE ARE SO BACK. #myhubby
I love you and your nose Michael insert middle name Wheeler
I LOVE MY TEAM
The unfinished puzzle
â Mean!mike wheeler x reader
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who argues with you over the smallest things just to see that annoyed look on your face, smirking when you cross your arms because he knows heâs winning.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who snaps back before thinking, words quick and biting, then spends the next hour replaying the look on your face and hating himself for it.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who says âyouâre unbelievableâ under his breath when you do something stupid, but makes sure heâs right there anyway, just in case.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who uses logic like a weapon, picking apart your words just to win, even when he knows youâre right.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠whose comebacks disappear the second you look genuinely upset, instantly switching from smug to worried without even realizing it.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who insists heâs not jealous, then proceeds to roast anyone who gets too friendly with you.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who rolls his eyes whenever youâre being dramatic, but the second someone else does it, heâs already stepping in, voice sharp. âBack off.â
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who calls you distracting when you talk too much, yet somehow knows every single detail you mentioned later.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who gets cruel when heâs jealous short answers, sharp looks, jaw clenched every time someone laughs a little too hard at your jokes.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who snaps back before thinking, words quick and biting, then spends the next hour replaying the look on your face and hating himself for it.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who scoffs when you say youâre hurt, muttering âyouâre being sensitive,â but lies awake later replaying every word he said.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who snaps at you in front of everyone, then refuses to meet your eyes for the rest of the night because he knows he went too far.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who tells you he doesnât need anyone, then immediately seeks you out the second things go wrong.
MEAN!MIKE ⊠who never softens his words, but softens his actions walking you home, waiting for you, making sure youâre okay without ever askin
ST5.03 Mike Wheeler