pretty girl ave

[phia-writes]

phia - 20 - U.S. - college student - pinterest enthusiast - 70s music lover - history nerd - disney adult

currently obsessed with: jaafar jackson (… and michael…)

most recent fics:

babyface

kiss in the kitchen

nonchalant

masterlist

my inbox is always open!! feel free to swing by and yap or send in a request if you have one <3

[phia-writes]

age gap jaafar where reader isn’t used to being with a MAN

like she’s used to pulling out her own chair, splitting a bill, opening doors for herself etc because of the boys her age she’s been with and it’s just jaafar being a (overprotective) gentleman 😫😫😫😫😫

nonchalant

Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 2k

on your first date, Jaafar blows your mind by treating you with princess treatment. he's baffled by your dating horror stories, and is a gentleman through and through - you realize you're finally dating a MAN

When you and Jaafar first got together, you’d been totally unprepared for the way he treats you, it practically knocked you off your feet. And it’s not like this is the first relationship you’ve been in, you’ve gone on plenty of dates and had a few relationships that lasted for a handful of months while in high school and college, but nothing had felt like this. 

No one had treated you so sweetly, so kindly, as if you were someone worthy of the purest form of affection. From the moment you met, Jaafar has been a gentleman, through and through. A friend of a friend had invited you to a party, and Jaafar had been taking acting classes with a different friend of the host’s. So your paths crossed, and you were smitten almost immediately.

It would have been harder to resist the near magnetic pull you felt towards him the first second you laid eyes on him, to not spend the whole night staring in his direction. He was almost unfairly attractive, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen by far. Jaafar caught on quickly, felt your gaze on him from across the room and it made him feel shy in ways he’s never known.

Building up his courage, trying to come up with an opening line that wasn’t cheesy or lame, Jaafar eventually made his way over to where you stood in a corner, talking with some friends away from the rest of the room.

“Want a drink?” He offers, extending his hand out to you. For a split second, you hesitate, bowled over by just how perfect he looked up close. But then you slot your hand into his, and it was like the last two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place.

He pulls you away from the crowds, takes you somewhere quiet. Jaafar can’t remember the last time he’s been to a house party like this, all loud and packed and full of alcohol. He also can’t remember ever feeling the way he feels about you.

After spending the whole night talking, you exchange numbers and make a plan to meet up again, for a real date. You practically squeal when you see his text asking you out, feeling like a kid again with your first crush, almost vibrating with excitement and anticipation. You can’t remember the last time anyone asked you out like this, wanting to take you out for a nice meal instead of bringing you back to a dingy apartment.

But Jaafar makes a reservation at a nice restaurant, requests a table in a quieter section so the two of you can talk. He spends far too long agonizing over his outfit choices, changing his clothes three times before he has to leave. Even just the thought embarrasses him, feeling so overwhelmed at a simple dinner date, but there’s something different about you.

When he tells you he’s on his way, that he’ll meet you at your front door, you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from grinning as you stare down at your phone. You don’t think, with the exception of prom while you were in high school, that a date’s ever come to your doorway like this.

You’re grateful for his heads up, scurrying around to make sure everything you can see from the front door looks clean and organized. Your bedroom is another story, looking as if a tornado has ripped through your wardrobe with the amount of clothes thrown around. You feel out of practice, like you’ve never been asked out before, because when you think about it, you really haven’t, at least not at this caliber.

Sure, you’ve gone on dates and had relationships that lasted a few months, but no one’s ever treated you like this. You’re already amazed, and he hasn’t even picked you up yet. The last date you’d gone on, you’d gotten an Uber and your date had shown up ten minutes late looking like he’d rolled out of bed. 

It had almost been enough to make you swear off dating, but then you’d met Jaafar at that party.

Meeting you at the door, flowers in hand, Jaafar’s speechless when he sees you. You look ethereal, and it makes him feel a little better knowing that second guessing his outfit no less than a thousand times paid off. At the end of the day, he just wanted you to feel like you were cared for, that he was doing everything in his power to make sure you know how he feels about you.

Taking the flowers when he offers them to you, you’re grateful for the excuse to look for a vase so you can grin to yourself like a crazy person. Racking your brain, you can’t think of the last time a boy brought you flowers. You set them up in some water and place them on the kitchen table, where they’ll catch the light and you can admire them all day long.

Now, though, there’s something more important for you to admire. You spend almost the entire drive ogling Jaafar, letting your eyes rove across his face as he focuses on the road. He doesn’t say anything about it, but he can feel you staring, and it makes his chest feel all warm, makes his heart thud against his rib cage.

He feels nervous in ways he can’t explain, because all he wants to do is make a good first impression. Really, what he wants is for you to agree to a second date, and then a third, and then forever, but it all starts with the first date.

Deep down, though, he’s not treating you any differently than he’d treat any other date. He’s been raised to open doors and bring flowers and pull out chairs, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Sure, he’s bringing his absolute a-game because it’s you, but he’s simply treating you like a gentleman because that’s what you deserve.

To him, it feels like the bare minimum, but it’s rocking your entire world.

After he parks, he gets out of the car and makes his way to the passenger side. You open the door before he can get there, though, and you smile self-consciously when he huffs out a laugh.

“I woulda gotten that,” he says it like it’s obvious as you slide out of the car, shutting the door behind you. Because to him, it is obvious, to open your door for you and help you from the car, because that’s what any gentleman would do.

“Oh,” you respond, absolutely shocked at the notion of a date opening the car door for you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he grins, reaching for your hand, “it just means I have to be quicker next time.”

Just like that, you’re at ease again as you walk the few blocks towards the restaurant. It’s the perfect summer evening, sunny and breezy and warm, and the two of you get so wrapped up in your conversation that you’re a little surprised when you realize you’ve already made it to your destination. Jaafar steps around you and pulls the door open, and the gesture makes your heart flutter.

Jaafar catches the way you smile, and the sight fills him with pride and a little tinge of sadness because it’s obvious that no one’s ever treated you this way and to him, it’s like second nature. Jaafar vows to change that for you, to always make sure you know exactly how much he cares for you, how much he respects you, because it’s the least he can do.

He’d give you the world if he could, but for now he settles for opening doors and pulling out chairs, bringing you flowers and learning your go-to drink orders.

The two of you get shown to your table, and Jaafar makes sure to pull your chair out for you. That same smile blooms on your face, a little shy and self-conscious and so full of affection, he just has to smile back.

It makes him think, as you look over the menu, about how you’ve clearly never been treated right. He knows he’s a few years older than the people you usually date, but it’s not as if he’s recently learned manners, recently figured out how to treat someone when you ask them out. It absolutely baffles him that this is all so new to you, when you should have been treated like this from the very beginning.

As you scan over the prices on the menu, you’re reminded of the times where your date has asked you to split the bill unexpectedly at the end of the date, after being the one to ask you out in the first place. You know that Jaafar would never do that to you. You’re sure that even if this was the worst date of all time, even though it’s already far surpassed any date you’ve ever been on, he’d still pay the bill and drive you home and say you look lovely, because that’s just the kind of person he is.

Over the course of the evening, the two of you relax, finding that steady, comfortable rhythm you’d both noticed when you first met. It seems like suddenly, you’ve known each other for years, and you don’t think you’ve ever had such an instant connection with someone before. He makes you laugh, he truly listens when you talk, and he looks at you like you’re something worthy of being admired. 

Any apprehension that had been pressed into you by memories of the failed dates of your past evaporates, and you end up ordering dessert. Unable to make up your mind, Jaafar orders one of each that you’d been torn between and you split them, and it’s such a sweet, simple gesture it makes you feel a little bit nauseous with affection.

With the plates spread out between you, the two of you start trading your dating horror stories, all of the failures and awkward moments you can never seem to forget. Really, before now, you could never seem to escape from those dates, but you have a feeling you’ll never go through those experiences again.

“It’s happened to me, like four or five times,” you say, using your spoon to scoop up more of the whipped cream on the plate. Across from you, Jaafar chokes on his drink in his shock. He coughs a few times and sets his glass down, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You’ve split the bill four or five times?” He asks through his coughing, still trying to regain his composure, his sense of equilibrium. The thought of anyone having to split the bill on a date after being the one to get asked out, especially when it’s you, is absolutely unbelievable to him. You could have ordered everything on the menu, and he would have happily paid for it, because that’s the treatment that you deserve.

“Mhm,” you nod, sticking the spoon in your mouth, “and once, I got coffee with this guy and I forgot my wallet.”

Jaafar nods, taking a sip of water. You wait until he’s set the glass back down, certain what you say next would cause another coughing fit.

“He paid, and then sent me a Venmo request for eight dollars.” You were right with your guess, and you can read Jaafar’s shock on his face, plain as day. His mouth dropped open momentarily, before its replaced with a smile at the sound of your laughter, which floats around the two of you like music notes in a cartoon love story.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says adamantly, reaching for your hands across the table. A shiver of delight races down your spine when your fingers touch.

“Wanna hear the worst part?” You ask with a grin, eyes flitting between your interlocked fingers and Jaafar’s face in the warm, low lighting of the restaurant.

“That wasn’t the worst part?”

“My coffee only cost seven-fifty.”

Jaafar squeezes his hand around yours, and another peal of laughter bursts from you. He wants to bottle up that sound, wants to memorize it and play it over and over again. He could never get sick of that noise, could never get sick of you. Even after only a few weeks of knowing each other, even after a single date, he knows it’s the truth.

And sitting across from him, being treated like you’re something precious, someone worth love and attention and respect, you know it too.

this dynamic is so so so fun omgggg thank you for this request i absolutely loved writing it!! feel free to send in more age gap jaafar requests they're my fav right now for sure <3

tags: @111-honey @doe-eyedtenshi @sometranslationnoteru @melaninjoys @wittypathsecret @szalipcombo @delictezz @laceybouvier @humannaturess @heartstofiiveunknownn

[phia-writes]

age gap jaafar where reader isn’t used to being with a MAN

like she’s used to pulling out her own chair, splitting a bill, opening doors for herself etc because of the boys her age she’s been with and it’s just jaafar being a (overprotective) gentleman 😫😫😫😫😫

nonchalant

Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 2k

on your first date, Jaafar blows your mind by treating you with princess treatment. he's baffled by your dating horror stories, and is a gentleman through and through - you realize you're finally dating a MAN

When you and Jaafar first got together, you’d been totally unprepared for the way he treats you, it practically knocked you off your feet. And it’s not like this is the first relationship you’ve been in, you’ve gone on plenty of dates and had a few relationships that lasted for a handful of months while in high school and college, but nothing had felt like this. 

No one had treated you so sweetly, so kindly, as if you were someone worthy of the purest form of affection. From the moment you met, Jaafar has been a gentleman, through and through. A friend of a friend had invited you to a party, and Jaafar had been taking acting classes with a different friend of the host’s. So your paths crossed, and you were smitten almost immediately.

It would have been harder to resist the near magnetic pull you felt towards him the first second you laid eyes on him, to not spend the whole night staring in his direction. He was almost unfairly attractive, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen by far. Jaafar caught on quickly, felt your gaze on him from across the room and it made him feel shy in ways he’s never known.

Building up his courage, trying to come up with an opening line that wasn’t cheesy or lame, Jaafar eventually made his way over to where you stood in a corner, talking with some friends away from the rest of the room.

“Want a drink?” He offers, extending his hand out to you. For a split second, you hesitate, bowled over by just how perfect he looked up close. But then you slot your hand into his, and it was like the last two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place.

He pulls you away from the crowds, takes you somewhere quiet. Jaafar can’t remember the last time he’s been to a house party like this, all loud and packed and full of alcohol. He also can’t remember ever feeling the way he feels about you.

After spending the whole night talking, you exchange numbers and make a plan to meet up again, for a real date. You practically squeal when you see his text asking you out, feeling like a kid again with your first crush, almost vibrating with excitement and anticipation. You can’t remember the last time anyone asked you out like this, wanting to take you out for a nice meal instead of bringing you back to a dingy apartment.

But Jaafar makes a reservation at a nice restaurant, requests a table in a quieter section so the two of you can talk. He spends far too long agonizing over his outfit choices, changing his clothes three times before he has to leave. Even just the thought embarrasses him, feeling so overwhelmed at a simple dinner date, but there’s something different about you.

When he tells you he’s on his way, that he’ll meet you at your front door, you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from grinning as you stare down at your phone. You don’t think, with the exception of prom while you were in high school, that a date’s ever come to your doorway like this.

You’re grateful for his heads up, scurrying around to make sure everything you can see from the front door looks clean and organized. Your bedroom is another story, looking as if a tornado has ripped through your wardrobe with the amount of clothes thrown around. You feel out of practice, like you’ve never been asked out before, because when you think about it, you really haven’t, at least not at this caliber.

Sure, you’ve gone on dates and had relationships that lasted a few months, but no one’s ever treated you like this. You’re already amazed, and he hasn’t even picked you up yet. The last date you’d gone on, you’d gotten an Uber and your date had shown up ten minutes late looking like he’d rolled out of bed. 

It had almost been enough to make you swear off dating, but then you’d met Jaafar at that party.

Meeting you at the door, flowers in hand, Jaafar’s speechless when he sees you. You look ethereal, and it makes him feel a little better knowing that second guessing his outfit no less than a thousand times paid off. At the end of the day, he just wanted you to feel like you were cared for, that he was doing everything in his power to make sure you know how he feels about you.

Taking the flowers when he offers them to you, you’re grateful for the excuse to look for a vase so you can grin to yourself like a crazy person. Racking your brain, you can’t think of the last time a boy brought you flowers. You set them up in some water and place them on the kitchen table, where they’ll catch the light and you can admire them all day long.

Now, though, there’s something more important for you to admire. You spend almost the entire drive ogling Jaafar, letting your eyes rove across his face as he focuses on the road. He doesn’t say anything about it, but he can feel you staring, and it makes his chest feel all warm, makes his heart thud against his rib cage.

He feels nervous in ways he can’t explain, because all he wants to do is make a good first impression. Really, what he wants is for you to agree to a second date, and then a third, and then forever, but it all starts with the first date.

Deep down, though, he’s not treating you any differently than he’d treat any other date. He’s been raised to open doors and bring flowers and pull out chairs, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Sure, he’s bringing his absolute a-game because it’s you, but he’s simply treating you like a gentleman because that’s what you deserve.

To him, it feels like the bare minimum, but it’s rocking your entire world.

After he parks, he gets out of the car and makes his way to the passenger side. You open the door before he can get there, though, and you smile self-consciously when he huffs out a laugh.

“I woulda gotten that,” he says it like it’s obvious as you slide out of the car, shutting the door behind you. Because to him, it is obvious, to open your door for you and help you from the car, because that’s what any gentleman would do.

“Oh,” you respond, absolutely shocked at the notion of a date opening the car door for you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he grins, reaching for your hand, “it just means I have to be quicker next time.”

Just like that, you’re at ease again as you walk the few blocks towards the restaurant. It’s the perfect summer evening, sunny and breezy and warm, and the two of you get so wrapped up in your conversation that you’re a little surprised when you realize you’ve already made it to your destination. Jaafar steps around you and pulls the door open, and the gesture makes your heart flutter.

Jaafar catches the way you smile, and the sight fills him with pride and a little tinge of sadness because it’s obvious that no one’s ever treated you this way and to him, it’s like second nature. Jaafar vows to change that for you, to always make sure you know exactly how much he cares for you, how much he respects you, because it’s the least he can do.

He’d give you the world if he could, but for now he settles for opening doors and pulling out chairs, bringing you flowers and learning your go-to drink orders.

The two of you get shown to your table, and Jaafar makes sure to pull your chair out for you. That same smile blooms on your face, a little shy and self-conscious and so full of affection, he just has to smile back.

It makes him think, as you look over the menu, about how you’ve clearly never been treated right. He knows he’s a few years older than the people you usually date, but it’s not as if he’s recently learned manners, recently figured out how to treat someone when you ask them out. It absolutely baffles him that this is all so new to you, when you should have been treated like this from the very beginning.

As you scan over the prices on the menu, you’re reminded of the times where your date has asked you to split the bill unexpectedly at the end of the date, after being the one to ask you out in the first place. You know that Jaafar would never do that to you. You’re sure that even if this was the worst date of all time, even though it’s already far surpassed any date you’ve ever been on, he’d still pay the bill and drive you home and say you look lovely, because that’s just the kind of person he is.

Over the course of the evening, the two of you relax, finding that steady, comfortable rhythm you’d both noticed when you first met. It seems like suddenly, you’ve known each other for years, and you don’t think you’ve ever had such an instant connection with someone before. He makes you laugh, he truly listens when you talk, and he looks at you like you’re something worthy of being admired. 

Any apprehension that had been pressed into you by memories of the failed dates of your past evaporates, and you end up ordering dessert. Unable to make up your mind, Jaafar orders one of each that you’d been torn between and you split them, and it’s such a sweet, simple gesture it makes you feel a little bit nauseous with affection.

With the plates spread out between you, the two of you start trading your dating horror stories, all of the failures and awkward moments you can never seem to forget. Really, before now, you could never seem to escape from those dates, but you have a feeling you’ll never go through those experiences again.

“It’s happened to me, like four or five times,” you say, using your spoon to scoop up more of the whipped cream on the plate. Across from you, Jaafar chokes on his drink in his shock. He coughs a few times and sets his glass down, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You’ve split the bill four or five times?” He asks through his coughing, still trying to regain his composure, his sense of equilibrium. The thought of anyone having to split the bill on a date after being the one to get asked out, especially when it’s you, is absolutely unbelievable to him. You could have ordered everything on the menu, and he would have happily paid for it, because that’s the treatment that you deserve.

“Mhm,” you nod, sticking the spoon in your mouth, “and once, I got coffee with this guy and I forgot my wallet.”

Jaafar nods, taking a sip of water. You wait until he’s set the glass back down, certain what you say next would cause another coughing fit.

“He paid, and then sent me a Venmo request for eight dollars.” You were right with your guess, and you can read Jaafar’s shock on his face, plain as day. His mouth dropped open momentarily, before its replaced with a smile at the sound of your laughter, which floats around the two of you like music notes in a cartoon love story.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says adamantly, reaching for your hands across the table. A shiver of delight races down your spine when your fingers touch.

“Wanna hear the worst part?” You ask with a grin, eyes flitting between your interlocked fingers and Jaafar’s face in the warm, low lighting of the restaurant.

“That wasn’t the worst part?”

“My coffee only cost seven-fifty.”

Jaafar squeezes his hand around yours, and another peal of laughter bursts from you. He wants to bottle up that sound, wants to memorize it and play it over and over again. He could never get sick of that noise, could never get sick of you. Even after only a few weeks of knowing each other, even after a single date, he knows it’s the truth.

And sitting across from him, being treated like you’re something precious, someone worth love and attention and respect, you know it too.

this dynamic is so so so fun omgggg thank you for this request i absolutely loved writing it!! feel free to send in more age gap jaafar requests they're my fav right now for sure <3

tags: @111-honey @doe-eyedtenshi @sometranslationnoteru @melaninjoys @wittypathsecret @szalipcombo @delictezz @laceybouvier @humannaturess @heartstofiiveunknownn

[phia-writes]

my friends always manage to make me feel like shit :( like im almost 21 years old and i feel like im 14 again…

[phia-writes]

jaafar would be the absolute best at helping you move i just know it (and no this isn't me procrastinating packing... why would you think that...)

like, regardless of if you were moving into his place or the two of you were moving in together or you were just moving to a different apartment, he's volunteering to help before you even have a chance to ask. and he knows you're overwhelmed with the whole thing, so he goes out and buys boxes and rents a moving van if you need one and just takes care of all those little things so you don't even have to think about it.

he's so careful while helping you pack up, wrapping anything fragile with so much attention and precision because the last thing he wants is something delicate breaking on the way. there are so many photos of the two of you scattered around and whenever he sees one, he just stops and smiles before packing it with even more care.

jaafar absolutely teases you for some of the things you're brining, silly mugs or decor pieces or items of clothing you've had since middle school. he'll hold something up and just raise his eyebrows at you and you laugh immediately before snatching it out of his hands, 'if you're gonna be judgey, you can go.' 'no, no, i just didn't realize i was dating a crazy person, that's all.'

he makes what could have been, and what normally is, an absolutely awful process into something almost enjoyable. and it's not even because you have someone else to share the workload with, even though that's certainly helpful, he's just always so nice to be around. it seems like he's so attuned to you that he knows what you need before you even know yourself. he's there to laugh and joke with you, but he's also able to give you space and just focus on packing if that's what you need.

and he helps you unpack too, even though you tell him he's already been more than helpful. he's there to lug boxes into your new place, carrying things from room to room when you can't decide where to put them or when you forgot to label a certain box. he's just so content spending time with you, it doesn't matter that his back is aching and he's sweating and he's moved the same box to three different spots.

he'll help you set up your decor too, reaching all of the spots on the wall that you can't get to in order to put up posters and picture frames and wall art. he's happy to move your couch into five different positions until you find one you like, and he'll move it again for you to put the rug under. he loves watching as you stare at a blank wall, trying to puzzle out in your head what to put there. you just look so focused, he thinks it's absolutely adorable.

and when he unpacks the pictures of the two of you, he stares at them all over again with such a lovestruck look in his eyes, as if he's not the one who packed them up in the first place.

[phia-writes]

dreams and inner visions

Michael Jackson x fem!reader, 6.1k (idk either guys...)

you've gotten into the habit of going for late night walks around your suburban neighborhood while home from college, and you start an expected friendship with someone who seems vaguely familiar - set pre otw, lots of fluff and yearning and losers in love, little makeout sesh at the end but no real smut

Sometimes, all you crave is quiet. Your house is a constant flurry of movement, a cacophony of voices that never seems to cease. All you want is to turn your brain off for a while, to simply let yourself fall headfirst into a sense of calm. And right now, the only place you can get that is your sleepy suburban neighborhood, long after everyone else has turned in for the night.

You’ve taken to walking along the sidewalks after nightfall, letting the sounds of crickets wash over you as you breathe in the cool air of the summer night. The neighborhood you live in has always felt safe, but you take precautions either way, your keys stuck between your knuckles as you walk.

Sometimes you wish that your family would see you slipping out the front door, would ask where you’re running off to so late at night. The problem with the chaos of your home is that you’re outside of it, often feeling like a stranger within your own family. Tonight, you’d gathered a book and a flashlight beneath your arm and marched to the front door, past where your family was sprawled throughout the living room in front of the TV.

Not one of them took any notice of you.

Growing up, you’d thought that sense of loneliness would leave you eventually. You always told yourself that things would get better, that middle school would be easier, that high school would help you find your people, that college would bring a sense of freedom and clarity. You’d told yourself that you just had to make it to adulthood and things would make sense.

Yet here you were, twenty years old and wandering around your neighborhood late at night just because you can.

You pass by people sometimes, the kids you’d babysat in high school now old enough to be sneaking out to parties or the couple who lives on the corner with the two Golden Retrievers who always need at least four walks a day. You smile and wave, and they continue on their way, sometimes with acknowledgement and sometimes not.

It doesn’t bother you anymore, at least that’s what you’ve managed to convince yourself. You set out on your familiar path, winding through the streetlight-lit suburbs until you reach your favorite bench on the edge of the park, where you can set up with your book and your flashlight until you decide to come home.

You let yourself get so wrapped up in the story that you barely registered the footsteps coming down the sidewalk towards you. Your fingers tighten on the flashlight, feeling confident that it would be heavy enough to use as a weapon if you had to, but also feeling certain that whoever was walking would just pass you by the way everyone else did.

Instead, the footsteps come to a stop, and you’re about to shove your bookmark into your half-read page and spring up when you hear them clear their throat before they speak.

“Isn't it hard to see the words?” The voice asks, and you bring your attention up to the speaker. His voice is soft, and he seems vaguely familiar, but you can’t quite seem to place him.

“That’s what this is for,” you lift the flashlight, the beam shifting from the pages of your book to his shoes on the pavement.

“Oh, that’s smart,” he says appreciatively, shifting his weight back and forth as he stands.

“You can sit, if you want,” you offer, sliding down on the bench to make more room for him. He seems to think about it, hesitating before eventually lowering himself to sit beside you. You think about returning to your book, to simply sitting side by side with the stranger for a moment before finishing your chapter and returning home. Instead, you slide your bookmark in to keep your page and close the cover.

“How come you’re out here reading in the middle of the night?” With the light from a well positioned streetlamp, you can study his face some more. It’s still dark, and without pointing your flashlight in his face and blinding him, your eyes strain. Still, you can make out his features, his wide eyes and the cut of his jaw.

“It’s nice out here,” you say simply, “it’s like I’ve got the whole world to myself.” He hums beside you, taking in your words, and you feel yourself being studied the way you’d been looking at him seconds before.

“I’m Michael,” he introduces himself with a handshake that feels ridiculously formal for the setting, but you slot your hand in his and offer your own name. He repeats it back softly, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

“So why are you out here so late?” You shift towards him as you ask, centering your full attention on him.

“I just like it,” he says with a shrug, as if he never expected to be asked that question, “it’s peaceful, like you said. Helps me clear my head.”

You hum appreciatively, still trying to put your finger on why he looks so familiar. You don’t think you know him, certain you would’ve remembered him if he lived down the block or graduated high school with you. There’s something about him that you can’t quite place, so you give yourself permission to study his face in the moonlight.

Or maybe you’re just searching for an excuse to look at him a little while longer.

The two of you lapse into silence, the only noises coming from the rustling of the trees and the cars bumping over the pavement down the road. You’re searching for something to say, hoping whatever you land on doesn’t make you sound insane or strange, though you’re not sure you have much to worry about given the circumstances.

You’ve always been an overthinker, needing to gather your confidence to speak up as early as kindergarten. Things that came easy for other kids were never simple to you. While you’d always performed well in school, excelling academically and working your way into a good college, you never had many friends.

It just didn’t happen for you, as hard as you used to try. You’d always liked the same things as the other kids in your class, followed the same fads and yearned for the same toys. But it’s like there was some sort of disconnect, and you never managed to hang on to many friends. You had a handful of classmates you’d talk to during school, but never anyone to walk home with or see on the weekends.

Sometimes the weight of your loneliness seemed to crush you, like a boulder on your chest. You’d hoped it would get better with age, but there was still that ache in you. It flared whenever you saw friends walking across campus together, or sitting together on the green or in their apartments. 

Just because you’d told yourself you were used to it doesn’t make it true.

“What’re you reading?” Michael asks, eyes straining to see the cover through the darkness. You’re snapped from your introspection, thrown back into the moment at hand.

“Oh,” your surprise is genuine, “it’s Dune. I read it in middle school, but I don’t think I really understood it.”

You can’t remember the last time anyone asked you a question like that, a question about yourself, and it makes you flare with self-consciousness, fully aware of your body and your breathing and the way you stutter over your words in your shock. Your body warms with a sort of happiness you’ve never known as you trail your thumb back and forth along the worn edge of the spine.

“I’ve never read it,” he comments, and you think it’s mostly for the sake of keeping the conversation going.

“You can borrow it when I’m done, if you want?” You offer, knowing full well that you have no way to give it to him, no way to get in contact with him, no way to speak to him again outside of hoping to bump into him. Still, the second the idea pops into your head, you’re speaking.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He speaks so softly, with a gentle sort of smile that’s enough to make your chest ache. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the steady, almost unthinking movements of your thumb sweeping back and forth across the cover.

A smile flutters across your face, fading as quickly as it appears. It reminds Michael of a butterfly, there in a flash and gone in a blink, but undeniably beautiful, even in the dimness of the night.

“Well, I should probably head back, can’t sit out here forever,” you say with an awkward little laugh, as if you wished you could stay right where you are for the rest of your life.

“Lemme walk you home,” Michael’s already standing before the words fully leave his lips. He extends a hand to you, and you take it without thinking, like touching him is the most natural thing in the world. His hand lingers for a millisecond, but it’s enough to monopolize your thoughts for days.

As you walk through the silent streets, you and Michael talk quietly, sharing little stories and learning more about each other as you go. You’re both guarded, wary, but part of you thinks that maybe the two of you could be friends. Beside you, Michael has the same thought.

This little routine of yours continues on. The two of you cross paths late at night, and you’ll walk side by side or make your way over to your favorite bench, and simply talk for hours. Piece by piece, you learn about each other, anecdotes and stories offered up like gifts.

“Any siblings?” You ask early on, Michael responding with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah,” he says through his grin, “three sisters and five brothers.”

“And where do you fit in?” You have a tendency of keeping yourself in motion, hands constantly fluttering around. It’s something Michael noticed the first time you met, and seeing your fingers twitching with movement now makes him feel relaxed in a way he can’t quite explain.

“Third youngest,” he responds, “what about you?”

“Same for me,” you say, a delightful sort of shock coloring your voice, “I’ve got an older sister, two big brothers, and then two little sisters.”

“Right in the middle, then,” he says, nudging you with his shoulder as you walk. The gesture is playful, and it makes your heart flutter.

You continue to reveal yourselves in little bits, throwaway comments that become entire conversations. You can’t remember the last time someone wanted to get to know you this way, so wholly and completely. Though you’ve never said anything, you’ve always thought of him as your friend, and it comforts you more than you’d ever imagine.

Over time, you tell him about your college experience, that you’re studying literature and spending the summers at home trying to save money, working the same job you’ve had since you started high school and dreading every second of it. You recommend books to him, and he dutifully goes out and reads them, if only so he can bring it up to you later and watch the way your eyes light up.

In return, Michael recommends albums he thinks you’d like, and you go out and spend your tip money on building up your collection. You keep track of your purchases in a little notebook, writing down your favorite tracks on each album, just in case he ever asks for your opinion. He always does, and it always makes you feel a little short of breath.

If he’s not with you, he’s thinking of you. It doesn’t matter if he’s working on music or hunting down a book you mentioned, if he’s laying in bed or eating or rehearsing. He thinks of you always, and it makes him feel like you’re right there when you need him most.

He tells you that he’s a musician, that he works with his brothers, that his days are more packed than he ever would have dreamed as a child. He’s careful not to reveal too much, not wanting you to turn and run or to alter your dynamic in any way. While he feels like he can tell you anything, the honest to god truth about who he is and what he does is a secret he keeps guarded from you. 

It had taken you less than twenty-four hours to realize how you know him, but you’d decided not to bring it up, in fear of shattering the careful friendship you’ve been building night by night.

Eventually, though, Michael trusts you enough to bare his heart to you.

Really, he thinks about you more than he should. So many times he’s found himself daydreaming about you, about what you must be like outside of your nightly walks. He thinks about the way you’d look in the sunlight, how you’d occupy your day. More often than he’d like to admit, he finds his thoughts drifting over to you, wondering what you’re doing at that exact moment.

And so he decides that it’s time to come clean. If he wants any sort of possibility of you seeing each other more often, he knows you need to be told the full truth. A few weeks after he first stumbled across your path, the two of you are sitting at the very same bench and he thinks that it’s as good a time as any.

He feels like his hands are shaking as he sets them on his knees, nervously feeling along the fabric of his pants as you settle onto the bench beside him. For days now, he’s agonized over whether this would ruin everything between you, if this would end the first real friendship he’s had in years. Still, he takes a deep breath and dives in.

“I haven’t been completely truthful with you,” he starts, and you turn in your seat to face him. Your brows are furrowed, confusion written across your face as clear as day, even in the moonlight.

“How do you mean?” You ask, wrapping your arms around your middle as if trying to keep yourself contained, anchoring yourself to your body.

“Well, I told you I make music, which is true,” he adds the last part frantically, desperate for you to understand that he wasn’t lying, at least not entirely, “but there’s more than that.”

Beside him, you seem to deflate with relief.

“I know.” You say, those two simple words simultaneously soothing his nerves and sending his heartrate skyrocketing.

“You know? Know what? How?” His questions come rapid fire as he tries to think back to a time where he might have let something slip or included a detail that would give himself away.

“I don’t live under a rock,” you tell him with a laugh, and he finds himself cracking a smile too, “at first I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t take long for me to puzzle it out.”

“Oh,” he says as relief floods his system, the adrenaline seeping out now that the terrifying moment is over. Michael realizes that you’ve known the whole time. That nothing about how you acted towards him was going to be changed by this revelation, since it wasn’t a revelation at all. 

You really knew him, and you liked him. It was as simple as that.

Apparently, though, it was an evening for confessions. On the bench where it all began, the two of you lapse into deeper topics. It’s not an anomaly, the two of you have talked about everything under the sun and recently have spent most of your time bearing your souls to each other. 

Maybe it’s the darkness that makes you brave, makes you able to say things you normally couldn’t, or maybe it was simply the company.

You keep lapsing into silence, and you’d be a fool to think that Michael wouldn’t notice.

“C’mon, you’ve been quiet all night,” he says, bumping his knee against yours in an attempt to bring your attention back to the moment, to bring you back down to earth. “You tired? Want me to walk you home?”

“No, it’s not that,” you tell him, even as your heart rate picks up at his offer. It’s not unusual for him to walk you home, but it never fails to make you feel seen, looked out for. You have to take a moment to steady yourself, and Michael picks up on it immediately. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that.” Hesitantly, he reaches a hand out and settles in right above your knee. The two of you have rarely touched, and the feeling of his warm, broad palm on your bare skin sends a shiver right through you, despite the balmy air of the summer night.

“I thought it would feel different than this,” you say quietly, scuffing the toe of your shoe along the dirt. Michael tilts his head to look at you, and you go on, “being an adult. I thought it would be better.”

The confession makes Michael’s heart stutter in his chest, makes him ache for you. You’ve said similar things before, revealed your loneliness bit by bit, but your words now feel like a knife through his chest. For as long as he’s known you, he’s thought of you as the most vibrant, lovely person he’s ever met.

You’re funny and gracious and kind, you’re witty and smart and thoughtful, and even though he’s yet to see your face in the sunlight, he knows you're beautiful. You’ve got a monopoly over his thoughts, even though you don’t know it. 

So it kills him that you feel this way, that the pain of being friendless has a crushing hold on you the way it does on him. It’s similar but different to the way he feels, like a mirror reflecting and distorting his loneliness back at him. Though the situation is different, the anguish you feel is the same. 

“It’s really not all it’s chalked up to be, is it?” His hand stays steady on your knee even as he has to control his voice to keep it from wavering. You give a humorless laugh beside him.

“I just always thought I’d have things figured out by now, that everything would make sense. But nothing does.” You turn to him, and he swallows thickly, unsure of what’s coming next. “Except for you.”

You’ve left him speechless for the second time that night. It seems like you’re able to see to the very heart of him, your eyes never leaving his own until you turn your head up to look at the stars instead, the pressure of the moment snapping with that single motion, things returning to their equilibrium.

Michael, though, is still left spinning on his axis.

“Weird, huh?” You continue on, gesturing vaguely into the empty space between you, “All of this. You know everything about me and we barely even see each other.”

It’s not a complaint, simply an observation. You’re more comfortable than you ever could have imagined with this strange, new friendship you’ve forged. Despite all the time you spend in each other’s company, you’ve never done the usual things that friends do, only ever seeing each other once darkness falls. 

There was never any discussion about the way it was going to work, it’s simply what happened. You knew that when you went for your nightly walk, you’d cross paths with Michael, and that was enough for you. Maybe it was strange that you’ve never talked on the phone or gone to the movies together or done any other typical friend things, but it worked for you and that was all that mattered. 

Michael’s head is still reeling as you stand, and he follows suit, walking you home as usual. When he leaves you on the doorstep, he’s struck with an idea that grows and grows as he makes his own way home, until it would be impossible to ignore it. He thinks about it for the rest of the night and the whole morning after, distraction seeping into his every action until he decided to do something about it.

When there’s a knock on your front door in the middle of the afternoon, you ignore it. Your parents are at work, but your siblings who still live at home are all running around, so you’re sure it’s a visitor for one of them. The knocking is persistent, though, and no one seems to be making any movements towards the door.

Sighing, you mark the page in your book and heave yourself off the couch. Swinging the door open, your mouth drops into a surprised ‘o’ as you see who’s waiting on the other side.

“You busy?” Michael asks, rocking back and forth on his feet, nerves flooding his body.

“Michael?” You ask in response, as if you can’t quite believe your eyes, “How’d you know where I live?”

“I’ve been walking you home for weeks now,” he says with an easy smile, even though he can still feel his veins vibrating with anxiety. 

“Yeah, right.” It’s as if seeing him in the daylight has made you unsure of yourself, made every other thought or memory evaporate from your head. “You wanna come in?”

“No, I just came over to stand here on your step,” he teases, and you roll your eyes.

“Oh, you’ve got jokes now?” You retort, and just like that, you’re back on your usual footing, the shock of seeing him beginning to wear off. It’s a novelty to see him in the daylight, and you let your eyes sweep over him from head to toe.

Michael steps insides, dipping down to take off his shoes and when he straightens up, you’re still drinking in the sight of him. His legs look long and lean in their jeans, and you feel your mouth going dry when you focus on his arms, the sleeve of his shirt wrapping tightly around his bicep. You’re so used to seeing him in a half-light that the brightness of the day feels like a gift.

He takes note of your staring, of course he does, and it makes him feel better than it probably should. It feels nice to be so openly wanted, so obviously appreciated, even if you’d never say anything about it. He watches as your eyes rove across his body again, filing away that glint in your eyes to think about later. 

You lead him through the house, trying your hardest not to feel self-conscious about the clutter everywhere, about the clothes you’d thrown on earlier without putting any thought into getting dressed. By your sides, your hands start to tremor, an almost imperceptible shake that Michael notices immediately. 

Before he can say anything, though, before he can calm your nerves with a sweet word, you’re pushing open the door of your bedroom to reveal the figure of a teenage girl lounging on a bottom bunk. Michael hovers behind you as you stare her down, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“Can you leave, Gracie?” You ask, prompting the girl to look up from her magazine. She looks like a younger version of you, the same curve of jaw and sweep of cheekbones, though her eyes are a different color and she’s styled her hair differently. Still, the sibling relation is uncanny, especially when she sets her jaw in response the same way you do when you’re frustrated.

“But I was here first,” she retorts, using expert little sibling knowledge as she makes no move to get off of her bed.

“Yeah, but I’m older,” you counter, crossing the small space to grab hold of her arms and haul her off the mattress yourself. When your hands wrap iron tight around her wrists, she’s quick to scramble up to standing.

“You’ve got a boy in the house,” your sister finally takes note of Michael, standing just outside the threshold of your bedroom, “what’s he doing here?”

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, trying your best to usher her from the room before she can ask any more questions.

“I’ll tell everyone you brought a boy home.” Gracie digs her heels in, crossing her arms across her chest like she’s won. You’re quick to show her differently, and Michael shuffles just inside the door to make room for you.

“Get out.” You plant your hands firmly on the girl’s shoulders, who pushes back against you with the full weight of her body. Luckily for you, she’s still a scrawny kid, and you manage to march her towards the door with minimal problems. “Stay out of my room.”

“It’s my room too,” the teenage girl protests, trying to stick her arms out to keep you from shutting the door.

“Not today it isn’t,” you retort as you lean against the door, hearing it shut with a resounding thud. You’re quick to turn the lock, resting your back against the wood as your sister pounds at the door with her fists. Michael watched the whole exchange with an amused smile, but then you turn your scowl on him, and he can’t help but laugh.

You catch your breath, finally cracking a smile of your own, and Michael takes the chance to finally look around your room, the bunk beds and the single pushed against the walls,eyes drifting over shelves and posters, trophies and trinkets. And then he finally sees the small poster tacked to the wall above the upper bunk, something delicately cut from a magazine, and he’s met with his own smiling face staring back at him.

He turns to you, eyes wide in disbelief, and it’s your turn to break out in laughter.

“How long has that been there?” He asks, eyes flitting back and forth between the poster and your form, doubled over in laughter.

“Oh, a few years now,” you manage to squeak out, and Michael covers his face with his hands, “Gracie’s a big fan.”

That comment earns you a groan, as if this is physically painful for him, but you can’t stop grinning. 

This is how friendship is supposed to feel, you think to yourself. The playful teasing, the lightness, the fact that you don’t feel the need to overthink every single thing you say, before and after it comes out of your mouth. When he’s silent for a few more seconds, an idea pops into your head and the next thing you know, a devious smile is curling on your lips even though Michael’s still got his face hidden.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think she likes Marlon better than you,” you add, heaving yourself onto your bed, the lone single in the crammed room, and leaning against the wall.

“Why would that make me feel better?” He asks, hands dropping to his side. For a moment, he seems genuinely distressed, and you’re worried that you’ve pushed things too far. But then he cracks a smile, shaking his head at you.

“Just being honest,” you say with a shrug, feeling a thrill of delight running through you when Michael’s smile widens. You pat the bed next to you, and although Michael hesitates for a moment, he soon joins you, leaning with his back against the wall as his feet dangle off the mattress next to yours.

There’s a little strip of skin exposed where your shirt had ridden up, right above the waistline of your shorts. Michael’s thoughts immediately drift over to it, thinking about what it would feel like to trace along the line of bare skin with his fingertips. But then you’re turning to face him, leaning your head back against the wall.

“So, what’s up?” You ask, and your faces are so close together that he can see every detail of your skin, everything that’s usually hidden in the darkness. It’s shockingly intimate, and it makes his head spin.

“Nothing, why?” He responds, watching the way a little piece of your hair falls out of place, stirred into motion by the lazy rotations of your ceiling fan.

“Because you came all the way over here in the middle of the day,” you remind him with a grin, feeling lightheaded with proximity. You watch the way his mouth moves when he speaks, and it’s like you’re intoxicated by the sight.

“Just wanted to see you,” he says simply, like this is something that happens every day. He doesn’t mention the way he’d had to plead with his brothers to cover for him before he’d slipped out of the house, the way he prayed that Joseph never realizes where he’d snuck off to or that he’d even left at all.

Now, though, you’re the one struck silent by his words.

“Oh.” You’re unsure of what else to say, so you leave it at that. Racking your brain, you can’t seem to come up with any other time where any other person decided to stop by just because they wanted to see you, because they were thinking about you and couldn’t fathom spending another second apart. 

“I want to see you a lot, actually,” he adds, speaking his mind before he gives himself the chance to chicken out, to sit and silently wish he would have been able to speak up.

Resting on the bed between you, your hand begins to fidget, fingers tapping against the bedspread repeatedly. Gently, Michael covers your hand with his own, and you flip your hand so your palms touch. You’re the one who makes the first move, intertwining his fingers with your own.

The two of you sit like that for a moment, as if you’re getting used to the feeling of each other, seemingly crossing the boundary from friendship into something more. You turn that thought over and over in your head, feeling yourself getting pulled away from the moment before Michael squeezes your hand, an achingly sweet gesture that grounds you again.

“I feel like I should take that poster down,” you joke quietly, unsure of what else to say. It’s so unexpected that a loud, boyish laugh makes its way from Michael’s chest, and the sound is so perfect you want to replay it over and over again. 

“I like it there,” Michael manages to squeak out through his laughter, and then it’s your turn to grin at his surprising joke. 

“You would,” you tease back, and the force of Michael’s giggling sends him sprawling, until he’s practically pinned you beneath him on the bed. You’re a breathless tangle of limbs as the laughter fades, leaving the two of you with exuberant smiles and your faces closer than they’ve ever been. 

You’re not sure who moves first, if Michael leans down or if you tilt up, but then it doesn’t matter because you’re kissing. It’s tentative and unsure, just a soft press of his lips against yours before he’s pulling back and leaving an inch of space between you that feels like an infinite cavern. 

It doesn’t take long before his lips are pressing against yours again, deeper and more insistent. It’s exploratory, pushing the boundary farther and farther every time. Michael’s ribs press against your own, his hips flattening yours to the mattress. You make a needy little sound from the back of your throat that Michael swallows down with his mouth against yours. 

He kisses you again and again, cataloging all of the sounds and movements you make. He takes note of the way you shift your hips upward, searching desperately for friction between the layers of clothing that separates you. He notices the way you whimper out when he meets you in the middle, a tentative drive of his hips that sends you both reeling. 

Accidentally, you sink your teeth into his bottom lip, biting down softly when he changes the angle of his approach. Michael groans at the unexpected sting, but he doesn’t pull away. Feeling bold in a way he never has before, he trails his lips away from yours. Dotting kisses from the corner of your mouth to the curve of your jaw, he reaches his destination when his lips meet the soft, exposed skin of your neck. 

This time, it’s Michael who bites down, just barely hard enough for you to feel the pressure before he soothes the spot with a kiss. He delivers all of his laser-focused attention to the side of your neck, biting and kissing and sucking to his heart's desire. 

And then there’s a knock at your bedroom door, and the two of you spring apart like you’d been shocked. It’s a miracle that you didn’t smash your heads together. You sit there, chest heaving with Michael hovering above you, looking as flustered as you feel. 

“I gotta change for work!” The voice of your youngest sister rings out in the silence, the only other noise is your and Michael’s frantic breathing. You’re certain that if you really focused, you could hear the hammering of your heart. 

“Can you wait?” You call back, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as strung out as you fear it is. 

“C’mon!” Your sister whines, pounding against the door again. You let your eyes slip shut as you sigh, before reaching up to trail your fingers softly along the curve of Michael’s cheek. 

“Looks like we gotta cut this short,” you whisper into the space between you, tilting yourself up to kiss him once more because you simply couldn’t help yourself. Michael shifts, giving you room to slide out from under him and make your way to the door, readjusting your clothes as you go. 

Still, there’s that sliver of skin between your shirt and your shorts, and Michael can’t seem to tear his eyes from it even now. 

“One word of this,” you hiss to your sister, blocking the open door with your body. You don’t need to finish whatever empty threat you were going to come up with because she’s already nodding aggressively. When she enters the room, she doesn’t even spare Michael a glance as she dutifully gathers her work uniform and scurries off to the bathroom to change. 

Shutting the door behind her, you turn your attention back to Michael. He reaches for you from the bed, gliding his long fingers softly against that exposed bit of skin around your waist. Your shirt slides up farther, and Michael flattens his palms against your warm, soft skin. 

The angle is awkward, but he kisses you anyway, as if now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. He feels every breath beneath his hands, feels the way you squirm when he deepens the kiss ever so slightly because now he can’t think of anything except getting as close as possible to you. 

There’s a bump down the hallway, and the two of you spring apart again, a guilty little smile painted on your face like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Michael slides off your bed, reveling in the way you look in the afternoon sun filtering in through the windows. 

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” He asks as he squeezes your waist softly before letting go, already missing the feeling of your body against his the second the contact ends. 

“Yeah, of course.” Before your answer comes, Michael hadn’t realized just how worried he was about how you’d respond. As much as he loved the time you just spent together, he’s not sure he can live without your late night walks and your conversations and the way things seem easier when it’s as if you’re the only two people alone in the world. 

“Maybe,” he starts, pausing to wet his lower lip with his tongue and gather his courage, the way you’re looking up at him all wide eyed and eager scrambling his brain, “maybe we could go out some time? On a real, regular date?”

You feel breathless, and seeing Michael so nervous has you twisted up in knots, but the halting, hesitant way he asked made you feel things you’d never felt before. Giddiness blooms in your chest, and you don’t think you’d be able to keep your grin under control even if you needed to. 

“A real date?” You ask, and Michael nods shyly, “Not in the middle of the night? Or, y’know, in my bedroom?”

He laughs at that, looking down at you with a matching grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, a real date. I wanna take you out, show you off.”

“I’d be alright with that,” you replay, feeling lucky when Michael just laughs at your attempt at coyness, as if you wouldn’t walk across the desert if he asked. You feel all sorts of dizzy, like you’re not sure which way is up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Eventually, you and Michael peel yourselves away for each other for real, and you walk him to the door. Luckily for you, none of your siblings are hovering around, so you kiss Michael one last time as he stands on the doorstep, just because you can.

and a thank you to @urbanfunkchild who is the absolute best most sweetest ever and reassured me that this wasn't pure and utter nonsense <3

tags: @delictezz @deadletterclub @xyahx @tic-tac-my-toes @teawiithmilk @serathines @f4eridoll @szalipcombo @sometranslationnoteru

[phia-writes]

i love love love these two so i very much will probably write more for them i have so many ideassssssss

[dearjaafar]

⌞ On Set Filming "Michael" at Westlake Studios: Behind The Scenes ♡ ⌝

[phia-writes]

here’s what’s coming up this week:

more age gap jaafar!! - first date fic on sunday, a request about protective reader on tuesday, and then hopefully some protective jaafar later this week too

and then on the 25th, the combined birthday fic (which isn’t explicitly age gap related but like… it could be tbh… also not sure if there’ll be smut in it or not so if y’all have certain opinions either way let me know plsssss)

[phia-writes]

Fic request if you’re interested 😊

Something soft and quiet and sweet, maybe after you’ve both had a long day? Just a chill evening — perhaps making dinner together, vibing/dancing a little to mellow music in the kitchen, gentle touches, long hugs, forehead kisses, etc etc. Feel free to add a little bit of spice! But i’m imagining mostly lovey-dovey 🫶

Thank you and you’re a great writer!!!

kiss in the kitchen

Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 1.3k

you and Jaafar finally get to spend a quiet night together - just some sweet domestic loving fluffy vibes <3

There’s music playing softly when you enter your apartment. It floats around the space, barely above a whisper, and a smile blooms on your face when you finally recognize the song. You already know which playlist is going, the one you’d been adding to for years until it became an amalgamation of the different seasons of your life.

When you’d made it, you titled it ‘dancing in the kitchen’ and cringed slightly to yourself as you did, embarrassed at your own yearning for something that had felt so far out of reach. Now, though, it just makes you smile, that simple dream that had felt lightyears beyond reality was your everyday life. 

As you bend to take your shoes off, your back aches in protest, and you stand with a grimace. It seems like every day for the last few weeks had been a constant flurry of motion. There was always something for you to do, somewhere for you to go, someone for you to meet. It was always fun, that liveliness that summer brought no matter how old you got. Now, though, after weeks of going nonstop, you needed a break.

All you craved, with your whole body and soul, was a quiet night in. And, like Jaafar could read your mind, it seemed like that was exactly what was in store for you.

There’s something simmering on the stove, and when you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, you have the perfect view of Jaafar bent over the cutting board. The music is louder in here, still quiet enough to fade into the background but loud enough to cover the sounds of you coming home, especially with how focused Jaafar seems.

You take in the shape of him, the t-shirt stretched across his back and the sight of his arms as he chops something, head dipped down. As much as you enjoy watching him from a distance, you crave his contact and cross the space to reach him. Featherlight, you skate your hands along his ribs, wrapping your arms around his waist and feeling him jump at the contact as you rest your head against his back.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he says, setting the knife down to twist in your hold, desperate to see you. The two of you have both been so busy, it seems like the only time you get to spend together is while you’re both asleep. As silly and dramatic as it sounds, he’s missed seeing you, feeling you like this.

In response, you just hum, a relaxed state of being taking over your body and making it nearly impossible for you to form a full sentence.

“You’re lucky I didn’t stab myself with that knife,” he continues, and you laugh, a sound that never fails to warm his heart. You push yourself upwards, and Jaafar bends down to kiss you softly.

“You’re dramatic,” you counter, speaking into the fraction of space between you before kissing him again. You’d be perfectly content to stay like this forever, but your jeans are digging into your hips and dinner is only halfway finished, so you pull yourself away.

By the time you return, jeans swapped for clothes better suited to a night of doing nothing, Jaafar’s made his way back to the stove, stirring something in a saucepan that continues to sizzle.

“Smells nice,” you say, leaning yourself back against the countertop and taking in the scene in front of you. Jaafar turns to smile at you over his shoulder, shaking his head when he realizes you were already looking. The music playing softly from the speakers fills the room, interspersed with the sounds coming from the stovetop.

The song ends, the beginning notes of the next one making a smile come to your face before you even realize it. It’s a song that had played on one of your first dates with Jaafar, and you’d gone home and added it to the playlist as you laid in bed, replaying your time with him over and over again in your head. 

Hearing it now makes you feel all sappy, and you’re considering if it would be too distracting if you went over to Jaafar and wrapped your arms around him again.

Before you can move, though, Jaafar is sliding the pan off the burner and turning towards you, hands reaching for you across the small space. You meet him in the middle of the kitchen, looping your hands around his neck as his find your waist. The two of you start to sway in time with the music, neither of you saying a word.

You’re simply enjoying being in each other’s company, cherishing the little moments of being together that have seemed few and far between in recent weeks. It’s a double-edged sword, having so many exciting things going on, especially when they pull the two of you in opposite directions.

Now, though, none of the matters, and it’s like the universe shrinks down to a pinhead. All that exists is you and Jaafar, dancing together in the kitchen, bathed in golden light as the sun begins to set over the skyline.

“Haven’t heard this song in forever,” Jaafar says quietly, looking down at you with an expression so full of love it makes your teeth ache.

“That’s what happens when a playlist is twelve hours long,” you joke, wrinkling your nose when Jaafar sticks his tongue out at you, the mood shifting towards something sweet and playful as the exhaustion of the week starts to evaporate, simply from being together. 

There’s always music playing in your apartment, sometimes its sweet and slow like this and other days, it’s the opposite end of the spectrum. In your weeks and months and years spent together, you and Jaafar have found a rhythm that’s wholly your own, filling the space you share with the things most important to you, like love and laughter and warm memories and always, always music.

The beat picks up, growing as the song progresses, and Jaafar shifts his hold, gently pulling your hands free to grab one in his own. He spins you outwards as the music swells and then tugs you back in, the both of you grinning and breathless with laughter by the time the song ends. It fades into something else, but the two of you keep swaying together. 

For a while, dinner sits forgotten on the stove as the two of you dance to the music that fills the kitchen, jazz fading into classical fading into something else entirely. The two of you are too wrapped up in each other to really notice, the music fading to the background like something in a movie.

After what felt like weeks without spending any real time together, the closeness of your bodies is like a balm to your exhaustion. The feeling of his heart beating in his chest, his pulse thrumming in his throat, relaxes you like nothing else. You feel his breathing, his lungs expanding and deflating beneath your palms as you settle your hands on his ribs, your hips moving together to the beat.

You feel his warm skin beneath your hands, exploring the map of his body like its uncharted territory. It very well could be, for all that you’ve been able to spend time like this lately. There’s something sensual about it, perhaps, but none of it is sexual. You both just want to be as close as possible, want to share the same air and time your breathing together the way you’ve synched your movements to the music.

Eventually, you’ll have to return to reality, eat and wash the dishes and complete whatever other household tasks have been neglected due to your hectic schedules. But you’ll do it all together, brimming with joy and trading kisses and laughter as the music floats through your apartment for the rest of the night, having become such a fixture of the evening you forget to turn it off before tumbling into bed.

this was so sweet omggg thank you for the request!! love me some good domestic fluff <3 please don't hesitate to send in an ask with any sort of request, i love hearing from you guys!! hope you enjoy this <3

tags: @delictezz @szalipcombo @lil6uapa @daniiibananiii @sometranslationnoteru @plan3tch1ld @doe-eyedtenshi

[phia-writes]

Fic request if you’re interested 😊

Something soft and quiet and sweet, maybe after you’ve both had a long day? Just a chill evening — perhaps making dinner together, vibing/dancing a little to mellow music in the kitchen, gentle touches, long hugs, forehead kisses, etc etc. Feel free to add a little bit of spice! But i’m imagining mostly lovey-dovey 🫶

Thank you and you’re a great writer!!!

kiss in the kitchen

Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 1.3k

you and Jaafar finally get to spend a quiet night together - just some sweet domestic loving fluffy vibes <3

There’s music playing softly when you enter your apartment. It floats around the space, barely above a whisper, and a smile blooms on your face when you finally recognize the song. You already know which playlist is going, the one you’d been adding to for years until it became an amalgamation of the different seasons of your life.

When you’d made it, you titled it ‘dancing in the kitchen’ and cringed slightly to yourself as you did, embarrassed at your own yearning for something that had felt so far out of reach. Now, though, it just makes you smile, that simple dream that had felt lightyears beyond reality was your everyday life. 

As you bend to take your shoes off, your back aches in protest, and you stand with a grimace. It seems like every day for the last few weeks had been a constant flurry of motion. There was always something for you to do, somewhere for you to go, someone for you to meet. It was always fun, that liveliness that summer brought no matter how old you got. Now, though, after weeks of going nonstop, you needed a break.

All you craved, with your whole body and soul, was a quiet night in. And, like Jaafar could read your mind, it seemed like that was exactly what was in store for you.

There’s something simmering on the stove, and when you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, you have the perfect view of Jaafar bent over the cutting board. The music is louder in here, still quiet enough to fade into the background but loud enough to cover the sounds of you coming home, especially with how focused Jaafar seems.

You take in the shape of him, the t-shirt stretched across his back and the sight of his arms as he chops something, head dipped down. As much as you enjoy watching him from a distance, you crave his contact and cross the space to reach him. Featherlight, you skate your hands along his ribs, wrapping your arms around his waist and feeling him jump at the contact as you rest your head against his back.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he says, setting the knife down to twist in your hold, desperate to see you. The two of you have both been so busy, it seems like the only time you get to spend together is while you’re both asleep. As silly and dramatic as it sounds, he’s missed seeing you, feeling you like this.

In response, you just hum, a relaxed state of being taking over your body and making it nearly impossible for you to form a full sentence.

“You’re lucky I didn’t stab myself with that knife,” he continues, and you laugh, a sound that never fails to warm his heart. You push yourself upwards, and Jaafar bends down to kiss you softly.

“You’re dramatic,” you counter, speaking into the fraction of space between you before kissing him again. You’d be perfectly content to stay like this forever, but your jeans are digging into your hips and dinner is only halfway finished, so you pull yourself away.

By the time you return, jeans swapped for clothes better suited to a night of doing nothing, Jaafar’s made his way back to the stove, stirring something in a saucepan that continues to sizzle.

“Smells nice,” you say, leaning yourself back against the countertop and taking in the scene in front of you. Jaafar turns to smile at you over his shoulder, shaking his head when he realizes you were already looking. The music playing softly from the speakers fills the room, interspersed with the sounds coming from the stovetop.

The song ends, the beginning notes of the next one making a smile come to your face before you even realize it. It’s a song that had played on one of your first dates with Jaafar, and you’d gone home and added it to the playlist as you laid in bed, replaying your time with him over and over again in your head. 

Hearing it now makes you feel all sappy, and you’re considering if it would be too distracting if you went over to Jaafar and wrapped your arms around him again.

Before you can move, though, Jaafar is sliding the pan off the burner and turning towards you, hands reaching for you across the small space. You meet him in the middle of the kitchen, looping your hands around his neck as his find your waist. The two of you start to sway in time with the music, neither of you saying a word.

You’re simply enjoying being in each other’s company, cherishing the little moments of being together that have seemed few and far between in recent weeks. It’s a double-edged sword, having so many exciting things going on, especially when they pull the two of you in opposite directions.

Now, though, none of the matters, and it’s like the universe shrinks down to a pinhead. All that exists is you and Jaafar, dancing together in the kitchen, bathed in golden light as the sun begins to set over the skyline.

“Haven’t heard this song in forever,” Jaafar says quietly, looking down at you with an expression so full of love it makes your teeth ache.

“That’s what happens when a playlist is twelve hours long,” you joke, wrinkling your nose when Jaafar sticks his tongue out at you, the mood shifting towards something sweet and playful as the exhaustion of the week starts to evaporate, simply from being together. 

There’s always music playing in your apartment, sometimes its sweet and slow like this and other days, it’s the opposite end of the spectrum. In your weeks and months and years spent together, you and Jaafar have found a rhythm that’s wholly your own, filling the space you share with the things most important to you, like love and laughter and warm memories and always, always music.

The beat picks up, growing as the song progresses, and Jaafar shifts his hold, gently pulling your hands free to grab one in his own. He spins you outwards as the music swells and then tugs you back in, the both of you grinning and breathless with laughter by the time the song ends. It fades into something else, but the two of you keep swaying together. 

For a while, dinner sits forgotten on the stove as the two of you dance to the music that fills the kitchen, jazz fading into classical fading into something else entirely. The two of you are too wrapped up in each other to really notice, the music fading to the background like something in a movie.

After what felt like weeks without spending any real time together, the closeness of your bodies is like a balm to your exhaustion. The feeling of his heart beating in his chest, his pulse thrumming in his throat, relaxes you like nothing else. You feel his breathing, his lungs expanding and deflating beneath your palms as you settle your hands on his ribs, your hips moving together to the beat.

You feel his warm skin beneath your hands, exploring the map of his body like its uncharted territory. It very well could be, for all that you’ve been able to spend time like this lately. There’s something sensual about it, perhaps, but none of it is sexual. You both just want to be as close as possible, want to share the same air and time your breathing together the way you’ve synched your movements to the music.

Eventually, you’ll have to return to reality, eat and wash the dishes and complete whatever other household tasks have been neglected due to your hectic schedules. But you’ll do it all together, brimming with joy and trading kisses and laughter as the music floats through your apartment for the rest of the night, having become such a fixture of the evening you forget to turn it off before tumbling into bed.

this was so sweet omggg thank you for the request!! love me some good domestic fluff <3 please don't hesitate to send in an ask with any sort of request, i love hearing from you guys!! hope you enjoy this <3

tags: @delictezz @szalipcombo @lil6uapa @daniiibananiii @sometranslationnoteru @plan3tch1ld @doe-eyedtenshi

[phia-writes]

been daydreaming about a beach vacation with jaafar...

the two of you finding a cute little beach town and renting a house for a few days, just the two of you to finally spend some time together without any of the obligations of your day to day life.

waking up with the sunrise, in a cool, comfortable bed and then going for a walk while the sun comes up, finding a local coffee shop to try. it becomes your routine for the rest of the trip, no matter how early you wake up or how late you sleep in, you always try out one of the local bakeries or cafes for breakfast before hitting the beach.

packing a lunch and a cooler for the beach, bringing lots of snacks and making sandwiches. jaafar does a grocery run right after you get there, and he buys all of your favorites without you even needing to ask. whenever you run out of snacks you take a trip to the store together, still feeling all sandy and tacky with salt water and sleepy from the sun so you're a little delirious and giggly as you walk through the aisles and grab different snacks to try.

finding a nice, quiet spot on the beach to spread out your large blanket. helping each other put sunscreen on and paying extra close attention as you rub the product in, feeling each other's skin already starting to warm from the morning sunshine.

spending the day in and out of the water, alternating between jumping with the waves and laying out in the sun. you bring a book to read, and jaafar sets up a speaker just loud enough for the two of you to hear but not enough to bother the people around you. jaafar letting you borrow his hat or sunglasses if you forget your own, and he spends the whole afternoon squinting against the sun but it's worth it.

eating the sandwiches you packed and trying not to get any sand in the cans of your drinks and failing miserable, using funny drink cozies you'd picked up at a gas station somewhere to keep the drinks cool just because they make you grin since they're that special type of silly with good memories attached. snacking all afternoon, eating chips and fresh fruit and stealing food from each other's hands just because it's fun.

when you're all exhausted from the sun, packing up and going back to the house to shower and get dressed, make yourselves look presentable for a nicer dinner. going to a local spot and splitting entrees because you can't make up your mind and sharing sips of your drinks. getting ice cream from a small shop afterwards because you simply cannot pass up ice cream after dinner while on a beach vacation. coming back every night no matter where you get dinner to try every flavor possible before you leave.

getting back to the rental and showering again, washing away the rest of the sand and salt water and sunscreen, pulling on a pair of the comfiest pajamas you own and relaxing in the bed or on the couch. you're freshly moisturized and tired from the all sun and you're both a little groggy but you're just so happy to be together, watching whatever show or movie is on TV and just enjoying each other's presence and how easy it is to be with each other before falling asleep in the cool sheets.

jaafar taking pictures of you the whole trip. some of them are for you, posed photos with a cute background or showing off your outfits or adorable candids, things for you to look back on and post and share with everyone else. he knows all your good angles, knows exactly what you want when you hand your phone to him. but also taking pictures just for the two of you, moments when you're not really paying attention but he just can't help himself.

you asleep on the beach, his baseball cap covering your eyes. you in the water, gesturing for him to come join you while waves crash around you. sitting across from him at dinner, studying the menu. licking the ice cream that had dripped onto your wrist from your cone in the heat. putting lotion on after a day in the sun, wearing nothing but a baggy t-shirt. on your walk to get coffee or making lunch for the day or holding your drink on the beach and looking so damn happy. he just loves you so much, he wants to capture it all.

practically reliving that day again and again until you have to leave, loving your little routine you've created on vacation. maybe you both decide to extend the trip by a few days, trying to stretch it out as long as you can before you absolutely have to return back to your normal life. making it a tradition every summer to take a trip like this, where it's all easy and simple and fun, and all you have to worry about is getting to the beach early enough to snag a good spot.

[phia-writes]

anyone have any more age gap jaafar requests??!!?!!??!! i'm so so so so obsessed rn <3 i'm working on one rn but like... i wouldn't say no to a feast lmao

[phia-writes]

age gap jaafar where people often mistake you guys for the same age because he looks so young 🤭

babyface

Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 1.5k

your friends have never quite realized how old Jaafar is, and they don't believe it when they hear it

“How come we didn’t get invited out for Jaafar’s twenty-first?” Your friend asks as you settle into your seat, peeling the paper wrapping off of your straw and sticking it into your drink.

“It’s not like I did either,” you reply with a little laugh, an exhale of amusement, as you use the straw to stir your drink before taking a sip. You’re so preoccupied with it that you miss the look of pure horror that passes between your friends.

“You didn’t get invited to your own boyfriend’s birthday?” Cassie’s voice is colored with pure disgust, but all you do is laugh as confusion clouds your face.

“Well, no, Cass, I was in middle school,” you sound so confused with your friends, their own indignation on your behalf starts to fade as the pieces fall into place, “so that would have been super fucking weird. And we didn’t know each other.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Megan chimes in, leaning in with her elbows on the table as if to hear you better.

“When Jaafar turned twenty-one, I was twelve.” You tell them slowly, feeling a prickle of insecurity running down your spine from how intently your friends are staring at you. One of them even has her mouth dropped open, as if you’ve shocked her that badly.

“So how old are you saying he is now?” Cassie pipes up again, tilting her head to the side as if she’s trying to do the math in her head and coming up short. Your words just aren’t making sense to them, like you’re purposefully playing a prank on them.

They all knew Jaafar was older than you, but none of them ever thought he could possibly be older than twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, but even that was pushing it. Most of them still refused to believe you, assuming that he could only be a few months older than you. He didn’t look a day over twenty, but with what you’re insinuating, he’s almost a decade over.

“He turns thirty in a few weeks,” you say simply, taking another sip from your drink as the table erupts in shrieks and shouts. Everyone’s voices were overlapping, yelling excitedly that you had to be lying, that there was no way your boyfriend was twenty-nine years old.

You just sat back and let them talk over themselves with a pleased little smile on your face. You remember the first time you found out how old Jaafar was, and how you laughed in his face when he told you. He’d sat you down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as if he had something extremely difficult to tell you.

At this point, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and while you knew he was older than you, exact ages had never really come up. And, quite frankly, it barely ever crossed your mind. The two of you had such a good time together no matter what you were doing, and all of your thoughts seemed occupied by him even when you were apart.

So when Jaafar sat you down and told you that he was twenty-eight years old, almost twenty-nine and a whole eight years older than you, you laughed at him. His brow furrowed and he straightened his stance, looking at you with disbelief.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you squeak out through your laughter, and Jaafar braces himself for the rejection he’s certain is coming, “this has to be a fucking joke.”

“Why would I lie about it?” He asks, and even after only a few weeks of knowing each other, you catch on to the concern lacing his voice. You do your best to calm down, taking big, dramatic breaths to steady your heart rate and get your giggles under control. 

“That’s not what I mean,” you reach for him, grab his hand where it had fallen on the cushion between you and squeeze, “it’s just that there’s no way you’re telling me you’re almost thirty.”

“I’m not almost thirty,” he says defensively, voice creeping up an octave in a way that makes you grin, “I’ve got over a year till I’m thirty.”

“No, I know,” you scooch closer, “but it’d be easier for me to believe that you’re nineteen.”

As if to prove your point, you reach over and settle your palms on either side of his face. You look at him intently, as if you’re searching for something in his features. Jaafar can’t look you in the eye, the experience far too intimate, especially with him already feeling so stressed about this conversation, your reaction.

You just lean forward and plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, smiling when he scrunches up his nose at the contact.

“So you’re not gonna turn and run away because I’m too old?” Jaafar asks, and it makes you scoff that this was even a possibility he was expecting.

“Please, it’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” you tease, leaning forward again, “plus, you’re too cute for me to leave.”

You snap back into reality when you realize your friends have all quieted down, the shock of the moment evaporating the more they sit with it. The rest of the night passes unremarkably, with no more revelations shocking the group. When you return home, kicking off your shoes and locking the door behind you, Jaafar is there to greet you in a matter of seconds.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” you say with a beaming smile before Jaafar’s able to even greet you. He’s grinning at you, at your excitement, looking at you fondly in a way that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“What happened?” He asks, always game to go along with your antics, even when they’re at his expense. 

“None of them knew how old you are,” you say matter-of-factly, and Jaafar gets a confused look on his face, even though he’s still smiling at you. “They all thought I was lying to them.”

“How did that come up?” Jaafar inquires, watching as you lean yourself back against the counter. After spending the whole night apart, he’s craving your presence, so he crowds you in, pining you back with his hands on either side of your hips on the countertop, looking at you with that confused sort of smile the whole time.

“Dunno,” you shrug, “well, at first they were mad at you for not inviting me to your twenty-first birthday.”

“You were twelve,” he counters with a grin, and you smile back at the fact that the two of you had the same exact thought.

“I know that, but they didn’t,” you tell him, “and then they asked how old you really were, and I said twenty-nine, and then they all yelled at me.”

“They yelled?” His concern comes back, always looking out for you even if it has to be retroactive.

“I guess it was more like yelling near me,” you correct yourself, “they just couldn’t believe it.”

“Well, you couldn’t either,” he teases gently, and you settle your hands against his ribs. In return, he shifts his hold onto your hips with a gentle squeeze that has you beaming up at him.

“I know,” you say sweetly, “you’re just too pretty, it’s unbelievable.”

Your shameless flirting hits him like a train, and he goes all shy in an instant. No matter how long the two of you are together, how often you heap compliments upon him, he can never get used to that raw adoration you have for him. It’s too much to handle in such a large dose, with your attention fully on him, it’s like his brain just shuts down.

Ducking his head, Jaafar thinks back to a few moments before and then straightens up, leveling you with an unimpressed look. 

“Did you say twenty-nine, or almost thirty?” He asks, and you grin because you know he sees right through you.

“Almost thirty,” you say, and Jaafar groans dramatically, slumping forward and resting his head against your shoulder.

“You have to stop saying that,” he grumbles against your skin, “I’m not thirty yet.”

“That’s why I said almost.” Your response is cheeky, and it makes Jaafar squeeze your hips again, an increase in pressure that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, when he does things like this.

“I’m twenty-nine until the day I turn thirty,” he straightens up, takes in the mischief in your eyes and bites his bottom lip in an attempt to contain his smile, “stop saying almost thirty. It makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” you tease, and Jaafar’s shoulders slump as he sighs dramatically.

“You’re so mean to me, I don’t know what to do with you,” he purses his lips as if he’s thinking, racking his brain for a response even though you both know where this is going.

“I can think of a few things,” you practically purr, and for a few seconds, the two of you lapse into silence, just staring at one another. Jaafar cracks first, his smile taking over his face as he laughs at your ridiculous comment. You follow soon after, amazed that you could hold it together for so long.

The two of you are just a giggling tangle of limbs, pressed against the counter, and you’ve never been happier.

this was such a good request omggggg i hope you enjoy!!! i'm happy to cook up more age gap jaafar if you guys want i lowkey absolutely completely love this whole vibe. like this is so me i can't lie

tags: @111-honey @doe-eyedtenshi @sometranslationnoteru @melaninjoys @wittypathsecret @szalipcombo @delictezz @laceybouvier

[phia-writes]

the people yearn for age gap jaafar (it’s me i’m people)

ignore the fact that i’m hyping up my own writing lmao, it’s my favorite little series i’ve written so far

[phia-writes]

age gap jaafar where people often mistake you guys for the same age because he looks so young 🤭

babyface

Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 1.5k

your friends have never quite realized how old Jaafar is, and they don't believe it when they hear it

“How come we didn’t get invited out for Jaafar’s twenty-first?” Your friend asks as you settle into your seat, peeling the paper wrapping off of your straw and sticking it into your drink.

“It’s not like I did either,” you reply with a little laugh, an exhale of amusement, as you use the straw to stir your drink before taking a sip. You’re so preoccupied with it that you miss the look of pure horror that passes between your friends.

“You didn’t get invited to your own boyfriend’s birthday?” Cassie’s voice is colored with pure disgust, but all you do is laugh as confusion clouds your face.

“Well, no, Cass, I was in middle school,” you sound so confused with your friends, their own indignation on your behalf starts to fade as the pieces fall into place, “so that would have been super fucking weird. And we didn’t know each other.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Megan chimes in, leaning in with her elbows on the table as if to hear you better.

“When Jaafar turned twenty-one, I was twelve.” You tell them slowly, feeling a prickle of insecurity running down your spine from how intently your friends are staring at you. One of them even has her mouth dropped open, as if you’ve shocked her that badly.

“So how old are you saying he is now?” Cassie pipes up again, tilting her head to the side as if she’s trying to do the math in her head and coming up short. Your words just aren’t making sense to them, like you’re purposefully playing a prank on them.

They all knew Jaafar was older than you, but none of them ever thought he could possibly be older than twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, but even that was pushing it. Most of them still refused to believe you, assuming that he could only be a few months older than you. He didn’t look a day over twenty, but with what you’re insinuating, he’s almost a decade over.

“He turns thirty in a few weeks,” you say simply, taking another sip from your drink as the table erupts in shrieks and shouts. Everyone’s voices were overlapping, yelling excitedly that you had to be lying, that there was no way your boyfriend was twenty-nine years old.

You just sat back and let them talk over themselves with a pleased little smile on your face. You remember the first time you found out how old Jaafar was, and how you laughed in his face when he told you. He’d sat you down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as if he had something extremely difficult to tell you.

At this point, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and while you knew he was older than you, exact ages had never really come up. And, quite frankly, it barely ever crossed your mind. The two of you had such a good time together no matter what you were doing, and all of your thoughts seemed occupied by him even when you were apart.

So when Jaafar sat you down and told you that he was twenty-eight years old, almost twenty-nine and a whole eight years older than you, you laughed at him. His brow furrowed and he straightened his stance, looking at you with disbelief.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you squeak out through your laughter, and Jaafar braces himself for the rejection he’s certain is coming, “this has to be a fucking joke.”

“Why would I lie about it?” He asks, and even after only a few weeks of knowing each other, you catch on to the concern lacing his voice. You do your best to calm down, taking big, dramatic breaths to steady your heart rate and get your giggles under control. 

“That’s not what I mean,” you reach for him, grab his hand where it had fallen on the cushion between you and squeeze, “it’s just that there’s no way you’re telling me you’re almost thirty.”

“I’m not almost thirty,” he says defensively, voice creeping up an octave in a way that makes you grin, “I’ve got over a year till I’m thirty.”

“No, I know,” you scooch closer, “but it’d be easier for me to believe that you’re nineteen.”

As if to prove your point, you reach over and settle your palms on either side of his face. You look at him intently, as if you’re searching for something in his features. Jaafar can’t look you in the eye, the experience far too intimate, especially with him already feeling so stressed about this conversation, your reaction.

You just lean forward and plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, smiling when he scrunches up his nose at the contact.

“So you’re not gonna turn and run away because I’m too old?” Jaafar asks, and it makes you scoff that this was even a possibility he was expecting.

“Please, it’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” you tease, leaning forward again, “plus, you’re too cute for me to leave.”

You snap back into reality when you realize your friends have all quieted down, the shock of the moment evaporating the more they sit with it. The rest of the night passes unremarkably, with no more revelations shocking the group. When you return home, kicking off your shoes and locking the door behind you, Jaafar is there to greet you in a matter of seconds.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” you say with a beaming smile before Jaafar’s able to even greet you. He’s grinning at you, at your excitement, looking at you fondly in a way that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“What happened?” He asks, always game to go along with your antics, even when they’re at his expense. 

“None of them knew how old you are,” you say matter-of-factly, and Jaafar gets a confused look on his face, even though he’s still smiling at you. “They all thought I was lying to them.”

“How did that come up?” Jaafar inquires, watching as you lean yourself back against the counter. After spending the whole night apart, he’s craving your presence, so he crowds you in, pining you back with his hands on either side of your hips on the countertop, looking at you with that confused sort of smile the whole time.

“Dunno,” you shrug, “well, at first they were mad at you for not inviting me to your twenty-first birthday.”

“You were twelve,” he counters with a grin, and you smile back at the fact that the two of you had the same exact thought.

“I know that, but they didn’t,” you tell him, “and then they asked how old you really were, and I said twenty-nine, and then they all yelled at me.”

“They yelled?” His concern comes back, always looking out for you even if it has to be retroactive.

“I guess it was more like yelling near me,” you correct yourself, “they just couldn’t believe it.”

“Well, you couldn’t either,” he teases gently, and you settle your hands against his ribs. In return, he shifts his hold onto your hips with a gentle squeeze that has you beaming up at him.

“I know,” you say sweetly, “you’re just too pretty, it’s unbelievable.”

Your shameless flirting hits him like a train, and he goes all shy in an instant. No matter how long the two of you are together, how often you heap compliments upon him, he can never get used to that raw adoration you have for him. It’s too much to handle in such a large dose, with your attention fully on him, it’s like his brain just shuts down.

Ducking his head, Jaafar thinks back to a few moments before and then straightens up, leveling you with an unimpressed look. 

“Did you say twenty-nine, or almost thirty?” He asks, and you grin because you know he sees right through you.

“Almost thirty,” you say, and Jaafar groans dramatically, slumping forward and resting his head against your shoulder.

“You have to stop saying that,” he grumbles against your skin, “I’m not thirty yet.”

“That’s why I said almost.” Your response is cheeky, and it makes Jaafar squeeze your hips again, an increase in pressure that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, when he does things like this.

“I’m twenty-nine until the day I turn thirty,” he straightens up, takes in the mischief in your eyes and bites his bottom lip in an attempt to contain his smile, “stop saying almost thirty. It makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” you tease, and Jaafar’s shoulders slump as he sighs dramatically.

“You’re so mean to me, I don’t know what to do with you,” he purses his lips as if he’s thinking, racking his brain for a response even though you both know where this is going.

“I can think of a few things,” you practically purr, and for a few seconds, the two of you lapse into silence, just staring at one another. Jaafar cracks first, his smile taking over his face as he laughs at your ridiculous comment. You follow soon after, amazed that you could hold it together for so long.

The two of you are just a giggling tangle of limbs, pressed against the counter, and you’ve never been happier.

this was such a good request omggggg i hope you enjoy!!! i'm happy to cook up more age gap jaafar if you guys want i lowkey absolutely completely love this whole vibe. like this is so me i can't lie

tags: @111-honey @doe-eyedtenshi @sometranslationnoteru @melaninjoys @wittypathsecret @szalipcombo @delictezz @laceybouvier

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couldn't help myself so here's more girl dad!jaafar

girl dad!jaafar who loves finding out new things about your daughter as she grows. he loves seeing which toys becomes her favorites, loves feeding her new solid foods and watching as she tries to decide if she likes it or not. colors, books, tv shows, he just gets so happy watching your daughter learn more about the world and herself as she gets older day by day

girl dad!jaafar who takes the time to learn how to do different hair styles. pig tails, braids, little space buns, headbands and bows and hair clips, he's mastered them all.

girl dad!jaafar who'd rather wear your daughter strapped against his chest than use the stroller because he just loves feeling her so close and making sure that she can see everything the two of you are seeing. and this way, he can hold your hand because neither of you have to worry about pushing the stroller.

he also loves it when she walks standing between his legs and holds onto his hands, and he's dipped down to make sure she can reach and her steps are so small and so slow but he doesn't care. he just beams up at you, so happy watching as his little girl gets more confident and comfortable. he's constantly amazed by her, watching as she learns to walk and grows her first teeth in and speaks her first full sentence and eats more and more solid foods. it's just unlike anything he's ever experienced, watchig this tiny little thing that he helped make, that he watched getting bigger and bigger inside of you, that he held when she seemed no bigger than a baby doll and more fragile than he ever could have imagined, learning how to be a human.

girl dad!jaafar who just loves spending time as a family, no matter what you're doing. spending an afternoon at the beach or the park when she gets a little older and listening to all of her happy baby babbling. a movie night with the three of you cuddled on the couch, your daughter asleep in your arms and your head against jaafar's shoulder. it doesn't matter to him, he just loves when the three of you get to be all together.

but also, he loves planning family vacations for the three of you. maybe it's to someplace neither of you have been or maybe it's been a favorite spot for years and you're finally bringing baby girl along to experience it. either way, he has an absolute blast just spending time with you and your sweet daughter no matter where you are.

girl dad!jaafar who tears up at the first day of preschool drop off, because suddenly his little girl is getting so big!! it seems like every time he blinks, she gets a teeny bit bigger, a tiny bit older. he's so torn between wanting her to stay his baby forever and being excited about her getting older and getting to experience all those new stages of life.

girl dad!jaafar who loves cooking for her. he'll make pancakes with special little designs, and they come out a little wonky but it makes her laugh. making her lunch for her because he can't be there to drop her off with you, and putting in a little note with a heart so she knows he loves and misses her, even when he's only gone for a day.

girl dad!jaafar who never bought into the whole 'terrible twos' thing, because your daughter is just an absolute delight. sure, she cries and fusses and whines the way all toddlers do, but overall she's such a happy little girl. and even when she gets moody, you're both so gentle with her, and more often than not, her foul moods pass by without tears (for any of you).

girl dad!jaafar who's always happy to be a guest at a tea party, or fully commit to whatever imaginary game she's playing, or push her on the swings, or kiss all her stuffed animals good night too, or read an extra bedtime story, or put extra sprinkles on her ice cream.

as much as he loved your daughter when she was a tiny little baby, he thinks he loves her more and more every single day. he loves getting to experience the world alongside her, watching as she tries new things and grows up just a little more. and he loves that she's still small enough and young enough to scoop her up in his arms and carry her around, whether she's begging to be put down through endless giggles or asleep against his shoulder after a long day.

tags (for my darlings who seemed to enjoy the first one <3): @doe-eyedtenshi @plan3tch1ld @sometranslationnoteru @blindprotagonist @kissmyglxck @szalipcombo @melaninjoys

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mua anon again - you got me giggling and kicking my feet thank you sm!!!

awwww yay yay yay!!! so so glad you liked it, they were both so so so fun to write <3 please don’t hesitate to send in any more asks/requests if anything crosses your mind!!