yess i am! sadly, i can’t seem to come up with ideas for anyone lately been experiencing writer’s block 💔. but, my requests are open and i’ll try to get to them whenever i can. it may be a while though. </3
the following outlines my rules for sending in requests to my blog. ˙ . ꒷ 🏀 . 𖦹˙
𑣲 fluff and angst: swish.
sfw, however i will write suggestiveness (like make-outs & more). i only write from a female pov. since i am a black woman, most of my stories will be written with a black female reader in mind, but you can imagine whoever you’d like!
𑣲 no extremely dark/weird themes. I will not write anything to do with homophobia, racism, transphobia, etc: miss.
sometimes, i will not be able to get to your request because of life, motivation, or it doesn’t resonate with me. don’t take offense to it—it’s nothing personal. i just have my boundaries, and that’s okay!
𑣲 please don't send me a request that you’ve already sent to another writer. it’s disrespectful to both of us.
synopsis: thriller era — librarian m!jackson x f!reader ❤︎ fluff / michael asking you out while you two are shelving books 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 released just a few weeks ago, and it was already breaking records at an unprecedented rate. The album was flying off the shelves, becoming one of the best-selling recent albums.
Thriller thrusted him into a spotlight he’d never been in before. Fans would surround him as soon as he left his house, he’d be asked to sign his autograph on the street, and wherever he went, there were always hundreds of fans waiting for him. It was all too much.
He often spent his days alone at Hayvenhurst, speaking only to his animals and Bill. Although his album came with great success, it highlighted an even deeper issue that he’d never quite gotten over.
He wanted to be able to experience normal things like a normal person. He’d look outside the window at Hayvenhurst and see his neighbors walking the streets with their dogs without any interference from anyone.
He craved the mundane things that most people take for granted. Like grocery shopping without being interrupted every two seconds.
He loved his fans more than anything, but he wanted to feel normal for a change.
Which is why, after weeks of convincing, Bill finally let him get a job at a local library. Growing up, he’d frequently go to his local library and read any book he could find. He loved books and the quietness libraries provided. It was a stark contrast with the busyness of his life and home. Working at a library was a way that he could be surrounded by something that he loved and get to feel like a normal person for a change.
“W-what do you think? How do I look, Bill?” Michael smoothed his button-down shirt, dusting off any lint. They were outside the library in a Station Wagon Bill bought. Michael told him to not drive the Rolls-Royce—it’d bring too much attention.
Bill peeked at him through the rearview mirror, looking him up and down. “You look nice, Mike,” Bill nodded.
Michael smiled at him, shaking his head. “Y’know, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” He ran his palms over his pants, feeling excited but a bit nervous. He looked to the window on his right.
The sun was still rising, its bright rays making everything more visible. He used to despise the sun because of that; whenever it was out, he couldn’t hide. But now, he felt different. He felt like it represented a new possibility.
“Yeah, me neither. I’m going to be right here, okay? I’ll give you your space, but if anything happens—and I mean anything—you call me, okay?” Bill’s voice was stern, but it had a soft edge to it. He wanted Michael to have this experience, but he also wanted to make sure he was safe. He was still Michael Jackson.
Michael shifted in his seat, looking straight at Bill now. “I will. I promise.” As if to back up his statement, he wagged his walkie-talkie in the air. “I got it right here.”
Bill nodded, satisfied. He unlocked the car doors. “Enjoy yourself, Michael. You deserve it.”
Michael smiled, exposing the creases near his eyes. “Thanks, Bill.”
He unfastened his seatbelt with a click and pushed the car door open. The gentle breeze of the morning air ruffled the curls on his head. He hesitated before he moved, anticipating a swarm of people to appear and surround him.
After a few seconds had passed with no herding, he let out a small sigh of relief. He felt it now—that this would be different. With an added pep in his step, he made his way to the library, making sure to hold the door open longer for an elderly lady.
The library still held that quiet charm that he loved as a kid. Nobody noticed him walk in. Everyone was caught up in their own world, reading books or researching on a computer. He looked around in awe.
So this must be what it’s like?
All his life, he had been in the public eye. He never once had a private moment to himself. Everything was orchestrated and performed for an audience. Even at home.
“Hello? Are you Michael? The one who applied for our support staff position?” an older woman asked.
Her voice shook him from his trance. He looked down at the woman and took in her appearance. She had short-cut grey hair, clear square glasses, and a tag that read manager.
He smiled politely. “Yes, I am.”
She beamed, pushing her glasses higher up her nose. “Follow me. There are a few things you need to learn first.”
The next few days were strictly business. He learned what each tag on a book meant, he learned the colors that corresponded to where the book was supposed to be shelved, and he learned how to set aside a book for hold.
He listened carefully to each instruction, not wanting to mess up when he had to do it himself. Everything was going smoothly.
Until the moment he laid eyes on you.
When he first saw you, he stopped in his tracks. He had seen beautiful women before, but you were different. Your very essence was captivating when you spoke to others. You were so kind and thoughtful in each interaction. Your eyes would sparkle with genuine interest, not the fake kind he’d often encounter at those industry parties Quincy took him to.
He had never seen anyone like you, and it drove him crazy.
The next couple of days, he made sure to wear his best outfits to work. Bill would look at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye when he saw his clothes and smelled his expensive cologne in the car.
“You know we’re going to a library, right? Not a club,” Bill said.
Michael giggled. “Of course I know that, Bill.”
Bill hummed and eyed him, but said nothing else.
When he arrived at work, he was assigned to shelving duty for the day.
The cart of books slowly rolled on the carpet floor as Michael reached the fiction section. He had done the routine a million times: pick up the book from the cart, look at the colored sticker on the side, and place it in its corresponding spot. It was like second nature to him now.
He was so focused on the repetitive act of shelving books that he almost didn’t hear you roll your own cart into the shelf in front of him. Almost.
You hadn’t seen him yet as you were looking at the books in your cart. No doubt trying to match the colors together.
He let out a silent laugh.
“Hi,” he softly said.
Although he said it in a hushed voice, you still flinched, hand coming up to clutch your heart.
“Michael! Oh my god. You scared me!” You looked at him with wide eyes as your lips turned up in surprise.
Michael’s cheeks reddened. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” he muttered.
Your breathing steadied. “It’s okay.” You looked towards the cart of books next to him and laughed knowingly. “I see you’re on shelving duty too?”
He glanced down at the stack of books and nodded. “Yeah.” He had gotten almost half of the cart shelved so far. It was a tedious task, but it helped him get his mind off music and everything else for a while.
You let out a hum and plucked a book off your cart and shelved it. For a moment, the only sound between you two was the gentle whirring of the cart’s wheels and the rustling of books being shelved.
When you weren’t looking, Michael snuck glances at you, completely disregarding what he was supposed to be doing.
You were sliding a book into place, and all he could see was your side profile, but you still managed to take his breath away. He began daydreaming about tracing the bridge of your nose with his fingers and kissing those soft cheeks of yours.
After shelving another book, you looked over at Michael to find his eyes already on you with a soft glint in them that made your heart do something weird.
You giggled nervously. “What are you looking at?”
“You,” he replied.
The bluntness of his statement took you by surprise. “Yeah, I can see that, but why?”
“Because you’re pretty.”
Michael saw your eyes widen so much that he feared your eyeballs might actually fall out. He bit his lip to hide his grin. To be honest, he had no clue why he was acting so brazen. He’s usually a stuttering mess around women he’s interested in, but with you, it felt natural.
You brought out the confident side in him, and he liked it.
“Michael.. you can’t say things like that,” you murmured, tightening your grip on the book in your hands
“Why not?” he questioned. He leaned his head to the side, and a piece of his curls fell over his forehead. Your hands twitched at your side.
“Because...” you trailed off, not having the words. You shook your head at your own incompetence.
Michael let out a chuckle that disturbed people nearby. He uttered a brief apology and turned back to you with a wide grin that exposed his cheekbones. The books on his shelf lay ignored.
“See! You can’t even come up with anything!” he blurted.
You narrowed your eyes at him, but you could feel blood rushing to your cheeks. traitor.
His grin didn’t fall. He placed his arms on the empty shelf between you two and leaned down on his hands, becoming eye-level with you.
“Tell me, what’re you doing tomorrow night?” he asked.
You shelved a book beside his head, pretending to be unbothered. “I don’t know. Why’re you asking?” But you knew exactly why he was asking.
“Go out with me,” he offered, smiling like a puppy in love.
You stopped shelving and looked at him. Although his tone was straightforward, the look on his face was anything but. You saw a flicker of nervousness in his eye.
“Is this the reason why you got this job, hm? To flirt?” you retorted, raising an eyebrow. Michael's lips parted then closed as he laughed. You shook your head and pushed your cart farther down the aisle, smirking when you heard Michael chase after you.
“Not originally, no. I didn’t expect there to be a beautiful woman here. But, since there is, I can’t help myself.” He finally caught up to you and lowered his body between the shelves again, winking at you.
You laughed and picked up the last book in your cart. “You’re helpless.”
“I am. Now, what do you say? Tomorrow night?” Michael asked again, hopeful.
You let out a soft, apprehensive breath because, as much as you liked Michael and would love to say yes, a part of you was cautious.
Even though he was working at the same place as you, he was not the same as you in any regard. He was Michael Jackson. The king of pop. A name that could unite people across the world. And you? You were just a librarian trying to make it by.
For him, this job was just a way to escape the chaos of his life. But for you, this job was your life.
You were no match for him.
“Hey, hey, what happened?” Michael noticed the faraway glance in your eyes, like you were lost in thought. He knew that look all too well.
“It’s just... how could this ever work? You and me?” you asked, picking at the book in your hands. A frustrated lump formed in your throat.
Michael frowned. He was well aware that who he was made it difficult to form genuine romantic relationships. The success of his new album wouldn't make it any easier, either.
“I don’t know. But, I’m willing to take the risk if you are,” he admitted softly. He was tired of the public dictating what he did and didn’t do. He wanted to take a risk for once. For you.
You furrowed your brows contemplatively, sliding the book in your hand into the last empty slot. You didn’t miss Michael’s puppy dog eyes on you, watching your every move.
You sighed. Your whole life, you have played it safe. Getting home before eight every night, studying over partying, being in bed early—it was all safe.
But now? You can’t seem to understand why.
You look at Michael's face and everything you’ve ever known and done starts to crumble.
“Pick me up at eight,” you declared, spinning on your heels and walking away before you could think too much about it.
Before you exited the aisle, you glanced back one last time at Michael and saw him do a silly little dance while pumping his fists into the air triumphantly.
౨ৎ . . . you asking victor to put you in a headlock. ❤︎ fluff /victor being a sweetheart
𑣲 headlock ─── v.wembanyama x f.reader
amaya’s notes: i can’t be the only one who notices how good his biceps look, right? or am i just crazy?🥴😵💫
You can’t stop staring at them.
It’s become an obsession, really. A dangerous, filthy, deplorable obsession. But you can’t help yourself.
Your eyes always find their way to his arms, those massive biceps concealed by his rich brown skin that seem to stretch across the entire universe. Your breath would get caught in your throat whenever you saw the muscles in them twitch. On the court, on dates, and at home—you’d always find yourself irrevocably entranced by his arms. It's ridiculous the effect they have on you.
Totally ridiculous.
"I can feel you staring," Victor says, a slow, teasing smile tugging at his lips.
You freeze at being caught. You're on the sofa with a book you're supposed to be reading on your lap. It was a fantasy book, one of your favourite genres, but it did nothing to distract you from Victor. Particularly his arms in the sleeveless top he was wearing, his biceps almost glistening under the living room's overhead light.
"Hm? What do you mean? M’not staring," you lie in the most convincing tone you could muster.
Victor lets out a deep chuckle, the kind that shakes his chest, and you wish you could record it and replay it for the rest of your life. "You're a terrible liar."
"Or maybe you just don't know what you're talking about,” you joke.
His smile deepens, and you can see the crinkle forming near his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure that's it." His long body is stretched out on the plush sofa in a way that displays his entire length. You’re never not amazed at his height.
You don’t respond, too busy in your head to verbally string vowels and consonants together.
When he doesn't hear a chirpy response, he sets down his phone and glances at you, eyes inquisitive. "What is it?"
You run your fingers nervously along the book's edge, flattening any creases. "Victor, can I ask you something?"
He frowns at the change in your tone. "Of course, belle. What is it?" He tilts his head, immediately sitting up straighter. The thin fabric of his shirt rolls up at the action, exposing more of his upper body.
You clear your throat. "Would you mind, uhm…” Your gaze lowers to the floor. This is something you’d been meaning to ask for a while, but now that you’re here, you can’t seem to get the words out.
You hear Victor's confused hum. "Would I mind what?"
"W-would you mind..." You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly feeling exposed. "Putting me in a headlock?” Your voice gets increasingly lower with each word that slips out.
You feel the couch adjust to Victor’s weight as he scoots closer to you. His slender hand slowly moves to encouragingly stroke your knee. "Belle, you're going to have to speak up if you want me to hear you."
Your eyelids flutter open, and you’re met with his gaze. His soft brown eyes are filled with an overwhelming amount of patience and affection that a fluttering sensation blossoms in your stomach.
You lick your lips. “I want you to…put me in a headlock,” you reveal again, louder this time.
“Hm?” Victor asks, but you can hear his sharp intake of breath.
You glare at him. You know he heard you that time. There was no way he didn't hear you.
Your suspicion is confirmed when you see a smug grin take over his face. Your mouth opens and closes as you shake your head.
“I'm serious, Victor!"
He lets out one of those quiet laughs again, and you feel your frustration waning. You could never stay angry at him for too long.
"You really want me to put you in a headlock?" His voice rises in curiosity, eyebrows slightly raising.
You lightly nod, trying not to seem too eager. The thought of his arms around your neck had gotten you through many lonely nights. To actually have him do it, though? You feel like your body might just explode in anticipation.
He scans every inch of your face for any signs of doubt. He's not against the idea; he just wants to make sure it's something you really want. Sure, it’s a bit…unexpected, but he’d do anything for you. You could ask him to build you a spaceship, and he’d do it. In an instant. Without hesitation.
When he sees nothing but keen desire in your face, he nods his head. "Okay, I'll do it." His hand grips your thigh in assurance, which makes the muscles in his bicep protrude from under his skin. A part of you wonders if he did that on purpose.
You feel your heartbeat quicken as he starts moving closer to you, his body eventually straddling you from behind. The couch sinks a bit with the weight of you two, causing you to be pulled closer to his chest.
His shirt brushes against the nape of your neck as you feel his long arm come up above your collarbone before stopping.
"Are you sure you want me to do this?"
You let out an annoyed huff. "Yes, I'm sure. Hurry up, already,” you whine. You know you’re being a brat, but you don't care. Not when you're so close to living out your fantasy.
Victor's laugh rumbles down your spine. "Didn't know you were so needy,” he quips. His warm body is flush against yours as he continues from where he stopped. Seconds tick by excruciatingly slow before your head is finally embedded between his forearm and bicep. Warm muscles envelop your entire neck and parts of your chin. His hold on you isn't painful or rough, just firm enough to hold you still.
The pulse in your neck picks up at the quiet strength in his grip. The same arm that shoots and blocks balls out of the air is now wrapped around you. Arms that are so strong everywhere else become so gentle when they’re around you. Your body softens at the revelation.
You’re quiet as you bask in the moment. Your cheeks mash against the smooth, warm flesh of his arm, and it takes every inch of restraint in your body not to bite it.
Victor must've mistaken your silence for discomfort because his body pulled away from yours. His grip around your neck loosened. "You okay, baby?"
"I'm okay. Just.. don't stop," you mumble, feeling dizzy from reasons entirely unrelated to oxygen.
Victor lowers his body behind you again, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart. He shakes his head at your behavior with amusement and a hint of disapproval. He doesn't know what the big deal about his arms is or why you're so infatuated with them, but he keeps his hold around your head like you ask.
His legs come up off the floor to wrap around your body, and you let yourself melt into him, completely cocooned in his embrace.
ahh i read yr fic ab victors bicepsso goood! could you maybe write reader and victor doing that trend where she eats a peice of sushi off of his bicep? love yr work!
anon, this sounds sooo good?? using victor’s biceps as a plate? i like how you’re thinking mhm😋 however, i have no clue what trend you’re talking about 💔💔 i haven’t seen itt😔 do you mind sending a vid link in my requests or even inboxing me? i’d love to see it!
hi anonie! lowk.. same i fear. i feel like the amount of wemby fics tapered off a bit after the season ended 💔 but, @sleepingpills just posted a victor headcanons fic! you should check it out if you haven’t <33
౨ৎ . . . you asking victor to put you in a headlock. ❤︎ fluff /victor being a sweetheart
𑣲 headlock ─── v.wembanyama x f.reader
amaya’s notes: i can’t be the only one who notices how good his biceps look, right? or am i just crazy?🥴😵💫
You can’t stop staring at them.
It’s become an obsession, really. A dangerous, filthy, deplorable obsession. But you can’t help yourself.
Your eyes always find their way to his arms, those massive biceps concealed by his rich brown skin that seem to stretch across the entire universe. Your breath would get caught in your throat whenever you saw the muscles in them twitch. On the court, on dates, and at home—you’d always find yourself irrevocably entranced by his arms. It's ridiculous the effect they have on you.
Totally ridiculous.
"I can feel you staring," Victor says, a slow, teasing smile tugging at his lips.
You freeze at being caught. You're on the sofa with a book you're supposed to be reading on your lap. It was a fantasy book, one of your favourite genres, but it did nothing to distract you from Victor. Particularly his arms in the sleeveless top he was wearing, his biceps almost glistening under the living room's overhead light.
"Hm? What do you mean? M’not staring," you lie in the most convincing tone you could muster.
Victor lets out a deep chuckle, the kind that shakes his chest, and you wish you could record it and replay it for the rest of your life. "You're a terrible liar."
"Or maybe you just don't know what you're talking about,” you joke.
His smile deepens, and you can see the crinkle forming near his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure that's it." His long body is stretched out on the plush sofa in a way that displays his entire length. You’re never not amazed at his height.
You don’t respond, too busy in your head to verbally string vowels and consonants together.
When he doesn't hear a chirpy response, he sets down his phone and glances at you, eyes inquisitive. "What is it?"
You run your fingers nervously along the book's edge, flattening any creases. "Victor, can I ask you something?"
He frowns at the change in your tone. "Of course, belle. What is it?" He tilts his head, immediately sitting up straighter. The thin fabric of his shirt rolls up at the action, exposing more of his upper body.
You clear your throat. "Would you mind, uhm…” Your gaze lowers to the floor. This is something you’d been meaning to ask for a while, but now that you’re here, you can’t seem to get the words out.
You hear Victor's confused hum. "Would I mind what?"
"W-would you mind..." You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly feeling exposed. "Putting me in a headlock?” Your voice gets increasingly lower with each word that slips out.
You feel the couch adjust to Victor’s weight as he scoots closer to you. His slender hand slowly moves to encouragingly stroke your knee. "Belle, you're going to have to speak up if you want me to hear you."
Your eyelids flutter open, and you’re met with his gaze. His soft brown eyes are filled with an overwhelming amount of patience and affection that a fluttering sensation blossoms in your stomach.
You lick your lips. “I want you to…put me in a headlock,” you reveal again, louder this time.
“Hm?” Victor asks, but you can hear his sharp intake of breath.
You glare at him. You know he heard you that time. There was no way he didn't hear you.
Your suspicion is confirmed when you see a smug grin take over his face. Your mouth opens and closes as you shake your head.
“I'm serious, Victor!"
He lets out one of those quiet laughs again, and you feel your frustration waning. You could never stay angry at him for too long.
"You really want me to put you in a headlock?" His voice rises in curiosity, eyebrows slightly raising.
You lightly nod, trying not to seem too eager. The thought of his arms around your neck had gotten you through many lonely nights. To actually have him do it, though? You feel like your body might just explode in anticipation.
He scans every inch of your face for any signs of doubt. He's not against the idea; he just wants to make sure it's something you really want. Sure, it’s a bit…unexpected, but he’d do anything for you. You could ask him to build you a spaceship, and he’d do it. In an instant. Without hesitation.
When he sees nothing but keen desire in your face, he nods his head. "Okay, I'll do it." His hand grips your thigh in assurance, which makes the muscles in his bicep protrude from under his skin. A part of you wonders if he did that on purpose.
You feel your heartbeat quicken as he starts moving closer to you, his body eventually straddling you from behind. The couch sinks a bit with the weight of you two, causing you to be pulled closer to his chest.
His shirt brushes against the nape of your neck as you feel his long arm come up above your collarbone before stopping.
"Are you sure you want me to do this?"
You let out an annoyed huff. "Yes, I'm sure. Hurry up, already,” you whine. You know you’re being a brat, but you don't care. Not when you're so close to living out your fantasy.
Victor's laugh rumbles down your spine. "Didn't know you were so needy,” he quips. His warm body is flush against yours as he continues from where he stopped. Seconds tick by excruciatingly slow before your head is finally embedded between his forearm and bicep. Warm muscles envelop your entire neck and parts of your chin. His hold on you isn't painful or rough, just firm enough to hold you still.
The pulse in your neck picks up at the quiet strength in his grip. The same arm that shoots and blocks balls out of the air is now wrapped around you. Arms that are so strong everywhere else become so gentle when they’re around you. Your body softens at the revelation.
You’re quiet as you bask in the moment. Your cheeks mash against the smooth, warm flesh of his arm, and it takes every inch of restraint in your body not to bite it.
Victor must've mistaken your silence for discomfort because his body pulled away from yours. His grip around your neck loosened. "You okay, baby?"
"I'm okay. Just.. don't stop," you mumble, feeling dizzy from reasons entirely unrelated to oxygen.
Victor lowers his body behind you again, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart. He shakes his head at your behavior with amusement and a hint of disapproval. He doesn't know what the big deal about his arms is or why you're so infatuated with them, but he keeps his hold around your head like you ask.
His legs come up off the floor to wrap around your body, and you let yourself melt into him, completely cocooned in his embrace.
during a michael press tour interview, you find yourself captivated by jaafar jackson’s quiet charm, while jaafar becomes equally drawn to your warmth and brilliance.
the studio lights were warm, the cameras rolling, and your producer was already counting down in your ear.
“and we’re live in three… two…”
your smile came easy.
it always did.
after years of interviewing everyone from actors to politicians to musicians, being on camera felt as natural as breathing. people trusted you. viewers adored you. your podcast segment consistently pulled some of the highest engagement numbers in the industry because people knew one thing:
you actually cared.
you didn’t come looking for viral moments or “gotcha” questions. instead, you listened attentively. you made your guests laugh while ensuring they felt comfortable. and somehow, by the end of every interview, it felt less like journalism and more like a conversation between friends.
“welcome back, everybody,” you beamed, leaning forward slightly to connect with the lens. “today i’m joined by the incredible cast of michael.”
the cast waved and smiled, the energy in the room instantly lifting.
nia long, coleman domingo, juliano valdi. and finally… jaafar jackson.
the moment you’d seen him walk into the studio earlier your brain had completely malfunctioned. because what the hell? nobody had warned you. not a single soul had informed you that this man looked like that in person.
the pictures online did him absolutely no justice.
his smile alone should’ve come with a warning label. he wore a simple, tailored shirt that fit him perfectly, and his curls fell just right over his forehead. thankfully, years of professionalism kept your face neutral. mostly.
across from you, nia was already grinning. you and nia had known each other for years. she was one of the bigger names that you’d interviewed back when you were first starting out and you’d interviewed her countless times since. you loved her dearly and so did she.
which was exactly why you should’ve known she was up to something.
while you adjusted your notes and checked your earpiece, she leaned slightly toward jaafar. just enough for you not to notice.
“see?” she whispered, nudging his elbow. “i told you she was gorgeous.”
jaafar looked over at you while you were laughing with one of your producers, gesturing with a pen in your hand. his stomach immediately flipped.
“yeah,” he muttered quietly, clearing his throat. “she is.”
nia’s smile widened. she had him exactly where she wanted him. completely.
the interview began smoothly. you asked thoughtful questions. questions about responsibility, legacy, grief, art. the emotional weight of portraying real people.
“there’s a lot of pressure attached to this project,” you said, your voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register. “how did each of you navigate stepping into shoes that meant so much to millions of people? coleman, let’s start with you.”
coleman shifted in his seat, nodding thoughtfully. “you know, you have to approach it with reverence, but also find the humanity. we aren't just playing icons; we're playing real family dynamics. it requires a lot of vulnerability.”
“and it shows in the footage,” you responded, nodding before turning your gaze. “jaafar, what about you? especially with the familial connection, how did you balance that pressure?”
the answers were heartfelt and honest. exactly what you loved. and throughout the entire interview—
you couldn’t stop noticing jaafar. not because he was attractive.
well.
partially because he was attractive. but mostly because of the little things. he rubbed his knee whenever he got nervous. every single time. the way he took in his bottom lip. the way he twirled the ring on his finger.
whenever he was about to answer a particularly personal question, his hand would move to his knee and start rubbing absentmindedly, his fingers smoothing over the fabric of his pants. it was adorable.
and his smile.
lord.
every time he talked, every time someone made a joke, that smile appeared. soft, genuine, slightly shy. it transformed his entire face. you found yourself looking away more than once because you were determined to remain a professional. he quite literally gave you butterflies every time he spoke, his voice low and incredibly gentle.
meanwhile, jaafar was having the exact same problem. because every time you laughed, his attention snapped toward you. every single time. it was becoming embarrassing. especially since the rest of the cast had started noticing. nia was shooting him knowing looks, and coleman had a slight smirk playing on his lips. jaafar knew he would be getting an earful later.
after nearly an hour of conversation, you clapped your hands together, the papers in your lap rustling.
“okay, before i let you guys go, we’re playing a game.”
collective cheers went around the room. juliano pumped his fist in the air, while coleman leaned back with an amused groan. you laughed at their excitement.
“it’s simple. michael song versus michael song. you pick the better one.”
“oh no,” coleman sighed, rubbing his temples playfully. “this is how friendships end. you’re trying to tear this cast apart.”
“oh yes.” you smiled deviously. “absolute chaos is the goal here.”
the game started out simple.
billie jean versus smooth criminal. the cast chose smooth criminal.
“the choreography tilts the scale, it just does,” nia argued, and you nodded in agreement.
rock with you versus remember the time. rock with you was the victor.
human nature versus dirty diana. human nature obviously.
the cast surprisingly agreed on most choices. until disaster struck. you looked down at your card. then back up, biting your lower lip to hide a smirk.
“hmm.”
immediately suspicious, nia pointed a manicured finger at you.
“what’s that face? look at her face, y'all.”
“oh this is about to reveal character.” you said dramatically.
juliano laughed, shaking his head. “just ask the question!”
you took a deep breath, building the suspense.
“man in the mirror…”
everyone nodded, already prepared to shout it out.
“…versus the lady in my life.”
silence.
then one by one.
“man in the mirror,” coleman said firmly.
“man in the mirror,” nia echoed.
“man in the mirror,” juliano piped up.
your jaw dropped.
“WHAT?”
the entire cast burst out laughing at your genuine distress.
“y’all cannot be serious.”
“it’s man in the mirror,” juliano said, leaning forward with a massive grin. “it's a classic!”
“absolutely not.” you argued with the child, pointing your pen at him. “you are too young to understand the romance of it all.”
“absolutely yes.” juliano fired back, laughing.
you sat forward dramatically, resting your elbows on your knees.
“you people don’t understand.”
more laughter echoed through the studio as the producers joined in on the debate.
“no seriously. the intimacy. the yearning. the longing.”
you placed a hand over your chest, closing your eyes for effect. nia was crying laughing, wiping the corner of her eye.
“here she goes,” nia chuckled.
“i’m serious!” you pointed around the room. “maybe i’m just a hopeless romantic but the lady in my life is superior. the vocals at the end? the breakdown? come on!”
across from you, jaafar couldn’t stop smiling.
he loved watching passionate people talk about things they loved. and you? you lit up. your hands moved when you spoke. your eyes sparkled. your entire face became animated, your smile blinding. you were absolutely gorgeous.
it was impossible for him to look away.
“i actually agree,” jaafar spoke up, his voice cutting through the laughter. “it’s one of michael’s most slept-on songs and the vocal performance on it is incredible.”
“exactly!” you shouted, your eyes locking onto his.
“see?” you said triumphantly as you pointed in jaafar’s direction, looking at nia and coleman. “finally, someone with taste! thank you, jaafar.”
“but it’s still not beating man in the mirror,” juliano interrupted, completely ruining the moment.
everyone exploded with laughter again.
“juliano!” you gasped, putting your head in your hands.
“i’m right!” the boy insisted.
“you’re wrong!”
“i’m literally correct!”
the debate continued for several minutes, filled with playful banter and overlapping voices. and despite your best efforts—
man in the mirror ultimately won. a tragedy. a crime. an injustice. you were robbed and you informed the audience of this fact repeatedly, looking directly into the camera with a heartbroken expression.
finally, you smoothed down your outfit and smiled warmly at the cast.
“seriously, thank you all for being here. this movie means so much to so many people, and honestly, spending time with you all today, i can tell why this project worked.”
their expressions softened, the comedic energy shifting back to mutual respect.
“you guys have incredible chemistry. but more importantly, you’re all genuinely beautiful people.” you smiled.
for a second, jaafar forgot how to breathe. because the way you said it felt sincere. not media-trained. not rehearsed. sincere. he swore your eyes lingered on him for just a fraction of a second longer than the others, or maybe it was just his imagination.
his cheeks immediately warmed. thankfully the cameras stopped rolling before anyone could notice.
“and we’re clear.” one of your producers said from the back.
everyone began removing microphones. stretching and chatting. the technical crew started moving around the set, and the energy immediately relaxed into casual hums of conversation.
nia pointed at you as she stood up.
“i told y’all.”
you laughed, unclipping your own mic pack.
“told them what?”
“that you’re the best in the game.”
your hand flew to your chest.
“ms. nia, stop it.”
“oh don’t start. you know you’re the best.”
“thank you. i love you longtime, hunny.”
“i love you more. let’s meet for lunch soon! i mean it, text me!” nia said as she wrapped her arms around you tightly, inhaling your perfume.
coleman then walked up to you, extending a hand before pulling you into a warm hug, expressing his gratitude and appreciation for you. “you’re an amazing interviewer and an even better soul. keep doing what you're doing.”
“thank you so much for coming, send my love to the hubby,” you told him, beaming.
across the set, juliano leaned toward jaafar, watching you interact with the crew.
“she’s so pretty.”
jaafar looked over. once again, you were wrapped up talking to someone else—fixing a loose script page, laughing about something with a production assistant. completely unaware of the eyes on you. his smile appeared again, soft and helpless.
“she definitely is.”
juliano immediately grinned, a mischievous spark in his eyes.
“do you think i can get her number?”
“absolutely not, buddy.” jaafar laughed, a genuine, deep sound as he patted him on the back. “you're a little too young for her, don't you think?”
a few minutes later the cast started heading toward the exit saying their final goodbyes, their voices fading into the hallway.
you were gathering your notes for your next interview, stacking the papers neatly into a folder, when a familiar voice stopped beside you.
“hey.”
you looked up. and there he was. he had stayed behind while the others walked off. close enough now that those stupidly pretty eyes were somehow even more distracting, catching the remaining studio light.
“hi!” your voice bounced a little higher than usual.
jaafar smiled. the smile. there it was again. lord help you.
“i just wanted to say thank you for having us once again.”
“of course. it was an absolute pleasure.”
“we’ve done so many interviews for this press tour, but nothing topped this one. i can see why nia loves working with you so much. you make it easy.”
and there it was. that nervous habit again but this time, it was him and that darn lip. adorable.
you laughed and your expression softened, your heart doing a strange little dance.
“that’s very kind of you to say. thank you, jaafar.”
finally, he glanced toward the door where the rest of the cast waited, the muffled sound of juliano's laughter drifting back in. then he looked back at you, holding your gaze.
“i hope i run into you again soon. maybe outside of a studio.”
your heart did a tiny little flip. the dangerous kind. the kind you ignored. because you were a professional. mostly.
you smiled, your cheeks tingling.
“i hope the same. i'm sure our paths will cross.”
his grin widened, clearly pleased with the answer. for a second, neither one of you moved. the space between you felt suddenly charged, the ambient noise of the studio fading into the background. then nia’s voice echoed loudly from down the hallway.
“jaafar! the car is waiting! let’s go!”
he sighed dramatically, but laughing anyway.
you laughed, shaking your head.
“you should probably go before she comes back in here to drag you out.”
“probably,” he agreed reluctantly. he took a few steps backward toward the exit, still smiling, still looking at you. “see you around.”
“bye, jaafar.” you waved your fingers at him and sent him on his way with a warm smile.
and as he disappeared down the hallway, juliano immediately appeared beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. already talking. already playing around. the two got along like brothers which you really admired.
while back inside the studio, you looked down at your notes, trying to focus on the next set of questions. then you looked toward the door he’d just walked through, the silence of the room suddenly feeling a bit more noticeable. and despite being the professional you are—
you couldn’t stop smiling either.
a couple weeks after the interview. your good friend quen called you for an interview of your own. she invited you to be on her youtube series, feeding starving celebrities to which you accepted of course.
“welcome to the fsc kitchen!” quen yelled, tossing her hair back and gesturing wildly toward the entrance. “introducing the queen of interviews, the baddest thing walking, my favorite vixen. ITS MY GIRL.”
you walk out, matching her chaotic energy immediately. you two jump around the kitchen excitedly, screaming and hugging each other like you haven't seen each other in years, even though you just texted this morning.
“welcome to my show hunny,” quen says, catching her breath and smoothing down her top.
“thank you! i’m so excited to be here.”
“it was a longtime coming.”
“yes yes yesss,” you agree, clapping your hands.
out of nowhere, edm began blasting from her speakers to which you both broke out into model poses, doing your best white girl club dances—complete with the fist pumping and the awkward hip sways. the camera crew was cracking up behind the lenses.
“okay okay,” quen said once the music subsided, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “would you like to know what’s on the menu today?”
“well of course my queen.”
“we’re doing lemon drops for the bev because i heard those are your favorite! then we’re doing salmon rice and potatoes. and lastly for dessert, we cheated and just bought a cheesecake girl.”
“amazing.”
first up was the drinks segment. while you prepped the ingredients—slicing lemons and grabbing the shaker—quen started asking her first set of questions, leaning against the counter with a look of pure mischief.
“you’re known for being super confident, while also being very sweet and caring,” quen began, watching you measure the lemon juice. “did you have an experience in your life that made you this way or have you always been this way?”
you answered while you started making your lemon drops, pouring the liquid into the shaker. “truthfully speaking, i didn’t always have this confidence but when i got to college? i just knew i was that girl.”
you both started laughing, quen nodding along.
“like walking across campus, you literally couldn’t tell me nothing,” you continued, shaking your head at the memory. “not a damn thing.”
you both continued to laugh and joke around until you grabbed the tequila bottle. you quickly covered the label of the tequila bottle with your palm, looking directly at the main camera. “no free promo, not sponsored.” you joked.
“not until they cut the check!” quen shouted.
the camera crew lost it.
“you’re terrible.” she told you.
“i’m professional.” you shot back.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“same thing.”
the next question came naturally.
“for your age, i feel like you’re doing so many big things in your life. wait- how old are you now?”
“i’m twenty six,” you said, before stopping and pointing a lemon knife at her. “wait- how old are YOU?”
“twenty five.”
“ayeee,” you cheered, clinking your fresh lemon drop glasses together. you both began to mumble the lyrics to sza’s 20 something’s song at the same exact time which caused you to burst into a fit of laughter.
the segment continued on and while you prepped the salmon, seasoning it generously on the cutting board, she asked more questions that got deeper and deeper, moving from your career goals to your personal life.
“okay, i gotta ask,” quen said, lowering her voice like she was letting the audience in on a secret. “have you ever had a crush on any of your guests?”
you paused, a piece of salmon in your hand. “like on my show?”
“no, on my show,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful. “yes, your show, girl!”
you both shared a loud laugh before you actually thought about her answer. your brain instantly took a trip back to a couple weeks ago. the shirt. the open buttons. the nervous knee-rubbing. the smile that should've come with a warning label. jaafar was the first person you thought about.
“can i plead the fifth?” you laughed, your cheeks beginning to hurt.
“absolutely not. this is feeding starving celebrities, not a court of law. spill it.”
you sighed, leaning your weight against the counter before telling the truth. “jaafar jackson.”
quen let out a piercing scream that probably blew out the audio levels in the control room. she jumped up and down, hitting the counter. “no way!”
“yes way, quenlin,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands from pure embarrassment, wishing the kitchen counter would just swallow you whole.
“well, jaafar jackson if you’re watching this… hit my girl up!” quen screamed directly into the camera, winking dramatically. “she is single, she is successful, and she likes your uncle's music! call her! and if you’re worried about the teeny tiny age gap, she’s the most mature person i know!”
you busted out laughing, throwing a dish towel at her to make her stop.
the show continued to move on, the salmon smelling incredible as it cooked, and finally it came to a close as you both stuffed your faces with the store-bought cheesecake after you edit farmed for social media.
“i loved having you, please come on more often. my soul sister,” quen said, giving you a massive hug as the closing music started to play.
“i love you, quenlin. thank you for inviting me.”
the next few days for you were insane. the moment the episode dropped on youtube, the internet took it and ran. the interview was being clipped and posted everywhere on all platforms—tiktok, twitter, instagram reels. shade room reposted it. people were making edits of you and jaafar from your original interview, putting them side-by-side with your confession on quen's show.
one very specific clip.
“have you ever had a crush on any of your guests?”
“…jaafar jackson.”
you wanted to die. your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. your friends wouldn’t stop texting. your coworkers wouldn’t stop laughing.
your bosses? absolutely unbearable. you walked into the office three days later and immediately knew something was wrong. everyone looked excited. too excited.
your personal assistant practically sprinted toward you.
“good morning.”
you narrowed your eyes. “what happened?”
“nothing.”
“you’re smiling too hard.”
“am i?”
“yes.”
he slid his phone across the desk. you looked down and nearly choked.
“oh my god.”
there it was. a notification. one very simple notification. normal people wouldn’t have reacted like that. but you were far from normal.
jaafarjackson started following you.
the entire office erupted.
“HE FOLLOWED HER.”
you covered your face wanting the floor to swallow you whole.
“this is humiliating.”
“this is incredible.”
your boss immediately clapped his hands.
“okay.”
you pointed.
“don’t.”
“we need to capitalize on this.”
“oh my god.”
“we need jaafar back on the show.”
“we do not.”
“immediately.”
you dropped your head onto the desk.
hard.
everyone laughed.
“i’m going home.”
“you’re not.”
“i’m quitting.”
“you’re not.”
“i’m changing my name.”
“you’re definitely not.”
somewhere across the city— jaafar was experiencing his own version of embarrassment. because after watching the clip approximately seventeen times and smiling every single time, he’d finally worked up the courage to hit follow. the interview with quen showed an entirely different side of you. he was so intrigued. a mentally sane person would say he was obsessed.
good thing he wasn’t mentally sane.
and now? he’d somehow agreed to come back on your show. which meant in just a few days— the two of you would be sitting across from each other again.
the next few days leading up to the interview, nervousness fell upon you like a heavy blanket. you couldn't pace around your apartment without staring at your phone, replaying the clip from quen's show in your head and cringing into your pillows.
“what if he thinks i’m a weirdo?” you groaned to your reflection in the mirror while getting ready. “oh my gosh, i can’t handle this.”
you had to remind yourself that you were a professional journalist. you worked in the craziest of circumstances. a little awkwardness never hurt anybody. at least, that’s what you told yourself to get through this interview.
the day finally came, and unbeknownst to you, jaafar was just as nervous as you. he had been shifting around in his dressing room for an hour, adjusting his collar and asking his team if his hair looked alright.
when he finally walked out onto the studio floor, every piece of self-control you had left the window. he looked entirely too good. he was wearing a gold silk shirt that made him look incredibly warm and approachable, and the studio lights caught the exact same warmth in his eyes.
you had about thirty seconds to pull yourself together before he approached you. you took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, trying to force your heart to stop hammering against your ribs.
“hey,” he said softly, his voice a little lower than usual.
“hi!” you replied, maybe a little too quickly.
the two of you hugged—a brief, slightly tense embrace where you could swear you felt his heartbeat too—and barely exchanged words before your stage manager was clapping her hands, ushering you both onto the set.
“we’re rolling in three… two…”
your media training kicked in just in time. the familiar warmth of the lights helped ground you.
“welcome back, everybody,” you said, looking into the main lens before turning to your guest. “welcome back, jaafar. although it hasn’t been long since we had you the first time, how have you been?”
jaafar adjusted himself in his chair, his fingers immediately finding his knee to give it a quick, nervous rub before he caught himself and smiled. “i’ve been good, thank you. and yourself?”
“i’ve been great,” you said, a mischievous tilt finding its way back into your voice. “busy doing my own interviews and whatnot.”
jaafar’s eyes sparked with instant amusement. “so i’ve heard.”
the two of you shared a genuine, lingering laugh, and just like that, all the awkward tension went out the window. the comfort you had established during your first meeting came rushing back, making the studio feel small and private again.
you began to ask him more personal questions, moving away from his role as michael and focusing on him as an individual. you asked him about his family dynamic, what it was really like growing up as a jackson in the midst of such a massive legacy. you asked him what he initially wanted to do growing up before the artistry caught up with him.
“there's a moment for everyone,” you murmured, leaning in attentively. “when did you realize that your family was as prominent as they are? not just in the music industry, but their deep influence on the world, and on black culture specifically?”
jaafar listened intensely, his gaze locked onto yours. he answered beautifully, speaking with a humility and depth that made your heart do that dangerous little flip again. he spoke about watching his father and uncles, about the responsibility he felt to honor that history, and how much he valued the love the community showed his family.
towards the end of the interview, the control room chimed in your ear, reminding you of the segment your producers had cooked up. you cleared your throat, looking down at the fresh set of cue cards.
“okay, my team has put together some questions for us to answer,” you said, immediately turning your head to look directly into your specific camera with a warning glare. “these ARE NOT my questions, by the way! i would like that noted for future purposes.”
jaafar let out a soft chuckle, shifting in his seat to face you fully. “ask away.”
you looked down at the first card. “alright. are you dating anyone?”
jaafar didn't even hesitate. he happily responded, “no, i am not.”
you nodded slowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear while giving a slow, knowing, look directly into the camera lens. the silence in the studio broke instantly as everyone on set started laughing uncontrollably at your expression.
“i too, am also single,” you responded smoothly, turning back to him.
jaafar reached over, playfully pulling the next card from your hand to read it himself. “alright, my turn. who was your celebrity crush growing up?”
you closed your eyes, bracing yourself. “barack obama, and i will not be explaining further.”
jaafar burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. “that’s insane.”
“he has aura, jaafar! next question!” you argued, laughing with him.
you hesitated before reading the final card in your hand. your eyes scanned the text, and for a second, you considered throwing it across the room. but professional duty called, so you read it anyway, your voice dropping a little. “when seeing my recent interview with quen… hearing that i have a crush on you… how did you react?”
the studio went dead silent, everyone waiting for the response.
jaafar instantly got nervous, but he didn't look away from you. his expression softened completely. “i was taken by surprise,” he answered honestly, his voice quiet and sincere. “you’re a very beautiful woman. very intelligent. i have to admit… i watched the clip for days.”
your jaw slacked slightly, a intense wave of heat rushing to your face. “oh please, you flatter me, jaafar,” you said, blushing profusely and trying to use the cue card to fan your face.
“i’m serious,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before he flashed that million-dollar, panty dropping smile.
the sheer charm of it was lethal. you had to cross your legs immediately, the physical tension between the two of you suddenly becoming unbearable. you could hear a producer in the back whispering a faint “oh my god.”
right then, one of your executive producers walked onto the set, holding just one more single cue card. she had a massive smirk on her face.
you cannot be serious, you thought to yourself, your eyes narrowing into a fierce glare as she handed it to you. she just gave you a silent thumbs-up from behind the camera and scurried back into the dark.
you cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “before we close, we have a quick game to play.”
the producers had thrown together some random, convoluted party game—something involving rolling dice or picking matching cards—but the rules were clearly rigged from the start. no matter what choices were made, the penalty or the reward ultimately resulted in you two sharing a kiss either way.
jaafar looked at the card, then looked at you, an incredibly nervous but thrilled smile taking over his face.
“well,” jaafar murmured, leaning forward over the small table separating your chairs. “rules are rules.”
your heart was beating so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. “yeah. rules are rules.”
you both stood, talking small steps toward one another. when his hand gently reached up to rest against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jawline, your eyes fluttered shut.
the moment his lips pressed against yours, the entire studio seemed to vanish. it wasn't a quick, awkward cheek-peck for the cameras. it was soft, lingering, and incredibly deep. for a second, it felt like you were entirely melting into the warmth of him, your hand instinctively rising to touch his forearm.
then, a sharp beep from a camera battery brought you crashing back to reality.
you quickly remembered that you were on camera, surrounded by your entire production crew. you pulled away, your breath catching in your throat, your lips tingling.
jaafar’s eyes slowly opened, looking completely dazed, his hand lingering in the air for a second before he dropped it to his side.
you forced your voice to work, looking toward the main camera with everything you had left. “and… that is all the time we have for today. thank you for watching. don’t forget to buy your tickets to michael and follow us on all socials!”
“and we’re clear!” the director called out.
the lights didn't even dim before the set fell into a strange, buzzing quiet. you closed the interview, stacking your cards with trembling hands. across from you, jaafar still stood, completely speechless from what had just happened, his eyes fixed on you like he was trying to figure out if he was still dreaming.
finally he mustered up the courage to ask, “are you busy tonight? i would love to take you out.”
you couldn’t help but feel that nia long was somewhere, rubbing her hands together and laughing wickedly, knowing that this had been her plan all along.
areudirty
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
