I.O.U. @xiaovberry - Tumblr Blog

tutor me? - jaafar jackson

synopsis: when your grades continue to tank in your econometrics class, your hopes for improvement are dependent on a long-awaited study session with your crush, jermajesty. but when studying together goes sideways, you’re left with the next best option: hopeful actor and older brother to jermajesty, jaafar jackson.

word count: 9k (she's longgg)

pairing: jaafar jackson x f!reader (pre-michael and grad school au 😼)

a/n: this is NOT going to become a threesome type of thing AT ALL🤣 just have to preface with that. also the way i was inspired to write this because of this tweet LMAO. enjoy! link to part two at the end :)

grades in grad school don’t really matter, right?

at least that’s what you tried to affirm to yourself as your professor handed you back your econometrics midterm.

you figured this course was the bane of every student at your institution’s existence. yet, as you grasped at the overly-saturated three-page midterm like a squeezy toy, your classmate’s voices echoed around you in celebration and glee.

the exam was weightless in mass but substantiated by the two numbers loosely packed together at the top right of the corner.

66.

you visualized yourself being at the bottom of a tunnel looking up, the shadow of the multiple regression model being cast down on you. taunting you. like your only chance of escape was finding the plausibility of a gauss-markov assumption.

you were starting to believe that this class being a requirement for an international law degree was a wicked joke that your institution was playing on you specifically to test your willpower.

as you continued to mentally plunge down your hole of self-deprecation, an all too familiar voice brought you back to your senses.

“how’d you do?”

by the time your ears had processed who the voice belonging to, you couldn’t control the way your mouth fell agape just a smidge. your eyes widened in mental preparation for the only man who could distract from your perpetual academic doom.

jermajesty jackson.

calling him a friend would definitely be an overstatement. yet for ephemeral moments such as this one, where his hazel eyes glanced at your own for a few seconds, it felt safe to at least label the dynamic as something more than colleagues.

in an environment like this one, where every subpar grade felt like a punch to the gut, having a small classroom crush only felt fitting. not just to get through drawn-out lectures on topics that had little to nothing to do with your professional interests, but for the simple pleasure of having a life outside of econometric theories.

you’d publicly gawked at the 6’0 curly-headed daydream of a man for months now, with your program only starting in august. you’d had two classes with him since then, always managing to snag the seat closest to him that, over a few weeks, eventually became yours. yet, even into the new semester, you could never speak to him in more than 30-minute increments. both because of your diminishing willpower under his gaze and your conflicting schedules.

“you good?” you heard the resonant voice interrupting your whirlpool of thoughts once again.

“w-what?” your eyes widened in realization that you left him in silence for at least a solid minute. you awkwardly shuffled in your seat to look him in the eyes, hoping to grasp at whatever composure you had left.

“i asked how you did on the test?”

uncontrollably, your eyes fell to his lips when he spoke. every time. like you were in a trance that you didn’t want to be unhypnotized from. you prayed he didn’t notice.

you sighed dramatically, hoping to hide the blush growing on your cheeks. you hid your head in your hands as you prepared to admit another defeat. “ughhh not good.” you gulped before mumbling your grade, “i got a 66.”

an uneasy pause followed coupled with the shifting of his feet underneath the desk. he cleared his throat before lowering his head to get closer to you.

“hey, that’s not completely awful,” jermajesty quietly replied, not wanting to air out your grade to the entire class. you didn’t even feel the punch to the gut of being reminded of the academic circumstances when he spoke to you like this. gentle, like he genuinely was worried that you were stressed about this.

your hands fell to reveal your deadpan expression, eliciting a hearty chuckle from him. you could never verbalize how much that warmed your chest to hear. yet, if your physical response to it was anything to go by, it was like color being brought to a black-and-white film.

a beat of silence passed between the two of you as the echoes of your classmate’s conversations surrounded you.

“what about you?” you broke the silence.

a shy smile took over his face as he pulled the test closer to his side of the desk. your eyes narrowed in suspicion and bewilderment at his sly movements. you inched forward slightly to analyze him.

“i don’t want to say,” he shyly admitted.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. was he being…humble? or was he also embarrassed by being below the class percentile?

you knew that he was above average in the class, always managing to score increasingly well on these exams while you sat on the verge of barely passing and complete academic implosion.

this 66 had actually been one of your better grades, if you could stomach that fact.

you sarcastically crossed your arms on top of your chest. “jermajesty, what did you get on the damn test?”

he playfully rolled his eyes, now pushing the test against the top of his desk in your direction. he quickly distracted himself by fidgeting with the eraser top of the mechanical pencil on his desk. you quickly took the exam into your palms, your eyes scanning the page for a grade before it appeared in the top-right corner.

90.

your jaw dropped. no way he was keeping this from you while you were wallowing away in your own academic despair. your eyes jumped from the top of his paper to meet his eyes, reaching a flow state of vacillation between the arduous exam and his chestnut eyes.

“now how the hell were you able to do that?” you began, your eyes still skimming over the contents of the first page. significantly fewer red markings, you noticed. “and why were you going to hide this from me? this is amazing jer!”

in your astonishment, you threw out a nickname only reserved for his close friends and family. you mentally face-palmed at the realization, hoping he didn’t notice. your hands fisted around the corners of the paper slightly, begging that he didn’t catch on. you really had to get better at hiding these feelings for real.

“i just, didn’t want to make you feel worse for-“ he paused, scanning over your face before adding salt to the wound. “-your grade.”

he scratched at the back of his neck in anticipation of another wincing expression from you. despite the second verbal reminder today that you were actually below par in this class, your cheeks warmed. not him caring about your feelings…

in a sheer attempt at keeping composure, your face morphed into fabricated shock that he insinuated you would be jealous at his accomplishments. “me? i would never do that.”

he paused, eyes narrowing at you while waiting for you to own up to your short-temperament.

“aight fine,” you admitted, which earned you another laugh from the sexy, econometrics prodigy. “but for real, this is really impressive.”

“thanks,” he muttered, now feeling suddenly shy about his grade. he leaned to his side to pack up his backpack upon realizing that the professor had wrapped up class for the day. at least you were spared from another lesson after mourning your failed exam.

you continued to eye both exams side by side, further examining the deficit in red markings that had become almost blinding to you. you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself at the fact that he was so sheepish to admit that he didn’t need a curve to do well in the class.

he was so cute.

letting out a hushed sigh, you followed suit and packed your own bag. you didn’t spare the exam from your harsh movements as it crumpled upon entry. you secretly wish you could set it ablaze in front of the school in the middle of the night, laughing maniacally while adding more exams and assignments from this dumbass class into the pit.

“i really need to lock in for this class, it’s actually beating my ass,” you mindlessly quipped, zipping the last compartment of your backpack.

“honestly same,” jermajesty started. “this grade ain’t gonna matter when the final comes around.”

you both simultaneously stood from your desks, pushing the seats back underneath it. you followed behind him as you both eventually made your way out of the classroom, with him holding the door open for you.

what a gentleman, you internally swooned.

you muttered a quick thanks as you quickened your pace, now side by side. you internally ruminated over any way that you could guide the conversation away from an impending awkward silence. you chose to relish in the misery of the previous topic.

“i know that professors always say that studying with other people can really help. but i always either end up getting too distracted or feeling so confused that i forget what class we’re studying for.”

jermajesty let out a hearty chuckle at your confession. again, at the expense of your own sanity, you felt your cheeks warm at his response. you both rounded the corner before arriving at the elevator a few seconds later.

“well, maybe you’re just studying with the wrong people,” he offered, pressing the button to go down. he slid back to the spot right next to you, eyes trained ahead on the elevator doors.

“yeah?” you chuckled, looking up at him from where he stood. he nodded, a soft smile formed on his lips as he kept his eyes trained ahead. “you’re probably right. either nia vents about needing a prequel to sinners or alyssa drags out theories that have nothing to do with the lesson.”

jermajesty’s shoulders shook in laughter. you tore your eyes away from him and refocused on the wall in front of you, hearing the elevator trekking to your floor beyond the doors.

the elevator closest to you beeped loudly, signaling the doors were to open. after a moment, the doors opened and you both stepped inside, jermajesty following your lead and eventually making his way to your side once again.

“well shit, my friends aren’t any better,” he began, eyes once again trained on the closed doors ahead. “we can’t even study an hour without someone choosing to stream the cavs game over reviewing panel data models.”

you cackled, your shoulders slightly hunched over at the thought of jermajesty eyebrows deep into a textbook while his friends surrounded him in distraction. you looked up at him to find him staring at you with a slightly puzzled expression, his own laughter quickly subsiding. you looked away and cleared your throat to compensate for the awkwardness.

calm yourself girl, damn.

a beat passed of a now uneasy silence. in your periphery, jermajesty slipped his hand into his pocket and whipped out his phone.

quick, think of another way to pass the silence.

“at this rate it’s giving we should just study together,” you joked, pausing immediately after the words escaped you. what you meant to be a playful quip at your unreliable study sessions with your friends made you realize just how idiotic your suggestion was.

why the fuck did you say that?

you and jermajesty…together. alone. studying mathematical model specification. while he’d mellow in time series analysis charts, you’d hopelessly mull over the way his dark curls cascaded down his forehead at the perfect angle. you’d be running a personal audit of the curvature of his lips, running an internal risk assessment of how plausible it’d be for your friendship to morph into a relationship by the end of the night.

this was outrageous. you were exceptionally overthinking this. of course you were, it was him for crying out loud. you couldn’t be normal about him even if you were paid by your school to do so.

your mental spiral was interrupted by the soft murmur of the charming man at your side. “that’s not a bad idea actually.”

wait… what?

you looked up at him again, eyes blown wide at his words. he still mindlessly scrolled on his phone, completely oblivious to the state of bewilderment he left you in with those six words. you glanced slightly above his head to the elevator floor indicator. you were almost at the ground floor.

quick! think of how to ask if he’s serious without sounding like a goof…

“are you for real?”

well, that wasn’t smooth at all.

your eyes were still pinned to the side of his head. his eyes didn’t budge from his screen.

he didn’t speak for a few seconds, seemingly lost in whatever post he’d stumbled upon on his phone. your hands were practically clammy while you waited for any sign of interest from him in this conversation.

you tried to regain his attention in this incredibly dire conversation. “jermajesty-"

“yeah, i’m down. meet me at my place saturday. i’ll text you,” he offered, now looking up from his phone to give you a small smile like a man making a business deal.

after a few seconds, the elevator dinged and the doors opened hastily. a crowd of students had appeared at the entrance, teemingly waiting for you both to exit. jermajesty stepped ahead of you without looking up from his phone. you didn’t follow behind him, instead opting to remain in the elevator as you went through full-fledged shock.

he didn’t wait for a response nor notice that you were no longer walking beside him.

you didn’t — no, couldn’t, conjure up a response to what had just happened. your mouth fell open slightly at the casual plan that was just created.

the swarm of students pushed past you onto the elevator as you stayed stuck at the entrance.

there’s no way this is happening…

—

if you knocked on the back of a door with the palm of your hand, did that come off as casual?

two whole minutes have passed of you deliberating how to deliver the most nonchalant, unassuming knock to his door. jermajesty’s door.

to his apartment.

that you were about to enter. to study.

you’re pretty sure you could count every millimeter of the door’s length given how long you’ve perused it. seconds passed by where anxiously glancing over it’s sheeny reflection, turned into a one-on-one pep talk with yourself against its mahogany backdrop.

you were entirely too anxious for such a casual couple-hour hangout. perhaps it was seeing jermajesty in such a personal environment stripped away from the sterile lighting of a classroom. or maybe it was seeing him in something entirely too casual yet bewitching that made you fear that you’d drool all over your grid sheets.

aside from cordial interactions and exam debriefs, you’d never spent alone time with him before. real time alone. where conversations could drift to personal anecdotes about his family and his life before grad school.

excluding the overall privacy of a one-on-one session together, you’d hoped your white cropped-tube top and black maxi skirt would be appealing enough to keep his eyes on you. or, at the very least, ogle at you for a second longer than usual. if not the fit, than the way your dark curls were slicked back into a shiny half-up half-down look.

you sucked in a deep breath, holding it in your throat and closing your eyes. you could handle this. you could be chill. just knock on the damn door.

by the time you opened your eyes and raised your hand to finally knock, you heard his voice echo from the other side of the door. almost as if he was getting closer to it…

shit.

you took a few steps back, hoping to come off like you just arrived. the footsteps and voices got increasingly louder as you fixed a few curls and awkwardly fixed the placement of your feet.

the door opened quickly to reveal jermajesty with his head turned away from you, seemingly not noticing your presence. “yeah i’m just gonna throw this out and be-"

he cut himself off, eyes widening to find you standing there with a clumsy smile adorning your face. “hey?’ he asked in an inquisitive tone. “how long have you been standing there?”

“oh me? i uh-" you started, your face contorting into fake contemplation. “i just got here.”

you looked over his figure, noting the garbage bag in his left hand and his phone in the other. he wore a comfortable-looking grey sweatsuit with his curls slightly loose. how sexy and domestic he looked, you thought to yourself.

by the time you’d drawn your eyes back to his own, you caught the final few seconds of him raking over your own body. perfect.

“well um-" he looked behind him back into the apartment. “i’m just gonna go throw this out downstairs. but please feel free to go in and get comfortable. we’re sitting at the dining table to study.”

before you could mutter a response, he skipped his way down the stairs to where the garbage shoot supposedly was.

wait…we?

as quickly as you’d processed his words, you heard voices echoing from inside the apartment. you wiped your hand nervously on the front of your skirt, hoping to making sense of the situation.

weren’t you supposed to be the only person here? did he have family staying over or something?

as curiosity ached at the back of your mind, you naturally led yourself into the space, afraid of being caught outside once more.

you shut the door softly behind you, gently sliding your shoes off and leaving them and your backpack at the side of the entrance.

you took in your surroundings, taking in the deeply-saturated interior that jermajesty had in his apartment. next to the entrance of the apartment was a small living room, decorated with a large midnight black couch and table. a large buffet lamp stood in the corner and produced a comfortable yellow hue over the space, illuminating the walls covered in old r&b and jazz vinyls.

as a vinyl collector yourself, the sight could’ve brought a tear to your eyes if you were anywhere else. the walls were both heartwarming from the musical homage and gratifying that your crush was also a music fanatic just like you. you never want to give a man credit, but it was actually a nice setup that he had. it was a place that you could see yourself getting comfortable in very soon.

you wondered what the rest of the apartment looked like…

you inched forward into the living room to get a closer look at the vinyls. leaning against the arm of the couch, you took in the vast display of colors and artists.

underground, theolonious monk.

the first family of soul, the five stairsteps.

in a romantic mood, sarah vaughan.

mr. soul, sam cooke…SAM COOKE?!

your heart softened immediately. it was like a record player had begun spinning in your mind, your ears immediately being clouded with the melodic, silky voice of “i wish you love.” memories instantaneously flooded your mind of your parents crooning in the kitchen while you and your sister watched in adoration. in hope for a love like theirs.

not your man is fine AND has good taste.

as you brought your fingertips to lightly graze over the plastic of the vinyl cover, you were broken from your euphonious trance by the sound of laughter coming from another room. the laughter of a woman.

what the hell is going on? who the hell is here?

you quickly gathered yourself, pushing off the arm of the couch and centering yourself on your feet. you hastily made your way to the entrance again to retrieve your backpack, now trekking down the dimmed hallway to find the source of the noise.

you were too distracted to notice the walls adorned with classic paintings and canvases of wildflowers and misty lakes. you probably would’ve appreciated it more if you weren’t so lost in thought.

by the time you got to the end of what felt like a perpetual tube, your eyes fell to the tabletop covered in scattered notebooks and mathematical utensils. you noticed the numerous doodled pages of what could only be keynesian theories and differential calculus.

you scanned over the notebooks before landing on a manicured hand with a pink mechanical pencil attached. your eyes widened slightly at that before looking up further and being met by the eyes of the woman whose hand it was attached to.

you failed to notice the unbearable silence that took over the room when you entered. it was only a few seconds later that you looked around and registered the over five pairs of eyes looking back at you in confusion.

your mouth opened as if to speak, but you could only let out sputtered breaths. by the time you actually managed to form a coherent thought, you felt a presence come up behind you, effectively taking all 10 eyes off of you.

“hey guys,“ you heard jermajesty from behind you.

he quickly introduced you to everyone before reciting their names back to you for familiarity. from what you could retain, jada held the pink pencil, anna and maria sat to her left, and one of the guys was named raymond.

but you were barely listening. in fact, you were dumbfounded.

because what you had thought was an exclusive study date was somehow quintupled, unbeknownst to you. the seats that should’ve been filled by two bodies were occupied by multiple. the laughter that was supposed to be shared by you two now reverberated off the walls by multiple voices. the surrounding table was filled with forgotten sweaters and strewn papers when it should’ve been occupied by two distinctly different study setups.

to say you were disappointed would definitely be an embellishment to an already disconcerting and atrocious situation.

you murmured a quick “nice to meet you guys” before their attention was quickly refocused back on each other. you turned back to look at jermajesty, hushedly speaking below your breath.

“hey, i thought that we-“

“why don’t you take a seat next to jada?” he quickly cut you off, gesturing to the empty seat next to the girl with the perfectly manicured fingertips. his face was contorted into the fabricated generosity that a cashier gave to a customer in the last ten minutes of a shift.

he was being pulled by one of the guys whose name you couldn’t recall before you could utter a response.

you didn’t know what you were more disgruntled by: the audacity to cut you off, the presumption that you wanted to sit beside anyone other than him, or the sheer gall of the situation entirely.

you were quick to realize that you were now the only person standing awkwardly at the entrance of the room. you hastily found yourself maneuvering through the overloaded room and slipping into the empty spot next to jada. you threw her a timid smile before leaning over to retrieve your notebooks from your bag.

you felt tears brimming at your waterline faster than you could control it. the midterm exam came quickly to view at the depths of your bag, but you weren’t ready to pull it out just yet. you opened different sections of the bag now, looking for any distraction to keep from crying in front of all of these people.

the voices around you quickly muffled into an audible haze that only left you overstimulated and desolate. you swiftly tried to plan out your escape.

could you blame it on a sudden sickness? maybe you could text nia and she could call frantically saying she had a date-related emergency?

or… you could thug it out and actually learn something from the cram session. maybe staying wouldn’t be the worst thing? if you didn’t do it to develop a more intimate dynamic with jermajesty, then you’d do it for yourself. at least to improve your score by a few points…

—

an hour had already passed, and you didn’t know what was worse: the study-side discourse having little to nothing to do with classical economics or the drawn-out disappointment of jermjaesty’s betrayal.

you barely uttered a word to him the entire hour you'd been there. shit, you hadn’t even spoken up more than five times to the table at large as you perused your midterm for the third time tonight. you soon realized there was nothing you could’ve learned during this session that you couldn’t have absorbed through a quick khan academy debrief.

this “study date” was growing to feel more and more useless as the conversations drifted from love island debates to shit-talking professors whose classes you’d never even heard of. there was nothing more that you craved in this very moment than a tub of jeni’s birthday cake ice cream and your own solitude. privacy to wallow in your own self-despair and mortification at your wishful thinking.

your delusion.

because why would jermajesty ever want you? it was a fanatical desire that only teetered on the cusp of reality when he looked at you for a second longer than normal. a figment of your imagination that was only temporarily actualized when he’d scan your body beyond your face and make you feel like you were all that mattered to him.

yet, just like all previous interactions before today, it ended there. where everything felt and was, in fact, normal and platonic.

because that’s all it could ever be.

the thought felt harrowing but strangely reassuring in the way that felt uncomfortable but familiar. like the heavy hesitation sitting in your chest when you know its time to outgrow someone, but the strange comfort of knowing that they’re still physically present.

even though they’re not emotionally yours.

see! these were thoughts you should be mulling over in your own bed. not in the discomfort of strangers in conversation that held no significance for you.

that thought alone was enough to convince you to leave.

at least temporarily.

you cleared your throat. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

you heard a few mumbled “ok’s” and hmm’s” of acknowledgment. you looked to jermajesty to see that he gave you a quick nod before returning to whatever conversation he was previously in.

he couldn’t even show you to the bathroom? wow…

you bit back a scoff while getting up from your seat and softly tucking it back underneath the dining room table. you quickly maneuvered through the crowded space before finding yourself in the very hallway that you had paced through just an hour before.

you walked further down the dimlit corridor in hopes of finding any room to seclude yourself in. after a few seconds of aimless strolling, you found a door left ajar that you could only deem the bathroom. that or jermajesty’s room that you would’ve ransacked in any other instance.

with the speed of light, you slid past the gap and into the bathroom, locking yourself in like a bird in a cage. you flicked the switch and looked in the reflection, only being met with a sorrowful, drained expression that somehow belonged to you.

your eyes were hooded, and your lips were slightly chapped from how long you spent gnawing on them like a pacifier. the hairs on the top of your head were slightly frayed while your blush had faded in a way that only you could’ve noticed.

this bathroom was the best escape plan you could’ve conjured up all day.

you quickly got to reapplying your lip gloss, then a touch of concealer, and then finally a splash of water to the top of your head to restore the “sleek” look that had fled the scene.

after a few minutes, you glanced over your reflection once again. definitely better. but you know what would do the trick? going home.

you sighed, the feeling of despondency once again consuming your body like paper being submerged by water. your eyes quickly scanned over the countertop to find the minimalist spread of basic toiletries sprawled across it.

toothpaste, mouthwash, toothbrushes, q-tips, soap.

wait… toothbrushes? plural?

so… did someone else live here with him? was it a girl?

were you about to scream? completely ravage the bathroom and shatter the mirror to finish it off? maniacally laugh at your own misery? you didn’t know which option sounded more appealing.

in fact, the best and unspoken option still remained… going home.

you sarcastically chuckled to yourself before reaching for the doorknob and heading out.

girl, you’re really over your head with this one, you thought to yourself. how could you even think-

you unintentionally cut yourself off by the aggressive slamming of the back of the door against something.

or someone.

you heard a loud groan from the other side of the door. frantically, you ran to the opposite side of the apparently man-defeating wooden door. you were met with someone crouched over and groaning while grabbing at his head as if he’d been uppercut across the forehead.

“oh god!” you quietly shrieked, awkwardly leaning over him while trying to evaluate the damage and where you could help. “oh god, oh god, oh god,” you continued to lament out loud to yourself.

“yo, are you good?” you heard jermajesty yell from down the hallway, not even bothering to come check on the person.

“yeah,” the person beneath you shouted back, startling you just slightly at the depth of his voice. he didn’t sound like any of the guys who were sitting at the table with you previously. from voice alone, you didn’t recognize him at all, actually.

a beat of silence passed between you, awkwardly peering down at the crouched-over individual who sporadically groaned.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sor-" you paused. the man stood up from where he was previously huddled in pain, now gazing down at you in incredulity. “sorry?”

the man’s face was partially illuminated by the bathroom light you forgot to switch off. instead of being greeted with a pained expression that matched the previous groans, you were met with a satirical grin.

“sorry? it almost sounds like you don’t feel bad for clubbing me upside the head with a door.”

your jaw fell open just a fraction as you scrambled for a response.

“i really am sorry, i just-" you uncontrollably let out a giggle at the way he was looking at you. “how the hell was i supposed to know you were there?”

a wider smile broke out on the mystery man’s lips that weirdly caused your previous melancholy to dissipate. just slightly.

“maybe try to avoid swinging it at full speed next time?” he quipped, which caused you to erupt into laughter again. “maybe we can try that?”

you nodded through the chuckles, calming yourself down from the belly laugh that ripped through you. “i think i’m gonna work on my reflexes, actually. just trying to perfect my prowess you know.”

“hmm,” he hummed in response, a comfortable silence settling as he scanned your face briefly before looking you in the eyes.

his lips quirked into a sly smile as he looked downward at you.

you swiftly glanced north of his eyes to the slight perspiration on his forehead, and your face fell at the result.

“oh my gosh, you’re bleeding,” your voice was laced with concern now.

he brought his own fingers to dab at the thin layer of blood now dripping from the gash on his forehead. he didn’t even have to look at his fingers to recognize the liquid now slowly oozing from the wound.

“you don’t have to work on your prowess, i think you pretty much nailed it,” he ribbed.

you felt guilt slowly seeping into your chest again. you started fiddling with your fingers anxiously as you quickly contemplated what you could do. “i’m sorry. i’m so sor-"

“it’s ok, i’m just teasing,” he reasoned, all humor lost from his tone. his sarcastic smirk was quickly replaced with something peaceful and delicate, like he was trying to assuage you of any blame.

“do you know if jermajesty has a first aid kit or something? i don’t want you to get an infection.”

“i don’t know what jerm has, but i know i got one,” he responded. he slid past you and made his way into the bathroom.

jerm? how did he know him like that?

puzzled, you decided to investigate further and follow after him past the murderous device of a door.

you entered the bathroom once again, carefully closing the door behind you and leaning on it like a lifeline. your hands were tucked behind your back as you watched the man sift through one of the cabinets beneath the sink.

now that you were seeing him in a better light, you realized that you didn’t know who this guy was. he definitely wasn’t at the table with you all before and he most likely didn’t go to your school either.

so, you just enclosed yourself in the bathroom with a complete stranger.

a very…good-looking stranger.

one who was draped in a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants but looked like he was prepared to stride on the red carpet if asked.

the man sifted through different items with the sort of familiarity that denoted he’d been here before. many times, probably. after a few seconds of rummaging through hair products and extra toiletries, he retrieved a white, unlabelled plastic box that you could only assume was a first aid kit.

he stood back to his full height, which, now that you got a good look at him, significantly towered over you. he had tanned skin that looked like he lived on the islands of fiji on a summer-time basis only. he also had dark curls that cascaded just to the middle of his forehead, with the exception of the space on the far right where he was now bleeding from.

because of you.

he promptly unclasped the edges of the box, grabbing at the antiseptic, loose cloth, and way more bandages than necessary for a small soon-to-be scab. he leaned forward against the counter to get a closer look at himself in the mirror. he started treating the wound with the kind of precision that could only be replicated after an in-depth review of the pitt.

yet, his hands still shook as he dabbed lightly and flinched with every poke of alcohol to his skin. he could barely make it through five seconds with alcohol-to-skin contact. you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as you watched him truly try his best for such an unserious wound while still acting as if he was awake during a surgery.

his eyes quickly shifted from focusing on his wound to your flushed cheeks as you failed to hide your amusement.

“is something funny to you about the injury that you caused?” he sassed, hand now hovering over his injury as he continued to look at you through the mirror.

you playfully rolled your eyes. “not the injury, but the one treating it. you’re acting like you’re performing a life-altering operation on yourself.”

he scoffed in response. “what, you think you can do better?”

“i mean, i used to work as a teacher. i’ve had my fair share of injuries that i’ve learned to treat,” you paused, eyes narrowing sarcastically on his reflection before continuing. “skillfully.”

the man took a step back away from the mirror and redirected his attention towards you. “is that so?”

you confidently nodded.

he held the soaked cloth in your direction with expectant eyes. “you should use those skillful treatments and patch me up then.”

a laugh escaped your lips at the assumption that you were just going to follow his request. so why did you find yourself already swiping the cloth from his palm into your hand and inching closer to him to help?

the man was already leaning back against the countertop, lowering himself for your comfort. a teasing smile sat on his lips as he closed his eyes, almost bracing himself for the stinging sensation to return to his skin.

despite the teasing nature of it all, you took your role rather seriously. instead of immediately using the antiseptic cloth, you took another piece from the kit and soaked it in water, gently dabbing it against his warm skin. his eyes opened at the lack of twinging pain to his forehead.

“relax, i know what i’m doing,” you eased, now replacing the cloth soaked in water with the one doused in antiseptic. “now, take a deep breath.”

he seemed to believe you, immediately following your command and closing his eyes once again. you brought the antiseptic-soaked wipe to the wound, which caused him to hiss beneath you. after letting it sit for a moment, you removed it and immediately reached for the petroleum jelly that sat neatly tucked away in the kit.

his eyes remained closed as you backed away from him temporarily to take a swab of it on a new, clean piece of cloth. you returned to dab it softly on the outskirts of the now dry remnants of blood.

you unknowingly entered a flow state of administering treatment for the wound smaller than your pinky finger. you subconsciously began humming a familiar tune to yourself as you thoroughly smeared petroleum jelly across the wound.

you reached into the kit for the final piece of the puzzle: a bandaid. after unwrapping it from the packaging, you lightly placed it on top of the wound, now sealing the wound off from your inspecting eyes.

“all done,” you replied, absentmindedly now switching to clean up the litter on the surrounding countertop. in your periphery, you watched his eyes open slowly, adjusting to his surroundings again.

you were now side-by-side as he turned in place to face the mirror and examine the work you’d done on the surface of his skin. you continued to clean up the remnants of the “operation” unable to look at him in the reflection.

the only sound filling the space was the quiet rustle of bandaid wrappers and loose bottletops. after a few seconds of comfortable silence enveloping the space, he quietly interjected. “was that sam cooke?”

you paused your movements. “huh?”

“the song you were humming”

you glanced up from the countertop to meet his inquisitive eyes in the reflection of the mirror. you nodded before a subtle, mischievous grin settled on your lips. “you know which song?”

without missing a beat, he responded. “smoke rings.”

well damn.

he must’ve caught the slight faltering of your face by the way a triumphant smile took over his face. “don’t test me about my sam cooke knowledge, because i’ll always prevail.”

you playfully scoffed, taking a step back to fully take in his newly displayed confidence. “is that so?”

“try me.”

now this was going to be interesting. you squinted your eyes in preparation for the bathroom-sponsored sam cooke contest. you crossed your arms on your chest as you thought about how to approach this.

you began reciting lyrics in a plain voice, not wanting to sing and give it away. well, not wanting to sing and embarrass yourself…

you wanted to start easy. “at first, i thought it was an infatuation but-"

“you send me. next.”

you paused before thinking of the next lyric to throw at him. “you’re the apple of my eye, you’re cherry pie. and oh-“

“are you kidding? nothing can change this love.”

your eyes narrowed further as you thought of another song. something that could really stump him.

“you’ve left me to dream all alone, too real is this feeling of make believe,” you interrupted yourself, evaluating the bafflement on his face. you tried to throw him a bone now, adding a hum to your words. “too real when i feel what my heart can conceal, oh yes i’m the…”

you watched his face contort from confusion to embarrassing realization, a prideful smile taking over you as you knew he recognized the song last minute.

you continued the lyrics, a jubilant expression on your face as he begrudgingly followed suit. “i’m the great-”

“pretender,” he finished, playfully rolling his eyes when he sensed you were about to gloat.

you cackled to yourself in triumph as an embarrassed smile took over his lips. his head fell in faux shame as he let you take your moment to brag through longer-than-needed fits of laughter. he readjusted himself along the outskirt of the countertop, now facing the wall. he poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek to hold back from laughing at your hysterics.

“so i remain the ultimate sam cooke fan, ha!” you gloated in his face, playfully poking your finger to the side of his arm. damn, it was solid.

you nestled yourself comfortably on the ridge of the countertop, your body now facing the direction of the bathroom wall. your arms were pressed against one another, slightly. you felt the man beside you tilt his head in your direction before speaking up again.

“oh so that’s what this was? and here i was thinking we were just getting to know each other,” he smirked, arms crossed along what you could only assume was solid chest. your eyes drifted quickly before you felt a heat creep along the apple of your cheeks.

you didn’t know what to say, instead choosing to sit in the silence and warmth radiating from your bashfulness and his body next to yours. it was in that silence that a striking revelation dawned on you.

you didn’t even need to look at your phone to know that you’d spent a protracted amount of time in the restroom with the soothing presence of this stranger. instead of basking in the superfluity of unwanted company at the dining table, you were here. recounting sam cooke classics and patching unintended injuries to the man who looked like he could pass for a high-class model.

rather than gawking at jermajesty with the kind of attention that should honestly be redirected to quantifying economic phenomena, you were here.

was it bad that you enjoyed the last — however long you’d been enclosed in the washroom — with this complete stranger, as opposed to the company sitting just down the hallway? or rather, was it completely awful that you preferred this unconventional setting and singular conversation with this man as opposed to time spent with your own crush?

the sudden epiphany brought you more consolation than you’d wanted to admit to yourself. so instead of deconstructing your emotions, you chose to do what you did best. suppress them.

you broke the comfortable silence that had consumed you both once again. you looked up at him, taking in the glistening features on the side of his face. “so, who are you anyway?”

he guffawed at your bluntness. “is that how you normally ask people to introduce themselves to you?”

“hm, it’s something new i’m trying,” you teased.

he paused for dramatic effect, now gazing down at you and inching closer by a hair. your shoulders were practically bumping against each other at the proximity. “that’s a bold interrogation tactic against the owner of this apartment.”

you felt your breath catch in your throat.

he… what?

before you could trail down another set of internal questioning and befuddlement, he continued. “but, since you asked me so nicely. i’m jaa-"

as you sat in a much-anticipated eagerness, the comfortable ambiance was soon disrupted. he was quickly cut off by the click of the bathroom door opening. you both jumped slightly at the unexpected intrusion. when you quickly tore your gaze away from the man, you were greeted by a much too-frazzled-looking jermajesty whose usually defined curls were tussled beyond recognition. before he could get a word out, he ceased all movements, locked in place with nothing but his expressive eyes to indicate how he was feeling.

his eyes bounced off your own before taking in the view at large. you nestled a little too close for his comfort next to the last person he was expecting. the corners of your lips pulled upwards for the first time all night, at least to his knowledge.

“bro, what the hell are you doing?!” jermajesty interrogated the man to your right. his attention was seemingly lost from you altogether, and now on getting to the bottom of why you both were suspiciously locked in such a confined space.

confined in a space so close together…

“my bad, we were just-"

“just what? i’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes and you’re locked in here with my classmate?”

ouch. not even friend? way to kick my ass when i’m already down in the dirt.

“we were just talking, jerm,” the man reasoned.

jermajesty scoffed at that, the pure annoyance seeping from him like a radiator. “i don’t really give a shit. we’re in the middle of studying and you’re having -" he paused, hands gesturing to the two of you bunched together on the countertop. “-whatever moment this is.”

despite the argument seemingly being about your absense from the table, jermajesty barely looked at you. seems to be a trend tonight.

you felt guilt and discomfort starting to rip through your chest. you hadn’t meant to cause any drama today. in fact, all you’d wanted was a study date to turn into a makeout session against the wall.

was that so crazy to ask?

however this moment, of all things, was the last thing you expected. yet, the most unexpected moments are the best, right?

the two men continued to bicker whilst you stood in the middle like three peas in an uncomfortably squished pod. you had to find an escape, quickly.

“i’m sorry, i’m just going to go,” you awkwardly interjected into the bickering, drawing an uncomfortable silence across the space. you didn’t wait for a response before you languidly pushed past jermajesty’s shoulder and into the dimly lit hallway for the third time tonight.

“now look what you did?” you heard the man from the bathroom shout out. you didn’t care though. you quickly paced down the hallway back into the dining room where everyone else remained.

you didn’t register the tense silence that had enveloped the dining room when you reentered. nor did you care. you hastily reached for your belongings left at the chair from before, slinging it over your arm and muttering a "bye" before speedily walking to the front door. you slipped into your shoes once again and slammed the door behind you a little too loudly for your comfort.

you didn’t waste a beat, skipping down the stairs to the exit point of the building, your chest heaving at the rush of being able to depart from that impending predicament.

what the hell just happened?

—

as is the case in grad school, you only had your econometrics class once a week.

what once felt like a blessing to have to sit in the uncomfortable neutrals of your lecture hall just once a week now felt like a curse. you wished you could skip this class for the rest of the semester; you really did. but you knew that your grade was suffering beyond repair at this point, and adding an absence on top of that would only exacerbate your predicament further.

it was now wednesday. four days since the failed study attempt. four days since your once oddly gratifying patch-up situation in the bathroom quickly turned into a screaming match. four days since you left jermajesty’s apartment with your head spinning and your feelings left in disarray.

four days since you were left to feel like a hopeless romantic with no prospective conjoined future together.

jermajesty had made no attempt to contact you since the weekend ordeal and your feelings for him were quickly morphing from adoration to hatred. you hoped that arriving ten minutes earlier than class time would give you enough time to prepare what you’d say to him, if he even remembered your presence at this point.

you dragged yourself into the classroom with a look of desperation and dreariness. maybe jermajesty wouldn’t be there today? if only your prayers could be answered so quickly. because as the seats came into view, the one person you dreaded seeing was already plastered to the seat like a moth to a flame.

he was early for once, weird…

the silence of the space was overwhelming in the way that being submerged under water felt. like the murmuring of the waves was only comforting until the leading soundtrack from jaws started to play in the distance, signaling your doom.

against your better judgement, you chose to sit in the same seat you always did, right next to him. you sucked in a deep breath before navigating your way through the desks and strewn seats before sinking into your own. your eyes were trained ahead in anticipation of an awkward silence and squeaking of the chair beneath your weight.

as soon as you sat down, you felt jermajesty’s attention immediately shift to you. great, this was happening faster than you’d hope.

he mumbled your name, hoping to get you to look at him. you refused until he said it again, this time more softly and laced with desperation.

you finally looked at him and were met with his wide-eyed worried expression. it panged at your heart, just a little bit. but then the feeling was akin to how you felt leaving his apartment in desolation, and your feelings of pity were immediately replaced with resentment.

“what do you want?” you jeered. the anger laced in your tone felt foreign to you. you’d never felt this level of indignation towards him ever.

“look, i am so sorry for how last saturday went,” he began, angling his body in his chair to fully face you. “that wasn’t supposed to happen. i didn’t mean to blow up like that. that wasn’t fair to you.”

was it bad that you liked how desperate he looked for your attention? maybe…

your jaw ticked in annoyance as you thought over how you’d respond. without thinking too deep, you responded. “and what about the group? i thought we were going to be studying together?”

you internally flicked yourself against the forehead for sounding so vulnerable in your confession.

“i’m also sorry for that,” he lamented, eyebrows furrowing further. “i told raymond that we’d be studying together and he somehow took that as an open invite and invited everyone else. it wasn’t cool and i should’ve told you before you got there.”

well, at least he was opening up to you. but still, you stood your ground in irritation and contempt.

you huffed in response, leaning to the other side of your chair to retrieve your notebook and pencil bag. you could tell he was watching your movements with razor-sharp focus, searching for any tell that you’d forgive him soon.

“i know that you’re upset, and rightfully so,” he started. “but i have something that’ll make it up to you, i swear.”

your ears perked at that. you abandoned your attempt at searching for your lost pen in the depths of your bag and sat up straight in your chair, eyes back on jermajesty’s pensive but hopeful gaze.

“saturday taught me that, for one, i need to get better at telling my friends no,” he paused, seeing a glint of a smile forming on your lips. the tiniest ounce of guilt was alleviated from his chest at your anger easing up, so he continued. “but i also learned that i’m not the best at explaining these hard ass concepts to other people. so i had an idea.”

you waited for him to continue talking as he brought his forearms to the top of the desk like he was a businessman explaining a proposal in depth. “what if my brother tutored you?”

your eyes widened at the suggestion as you stammered out a laugh of unadulterated shock. first off, how did he jump to such an unexpected and unrealistic conclusion? secondly, did he really not want to spend time with you at all that he had to pass you to a relative? thirdly, who the fuck is his brother? “jermajesty, what are you-"

“wait, just hear me out,” he sat up further in his chair with a pleading look in his eyes. well alright then. “my brother used to be an econometrics tutor in undergrad. he’s really good at it and he says he remembers a lot of what we’re going over now. plus, after saturday he offered to help.”

you honestly didn’t know if laughing at his face in dismay would be the proper response or if just throwing out a “are you mad?” would suffice. to say you were left utterly dumbfounded would be a complete undersell of what was racking through your brain at the moment.

if jermajesty didn’t want to accompany you while studying, he could very well just say no. but he did seem to feel pretty guilty about how things ended on saturday. then again… who the hell is brother??

he softly called your name again to get your drifting thoughts back on him. “please let me make it up to you,” he inched closer to you with those pleading eyes once again. “please.”

and who were you to say no when he looked at you like you’d assembled the stars in the sky yourself? if you were certain about anything about yourself in this moment, it was that you didn’t have a backbone. because how you could give into his request at the drop of a dime while completely casting aside your own annoyance from before, you didn’t know.

against your shrinking resolution, you agreed. “fine,” you sighed, your heart warming ever so slightly at the way that his smile widened.

yet, a question still remained at the forefront of your mind. “but, who is your brother?”

jermajesty’s eyes quirked at your question, like it was the most obvious and unmistakable thing in the world. “uh jaafar, the guy from the bathroom? didn’t he tell you that?”

as quickly as your brain short-circuited, the door to the classroom opened and in came as many as eight students at once. jermajesty instantly became distracted by the noise brought in from the outside, his attention being redirected to the doorway. and for once, you were thankful that his inquisitive and mesmerizing eyes weren’t on you anymore.

because how the hell were you supposed to survive a tutoring session with the one man aside from jermajesty who had you blushing at your shared interests and intense, wandering gaze?

and why the hell did that same man have to be jermajesty’s brother?

READ PART TWO HERE

a/n: i hope you enjoyed. i have so many ideas for pt.2!

theetherealbloom

I’M AN ASTRONAUT, YOU’RE THE MOON

Summary: When you moved halfway across the world to work nights at PTMC, the last thing you expected was for your soulmate string to lead straight to Dr. Jack Abbot—who’s already happily married to his own soulmate. So you bury your feelings beneath friendship, trauma shifts, and years of silence… until tragedy changes everything, and both of you begin to realize that maybe soulmates were never about fate, but choice. Or, the Soulmate AU with Jack Abbot.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x FilipinaNurseFem!Reader (Can still be read by anyone! It’s not super specific)

Warnings: 18+ Soulmate String AU, Unrequited Love to Requited Love, Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Hospitals, ER, ANGST, Fluff, Crush, Blood, Friends-to-Lovers, Slow(ish) Burn, Eventual Hurt-to-Comfort, Longing, YEARNING, Major Character Death, The Pitt AU, Grief, Tragic Heroine, Tragic Hero, Widow!Abbot, Depressed!Abbot, Anger, Crying, GSW, Happily Ever After, COVID-19, Kissing,

Word Count: 22.5k

A/N: We're gonna take a break from Ducky and Robby for a bit. Welcome, Jack Abbot. You are in my domain now >:D ALSO, I HIT THE LIMIT ON SPACING SOOO THE FORMAT MIGHT BE FUCKED IDK. Sorry :(((

Side note: Gif in the moodboard from @/keeryscupid. I’m not a doctor or a nurse. I’m dyslexic, and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Orbiter by Noah Kahan, Brush Fire by Gracie Abrams, and If You Let Me by Maisie Peters (with Marcus Mumford)

| Jack Abbot Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

2018

PTMC, EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT — NIGHT

The first thing you notice about the Pitt isn’t the noise.

It’s the pace.

Everything moves fast, but no one looks rushed. People pass each other like they’ve done this a thousand times, sliding through narrow spaces without looking, voices overlapping in half-finished sentences, monitors beeping in uneven rhythms that somehow don’t throw anyone off.

Organized disaster is exactly what an emergency department should feel like. You tighten your grip on the strap of your bag as you follow Lena down the hall, trying not to stare at everything like it’s your first day on Earth.

New country, New hospital, New job.

Night shift.

Your body still hasn’t figured out what time zone it’s supposed to be in, but adrenaline is already kicking in, that familiar hum under your skin that always comes when you step into an ER. You tell yourself you’ve handled worse. That you’ve worked typhoon nights, mass casualty drills, and overcrowded government hospitals with half the supplies you needed.

You can handle this.

Lena pushes the double doors open with her shoulder, not even breaking stride. “ER’s through here,” she says. “You said you worked trauma before, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you answer automatically.

She glances back at you immediately, “Drop the ma’am. You’ll make everyone feel old.”

Heat creeps up your neck, “Sorry. Habit.”

“You’ll fit in,” she mutters, half amused, half distracted as she scans the room.

You step through the doors behind her—and the sound hits all at once. Phones ringing, a monitor alarming somewhere in the back, sharp and insistent. A patient down the hall is yelling that he’s been waiting for three hours and he’s going to sue somebody.

It’s loud and crowded, but very alive and all too familiar. Your shoulders drop just a little, tension you didn’t realize you were holding easing out of your spine.

Lena stops near the central desk, scanning the board, then jerks her chin toward the far side of the room, “That’s Dr. Jack Abbot. He’s on trauma tonight, so you’ll probably be with him most of the shift.”

humannaturess

ANGEL FACE— MICHAEL JACKSON

featuring: archangel!michael jackson x reader synopsis: reader is doing a research project on angels for one of her finals. one night, her exhaustion takes over and she starts hallucinating—or so she thinks. warnings: mentions of angels/divinity/religion. if you don't like any of that, please do not interact. besides that, none. this one is cute and funny but you might tear up. a/n: might make this a series if y'all like it. cute happy fic bc our angel deserves our smiles. we miss you every day, angel face <3 (i edited that angel picture and started sobbing)

It had all started because of a terrible decision. Actually, calling it a terrible decision was an understatement. It was an awful decision.

It was the kind of decision that seemed brilliant and easy at two in the morning on a Saturday night, but catastrophic by Monday morning.

Specifically, it had started with you binge-watching Lucifer for the third time instead of studying for your finals. What was supposed to be one episode somehow turned into an entire weekend of celestial family drama.

michaeldiary

　　﹕ (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈) ┈ hopelessly devoted!

　　┊ ♡ ﹒ bad era! (EEE! my man, my man, my man!) 𖹭

　　┊ ♡ ﹒ summary : mikey is falling hopelessly in love with the only woman on earth who treats him like an outlook calendar notification.

　　┊ ♡ ﹒ byi : personal assistant + office siren!reader, boss!michael, he’s getting lovesick, reader has absolutely no clue, heavy yearning, workplace romance, third person pov, slow burn, female reader.

There are very few people left in Michael Jackson’s life who interact with Michael before they interact with Michael Jackson. Fame has a peculiar way of flattening relationships into these predetermined roles. His beloved fans come to shows and meet and greets already convinced they know him. Executives approach him with sparkly, green dollar signs in their pupils and yeses on their tongue before Michael even speaks his proposal. Journalists and reporters adjust their attitudes depending on what headline they hoped to walk away with. Even the people closest to him unconsciously fall “in line” around the awe of his name, careful not to overstep, eager not to disappoint and constantly aware that he is someone extraordinary.

The room bends at his will before he ever asks it to.

Then? Then she arrives and treats him with the exact same professional courtesy she’d give to a judge in court.

It isn’t disrespectful, really. If anything, it’s just the opposite. She’s unfailingly polite, attentive and composed.. but she refuses to participate in the mythology everyone else has spent years preserving around him.

To her, he is Mister Jackson. Her employer. A man with an impossible schedule, an endless list of obligations, and responsibilities that require meticulous organization. His fame matters only insofar as it affects logistics, it determines how many security guards accompany him, how early they leave for venues, how many interviews fit into a day and how quickly a crowd can form outside a hotel. It doesn’t determine the way she speaks to him, the way she looks at him or the amount of space she allows him into her life.

Perhaps that’s what unsettles him more than anything else? She doesn’t actively resist his celebrity as she declines to acknowledge it beyond what her job requires. She offers him neither awe nor intimidation, there’s no such thing as careful tiptoeing or exaggerated enthusiasm, or even concealed excitement over working beside Michael Jackson. She’s professional in a way that feels clinical and sterile and because of that, she becomes the only person in the room who never seems to want anything from him besides his cooperation.

szas0mega

tutor me? - jaafar jackson (part two)

word count: 12k (i couldn't help myself)

c/w: some smut themes at the end (MDNI!)

pairing: jaafar jackson x f!reader (pre-michael and grad school au)

READ PART ONE HERE

study sessions are a one to two hour period of time dedicated to reviewing study guides and bridging gaps between incomprehension and clarity. they’re high stakes in term of score and performance improvement, low stakes in terms of interaction between tutor and tutee.

it’s as basic as that.

no strings attached, no emotional weight assigned to frivolous economic theories and mathematical calculations. your only grade-altering task of the evening: sit like a sponge and soak in every and all content pertaining to the keynesian model and subsequent theories. the key performance indicator? your grades on the next quizzes and tests.

so why is it that for the last two weeks since you agreed to this trivial study session, you’ve conjured up every possible scenario of what could possibly go wrong?

what if you were un-tutorable? what if econometrics is so out of left field for you that you’d leave the session even more dumbfounded than when you entered? what if you’re genuinely so far gone in the subject that jaafar and the entire jackson family alerted every tabloid of your ineptitude?

these were all relevant and valid worries, you explained to yourself. yet, a more tenuous and unspeakable apprehension still lingered in the forefront of your mind.

what if jaafar found you stupid? what if he looked at you differently? what if that fragile, inconsequential space of time in his bathroom was to be fractured by your very stupidity in economic theory?

or what if that moment in the bathroom was more consequential than you deemed it or wanted it to be? and worse, if it did leave a noteworthy impression on you both, what if your idiocy today left whatever friendship you could build with him in peril?

a part of you recognized that it wasn’t that serious. another part of you also realized that you shouldn’t be as worried about your crush’s brother as much as the crush in question. so why did it bug you so much that his opinion of you can change in a measly amount of time?

all of these thoughts and inhibitions circled your mind like a whirlpool in the middle of an tumultuous river. yet, you knew it was too late to turn back now. not just because going back on your word with jermajesty felt like taking three steps backward, but because you’re already staring back at your reflection of the all-too-familiar mahogany backdrop of the jackson’s door.

you tried your best to dress cute casual once again; something that showed it wasn’t your first day on earth but not that you were overdoing it either. if your green button bell sleeve top and faded black jeans were anything to go by, you could easily be going for a brisk walk in the park after this.

see? casual!

you secretly hoped jermajesty would be home so you’d have more of an excuse to be close to him. to replace those feelings of past disdain with something more amicable and romantic. at the same time, his absence would clear your mind to take in more information about ols formulas instead of romantic scenarios.

yeah, let’s hope he’s not here to watch you make a completely joke of yourself.

as opposed to the last time you were here where you waited to be caught at the door like a deer in headlights, you knocked immediately. your attempt at sublimating your anxiety with fabricated confidence could only get you so far; your hands immediately became clammy and you settled for your self-soothing arm rubs.

by the time you heard soft footsteps padding towards the door, you’re sure you sweated your way through the back of your shirt. but the click of the door opening in front of you was enough to snap you back into your imminent reality.

he door widened just enough to display a very domestic-looking jaafar. his outfit was actually inverted this time, with him in a black loose shirt and grey wide-leg joggers. you suddenly felt thirsty, not sure whether to attribute it to the humidity outside or how his shirt clung to his arms just right.

goodness lord.

“hey,” he smiled widely, his arm hidden behind the large expanse of the doorframe. “you’re right on time.”

you weren’t sure what about the brief interaction did it for you, but you felt your anxiety subside just slightly. “well, i didn’t want to catch you off guard and accidentally hit you in the head again,” you joked.

he laughed, loudly. and strangely, that brought you a piece of comfort too. you giggled at how funny he found that joke. wow, could you actually be yourself today?

“yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he replied, his eyes landing back on you.

“yeah,” you breathed out, your laughs now fading out into a comfortable silence. you fiddled with a loose string on the bottom of your backpack as you held his gaze.

a few seconds of staring at each other passed before he interjected. “um, come on in, i just finished setting up our study area.”

a study area? how cute is he?

he stepped aside from his place by the door, ushering you in and pointing to the living room. you left your shoes at the entrance of the door and maneuvered you way through the familiar hallway. you quickly found yourself engulfed in the warm light of the lamp in the corner. almost magnetically, you found yourself planting your feet directly in front of the wall of vinyls once again.

instead of glancing over all of them in their musical glory, your eyes were fixated on one in particular.

sam cooke.

because not only did the sight of it trigger the “willow weep for me” instrumental to noodle through your mind, but also because of the new memories attached. the frivolous knowledge quiz of sam cooke trivia, the patching up of a dinky wound, the shoulders brushing against each other.

you gulped to recenter yourself. wow, your body started to warm at the thought of that. but before your body could heat like a sauna, you heard a voice interject into your thoughts.

“i brought some water,” jaafar offered. your eyes redirected from the brilliant purple of the vinyl to his hands that carefully grasped the two glasses of water.

it’s almost like he knew you were profusely sweating like a marathon sprinter.

you uttered a small “thanks” as you watched him place the glasses on the table, and that’s when you finally took in the study session set up. the desk was decorated with grid sheets of paper, marked-up study guides, calculators, mathematical utensils, and pencils.

“jaafar, you didn’t have to do all this,” you sighed, now feeling the guilt seep through your veins at the thought of him putting so much effort into tonight.

he dropped to his knees by the table to reorganize a few strewn sheets of paper before his eyes found you, a comforting smile adorned on his lips. “don’t even worry, jerm mentioned that you needed to review a lot so i think this will be really helpful.”

you felt a pit form in your stomach at the thought of them talking about you. or was it at the fact that jermajesty thought you were stupid as shit and had to warn his brother about it?

“damn, i’m that cooked huh?” you replied, arms crossed on your chest like a weapon of self-defense and soothing all in one. he shook his head in laughter as he got back on his feet and inched his way closer to you. “no no. he knows i like to tutor people,” he began. “so if it makes you feel better, you’re doing me a favor.”

“right,” you playfully scoffed, now turning your body to the direction of the wall once again. the iconic record reflected back at you like a comforting reminder of your childhood. you mentally sifted through the various memories attached to it, automatically smiling in remembrance. your eyes naturally gravitated to the record on the wall like a magnetic force.

“you really like sam cooke don’t you?” he softly spoke up, now rising from his spot on the floor and stepping towards you. his body was angled in the same direction as the vinyl-saturated wall, eyes locked on the same record as you.

“that competition in the bathroom last week didn’t prove it to you?” you joked, turning your head to look up at him. a humored smile formed on his lips, his eyes still trained ahead. you were slightly in awe of how the light from the lamp captured his bronze skin perfectly.

he turned his head just slightly to meet your gaze, a look that you couldn’t pinpoint taking over his features. almost as though he was waiting for you to continue with your sentiments.

“yeah he’s uh-" you turned to look back at the purple vinyl, the passionate smile deepening on your face. “he’s got some good music.”

you could feel jaafar’s eyes darting between you and the wall. like he was analyzing the empty space between your words and the actual emotional significance the album had for you. instead of questioning you further, he decided to move on.

“i want to hear more about that later,” he started. “but for now, let’s start learning about interpretation of functional form.”

he was already moving away from the expansive wall to the floor. you internally rolled your eyes at the studying that you willingly agreed to. you found yourself sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, your right arm slightly brushing against his own.

after pulling your notebooks and past exams from your bag, you looked at him with a dreadful but willing look. he playfully bumped your shoulder to alleviate some of the stress he could already feel building within you.

“let’s do it.”

—

“so you’re saying that when the production possibilities curve is bowing out, that it’s a decreasing opportunity cost?”

the grip you had on your mechanical pencil was enough to crush a block of wood in half. the last ninety minutes of study time consisted of you receiving a question, perusing the answer choices internally, answering incorrectly, and groaning for three consecutive minutes.

it was a repetitive pattern of shock at your own incompetence as well as self-humiliation at displaying this incapability in front of jaafar.

“no,” his face grimaced, anticipating your disdain. “it’s actually the opposite.”

“ughh,” you groaned so loudly that you heard it reverberate off the walls. “this is pointless.”

you let your head fall into your hands like the sheer weight of it was too much to bear. funny, considering how you had retained almost nothing in your brain from the last hour and a half.

you felt jaafar’s shoulders shake in laughter beside you. at least he wasn’t as miserable as you are right now.

“let’s take a break,” he offered, already standing to his feet beside you. he took the now two empty glasses from the desk to fill them.

“jaafar, i can’t take a break! i’ve learned almost nothing and my next exam is in less than a month,” you complained, peeling your head from your hands and looking up at him. “i need to learn everything right now.”

he looked humored by your unyielding nature, sparing you no pity. “a break never hurt anyone, and you really look like you need one right now.”

at that, he left you to sit by yourself on the ground as he retrieved more water for the two of you. you let yourself fall back slightly against the exterior of the couch, your head falling back on the dark brown cushion.

you closed your eyes, steady breaths escaping you as you waited for him to return to continue this vile study session. you didn’t even want to scroll on your phone; the thought of escaping your “econometrics zone” instilled more fear in you than the exam itself.

you heard the padding of jaafar’s feet against the carpeted floors, followed by him gently placing the glasses on the table. the carpet dipped beneath you just slightly as he reassumed his place by your side on the floor.

a few seconds passed where nothing was said. just the silent wisp of the air conditioning above your heads and measured breaths escaping you both.

“so,” he interjected into the silence. “what is it about sam cooke?”

your eyes remained closed, but you couldn’t fight the smile that his question drew. “he’s the king of soul, i think that’s a reason in and of itself, right?”

“well, that’s debatable.”

your eyes shot open at that. you dramatically turned your head in his direction at the insult. “i’m sorry?” you scoffed.

his hands shot up in faux defense. “not by me, i mean the vinyls should speak for themselves,” he laughed. “but you know, some people would say he’s just some jazz singer from the 50s.”

your eyes narrowed at that, drawing a laugh from the reinstated tutor. “sooo?” you were stumped by his questioning.

“so aside from the musical trailblazing and southern-style serenades, what about him really stuck with you?”

for such a trivial question, you felt that there was a real sincerity in his curiosity. if his tone was anything to go by, he seemed genuinely invested in what you had to say. like he really wanted to know what made you interested in things.

things that you both shared in common.

your heart stirred at the thought of it.

“you want the real answer or you want-”

“now why the hell would i want anything else?” he interrupted, a laugh erupting from you at his haste.

“well,” you shifted positions, your head now in the palm of your hand with your arm resting on the couch as you turned your body to face him. “it’s not even the lyrics for me, it’s the passion that he sings with.”

jaafar now mimicked your position, facing you with the side of his head in the palm of his left hand. his knees brushed yours just slightly, but you tried your best to ignore it.

“he sings so sentimentally but with such resolution, like he is certain about how he feels. yet, his muse has the power to change the trajectory of his entire day with a single ‘hi.’”

jaafar chuckled at that.

“his voice is just so magnetic and so rich. he just captures emotions so well, it’s something that was so unprecedented and remarkable for his time that, honestly, he raised the bar too high for us because i’ve never heard anyone like him ever again.”

“that’s true,” he remarked.

“my parents used to play “night beat” for me at least five times a week, i swear i could recognize every song if you played that shit backward. and to be honest i-"

you cut yourself off. you felt your cheeks flush at the realization that you’ve been talking for eons at this point.

his face contorted in confusion. “what?”

you fiddled with the loose string on the carpet, wishing nothing more than to cave into yourself and dissipate into thin air. “i’ve been yapping for like ten minutes now,” you dryly laughed.

“i was listening, though,” he quickly responded. “so night beat is your favorite album, not mr. cooke?”

your eyes darted up from the carpet to his warm, inviting eyes. the gentle smile adorned on his face coupled with his ardent gaze was so alluring that it was almost dangerous. with features like that, he could genuinely get you to shovel shit if he asked.

damn girl why are you mentally salivating? literally relax.

“i uh-,” you dragged your finger across the outskirts of your bottom lip. “i’d say that’s my favorite album of all time.”

he only nodded, a signal for you to continue.

you adjusted in your spot on the floor, automatically inching closer to him. “i love it so much that i’ve been trying to get the limited-edition signed copy of the album for like ten years now.”

“no way,” he replied. “where the hell are they hiding it?”

it was only then that you noticed how he subtly inched closer to you, both your elbows now brushing against each other. your eyes quickly drifted to where your skin met, not wanting him to notice.

not wanting him to pull away.

“there’s only like 100 units of it worldwide; he really didn’t like signing shit,” you joshed. “it’s super rare, unfortunately.”

“hmm,” he hummed in response. you held eye contact for a few seconds before eventually glancing back down at the carpet. “you know what else is rare?”

“what’s that?”

“the algebraic properties of ols estimates,” he now turned his body to face the table once again. “can you tell me what they are?”

you groaned, your head falling back on the couch cushion once again. “jaafarrrrr.”

“i know, i know,” he tried to reason, yet you didn’t budge from your sunken position. “but like you said, the exam is in less than a month and i want you to feel as prepared as possible for it.”

your head lifted at his reassurance, and again you were met with that look that you still couldn’t describe. attentiveness? consideration? interest?

“come on, you got this,” he soothed, eyes determined and encouraging. “remember the problem with the financial return on investment?”

you only rolled your eyes in acknowledgment, a dramatic huff escaping you.

he pointed to another problem from the exam sheet and pointed to it. “this one is similar to it. walk me through that one.”

you gave another theatrical eye roll, breaking down the concept to the best of your ability. “if we have to calculate the financial return on education, we have to use the…” you hesitated. “…linear regression model?”

to your surprise, he gestured for you to keep going. “uh huh, and after that?”

your eyes widened dramatically. were you…learning?

“um,” your eyebrows furrowed in intense thought. “we have to fill in the variable estimates for wage and education using a platform like stata.”

jaafar now sat up in his seat in anticipation. “right, and then?”

ok, now you were getting excited. “we look for the ols estimates with the zero conditional mean assumption?”

“exactly!” he opened your laptop for you. “so once you plug in the numbers from the table, you’ll get your baseline interpretation of these parameters.”

you opened your computer to the stata program and began entering the figures. after a few seconds of your laggy computer loading, your spreadsheet became filled with far-reaching calculations. your eyes refocused on the top row, with numbers that you hoped were correct for this problem.

“so because these values are lower than zero, the error term is completely uncorrelated with education and therefore,” you cringed in preparation. “causes an endogeneity problem?”

this is the most proud jaafar looked all night. “yes exactly, you got it right!”

you were sure that pigs couldn’t have squealed as loud as you just did. “no way!” you practically yelled, your voice once again echoing off the walls like an echo chamber. “i can’t believe this… am i?”

jaafar only watched with a proud smile like getting you to learn the significance of ols estimates was one of his highest crowning achievements. “an econometrics genius? i think so!”

he raised his right hand, expectantly waiting for a high five. you slapped it harder than you anticipated, the exhilaration of finally having learned something catching up to you. he only laughed at your novel joy at absorbing the material.

his hand unknowingly lingered a little longer against your own than you realized. it barely registered to you until you felt his fingers curling just barely around your own. like he was grasping at the fleeting contact.

but you were too caught up in the moment to care, pulling away after a few seconds and rescanning the problem to check if you were actually correct. once again, you were too distracted by momentary triumph to notice the way jaafar’s smile wavered at the loss of contact.

it’s funny how you didn’t want to snap out of the “econometrics zone” before, but jaafar being your distraction ended up being the answer to your problems…

—

after that night, you had four more study sessions with jaafar.

just concise two-to-three-hour blocks where the more you engaged in the granular detail of the econometrics field, the more you improved. jaafar made the sessions interactive for you: with every correct answer you’d provide, he’d allow you to play one of the vinyls embellished on the wall. you’d play “guess that song,” giving yourself only three seconds to guess correctly before your attention was redirected to self-regulation theory.

you learned more than you probably could’ve done in a traditional academic setting. you better understood the correlation of international trade policies and global conflicts on local labor markets and wages. treating the course like a psychological evaluation, you learned the incentives for certain economic and market choices as well as the immediate consequences for large and small countries.

you were shocked at how speedily you were navigating and absorbing the material. maybe studying with a real-life human and not khan academy youtube clips had its perks.

aside from academic content, you learned so much about yourself. your determination to learn, your ability to expand your economic knowledge base, and your unbelievably hard-headed nature to keep trying even when you were flustered beyond words.

but most shockingly of all, you got to know jaafar.

like reallllyyyy got to know him.

beyond the simplicity of the sam cooke commonality, you discovered that he adored his music for similar reasons to you. he described him as having “one of the sweetest voices in soul music,” pioneering the way for sweet, smooth yearning in today’s music. though “nothing could ever come close to him,” as jaafar said.

he didn’t hold older music in higher regard than today’s artists from a place of hubris, but from familial conditioning. his deep love for the five stairsteps and aretha franklin emerged from his parents’ continual record playing on weekends. that sarah vaughan’s music, without fail, played through the house before they had date nights. even his siblings held monthly singing contests that revolved around tracks from the temptations all the way to julie london.

even with this basic amount of information, there was still more that you craved to know.

and he, without fail, provided that to you.

you learned that he became an econometrics tutor because he longed for a career of stability that was driven by his own hard work, not by that of his family name. where many nepo babies either chose the same, pre-destined paths of their parents’ legacies or basked in the ability to do nothing, he preferred the opposite: getting a higher education and carving a name for himself.

out of all majors offered at his college, he thought econometrics was the one that would guarantee him a stable career. his calculated and diligent nature directly aligned with the quantitative model of the course, yet his thoughtfulness in understanding the “why” behind decision-making made him a good tutor and strong worker. yet, six years after graduating, he still remained unemployed. he was out of work while working side hustles to get to his ultimate goal in life.

“so,” you started, walking circles in the dimly lit living room. “econometrics, huh?”

jaafar laughed from his spot on the floor as he followed your movements. “it wasn’t my first choice, but it was enough for me at the time.”

“well, what would’ve been your first choice?”

jaafar fiddled with the pointed edges of one of your worksheets, suddenly finding himself more interested in reading about advanced empirical methods than this vulnerable topic.

you paused in the middle of the room at the realization. “jaafar?” you softly coaxed.

he looked up at you, except this time with a meek expression. your eyebrows knitted in confusion and anticipation at his response.

“i uh-“ he now shifted to playing with the back of his earlobe. “i wanted to be an actor.”

a timid smile decorated his lips as he continued. “i mean, i still want to be an actor but you know, i’m still looking for the right role. well, looking to be called for anything, i guess.”

you stepped toward his direction, finding your place right next to him on the charcoal-colored carpet. a section of the apartment that had become too comfortable for you for the few times you’d been there.

you brought your thighs to your chest, your head resting against your knees as you gazed at him. his eyes remained on you; like an irresistible pull to understand what you were thinking. but thankfully, the subdued lighting hid the way your cheeks flushed at the eye contact.

the apartment that was once filled with the simplistic chatter of econometrics and notable conversations was now fraught with easy silence.

“i think you’d be a really great actor,” you delicately interjected into the quiet.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you lifted your head from your legs, your full attention on him. “i could see you in like a princess live-action or a fantasy movie.”

he laughed at your suggestions. “why, thank you. i think i’d make a great princess tiana.”

“jaafar!” you chuckled, playfully swatting at his shoulder, eliciting another laugh from him. “but seriously, what would you want to act in?”

he took a second to respond, like he was really contemplating his options.

“honestly, i could see myself in a biopic or something. i’d love to take on a role where i can really study someone and learn about the root drivers of their behavior and bring that to fruition on film.”

you let a few seconds pass. “i could see that too.”

his eyes found yours again, as well as that all-too-comforting and gentle smile that somehow managed to make your heart flutter.

the almost-meditative silence recaptured the room once again, nothing but the soft blow of the air vent taking up the space.

but without missing a beat, jaafar brought the humor back. “do you think i’d make a good charlotte la bouff, too?”

“jaafar!”

in the three weeks of tutoring sessions between the two of you, a comfortable familiarity had settled between the two of you. one where you expected random study questions every 30 minutes and were immediately rewarded with soul-searching classics on his classic record player. for every correct answer, you were offered heart-to-heart chats about his firsts and his favorites.

his first concert.

his first time moving homes and having to adjust to a new school.

his favorite home-cooked meals.

his first and favorite trip to colombia to meet his extended family.

things betewen you two were… easy, to say the least. enjoyable. comfortable. and after relentless study sessions and late nights together, the culmination of your concurrent efforts at studying content and discovering more of his personality finally paid off.

because after your third exam of the semester, where you gnawed on the width of your pencil for 40 minutes out of test-related anxiety, you finally received your grade.

88.

your eyes widened like a child squeezing down on a squishy stress toy. instead of your hands grasping at the sides of the paper to ground yourself after failure, you gripped at the test sheets in pure glee.

you couldn’t believe it! after all of the hours of incessant questions, there was something to show for it. something you could be proud of.

of course, the one day that you wanted to celebrate with jermajesty, he was absent. he texted you before class to let you know that he “wasn’t in the mood” to sit through another shitty class, which you understood. but by the grace of the universe, you wished he were here so you could thank him.

thank him for suggesting that you study with his gracious and shrewd older brother.

jaafar.

out of everyone in your life who had to learn about your academic comeback, it was him. you had to tell him the good news.

quickly.

once your professor dismissed you from your residual hell of a lecture, you happily packed your belongings into your backpack and skipped out of the class like a worker who’d just received their severance.

by the time you made it to his front door, you wasted no time in knocking through antsy smashes of your knuckles on the wood.

“coming,” you heard from beyond the hatches, belonging to the one person you were dying to see.

the door opened to reveal the domestic-looking jaafar that you’d progressivly gotten to know. it only dawned on you in that moment that you’d only seen him within the snug sanctuary of he and jermajesty’s apartment. and you were starting to secretly love that he was the one to greet and welcome you every time.

his eyes narrowed in confusion at your presence, but it was only quickly replaced with his usual warm smirk. “hey, i didn’t realize we had a study session i-"

he paused.

because the way that you were eagerly staring at him and bouncing on your feet like you couldn’t contain yourself was unexpected, to say the very least.

“uh, what’s up?” he followed up.

you pulled your test from behind your back, enthusiastically pushing it against his chest. he let out a laugh, retrieving it from your hands and squinting to see what could possibly have you this excited.

the minute his eyes discovered the two numbers inscribed at the top corner of the page, his eyes widened and his jaw went slack. his hands dropped but still holding onto it for tangible proof that his lessons meant something.

“you did it,” he uttered into thin air, like he was proving it to himself. “you really did it, y-you passed!”

“i did it, jaafar,” you nodded, biting back a wide-toothed smile.

in a split second, his hands were dropping the paper and grabbing at your lower back. within seconds, the solid ground beneath you had been stripped away as you were lifted from the ground into his tight embrace.

his incredibly warm, fresh forest pine scent engulfed you completely. you squealed at the sensation, trying your best to distract from the warmth that pooled in the bottom of your stomach. as quickly as he cradled you to his chest in merriment, you were put back down.

slightly dazed, you grasped at his shoulder as you tried to take it all in. or maybe that was just an excuse to hold onto him just a little while longer…

“i’m so proud of you,” he exclaimed, the widest smile you’ve ever seen him wear.

and to say that those five words didn’t affect you would have been a complete lie. because suddenly your smile subtly relaxed in gratification at the feeling that someone other than your siblings was proud of you.

that he was proud of you.

you could cry.

“thank you jaafar,” you grinned, suddenly overcome by an intense wave of emotions that you had yet to label.

“we should celebrate, you deserve it!” he offered.

you nodded, a little too eager than you would’ve liked. “i would love that, after this exam, we both deserve a break.”

“agreed.”

“maybe we can go to the park downtown? or maybe even the aquarium and-"

“yoo, who’s here?” you heard a voice break into the conversation.

you didn’t have to look back to know whose voice it was. you failed to catch the way that jaafar’s smile shrunk by a fraction at his brother’s interruption, while yours only widened.

jermajesty quickly rounded the corner and appeared at the doorway next to jaafar. “what’s going on?”

“well,” a sly smile snuck onto your face. “i was just spreading the good news that i-" you pointed to yourself dramatically. “-passed last week’s exam.”

his face quickly shifted from impassive to delighted. “oh my gosh! that’s great.”

“thank you jermajesty, i really can’t believe it,” you replied.

“well i can, i mean you’ve practically moved in with how long you’ve been studying for this with jaafar.” both you and jaafar laughed at the same time at the confession.

“yeah,” you sighed. “jaafar’s been too kind to me through all of this, i deadass need to start paying rent for how many nights i bothered him.”

“you weren’t a bother,” jaafar quickly cut in, this time no humor laced in his tone. you offered a gentle smile to him, one that screamed ‘you’re too nice to me!’ yet an awkward silence still subsumed the room, though your heart pattered against your chest like heavy rain against a windowsill.

jermajesty cleared his throat, akin to a knife cutting through the palpable tension. “so,” he started, eyes swiftly drifting between the two of you. “we should celebrate.”

“yeah, i was just telling jaafar that we should go somewhere. maybe the three of us could go to the par-"

“i was kind of thinking it could just be the two of us,” jermajesty quickly cut you off. “you know, to celebrate us nearly being done with the class.”

your eyes widened at the suggestion. why the fuck did he say that?

on a normal day, you’d kill for the chance to be alone with jermajesty. to really get the one-on-one time together that was only afforded to you in your imagination. i mean, it’s what you always wanted, right?

so why did the offer to hang out with him alone feel like a molten knife searing through your heart? the very idea of it felt abnormal; you’re sure this was not how you were supposed to feel after your crush offered to spend time with you. maybe it was the fact that he intentionally excluded the one other person you actually wanted to celebrate with…

jermajesty took a few steps closer to you, now leaving jaafar at the back end of the entrance. your eyes quickly wandered from jermajesty’s aniticipatory ones to those of jaafar’s behind him that were now clouded with something pensive and desolate.

you could tell that he was put off by jermajesty’s crude and intrusive proposition. you didn’t blame him. in fact, you hated it just as much. “well what if the three of us do something? i still think that-"

“no it’s fine,” jaafar quietly interrupted you from beyond the entryway. “we can celebrate another time.”

your eyebrows creased as you tried to plead with him through your eyes. a telepathic communication that you hoped jermajesty wouldn’t catch on to.

“jaafar,” you tried to reason.

but you were only met with an acquiescent smile. “really, it’s fine. we’ll do something next time.”

and with that, he retreated back down the dark hallway into what you could only assume to be his room. at jaafar’s disappearance, jermajesty seemingly brightened in the face.

huh… weird.

“so, what do you say? friday at seven? i can pick you up.”

and who were you to say no to the one man who single-handedly had you picking roses in your mind every single day?

“sure, i’d love to.”

—

what do you think is more expensive: grilled center-cut ribeye or australian barramundi?

these are questions you never thought you’d have to seek the answers to, considering they were so far out of your price range. hell, you didn’t even know what these meals even were before sitting down at the extravagantly embellished restaurant.

yet as you sat across the table from a very dapper-looking jermajesty, you found yourself in the predicament anyway. to be honest, dinner at this restaurant was way out of your typical celebratory practice. but when jermajesty suggested it to you to honor your most recent econometrics success, who were you to say no?

all he told you in preparation for tonight was to wear something nice, something elegant.

so you chose your best outfit: a milky white bell-sleeve crop top and gilded pleated maxi skirt.

but even in something that made you feel so beautiful, you felt severely underdressed. because opposite from you and the overly decorated table runners was jermajesty in a tailored fit black stretch suit. truthtfully, as handsome as he looked, he looked like he was running for local office.

you liked that he took the initiative to plan the night; it made you feel like he actually put thought into wanting to make it special for you. but is it bad that you would’ve rather had him ask what you would’ve preferred to do instead of tagging along with his idea of a “celebration?”

girl, whatever!

you’re finally getting the moment you’ve only daydreamed about for seven months. you’re gonna eat that ridiculously priced steak if it means more time with him.

opting for whatever jermajesty ordered, you swiftly listed your dishes of choice to the waiter before returning the menus to him. now was the moment of promised kinship without the interruption of unexpected study partners.

“so,” you began, your head falling to the palm of your hand, accompanied by your watchful gaze. “how was your week?”

jermajesty finished taking a swig of water from his glass before responding, eyes trained on the glass in his hands. “it was good, i feel like it was a productive week for me.”

“oh really? what did you do?”

he took in a breath, supposedly reflecting on the actual tasks that he was able to complete this week. “i finally finished my paper for my american government class, i applied to some jobs too, so hopefully something pulls through.”

“shit, in this job market, i hope that for you too,” you chided.

and the most charming laugh escaped the lips of the man you’d wanted to kiss for months now. for that, you swore that you’d make it your top priority to make him laugh for the rest of the night.

“nah you’re right,” he agreed. “but that’s why i gotta work twice as hard to get one. because grad school was just a way of keeping me out of the job market.”

“felt,” you concurred, reaching for your glass to distract yourself from the butterflies circling your stomach. “but what jobs are you looking for post-grad?”

“honestly anything, but some entry-level position anywhere would be nice. i’m just trying to build my resume so that i can use that communications degree from undergrad for somethin,” he answered.

“hmm,” you continued to suck on the lipstick-coated straw. “what would the ideal job be for you to use your communications degree?”

“look at you with all the questions,” he quipped. “you might be the one with the comms degree for real.”

“i’m just trying to make conversation!” you laughed, suddenly a little self-conscious about how much you were berating him like a police officer.

“no it’s fine, i like it.”

suddenly, the imminent feeling of self-deprecation completely dissolved into the obscenely wealthy air of the restaurant.

he continued, a knowing smile that he relieved you of your impending stress. “but honestly, i’d love to be a sports commentator. i already love the game, i feel like getting paid to dive into that further would be the perfect job for me.”

by the time he finished listing his favorite players of all time, the premium-style meals were served.

everything was delicious, the cost a little daunting, but scrumptious nonetheless. jermajesty continued spewing his nba knowledge and most-beloved sports commentators that he hoped he could emulate one day.

he then detailed the childhood memories of incessant basketball practices and late nights spent in the driveway of his home shooting layups in hopes of becoming the next magic johnson. it was heartwarming, truly, to hear that he had such a deep admiration for the game. you loved to hear him speak passionately like this.

and honestly, from the outside looking in, the evening was perfect. the food was divine, and shit, the company looked even better.

but you know what was severely lacking?

the actual dialogue needed to sustain a two-person conversation.

you loved learning more about him; it was like getting to connect the final pieces of a puzzle of him that you’d conjured up in your own mind.

but what about how a conversation is normally supposed to go? where was the back and forth? the intersecting conversation points that would spur into more discussions that had nothing to do with the original topic?

perhaps that was the disappointing part of developing a crush founded on nothing but your own imagination. you were bound to be somewhat unfulfilled by what you desired versus the damning reality that you were way off.

you’d hoped that this night would be different, that jermajesty would have more of a quizzical bone in his body. in your mind, you thought that he could’ve at least found you interesting enough to take you on a date and eventually learn more about you through it.

but it was in this moment, mid-chew through your overpriced steak, that you were again reminded that your imagination could never be reality. because throughout the entire dinner, he hadn’t asked you a single question.

it felt like you were inquiring more than responding, carrying the never-ending burden of genuine curiosity without being offered the opportunity to reciprocate in thoughtful responses. a more harrowing realization hit you as you went for another bite: that maybe jermajesty was, unfortunately for you, not what you expected him to be like.

so why did that revelation not stir as much anguish as you expected?

you were completely absorbed in your own mental deliberation of the night that you hadn’t noticed the overbearing silence consume the table. the only noise to be heard was the clattering of your utensils against the porcelain plates and the muffled chatter of those around you.

unfortunately for you, jermajesty noticed your silence immediately. that, and the way your eyes were trained on the remainder of the food on your plate like it was the most interesting part of the evening.

“i’ve been rambling all night, haven’t i?”

your eyes darted from the plate to him, eyes widening at the realization that your silence was an indication of your disdain.

“w-what?”

“you’ve barely spoken a word in the last few minutes, i just want to make sure i didn’t lose you.”

you suddenly felt bad, like really bad. “no no, i just-" you paused to think of a good excuse. “the food is just sooo good.”

his eyes narrowed in deliberation of your answer, trying to decide whether he believed you or not. he settled for the former, looking down at his almost-finished meal and taking another bite.

phew.

you internally wiped at the perspiration on your forehead as you felt yourself trailing down contemplation avenue once again.

but before you could ruminate on your worries once again, his voice interjected into your thoughts.

“tell me one of your fondest memories from when you were a kid.”

huh?

“i’m sorry, what?”

“well, i’ve been going on and on about myself for like an hour now. i want to know something about you. something that no one would really guess about you.”

you instantly felt guilt rip through you like a chainsaw. here you were spending so long pondering on how big of an ass he was for ignoring you when, in actuality, he was just leading up to it.

you were the biggest asshole ever.

“well, there are many fond memories to choose from, jermajesty,” you joked.

“well, pick your favorite one then.”

damn, now you really had to think. pick something interesting! you thought to yourself.

after a few moments of careful consideration and mentally sifting through memories that would be entertaining enough to share, you picked one.

“well,” you started. “my birthday always falls right after tax day, and because my dad is an accountant, he’s always super stressed and busy during the entire month of april. so of course, on my 13th birthday, as luck would have it, he was so busy that he actually forgot my birthday entirely.”

jermajesty leaned forward as you continued.

“he swore up and down that he didn’t forget and that he actually had a surprise for me all along. he ended up bringing me to the local arcade because he knew i loved it so much. but what he didn’t know was that a local band had rented it out to shoot one of their music videos, so we thought we couldn’t go in.”

“oh damn,” he added.

“to avoid an imminent crashout, he basically implored the arcade worker to let us in and just as we were about to give up, one of the lead members of the band came out and saw me crying. but by the grace of the universe, it ended up being one of my favorite bands — after romeo. and long story short, they ended up letting us in and actually giving us a place in the music video for like 0.5 seconds.”

jermajesty only guffawed at the absurdity of a plot twist that was your story. “no way, how the hell were you able to pull off getting into the video?”

through light-hearted chuckles, twirling your now lukewarm pasta with your fork. “honestly by fate. because how i got a free arcade pass and a music video feature from my favorite boy band, i don’t know.”

“that’s actually insane, i see why that’s a fond memory for you.”

“yeah,” you chuckled again, this time leaning down to take a bite.

a serene quiet enveloped the table, your attention now redirected to finishing the plate before being labeled a slow eater by yet another person in your life. as you basked in the comfortable ambiance, it soon became short-lived.

“wait,” jermajesty cut in. your eyes quickly darted from tablecloth to his own. “didn’t tax day just pass?”

shit…

“doesn’t that mean your birthday is like right around the corner?”

“uh…”

“when is your birthday?”

you were stumped. you didn’t want to lie; why would you need to if your soon-to-be husband should know when you were brought onto this earth?

yet, you would rather have taken the fork and jammed it through your cranium. if the number one birthday hater didn’t exist, then you were dead. because there was nothing more you despised than making a fuss out of something so frivolous as aging.

“it’s uhm…” you anxiously fiddled with the loose skin of your index finger, unable to look him in the eyes. “it’s next saturday,” you uttered.

suddenly, jermajesty was leaping out of his seat at the information that you would’ve rather kept private. his eyes were blown wide like he’d unintentionally taken a sniff of crack on the way here.

“are you serious?!” he knocked his forearms flat against the table like he was bracing for life-altering news. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“i really don’t like making a big deal of it, it’s not that serious-"

“are you kidding, this is a big deal!” he beamed, seemingly the happiest he’s been all night. “we have to celebrate!”

“oh, that’s not necessary. we really don’t have to-"

“don’t be coy,” he was already reaching for his phone. “we’re going to throw a party. we have to, especially now that you’re like a freaking econometrics wiz now.”

“well isn’t that what this dinner is for?” you pled, squeezing your hand into a fist beneath the table to keep from screaming. “jermajesty, i’m serious. i really don’t want to do anyt-"

“nonsense, i already texted some people. this is happening,” he jovially pointed at you. he went back to texting whomever the hell was on the receiving end of his messages. “it’s going to be great!”

your body instantly went rigid at the realization that he really wasn’t budging. scarecrows were less stiff than you were in this very moment.

as jermajesty’s attention was quickly refocused from unbearable birthday planning to his phone, you couldn’t deny the way your heart hammered in your chest like a bird attempting to escape a cage. you spent the next few minutes trying to convince yourself that this was a nice thing that jermajesty was doing for you; that all he wanted was to make you happy.

so why couldn’t you suppress the urge to yell from the balcony of this overly ostentatious restaurant that you, in fact, did not want to do this? that you didn’t want to be coerced into celebrating this mundane day just to keep the man across from you happy?

you really had to work on saying no to people…

—

it wasn’t that your aversion to celebrating your birthday stemmed from some traumatic experience in your childhood. in fact, nothing negative ever happened in your years of natural maturation that could’ve spurred this negativity.

you simply didn’t like over-the-top celebrations that inflated your ego and feelings of self-importance one moment and the next day, everything returned to normal. that, and the fact that you just simply felt like your birthday wasn’t worth all the havoc.

it was just a day. an ordinary day that didn’t need to be acknowledged so excessively.

yet, as you stood in the middle of the jackson living room in a tacky pink-and-black birthday cone surrounded by people you didn’t know, you were once again reminded of why you couldn’t stand this day.

the walls echoed with communal laughter and glasses clinking as people made toasts to wishes and goals that had nothing to do with you. the room was easily packed with at least 25 people, with only eight of them being people you could actually label as your friends.

the apartment was buzzing, and so were your nerves. the boombox that jermajesty swore up and down was needed for the vitality of the party bellowed out unnamable tracks that shook the fabric of the apartment entirely. you really tried to swallow your complaints for the sanctity of the party. but it was slowly eating at you like a boa constrictor with its prey.

you wanted to go home. because this “birthday party extravaganza,” as jermajesty described it, was too over-the-top, truly.

there were people drinking in the corner that teetered on the line of alcoholism, people on the other side of the room that were too busy taking selfies with one another to notice the others side-eyeing them, and then there were the gifts.

the excessive pile of gifts wrapped in various colors and materials that sat in the middle of the living room table, staring back at you. taunting you to open them, if you dared. you didn’t even know how you could have this many gifts to open if you didn’t know half of the people in the room.

shit, you won’t complain though…

everyone was conversing with one another, joyfully sipping on expensive champagnes, and basking in the comfort of one another’s company.

and then there was you.

desperately grasping at the loose ends of a drawn-out conversation with your best friend, nia, who jermajesty graciously decided to invite.

at least he did that.

“i’ll be right back,” you muttered to nia, already rising from your spot beside her on the couch. you heard a faint “hmm” in acknowledgment as you already stepped towards the kitchen.

bumping into a few inebriated partygoers whose names you never learned, you grabbed a can of sprite from the cooler. without wasting time, you strolled past the packed living room into the shadowy walls of the hallway. absent of any birthday party guests, you stood in the middle of the walkway, vegging out.

trying to recharge your social battery. attempting to cool down from the slick sweat that now clung to the insides of your thighs. fighting the urge to rip off this tacky birthday cone from your head and stroll through the front door into the drafty evening air.

you leaned against the bare wall with your head trained back, scrunching your eyes shut as you tried to regain your since-lost equanimity.

but unfortunately for you, every piece of tranquility you sought after tonight was immediately disrupted by a wandering, drunk individual. you heard the sauntering of feet against the carpeted floors, inching closer towards you like prey assessing imminent danger.

you sucked in a deep breath, mentally restoring your socializing stamina for yet another conversation.

“hey,” you heard from amongst the booming music and shuddering walls. your eyes popped open at the recognizable voice. the only voice that you hadn’t heard from all night.

“hey jaafar,” you grinned, your head peeling off the wall slowly.

he was dressed in crisp black slacks and a white t-shirt with black borders around the sleeves. his curls were defined and glistening from the dimly-lit overhead, suggesting he showered just a few hours earlier. and of course, the permanent smile of reassurance adorned on his face that you’d grown too comfortable seeking out in situations like this.

he shuffled to the wall right across from you, leaning back against it and gazing at you with the kind of telepathic check-in that only he could sense you needed.

“you having fun?”

he was met with a deadpan expression from you, akin to the ones you’d send him during your tutoring sessions where he knew you were frustrated.

he let out a laugh at that. “so… yes?”

you sighed melodramatically. “it’s not that i’m not having fun, it’s just-" you looked down the hall to the borderline alcoholics drifting past you in intoxicated bliss. “it’s just too much.”

he nodded in understanding, so you continued. “i mean, i’ve never been one to enjoy parties like this, let alone for myself. i mean i don’t even know these people and now i feel like i have the responsibility of entertaining them like they’re my personal clientele.”

“i know,” he softly concurred. “but you know what? you’re doing great.”

“really?” you sarcastically replied. “because i don’t know what’s worse: the overstimulation that this insanely short dress is causing me or the way that my social battery is positively drained for three weeks.”

jaafar only chuckled at your zany laments. “that bad, huh?”

“bad?” you sardonically scoffed. you swatted your hand into the air at his suggestion. “please, i’d say more…. unexpected.”

“well,” he straightened his posture just slightly. “if it’s any consolation, you look beautiful in your overstimulating dress.”

your cheeks heated profusely, your jaw going slack. you quickly pursed your lips to regain your composure. thank the lord for the low-lit illumination, or your crimson cheeks would’ve been on full display.

“thank you,” you shyly smiled as you looked to the ground for stability. you suddenly felt deeply enclosed in the confined halls, wanting nothing more than to cave into his warm, cedarwood scent.

a satisfied smile took over his expression. he readjusted his place against the wall, his arms uncomfortably crossed behind his back as he hopelessly grasped at the four-edged package. the walls still vibrated with a song from one of jermajesty’s party playlists, a comfortable ambiance now established between you and jaafar.

“oh, and another thing,” he loosened his grip on the item behind his back. your eyes refocused from the floor to him, wide-eyed and overwhelmingly shy. “if it makes you feel better, i’ve always found that gifts are always the best part of an uncomfortably overwhelming party. so-"

he brought his hands from behind his back to reveal to you the one thing you were not expecting. a sizable, neatly wrapped rectangular-shaped gift blanketed in hallmark gift paper. “-i hope this can relieve you of your guest-entertaining duties.”

you lightly grasped at the edges of the gift, taking it into the palms of your hands like a sacred object. it was a substantial size, something that you couldn’t even fathom him going through the trouble to get for you.

you brought the gift to your chest, hugging it like it was your most prized possession — even though you didn’t know what was wrapped underneath. yet, the fact that he thought to get you anything at all was enough to fill you with a sudden wave of exhilaration.

and something that really touched your heart. “jaafar, i-"

“and before you say i didn’t have to or that this is too much, don’t,” he chuckled. “i wanted to do this for you.”

you hugged the gift tighter against your chest, the unnerving desire to rip it open at the decorated corners. “thank you, jaafar, seriously. this is too kind.”

you leaned off the wall to hug him, to touch him, or anything to physically feel him. he matched your movements, looking to meet you halfway, only to be abruptly interrupted by a drunken yell.

the yell belonging to the only person who coincidentally always intruded on your one-on-ones with jaafar.

his brother.

“yoooo,” he howled from down the hallway, already shuffling to where you and jaafar stood. you could tell that he was at least tipsy with the way the shadow of his figure swayed dramatically. “what’s going on here?”

both you and jaafar retreated to your positions opposite each other along the wall at jermajesty’s antics, comparable to that of two kids getting caught sneaking out.

jermajesty stumbled until he was pressed against your side on the wall, his arm heavily draped over your shoulder. from his breath alone, you could smell the faint concoction of pink whitney and something stronger. well, at least someone was having fun.

“you having fun, ma?” he slurred into your ear, uncomfortably close to you.

“uh…” a nervous laugh escaped you as you watched jaafar take on the responsibility of stripping jermajesty off of you. jaafar sneaked his arm around his brother’s waist, maneuvering him off your side of the wall and next to him where he originally stood.

“hey hey, i was talking to her,” jermajesty groaned in his brother’s ear, eliciting an eye roll from jaafar.

“yeah yeah, i know. but maybe you should lay down,” he suggested.

“what? no! the party is just getting started,” jermajesty protested, his eyes darting between his brother and your own. his eyes quickly shifted lower to the gift in your hands, promptly jumping through mental hoops to articulate his words. “wait, why do you have a gift?”

you confusedly looked down at your hands before looking at jermajesty again. “oh, this isn’t from the table. it’s from jaafar-“ “we’re not opening gifts just yet, miss thing!” he leaned forward, booping you on the nose before taking the present from you into his own hands. you stifled a laugh at his newfound boldness, slightly discontented at the fact that he confiscated your gift.

“come with me, we’ll start opening all of the presents right now,” jermajesty was already escaping his brother’s loose grip and dragging you down the hallway.

you looked behind you to see jaafar begrudgingly trailing behind you both, uncomfortably scratching at the back of his head in second-hand embarrassment.

against your will, you were thrust into the middle of the living room as jermajesty chaotically gathered the guests around you and the pile of presents. the room quickly quieted as someone in the back muted the boombox and the conversations came to a standstill.

uncomfortable wasn’t even the word to describe your internalized agony. the number of eyes on you was enough to trigger someone’s trypophobia if they were in your place. you awkwardly glanced between everyone while fiddling with the ruffled edge of your pink dress.

“everyone!” jermajesty irrelevantly shouted into the now placid living room. he now inched towards you, accidentally stumbling over a pair of feet to stand next to you. “today is a very special person’s birthday, so let’s give her a hand.”

the room quickly became enveloped by the sound of rambunctious whistling and applause from people that you’d only smiled at in the halls of your school. you sheepishly smiled at everyone until your eyes locked on jaafar in the back of the expansive crowd, in which your smile deepened just a fraction.

a very tangible and noticeable fraction that caused jaafar’s to match your movements, his head ducking beneath your gaze. far enough for you to miss the way his cheeks reddened intensely.

as the claps quieted, jermajesty continued. “and because it’s this lovely girl’s birthday, we have to celebrate accordingly. so, it’s time to open gifts!”

a few spontaneous “woops” filled the room again as jermajesty leaned down, picking up the closest gift to you and placing it in your hands.

“jermajesty, i really don’t think i should-"

“come on, girl, open the gifts!”

well, that was a swift way to shut you up. you glanced to your right where nia sat beside you, only to be met with an encouraging smile. you swallowed a deep, controlled breath as you scanned the room once again. awaiting eyes stared back at you as you anxiously toyed with the loose flap of the gift in your hands.

“well, ok then,” you acquiesced.

the ensuing ten minutes included the high-pitched rustling of strewn gift wrappers and brief commentary by the gift-givers at your reactions. perfumes, accessories, and numerous gift cards were now spread across the table and reflected off the lamp light back at you.

there was no way that these people actually made such a strong effort to get you something. to actually make your day special, despite barely having known you.

it was an odd feeling. one of gratification and astonishment that this was actually happening to you.

aside from that, nia’s gift was very heartwarming to you: she got you a gold pendant with both your initials inscribed onto it. a friendship necklace that could last you years, she said. as everyone stared at you both lovingly, her hand cradling the back of your head as you both hugged, jermajesty was already ushering you to open the next gift.

which just so happened to be his.

“now open mine open mine,” he egged you on. you laughed at his enthusiasm as you now gripped at the larger-than-life box in your hand. you could feel his excitement as you unraveled yet another gift, now being met with a smooth, orange box that had a large “LV” embellished on the front.

you felt a pit form in your stomach. he didn’t actually…

as you lifted the lid of the exorbitant purchase, your jaw dropped. because wrapped beneath a crinkly thin paper cover was an authentic louis vuitton keepall bandoulière 50 bag.

you heard gasps from around you as you retrieved it from the packaging, your own breath hitching in your throat as you took in the extravagant bag.

“jermajesty, this is so-,” you began, suddenly very self-conscious. “beautiful.”

“i knew you’d like it,” he boasted, now embracing you in a full-form hug that hid your stunned face in the nape of his neck. his arms were a little lower than you were expected, which on a normal day, you would’ve reveled in.

but right now, in front of all of these people and accepting gifts that you had no business owning, you were… distressed.

the sweeping eyes on you were overbearing, the excess in gifts was guilt-inducing, and now the one person in the world whom you wanted to be yours was doing everything that you didn’t want.

a crammed birthday party, an overpriced display of… affection? if you could call it that? and the lack of emotional intimacy for any of these gestures to appear sincere to you.

it all felt fabricated, like it was all for show.

but you were raised better than to show how you were feeling. and even without proper manners, you wouldn’t want to hurt jermajesty after all of the effort he put into this. to making you happy.

so you braced yourself; you quickly rebuilt the facade that you felt was slowly cracking throughout the entirety of the evening. and you faked the smile that you’ve worked years to perfect, squeezing tighter around his torso like you were clinging to a swim floatie.

you retracted from his touch, now looking at him with a forced but hopefully reassuring grin. and he bought it, sending a quick wink your way before a triumphant smile took over him. you placed the bag down on the table next to the other gifts, scanning across the room to see everyone looking at you with hearts practically radiating at the two of you.

“well, i guess that’s all the gifts,” you effused, now interlocking your fingers against the center of your chest. “thank you all so much-"

“oh wait, you still have one more gift,” jermajesty interjected, now pushing forward a large, recognizable outline of a present to your chest. “this is from jaafar.”

“oh right,” you quietly laughed to yourself, already preparing to tear into the material.

“you uh, don’t have to open that,” you heard a meek voice break into the crinkling of gift wrapping paper beneath your fingers.

“huh?” jermajesty contested.

you looked up from the gift to see the crowd parting just slightly to reveal a slightly uneasy-looking jaafar. he took a few steps forward, still a hefty distance away from you and your gift-surrounded table.

“i said, you don’t have to open that right now,” jaafar itched at the back of his earlobe. a nervous tic of his that you picked up on early on.

“oh come on jaafar, it’s literally the last gift,” jermajesty contested.

“yeah, i don’t mind,” you concurred softly, your eyes wandering between his own in search of where his apprehension came from.

the eyes of the partygoers darted between your stupefied expression and the distraught curly-haired man. “fine,” jaafar conceded, retreating backward into the large abyss of drunk and possibly stoned individuals.

“go ahead,” jermajesty encouraged, now nudging your elbow lightly.

“uh, alright then,” you dryly laughed, now tearing into the gift that you’d been teased with all evening. after a few seconds of gauche unraveling and antsy feet taps, his gift was on full display to you.

and you were at a loss for words.

because it wasn’t a random lavish perfume or exorbitantly priced purse that came from a man who knew nothing about you.

it was a record.

scratch that, not a random record.

it was sam cooke. the limited edition signed night beat vinyl. the one that you’d scoured the internet for for damn near ten years now.

it was sitting in the palms of your hands. yours. like it was an effortless purchase that could’ve been copped way earlier and with less stress.

you couldn’t believe it. and you’re sure that no one around you could either, because they didn’t understand. you felt the interrogative eyes of your guests now staring at you and bouncing off one another in wonder and perplexity.

“what is that?” jermajesty asked, puzzled at your sudden silence.

“is that?” you heard nia on your side, now rising from her seat next to you and staring at the record in bafflement. “the sam cooke album that you-"

“yeah,” you answered, now suddenly hearing your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage.

because nia knew, of course she did. she was aware of how long you’d been after the very limited and rare signed copy of one of your favorite albums of all time. and now it was yours. because of him.

“i can’t believe he did that,” she sighed in adoration.

just as you looked up to locate the very man who single-handedly granted you your biggest wish, you heard the slam of a door beyond the circle of people. you squinted, trying your best to find him.

but he was gone amidst the large expanse of people. well actually, he was gone entirely.

it only clicked for you a few seconds later that the dramatic slamming of the door could’ve belonged to him. without thinking, you started to push past jermajesty and the miscellaneous feet belonging to newly formed acquaintances as you muttered hasty “excuse mes” along the way.

luckily, everyone knew what you were after. rather, who, you were after, and decided to move seamlessly to pave the way for you.

by the time you reached the mahogany door, you quickly slipped into your pink sandals and made your way out into the chilly air. you paid no mind to the quizzical “what is happening?” questions that jermajesty threw your way as you politely closed the door and briskly made your way down the apartment steps and started searching.

with nothing but your new record and a dream, you peered across the poorly lit street for any sign of him. but there was nothing but gnats and the buzzes of locusts surrounding you. you almost gave up and looked the other way before you caught a glimpse of someone in the distance fiddling with car keys beside a dark blue beamer.

him.

instinctively, you started lightly jogging in his direction, careful not to cause any damage to your long-awaited dream of a gift. “jaafar!” you whisperingly shouted. he quickly glanced up to see you approaching him, and just as fast, he looked away.

“jaafar, wait,” you pleaded, now only inches away from him. “where are you going?”

“out,” he curtly replied, abnormally blunt for your liking. his back was angled towards you as he continued to find the right key to unlock his car.

“why are you leaving?” you softly queried.

and at the frailty and slight insecurity laced in your tone, he seized all his movements entirely. he slowly turned to look at you, his eyes glazed over with an emotion that you couldn’t pinpoint.

“i’m sorry,” he fiddled with his earlobe once again. “i kind of just got overwhelmed back there, and i uh-" he gestured to the vinyl now carefully held in between your arm. “i thought you didn’t like it.”

your jaw dropped. was he for real?

“jaafar, are you serious?” you inched closer toward him. his eyes quickly averted to the concrete beneath your feet. “this is the best gift you could’ve ever gotten me…why would i not like it?”

he dryly laughed, his fingers now drifting to tug at his curls at the nape of his neck. “i don’t know, you got really quiet. and it looked like you were just trying not to hurt people’s feelings back there.”

he looked you in the eyes now. “i just didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“jaafar,” you murmured, wanting nothing more than to give him a hug. “i was overwhelmed too, but this-" you motioned towards the record under your arm. “this is truly the best gift i have ever gotten in my entire life.”

his hardened expression was swiftly replaced by soft contentment and genuine relief, a gentle grin finding its way to his face.

it almost pained you to think that he thought you hated this.

that you temporarily hurt his feelings.

“oh jaafar,” you sighed, now stepping closer towards his chest. automatically, he wrapped his arms around you and the large vinyl in your arms, embracing you for the first time in your transient friendship.

it was so warm, so reassuring to be held by him like this. to be seen in this way that actually mattered to you. “thank you,” you murmured against his chest. his embrace only tightened around you in response.

his chin found its placed atop the base of your head, his arms rubbing soothingly against the center of your back. you swore you could fall asleep right there and then. you pulled back a marginal distance, just barely to catch the way that his eyes fluttered open at your stirring beneath him.

the way that the streetlight captured his bronze skin and unwavering gaze had your knees threatening to buckle. his eyes swept between your own before subtly glancing to your parted lips. a pool of warmth gathered in the pits of your stomach.

“i just wanted to make you happy,” he breathed out, now just centimeters away from your mouth. his eyes were trained on your lips now with laser sharp focus, like there was nothing more important in the world.

“jaafar,” you sighed again, clinging to his name like a verbal safety rope. your eyes were fixated on the plush curvature of his lips, wanting nothing more than to taste him. in the twinkling of eye, there was nothing left to cling to as he closed the distance between you both with the soft peck of his lips.

it was hasty and gentle, like the hesitance was more from fear of making you uncomfortable than his own anxiety. he retracted just as quickly, eyes frantically searching yours for permission or forgiveness.

but thankfully, the soft nod you gave him was all he needed.

he swiftly reconnected his lips with yours, this time deepening it immediately. the mild pressure against your mouth was enough for you to bring your unoccupied arm to the nape of his neck, bringing him closer to you. his hands instantly lowered from your mid-back to your waist, drawing you closer to him than you physically thought was possible.

it was honestly too natural how this felt. the loose but territorial grip on your waist, the hot, sputtered breaths against you like he was slowly but surely losing his control. the kiss was warm and slightly reckless, eliciting a soft gasp from you. jaafar made sure to take advantage of your brief surprise to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening it further.

you were completely breathless, not that you were complaining. you had no idea how desperately you waited for this moment until it happened. the trifling but rewarding study sessions, the multitude of conversations, the prolonged eye contact.

this was everything to you both.

jaafar brought one of his hands from your lower waist to your cheek, cradling you like you were something sacred. the hesitation from before was quickly replaced with his eager desire to make out with you for hours.

and as fleeting as that the thought was, you felt it. rapidly hardening against the fabric of his jeans onto the plushness of your exposed skin.

“jaafar, w-wait,” you pulled back, trying your best to catch your breath. your hand fell from his neck to the center of his chest, restabilizing yourself.

his eyes desperately scanned your face in search of what he did wrong. “i-is everything ok?”

you’d never seen him this frazzled, and strangely it only deepened your desire to reconnect your lips again.

“no no, this is perfect,” you grinned, watching a smile make its way back to his face. “i just don’t want to rush this.”

jaafar’s hand on your waist found its way to your palm against his chest, engulfing it under his warm touch. “i’ve waited for this for so long,” he sincerely admitted, catching you slightly off guard.

“oh yeah?” you smirked.

“yeah,” his eyes were on your lips again. “but you’re right, i want to do this right.”

he brought both of his hands to cradle your face in his hands as you lowered your own hand to hug at his waist.

“let’s go on a date,” he pridefully stated, a wide-toothed smile formed on his face.

“ok,” you agreed. “i’d like that a lot.”

"the aquarium?"

"of course."

oh how you loved how well he knew you...

taglist: @kryka83 @ipodcherry @auriuex @orphic-elysian @idrinkcoffeelol @szalipcombo @ooooglymoooogly @ksavamp @delictezz @sculpted2 @m1oyo1 @gravenoirr @ladybugz11 @sulkygyu

maniellah

The Way You Knew Me || Jaafar Jackson

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　 ✧

jaafar j. x reader

── °˖✦ 5 part mini series

in which you and jaafar reconnect after years of distance, and realize how much was left unsaid.

+ how much you both would benefit from your own advice...

ch. 01 ch. 02 ch. 03 ch. 04 ch. 05

── °˖✦

tags: jaafar x reader, best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers (slight squint), no use of y/n, humor, slowburn asf, yearn asf, they both just need to kiss & then go to therapy, reader has a strong personality!

please mind the tags, as well as allow me grace <3 i have never uploaded anything on tumblr, i have been a #wattpadwarrior turned ao3 fanatic, this interface is new to me.

startingsomethin

₊ ⊹ ARROW THROUGH THE HEART

DISCLAIMERS: This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction.

PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.

GENRES: Angst (a surprise to no one.)

SUMMARY: For ten years of his life, Michael Jackson has known and loved her. An on / off again relationship which a year ago lead him waiting an the altar to commit his life to another. In what felt like forever in the shaky life he had built for himself, he finally felt stability. It's 1992 and the demand for kids was a huge deal breaker for him. The couple wasted no time in trying, but after a year of failed attempts, they worried something might be wrong. Doctors confirmed his worst fears when they announced his wife to be infertile. Desperate for children of his own, Michael jumped the gun by asking a friend to carry his child only two weeks after the diagnosis. When he brings this conversation up to his wife, emotions run high and he might have just lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

WARNINGS: Angst, infertility, heavy argument, swearing. (I think that's it.)

WORD COUNT: 8.6k (My attempt at short. Sorry.)

3leni

DO YOU REMEMBER THE TIME? ; vampire!thrad!michael jackson / f!reader

summary; “So, Mr. Jackson,” you speak over the cassette recorder. “How long have you been dead?” ... He laughs.

word count; 14.2k

warnings/tags; 18+ mdni. THE PICTURE IN THE BANNER IS PURELY AESTHETIC (zero racial descriptions!). no pepsi accident !!! heavily inspired by interview with the vampire (2022), journalist!reader. flashbacks, falling in love, time skips/nonlinear narrative, angst with a happy end, diana ross slander, reader is #danielmolloymaxxing, vampire turning, explicit depictions of blood and violence & some weird psychosexual vampire shit, making up, brief mention of vomit (because vampirism is gross), explicit sexual content: dry humping, phone & couch sex, mutual masturbation.

A/N; i want to preface this by saying i in no means claim that this is an accurate representation of mj. yes this is true for all rpf but i've never written it before so i'm nervous. anyway. i genuinely, literally, have absolutely nothing to say for myself at all. i’m not even kidding. a few notes: the vampire rules are the same as iwtv (obviously). you can honestly safely assume that louis and armand are just next door in san francisco for the entirety of this fic (it changes nothing but it's funny to think about). i've left out the changes to mj's skin during the thrad era, because even though your appearance freezes when you're turned, i figured i can play around with that. so feel free to imagine him as you'd like. (also. i'm going to be honest with you: it gets pretty fucked up. for those familiar with iwtv it's a walk in the park, but for those not… yeahhh...)

⭒ ݁ . read on ao3. my masterlist. REBLOGS and comments are deeply cherished, feed your local writer!!! fic playlist <3

“So, Mr. Jackson,” you speak over the cassette recorder. “How long have you been dead?”

He laughs.

A beautiful sound, softer than life itself; this delicate thread he walks on with one foot hanging off the ledge and into the darkness. Not really alive, not truly dead. Just trapped in the endless pendulum of both.

“It’s Michael,” he almost whines. Such a soft cadence for a creature capable of such great violence. A contradiction, just like everything else about him. He’s lounged on his couch, spread out, wearing darkness much better than it wears him. He’s biting on one finger with a tilted head, smiling at you so brightly you almost forget about the sharp-fanged canines glistening. “For you, it’s Michael.”

You pause, swallow. “I know, Mr. Jackson.”

etherealiti

fates of halloween | michael jackson

- summary: thriller!michael and reader's respective friends bailed on them at the cinemas without warning. reader spends the rest of the spooky halloween night with a guy she barely knows... but at least he's funny. and real cute.

* NOT thriller era mike btw, it's thriller michael as in,, the character he plays on the thriller short film itself :) WE'RE IN THE MICHAELVERSE!

word count: 5.3k

warning: again, we're in the michaelversee??? let's go!!, just first meeting and a bunch of fluff ensues, woman tries writing comedy for the second time, mentions of ola ray, but again this is INSIDE the thriller short film, but it's NOT horror... I'm not talented enough for that , RUSHEDD AND SHORT, a whole bunch of nothing happens

* no usage of y/n, michael refers to reader as 'girl' mostly

author's note: OKAY so at this point you guys probably know Thriller Mike is my favourite, of course we love all eras but I think this particular one is a soft spot for all of us tbh. And this is rushed, SOO sorry about that. I hope you like it though, it's just been in my head for a while.

I was watching A Different World, and I yearn for a college-type Mike and I thought who is best fitting for that kind of thing if not Thriller MV Michael? And truth be told guys, I watched it when I was five and he was actually my first childhood crush and the first celebrity loml. It goes full circle!! Trust!!

+++ not really proofread, SORRY

+++ english isn't my first language! and sorry for the mix of british and american spellings, i am NOT a professional writer by any means! but hope you enjoy!

taglist! ; @jaafarsbaby @mbafi @umafanficdoidaqualquer

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Halloween nights have always been your favourite time of the year. Growing up, you knew you had the advantages of being a child to grab as much candy as you could from soft-hearted adults. From dressing like Snow White to Bride of Frankenstein, they were going to eat out of the palm of your hand. As you get older, though, you discover those nights really were made for children and somehow it’s not cute anymore for you to knock on some stranger’s door and beg for candy.

You never really got over that.

startingsomethin

₊ ⊹ GONE BY MORNING. ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʷᵒ

DISCLAIMERS: This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction.

PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.

GENRES: Angst / Fluff / Smut /

SUMMARY: It's 1987 and with his career reaching heights, Michael Jackson has the world at his feet. His name reads like a mythical legend echoed across the globe, he's at the top of his game and about to embark on his first solo world tour after the release of the Bad album. Everyone tells him he should be celebrating, this is the happiest time of his life, but if that's true, why does he feel so alone? As tabloid gossip runs rampant and press vipers edge closer, he can feel the walls closing in. Stuck between the camera lens, he no longer feels human, just a caricature of a man he no longer recognises. When a blast from the past suddenly reappears in his life (at a funeral of all places), Michael feels a glimmer of hope that not all is lost. Only problem is, she still doesn't trust him after a mistake he made in '84.

WARNINGS: Angst. Mentions of infidelity. Arguments. Strong language. NSFW scenes. Funeral/Death mention (not a major character.) Mentions of racism / the KKK (not super detailed, just mentions as found in a manifesto Michael had actually written for himself before the bad era.) Minors do not interact with this post.

WORD COUNT: 22.2k (yikes. buckle up guys.)

MORE: you can read part one here.

miley1442111

always- j.abbot

summary: you have to go home for a wedding. jack comes to support. you think it's the end of your relationship, he proves it's not.

pairing: jack abbot x fem! doctor! reader, carmen berzatto x fem! sister! reader, sugar berzatto x fem! sister reader, richie jerimovitch x fem! cousin! reader, etc.

warnings: regular themes of the bear, regular themes of the pitt, jack was abused as a kid, reader was lowkey abused as a kid, talks of suicide, talks of death, talks of depression and addiction, talks of jack's PTSD, stevie is annoying, LOTS OF CURSING, fear of abandonment, lots of crying, non-sexual nudity, spoilers for the wedding episode (based on episode 7 'bears'- season 4 of the bear)

a/n: yall, this is 13k words. good luck.

banners from my good friend @no-144444 !

Everything was on fire. His leg, well, his lack of leg had been at him all night. His back was killing him from all the fucking leaning he’d been doing. His eyes were bloodshot from the double he’d unintentionally pulled. Fuck, he just wanted to go home. The last few hours had been a blur. Mass casualty events hit just a bit too close to home, reminding him of his time in the military, which was never really a good idea. He hated it, the screams he couldn’t forget, the wounds he couldn’t treat, and the faces forever etched into his memory. He hated it because he couldn’t watch fireworks, or watch any of those documentaries you so loved, or function properly sometimes. Sometimes the PTSD took over and the nightmares dragged him back, dragged him away from you.

not-neverland06

𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨…

💿 Nobody's Son 💿

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴: 𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘉𝘳𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘵

I think it's time we took a break / So I can grow emotionally / That's what he said to me

All my friends in love and I'm the one / They call for a third wheeling / Probably should have guessed / He's like the rest / So fine and so deceiving

Overview: You've been his partner for years, but one fight with his wife and he's willing to throw it all away just for a brief night of relief. Now, your life is ruined and you don't want to ever see him again. But the death of your friend brings you back together and suddenly, you're backed into a corner you don't know how to escape from. (Basic knowledge of the show Southland is helpful but not necessary as this follows some plot points).

a/n: my twist on the pregnancy trope which basically means the majority of this is angst and not so much focused on being pregnant. This is more about the psychological toll it takes on a on a woman unprepared. Idk I tried to avoid the pitfalls of this trope that piss me off, like a baby doesn't magically fix everything ever. Hope you enjoy!

wc: 20.7K

warning: dark thoughts toward self and unborn baby, allusions to abortion but not explicitly mentioned

Find more at: Belle’s 3k Extravaganza

“-and I promise,” you drone out the rest of Dewey’s BS. He claims it’s a retirement party, but you give it three months tops before he’s crawling back. You bet his wife will leave him, he’ll drink worse than he already does, and all of a sudden he’ll need a job again.

You tilt your head to the left, lips parted and then stop yourself. Nate and Sammy aren’t beside you like they usually are. There’s no one to bitch to because they’re both with their wives. Letting out a tired sigh, you lean back in your chair and try not to pass out.

Usually, you guys go to these functions together. You talk shit about the cops you don’t like and make bets on who’s going to have the biggest fuck up of the month. But Dewey’s party is being held in some crappy back alley bar with tiny tables. Meaning you’re shamefully outed as being single while they hold their wives hands.

Although, glancing over your shoulder, you’re pretty sure Tammi would rather break Sammy’s hand before she held it. She’s not even saying anything and you can already tell that he’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.

obsessivefanfictionauthor

This story was incredible. The depth of it and the span of time covered was just simply amazing.

Definitely a re-read.

Absolutely phenomenal and one of the best stories I've read!

thykingdoncome

his best girl

part one | part two | part three | masterlist | ao3

jack abbot x reader, michael robinavitch x reader

summary: You’re Robby’s favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn’t hesitate to offer you up. Jack takes you home, and the lines you thought were drawn in the sand start to blur.

|| smut MDNI 18+ angst, heavy flirting, free use kink, cuckholding, widower!jack, annoying!robby lol, arguing, possessive behavior, reader does not act like she ought to in this fair warning, pinv, fingering, dirty talk, pet names like baby / sweetheart, mama dana as always, mentions of blood and needles (v brief), complicated feelings, eating and also forgetting to eat, im gonna be so real neither reader or jack are all that well behaved in this, mentions of langdon x reader, , mateo x reader & crus x reader 👀, canon suicidal ideation, fainting, mentions of jack's prosthesis, jack is a little bit of a soft dom here || a/n: first time writing these characters please forgive me !! jack has been the hardest by far to write for me but I hope I made you proud lol I did one good read over / edit of this so !!! im sorry if there's mistakes!! wc: 12k sorryyyyy I got carried away!

opulentpeony

His Lovely Obsession

Pairing: Titus Danforth x Reader

Summary: Your life took a complete turn the moment you made one single decision: to help a billionaire with something so trivial that only a psychopath like him would mistake it for love.

Titus has found a lovely new obsession to focus all his energy on now and you're unsure how you're going to make it out of this unscathed…

Word Count: 20.3k

A/N: I had this itch to write a slow burn, grumpy x sunshine fic with a splash of angst, yearning and fucked up manipulative behavior so this is what I cooked up.

I will note, you call him "sir" and he really likes it! Because I like it! Whoops!

For a full list of warnings, you can check out the fic on my AO3. Though this one is quite mild compared to my other fics so you can go in blind if you want to!

Oh, and of course, there will be porn! Hope it's a fun read ♡

cinnxmxngxrl

Shared custody

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x reader

PART TWO Updates account

Balancing your final year as a resident while raising a five-year-old is hard enough. Co-parenting with your ex Michael Robinavitch? That’s a whole different challenge.

warning/tags: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot (lots of plot), age gap (but reader’s age isn’t disclosed) jealous!robby, co-parenting, Robby is sooo girl dad coded, attempt of slowburn, they're down bad for the other, inadequate medical terms, longing, unprotected piv, pussy eating, fingering, handjob, creampie, multiple orgasms

p1ttlings

IT’S (NEVER) OVER

summary . . . months of roleplaying the woman he’s truly in love with is tearing you apart bit by bit. you swore you’d never turn into your mother, but all you see is her face as you look yourself in the mirror, crying over a man who will never see you.

pairing . . . andrew “pope” cody x fem!stripper!reader

warnings . . . extreme low self esteem from reader, pope being a selfish lover for a hot minute, more cath roleplay, reader having no self-respect, unrequited love, pure angst, but also smut, some fluff and funny moments but they don’t overpower. reader quite honestly being mean, death of a sibling (readers loss), mommy issues, domestic violence. smut!! mdni!!!!!!!! 18+!!!!!! masturbation, slight fingering, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, stripping, webgirl, camming. ANIMAL KINGDOM season 1 spoilers!! or allusions to what happens ig. will put more when i find more, this is off the top of my head

word count . . . 10.7k

an . . . wasn’t going to make a part 2 to ‘today is (not) the day’ but inspiration struck and i don’t know… i love angst and writing screwed up readers

part 1, TODAY IS (NOT) THE DAY

Your mother rotated her men more than she did her meals. Every month was a different guy, a new gift that came with the guy, too, which was a pleasant part of your sad world. You learned at six years old and with her tenth boyfriend in your short life, to not get attached.

Tommy was your mother's least grandest love, but he was your biggest.

Soft-spoken Tommy with that awful mustache that you drew often while trailing off in class. Where your mother would yell, he’d soothe. Expletives were snarled your way and when your mother would storm off, he’d reassure you. You’re not ugly. You’re not worthless. You’re not meant for one thing only. You’re intelligent. He’d try to counteract every bad word uttered in your direction.

He would take you out on daddy and daughter dates. The reason your closet was stocked up with good clothes straight from its source and not from thrift stores was all because of him. You weren’t wearing cheap, off-brand shoes any longer, but the proper stuff, which meant that no kids could make fun of you anymore.

You weren’t a stupid child. You saw it when your mother was losing interest. She was pulling away. And when she was near, she’d argue so badly that she’d start slamming her fists to his face. That’s when the men would have enough and leave for good.

The last time you saw Thomas Peterson was one of the saddest days of your life. You begged him to keep coming around, told him you needed him. You were six and telling him you weren’t strong enough to survive past the fifth grade alone. He never came around, of course. That would have been weird, and he was anything but weird.

You didn’t bother to speak to any of the men from then. Sure, you’d accept their gifts, but ignore their lame attempts at getting you to see them as a father figure. Some of them tried too hard, others avoided you. The ones that overlooked you gained more love and attention from your mother.

There was no one in your life that hated you more than her.

You suppose that’s why you never amounted to anything. You graduated high school with a shitty GPA, and your perverted counselor being the only reason you could get that diploma. You never thought of college, not community or a four-year right off the bat. The second you could, you sold yourself. Never sexual favors, not that.

Webcams at first. You’d tease at the camera. Your few loyal subscribers loved it. That ran out when they demanded more though, and you couldn’t, for the life of you, do what they needed. You were shy then, your mother's lessons still ringing in your mind when the strap of your bra would fall a little too down.

You worked customer service jobs for a while. A cashier at a grocery store, a gas station, even at a cannabis store at some point in time. The hours were terrible, and the pay was much worse. The employees were awful, too. Old mothers who gossiped about everyone, guys who salivated at the sight of you, and younger girls who were jealous that these men would look in your direction and not theirs. You couldn’t last long in one spot.

lauraneedstochill

stained with you

pairing: Jack Abbot x ex!reader summary: you and Jack broke up a year ago — it was so painful, you barely recovered. when you meet again at the Pitt Fundraiser, you’re dead set on keeping your distance. he is dead set on getting you back. (or, alternatively: Jack on his knees. that’s it.)

warnings: 🔞 Jack going from emotionally unavailable to emotionally vulnerable (thanks to Robby and therapy); mentions of hand tremor and grieving; angst and LOTS of longing; sprinkle of jealousy; heated argument in the rain, explosive love confession. smut (oral, fingering, unprotected piv). NO DESCRIPTIONS OF THE READER / words: 20K / author’s note: I saw the “pick your tropes” tag game on my dashboard, and the choice was between “break up & make up or proposal & wedding”. no one tagged me, so I had to write a whole-ass fic about my pick. I am chill like that ♡ {read on AO3} ♡ MASTERLIST

This pain feels like a whirlpool, a current that drags him right down to the bottom. It doesn’t take much to provoke it — he only needs a glimpse: of your shirt hanging in his closet, your blue mug in the kitchen cupboard, your scarf still tucked into the pile of his winter clothes. You didn’t leave too many things behind for him to hold on to. He didn’t leave you any choice.

Jack was the sole reason you had to pack your bags and get out of the apartment in tears and in such haste, you couldn’t care less what he was left with. And he can never blame you because it was entirely his fault.

He wishes that he had a valid motive, some kind of explanation to make his actions justified. Him being held at gunpoint, you being forced to cut ties for your safety, a prophecy that said you two being together would bring death to every living thing. But no threats or foretelling were involved in his decision-making. If only Jack could see into the future, he would’ve never let you go. And he wouldn’t be standing here alone, his hands unsteady and fixing the tie for the tenth time as people rush past him, in an astir flow of dresses and tuxedos going up the stairs. He doesn’t pay attention to the noise, faces, and colors. Jack thinks about the conversation he and Robby had the day before, three sentences the messaging chain ended with:

She’ll be there. You sure you’re ready?

Yes.

He’s sure that he can’t bear it any longer.

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