Pairing: Jaafar Jackson x Black!OC Amara Jackson
Summary: Jaafar shows his love by caring for Amara after a wild night out.
Songs: The Impossible by Mariah Carey
WC:
Warnings: 18+ suggestive content
Note: headcanon from the miniseries I have for them <3
SHE LOVED HIM LIKE LEMON DROP MARTINIS ON A THURSDAY EVENING…SWEETLY. EXCITINGLY. IMPULSIVELY…
“You gon’ give me any space?”
“No.”
She stayed behind him. Swaying like a boat on the water, left hand locked tightly around her wrist. Her cheek, damp from the night’s heat and slippery foundation, pressed against his back as he stood above her side of the dresser, rummaging through the drawers.
“Well,” he said lowly, pulling out her favorite blue nightgown, “You gotta let me go.”
“Why?” She whined into his back, her teeth biting the fabric in frustration.
Jaafar glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “So you can get dressed.” The drawer hissed closed, and he turned in her arms, balancing her nightgown in one hand and her full hip in the other.
Amara pouted and blinked slowly. “You do it.”
“I will.” Jaafar dropped a kiss against her temple. “C’mon.”
He led her to the bed, their hands tangled together like a memory and sat her at the edge. Amara huffed quietly and leaned back on her hands, head lulling heavily to the side. “I’m tired.”
Jaafar hummed and lowered himself to his knees. Slowly. Reverently.
“I know. You had fun?”
“Mhm.”
The night started with her at a local restaurant with her friends—her first outing since returning to US soil following their wedding and honeymoon—balancing a forkful of vodka rigatoni in one hand and a glass of pinot gris in the other. But somewhere between encouragement from her homegirls and an I’ll get you from wherever text from her husband, Amara landed in a booth at a hole-in-the-wall bar, sipping lemon drops like water.
And as promised, when the room began to tick like a panoramic production, and her speech slowed like molasses, he was outside; legs crossed over the other as he waited for her entrance.
He slid her shoe off—revealing a fresh red pedicure and tender flesh. She sighed softly. Then came the other. Removed with a tenderness that seemed instinctual rather than studied.
“You know,” Amara murmured, gliding her fingers through Jaafar’s dark curls. His hands stilled around her foot. “You look good like this. Pretty.”
Her nails scratched lightly at his scalp before wrapping themselves in the freshly washed tendrils. She tugged softly. He groaned lowly.
"Like what?” He ground out, thumbs pressing against the sole of her foot.
“On your knees for me.”
He looked at her then. Eyes blown wide like a man who mistook devotion for breath itself. His tongue found the underside of his tooth, circling once, as his gaze fell to the newly installed carpet.
Jaafar exhaled.
“Behave.”
Amara smiled. Slowly and wickedly.
Her fingers found the hem of her dress, and she pulled it over her head, revealing her favorite leopard print set that she knew would send him in a tizzy any other day. But he didn’t step closer. Just raised an eyebrow and raised the blue satin between pinched fingers.
She huffed and raised her arms, allowing him to unclip her bra and slide the nightgown over her body. “Thanks, baby.” She stood on unsteady legs and moved ahead of him to the bathroom, mumbling about makeup remover and toothpaste.
He stayed close. Far enough to give her space but lingered close enough for her to wrap his arms around her waist as she brushed her teeth slowly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
jaafar jackson x reader headcanons: the camera chronicles
saw this tweet earlier and I couldn't stop thinking about it.
like imagine dating jaafar and this man literally NEVER leaves the house without his camera when y’all are traveling??? it’s a whole lifestyle at this point. he’s got that vintage film camera + his digital one 😭
he’s always stealing candid pics of you when you’re not looking. you’re half asleep on the plane with your mouth slightly open? click. you’re staring out the window at the sunset with that soft little smile? click. you’re struggling to open a snack bag like it personally offended you? click.
every trip has an official 'photo diary'. he’ll sit on the hotel balcony at 2am editing the day’s pics while you’re curled up in bed and he keeps whispering 'babe look at this one' every five seconds. you pretend to be annoyed but you love seeing how he sees you
jaafar is BIG on the 'stop, you gotta stand right here' moments. you’ll be walking through some pretty european street and suddenly he’s grabbing your hand, spinning you around, and positioning you in the golden hour light like you’re his personal muse. “just trust me, baby” — sir i’ve been standing here posing for ten minutes my legs are tired
he has an entire section on his camera roll labeled 'you + the world' and it’s the softest shit ever. pictures of your hands intertwined with different city backgrounds, your silhouette against mountains, you laughing while feeding street cats in italy…he prints some of them and puts them in a little travel journal he keeps
lowkey protective of his camera but will let you use it without hesitation. the one time you accidentally changed a setting and took blurry pics he just laughed, kissed your forehead, and said 'we’ll call these abstract art'
nighttime balcony shoots are a THING. after a long day exploring he’ll set up his camera for long exposure shots of the city lights and make you model in his hoodie or his jacket. half the time it turns into a full-on makeout session and the pics come out all blurry and dreamy and he still keeps them because 'they feel like us'
he gets this really focused look when he’s taking pictures of you and it makes you shy every single time. like the way his eyes soften behind the lens? lethal. you once asked him why he takes so many and he just shrugged and said 'i never wanna forget how you look when you’re happy with me'
surprise photo dumps on his close friends story that are literally just 47 pics of you. his friends are in the group chat like 'jaafar we get it' and he replies with more pics 💀
whenever you’re feeling insecure or having a bad travel day he pulls up the camera and starts hyping you up through the lens until you’re giggling and posing. it’s his love language at this point
by the end of every trip your suitcase has a new stack of printed polaroids or film scans that he secretly got developed. he labels them with dates and little notes like 'first time you tried real gelato' or 'the day you stole my heart in santorini again'
he’s not just documenting the places you go, he’s documenting the love story in real time and it’s the most jaafar thing ever 🥹
Contains: Black fem reader, fluff, cutesy, 4c hair in mind but not specified, 3rd person pov
The soft engines of cars rode past her apartment window along with the sound of running water throughout her kitchen.
“Which one, baby?” Michael asked, looking questioningly between the two brown bottles. The white sink pressed against her ribs as she held her coiled hair under the rushing water.
“The one that says shampoo, Mikey.” She giggled with her eyes closed, feeling the warm water spread through her scalp. Her eyes opened, greeted by the silver sink basin, water swirling around it.
“Oh, got it!” He exclaimed happily. She listened as he opened the cap and poured some in his hand before closing it. He made sure his hands were wet before rubbing the gel-like substance in.
“It’s so foamy.” He let out a giggle watching as it foamed up in his hands. Hearing his laughter warmed her heart; she always thought it was the cutest thing ever.
“Don’t get it everywhere, Mikey.” She reminded him, reaching her hand up to turn the faucet off to not rinse out the shampoo early. “Baby, I got this.”
His hands met her scalp, using his fingers to massage it through her hair. She closed her eyes with a sigh, feeling content at the much-needed wash. She loved wash days; it felt like a reset.
She was a bit more nervous today since her boyfriend, Michael, offered to do it for her. His doe eyes and the slight pout on his lips made it hard for her to say no.
So now here she is, enjoying him rubbing his fingers through her kinky coils, hearing the slush of the shampoo gathering in her head. Michael let out small, quiet giggles as he sneakily slicked her hair into a Mohawk using the shampoo to form the shape.
“Michael Jackson.” She said sternly, holding back her own laugh. His laughter filled the room, not being able to hold it back anymore. “You’re so lucky. I don’t have a camera right now.”
He finally rinsed her hair out, captivated by the way the shampoo slid so smoothly out of her. Replacing the white suds with her now natural hair color.
“You okay?” He asked her. “Yes, baby, I’m okay. Are you finished?” She asked him, her voice a bit echoed from her head in the sink. “Yes, ma’am, I just need to put in the leave-in conditioner now.” He grabbed the towel on the countertop.
He gently squeezed her hair, letting out the excess water. He wrapped the towels around her hair, gently bringing her back up. “Whew. Thank God my back was killing me.” She sighed, leaning side to side, attempting to move the stiffness in her back.
“I’ll massage it for you later.” He smiled and leaned in, giving her a kiss which she happily returned. He reached up, rubbing the towel around her head to dry off any stray droplets.
“You’re so pretty, Mama.” He told her as he draped the towel around her shoulders. She couldn’t help but get shy at his compliments. No matter how long they had been dating, he still made her all giddy.
“Thank you, Mikey.” He reached for the leave-in conditioner, pouring some in his hands. “Is this enough?” He asked, showing her the dime-sized amount in his palm.
She looked up, nodding, secretly proud he did it so well. She shouldn’t be surprised; Michael is good at almost everything he touches.
He spread the leave-in conditioner in her hair, leaving small kisses on her forehead. She couldn’t ignore the warmth in her heart at the affection.
“Now let’s go start that massage.”
A/n: I’m starting to figure this tumblr thing out😄
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Pairing: Jermajesty Jackson x Black!OC Yasmin Lynell
Summary: In which Yasmin is the only woman he wants, but he has to fight tooth and nail to get her to see it.
Songs: Workin' Day and Night by Michael Jackson, One Way (Bonus Track) by 6lack and T-Pain
WC: one thousand something girl idk
Warnings:
Note: whaddup jerdada
His socks slid across the dark carpet. Static pinched his ankles—zap—he ignored it. Kept pacing. Kept typing. Kept deleting.
Hey, how have you been?
Too casual.
What’s up with you?
Too forward.
I miss y—
No. God, no.
His thumb throbbed against his tooth as he picked at the skin there. He nearly drew blood; he didn’t care. He tapped her contact, finger hovering over the photo. It was old, probably three months ago—the moment that he documented with pride.
She was asleep then. Lying on her stomach with her arms on the pillow, her back bare, with soft script running down her spine like scripture as she rested like an angel beneath white covers.
It’d been a week.
Seven days.
168 hours.
10080 minutes.
604800 seconds—
since he’d seen her.
Since the floorboards squeaked under her familiar weight, since the candles bent in reverence when she stepped over the threshold like Athena walking onto ancient ruins, since her scent—flowers and temptation—lingered in the pillowcases he refused to wash. He couldn’t get rid of her. Refused to, really.
He felt it.
His resolve slipped through his fingers, pooling around him like water. The restraint that broke through chains and morphed into an obsession that remained well hidden behind meticulously crafted messages and delayed phone calls. The desire that skipped over curiosity and jumped in bed with need.
She clouded his mind like fog. Pinched his nerve endings and rearranged them until he short-circuited. All she needed was to blow a whistle, and he’d come running, obedience dripping from his mouth like an offering.
It didn’t take much.
It never did.
It’d been a week.
She stayed. And they kissed like friends. Made love like lovers, slid into a porcelain basin filled with warm, bubbling water. Clinked glasses full of champagne—they kissed there, too.
He missed her.
Needed to convince her.
He called her—
“You up?”
“Why, you miss me or somethin’?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. His armor groaned.
He exhaled—quietly—and stared at the television ahead. It was off. Only a blurred outline of himself stared back at him. He turned over his shoulder. “Somethin’ like that.”
A pause.
“You comin’ through or not?”
She hummed. “That ain’t what I asked.”
A pause.
“You miss me or not?”
His head fell backward, exposing the column of his neck to the ceiling. He dropped his chin and pinched the corners of his lips between his thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah,” he said lowly. “I do.”
She sounded pleased. He could see it: her tilted chin, smug smile, and low eyes. That look. The one that said, I got you where I want you, was a fixture. Nearly permanent.
“Thought so.”
There was movement. Bed sheets crinkled. Bare feet kissed the floor—had her polish color changed since the last time, he’d seen her? Zippers rattled—like symbols.
But she was moving. He heard it. The clothes shifting in her duffle bag. Zipper sliding. Yeah. She had him, but she was coming anyway. Movement. Decision. She wasn’t talking—she didn’t do that unless it was necessary—she was coming.
His tongue circled the inside of his cheek as he glanced at the door. Then the clock. Back to the door. Eleven. Eleven. Eleven. How quickly could she get here? The opening of her front door snagged his attention.
“Twenty,” was all she said.
Jermajesty bit his lip. “Bet.”
Nineteen minutes passed.
The knock came once.
He was already moving.
Didn’t check the door—
didn’t need to.
She stood in the threshold like she always did—glistening with gold and glory. She was dressed down, but the effort didn’t go unnoticed. She reapplied mascara. Slid another layer of lip gloss across her lips. Added a layer of perfume—jasmine over what was originally vanilla.
Jermajesty raised an eyebrow, his eyes following her as she slid past him with the ease of a woman who was convinced, she owned the space.
She did.
She slid her bag—the black weekender—off her forearm and onto the floor beside the couch. She leaned against the arm and crossed her arms, chin lifted.
He stood in front of her. Hands stuffed into the low-hanging gray sweatpants. She blinked slowly. “You came.”
Yasmin raised her shoulder. “I was summoned.”
His dark curls glistened beneath ambient light and winked at her. He tilted his head slightly. “… that's what we call it now?”
Yasmin pursed her lips and shifted her gaze to the television. To the vinyl record player—no music played, though. To his reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator. To the collage on the wall—was that her? Whatever.
She clasped her hands together. “You still got that bathtub?”
He nearly laughed.
Of course. That’s where she took it.
Always did.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Wasn’t in the mood to detach it today.”
Her eyes—green in hue and dangerous in aura—sharpened. “You’re bein’ fresh.”
“If that’s what you’d call it, sure.”
He held her gaze.
Didn’t look away.
Didn’t need to.
Yasmin inhaled, the pendant from her necklace slipping between her breasts as she did so. She turned to the left, then the right, and slid her socks off, stuffing them into her weekender. She hauled it over her forearm and brushed past him. Straight back toward the door on the far right.
His room.
Of course. That’s where she went.
“The bubbles,” she murmured to herself. “Where they at…”
He rubbed his jaw. Didn’t follow. Didn’t need to. She’d find it. Right where she left it.
He let time linger before he walked down the hallway. He stopped in the doorway. Watched her for a second. Just one. Water already ran. Steam circled the atmosphere. And she was halfway into the tub, back bear with script running down her spine like scripture, like this was always the next step. Her preferred destination.
“You couldn’t wait?”
Yasmine dipped her hand beneath a glob of suds and brought it to her mouth, blowing until a cloud of bubbles hit the mat.
“You was too busy watchin’ me walk away.”
His jaw shifted.
She caught that too.
“Anyway,” she hummed, dipping her shoulders into the hot water. “Get in. Or fan me, or something.”
“Fan you?” he muttered, sliding his shirt off his arms. It fell to the floor with a whisper. “Am I Marc Antony to you or some shit?”
“You wanna be?”
“He’d dead.”
“He was devoted.”
Her words lingered for a moment. But he didn’t stop moving. Plucked his socks off. Stepped out of his sweats. Stepped in behind her. Like clockwork. Like routine.
“Devotion,” Jermajesty mumbled, dropping his head against the wall. “Is only revered like a martyr when it’s mutual. Otherwise…”
He shifted behind her. “It’s devastating.”
Yasmin picked at her nails beneath the water. Dropped her eyes toward the pendant on her wet chest—J—and blinked twice. She hinged backward, the gold against his neck kissing her shoulder.
He moved again.
Slung one arm over the edge of the tub, water dripping from his fingertips like rain. His right arm stayed put—heavy on her abdomen, fingers twisting the naval piercing there.
“Baby…”
He hummed.
Yasmin turned, her knees pressing against the floor of the tub as she settled on his lap. His thumb traced her hip slowly. “What’s up?”
“What are we doing?”
Jermajesty’s head jerked like he was offended (he was). He licked his lips and tapped the edge of the tub. “I’m waitin’ for you to stop playin’ with me.”
Her eyebrows pinched together. Confusion. Though he didn’t understand what was confusing. What failed to register. Or what she didn’t want to say.
But she didn’t like that—his accusation—or what she thought it was. Her eyes narrowed. “Playing?” It rolled off her tongue slowly, like she tasted something she wasn’t quite sure she enjoyed. “Playing…”
Jermajesty’s expression didn’t change. “Yes. Playing. You know I want you, Yasmin; don’t do this.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
Yasmin’s eyes dropped toward the gold rope around his neck. Traced the curve of his collarbone, damp from her hands. She fiddled with the small clasp and whispered, “What about the others?”
It came too quick. Too fast to have been thought through. Like she’d sat in it for years and finally had the opportunity to release it. Like doubt and fear had a voice. He hated it.
His stomach clenched as he swallowed a frustrated groan. “What others, Yasmin?”
She didn’t answer that. Instead, the words on her tongue turned into something sharper. Her hands dropped to his chest, resting, still. “You asked me to come over at eleven at night.”
His hand paused at her waist. “You ignored my text at 10 in the morning. Try again.”
“Still.”
“Then you ignored it at three in the afternoon. Keep goin’.”
She did: “Still came through though.”
He laughed. “Yeah. And you accused me of treatin’ you like a booty call.”
“I’m in your bathtub.”
He got quiet then. "That ain't the only thing I want from you."
Silence.
The water stilled.
Bubbles crackled and popped like the party’d been shut down.
And they sat—
in silence.
Yasmin glanced toward the mirror. She could only see a portion of their reflection. Her frizzy hair from the humidity of the water. His lax posture against the back of the tub, though his heart thundered beneath her hands like Zeus’ chariot galloped through the sky. They looked like…a couple.
Intimate.
Close.
Together.
She blinked. Dropped her eyes toward her black sweatsuit on the floor. She began to shift again, to face the wall ahead rather than the brown eyes that begged for her honesty.
He held her in place.
“Yasmin.”
She looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was different when he was quiet. When he didn’t have a shield in one hand and sword in the other. When he wasn’t on guard, defensive.
Had his eyes always been this brown? Dark. Heavy. There was something there. The right one—a hint of gold around the iris. She hadn’t quite noticed that before. Even when they’d followed her every expression when he loved her into oblivion on white covers, she didn’t notice the gold in his eyes.
Her mouth twisted.
“I’m scared.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“I do…want you.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know what to do with it.”
Restraint filled the space. Cooled the atmosphere more than the water that’d chilled. Jermajesty stayed quiet. He was good at that. And she hated it. How he was fine with sitting in discomfort while it ate her from the inside out.
She wasn’t like him.
Or she didn’t want to be—
she didn’t know the difference yet.
Yasmin trembled once. Then: “I can try. With you.”
“That only works if you can let me love when the sun’s out.”
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love—
you.
“…okay.”
She turned, settling back against his chest again. Like before. Like nothing had changed. Except everything had. He didn’t move. Didn’t tighten his hold. Didn’t say anything.
Pairing: Jaafar Jackson x Black!OC Amara Jackson
Summary: Jaafar shows his love by caring for Amara after a wild night out.
Songs: The Impossible by Mariah Carey
WC:
Warnings: 18+ suggestive content
Note: headcanon from the miniseries I have for them <3
SHE LOVED HIM LIKE LEMON DROP MARTINIS ON A THURSDAY EVENING…SWEETLY. EXCITINGLY. IMPULSIVELY…
“You gon’ give me any space?”
“No.”
She stayed behind him. Swaying like a boat on the water, left hand locked tightly around her wrist. Her cheek, damp from the night’s heat and slippery foundation, pressed against his back as he stood above her side of the dresser, rummaging through the drawers.
“Well,” he said lowly, pulling out her favorite blue nightgown, “You gotta let me go.”
“Why?” She whined into his back, her teeth biting the fabric in frustration.
Jaafar glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “So you can get dressed.” The drawer hissed closed, and he turned in her arms, balancing her nightgown in one hand and her full hip in the other.
Amara pouted and blinked slowly. “You do it.”
“I will.” Jaafar dropped a kiss against her temple. “C’mon.”
He led her to the bed, their hands tangled together like a memory and sat her at the edge. Amara huffed quietly and leaned back on her hands, head lulling heavily to the side. “I’m tired.”
Jaafar hummed and lowered himself to his knees. Slowly. Reverently.
“I know. You had fun?”
“Mhm.”
The night started with her at a local restaurant with her friends—her first outing since returning to US soil following their wedding and honeymoon—balancing a forkful of vodka rigatoni in one hand and a glass of pinot gris in the other. But somewhere between encouragement from her homegirls and an I’ll get you from wherever text from her husband, Amara landed in a booth at a hole-in-the-wall bar, sipping lemon drops like water.
And as promised, when the room began to tick like a panoramic production, and her speech slowed like molasses, he was outside; legs crossed over the other as he waited for her entrance.
He slid her shoe off—revealing a fresh red pedicure and tender flesh. She sighed softly. Then came the other. Removed with a tenderness that seemed instinctual rather than studied.
“You know,” Amara murmured, gliding her fingers through Jaafar’s dark curls. His hands stilled around her foot. “You look good like this. Pretty.”
Her nails scratched lightly at his scalp before wrapping themselves in the freshly washed tendrils. She tugged softly. He groaned lowly.
"Like what?” He ground out, thumbs pressing against the sole of her foot.
“On your knees for me.”
He looked at her then. Eyes blown wide like a man who mistook devotion for breath itself. His tongue found the underside of his tooth, circling once, as his gaze fell to the newly installed carpet.
Jaafar exhaled.
“Behave.”
Amara smiled. Slowly and wickedly.
Her fingers found the hem of her dress, and she pulled it over her head, revealing her favorite leopard print set that she knew would send him in a tizzy any other day. But he didn’t step closer. Just raised an eyebrow and raised the blue satin between pinched fingers.
She huffed and raised her arms, allowing him to unclip her bra and slide the nightgown over her body. “Thanks, baby.” She stood on unsteady legs and moved ahead of him to the bathroom, mumbling about makeup remover and toothpaste.
He stayed close. Far enough to give her space but lingered close enough for her to wrap his arms around her waist as she brushed her teeth slowly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the red recording light blinked on. you immediately pointed the camera at jaafar. he looked up from where he was adjusting the strap of his backpack and groaned. “baby, we just got off the plane.” “say hi to the vlog.” “absolutely not.” you zoomed in on his face.
“that’s not very nice.” “you shoved a camera in my face after a fourteen hour flight.” “the fans yearn for content.” “the people can wait.” you laughed, following him as he started walking through the airport.
“anyway, hi guys. welcome back to another vlog. i’m in japan with my fiancé,” “unfortunately.” “and we’re gonna be here for a week.”jaafar looked over his shoulder. “you can edit that out. “no.” “please.” “no.” he sighed dramatically before continuing to walk, and you caught the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. first clip secured.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
the first thing you learned was that jaafar became ten times more excited when he traveled. you were currently standing outside a claw machine store while he stared through the glass like a child discovering christmas. “jaafar.” no response “jaafar.” still nothing. you turned the camera toward yourself. “we’ve been here for twenty five minutes.” “i almost got it.” “you’ve said that six times “because i almost did.”
you panned the camera toward the machine. inside sat a small white plushie. the same plushie he’d been trying to win for almost half an hour. he inserted another coin. you couldn’t stop laughing. “how much money have you spent?” “don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” the claw missed again. jaafar stared. you zoomed in. “thoughts?” “i hate this country.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
later that night, you were walking through tokyo together. the city glowed around you. lights reflected against the pavement while people passed by in every direction. you weren’t even really filming. just capturing little moments.
jaafar walking beside you. jaafar stopping to point out something interesting. jaafar trying a drink from a vending machine and immediately making a face. “that’s disgusting.” “then why do you keep drinking it?” “because maybe it gets better.” it didn’t.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
the next day was mostly shopping. and despite your insistence that you were fine, jaafar somehow ended up carrying almost everything. you turned the camera toward him. bags hanging from both arms. a shopping bag looped around one wrist.
another tucked under his arm. “you look ridiculous.” “and yet i’m helping.” “i could carry some.”“no.” “jaafar.” “no.” “i feel bad.” “good.” you laughed so hard the camera shook. “good?” “yeah. maybe next time you’ll stop saying ‘i’m just gonna get one thing.’” you glanced away. “okay, but i meant it at the time.” “you bought seven things.” “that’s still technically close to one.” “not even a little.” that evening, back at the hotel, you were reviewing clips while jaafar showered. most of them were random. food, stores, and street views. but there were also dozens of moments you didn’t remember filming.
little things. the way he’d automatically reached for your hand while crossing busy streets. the way he’d looked back to make sure you were still beside him. the way he’d smiled whenever you laughed. your heart melted. the bathroom door opened. jaafar walked out, drying his hair with a towel. “what are you smiling at?” you turned the laptop toward him. a clip played. him holding your hand while the two of you walked through a crowded street. his ears immediately turned pink.
“delete that.” you gasped.“why“ because.” “because why?” “because i look stupid.” “you look in love.” he rolled his eyes. but he couldn’t hide his smile. you set the camera down on the nightstand.
“come here.” he immediately crawled onto the bed beside you. an arm wrapping around your waist. pulling you against him. comfortable. you rested your head against his shoulder. “you know everybody’s gonna say you’re obsessed with me.” “they’d be correct.” you froze. slowly looking up. “what?” his grin widened. “what?” “did you just admit it?” “admit what?” “that you’re obsessed with me.” “i fear that may have been public knowledge for years.” you laughed.
the camera, forgotten on the nightstand, continued recording. capturing the way he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. capturing the way you smiled against his shoulder. capturing a moment neither of you realized would end up becoming everyone’s favorite part of the vlog.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
the next clip opened with the camera pointed at the hotel ceiling. “okay.” your voice sounded slightly breathless. “today is premiere day.” the camera flipped around. you were sitting in front of a mirror while getting ready. behind you, jaafar was standing in front of the closet. completely frozen. staring at two different jackets “which one?” you zoomed in.
“he’s been standing there for ten minutes.” “because this is important.” “it’s a jacket.” “it’s the jacket.” you immediately started laughing. “those mean the same thing.” “they absolutely do not.” you pointed toward the black one. “that one.” “that’s what i was thinking.” “then why did you ask me?” “validation.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
a little later, the camera was balanced on the vanity. you were doing the final touches of your makeup while jaafar adjusted his watch. every few seconds you caught him looking over. then looking away when you noticed. then looking again. eventually you lowered the camera. “why do you keep staring at me?” “i’m not.” “you are.” “baby, i’m not.”
you raised an eyebrow. he looked away. you burst out laughing. “you’re so bad at lying.” “you just look pretty.” his answer came so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. your heart immediately melted. “aw.” “don’t do that.” “do what?”
“make that face.” “what face?” “the one where you know i love you.” you smiled even wider. “that’s my favorite face.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
the next clip showed the two of you arriving. lights, cameras, people everywhere. you lowered your voice dramatically. “okay, we’re here.” jaafar looked down at the camera. “you’re acting like we’re entering a secret military base.”
“this is a high pressure situation.” “you’re holding a vlog camera.” “exactly.” he shook his head. but before he turned away, he reached down and fixed a piece of your hair that had fallen out of place. completely unconsciously.
like it was second nature. you caught the entire thing on camera. most of the premiere footage ended up being little moments. jaafar greeting people. laughing with cast members. taking pictures. stopping every few minutes to make sure you were nearby. you noticed it every single time.
the room could be full of hundreds of people. and somehow his eyes always found yours. always. at one point you were filming from across the room. he was talking to someone. completely engaged in conversation, then he glanced up. saw you. and smiled, immediately. without hesitation. the kind of smile reserved for one person. you. the camera actually dipped for a second because it made your stomach flip.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
later that night, after everything had ended, the two of you slipped away for a quiet walk through the city. still dressed up. still riding the excitement of the evening. the camera was mostly pointed at the street lights.the sounds of the city around you. and occasionally jaafar whenever he said something funny. “so.” you looked over. “so?” did i survive? “barely.” “wow.” “you were very brave.”
“thank you.” “especially during the jacket crisis.” he groaned immediately. “you’re never letting that go.”“i absolutely will not.”
eventually you found a quieter street. less crowded. peaceful. you stopped filming for a second, just enjoying being together. then you noticed jaafar looking at you. you slowly raised the camera. caught him instantly.
“what?” he pointed.” nothing.” “you were staring again.” “i was not.” “roll the footage.” “there is no footage.” “there literally is.” you held up the camera. his face turned red. which only made you laugh harder. “you know,” he said, reaching over to pull you closer by the waist, “one day you’re gonna run out of ways to expose me.”
“not likely.” “i have faith.” “i don’t.” he smiled before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. the city lights glowed around you. the camera capturing every second. and for once, neither of you cared.
