⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who is the epitome of duality: such a sweet gentleman when you first met him. that classy, demure smile, perfect teeth and shiny curls. but underneath the surface, he’s actually nasty.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who knows you’re friends with his younger brother, jermajesty, yet still can’t help but wonder how your full lips would feel against his own, how your curves would feel under his fingers.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR whose eyes always follow you behind his shades, subconsciously biting his lip as he watches you lounge in the pool with his little brother, yearning to be the stray water droplets that cling to your skin, skimming over your sternum down your plush stomach.
when his dick starts to rise in his trousers from the sight of your tits bouncing in the pool, he unashamedly dips his hand past the hem to adjust his dick, peel his balls off his thighs. and you don’t see a thing.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who makes up any excuse to touch your waist: to move you out of the way, to lift you up on the counter, to help you out of the pool. his hands are always warm too, they’re big. engulfing your waist, your hips, as he moves you any which way he wants, lightly, teasingly squeezing the soft of your hips too.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who jerks off to a napkin with your lipgloss stain on it. it’s a hot pink mark, and the lip product smells cheap and plastic-y, but the shape of your lips rubbing on his length makes jaafar jizz all over the thin tissue paper within a good two minutes.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who ends up taking your virginity in his bedroom at his family’s houseparty. jermajesty is all drunk in the backyard, a deep house beat making the walls crumble as jaafar’s thick digits scissor open your walls for the very first time. “let it out, gorgeous. they’re not gonna hear ya.”
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who eventually ends up sneaking around with you. suddenly you come over way too often, and while jermajesty enjoys your company, he can’t help but become suspicious as to why you always disappear in the middle of the night.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who has you face down in his bed as he lazily pumps into you. his hips rubbing against your ass, his cock gently caressing your inner walls as he grinds his balmy dick into your cervix while you gasp out in the pillows, jutting your ass further into his pelvis. you know you have to come quick, because you absolutely cannot afford jermajesty hearing you two going at it like two bunnies.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who fucks you so good, you can’t sit down normally the next day. literally wincing as you sit your ass down, the muscles burning as you tense them up. “someone did a little too much at the gym.” jaafar teases at the breakfast table. a warm filter coats your cheeks as scenes from last night cloud your mind. “something like that,” you mumble shyly.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who loves to eat you out on the washing machine because 1) the laundry room is small and hidden away, nobody knows where the two of you are, and 2) the rumble of the machine masks your pretty moans and whimpers as you leak into jaafar’s mouth.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who loves to see you in crop tops, because he loves to kiss your stomach. nosing your navel, squeezing your sides as he kneels in front of you, his forehead pressed against your skin as he kisses your cute tummy all over.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who takes photos of your fucked-out state to look back on later, when you’re not around, to get off to. he uses his fancy digital cameras as he takes nasty close up shots of your drooling, cummed up hole, videos of him pushing his cum back into you.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who fucks you in the middle of the day, and then has you walk back out with no panties on, his warm cum sliding down your thighs as you constantly squeeze your thighs together to keep jaafar’s thick cum from spilling out of you.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who sends you late night texts and — very much wanted — dick pics, his pearly white cum all over his bronzed hand, a stark constrast, with the text: “left your bra here and big j couldn’t contain himself lol”.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who, during his many trips to foreign places, also sends you pictures of his cummy, shiny dick, milky cum dripping down the base, his mushroom tip all soggy and swollen, thick cream sitting on his fat balls. “big dick will be back in town soon”.
sends you videos of him rubbing himself with your panties. he’s literally cut a hole through the gusset so his dick fits through the hole as he fucks his hand with your underwear. but as he hardens, he isn’t able to move the lacy fabric over his length anymore, so he ends up pacing around with your flabby panties hanging around his boner.
jerks himself off for you in front of the mirror, and you can see his thick balls resting on his thighs, twitching. when he’s close, he juts his tip on the glass mirror before shooting his entire white load against it.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who calls you “mami” as he eats you out, one big hand clasped around your mouth as his tongue flicks over your sensitive clit, your walls clenching shut around nothing. “lemme eat’cha open, mami, don’t fight me.”
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who accidentally starts calling you “mami” in normal, everyday situations. at the family dinner table, “pass me the salt, please, mami.” tumbles out of jaafar’s mouth. the thing is, he’s not even ashamed of it. he just owns it, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders as jermajesty eyeballs him.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who sneaks into the bathroom as you shower. one moment you’re enjoying the hot water spray with your eyes closed, and the other you feel two large hands squeeze your tits, jaafar’s lips kissing your neck as his half-mast dick pokes into your thigh from behind.
⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who loves to show off the hickies you put on him. he enters the living room, purple marks all over his neck while his brothers hype him up, thinking he had some last night. and jaafar? he just passes you a teasing look, winking at you because he knows you put them there last night.
a/n: that photo of him with the keyboard is sooo fucking yummy ugh i wanna sit on himmmm and claw all over his chest >.<
pairings: Jaafar Jackson x wife!reader ——♡—— w/c: 4k+
summary: on your wedding anniversary, you and Jaafar find out your expecting your first child together.
warnings: just pure fluff, established relationship, angst if you squint, reader gets lonely, suddenly i’ve got terrible baby fever. help.
a/n: i wrote this in three-ish hours so apologies if it seems rushed, i just needed first time dad jaafar in my life.
request!
♡ ♡ ♡
The universe had a funny way of ruining your plans. Not big plans. Not world-ending plans. Just the small ones.
The ones that involved a silk dress hanging on the wardrobe door, reservations at a restaurant Jaafar had been suspiciously secretive about for three weeks, and celebrating another year of marriage without looking like an army of small children had personally attacked you.
Instead, you were currently lying face-down across your bed wearing one of Jaafar’s t-shirts, clutching a hot water bottle to your stomach and contemplating whether death could actually be that bad.
“Baby?”
The bedroom door creaked open. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Jaafar poked his head through the gap, his curls slightly damp from the shower, framing his face in a way so perfect you weren’t sure it was actually possible.
“Are you alive?” You lifted a thumb with all the energy you could muster.
“Debatable.”
He snorted.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“I threw up thirty minutes ago.”
“Oh.”
“The room is spinning.”
“Oh.”
“My head hurts.”
“Oh.”
“And if you tell me I just need to drink water, I will file for divorce on our anniversary.”
Jaafar immediately raised both hands.
“Okay, first of all, that’s aggressive.”
“It would hold up in court.”
“No judge is granting a divorce because your husband suggested hydration.”
You rolled onto your back dramatically, head falling back against the pillows.
“Then they clearly don’t understand what I’m going through.”
Jaafar laughed as he sat beside you, brushing your hair away from your face. His smile should’ve been an arrestable offence. Marriage was honestly a scam; nobody warned you that two years later you’d still look at your husband and think, wow. That’s an absurdly attractive man. It was extremely unfair.
“You’re warm.”
“I know.”
“You don’t look good.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Still rude.”
His grin widened.
“Happy anniversary.”
“Oh, my God.” You groaned.
“What?”
“We have to cancel.”
“We don’t have to do anything.”
“Jaafar.”
“Baby.”
He laughed again before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, the kind that always made you feel that little bit better, even when you wanted to be dramatic.
“We can celebrate another day,” he said softly.
“But it’s our anniversary.”
“And?”
You sighed heavily, perhaps a little too heavily.
Theatrically, even.
Jaafar simply stared at you with amusement.
“You know,” he said, “you’re acting weird.”
“I’m sick.”
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“This started before you got sick.”
Immediately accurate.
Because if you were being honest, you’d been feeling weird for weeks. Tired, emotional and hungry. Then not hungry. Then hungry enough to break down over Jaafar eating the last slice of garlic bread, staring at him like he had just murdered your entire bloodline.
Oh.
The thought arrived so suddenly you nearly sat upright, the pain in your stomach being the only thing preventing you.
Jaafar frowned.
“What?”
Nothing. Just the fact that you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a period, the dates on the calendar, the last time the two of you-
“Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“Oh, my God.”
You slowly looked at him, then at the bathroom. Jaafar followed your gaze, confusion making its way onto his expression. Then, realisation. His eyes practically doubled in size.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moved; the room suddenly felt very, very quiet, besides the sounds of your stomach doing Olympic gymnastic-level flips.
Because sitting underneath the sink in your bathroom was a box you had bought three days ago.
Just in case.
♡ ♡ ♡
The cold porcelain of the toilet seat made you cringe, alongside the fact that Jaafar was standing opposite you, watching you pee like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Then he spoke, the most utterly unhelpful sentence;
“You cried because I ate garlic bread.”
You gasped in disbelief, yet still grateful for the distraction.
“It was the last slice, J”
“It was one slice.”
“It was my slice!”
“You didn’t claim ownership, princess” He pressed his lips together; the traitor was trying not to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” You narrowed your eyes, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.
“I’m smiling!”
“Divorce.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
He finally lost his internal battle and laughed, dropping his head into his hands. The sound made something warm flutter in your chest, despite the nervous knot currently trying to strangle you.
Then his expression softened immediately, the way it always did when he looked at you.
“Jaafar.”
Your throat tightened, because suddenly this wasn’t funny anymore. Well, it was still a little funny, but it was also terrifying.
“What if we’re not ready?” you asked quietly.
Jaafar’s face melted; gone was the teasing husband who made fun of your dramatics. This was your husband, the one who held your hand during doctor appointments and kissed your forehead when you were sick. The one who somehow knew exactly how you took your coffee despite claiming he couldn’t remember where he’d left his car keys.
He reached for your hand immediately.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said carefully, “if it is positive, we’ll be okay.”
♡ ♡ ♡
By the time the two of you emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, your anniversary plans had become the least important thing in existence.
Not because either of you had forgotten about them, but because there was currently a pregnancy test sitting on the edge of the sink. And neither of you possessed the courage to look at it.
You sat on the edge of the bed; Jaafar paced. Back and forth, back and forth, back and-
“Jaafar.” He stopped, turning to face you.
“You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m making you nervous?”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
“You took the test.” A brief pause as you formed your response.
“Yeah? Well, you made the baby.” His mouth fell open.
“J, just sit, please?”
You patted the space on the bed beside you.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I feel sick.”
You stared, then looked pointedly at your own reflection in the mirror facing the bed.
“Interesting.”
“Don’t.”
“Very interesting.”
“Don’t.”
“The woman who has spent three weeks throwing up is comforting the man standing upright.”
You laughed despite yourself; the sound eased some of the tension in the room for approximately three seconds. Then both of your eyes drifted back towards the bathroom, and immediately the tension came back with a vengeance. Your stomach flipped; neither of you moved.
“Maybe it’s negative.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe I’m just dying.”
“Please don’t say that.”
You smiled weakly.
Finally, Jaafar took a deep breath.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“We look.”
“We look.”
Neither of you moved, again.
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
He grabbed your hand, helping you up from where you’d perched on the mattress; you squeezed his hand back. And together, like two people approaching a bomb instead of a piece of plastic from a pharmacy, you stepped closer to the sink.
One step, then another. Until the result came into focus.
You blinked.
Because surely your brain was playing tricks on you. Beside you, Jaafar went completely silent, the kind of silence that immediately told you he could see it too.
Two lines.
Two very clear lines.
“Oh.” Your voice came out smaller than expected.
Beside you, Jaafar still hadn’t said a word. You turned, slowly. And found him staring at the test as if it had personally offended him, not upset, just broken. Like his brain had decided to stop processing any and all information.
“Jaafar?”
Nothing.
“Baby?”
You waved a hand in front of his face.
“Oh my God, I broke him.”
That finally did it; his head snapped towards you.
“There’s two of them.”
You stared.
“What?”
He pointed at the pregnancy test.
“There’s two lines.”
“Yes.”
“Two.”
“Yes.”
His eyes widened.
“Baby.” His voice cracked.
“Baby.” You repeated.
And suddenly he was laughing, not normal laughing. The kind of laugh people let out when they have absolutely no idea what else to do. One hand reached up to cover his mouth; the other grabbed yours so tightly it almost hurt.
“You’re pregnant.”
The words hung in the air; you felt tears prick your eyes before you could stop them. “Oh, my God.”
You laughed, then immediately started crying, which only made Jaafar laugh harder. Somehow making you cry even more, a complete disaster.
The pair of you standing in your bathroom crying over a stick from CVS, romantic, very romantic.
“Come here.”
Before you could protest, Jaafar pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you so tightly you thought he might never let go.
And for a long moment neither of you spoke.
When Jaafar finally pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously shiny; you chose not to mention it. Mostly because yours definitely were too.
“We’re having a baby.”
Then he paused, and you immediately became suspicious. “What?”
His grin widened.
“Genevieve is going to lose her mind.”
You burst out laughing, because he was right. Genevieve was going to lose her mind, Jermajesty was going to lose his mind, the entire Jackson family was about to lose their collective minds.
♡ ♡ ♡
If there was one thing the Jackson family excelled at, it was making absolutely everything an event.
Birthdays? Graduations? Somebody successfully parallel parking on the first try? (True story.)
So naturally, informing them that you and Jaafar were expecting your first child was never going to be a casual affair. Unfortunately for you, that didn’t stop Jaafar from insisting on dragging the announcement out for an entire week.
“You are the worst person I’ve ever met.”
Jaafar looked up from the kitchen counter.
“You married me.”
His hand immediately found its way to your stomach, a habit that had developed around twelve minutes after the positive test. Honestly, you weren’t entirely convinced he’d willingly gone more than five feet away from you.
Your front door opened before you could formulate a response. Both of you froze, then immediately looked back at each other. Because today was family dinner, which meant your secret was hanging on by a thread. A very fragile thread.
“Your favourite sister has arrived!”
Genevieve’s voice carried through the hallway before she even appeared.
A second later, she walked into the kitchen. Then stopped, her eyes narrowed. Your stomach dropped, the baby probably sensing danger.
“What?” you asked as casually as you could muster.
Genevieve pointed between the two of you.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“No I’m not.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“That’s rude.”
You immediately exhaled, traitorous lungs. Genevieve’s eyes narrowed further, then she turned to Jaafar. The look on his face instantly gave the two of you away.
“Oh my God.”
Jaafar covered his face. “Genevieve.”
“You’re pregnant.” The silence that followed was deafening. The three of you stared at one another.
“Oh my God, you are.” She began to cry, no warning, no hesitation. Just tears. “You haven’t even heard us say yes.”
The sound of footsteps thundered down the hallway, and suddenly Jermajesty appeared, carrying a tray of food, concern plastered all over his face.
“What happened?”
“They’re having a baby.”
Jermajesty blinked, then looked between the two of you.
“…Seriously?”
You nodded; his jaw dropped, hands flying to his head as he began pacing.
“Oh my God.”
“See?” Genevieve said.
“I’m going to be an uncle.”
Another pause.
“A whole uncle.”
“Yes.” Jermajesty completely ignored you.
“I’m going to teach them everything.”
“Absolutely not.” Jaafar chimed in, “You are teaching them nothing.”
“Excuse me?”
“You once tried to microwave a metal spoon.”
“It was one time,” Jermajesty mumbled, “what about when you chased us around the house with a taser?”
Jaafar was laughing now, Genevieve still sobbing as Jermajesty began discussing baby-proofing strategies. You smiled to yourself, glancing over at your husband.
His hand found yours beneath the counter, and when your eyes met again, something in your chest squeezed. Because for the first time since seeing those two lines, it felt real. You were having a baby, and judging by the reactions in the room alone, that baby was about to be loved by an absurd number of people.
♡ ♡ ♡
The problem with telling the Jackson family a crumb of information was that it never really stayed that way for very long. Within twenty-four hours, everyone knew. Within forty-eight, you had somehow lost the basic human right to perform single tasks for yourself. It started small: you stood up during dinner to refill your water bottle. The three other people in the room stood up with you.
Genevieve was already reaching for your bottle.
“I do have legs, y’know?”
“You are carrying my niece or nephew.”
“I’m carrying my baby.”
“Our baby.” She had corrected.
“That’s not how biology works.” She had ignored you completely; the water bottle had already vanished from your hands. You looked at Jaafar, the man who was supposed to be on your side. He had shrugged, the coward.
Apparently, once people discovered you were pregnant, you had magically turned into the world’s most fragile decorative object. Perfect. Three days later, you had tried to carry a laundry basket upstairs, making it halfway up the stairs when a voice behind you yelled-
“Absolutely not.” You had nearly launched yourself into the ceiling; Jermajesty had appeared out of nowhere.
“When did you even get here?!” You still weren’t entirely sure; one minute you were alone, the next he was standing three steps below you, looking horrified.
“Put it down.”
“It’s just laundry.”
“Put it down.”
“Jermajesty!”
“Put it down.” The two of you stared at each other, then he simply took the basket. Physically removed it from your arms and carried it upstairs himself. You watched him go, speechless and in complete disbelief.
“…I’m twenty-four.” You muttered to yourself, or at least you thought you did-
“Congratulations.” You jumped again; Genevieve was behind you now, of course she was. Apparently nobody in this family announced their arrival anymore; they just appeared like concerned little ghosts.
At sixteen weeks, you had been lying in bed, Jaafar playing with your hair absentmindedly, his other hand tracing circles on your growing bump. And every day Jaafar looked at it like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“You okay?” you asked quietly. His smile appeared slowly, the soft one, your personal favourite.
“Yeah.” You mirrored his smile, head rested against the pillow as the two of you lay in silence. Then, the baby kicked. A tiny little flutter, barely there, yet still enough. Jaafar froze, his eyes widening; his hand didn’t move and neither did he.
“Did you feel that?” you asked quietly, as though your voice would spook both the baby and Jaafar. He nodded very slowly; you were fairly certain he had forgotten how breathing worked.
“The baby moved.” His voice was loud, entirely too loud. You closed your eyes, letting out a long, knowing sigh as you heard footsteps. Rapid footsteps that belonged to multiple people, the bedroom door opening so quickly you thought it would come free from the hinges.
“Are you okay?”
“Is this baby okay?” Jaafar looked up at the two of them, his face glowing. Actually glowing, like every star in the sky had somehow landed inside of him; then he pointed at your stomach. “The baby kicked.”
You enjoyed the three seconds of silence that followed.
“Oh my god.” Genevieve started crying again. Honestly, at this point nobody was surprised.
♡ ♡ ♡
By month seven, you had become increasingly aware of two things. The first was that putting on socks had become an Olympic sport. The second was that you hated when Jaafar was away. Not in a dramatic sit-by-a-fire-and-write-poetry kind of way, okay maybe a little.
But mostly because after nearly seven months of having your husband attached to your side like an emotional support animal, the house felt empty without him. Especially at night. And that is how you had ended up with two adult toddlers living in your home, one of Jaafar’s bright ideas.
“You sighed.” You looked up from your spot on the sofa, Genevieve standing in the doorway holding two decaf cups of coffee. “Did I?”
“That was your sixth sigh in ten minutes.” She handed you the mug before carefully lowering herself beside you; the baby shifted. Apparently recognising her voice, you had begun to suspect everyone knew this child better than you did.
“You miss him.”
“I saw him three days ago.”
“You cried at the airport.” You looked away. Traitor. You wrapped both hands around your mug; the warmth settled against your fingers.
“Yeah, I miss him.” The admission came quietly, Genevieve’s expression softening instantly. Because beneath all of her chaos, she had always been good at knowing when you genuinely needed someone.
“You know he’s miserable too, right?”
You snorted.
“He’s filming a movie.”
“Yeah, and calling you every spare second he has.” You glanced towards your phone resting face up on the coffee table. Three missed texts, all from Jaafar. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. It completely disappeared when the baby kicked, hard.
“Was that a kick?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god.” You sighed.
“It has been seven months.”
“I know, but it’s still exciting!”
You laughed softly, then your smile faded again. She noticed instantly, much to your displeasure.
“What is it?” You stared into your mug; for a moment all you could hear was the rain and the baby shifting beneath your ribs.
“Do you think this changes everything for him?”
“What do you mean?” You swallowed; the words felt ridiculous. Especially now, after months of excitement and happiness. But they had been sitting quietly in the back of your mind for weeks.
“His career.” You looked down at your stomach, tiny movements hidden under the fabric of Jaafar’s sweatshirt. “Everything is happening so fast; he’s filming constantly.” Genevieve didn’t interrupt; somehow that made it easier. “People know who he is now, and then this happened.” Your hand rested against the bump.
“I know he’s excited.” Genevieve smiled, because that was painfully true. “But what if this changes things? What if he misses out on opportunities because of us?”
The silence stretched; you blinked rapidly. Because hearing the words out loud sounded awful, selfish even. But before you could take it back-
“Jaafar would be really upset if he knew you had been carrying this around by yourself.” Her voice had softened, and you looked away. Because unfortunately she was right. “He talks about you constantly.”
“He does not.”
“Yesterday he called me because he was worried you weren’t sleeping enough,” you laughed softly, “And he asked Jermajesty to check your car tyres.” You blinked.
“What does that even have to do with pregnancy?”
“We still don’t know.”
“He’s insane.” The two of you laughed, but her expression softened again moments later, reaching over to squeeze your hand.
“This baby isn’t ruining anything; it’s exactly what he wants.”
“But he loves acting.”
Another nod as she smiled.
“He loves the two of you more.”
Nobody told you that the first contraction is mostly confusion; you’d been promised screaming, waters breaking dramatically in grocery aisles. Instead, at two in the morning, you woke up needing to pee. Which wasn’t inherently strange; you hadn’t slept through the night in months.
You shuffled towards the bathroom, half asleep and entirely uncomfortable. Then, a strange tightening wrapped around your middle, not painful, just odd. The baby shifted as the sensation disappeared.
“Huh.”
You finished your bathroom trip, climbing back into bed. Thirty minutes later, it happened again, stronger, longer.
“Oh.” You sat upright, the movement requiring far more effort than it should have.
Your phone was already in your hand, pressing the first contact without thinking, the call barely ringing.
“Baby?” Jaafar’s sleepy voice crackled through the speaker, causing you to burst into tears. Not because you were scared or in pain, just because you were emotional, pregnant, and it was three in the morning.
“What happened?” Another contraction rolled through, much stronger this time, real.
“I think the baby’s coming.” Your voice wobbled, silence filling the phone call.
“What?” The sound that left him could only be described as panic; a loud crash echoed through the phone.
“Jaafar, what was that?”
“My suitcase.”
“Why?”
“I’m coming home.”
“Baby, you're in the middle of filming.”
“I don’t care.” You couldn’t help but laugh, even through the tears. Because somewhere miles away, your husband was apparently destroying a hotel room.
“Baby.” The panic in his voice suddenly vanished, replaced by something softer that made your chest ache.
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t have our baby before I get there.”
♡ ♡ ♡
An hour later, Genevieve and Jermajesty had transformed into completely different people. Genevieve was suspiciously calm, the kind of calm that suggested she was panicking so hard she’d transcended panic entirely.
Meanwhile, Jermajesty looked moments away from fainting.
“You okay J?”
“No.”
“Fair.”
His face went pale; Genevieve shoved a bottle of water into his chest. “For the love of god, pull yourself together.”
“I’m trying.”
“You are not the one giving birth, Jermajesty.”
“I know.”
“Then stop pacing!”
The nurse walking past laughed, and honestly? Fair enough. Because somehow the room felt less like a delivery ward and more like some weird hostage situation. Every five minutes, Jermajesty checked his phone, and Genevieve checked yours. And every thirty seconds you had asked-
“Where’s Jaafar?”
The answer arrived several hours later. Jaafar looked dishevelled, and like he’d broken at least six speed limits. The hospital room door burst open; everyone turned to face him. There he was, hair a mess, shirt half untucked and looking like he’d run all the way from the airport.
For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. His eyes found yours, every mile between you disappearing. Every fear, every lonely night, every worry gone. “Baby.” His voice cracked, your eyes filling with tears.
Jaafar crossed the room in seconds, his hand finding yours instantly. “You waited.”
“What?”
“You waited for me.” The sheer gratitude in his voice almost broke you.
“Of course I did.” His forehead dropped against yours; for a moment neither of you spoke. Then, another contraction hit, hard. Your grip nearly crushed his hand.
“Oh my god.” Jaafar immediately straightened, concern replacing everything else.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“What do you need?”
“A new spine.” You gritted your teeth, laughing through the pain.
Your baby was almost here, the tiny person who had already changed everything.
♡ ♡ ♡
The universe had a funny way of proving you wrong.
A year ago, you’d been lying face-down on a bed, convinced you were dying. Instead, you were pregnant. Now, you were standing in your kitchen holding a very angry one-year-old who was attempting to eat your necklace.
“Sweetie, no.” Tiny hands immediately tightened their grip. Your daughter stared directly into your soul before shoving the necklace towards her mouth anyway. Pure defiance, a Jackson through and through.
“Absolutely not.” She giggled at you, as if this was all one big joke. Which, admittedly, it probably was from her perspective. You heard the front door open, then close.
“Daddy’s home!” Her reaction was instant, head whipping around so fast you were genuinely concerned for her neck.
“Dada!” The scream echoed throughout the house, followed by frantic wiggling and increasingly aggressive demands for freedom.
“Oh, so now you hate me.”
“Dada!”
“Interesting, I carried you for nine months.”
“Dada!”
“Nine.” Jaafar appeared in the kitchen, and just like that, you ceased to exist. Your daughter practically launched herself from your arms, Jaafar catching her immediately with a laugh.
“There she is.” He kissed the top of her head, then her cheeks, then her forehead. Your daughter accepted this treatment as her constitutional right; you couldn’t blame her. “Miss me?” She responded by grabbing his nose, hard. He yelped as you laughed.
“She’s violent.”
“She’s your daughter.” His expression shifted.
“I take it back, she’s perfect.”
“How convenient.” Jaafar grinned before finally looking at you, the rest of the room vanishing. It still happened, even after marriage, sleepless nights, dirty diapers and stepping on seven thousand stray toys.
Somehow, he still looked at you like you were the best thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon; it was deeply annoying. Because every single time it made your stomach do that stupid little flip.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Happy anniversary.”
“Happy anniversary.”
Your daughter began to clap; neither of you knew why. But she seemed thrilled. “See, she gets it,” Jaafar said triumphantly. You rolled your eyes.
A year ago, the two of you had stood in a bathroom crying over a pregnancy test. Now an actual tiny human was sitting on your husband’s hip, one that shared his eyes and his smile.
You realised this anniversary looked nothing like the one the two of you had planned a year ago. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant or silk dresses. Instead, there were toys on the floor, a tiny person trying to chew on furniture, and a husband who looked at you like you hung the moon.
—𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒; everyone sees the soft-spoken, gentle, respectful michael jackson — but, after opening night for the victory tour in kansas city and a few bottles of hard liquor, you see how alcohol turns that sweet mouth real dirty
—𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆; smut, 18+, heavy alcohol consumption, reaaaaal dirty talkin, soft-dom!mike, semi-public sex (tour bus), cunnilingus, cursing, jackson brothers are such teasing lil shits, creampie.
—𝐀/𝐍; HIII, i’m baaaack! did you miss me :D also new layout who dis
Celebrating with the Jackson brother’s wasn’t anything short of lively.
It was a warm summer’s night in July — the air was muggy, manageable, but enough to cast a thin sheen of sweat across your forehead in the main seating area of the black Eagle entertainer coach. One singular window was cracked, letting in a blissful, relieving blast of cold air as the tour-bus whirred down the freeway.
The atmosphere was upbeat — the sound of loud laughter, teasing comments, and playful insults hurled in the air as conversations flowed with ease. For the first time in a while post-concert, every Jackson brother was present — Tito was shuffling a stack of playing cards, Marlon was relentlessly teasing Jermaine for finally being allowed permission back into the group, Jackie was conversing quietly with a fan he’d brought from the bustling crowd of Kansas City, one of the many girls he’d go to pick up after a show, who sat nervously next to him, Randy watched his brother’s shameless flirting with wide eyes, utterly stunned at his boldness for bringing a girl, let alone a fan, back onto the tour bus with the whole family, and Michael, quiet as always, sat comfortably beside you, his lady, with a hand laid lovingly on your clothed thigh.
All seven residents of the tour bus, excluding Jackie’s friend, encircled two large separate foldable tables, both locked into place to allow card games and beverages to splay across the plastic top.
Speaking of beverages, thanks to Jermaine and Marlon, who decided opening night of their Victory Tour in Kansas City couldn’t be a night without a “special somethin’”, had provided more than enough liquor to clean a hospital — and maybe even put them in one after consumption.
As Tito announced that he’d successfully shuffled the cards to his best ability, he began distributing them, calling out Michael’s name to reach over the intersection of the bus to grab ahold of yours and his cards. As your boyfriend rose to his feet, took the cards from his brother’s hands, and then resided back into his seat — you met his eyes as he handed your bunch to you.
Michael shon a gentle, sweet little smile your way, his eyes twinkling with affection as you watched them travel over your grinning face. His hand slipped back onto your thigh, giving it a small squeeze and a light pat. Sifting through your cards, becoming accustomed to your hand, you let your cheeks warm at the subtle display of affection.
Michael was always doting — from the moment you met, when your high-school best-friend, La Toya Jackson, had brought you home for supper, he had been seeing hearts in his vision.
You had been friends with La Toya from school for a few years at that point in ‘73, knowing each since the jovial days of middle-school, often walking home together after a long day of classes, and stopping by at her small, yet comforting, home in Gary, Indiana, for dinner. And from the first day you stepped foot in the Jackson home, you were welcomed with open arms — Katherine Jackson, La Toya’s mother, adored you, always calling you her fourth daughter, and practically begging La Toya to bring you round more often.
And once her older brother’s got whiff of a new female face around the house — the teasing began. Marlon, being close to you and La Toya in age, loved to pick on you childishly — claiming that he was going to tell the guy at school that you had a crush on, that you liked him, or that he saw him kissing another girl behind the Sycamore tree at lunch. And, as your relationship with the family blossomed and strengthened, you teased back — playfully winding him up, saying that when he approached and painfully flirted with the new girl by the lockers, that he had peanut butter on his chin. He didn’t, but the look on his face would send you into fits of laughter.
Tito and Jackie, the eldest of the Jackson siblings, treated you as if you were their little sister — often warning you about what guys really want when they ask a girl to a drive-in movie, or what to say when a guy’s teasing you at school. The rest of the Jackson brother’s, as well as La Toya’s younger sister, Janet, all adored you too — finding it bizarre how La Toya didn’t introduce you sooner.
Even Joseph tolerated you — and that was saying something.
But, no Jackson sibling, or parent, or cousin, or uncle, or niece, that you met, because you had as Katherine had basically adopted you at this point, would ever equate to your favourite.
Michael.
He was different, intriguingly so, different from all his brother’s and sister’s — who were loud, boisterous and lively, who weren’t afraid to quip back a snark response during a playful spat, or chase you round the backyard in an attempt to push you into a large murky, muddy puddle during winter. No, he was definitely different. Shy, softly-spoken, gentle and endearingly polite — it was as if all the extraversion was given to his siblings and left him nothing.
But, you liked him that way.
Oh, boy, did you like him.
La Toya would tease you relentlessly — poking your sides when she caught you staring at him from across the living room, or clutching her stomach in laughter when you revealed you actually might have a crush on him, or deliberately knocking into you to force you to stumble into him in the kitchen, muttering a knowing ‘Oops’ with a smirk on her face as the two of you blushed and apologised profusely.
You were convinced your feelings for Michael were one-sided as after five years of mingling around the Jackson family and falling even harder for the bashful boy, now at the ripe age of seventeen and you eighteen, no obvious, reciprocated romantic emotions were shared. Michael was always sweet and friendly, sharing laughs and stories with you at the dinner table whenever you sat near one another, or bringing you a cold drink on a hot summer’s day when they all moved to Hayvenhurst and you’d stay for weeks at a time during the warmer months — but, his true feelings were never clear.
It was unbeknownst to you that Michael had been utterly infatuated with you from fourteen years-old when you and La Toya trudged through the front door, slinging your back-packs and Mary Jane’s to the floor, and rushing through to the kitchen to formly introduce you to her parents — he was speechless. Even at such a mutual young age, he thought you were beautiful. His boyish heart would thump in his chest at the sight of your plump, adolescent cheeks, soft eyes and toothy grin — but, what got him the most, was the sweet, fruity aroma of your cherry-scented shampoo. The waft of your freshly washed hair flooding his nostrils whenever you’d step foot into the home, running past him with a quick, high-pitched ‘Hi, Michael!’ with a cheesy smile on your face — it sent him spiralling.
But, as all inexperienced, nervous teenagers do, they assume the person they like are unlikely to reciprocate their feelings — so, he kept to himself. Letting his brother’s do all the teasing, and the talking, and the flirting when you turned eighteen — it pained him to keep so quiet, it wasn’t out of character due to his shy nature, but all he wanted to do was reach out and kiss you, and tell you exactly how he felt.
And when La Toya, both of you aged twenty, and Michael nineteen, threw a birthday party for her boyfriend at the time, and you consumed one too many fruit-punches from a three litre plastic container in a red solo cup, now completely plastered beyond recognition, did you decide to finally spill your guts.
Literally and figuratively.
You had approached Michael, stumbling and giggling, who sat on the sidelines of the Hayvenhurst back-yard that swarmed with people from your school and his family, pretending the orange juice in his solo cup was alcohol, and sat promptly next to him on a lounge chair.
You let your mind run away with itself — telling him how nice he is for letting his older sister host a party for her boyfriend, who you revealed you hated as you knew he had slept with her other friend before dating Toya, who you also didn’t like, and ignored him when he reminded you it wasn’t his house, but continued to let you ramble. And when you finally finished praising him, on how nice his shirt was, and his teeth, and his hair, and his eyes, and his lips—you had already said too much. Deciding that now was the perfect time to let slip that you had been hopelessly in love with him from the second you laid eyes on him sat on the couch in the little living room of his Indiana home, that your feelings hadn’t faltered for the past six years, and that you wanted so badly to kiss him right now.
But, before Michael, who was wide-eyed, slack-jawed and blushing, could have a chance to reveal he felt the same — you were puking into the grass, heaving and crying as he held your hair back.
In the morning, you woke up with a headache and a dry throat on La Toya’s bed — but, no amount of physical pain could amount to the sheer dread and embarrassment that flooded your system at the realisation of what you’d said the night before. Well, a mere few hours earlier, as your body clock had decided a three-AM till seven-AM sleep was sufficient after a night of drinking.
And when you finally decided to crawl out of bed at twelve-PM that same day, bags under your eyes and hair a mess, you faced your fear — diminishing any humiliation by facing the problem head on.
You had knocked on Michael’s bedroom door, swallowing thickly and gnawing at your lip as you awaited permission to enter. And when he did, opening the door with furrowed eyebrows and a confused expression, which instantly melted once he set eyes on you, you rambled once more, now sober with no excuse, tears falling freely from your eyes as you apologised.
And Michael, watching as you word-vomited, thankfully figuratively this time, gained a sliver of confidence and cupped your cheeks with gentleness, before pressing his lips to yours to shut you up. You had frozen, before sliding your hands into his bed-head of hair, and sobbing into the kiss, ignoring the way your spit-stricken lips mixed with your salty tears, only catching your breath as he pulled away, whispering a nearly inaudible, ‘I’m in love with you too.’
The rest was history — Katherine was ecstatic her son and her favourite friend any of her children have ever had, were together, literally jumping for joy and pulling you in for tight hug. Of course, the Jackson brothers teased you shamelessly, never missing a second after you revealed your relationship without picking on Michael with a — ‘Damn, Mike, how’d you get this one to agree to go out with you?’ ‘I didn’t even know you had any game, little brother.’ ‘Whenever you’re done, bring her ‘round to me, yeah?’
But, for once in his life — he paid no mind to his brother’s childishness. He suddenly had all the confidence in the world since he was now officially with the one girl he’d been in love with since he was fourteen.
And six, nearly seven years together, here you were — Michael now at twenty-six, you twenty-seven, accompanying him and his brother’s on their Victory Tour around the United States and Canada. You had accompanied them on many a tours previously, when they became ‘the Jackson’s’, when Jermaine parted from the group to stay with Motown, and always remained an anchor and lifeline for Michael. He hated whenever there was times you weren’t there with him on tour — feeling awfully woeful and lonely laying in an large, empty hotel bed, pouting on the phone to you for hours about how much he missed and needed you, how he couldn’t wait to see you in the next city when you were flying in, and how much he loved you.
Like I said — always doting.
“Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Marlon quipped, pulling you from the memory of your childhood love affair, grinning from ear to ear as he reached over the playing cards that Tito had placed in front of him, and grabbed ahold of a large bottle of Tequila — chuckling darkly to himself as he unscrewed the cap and flicked it across the room, howling as it smacked Randy right between the eyes.
Ignoring his brother’s curses from injury, Marlon brought the glass bottle to his lips, gulping two deep swigs of the hard, straight liquor, cursing as he swallowed.
“Your turn, Mr Big Shot.” Marlon joked, passing the bottle to Jackie, who now had his arm around the blushing fan next to him.
Jackie chuckled, leaning slightly to take the litre bottle from his brother’s hands, and bringing to his lips as he did — wincing after a large swig.
“You want some of this?” Jackie asked, turning to the girl next to him.
Her eyes blew open, clearly unaccustomed to alcohol by the way her mouth parted and closed a few times before speaking, “I, um, I—“
“Sweetie, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, they’re just alcoholics, so pay no mind to their peer pressure.” You spoke up, leaning over to press a reassuring hand to her knee as you smiled.
She turned to you with a thankful grin, before shaking her head at Jackie, mumbling a soft ‘No, thank you’.
“Alcoholics? Girl, I know you’ lyin’.” Marlon exclaimed, titling his head at you.
You laughed loudly, “Am I wrong? You just drank that shit like it was water.”
The room erupted into soft laughter as Marlon shook his head with a chuckle, “That doesn’t make me an alcoholic.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” You started, with a playful smirk, “An alcoholic wouldn’t go ‘Ooh, ah, fuck, shit, that’s strong, fuck’!”
Loud roars of laughter, even including your quiet boyfriend who giggled beside you, filled the room as Tito nudged Marlon teasingly.
“Oh, really? Think you can do better?” He shot back.
“In what way?”
“I reckon you can’t take three swigs of that shit without gagging or, or, cursing.” Marlon challenged, raising his eyebrows in contest.
In the true sibling rivalry that you had formed with them, especially so with Marlon, you tongued the inside of your cheek, mentally deciding whether a hangover was worth this childish game.
“Or, you can remain a pussy.”
“Give that here.” You spat, snatched the bottle from the table in front of Jackie, ignoring the way Marlon cackled at the fact his provoking had worked.
With a deep breath, you brought the bottle to your lips — squeezing your eyes shut as the burning liquor trickled down your throat, setting fire to your taste buds as the harsh Tequila settled in your mouth.
One swig, two swigs, three swigs — and you slammed the bottle back down onto the table with a sigh, repressing a gag that threatened to creep up your throat and pressing your lips together to prevent any profanities from falling into the air.
Michael, watching the juvenile scene play out in front of him, squeezed your thigh in support as you finally let out a shaken breath, meeting Marlon’s eyes with your glassy ones, and sticking out your clean tongue.
“Beat that, fucker.”
The taste of Tequila stuck to your tongue as you let the room erupt into applause as Marlon rolled his eyes, “Always the show-off.”
“Y’just a sore loser, brother.” Jermaine piped up, grabbing an unopened bottle and drinking it himself, as Jackie did the same, handing it to Randy once he was finished.
Within fifteen minutes of the bottles being opened, the room had erupted into tipsy giggles and slurred conversations — Jackie’s girl had finally agreed to have a drink, clearly a light-weight as she was snorting with laughter at whatever Jackie had whispered in her ear. The card game had been abandoned before it even really started — Tito had attempted to explain the rules, but was continuously cut off by Jermaine and Marlon who repeated everything he said back at him in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, before finally giving up and telling them to fuck off, sending laughter throughout the room once more.
Luckily, everyone in the bus had failed to realise the quiet man next to you had avoided taking any swigs from the bottle at all — just silently observing the mess that was his drunken girlfriend and brother’s unfold before his eyes as cards were thrown around the bus, and competitions on who can do the best Joseph impression sent everyone into fits of giggles.
When finally, his silent avoidance was shattered,
“Ay, Mike, you haven’t had a drink yet!”
Jermaine’s loud, accusatory voice sounded out into the room, everyone’s head’s snapping towards the bashful boy, whose cheeks flushed burgundy at the exposure.
“I’m alright, ‘Maine, I don’t fancy a drink.” Michael replied coolly, hand still wrapped around the comfort of your thigh.
“Oh come on, everyone’s drinkin’, don’t be a party pooper.” Marlon teased, eyes drooping slightly as he slurred his words.
“Hey, leave my man alone.” You fired back, reaching up to press a defending hand to Michael’s chest, “He can choose to not drink if he doesn’t want to, Marlon.”
“Quit dick-ridin’ and pass him the bottle.” Marlon spat, laughing as he slid the bottle across the table in Michael’s direction
“Ew, why would you say that?” Michael spoke up, grimacing at the lewdness of his brother’s words.
Jackie cackled, “Actin’ like you haven’t been together for, what?, six years? Boy, we’ve all heard ya.”
You gasped, “Oh my God, what? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Qui—Quit changing the subject and get some liquor down you, little brother.” Marlon exclaimed, smiling widely.
Michael looked from the bottle, to his brothers, to you — searching for an escape as he swallowed thickly. It wasn’t that he didn’t necessarily want to drink — he just knew he’d ultimately regret it in the morning or do, or say, something he’d also regret.
You met his eyes, “‘S alright if you don’t want to, baby, you don’t have to.”
The look on your face, eyes bloodshot and hazy, cheeks flushed and smiling toothily, all drunk and happy, made his heart swoon. He was here, with all his brother’s and the love of his life, touring again with his beloved family on opening night — everyone looked so upbeat and giddy, all desirable qualities after a long first show, surely a drink wouldn’t be so bad, right?
That theory was soon diminished.
An hour later, after forcing six long swigs of Tequila down his throat from his persisting brother’s, who also ended up pouring the liquor straight into your mouth for your seventh swig, everyone was hammered. Jackie and his girl had retreated from the room half-an-hour ago to his bedroom in the back, ignoring Jermaine’s shouts to keep off of his bed. Tito and Randy had fallen asleep on one another, heads resting against each other’s as their snores filled the quieter room. Marlon was nearly spent — sighing deeply as sleep also threatened to taken over his drunken body as he slumped in the chair.
As for you and Michael, you were tucked neatly into the corner of the cushioned benches around the side of the bus, pressed up against one another — his hands caressing the curve of your waist as you pushed your chest against his, letting him whisper sweet-nothings into your ear, warm breath and soft lips grazing the shell as you shuddered.
You’d never seen Michael under the influence before, even when you first confessed your undeniable love to him, he had been consuming orange juice all night, so his behaviour had struck you speechless.
The second the alcohol hit his system — he was a changed man.
Suddenly, he was the loudest and most confident man in the room — laughing and shouting boyishly with his brother’s, shooting insults at Marlon, or letting curses slip past his lips, which erupted gasps in the room at his profanities due to his shy, collected sober nature.
But, that wasn’t all.
He became twice as handsy.
It started after his second swig, it all hitting him at once, as his hand trailed just that little bit higher up your thigh, dangerously close to where you twitched — a movement that had your breath hitching in your throat at the sudden action. He played it off smoothly, just peering down at you with an innocent smile when you glared up at him in shock.
Then, after the third or fourth swig, he pulled you into his lap, hand splayed across the bare of your stomach as he rest his chin on your shoulder, ignoring the way everyone exchanged glances at his sudden public display of affection — something he would never normally do around his brother’s.
Furthermore, after the fifth, he was gone — now kissing your neck openly, running his hands all over your sides in a slow, steady rhythm as he whispered how much he loved you into your ear, and how beautiful you looked, and how happy he was that you were here, and how— he didn’t stop. Just blabbering away, slurring and stuttering, about his utmost gratitude and adoration for you as his breath fanned over the back of your ear.
Finally, he had let you down from his lap after you grew increasingly more bashful at the way his brother’s ogled and teased about Michael’s sudden boldness — but, not letting you off that easy. Not letting a single second pass by, once you left the comfort of his lap, before pulling you against him and cupping your jaw to press soft kisses to the ridge.
“God, you’re so beautiful, Cherry.”
Your heart fluttered at the nickname, a long-standing term of endearment he had given you years ago from the scent of your childhood shampoo, one that he adored, as you braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Mikey.” You whispered back, head fuzzy and dazed as the alcohol buzzed through your system.
“Y’know how much I love you, right?” He mumbled for the thousandth time that night, the scent of his minty breath filling your nostrils as he pulled back from your jaw to meet your gaze.
“I do, angel,” You hummed, leaning forward slightly to nudge his nose with your own, “I love you more.”
“No, I do.”
“Nope.”
“No. I love you the most, Cherry.”
“Not true. I love you the—“ “Get a room, guys, Jesus.”
Jermaine’s slurred words hit your ears as you turned your head to face him, pulling away from Michael’s face.
“Fine, we will.”
You gasped as Jermaine groaned at the insinuation of Michael’s words as he rose to his feet, extending his hand to help you up from the seat. You did so willingly, still shocked at his confidence at a such lewd revelation in front of Jermaine, who shook his head.
Michael didn’t waste a beat — dragging you swiftly into the back of the tour bus, towards his bedroom, one that was, thankfully, reserved just for him, despite all his brother’s having to share with one another. His feet moved quickly as he guided you through the dark of the hallway, hand still enclosed tightly in your own as an anchor in the low-lighting, especially in your drunken stumbling.
Once you clambered into the room, giggling as you tripped over your own feet and slammed into his back, Michael shut and locked the door and instantly pressed you against it. His lips met yours instantaneously — a low hum of satisfaction leaving his mouth and into yours as he cupped your burning hot cheeks. His hands, nimble and precise, moved and found solace in the curve of your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you flushed against his body, while his tongue nudged your bottom lip.
You whined into his mouth, feeling awfully needy after his continuous teasing throughout the evening, as he slot a knee between your legs — his clothed thigh now inches away from where you had begun to throb in your panties, now stricken with slick that drooled from your twitching pussy.
The alcohol had hit you straight between the legs — arousal now flooding your veins twice as hard as the liquor had, your head reeling as his eager tongue slipped into your mouth, colliding with your own. The kiss was sloppy and needy, tasting heavily of liquor, tongues and teeth clashing together in a feverish connection as you clung desperately to the fabric of Michael’s shirt, crinkling the material in your tight grasp.
Michael parted from your mouth for a mere second just to guide you — turning you around from the comfort of the door, and towards the bed. He laid you down gently, as he always did before you had sex, cradling your head to soften the collision with the mattress — before instantly attaching himself back to your lips. Your legs instinctively wrapped lazily around his hips as he hovered over you, holding himself up on two elbows as he continued his work on your mouth, groaning down your throat as you shamelessly began rutting your crotch into the painfully obvious bulge in his joggers.
“So needy, my baby, hm? You want me that bad?” He spoke lowly, the gruff, deepness of his voice hitting you full force — a soft gasp ripping from your throat as his mouth attached to the bare of your neck, suckling the skin gently.
You’d never heard him talk like that — even during sex. It was always gentle and loving, coaxing rather than tantalising.
But, this—this—was different.
His voice had a bass in it that you’d never heard before — a dark, seductive growl, a statement of his need.
This was the alcohol talking.
But, as he sucked dark, prominent marks into your skin, now meeting your hips halfway as you humped up into his bulge, mewling as the tip of his stiff cock rocked against your aching clitoris repeatedly — you didn’t care.
“Mich—Mike, God.” Words failed you as you rambled into his ear, hands now threaded through his curls still damp with sweat, “Need you.”
Michael groaned into the warmth of your collarbone, lips detaching, he lifted himself up, to meet your glassy gaze — pupils blown and dancing in burning desire.
“Yeah? Really need me that badly baby, yeah?”
He was slurring, repeating himself, as he rolled a particularly harsh thrust into your clothed cunt — revelling in the way you mewled loudly at the connection, your grip in his hair tightening.
“Please.”
The sound of your meek begging had him dizzy — theoretically drunk on arousal as he fumbled with the button of your denim shorts, swift fingers dragging down the zipper before pulling them down your legs. He moved even quicker to your shirt — yanking at the hem and practically ripping it off of your body and to the floor, atop of your discarded bottoms.
His eyes met your half-naked frame, now clad in just your bra and panties, which now sported an obvious wet patch right were you drooled in anticipating arousal — a groan slipping past Michael’s lips at the sight of it.
Your back arched off the bed as his thumb traced the prominent circle of slick that painted your panties — his thumb catching your clenching hole, as well as the edge of your clit, as you jerked your hips into his touch.
“My baby’s so wet, God, look at you.” Michael whispered, eyes locked on your soaked underwear through the moonlight peeking through the curtains, “What am I gonna do with you, hm?”
You whined, an eager, desperate display of your desire, eyebrows furrowed in need as he slid a tentative thumb along your slit.
In your own drunken boldness, words fell from your swollen lips before you could refrain yourself, “Fuck me, please.”
“Patience, baby.” He whispered, pulling the your panties to the side, “Been waitin’ to touch this pretty pussy all night.”
You didn’t know what had gotten into him, in your intoxicated brain, but you knew sober you would understand that getting Michael Jackson drunk was like dangling a carrot in-front of a pigs face — you couldn’t exist around him while he was drinking without him getting crazed with need.
In a slow, tantalisingly steady movement, he crouched between your thighs, large palms needing the skin as he came face to face with where you drooled. He pressed his warm face right where you needed him — the sound of your aroused gasp at the sudden contact and his deep, guttural groan of satisfaction at the sweet scent of your cunt as he deeply inhaled your aroma, filled the thick air.
“Shit—so fuckin’ sweet.” He mumbled, soft lips dragging along your folds as he nuzzled into your sex.
“Michael, pl—please.”
The melodic sound of your whining ripped another groan from deep in Michael’s throat — grip tightening around the plush of your thighs as they enclosed around his head the second his mouth started working on you. He lay his tongue flat along your cunt, a slow, teasing drag of the muscle along the ridge — collecting your essence that had coated your lips, as well as your thighs, on his tongue.
You cried out, albeit louder than sober you would’ve wanted, hips jerking up to meet his mouth half-way as he tongue-fucked your cunt — movements sloppy and messy as he lapped at your clit like a man dying of thirst. He, matching your whines of pleasure, hummed and groaned into you — enclosing his lips around your nub, suckling frantically, as a singular finger slipped inside, instantly curling upwards to abuse the spot that had your toes curling.
“Oh—Oh, God—“
The words barely made it past your throat, coming out in a croaked stutter, before your orgasm crashed over you violently. In your pleasured and liquor-induced drunken haze, you failed to register the tightening of your abdomen and the twinkling of ecstasy down your spine that occurred prior to your orgasm before it arrived — instantly rendering you speechless, mouth in a tight ‘O’ shape as your eyes locked into the back of your head.
Michael, still lapping at your cunt, tongue swirling around your clit, and his digit moving at a rapid pace, groaned loudly, the vibration, a statement of satisfaction, only adding to your pleasure, as he began unapologetically rutting into the mattress, attempting to soothe the painfully hard bulge that, drooling pre-cum, rest underneath his uncomfortably tight boxers.
As your release fluttered away into a blissful buzz of post-orgasm glow — Michael took to his knees once more, palm encasing around his stiff cock, now harder than he’d ever been before.
He shuffled closer, a strong hand taking ahold of your hip, dragging you closer to where he throbbed as he continued to jerk himself — utterly bewildered at how hard he had gotten despite his alcohol intake.
Your hand flew to his chest, tangling in the crinkled material of his shirt once more, legs wrapping around his waist, as he decided that tonight he didn’t have time for anymore foreplay, that he just needed to be inside you, that there was no time for games.
And, at the sight of your glistening cunt catching in the light, creaming and clenching around nothing, pussy lips all swollen and doing nothing to hide where you dripped, he managed to form a coherent thought — that the sight was definitely going to leave him hard for days.
Michael cursed under his breath at your vulnerability, all spread out and dripping just for him — he stood, hands flying to his joggers, thumb latching underneath the waistband of them, along with his boxers, and tugged them down his legs. He kicked them off his ankles as he crawled onto the bed with you, knees either side of your raised legs, as a firm hand enclosed around the length of him.
He hissed at the contact as he pumped himself, lip coming between his teeth as a dribble of pre-cum slipped from his mushroom-headed tip, and dropped onto the fat of your pussy lips, trickling down your slit. His hazy, drunken mind instantly ran away with itself — eyes locked on the way you clenched around nothing.
“Gotta give it t’ya, baby, can’t wait.” He mumbled, finally slotting between your thighs, sliding the thick of him through your folds, “Can yo—you take it? Talk to me, pretty.”
You mewled — eyes fluttering shut momentarily at the sensation of the warm, stiff length of him rutting between your folds, gathering your sticky essence along his cock, hips twitching forward, subconsciously begging for more.
“Need words if you want my cock, Cherry.”
You gasped, your throat dry and sore from the harsh Tequila, at the assertiveness — something completely atypical from your man atop of you. As your eyes shot open in surprise, chest heaving, lips agape, the look of raw, dark, devilish thirst for your submission hit you — the moonlight catching the way his hungry eyes bore into your own, sending shivers down your back, sheen in sweat.
“Please—fuck—I can take it, just please.” Your sober self would’ve curled into a ball of embarrassment at the sheer intensity of desperation evident in your voice — the way it cracked and stuttered as you forced the words out, trembling in desire.
Michael hummed, satisfied with your response, as he pulled your soiled panties completely from your legs and angled himself, albeit clumsily in the drunken darkness, towards your clenching hole. You had attempted to sober up before he pushed in, thinking hard about remembering to keep quiet — but, when he slide inside, sheathing himself to the hilt in a singular, harsh roll of his languid hips, cunt stretching deliciously quickly around the size of him, you failed to suppress to pleasured cry of surprise that left your lips.
Your head lunged back into the pillows, back arching into his chest, your clothed breasts pressing against the soft of his t-shirt. Michael took this opportunity to lean down, slipping his hands underneath your curved back and unclasped your laced bra with practiced ease, ripping it off your arms and to the floor.
“Much better.” He mumbled drunkenly, hands finding instant comfort in your bare tits — cupping them and using them as anchors as he began his brutal thrusts.
Your breathless, whiny mewls of pleasure only grew in octave and intensity as Michael set a relentless pace — the fat tip of his cock repeatedly slamming against the gummy, sweet spot inside your weeping cunt that had your eyes rolling deep into your skull and carving lines into his back under his shirt.
You chanted his name like a prayer — like you were begging for forgiveness at his feverish pace, his stamina proving just as strong even in his drunken state. Every ridge and vein of his thick cock was dragging along your tight, gummy walls — only increasing your pleasure.
“Jesus, Cherry.” He panted, grip tightening as it slid down to your hips as he pulled you down onto his cock, “Y’squeezing my cock like you own it."
You took a mental note to get Michael drunk more often as the provocative words slipped from his lips — forcing your eyebrows to curve up your forehead as the dirty sentence hit your ears.
His brutal pace never let up — hips slamming into your own as he rutted into you like he was born to please you, like he was running out of time. His grasp slipped down your hips to your legs, hands curling underneath the backs of your knees, and forcing your legs to your chest. A choked gasp escaped your throat as he pressed his body weight onto your front — now impossibly and deliriously deep, the tip of his cock grazing your G-spot, and kissing your cervix with every thrust.
“Ho—Holy shit—Oh, my fucking God—“
Strings of broken pleas and curses slipped past your lips as he leant over, grunting wildly into your skin as he peppered hurried kisses to your neck — spit glistening on your skin in the light as he continued to force himself deeper.
“That’s it, thaaaaat’s it, baby, you can take it.” He mumbled, voice muffled as he sucked a particularly harsh love bite into your burning hot skin, “Y’sucking me in like you fuckin’ live off my cum.”
Now, that did it for you.
Clenching cunt instantly quivering and fluttering around the thick girth of him, a husky whine ripping from your mouth as your back curved once more, erect nipples grazing his clothed chest, at the sound of his gruff, seductive voice talking dirty to you like he wasn’t the shyest, most sweetest boy in the world.
“Ooh, Mic—Michael.” His name fell from your lips in a shocked, breathless manner, eyebrows still taut into the crease of your forehead.
He ignored your silent, rhetorical questioning for why he was acting so out of character, as in his drunken mind, he saw no difference to his intoxicated self to his usual persona — deciding that instead of replying to your splutters, he’d lift his body from yours, lift your legs into a V-shape in the air and rut into you faster than before. If that was even at all possible.
The scream that ripped from you could’ve been heard by the hundreds of passerby’s in their cars on the freeway — your hands flying to his forearms, nails digging into the soft skin, tracing the veins that bulged from the tensed skin. Your second orgasm, now scarily close, was given a forceful shove to tick over your gyrating body as your eyes flicked up to your boyfriend — who was a sight for sore eyes if you’d ever seen one.
His head was thrown back, a few stray curls cascading over his flushed face, eyes squeezed shut, his t-shirt between his teeth, now soaked in his saliva, as he mumbled almost incoherently into the material — ‘Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah’ ‘Fuuuuck, yeah, yeah—God, fuck, yeah’ ‘Gonna—Gonna—oh fuck!—Gonna cum—’
It was nonsensical blabber — spit staining his lips, and the softness of his shirt, eyes now half-open as they rolled deep inside the sockets, his grip on your ankles, the ones that held your legs up so perfectly despite his drunken clumsiness, tightened as you fluttered dangerously around him.
His name fell from your lips, paired with strings of incoherent sentences about how good he felt, as your orgasm washed over you twice as intensely as the first — nails leaving indefinite claw marks into his skin at the sheer volume of the release. He didn’t let up though — still slamming into you like it was what he was born to do, not music, not dance — no, just slip inside your warm, squeezing cunt and let you milk him for all he’s worth.
Michael doubled over, t-shirt slipping from his mouth, now messier than you’d made it, his grip on your ankles diminishing as he fell to your chest — flushed face nestling into the crook of your neck once again as his hips faltered ever so slightly.
“Fuck—y’so—so tight.” Michael inhaled sharply, a raw, broken whine slipping past his swollen lips, “Oh my—Fuck, ‘M gonna—Gonna marry you.” He was panting like a dog in heat, still rutting into you as he chased his own release as yours subsided slowly, “My girl. My fuckin’—Aah! Fuck—Gonna fill ya so deep. That what you—what y’want?”
A screech of agreement left your lips at his mindless rambling — cunt spasming violently as the suggestive, pornographic worthy sentences trickled from his lips like syrup, coating your whole body in a thick sheen of arousal.
You almost couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing — Michael was usually shy, nearing submissive, and gentle during sex, which you also adored, but this—this—was something to look back on late at night when he was thousands of miles away on tour with your hands down your pyjama shorts.
“‘M there—Oh, fuck, ‘m there!” He cried, knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping the sticky bedsheets beside your head, “Take it, take it, take it, tak—“
He cut himself off with a hoarse, raucous groan — so loud it rang throughout the room, near enough echoing with how quiet the bus had gotten without you realising, hips twitching aggressively as he spilled inside you. The warm, blissfully familiar, sensation of his fierce spurts of cum painting your fluttering walls had you whining too — biting your lip so hard the indentation of your teeth was traceable with your tongue, as he, despite being almost painfully overstimulated, rolled his infamous hips deep into you, fucking his seed deeper inside your drooling pussy.
Then came the silence.
The deafening, almost ear-piercing silence that coated each and every corner of the tour bus — no voices, no laughter, no snoring, nothing. Just the uncomfortable knowledge that hung thickly in the air that everyone—oh yes, everyone—had heard you.
Michael pulled out with a wet pop! and rolled next to you with a loud huff — head spinning and eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to catch his breath, chest heaving. You, too, succumbed to the relieving solace that was sleep, your own eyes still squeezed shut as your legs fell to the bed, now sporting a dull ache that matched your sex — now dribbling with his release over the sheets.
But, before your drunken mind could register the severity of what your boyfriend’s brother’s had just heard — sleep took over. Lulling into a relaxed, much needed slumber — still bare and sweaty, pulled against Michael’s chest as he too, for once, slept beside you.
However, all actions have consequences.
Unfortunately for you.
So, when you woke that morning, head pounding, lips dry, eyes squinting from the brightness of the morning sun, and body aching — you enjoyed the few blissful seconds of your waking where you had forgotten what you’d got up to last night. Just turning over and smiling softly at Michael’s sleeping frame, the soft, slow deepness of breathing as he slept calmly warming your heart.
Then, it hit you.
Your eyes shot open — finally registering the hangover and the nakedness you and Michael both sported, mouth hanging open in shock as your vision fluttered towards the locked door to his bedroom, knowing that behind it was a conversation and years worth of teasing you’d never, ever live down.
You knew you couldn’t hide in here forever — their next show was tonight, and you needed Michael to recover from the hangover, one that you were certain he would have, as soon as possible.
You groaned, rubbing a hand across your face, knowing that you’d have to take your pride and reputation and throw it out the window onto the freeway that you were still on, and face his brother’s, just like you had with Michael the morning after your drunkenly confessed your love.
Similarly, you also decided that staying away from alcohol for the foreseeable future was probably a good idea.
Rising from the bed, not without a wince at the dull ache between your legs, solidifying your realisation that everyone had heard how Michael laid it down on you like it was his last day to live, last night — and that there was no way to avoid this.
The bedroom door opened with a creak, impossibly and noticeably loud, as your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the hallway. In the distance, the sound of soft laughter and quiet conversations filled your ears, sighing loudly as it became apparent every member of the Jackson siblings was present in the same room that got you into this mess.
You walked, stealthily slow, head still throbbing wildly, as you finally reached the part of the bus where you knew you would curse yourself for ever entering. Your eyes locked on the five men splayed across the seats, as you did the night before, plates of breakfast and cups of coffee residing in front of them.
For a moment the room stopped — all five siblings rendered themselves silent as their gaze dropped on you, watching as you pursed your lips together, awaiting their next movements.
Your eyes landed on Marlon, whose lips twitched up into a smirk, laughter crawling up his throat as he pointed at you, eyes squinting—
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
The sound of your croaked, stern voice sent the room into screams of uncontrollable laughter — tears falling from their eyes, fists banging on tables, and stomachs clutched as they roared at you. Marlon was practically sobbing — face beat red and cheeks soaked in humorous tears as he gripped Jermaine’s arm for stability, attempting to calm himself down.
“You two caused this.” You snapped, pointing between Jermaine and Marlon, the mastermind’s behind bringing the alcohol to the bus.
“Us?” Marlon managed to force out between giggles, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “I think you should be thankin’ us, girl. Sounds like you had a reaaal good time back there.”
The room burst into fits of laughter once more, only furthering as you threw a pillow at Marlon’s body, arms crossing over your chest.
“Oh, yeah, a real nice time. Remind me, ‘Maine, did it go more like ‘Oooh, Michael!’ or ‘Ohh, Michaeeel!’.” Jackie teased, his voice shifting in octave as he mocked your pleasured moans that had evidently rang loudly throughout the bus.
“Real mature. You never heard people have sex before?” You quipped, trudging to your handbag that lay on the table opposite where the boys sat, and pulling out a packet of Advil, and a grabbing a bottle of water.
“Well, actually, no, I hadn’t.” Randy started, a teasing, toothy grin spread across his face, “But, I sure as hell have now.”
You rolled your eyes as the boys screeched into laughter once more, a snarky remark at the ready to be fired back, when you turned around and your face fell.
“What’s so funny?”
Michael’s tired, hoarse voice rang throughout the now quiet room — all eyes now on him as he rubbed his tired eyes, joggers, once on the floor of his bedroom, now hanging loosely around his hips, as he approached you, back facing his brother’s as he leant down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Visible to everyone in the room, a fact that had you squeezing your lips together in dread, were the sharp streaks of nails marks that you had dragged down his back, as well as along his forearms, painted across his skin in deep, rose coloured lines.
You knew the laughter was coming before it even started — eyes fluttering shut as Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. It was apparent to everyone in the room, apart from him of course, that he still had no recollection of the night before — or even if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t aware of the intensity of the noise.
Michael’s eyes flickered around the room, attempting to piece why his brother’s were in bits from laughter, and why you were knee-deep in embarrassment. But soon, once his vision locked on the three empty Tequila bottles, the opened pack of Advil, bags under everyone’s eyes, the hickey’s on your neck and the scrapes of pleasured marks on his arms — he gasped as the ball dropped.
“Oh, my God.” He breathed, hand coming to clasp over his mouth, eyes darting between you and his brother’s, who were watching the scene unfold in real time, only making it twice as funny, “Did we?—Oh, no, and they—they heard? Oh, God—Oh, my good God.”
You nodded slowly, eyes full of shame as you met his own wide ones — blown into saucers as the dreadful realisation hit him.
Marlon, deciding that laughing in your face wasn’t enough, grabbed a half-drunk bottle of Tequila and raised it into the air, waving it in your faces as a teasing reminder on what got you into this mess to begin with, smiling widely, before speaking.
“What a great start to the tour.” He breathed out a chuckle, “Oh, and you’re welcome, little brother.”
had this insane random thought and i don’t even know how i’ll be in peace after this (and i want EVERYONE to be involved)
shoving your used underwear in jaafar’s mouth while you jerk him off 😵💫
he’s fully naked while you’re naked at the bottom, just tits almost spilling in a tank top. your lace underwear that he’s obsessed with just shoved in his mouth while you stroke his length, covered in your spit, lipgloss, and his own arousal. just your own scent and wetness trailed on your underwear leaves him dizzy and a mess while lovingly teasing him because he looks so needy and helpless :(( the whimpers and sobs he trails out every time when your stokes are slow. “aww you needy boy, if only you know how you look and sound right now.” his forehead and chest covered in a sheer layer of sweat from the agonizing minutes you spent stroking his dick. maybe playing with nipples and licking his earlobe to work him up even more.
by the time he’s cumming, he looks right in your eyes with a pathetic look making him look like a neglected puppy. he makes a mess right onto his stomach and chest. you clean him up by licking the remaining arousal on his abs. you remove your drenched underwear off of his mouth while you shove your fingers to make him clean his own mess.
subby men, my favorite genre. you deserve a kiss and so many expensive things from this ohhhh my. then jaafar sucking your fingers while his doe eyes have tears running down his face as he looks at you while you praise him. his dick is limp and sensitive against his thigh, you’ll remind him to breathe slowly while his right hand comes over to your boob to rub your nipples because even though he’s tired he wants to please you and he wants you to feel good. sometimes jaafar can’t get it in his head that when you tease him for so long until he can’t control his cum anymore, that is your pleasure. he’ll have scratch marks and hickies all over his body from the aftermath, jaafar’s a whining mess, like actually and it’s so hot.
pairing: jaafar jackson x reader
summary: when an oblivious y/n spends the evening chatting with a 'friend' who doesn't understand boundaries at an after-party, jaafar's quiet, polite exterior masks a dangerous, possessive jealousy. back at the hotel, he decides to remind her exactly who she belongs to.
warnings: +18 smut, jealous!jaafar, possessive sex, dom!jaafar, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, hair pulling, manhandling, mirror sex?, dirty talk, phone call during sex, public tension, reader is clueless to flirting at first
word count: 5,894 words (wtf)
a/n: I really got carried away, damn, sorry in advance. also, I tagged everyone who commented on the post idk lol
The heavy curtains of the after party ballroom did little to muffle the bass vibrating through the floorboards, but inside jaafar’s chest, a different kind of tension was drumming.
By all accounts, the awards ceremony had been a massive success. He’d handled the red carpet with his signature soft spoken grace, flashing that bright smile that instantly melted the cameras. He’d spent the evening holding your hand under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles. Jaafar was never one for public displays of affection, he was deeply private, fiercely protective, and preferred to keep the intimacy between you entirely behind closed doors. He didn't need to put on a show for the world to prove you were his.
Until tonight. Until Ryan.
Jaafar was currently caught in an interview with a prominent entertainment reporter, standing beneath the blinding glare of the media lights. His posture was perfectly elegant, his hands clasped casually in front of him, but his dark, liquid eyes were completely checked out of the conversation. He was looking past the reporter’s shoulder, across the VIP lounge, straight at you.
And straight at Ryan.
Ryan was one of your 'friends', a title Jaafar used in his head with a heavy dose of disdain. Ryan was the type of man who consistently overstepped, who treated the concept of personal boundaries like a loose suggestion. You, in all your sweet, trusting innocence, were entirely clueless. You genuinely believed Ryan was just an overly affectionate, hypersocial guy. You didn't see the calculation in his movements.
Jaafar did.
From across the room, Jaafar watched with an icy, detached focus as Ryan leaned in entirely too close, his shoulder nearly brushing yours as you stood by a high-top table. You were talking vividly, your eyes bright, gesturing with your hands as you recounted a story, completely unaware of how Ryan’s gaze was slowly tracking the movement of your lips. Then, Ryan reached out, his hand lingering just a fraction of an inch away from the bare skin of your waist, his fingers twitching as if he were just waiting for an invitation to touch you.
A dark, dangerous heat flared in the pit of Jaafar's stomach, but on the outside, his face remained a mask of polite composure.
'...and with the upcoming project, can fans expect something else?' the reporter asked, thrusting the microphone toward him.
Jaafar turned his head back to the reporter. He didn't lose his temper, he never did. Instead, he offered a smile. But it wasn't his real smile. It was a tight-lipped, flashing smirk that lasted exactly 0.2 seconds, never reaching his eyes, completely devoid of the warmth he usually radiated.
'We are focusing on finishing the project first, but we are definitely discussing more future projects,' jaafar said, his voice smooth, soft, and impeccably polite, yet clipped enough to signal the hard end of the conversation. He gave a small, formal nod. 'Thank you so much. excuse me.'
He didn't wait for a follow-up. He turned and began walking across the crowded VIP section. He didn't storm over, his stride was slow, deliberate and entirely graceful, but the sheer aura radiating off his broad shoulders was heavy enough to make people subtly step out of his way.
Before Ryan’s hand could actually make contact with your dress, a large, warm palm slid firmly around your waist.
The grip wasn't gentle. Jaafar’s long fingers dug deep into your hip, anchoring you against his side with an unyielding, possessive force that left absolutely no room for interpretation. You gasped softly at the suddenness of the touch, your head snapping up.
'Am I interrupting?' Jaafar cut in smoothly.
He looked directly at ryan. His face wore that same tight-lipped, fake smile. He didn't show his teeth. His lips were compressed into a thin, civil line, his dark eyes fixed on Ryan with a gaze so heavy it felt like a physical weight in the room.
Ryan straightened up, a bit flustered by the sudden shift in atmosphere, but he tried to play it cool. 'Hey, Jaafar. Man, congratulations on tonight. I was just telling Y/n you're a lucky guy.'
Jaafar’s grip on your waist tightened even further, his thumb pressing hard against your hip bone, pulling your thighs flush against his tailored trousers. It was a blatant, silent proclamation of ownership, a rare breach of his anti-pda rule that spoke volumes.
'Thank you, Ryan,' Jaafar replied, his voice incredibly soft, quiet, and civil. He didn't match Ryan's loud energy, he kept it entirely low, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying. He let the silence hang for a beat, his unblinking stare raking over Ryan until the other man visibly swallowed. 'Um, we were actually just about to head back to the hotel. It's been a long night.'
'Oh, right, yeah, of course,' Ryan stammered, stepping back a full foot, completely intimidated by the quiet dominance rolling off the actor. 'Good seeing you guys.'
As Ryan disappeared into the crowd, you looked up at Jaafar, utterly bewildered. 'Jaafar, what was that? We didn't have to leave yet, and he was just trying to be nice...'
Jaafar didn't answer. He simply slid his hand down from your waist to wrap firmly around your wrist, guiding you toward the private exit with a quiet, unyielding momentum.
The ride back to the hotel in the luxury sedan was suffocatingly quiet.
The leather-scented interior was dim, lit only by the passing streetlights outside the tinted windows. Jaafar sat back against the seat, his long legs crossed, staring out into the night. His posture was relaxed, but the vein in his neck was prominent, and his jaw was set in a hard line.
'He was just telling me about this new restaurant that opened up downtown,' you said, trying to fill the heavy silence, your voice sounding small in the quiet car. 'He said we should all go sometime.'
'Mhm.' Jaafar didn't turn his head.
'And then he asked about your uncle's old studio, because he’s working on a new track...' You watched his profile, your heart doing a strange, nervous flutter. 'Jaafar? Are you okay? You're being really quiet.'
'Yeah.' A short, soft, clipped syllable.
'Are you tired?' You reached across the seat, placing your hand on his knee. The muscle beneath his suit pants was hard as stone, completely flexed.
'No.' He still didn't look at you, his eyes fixed on your hand.
You sighed, entirely clueless as to the depth of the storm brewing inside him. You figured he was just drained from the social battery required for an awards show.
When the car finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the luxury hotel, Jaafar stepped out, immediately reaching back inside to take your hand. He didn't rush, but his grip was firm and unbroken as he led you through the opulent lobby toward the elevators.
Once the doors slid shut, sealing the two of you inside the mirrored elevator alone, the silence became absolute.
You couldn't handle the distance anymore. You turned fully toward him, stepping into his personal space. You placed one hand flat against his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thudding of his heart beneath his dress shirt. Leaning up on your tiptoes, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his sharp jawline, remembering the rich blend of his cologne.
'You're so quiet,' you whispered against his skin, your lips brushing his jaw as you spoke. 'What's wrong?'
Jaafar didn't move. He didn't wrap his arms around you, nor did he push you away. He just stood there, letting you press against him, looking down at you with dark, bottomless eyes that held a simmer so hot it made your breath hitch. He let out a slow, heavy sigh just as the elevator let out a soft ding, announcing your arrival at your floor.
He took your hand again, his palm warm, and guided you down the carpeted hallway to the double doors of the suite. He slid the keycard, the lock clicked green, and he pushed the door open, letting you step inside ahead of him.
The door closed with a firm, quiet click behind you, locking out the rest of the world.
You kicked off your high heels with a sigh of relief, tossing your clutch onto the entryway table. 'Seriously, Jaafar, you have to talk to me. You've been acting so strange since the after party.' You reached behind your back, your fingers fumbling blindly with the hidden zipper of your tight dress, but the fabric was caught, and you couldn't get a proper angle. 'Ugh, can you help me with this? I can't reach it.'
Jaafar didn't immediately come over to help. Instead, he stood in the center of the dim bedroom, his eyes locked on yours as he began to unbutton his suit jacket. He slid it off his broad shoulders and draped it neatly over a chair, his gaze never breaking from yours.
You stood there, breathing a little faster, watching him undress. He began to unbutton his dark blue shirt, slowly revealing the smooth, toned expanse of his chest and abdomen.
'Jaafar, seriously,' you ranted, your voice turning into a slight, frustrated whine as you kept tugging at the stuck zipper, your rings catching on the fabric. 'You're completely ignoring me. Did I do something to upset you? Because if this is about Ryan, he’s just a friend, and you were being so cold to him—'
Jaafar took a slow step forward.
'He is not your friend,' Jaafar said, his voice dropping into a register so deep, so quiet, it resonated straight through your bones. He took another step, his bare chest catching the soft light filtering through the window. 'A friend does not look at what belongs to another man and try to calculate how to taste it.'
You froze, your hands dropping from your back as he took another step, narrowing the distance between you until you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
'You think I'm blind, baby?' Jaafar asked, his tone entirely calm, entirely devoid of chaotic rage, which made his absolute dominance so much heavier. He stopped right in front of you, towering over your now barefoot form. He raised one hand, his long fingers sliding slowly up the side of your neck, his thumb resting gently against your pulse point. He didn't squeeze, but the firm, warm pressure of his palm capping your throat made your breath completely catch. 'You think I like standing across a room, strapped to a camera, watching some low life eye-fucking what is mine? Watching you laugh at him, completely oblivious to how badly he wants to slide his hands down that dress?'
Your heart hammered violently against his palm. 'Jaafar... I didn't know...'
'I know you didn't,' he murmured, his dark eyes burning into yours, entirely consuming your vision. 'You're innocent. You're clueless. But he isn't. And I am sick of letting people think you are available.' His thumb stroked over your jawline, a soft touch laced with an iron command. 'You understand now?'
'Yes,' you whispered breathlessly, your knees turning to water under his stare.
'Turn around,' he ordered.
You obeyed instantly, your back turning to his bare chest. You felt the warmth of his body hovering just inches behind you. His large hands came up to your shoulders, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress before his knuckles brushed your bare spine. He found the zipper. With a slow, agonizingly deliberate movement, he pulled it down, the sound of the teeth parting loud in the quiet room.
The fabric loosened, slipping down your shoulders, leaving you standing in just your lace underwear.
'And now,' Jaafar breathed against the shell of your ear, his chest pressing lightly against your bare back, sending a violent shiver down your spine. 'I’m going to show you exactly who you belong to.'
He didn't rush. He didn't throw you onto the bed. Instead, he guided you over to the edge of the mattress, his hands sliding down your arms to grip your wrists. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you between his thighs, looking up at you. His eyes were dark, almost black, swallowed by a primitive hunger.
'You're so desperate already, aren't you?' he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, pulling it down slightly.
'Please, Jaafar,' you whimpered, your hands resting on his shoulders. 'I want you.'
'Yeah well, you have to wait,' he said softly, a dark, teasing smirk playing on his lips.
He slid his hands down to your chest, his long fingers tracing the lace of your bra before hooking his fingers into the material and pulling it down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples hardened instantly. Jaafar leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive peak of your left breast, blowing a warm breath over it that made you arch your back with a soft cry.
But he didn't take it into his mouth. He just hovered there, his lips grazing your skin, torturing you with the proximity.
His hand slid down your stomach, moving beneath the waistband of your lace panties. You were completely soaked, a thick, slick heat coating his fingers the moment they made contact with your center. Jaafar let out a low, dark rumble of satisfaction in his throat.
'Look at that,' he rasped, his long fingers slowly parting your wet folds, his thumb finding your hypersensitive clit. He began to stroke you, but it wasn't the fast, relieving friction you were burning for. He moved with an excruciatingly slow, agonizing pace, barely putting any pressure on the bud, just dragging his thumb over it in lazy, teasing circles.
'Jaafar, please...harder,' you begged, your hips instinctively twitching against his hand, trying to force more friction.
'No,' he commanded softly, his hand flexing to hold your hips completely still, preventing you from moving against him. 'No moving. You take exactly what I give you.'
He slid one long finger inside your tight, wet depth. You let out a loud moan, your head dropping against his shoulder as his finger stretched you. He pushed it all the way in, letting you feel the length of it, before slowly pulling it out until only the tip remained, then sliding it back in.
'Ah, god, Jaafar...'
'You like that, baby? You want more than my fingers?' he asked, his voice a gravelly whisper.
'Yes, please, I want you, please, Jaafar, I'm begging you.'
'Mm-mm...not yet.'
He pulled his finger out completely. You let out a whimper of pure devastation, your body physically aching for the fullness. Before you could protest, Jaafar stood up, stripping off his remaining clothes with smooth, unhurried movements. Your eyes widened as his thick, heavy erection was revealed, twitching with his heartbeat, fully aroused and glistening at the tip.
He climbed onto the mattress, pulling you up with him. He laid you flat on your back in the center of the bed, spreading your legs wide. You expected him to finally drive himself inside you, but Jaafar was far from finished breaking your composure.
He knelt between your thighs, his large hands anchoring your wrists above your head. He leaned down, his chest hovering over yours, and began to use his fingers and his thumb to torment your lower lips again, while his length rubbed lazily against your wet entrance, painting himself in your moisture but never breaking the barrier.
The teasing was pure agony. Your body was entirely overstimulated, the scent of his skin, the dark warmth of his eyes staring down into yours, the heavy weight of his body keeping you pinned, and the absolute denial of the one thing that would bring you relief. Tears of frustration gathered in the corners of your eyes.
'Jaafar, please, I'm gonna lose my mind, 'you sobbed, your hips bucking upward in a desperate attempt to impale yourself on him.
Jaafar easily pinned your hips down with his forearms, his expression unbothered, completely in control. 'I told you to stay still. You don't get to come, and you don't get to be filled until I say so. Every single inch of this body is mine to control tonight.'
He kept up the torturous, slow strokes, pushing you right to the absolute precipice of a shattering orgasm. You felt the familiar tension tightening in your lower stomach, your inner walls beginning to twitch and clamp around nothing, signaling that you were about to break.
The moment he felt your body tremble on the edge of release, Jaafar abruptly yanked his hands away from you entirely, stepping back onto his knees.
The sudden, violent loss of contact sent a shockwave of frustration through your nervous system. You let out a loud, ruined wail, your head thrashing against the pillows. 'No! No! why? Please, let me come, I need to come!'
'I already told you, you don't come until I tell you to,' he growled, his soft spoken demeanor completely gone, replaced by a raw, primal dominance that made your core throb. 'You hold it in. You stay right on the edge for me.'
He grabbed your ankles, dragging your body down the mattress until your ass was right at the edge of the bed. He stood on the floor, pulling your legs up and draping them over his broad shoulders, opening you up completely, leaving you utterly vulnerable under the dim lights of the penthouse.
He stared down at your swollen, soaking entrance, his jaw clenching as his own restraint began to thin. 'Who do you belong to?'
'You. I belong to you, Jaafar, just you.'
A dark, satisfied growl tore from his throat. ’Mhm, that’s right.'
He gripped your hips with an iron, bruising force, aligned his thick length with your aching core, and with one heavy, unyielding thrust, he buried himself inside you to the absolute hilt.
A high-pitched, breathless scream tore from your lungs as the sudden, immense fullness stretched your tight walls to their absolute limit. He bottomed out against your cervix on the very first push, the raw sensation so intense your vision blurred.
Jaafar didn't give you a second to adjust. He began to pound into you, his thrusts hard, deep, and completely unmerciful. He was riding out every ounce of the jealousy that had simmered in his veins all evening, his hips slamming against your flesh with a loud, rhythmic, wet slapping sound that echoed off the high ceilings of the suite.
’Nghh, Jaafar! so deep, oh my god!' you cried out, your body being pushed up the mattress with every powerful stroke, only for his hands to yank your hips back down onto his length.
'It's exactly how deep it needs to be,' he panted, his breath hot and ragged against you as he continued to hammer into you from the edge of the bed. 'I want you to feel every single inch of me. I want you to remember this tomorrow when people look at you.'
The angle was hitting your g-spot with devastating accuracy, the friction inside you creating a white hot heat that threatened to consume you. You were entirely overloaded, the heavy, musk-and-wood scent of his sweat, the sound of his deep, guttural groans, the relentless stretching inside you, and the sheer speed of his movements. You were weeping from the intensity, your body completely at his mercy.
Right in the middle of his frantic, heavy pounding, a sudden, sharp ringing broke through the heavy atmosphere of the room.
It was your phone, sitting on the nightstand just a few feet away. The screen illuminated the dim room, flashing a name that made Jaafar’s entire body freeze.
Ryan.
Jaafar looked at the screen, his chest heaving as he stared at the name. A dark, terrifying smirk slowly spread across his face, his eyes turning entirely black. He didn't pull out of you, he stayed buried deep inside your burning heat, holding himself perfectly still as your walls twitched desperately around him.
He reached over, his long arm easily grabbing the phone from the nightstand. He brought it over, holding the flashing screen in front of your tear-stained face.
'Huh...look at that,' Jaafar whispered, his voice a low, lethal purr against your ear. 'Your friend is calling. He probably wants to make sure you got home safe.'
'Jaafar, no... don't...' you whimpered, shaking your head.
'Answer it,' Jaafar ordered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. 'Pick it up, baby. Pick it up while I'm fucking you.' He slid his thumb across the screen, hitting accept and pressed the speakerphone button before placing the device on the pillow right next to your head.
Before you could even process the command, Jaafar slammed his hips forward, driving into you with a brutal, sudden force that made your eyes widen.
'H-hello?' you choked out, your voice trembling violently as you tried to grip the sheets to keep from screaming.
'Hey, Y/N!' Ryan’s voice came through the speaker, loud and clear, completely oblivious. 'Hey, sorry to call so late, I wanted to make sure everything was cool and see if you wanted to grab that lunch tomorrow like we talked about—'
Jaafar let out a low groan, deliberately shifting his angle, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in with a heavy, wet thud that bottomed out completely.
'Ah!' you gasped, clapping your hand over your mouth, your hips bucking off the bed. The wet, squelching sounds of his length sliding in and out of your soaked core were incredibly loud in the quiet room.
'Y/N? You there?' Ryan asked, sounding confused over the line.
Jaafar didn't stop. He accelerated, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, his muscles flexing as he deliberately pounded into you with a relentless, rhythmic aggression. He was staring directly into your eyes, watching you struggle, a dominant, possessive heat burning in his gaze.
'Yeah...Sorry, I'm—I'm here,' you whimpered, your voice shaking as a wave of overstimulation threatened to break you. You bit your lower lip so hard it nearly bled, trying to suppress the moans that were clawing their way up your throat. 'Just...unpacking...'
Jaafar leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he kept up the brutal pace, his hips slapping against yours. 'Tell him how good it feels, baby,' he whispered wickedly, his voice barely a breath, but his actions spoke loud enough. He hit your spot three times in rapid succession.
'Oh god—' you slipped, a loud, wet moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. The sound of your slick walls tightly gripping his length was unmistakable through the microphone.
'Uh, Y/N? Are you okay?,' Ryan said, his tone shifting, a hint of realization dawning on him.
'I have to go, Ryan,' you sobbed out, unable to hold back the tears as Jaafar ruthlessly drove you toward the edge. 'Goodnight—'
You slammed your finger onto the red button on the screen, cutting the call off.
The phone call cut off, the red end-call button disappearing into the black screen of the device, leaving only the sound of your frantic, heavy breathing echoing against the high ceilings.
But Jaafar wasn't done with you. The adrenaline of the call, the lingering irritation from Ryan’s boundary-crossing presence, and the sheer heat of your tight, soaking walls had his blood boiling. He pulled out of you with a heavy, wet slide that made you gasp in protest, your body instantly feeling cold and empty without him.
Before you could even roll over, his hands were on you again. He grabbed your waist, flipping you effortlessly onto your hands and knees in the center of the large bed.
Jaafar climbed over you from behind, his heavy, solid weight anchoring you down against the mattress. He didn't wait. He lined himself up with your slick entrance and drove his thick length back inside you with one ruthless, unyielding plunge that bottomed out completely, hitting your cervix with a force that made you let out a high-pitched cry.
He began to move with a frantic, desperate speed, his hips slamming against your ass with a loud, rhythmic slapping sound that filled the quiet bedroom. He leaned down over your back, his broad chest pressing yours flat into the pillows. He reached one large hand forward, his long fingers tangling firmly into the roots of your hair, pulling your head back. At the same time, his other hand slid around to wrap securely around the front of your neck, his palm warm and unyielding against your skin, forcing you to look up and over your shoulder at him.
'Look at me,' he growled, his voice thick with a dark, heavy lust as he continued to hammer into you from behind. His eyes were completely black in the shadows, staring directly into yours with a terrifying intensity. 'Look at me while I'm breaking you open. You think anyone else can touch you like this? You think anyone else gets to hear you make these sounds?'
'N-no, Jaafar... nghh! No one... just you,' you sobbed out, your body shaking violently from the forced angle, your hips bucking back against his thighs in a desperate attempt to find relief from the overwhelming fullness.
'Damn right,' he rasped, his thumb pressing firmly against your jawline to keep your head tilted toward him, his thrusts growing even deeper, stretching you to your absolute limit. 'Every single piece of you belongs to me. I want you to remember the weight of my hands on your skin the next time a man tries to step into your space, you hear me?'
He let go of your hair and your neck, the sudden freedom making your head drop into the pillows as he delivered three more devastatingly deep, heavy strokes. But before the pressure could peak, he pulled out of you again, the abrupt loss of friction making you let out a loud, ruined wail of frustration.
'Jaafar, please! Don't stop, please don't stop...' you begged, your hands clawing at the mattress sheets.
A sharp smack echoed through the room as Jaafar’s large hand came down hard on your ass, the sting blooming hot across your skin. You cried out, clenching around him.
'Get up,' he panted, his breath ragged and hot against your bare shoulder.
He didn't give you a choice. He grabbed your wrists, pulling you off the bed entirely. Your bare feet hit the plush carpet, your knees buckling slightly from the sheer overstimulation, but Jaafar held you steady. He guided you across the dark penthouse suite toward the massive, dark wood desk where a large, ornate silver mirror hung on the wall, reflecting the dim city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He pushed you forward gently until your stomach was pressed flat against the cool, polished wood of the desk. He bent you over, your hands gripping the edges of the desk for support, your ass pushed back and elevated.
Jaafar stepped up behind you, his bare chest pressing flush against your spine. In the reflection of the big mirror, you could see everything. the flush of your skin, the sweat glistening on his broad shoulders, and the thick, heavy length of his erection pressing against your wet thighs.
He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto your reflection in the glass. He reached down, parting your thighs with his knee, and with one heavy, smooth thrust, he buried himself inside you from behind, the angle tilting your pelvis perfectly to hit your g-spot with absolute, brutal precision.
You let out a loud, breathless scream, your head tossing back as the visual and the physical sensation combined into a massive wave of overload.
'Look,' Jaafar commanded, his voice a low, dirty purr against your ear as he began to pound into you, his hips driving hard against you, shaking the heavy desk beneath your hands. 'Open your eyes and look at the mirror, baby.'
You forced your eyes open, looking through a blur of tears at the reflection. You watched the way his well-defined torso flexed with every deep stroke, the way his large hands came up to grip your hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples of your lower back to anchor you as he ruthlessly used your body.
'Look who makes you feel this good,' Jaafar growled, his jaw clenching as he accelerated the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, louder, the wet, squelching sounds of your bodies joining filling the air. 'Look who makes you cum every single night. Who is it, hm? Who? Tell me, baby, who?'
'You... it's you, Jaafar,' you cried out, your voice breaking as the friction inside you reached a white-hot temperature. Your knuckles turned white where you gripped the desk, your reflection showing your mouth parted in a continuous, breathless moan. 'Only you, baby, please... oh god, it's you.'
'Say it louder,' he muttered, his head burying into the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at your shoulder blade while his lower body maintained the brutal, relentless rhythm. 'Tell me who owns you.'
'You do... ah! Jaafar, please, I'm gonna break, I can't hold it anymore!'
The visual of him completely dominating you in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on your ruined expression, was the final straw. Your inner muscles began to contract violently around him in a tight, clamping grip, signaling the onset of a massive climax.
But Jaafar wanted you back on the bed for the finish. He pulled out of you with a wet, heavy slide, ignoring your loud whimper of protest, and dragged your shaking body back to the mattress. He laid you flat on your back, pulling your legs up over his broad shoulders, opening you up completely to his deep, unmerciful thrusts once again. Every time his hips slammed against yours, it sent a shockwave straight to your core, driving you further into that state of helpless overstimulation.
He leaned over you, his knuckles white where they gripped the headboard for leverage, his dark curls damp with sweat. He looked down at you, his eyes entirely black, dilated with a heavy, primal lust.
'Look at how stretched open you are for me,' he rasped, his voice a low, dirty growl that vibrated against your skin. 'You like being filled up like this, don't you? Look at me, baby. Tell me how it feels to have my dick taking up every single inch of you.'
'Jaafar, please... it's so good,' you whined, your head tossing from side to side on the pillows.
Jaafar looked down at your parted, wet lips, his dark eyes burning. 'Oh, how much I love you, baby…drives me insane,' he rasped, voice thick with raw emotion and lust.
He didn’t lean down right away. Instead, he kept the torturous rhythm, pulling almost entirely out until only the swollen head of his cock teased your entrance, then plunging back in with a heavy, deliberate thrust that made your back arch off the bed.
The slow withdrawal and sudden deep stretch were driving you crazy. You looked up at his face, lips parted, sharp jaw clenched, curls damp with sweat. The overwhelming need to feel closer to him broke through.
'I wanna kiss you, baby. Please, kiss me,' you begged, voice trembling.
Jaafar looked down at your parted, wet lips, a dark, incredibly wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. He didn't lean down. Instead, he accelerated his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, his hips slapping against your thighs with a ruthless rhythm.
'No,' he whispered, his voice a gravelly, torturous tease. 'You don't get to kiss me yet.'
'Jaafar, please—'
'I love how needy you sound when I starve you,' he muttered, his thumb reaching down to ruthlessly grind against your clit while he kept pounding into you, deliberately pushing you past your limit. 'Beg for it. Tell me how bad you need my mouth on yours while I'm stretching you out.'
'Please, baby, please kiss me, I need you, I need to taste you,' you sobbed, completely broken down by the overstimulation, your inner walls clamping around his thick length in desperate, erratic waves.
Hearing your voice crack, feeling the frantic, tight squeezing of your core, finally shattered the last of his restraint.
Jaafar let out a low, guttural growl, his broad chest collapsing down against yours, his heavy weight pinning you flat into the mattress. He grabbed your jaw with his large hand, his fingers digging firmly into your cheeks to force your mouth wide open, and he slammed his lips down against yours.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep, possessive, and incredibly nasty.
His tongue surged into your mouth, claiming you with the same fierce, unyielding aggression as his hips. He tasted like the rich bourbon from earlier and pure, raw heat, his tongue tangling with yours in a wet, frantic rhythm that matched the brutal pace of his lower body. He was pounding into you with a wild, unbridled ferocity now, his long fingers shifting from your jaw to tangle in your hair, holding your head completely still so you had to take every single bit of the kiss.
The sensory overload was absolute. You couldn't breathe, your mouth flooded with his taste, your ears filled with the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing and the wet, loud squelching of your bodies joining.
The friction inside you reached a fever pitch, your G-spot being hit with every single desperate, deep thrust. Your body tightened, your vision going entirely white as a massive, shattering orgasm tore through your nervous system, your throat letting out a muffled, choked scream straight into his mouth.
The violent, pulsing contractions of your release completely broke Jaafar. He let out a dark, muffled roar against your lips, his tongue taking one last, deep stroke of your mouth as he drove himself into you to the absolute hilt. He locked his hips flush against yours, his body trembling violently as he came, filling your tight, twitching core with thick, burning jets of his release.
He didn't break the kiss until both of your breathings completely ran out, finally pulling his lips back with a wet, heavy sigh, leaving you entirely spent, ruined, and completely his.
The silence returned to the penthouse, broken only by the sound of your combined, ragged breaths.
Slowly, gently, Jaafar pulled his legs down, climbing fully onto the bed and collapsing beside you. The dominant, terrifying aura completely evaporated, leaving behind the gentle, soft-spoken man you knew—but the possessiveness remained. He reached out, his large, warm hand sliding around your waist, his fingers curling into your hip in the exact same spot he had gripped at the party.
He pulled your trembling, spent body tight against his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his voice returning to that quiet, sweet rumble.
'Mine,' he whispered into your hair, his grip tightening just a fraction. 'Don't ever make me remind you again.'
pairings: Jaafar Jackson x gf!reader ——♡—— w/c: 3k+
summary: Jaafar can spot every TikTok trend from a mile away, even without social media. So when you stumble across the latest pheromone perfume craze, there’s only one thing to do: test it on your infuriatingly observant boyfriend.
warnings: MDNI!, fluff, established relationship, reader is chronically online, jaafar wants that cookie reaaaaalllll bad, smut, p in v, choking, unprotected sex, creampie what the hell who said that, Jaafar is lowkey rough with you in bed, but the complete opposite in general idk idk.
request!
♡ ♡ ♡
Five years was a long time to know someone, enough to know how they took their coffee, which side of the bed they slept on. Definitely long enough to know exactly what expression they made when they were about to do something incredibly stupid.
Which was unfortunate for you, because Jaafar had become exceptionally good at spotting that expression.
When your boyfriend accidentally became the internet's latest obsession after starring in a Michael Jackson biopic, entertainment had to come from somewhere.
"Why are you smiling?" You looked up from your phone. Jaafar stood in the kitchen doorway holding a bottle of water in his hands. His eyes narrowed on cue.
“Oh, come on.” He groaned.
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me."
"I haven't done anything!"
"You've done something."
“Wow.” You pressed a hand dramatically to your chest.
"Baby."
"What?"
"You've got the face."
You groaned. "There is no face."
"There is."
"There isn't."
"There absolutely is."
Five years together and somehow, he'd developed a sixth sense for your nonsense. You only blamed yourself. Mostly because you’d spent the better half of a year trying every single TikTok trend on him. The success rate sat comfortably at around zero percent.
The first disaster had been the pretending-not-to-know-your-boyfriend trend. Which had, admittedly, been hilarious for you. Not Jaafar, definitely not Jaafar.
♡ ♡ ♡
Three months earlier, you had set your phone against a fruit bowl, the camera angle perfect. Everything was ready; all you needed was your unsuspecting victim.
"Mouse?"
The nickname making you internally groan. Jaafar had called you it on your fourth date when you insisted your pasta didn’t have enough Parmesan. Despite your insistent hatred for the name, it stuck.
You looked up from the sofa with a blank expression, no smile or greeting. Absolutely nothing. Jaafar stopped, immediately suspicious.
"...Hi?"
You tilted her head.
"Can I help you?"
Silence. Jaafar blinked. You held your breath. His eyebrows slowly rose.
"What?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What?"
You stared at him. "Do I know you?"
A pause, then another. Then Jaafar looked directly at the camera, and you nearly lost it there and then.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"No, seriously."
Jaafar dropped the grocery bags onto the counter.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
You folded your arms.
"Who are you?"
"Who am I?"
"Yes."
He looked around your home, then back to you. Repeating the action at least three times, you could practically see the cogs turning.
"You're filming."
"No."
"You're literally terrible at lying."
You bit the inside of her cheek as he sighed. Then, deciding to commit to the bit, he walked over and offered his hand.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"I'm Jaafar." You shook his hand cautiously.
"Nice to meet you."
His eyes sparkled, something that was always dangerous. Because if Jaafar committed to a joke, you lost every time.
"Nice place you've got here."
"Thank you."
"Funny thing."
"What?"
"I also live here."
"I'm sorry, have we met?" You doubled down.
Jaafar nodded thoughtfully.
"Interesting."
"What?"
"Nothing."
He disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, he returned carrying a framed photo from your bedroom. One from your second anniversary. You immediately started laughing.
"No."
"Oh yes."
"No!" You whined.
He placed it directly in front of your face.
"What does this look like?"
The trend lasted all of four minutes before you completely lost composure. Jaafar considered it one of his easiest victories; you considered it unfinished business.
♡ ♡ ♡
Then came the worm incident, arguably worse. You had waited until you were lying in bed, everything was peaceful, perfect conditions.
"Jaafar?"
"Hm?"
"Would you still love me if I were a worm?"
You smiled. This one was foolproof; everyone answered it. Everyone. Jaafar rolled over to face you, then immediately looked at the phone you were trying and failing to hide.
"...No."
You gasped. “What do you mean no?!”
"I mean no."
You sat upright. "That's so mean!"
Jaafar burst out laughing.
"Baby."
"No, explain yourself."
"Okay, if you were a worm, I’d spend every day terrified someone was going to step on you.”
Your anger evaporated. "Oh."
"I'd probably buy one of those fancy tanks." He paused. "And I'd become emotionally attached."
Your heart melted.
"I'd also tell everyone my girlfriend is a worm."
You threw a pillow at him. Jaafar laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed.
“How are you more online than I am?” You huffed in defeat.
Another failed attempt and another victory for him.
♡ ♡ ♡
The trends continued, a fake breakup trend lasting all of seven seconds. The second Jaafar walked into the room and saw you looked all too serious, he sighed.
“No.”
“Let me talk.”
“No, I know that tone.”
You hadn't even started yet; the pathetic attempt at a prank was dead on arrival.
♡ ♡ ♡
At this point, Jaafar had become impossible, not because he knew every trend. Even though that used to be the case. Since Michael wrapped filming and clips from the movie started spreading online, he'd practically abandoned social media altogether.
The internet was obsessed with him, which was exactly why he wanted nothing to do with it.
"No TikTok."
"No Instagram comments."
"No edits."
"No reaction videos."
"No thirst traps?"
"Especially no thirst traps."
You had laughed for five straight minutes.
So, he wasn't recognising trends because he'd seen them; he was recognising them because after five years together, he knew you too well.
Which was incredibly annoying, and exactly why the package currently sitting in the bathroom felt so promising. You stared at it, pheromone perfume, the latest trend. Thousands of videos
And for once? It didn't require acting. You simply had to spray it and wait. Easy. Foolproof even. You picked up the bottle, smiling. For the first time in months, you might actually have him.
And you swore Jaafar wouldn't even know what hit him.
♡ ♡ ♡
Currently, the two of you were sitting in a parked car outside a coffee shop. Jaafar in the driver's seat, phone mounted neatly on the dashboard.
"Ready?" you asked.
"Yep."
You pressed record.
"Hi guys!"
Jaafar immediately looked at the camera and smiled. You hated how naturally charming he was.
"So, because somebody became famous overnight—"
"I did not become famous overnight."
"—we're doing a Q&A."
Jaafar rolled his eyes.
"People sent in questions."
"That's normal."
"Very normal."
The lie slipped out effortlessly, because technically, people had sent questions. The first few went perfectly.
"Favourite movie?"
"Current obsession?"
"Worst habit?"
That one earned you a dirty look.
"Who said I love you first?"
"You." Jaafar responded.
"It was not me."
"It absolutely was."
"It wasn't."
"It was."
You grinned. Jaafar pointed immediately.
"There it is."
You froze. "What?"
"The face."
Damn it, you truly thought you had him this time. Five years together, and he still caught on to everything.
"What face?"
"The face you make before you're annoying."
"That's incredibly rude."
"Am I wrong?"
"Yes."
"You are literally filming me."
"Because we're doing a Q&A."
"Hm."
The suspicion faded, and you relaxed. Good, the absurdly expensive perfume hadn’t been applied for nothing. You had practically drowned yourself in the stuff before leaving the house. Enough that you could still smell it every time you moved.
The next few questions continued smoothly until Jaafar suddenly stopped talking mid-answer.
"...And then we got back from London and—"
Silence, he frowned, you looked over.
"You okay?"
"Hm?"
"You stopped."
"Oh."
Jaafar rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah."
He looked out of the windshield; you bit the inside of your cheek trying to conceal your smile threatening to escape.
You asked another question, Jaafar answered, sort of. Halfway through, he lost his train of thought again.
"What is wrong with you today?"
"Nothing."
"You're acting weird."
"I'm not."
"You just forgot what you were saying."
"Is that a new perfume?”
You turned to face him, your body growing hot at the expression on his face, forgetting about the video for a moment.
“Yes?”
“It’s nice.” He hummed, shifting in his seat. His grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly.
You looked away first, the enclosed space wasn't helping, car suddenly feeling very small. Very, very small.
You attempted to ask another question, and Jaafar answered approximately half of it. His eyes drifted toward you again, lingering there for a moment, causing you to raise an eyebrow.
“Fuck, you smell so good.” He mumbled, quickly bringing a hand down to rest on your thigh. You nearly lost composure, mouth parting slightly from the tone of his voice.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed, and for a second, you thought you'd been caught. Then he looked away again, hand squeezing your thigh.
A few more minutes passed, and you started to run out of questions. That didn’t ruin your mood though; you were witnessing history. The longest trend you’d managed to pull off in the entirety of your relationship.
You got cocky, too cocky. Because while Jaafar was answering a question about filming Michael, you glanced at the camera. And wiggled your eyebrows, Jaafar immediately stopped speaking, and your stomach dropped.
"...Why did you do that?"
You sighed.
"What?"
"The eyebrows."
His eyes narrowed, then moved to the camera. You watched the exact moment his detective instincts returned, the exact moment he started putting pieces together.
The camera, the weird behaviour, the smell of your perfume that made his head spin.
"Oh my God."
You exploded into laughter, Jaafar dropped his head against the headrest, the hand on your thigh now dragging along his face.
"You fell for it!"
"What did you do?"
"The pheromone perfume trend."
"The what?"
"The TikTok perfume trend."
Jaafar stared, his eyes meeting yours through the gaps in his fingers.
“That’s what smelled so good?” You nodded, the air in the car shifting as you chewed at your bottom lip.
“We’re going home.” Jaafar stated, more of an order than anything else.
“Okay?”
“Now.”
Before you could reply, his hand had already reached to turn the keys in the ignition.
♡ ♡ ♡
When the car door shut behind you, only then did you let out a long exhale. One you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.
The car ride had been silent, excluding the radio cracking static now and then, the songs distant in the back of your mind. Jaafar had been touchy, more so than usual. His hand resting on your lap as he drove, trailing higher and higher as he looked straight ahead at the round. Mumbling under his breath every time he took an absurdly deep inhale through his nose.
Making your way to the front door, feet dragging against the pavement, your mind spun with possibilities. Still not sure if Jaafar had been annoyed with you, patience finally snapping from all of your insistent teasing. Or if the perfume had truly got to him like the videos said it would.
All questions were answered when you took a step into the home, the door slipping shut behind you. Without giving you a second to adjust, your back was pressed firmly against the frame, Jaafar’s mouth on yours with zero hesitation.
A gasp tried to leave your body, the sound silenced against his lips as he moved impossibly closer to you, crowding you against his body. Your hands trailed along his spine, hips grinding up into his body instinctively. Eventually, he pulled away, just far enough for you to catch your breath.
“You have no idea what you do to me.”
You panted slightly, eyes going wide. It was rare Jaafar behaved in such a way, so rare you could count the occasions on one hand. He usually treated you so softly, like you were a fragile little thing he had been scared to break. His mouth moved from where it hovered over your lips, now kissing along your neck, biting gently over the sensitive skin.
“Mmm…” You let your head fall back slightly, allowing him more access. “Show me then.”
The noise that left him truly needed to be studied, pulling away from you to meet your eyes. The way his gaze felt on you should’ve been considered a crime. His eyes dark, darker than the usual chocolate brown you had become so fond of, curls unruly on top of his head.
“I want you to go to the bedroom,” you nodded so quickly you thought your neck might give out, “n’ get all pretty on the bed for me, okay?”
You didn’t have to think twice, practically scrambling to the bedroom. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, pure instinct carrying your legs forward for you. Adrenaline surged through your body, the bedroom door clicking shut as you climbed onto the bed. Shuffling out of your clothes, the items strung across the floor without a care. You settled your bare skin against the mattress, adjusting your hair so it fell perfectly against your body.
The door opened not even a minute later, and he was there, shirt already discarded. His collarbone sat sharply at the top of his chest, leading down into a natural line of muscle throughout his torso. There was a strange softness in the way Jaafar held himself, despite his firm words.
Jaafar took one look at you, completely bare, perfectly still and so-
“So obedient aren’t you mouse?” You nodded again, less frantically this time. He shuffled onto the bed, body settling between your legs as he stared down at you once more. His gaze lingered on every curve, every inch of exposed skin.
A whimper left you at how intense his stare felt, body growing hot. Jaafar leant forward, his head burying against your neck as he placed a wet kiss against the hollow of your throat. “Smell so perfect, baby.” A smile formed on your face as you remembered what had gotten you into this situation in the first place.
You swallowed hard, using all of your self-restraint to remain perfectly still against the pillow, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. Jaafar’s lips trailed lower, grazing over the swell of your breasts. “You still here baby?” he muttered.
“Mhm, m’ listening.” You lied, eyes slipping shut as his body moved lower. His tongue found your clit instantly, causing you to gasp, fingers twitching against the sheets. Jaafar knew exactly how to make you feel good, his tongue lapping away at your entrance.
The feeling was all too much, your tension building until you were practically vibrating. He could tell you were already close, pulling his mouth away, moaning under his breath at the thin string of saliva stretching between his mouth and your body.
“Not yet,” he hummed, “you’ve been teasin’ me all day baby, gotta be good n’ wait.”
You bit your lip again, eyes lidded as you stared down at the top of his head, your hand threading through his hair as his tongue worked over you with ruthless precision.
Jaafar was relentless, circling, flicking, sucking just enough to make you tremble, but not enough to let you break. Finally, when you were already soaked and squirming, he pulled back, breathing heavy.
“So good f’me.” He mumbled as he removed his jeans, gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks, spreading your legs wider as he lined himself up with your entrance.
“Please.”
Jaafar hummed, eyes never leaving yours as he thrust into you with one swift motion. You cried out, the sound loud enough that the neighbours might’ve definitely heard. His pace only sped up, watching your tits bounce with the impact.
He covered your mouth with his palm as he snapped his hips forward, hitting deep spots inside of you that made your eyes roll back. His other hand remained possessively on your stomach, keeping your body pinned against the bed. “Shh baby.”
The pace only quickened, thrusts becoming rougher as he used your body for his own selfish pleasure. The hand over your mouth moved to curl around your throat, applying the tiniest amount of pressure, your head spinning.
“That’s it, taking it so well.” You choked out a broken moan, fingers digging into his shoulders as your legs trembled. Jaafar squeezed your throat, tighter this time, just enough to restrict your airflow slightly.
Jaafar continued to pound into you with brutal precision, the headboard thudding against the wall, your vision blurry as you clenched around him.
That did it for him, cumming inside of you with a low, guttural groan, his hand tightening around your throat as he buried himself deep. His cock pulsed violently, filling you up completely, the sensation sending you over the edge as you came, the grip on your throat disappearing as he watched.
“Fuck baby, y’look so pretty like this.” He mumbled as he pulled out slowly, watching your entrance clench and flutter around nothing, the sudden emptiness making you whine.
“I know, my love,” he cooed, his hand rubbing circles around your stomach, “gotta get y’cleaned up though.”
You melted instantly at the affection, nodding as he slid off of your body, grabbing a towel. He wiped you down with extreme tenderness, a harsh contrast to his previous actions. Your head spun at the sight, only now catching your breath.
The two of you stayed like that for a while; your head rested against Jaafar’s chest as you matched his breathing.
“Was that okay?”
His voice came out quieter than you expected, slightly unsure in a way he clearly didn’t feel a second ago. For a moment, you didn’t answer. His hand, which had been resting at your back, shifted slowly like he was making sure you were still there, still close, still real.
Then you exhaled, a small laugh leaving you.
“Was that okay?” you repeated, slowly, lifting your head just enough to look at him.
“Yeah,” you said finally, like it should’ve been obvious. “It was more than okay.”
Then, because it was still Jaafar:
“…You do realise you just completely derailed my entire ability to think for the last hour.”
That got a small smile out of you.
“Sorry.”
“No,” he corrected immediately, tightening his arm around you slightly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Apologise like you did something wrong.”
His thumb brushed absentmindedly along your shoulder, slow and grounding; you settled back against his chest again, letting his heartbeat fill the silence between you both. Jaafar tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“Mhm.”
A pause.
Then quieter—
“…You okay mouse?”
You nodded against him.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” he repeated, like he was confirming it for himself too.
“You and your stupid TikTok experiments,” he murmured after a moment, though there was no real bite to it anymore; you huffed a small laugh.
“Hey, this one worked.”
That earned you a soft exhale of amusement against your hair.
“M’ not complaining,” he said.
And you could hear the smile in his voice even without seeing it.
Neither of you moved; there was no need to. Just the steady rhythm of breathing, the faint warmth of the bedroom, and Jaafar’s hand still tracing slow, absent patterns against your back like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.
Eventually, he spoke again, quieter.
“…Next time you try to film me, I’m deleting the footage.”
summary: lazy sunday cuddles, a golf tournament humming in the background, and one very overconfident boyfriend. when jaafar’s eyes keep drifting from the screen to you on the couch, he suddenly remembers an old deal about a strip poker rematch. what starts as playful teasing and five-card draw quickly turns into a heated game full of smirks, lingering stares, and clothes hitting the floor.
warning(s): 18+ only, explicit smut, strip poker, dirty talk, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, creampie, marking, manhandling, light dominance. all consensual.
a/n: basically continuation of this one → MasterChef
The living room was quiet, save for the hushed, rhythmic commentary of a golf tournament airing on the sports channel. You were stretched out on the opposite end of the couch, your back resting against the armrest, completely buried in a book. Every now and then, you’d shift, your bare feet brushing against Jaafar’s thigh where he sat.
Jaafar was leaning back, an arm resting along the top of the cushions, seemingly engrossed in a replay of a masterclass bunker shot. But his eyes weren't really on the green. They kept drifting down to the quiet rhythm of your chest rising and falling, the way your lips parted slightly when you were deep in thought, and the soft fabric of the oversized knit sweater that kept slipping off your shoulder.
A sudden, sharp memory hit him. The faint taste of blackberry reduction, the cold marble of the kitchen island, and a very specific, whispered promise about a rematch.
A slow, wicked smirk crawled onto his lips.
'Hey,' Jaafar murmured, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room like a low purr.
'Mmm?' you responded, not even looking up from your page, turning it with a soft rustle.
'Put the book down, baby.'
You blinked, finally lifting your eyes from the text to find him staring at you. The lazy, sleepy expression he usually wore on a rainy Sunday evening was entirely gone. Instead, his dark eyes were heavy, fixed on you with a sharp, predatory heat that instantly made your pulse skip a beat.
'Why?' you asked, tilting your head, a faint, amused smile tugging at your lips. 'Are the golf highlights getting too thrilling for you?'
Jaafar let out a low, breathless chuckle, shifting his weight. He slid down the length of the couch, his long legs moving effortlessly until he was hovering right over you, trapping you between his body and the back of the sofa. He reached down, his fingers gently taking the book from your hands and tossing it onto the coffee table without looking.
'Golf is over,' he whispered, leaning down until his chest was practically brushing yours, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. 'I just remembered we have some unfinished business. A certain deal we shook on after the great MasterChef tie.'
Your breath hitched slightly as his scent enveloped you. The memory flashed vividly in your mind.
'Next time we should try a different game. Like strip poker... purely for the sake of competition.'
'Consider the deal accepted.'
'Oh,' you murmured, your hands naturally rising to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, heavy thud of his heart beneath his shirt. You arched an eyebrow, your competitive streak instantly flaring up to meet his. 'You actually remembered that? I figured you backed out because you realized how embarrassing it would be to lose to me twice in one week.'
'Lose?' Jaafar’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with a sudden, competitive hunger. He leaned an inch closer, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. 'Baby, I’ve been playing poker since I was old enough to hold the cards. I was actually giving you a head start by letting you think about it.'
'Bold words for a man wearing a t-shirt, a hoodie, and sweatpants,' you teased, your fingers playfully tracing the hoodie design. 'You layered up on purpose, didn't you? Cheater.'
'It's called strategy,' he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes, a heavy, dangerous playfulness vibrating between you. 'But if you're scared, we can just go back to golf.'
You narrowed your eyes, a confident, wicked smile spreading across your face. You brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him down just enough to whisper against his lips.
'Get the cards, Jackson. Let's see what you're made of.'
Jaafar didn’t need to be told twice. He broke the space between you, pressing his lips to yours in a quick, bruisingly hot kiss that felt more like a declaration of war than an affectionate gesture, before swinging his legs off the couch.
'Don't move,' he commanded, pointing a finger at you as he walked away. 'And no shedding layers while my back is turned.'
'I play fair,' you called out, shifting so you were sitting cross-legged in the center of the plush rug by the coffee table, clearing off your book to make room for the battlefield.
When Jaafar returned, he had a pristine, unopened deck of cards in one hand and a heavy, dark wooden box of poker chips in the other. He dropped down onto the rug directly opposite you, mirroring your posture. The coffee table sat between you like a neutral border, but the air in the room had shifted entirely. It was thick, highly charged, and undeniably flirtatious.
He popped the seal on the card deck, his long, elegant fingers shuffling them with an effortless, hypnotic rhythm. Snap, snap, snap. The sound was crisp in the quiet room.
You watched him, completely mesmerized.
You had always had an absolute weakness for his hands, but watching the fluid, practiced dexterity of his long fingers arc the cards together was sending a low, sudden spike of heat straight to your core. Your throat went dry as you tracked the sharp lines of his knuckles and the steady strength in his wrists.
There was something intensely commanding about how effortlessly he controlled the deck, and just thinking about those same large, skilled hands touching you later made your pulse tick up a frantic notch. You were entirely hypnotized, and it was getting harder to hide just how much the view was turning you on.
Jaafar’s eyes tracked the cards, but he wasn't blind to your heavy gaze. A slow, knowing smirk played at the corner of his lips.
'Alright, let's establish the rules of engagement,' Jaafar said, his eyes tracking the cards but his mind clearly on you. 'Standard five card draw. No wild cards. At the end of every hand, the loser sheds one item of clothing. Jewelry doesn't count, socks do. And absolutely no backing out.'
'Simple enough,' you smiled, leaning your chin in your hand, watching his fingers work. 'What about the chips?'
'The chips are just to keep track of who's dominating,' he said, setting the dark wooden box directly onto the rug between you. 'Think of it as a scoreboard. Ready to lose, baby?'
'Deal the cards, Jackson.'
Jaafar smirked, dealing out five cards to you and five to himself with practiced ease. You picked up your hand, fanning the cards out, and suppressed a sigh. A pair of fours. Nothing spectacular, but a starting point. Across from you, Jaafar’s face was an absolute brick wall. His eyes met yours over the rim of his cards, completely unreadable, a slow, devastatingly handsome grin cutting through his poker face.
'How many do you want to discard, chef?' he asked smoothly.
'Three,' you said, tossing the useless cards into the center. He slid three fresh ones across the smooth wood. You picked them up. Still just the pair of fours. Damn it.
'Dealer takes two,' Jaafar murmured, replacing his own cards. He stacked his hand neatly, tapping it against his knee once. 'Show 'em.'
You tossed your cards face up. 'Pair of fours.'
Jaafar’s grin widened into something purely wicked. He laid his cards down one by one. A pair of jacks. 'Told you I’ve been doing this a long time.' He leaned back on his hands, his dark eyes raking over your outfit with an expectant, heavy gaze. 'Off comes the sweater, y/n.'
You rolled your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks had nothing to do with frustration. You reached down, grabbing the hem of the oversized knit sweater, and pulled it slowly over your head.
Underneath, you were just wearing a delicate, sheer black lace bra, the exact one you knew was Jaafar’s absolute favorite.
Jaafar’s breath hitched noticeably, the smooth words completely dying in his throat. His gaze instantly locked onto the exposed line of your collarbones, his dark eyes darkening significantly as they tracked down to where the intricate lace met your bare skin. The confident, smug look on his face faltered entirely, replaced by a raw, hungry focus that made your pulse race.
'Your turn to deal,' he rasped, his voice suddenly much lower, rougher around the edges as he tried and failed to look back up at your eyes.
'My pleasure,' you purred, snatching the deck. You shuffled them, intentionally taking your time, keeping your eyes locked onto his the entire time. You could feel the shift in the room; the playful competition was rapidly dissolving into something much hotter, and you were determined to turn the tables.
You dealt the next hand. This time, the gambling gods were on your side: three queens right off the bat. You discarded two cards, drawing a king and another queen. Four of a kind. A statistical masterpiece.
Jaafar looked at his cards, then looked at you, trying to read your expression, though his eyes kept involuntarily dipping down to the lace of your bra. You gave him the most innocent, sweet smile you could muster.
'Show me what you've got, Jackson,' you whispered.
He tossed down two pairs,tens and sevens. 'Not bad. Let’s see it.'
You flipped your cards over with a dramatic flourish. 'Four queens. Take it off.'
Jaafar let out a low growl, a mixture of disbelief and intense amusement. 'You're a cheater. Theres no way.'
'The cards don't lie,' you laughed, crossing your arms and leaning forward slightly, your eyes sparkling as the movement shifted your chest, drawing his gaze right back down. 'The hoodie, Jackson. Let's see what's underneath.'
Jaafar didnt hesitate. He grabbed the bottom of his heavy black hoodie and pulled it off in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the side. Underneath, he was wearing a tight fitted white t-shirt that clung perfectly to the broad expanse of his chest and the sharp definition of his shoulders.
He leaned across the small space separating you on the rug, his face just inches from yours now, the heat radiating off his skin completely clouding your senses. He reached out, his thumb slowly, deliberately tracing the line of your jaw, before his fingers slid lower, lightly grazing the skin just above the lace of your bra, sending a violent shiver straight down your spine.
'Round three, baby,' Jaafar murmured, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his eyes burning into yours with a dangerous promise. 'Let's see who breaks first.'
Jaafar didn’t wait for you to answer. He shifted his weight, moving off his crossed legs and sliding onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He was half laying down on the plush rug now, completely relaxed, his long legs stretched out carelessly his long legs stretched out carelessly across the carpet. The casual, sprawling posture should have made him look less intimidating, but with his tight white t-shirt straining against his chest and his dark eyes tracking your every breath, it only made him look twice as dangerous.
'Deal 'em, baby,' he murmured, his free hand lightly playing with a heavy poker chip, flipping it over his knuckles with effortless grace. 'Let's see if your luck holds out.'
Your hands were a little less steady this time as you distributed the cards. The proximity was starting to work against you, every time you leaned forward, his gaze would drop deliberately to the black lace of your bra, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips when he noticed the slight tremor in your fingers.
You picked up your cards. A pair of kings. Solid. You discarded two and drew...nothing helpful. Just the kings.
Jaafar didn't even look at his cards right away. He kept his eyes locked on your face, taking his time before finally fanning his hand out against the rug. He didn't even bother to sit up. 'Dealer takes one card,' he said softly, tossing a discard into the center. He slid the new card into his hand, his expression completely blank. 'What do you have, baby?'
'Pair of kings,' you said, throwing them down on the table, trying to sound confident.
Jaafar let out a low, victorious hum that vibrated through the small space between you. He flipped his cards over one by one, his smirk turning thoroughly wicked. A flush. Five pristine hearts staring right back at you.
'Kings are beautiful, but they don't beat a flush,' he purred, his gaze slowly traveling down from your face, raking over your exposed skin with a heavy, possessive heat. He tapped the coffee table with a single finger. 'Pants, y/n. Let's go.'
You let out a breathless laugh, your heart hammering against your ribs. You rose to your knees slightly, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs before kicking them away, leaving you in just your matching black lace panties and the bra. When you settled back down onto your heels, you caught the exact moment Jaafar’s lazy composure completely shattered.
The playful chip-flipping stopped instantly. The chip dropped onto the rug with a soft thud.
Jaafar’s jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling in a sudden, heavy breath as his eyes burned into you. He didn't stay half laying down for much longer, the sight of you in his favorite set had him shifting, his large frame tensing as he slowly sat up, crawling an inch closer to the edge of the table.
'You did that on purpose,' he rasped, his voice incredibly deep, thick with desire. 'You knew exactly what you were doing.'
'Maybe I just wanted a tactical advantage,' you whispered, leaning your forearms on your thighs. You picked up the deck, offering it to him with a teasing tilt of your head. 'Your turn to deal, Jackson. Unless you're too distracted to count to five.'
Jaafar let out a low, warning growl, snatching the cards from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, hot and electric. 'Oh, I can count just fine,' he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a lethal intensity as he rapidly dealt the next hand, though his eyes never truly left you.
You picked up your cards, your fingers trembling slightly against the paper. A straight. The universe was practically screaming at you to finish him off. Across the table, Jaafar didn’t even bother to hide his hand, he just stared at you, his dark eyes burning, a heavy, rough edge to his breathing that told you exactly how much the sight of you in that black lace was tearing through his self-control.
'Show me,' he rasped, not even waiting for a discard round.
You flipped your cards over, a triumphant, breathless smile breaking across your face. 'A straight. Looks like you're out of options, Jackson.'
Jaafar looked down at the cards, then let out a low, gravelly chuckle that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. 'Fair enough.'
He reached down, grabbing the hem of his white t-shirt, and pulled it up and over his head in one smooth, fluid motion, tossing it blindly onto the floor.
Your breath caught completely in your throat. Seeing him shirtless, left in absolutely nothing but his grey sweatpants, was driving you entirely insane. The dim light of the living room caught the broad, cut planes of his chest, the sharp definition of his shoulders, and the slow, heavy rise and fall of his abdomen. But what made your heart batter wildly against your ribs wasn't just how breathtaking he looked, it was his raw, physical reaction to you. His skin radiated heat, his gaze fixed on your lace-clad body with a desperate, heavy hunger that made it incredibly clear he was hanging onto his restraint by a single, frayed thread.
You were sitting with your legs stretched out in front of you on the plush rug, leaning back slightly on your hands, trying to hold his gaze.
'Game over,' Jaafar murmured, his voice incredibly deep and entirely stripped of its playful edge.
He didn't look at the cards. He didn't care about the chips. He slithered across the small space of the rug entirely and crawled directly into your space.
Your eyes widened slightly as his large, heavy frame loomed over yours, his scent of warm skin and cedar completely intoxicating your senses. Before you could even utter a sound, Jaafar’s large, warm hands slid down to your knees. Gently but with an undeniable, unyielding authority, he separated your legs, stepping his knees directly between your thighs to lock you underneath him.
The sudden, intense proximity made you gasp, the heat of his bare chest hovering just inches from yours.
'I can't look at you in this damn set for another second without touching you,' he growled softly, his hands traveling up your inner thighs, his thumbs tracing the edge of your lace panties, leaving trails of liquid fire on your skin. He leaned down, his dark eyes locking onto your lips. 'You won the hand, baby, but I'm taking the prize.'
Jaafar didn’t give you a chance to answer. He slammed his mouth down onto yours, a deep, bruising kiss that completely eradicated any lingering pretense of a game. His tongue slid into your mouth, possessive and thick with a desperate hunger that matched the wild hammering of your pulse. You let out a breathless whine against his lips, your hands flying up to grip his bare shoulders, your fingers digging tightly into the hard, smooth muscle of his back as he tasted you thoroughly.
He tasted like unadulterated desire. His large hands slid higher up your thighs, gripping your hips with enough force to ground you completely against the rug. He dragged his mouth away from yours, panting heavily, his hot breath fanning across your wet lips before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He bit down gently on the sensitive column of your throat, sucking a dark mark into your skin that had you arching your back off the floor, your chest pressing firmly against his bare torso.
'You are so fucking beautiful,' Jaafar growled against your skin, his voice a gravelly, raw vibration that sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to your core. 'Driving me insane all night in this lace.'
His hands moved to the back of your bra. With a heavy, impatient tug, he unclipped the clasp, spilling your breasts into his warm palms. He let out a low, ragged groan at the sight, his thumbs instantly swiping rough circles over your nipples. The intense sensation had you crying out, your fingers tangling into his dark curls, pulling him closer. He didnt need the invitation, he leaned down, taking one stiff peak fully into his mouth, his tongue swirling and sucking with a fierce, rhythmic heat that made your lower abdomen clench up in an agonizingly sweet ache.
You rolled your hips up against him instinctively, the friction of your lace panties rubbing against the heavy, solid ridge swelling beneath his sweatpants. Jaafar gasped into your skin, his grip tightening on your waist as he pinned your hips flat to the floor.
'Don't start that yet, baby,' he rasped, lifting his head, his dark eyes entirely black with lust, heavy lids hooded as he stared down at you. 'If you move like that, it's over before we even start.'
Without breaking eye contact, he reached down, his large hand sliding under the waistband of your matching lace panties. He hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric and dragged them down your legs in one fluid motion, tossing them blindly into the shadows of the room. You were completely open beneath him now, your skin flushed and trembling in the cool air of the living room, completely locked under his heavy gaze.
Jaafar didn't hesitate. He guided his hand back between your separated thighs, his long, elegant fingers, the ones that had been shuffling cards so effortlessly just minutes ago, sliding over your wet, swollen entrance. You let out a broken gasp, your thighs trembling as his thumb found your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, putting a deliberate, heavy pressure on it that had your head tossing back against the rug.
'Look at how wet you are for me,' he whispered wickedly, his fingers sliding deep inside you with a heavy, slick glide. You were so incredibly tight, wrapping around his fingers instantly. He groaned, plunging them deeper, establishing a filthy, relentless rhythm that had you weeping, your hips lifting off the floor to chase his hand. 'Listen to that sound. You like that, baby?'
'Jaafar, please,' you whimpered, your hands against his chest, trying to get him closer, trying to tell him what you truly needed. The friction of his thumb and the deep, stretching glide of his fingers inside you was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. 'I want you. Please, get rid of the pants.’
Jaafar let out a low, incredibly wicked chuckle against your skin, but he didn't pull the sweatpants down. Instead, he slowly slipped his fingers out of your dripping heat with a torturous, wet slide, making you whine at the sudden loss of friction.
Before you could protest, he reached blindly over his shoulder, grabbed the messy deck of cards from the carpet, and dropped them right onto your bare stomach.
'Shuffle your cards, baby,' he whispered, his voice a lazy, teasing purr as he leaned his weight back onto his knees, hovering over your open thighs. He gave you a slow, maddeningly handsome smirk, his eyes dark with absolute mischief. 'Gotta take these off if I lose, baby. Rules are rules.'
'Jaafar, you are a sadist,' you gasped out, your breath catching as you looked up at his bare, beautifully sculpted chest, his sweatpants practically hanging off his hips, teasing you with the heavy, rigid outline hidden beneath the fleece.
'Again, I'm a man of strategy,' he corrected smoothly, leaning down to press a quick, agonizingly soft kiss to your lips. He tapped the deck against your skin. 'Come on. Deal the final hand. Let's see how bad you want me out of these.'
Your fingers were shaking so badly you could barely square the deck against your stomach. Jaafar watched you with a heavy, hooded gaze, completely unbothered by his own agonizing restraint, thoroughly enjoying the sheer desperation rolling off you.
'Hurry up, baby,' he murmured, his deep voice dropping into that smooth, gravelly register that made your core ache. 'The dealer is waiting.'
You managed to shuffle them, a messy, unpracticed flutter of cardboard, before holding the deck out to him. Jaafar didn't take them. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his heavy chest against yours, and reached around you to deal the cards out directly onto the plush rug on either side of your head. Five for you, five for him.
But he wasn't going to let you play standard.
Just as you reached up to grab your cards, Jaafar’s large hand slid right back between your separated thighs. He didn't hesitate, driving two long, slick fingers straight back into your tight, dripping heat with a deep, authoritative plunge.
You let out a loud, high-pitched gasp, your back arching entirely off the rug as your internal walls clamped down around him.
'Ah-ah,' Jaafar chided softly, a devastatingly wicked smirk spreading across his lips. He began a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm inside you, his thumb finding your hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and applying a heavy, relentless pressure. 'Pick up your cards, y/n. Let's see what you're working with.'
'Jaafar—I swear to god—' you whimpered, tears of sheer pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes. You blindly reached for your cards, fanning them out with trembling fingers. Your vision was practically swimming. A pair of aces. You needed to draw.
Across from you, Jaafar didn't even bother to pick up his cards with his free hand. He just rested his palm flat on the floor next to your head, leaning his weight into you, using his other hand to absolutely ruin your thought process inside your thighs. He curled his fingers up, hitting your sweet spot with lethal accuracy.
'Discard,' you choked out, your hips involuntarily lifting off the floor to chase his hand. 'I need... I need three cards.'
'Three?' Jaafar purred, matching your breathless tone. He reached over with his free hand, flipped three cards from the deck, and dropped them onto your chest. At the same time, he drove his fingers deeper inside you, speeding up his rhythm just enough to make you cry out, your cards nearly slipping from your grip. 'Show me the final hand, baby. I'm getting impatient.'
You forced your eyes open, looking at the new cards through blurred vision. Another ace. A three of a kind.
'Three aces,' you sobbed out, throwing the cards face up on the rug. You grabbed his bare, muscular shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. 'I won. Take them off. Take them off now.'
Jaafar looked down at your cards, then up at your flushed, desperate face. The teasing, playful dynamic completely evaporated from his eyes, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
'My pleasure,' he rasped.
He pulled his wet fingers out of you with a slick, heavy sound that made your cheeks burn. In one swift, powerful motion, Jaafar hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants and boxers, shoving them down his long, muscular legs and kicking them away entirely.
When he moved back over you, he was fully thick, dark, and rigid, a heavy bead of pre-come glistening at the tip. He didn't waste another second. He grabbed your knees, pinning them high against your chest, and drove his hips forward, burying his entire length inside you to the hilt in one deep, brutal stroke.
The sudden, massive stretch of him filling you completely had you crying out, the sound echoing loudly off the high ceiling of the living room. Jaafar didn't give you even a second to adjust. He instantly began to drive his hips forward, a low, guttural roar escaping his throat as he slammed into you, his groin hitting yours with a heavy, wet thud that sent shockwaves of pure pleasure straight to your brain.
'Fuck, you're so tight, baby,' Jaafar groaned, his voice completely raw and ruined. He buried his face in your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he established a brutal, unyielding pace. 'Mmh, yeah...just like that.'
He was moving with a terrifying amount of stamina, his thick length sliding all the way out until just the tip lingered before plunging back in to the absolute hilt. Every single thrust was hitting your G-spot with lethal precision. Combined with the slick, intense friction from his fingers earlier, you were already flying toward the edge. Your internal walls began to ripple and squeeze around him.
'Jaafar—wait, I'm already—'
'Go ahead, baby. Take it,' he rasped, his own pace turning frantic as he felt you clamp down. He arched his back, pushing deeper, his hips jerking hard into yours. 'That's right...give it to me. Let me feel it.'
With a loud, broken scream, your first orgasm crashed over you. Your body shook violently, your internal muscles spasming around him in a tight, desperate vice. The sheer sensation of your climax squeezing his length had Jaafar letting out a high-pitched, breathless moan, a sound so raw and undone it sent a whole new wave of heat straight to your core. He didn't stop. He pushed right through your climax, his thrusts turning heavy, wet, and punishing, driving you immediately back into a state of rising tension.
Before your body could even fully process the release, Jaafar gripped your waist with bruising force. He pulled back, sliding out of you with a slick, loud pop that made you whimper, and hauled you up by your hips.
'On the couch. Come here,' he panted, his chest heaving, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
He backed onto the plush sofa, sitting down and pulling you right over his lap. You didn't even have time to think before you sank down onto him, guiding his thick, rigid length back inside you. You let out a ragged gasp as he filled you to the absolute top, your knees resting on the cushions on either side of his hips.
The angle was entirely different, exposing your clit directly to the friction of his lower stomach. You gripped his broad shoulders for leverage and began to ride him, rolling your hips in a desperate, frantic rhythm.
The sudden control, combined with the way your sensitive, overstimulated walls were rubbing against him, completely broke Jaafar's composure. He threw his head back against the top of the couch, his fingers digging desperately into your hips to help guide your movement.
'Ah...fuck, baby,' he whined, a loud, uninhibited groan tearing from his chest. His breathing turned into a series of breathless, needy whimpers as you set a relentless, grinding pace. 'Mmh, yeah...right there, keep going baby. You're killing me, baby. Fuck, ride it.'
Hearing him completely lose his mind under you, hearing those deep, needy whimpers and raspy moans echoing right in your ear, turned you on to a dangerous degree. Your mind was completely overloaded. Every single nerve ending in your lower body was screaming from the constant, heavy friction. The overstimulation was massive, blurring your vision, but the sound of his voice kept pushing you higher.
'You like hearing me like this, huh?' Jaafar choked out, his eyes opening, entirely black with lust as he watched your head toss back. He suddenly bucked his hips upward, meeting your downward slides with a brutal, lifting force that hit your sweet spot so hard your jaw went slack. 'Mhm...that's it. Take all of it.'
Your second orgasm hit you like a physical blow. It was completely secondary to the first one, longer, deeper, and so intense your legs went weak, your entire upper body collapsing against his chest. You wept into his shoulder, your body trembling uncontrollably as you pulsed around him.
Jaafar let out a loud, strangled cry as your climax squeezed him, his body jerking beneath yours. He grabbed your waist, flipping you over in one powerful, effortless motion so you were flat on your back against the sofa cushions, your legs hooked over his broad shoulders to open you up completely.
'We're not done,' he growled, his voice thick and dripping with dominant heat.
He didn't give your overstimulated body a single second to rest. He dove back in, his thrusts shallow and incredibly fast, vibrating directly against your hypersensitive entrance.
'Jaafar, please, it's too much—I can't—' you sobbed out, your hands clawing at the fabric of the couch, your hips twitching under the sheer, unyielding overload of pleasure. Every touch felt like fire.
'You totally can, baby. I know it hurts how good it is,' he whispered wickedly, leaning down to trap your mouth in a deep, wet kiss, swallowing your frantic cries. He kept the pace brutal, shifting his angle slightly to grind against you with every single slam of his hips. 'Look at me. Don't close your eyes. Look at what you do to me.'
You forced your heavy lids open. He was staring down at you, his jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest, completely consumed by you. He let out a series of low, rhythmic groans with every deep thrust, the sound vibrating right against your chest.
The relentless speed, the vocal, needy sounds coming from his lips, and the sheer, unending friction pushed you straight over the edge for the third time. Your mind completely snapped. You let out a muffled scream into his mouth as your third climax tore through you, a violent, full-body shudder that had your toes curling and your muscles locking onto him like a trap.
The crushing, pulsing warmth of your third orgasm completely broke his stamina. Jaafar stiffened, his eyes flying wide open as a loud, guttural shout tore from his throat. He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, his hips locking flush against yours, and gave three final, desperate, heavy thrusts before his body completely gave out. He threw his head into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving violently as he pumped wave after wave of thick, burning come deep into your pulsing core, filling you completely to the brim.
The living room fell into an absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your loud, synchronized pants. Jaafar stayed buried inside you, his heavy, sweaty frame crushing you into the soft cushions of the couch, his heart beating like a trapped bird against your ribs.
After a long, quiet moment, he lifted his head, a completely dazed, dorkily satisfied grin breaking through his exhaustion. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your wet lips, before rolling onto his side and pulling you tightly against his chest, completely content to stay locked together for the rest of the night.
For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. You just lay there in the quiet living room, the scattered playing cards and wooden poker chips still littering the rug around the coffee table like colorful debris from a beautifully fought war.
Jaafar’s long fingers, still lightly trembling from the sheer intensity of his release, began to trace slow, lazy circles up and down your bare arm. A low, thoroughly pleased chuckle started deep in his chest, vibrating right against your cheek.
'Well,' he murmured, his voice incredibly husky, deep, and completely ruined from all the groaning. He reached down, his thumb gently catching your chin to tilt your face up so he could look into your heavy, hooded eyes. A lazy, devastatingly handsome smirk crawled back onto his lips. 'I think... I think it’s a tie, baby.'
summary: lazy sunday cuddles, an episode of masterchef, and one very overconfident boyfriend. when jaafar insists he could cook a better dish than the contestants on tv, you challenge him to prove it. a full-blown kitchen competition filled with flirting, sabotage, ridiculous bets, and two stubborn people refusing to admit defeat... until they realize tying is a lot more fun anyway.
warnings: just pure fluff, some teasing here and there, ass slap (just one), strip poker mention 😧
a/n: (part 2: 'strip poker' soon)
The low hum of the television was the loudest sound in the living room, broken only by the occasional clink of a fork against a plate. You were tucked firmly under Jaafar’s arm, his fingers lightly tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your bare shoulder, his touch sending a quiet baseline of warmth straight down your spine. The glaring blue light of the TV illuminated the dark room. MasterChef, your absolute ritual. You both watched it with the intensity of sports fans coaching from the couch, heavily invested in the success and spectacular failures of strangers.
On screen, a contestant was currently sweating bullets as the judges stared down at a sad, slightly broken emulsion.
'Oh, he’s so done,' Jaafar murmured, his voice vibrating right against your back, a low rumble you felt more than heard. He shifted, pulling you a fraction closer until there was no space left between you, his lips brushing the crown of your head. 'How do you split a basic butter sauce at this stage in the competition? It’s amateur hour.'
You snorted, lazily tilting your head back against his chest to look up at him. 'Oh, yeah, eeeasy to say from the couch, Chef Jackson. The pressure in that room is no joke.'
'Pressure or no pressure, I could do better than that blindfolded,' he said, a confident, lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark eyes dropped from the screen, locking onto yours with a heavy, playful heat that made your stomach do a minor flip. 'Dead serious. I could make a better plate than that right now. For you.'
You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest, an amused smirk playing on your face. 'Mmm, I highly doubt that. You almost burnt the garlic bread literally yesterday.'
Jaafar’s eyes snapped down to yours, his eyebrows raising as a challenge sparked in them. The lazy, cozy demeanor instantly vanished, replaced by that sharp, fiercely attractive glint of competitive fire. 'Oh, okay, that was one time, and I was entirely distracted. Wanna to bet?'
'I wanna bet.' you countered, your voice dropping into a matching, breathless challenge. You sat up entirely, crossing your arms, but leaning just close enough to keep the tension tight. You both had a streak of stubborn competitiveness that usually ended in marathon board game nights, but this was a new, much shiftier arena.
'Okay, bet,' Jaafar said, sitting up too, his eyes tracking the movement of your lips before snapping back to your gaze with absolute seriousness. 'Tomorrow. We are recreating the exact plate they just botched. The pan-seared duck breast with the blackberry reduction and parsnip purée. Best plate wins.'
'And what do I win when your duck comes out looking like a hockey puck?' you asked, leaning in until your noses almost touched.
Jaafar chuckled, a low, smooth sound that felt incredibly intimate in the quiet room. He leaned forward, closing the final inch of distance until his lips were hovering just under your ear, his breath hot against your skin. 'You sound very confident, baby. If I win, you’re on breakfast, lunch, and dinner duty for a week. No takeout.'
'And when I win,' you whispered back, turning your head so your lips nearly brushed his jawline, feeling him catch his breath, 'you have to detail my car, clean the kitchen for a week, and rub my feet every single night. No slacking.'
Jaafar let out a dramatic sigh, but his hands found your waist, giving it a gentle, possessive squeeze. 'Deal. Get some sleep, chef. You're gonna need every bit of your energy.'
The next morning, the grocery store felt less like a Saturday chore and more like a tactical, highly charged supply run. You both pushed a single cart, but your hands kept subtly blocking each other, skin rubbing against skin as you reached for the prime ingredients.
'Don't even think about taking that parsnip,' Jaafar warned, his voice a low purr as he trapped you against the vegetable display, swiping a particularly plump, smooth root vegetable from right over your shoulder.
'I was aiming for the one next to it anyway,' you lied, leaning back slightly into his chest, tossing a carton of blackberries into the cart. 'Mine are riper. My reduction is going to make Gordon Ramsay cry tears of joy.'
'We'll see about that,' he murmured. His eyes lingered heavily on your lips for a heartbeat before he pulled back with a slow, wicked smirk and let his hand swing down, delivering a sharp, playful slap right against your ass.
The crisp smack echoed just enough to make your eyes widen, a sudden flush of heat rushing straight to your cheeks.
'Jaafar!' you hissed in a breathless whisper, throwing a quick look around the produce aisle to make sure no one was watching.
He just laughed, a low, thoroughly pleased sound, already pushing the cart a few steps ahead of you with a swagger in his step. 'Eyes on the prize, chef,' he called back over his shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming with absolute mischief. 'The clock starts as soon as we get home.'
By the time you got back to your shared home, the air in the kitchen was thick with anticipation. You unloaded the groceries together, putting away the standard household items into the cabinets and fridge, leaving only the battle rations on the massive marble kitchen island.
The island separated the kitchen perfectly. You took the side closest to the stove and Jaafar took the side opposite, facing you.
You reached behind your back, tying the strings of your maroon apron. Across from you, Jaafar was doing the same with his red one. He didn't look down at the knot. His eyes were fixed entirely on you, tracking the line of your throat, the slope of your shoulders, with an intense, unblinking focus that felt heavy and deliberate.
Jaafar knew your soft spots just as well as you knew his. He knew that when you got flustered, your timing threw itself off. And you knew that if you messed with his pristine organization, his inner perfectionist would start to panic.
'Alright,' Jaafar said, his voice dropping into a serious, commanding tone that sent a little shiver down your spine as he set a digital timer on the counter between you. 'We do it exactly like them. Sixty minutes on the clock. Timed, identical ingredients, and everything has to be plated before the buzzer. No extensions.'
'Fine by me,' you said, resting your palms flat on the marble, leaning across the island until you were directly in his line of sight. 'Prepare to lose, Jackson.'
'I never lose, baby,' he replied softly, leaning in too, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heavy, lingering second before giving your lips a sweet peck, he definitely knew your sweet spots. 'Starting... now.'
He hit the timer. The loud, rhythmic ticking began.
The kitchen instantly erupted into a flurry of motion. Pots banged against the stove, knives tapped rhythmically against cutting boards, and the sharp, sweet scent of parsnips and blackberries began to fill the air.
For the first twenty minutes, it was pure, focused work. But as the clock ticked down, the psychological warfare began, and neither of you played fair.
You were carefully scoring the fat on your duck breast, ensuring the diamond pattern was perfect so the fat would render out beautifully. Jaafar was across from you, humming a low, smooth melody, the exact song he knew always got stuck in your head, his deep voice carrying over the sizzle of the kitchen.
'Jaafar, stop humming, you're breaking my concentration,' you muttered, trying to keep your hand steady.
'Just focusing, baby,' he said innocently, though the wicked smirk on his face told a completely different story. He leaned way over the island, reaching past your cutting board to grab the salt cell. As he did, his warm forearm brushed deliberately, slowly against yours. His thumb lightly grazed the ultra-sensitive skin on the inside of your wrist, a known weak spot.
You gasped slightly, a sudden spike of heat shooting up your arm, your knife slipping just a millimeter. 'Hey! That's a foul!'
'No rules against borrowing seasoning,' he murmured, giving you a slow wink before retreating back to his side, throwing his duck into a cold pan to start the render.
'Oh, so you want to play dirty?' you muttered, a small, dangerous smile tugging at your lips.
You waited until he was at the crucial stage of straining his parsnip purée through a fine-mesh sieve, a task that required both hands, immense bicep control, and absolute focus to get it silky smooth. You casually walked around the island to 'grab a tasting spoon' right next to him.
Instead of grabbing the spoon, you stepped directly into his personal space, pressing your front lightly against his side. You reached up, pretending to fix the collar of his shirt, your fingers lingering on the warm skin of his neck, your thumb slowly tracing his sharp jawline. You leaned in close, your lips nearly touching his earlobe as you whispered, 'Your purée smells a little...lumpy, handsome.'
Jaafar’s hands froze entirely on his task. His jaw tightened, a low, ragged growl escaping his throat as his muscles flexed under your touch. He turned his head sharply, trying to catch your lips to penalize you right there but you stepped back out of his reach, laughing softly as you sashayed back to your side of the island.
'Ten minutes!' you called out, checking the timer, checking out the way his eyes tracked you.
'You're a menace,' he muttered, his chest heaving slightly as he quickly returned to his duck, flipping it over to sear the flesh side, his focus entirely rattled but his determination through the roof.
The final five minutes were absolute chaos. The initial playfulness melted away into pure, adrenaline fueled focus. Both of you were plating, wiping edges with paper towels, and strategically placing microgreens with the intensity of neurosurgeons.
'Five, four, three, two, one..hands up!' Jaafar shouted as the timer let out a shrill alarm.
Both of you raised your hands in the air, panting, hair slightly disheveled, flour and sauce smudged on your aprons.
Between you sat the two plates.
To any outsider, both looked incredible. You had both managed to render the duck fat down to a crispy, golden skin. Your parsnip purée was a pristine, velvety swoosh across the white ceramic, topped with slices of perfectly rosy, medium-rare duck and a glossy, deep `purple blackberry reduction. Jaafars plate was equally stunning, his reduction perfectly drizzled in elegant dots, his duck stacked neatly.
You both leaned over the island, inspecting each other's work like harsh critics, though your eyes kept snapping to each other.
'Well,' you said, trying to catch your breath, a proud smile breaking across your face. 'Look at us. We didn't scramble the eggs, and we didn't split the sauce.'
Jaafar looked from the plates up to you, the intense competitive fire instantly softening into that warm, adoring gaze he always saved just for you. He stepped around the island, putting an immediate end to the distance between you, and wrapped his arms firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.
'I hate to admit it,' he whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple that made your eyelashes flutter, 'but your plate looks beautiful.'
'Yours does too,' you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck, smelling the rich, intoxicating scent of his cologne clinging to him. 'So... who wins?'
Jaafar smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached over, grabbed two forks, and handed one to you. 'Only one way to find out. Let's eat.'
You raised an eyebrow, accepting the fork with a mock serious nod. 'May the best chef win.'
Simultaneously, you both dove into each other’s plates, cutting a perfect slice of duck, sweeping it through the velvety purée, and catching a precise drop of the deep blackberry reduction. You traded bites, chewing in absolute, agonizingly tense silence.
Jaafar’s eyes closed for a moment as he tasted yours. His jaw worked slowly, and you watched him intently, looking for any sign of defeat. When he opened his eyes, there was a reluctant, deeply impressed gleam in them.
'The parsnip is perfect,' he admitted, his voice low and smooth. 'It’s completely silky. And the acidity in your reduction balances the fat beautifully.' He paused, a wicked smirk crawling back onto his lips. 'But...'
'Oh, here it comes. But what?' you asked, taking a bite of his duck.
Your tongue instantly hit the crispy, perfectly rendered skin of his plate. It shattered with a distinct, satisfying crunch, the meat underneath incredibly juicy and seasoned to absolute perfection. You tried your hardest to keep your face completely blank, but Jaafar caught the tiny, involuntary widening of your eyes.
'But my skin is crispier,' he finished triumphantly, leaning his hips back against the marble island, crossing his arms over his chest. 'You rushed the render at the end because you were too busy trying to seduce me.'
'I did not rush it,' you protested, though your cheeks heated up slightly. You took another bite of his plate just to be sure. 'Okay, fine. Your texture is incredible. But your purée has a tiny bit too much white pepper. It hits the back of my throat a little too hard.'
Jaafar’s eyes darkened with a sudden, wicked amusement. A slow, heavy smirk crawled onto his lips, and he shook his head slightly, repeating the words almost to himself in a low, teasing murmur that sent a sudden jolt of electricity straight through you. 'Hits the back of your throat...'
Your jaw dropped slightly before you rolled your eyes, letting out a breathless, flustered laugh and swatting his chest. 'Jaafar! Oh my god, be serious for one second.'
'Just admit it, it's a tie,' Jaafar chuckled, completely unbothered as he stepped right back into your space, eliminating every inch of air between you. He took the fork from your hand, setting both utensils down on the counter behind you, his hands settling firmly on your waist to pull you completely flush against him, his fingers digging into your hips.
'A tie?' You scoffed gently, though your hands naturally slid up his chest to rest on his shoulders, your heart beating fast from the sudden shift in his energy. 'Chef Jackson, that sounds like a cop-out from a man who doesn't want to detail a car.'
'And you sound like a chef who doesn't want to cook for a week,' he countered, his dark eyes dancing with pure affection and mischief. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, the heat from the stove and the intensity of the last hour still radiating between you. 'How about we compromise, mh? I clean the kitchen tonight, you cook tomorrow, and we call it even.'
'What about the foot rubs?' you bargained, tilting your chin up, your lips tantalizingly close to his.
Jaafar let out a low, breathless laugh, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, sending thrills straight down your spine. 'I'll throw in the foot rubs just because I like you.'
'Deal,' you murmured.
The competitive edge finally evaporated, leaving behind the familiar, comfortable warmth of your Sunday routine, dialed up to a whole new temperature. Jaafar didn't waste any time closing the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deep, devastatingly thorough kiss that tasted faintly of sweet blackberries and pure indulgence. His hands moved down to the small of your back, lifting you effortlessly so you could sit on the edge of the marble island, your legs wrapping slightly around his waist right between your two half-eaten masterpiece plates.
When he finally pulled back, he was breathing a little heavier, his thumb gently wiping a stray smudge of flour from your cheek, his gaze incredibly soft.
'Come on,' Jaafar whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. He nodded toward the living room where the TV was still playing the next episode of MasterChef in the background. 'Let's go back to the couch, and see who else we can judge from a distance.'
'Best idea you've had all day,' you smiled, hopping down from the counter, though your hand lingered in his, reluctant to break the contact.
As you both sank into the cushions, you reached for the remote, scrolling aimlessly through the TV guide to find something to watch. You tucked yourself firmly back into his side, completely content with the kitchen tie.
Jaafar’s arm settled heavily over your shoulders, his long fingers lightly tracing lazy patterns against your bare skin. For a moment, he seemed entirely focused on the screen, but then his eyes flashed with a sudden, playful spark. He reached down, tangling his fingers tightly with yours and halting your scrolling.
'You know...' Jaafar murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear, his voice dripping with a lazy, seductive charm. 'Since we're both so deeply competitive, next time we should try a different game. Like strip poker. Purely for the sake of competition, y’know?'
You let out a soft laugh, dropping the remote onto your lap and rolling your eyes, though a familiar thrill skipped across your skin. You turned your head to glance up at him, a matching, confident smirk playing on your lips.
'Oh, really? Bold of you to assume you wouldn't be the first one down to your socks, Jackson.'
'Is that a challenge?' he countered, his grip on your hand tightening playfully as he pulled you even deeper under his arm, his dark eyes heavy with a sudden, dangerous playfulness.
'Consider the deal accepted,' you whispered against his jaw.
You leaned your head back against his chest, your fingers still tightly laced with his as you finally picked a show to watch, already looking forward to the next rematch.
synopsis: it takes five simple words for jaafar to realize he might have a breeding kink.
cw: smut, established relationship, p in v , creampie, fingering (f!receiving), kissing, praise, dirty talk, pool sex, breeding
requested
the afternoon heat was sweltering today, making the crisp, blue water of the pool look like an oasis. you were flat on your stomach on a lounge chair, the straps of your bikini undone to avoid tan lines. your eyes were closed, completely spaced out as the warm sun baked your skin, oblivious to the patio doors sliding open.
the warmth had settled deep into your skin by now, leaving your limbs pleasantly heavy against the chair. you let out a quiet sigh, tilting your face a little further into the sun as you soaked up every last bit of the afternoon heat.
a shadow fell over your back, followed by a playful smack right on your ass.
you yelped, scrambling to grab your bikini top as you bolted upright. "jaafar!"
he just laughed, a sound that never failed to make your stomach flip. he stood over you in swim shorts, his brown skin gleaming in the sunlight. before you could pretend to be mad, he leaned down, catching your lips in a lazy kiss. his hands rested on the sides of your chair, framing your body, his playful smirk melting into something hungrier.
"miss me?" he murmured against your lips, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
"only a tiny bit," you teased, reaching up wrapping your arms around his neck.
“mm... don't buy that,” jaafar said, his voice low. “you were completely zoned out until i walked up.”
“i was relaxing," you countered, a small smile tugging at your lips. "there's a difference."
"right," he tilted his head, his gaze dropping shamelessly to where your breasts were loosely covered. "well, you've relaxed enough. get up."
"why?"
"because it's hot as hell out here," he said, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "come in the pool with me."
"is that your excuse to get me wet?" you teased.
jaafar chuckled, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "please. i can do a much better job than the pool."
"oh, really?" you rolled your eyes playfully, though your heart did a little flutter at the drop in his voice.
you clutched the loose fabric securely against your chest as you glanced over at the sparkling water, suddenly feeling the heat a lot more than you had five minutes ago. "tie my top for me and i'll think about it."
jaafar’s eyes drifted down to where your fingers were gripping the straps. his smirk only widened. "i say you keep it off."
"pervert," you laughed, giving his shoulder a weak shove.
he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, completely unbothered at what you just called him.
he knelt down beside you, pivoting your body gently so your back was facing him. the warmth of his hands against your bare back sending goosebumps over your skin. his long fingers caught the loose strings, brushing your back as he pulled the fabric taut and tied a quick knot.
"all done" he said with a teasing tilt to his voice.
you started to glance over your shoulder to thank him, but instead, he scooped you up, lifting you into his arms.
you squealed, laughing as you clung to him while he carried you down the shallow steps into the water.
the cool water lapped your skin, making you gasp against his chest. when your feet finally touched the bottom, he still didn't let you go.
one arm stayed loosely around your waist as the water swirled around your hips.
"see?" jaafar asked, a satisfied smile on his face as he looked down at you. "isn't this better?"
"i guess," you murmured with a smile. you smoothed your wet hands over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "i was perfectly fine up there, though."
"you were melting up there. admit it. you wanted me to come save you," he leaned his forehead against yours.
"save me?" you laughed, tilting your head back. "you smacked my ass and dumped me in a pool, jaafar. that's not rescuing."
"it's my version of it," he murmured, still smiling. his thumb tracing your hip underwater. the touch was light, casual, but it sent a streak of heat straight up your spine.
the teasing smile on his face softened as his gaze lingered on your mouth. the pool was quiet, the only sound being the soft lap of the water against the edge. he shifted closer, his thighs brushing against yours under the surface, trapping you in his space.
"still cold?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"not anymore," you breathed, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. the shift in the air was palpable, making you reach up to wrap your arms tighter around his neck.
jaafar let out a low hum of approval, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he slowly guided you backward through the water until your back met the cool tile wall of the pool.
he stepped in close, closing what little space remained between you. his breath brushed your cheek as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss along your jaw.
his hands drifted back up your waist, his thumbs settling just beneath the edge of your bikini top.
when his mouth found yours again, the playful energy from before had faded completely.
this kiss was intoxicating. his lips parted yours effortlessly, his tongue sliding in to claim you in a possessive rhythm. you let out a soft sigh into his mouth, your fingers tangling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as if there wasn't already a total lack of space between you.
your skin was tingling, caught in a dizzying haze between the cold water lapping at your waist and the heat radiating from wherever his skin met yours.
one of his large palms slid up from your hip, tracing the wet curve of your waist before his fingers splayed against your bare ribs, pressing you firmly against the wall. his thumb stroked slow circles against your skin, sending a rush of heat straight to your core.
his other hand slid up your spine, his damp fingers threading into your hair as he tipped your head back, deepening the kiss until you were left breathless, a quiet whimper slippng into his mouth.
the kiss grew hungrier, almost turning desperate as his tongue tangled with yours. he pushed deeper, his tongue moving over yours in a bruising heat. it was a demanding sort of kiss – the wet, velvety slide of his tongue swirling against yours, tasting you and drinking in the soft, choked whimpers that escaped your throat every time his lips locked tighter over yours. he dominated the space entirely, his pace slow but firm, breath mingling between you until your knees felt weak under the water.
finally breaking the contact just enough to breathe, his mouth slid down to trace a burning path along your jawline before burying his face into the crook of your neck.
he nipped at the sensitive skin there, making you arch your back off the tile wall, your chest pressing firmly into his. underwater, his thigh slid between yours, his knee brushing high and firm against your center – the pressure making you gasp, your fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders just to stay steady.
jaafar pulled back slowly, his chest rising and falling against yours in quick, shallow breaths.
for a beat, neither of you said a word. you just looked at each other. his eyes were glossed oveer, still fixed on yours. you were looking up at him just as hungrily, your lips parted, completely breathless.
his hand slid down from your ribs, tracing a path down your stomach. his large palm rested over the waistband of your bikini bottoms, pausing there, silently checking in. you gave a small encouraging nod.
with that, he slipped his hand under the waistband of your bikini bottoms, his fingers finding the already slick, swollen heat of you.
you let out a soft gasp against his collarbone as his fingers began to move. he didn't rush, despite the heat in his eyes. his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in light circles under the water.
he slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, moving them deep and slow. your jaw fell open at the sensation.
he knew exactly how to hook his fingers, finding the perfect angle with a practiced ease that had you melting.
your hips instinctively twitched against his hand, chasing the pressure as he pumped his fingers into you, his thumb working in perfect synchronization against your clit until you were completely at his mercy.
your hands flew down his chest, your fingers pawing urgently at the waistband of his dark swim shorts. you found the thick ridge of his length, already straining hard against the fabric.
clutched by impatience, you gripped the front of his shorts and tugged them down, your fingers wrapping around his thick, aching dick to pull him free. he let out a hiss as your hand squeezed him, his jaw clenching as you guided the blunt head directly against your aching core.
"so impatient," jaafar murmured, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips even as his breath hitched. underwater, his hands slid down to clamp firmly onto your hips. "can't even wait a second? thought you only missed me a tiny bit."
you let out a breathless laugh, looking him dead in the eye. "'m just trying to help you out. you looked a little stuck."
jaafar let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "oh, is that what you're doing?"
"jus’ being thoughtful," you whispered, your fingers lightly tracing the back of his neck.
his large hand gripped your thigh underwater, lifting your leg and hooking it high over his hip, shifting his weight so the blunt head of his cock pressed right against your aching center.
he didn't push inside yet.
instead, he leaned his full weight into you, pinning you flat against the cool tile wall, letting you feel him straining against you.
“yeah?” he murmured. “so thoughtful. i’ll make sure to properly show you my appreciation, then.”
he gave his hips a slow nudge forward, letting his cock stretch against your entrance, his breath sending a shiver down your spine as he leaned down.
he didn't make you wait any longer. his grip on your waist tightened smoothly, holding you securely against the wall as he drove forward in one deep thrust, burying his entire length inside you.
you let out a shattered cry into his shoulder, your head spinning from the fullness of him.
he kept his pace torturously, beautifully slow, establishing a rhythm that made you feel every single inch of him.
every time he pulled back, the pool water rushed into the small space between you, only to be displaced a second later as he drove forward again, filling you and stretching you to your absolute limit.
"look at you," jaafar murmured against your ear, his voice low. his hands held your hips steady, guiding your body to match his deep strokes. "takin’ all of me so easily... y'feel so heavenly, baby."
he took his time with every single push, drawing out the pleasure until your fingers dug deep into his shoulders and your breath came in short, ragged hitches.
"that's it," he whispered, a soft, encouraging hum in his throat as your head rolled back against the tile wall. he leaned up to press a tender kiss to your temple, his chest heaving against yours. "jus’ like that. doing so good for me."
he paused for a moment at the very hilt of a stroke, burying himself as deeply as he could and holding you there. he tilted his head down, his brown eyes locking onto yours, watching the dazed look on your face.
"you okay?" he murmured as he gave his hips a tiny twitch forward – a nudge that made your breath catch. "hm? talk to me."
you tried to answer, to tell him you were perfect, but all that came out was a broken keen as his dick drove into your gummy walls just right.
jaafar smirked, biting his lip as he listened to your voice break. he slowly pulled back, letting the water rush between you, before driving back in with another push.
"that feel good?" he coaxed softly, his voice gentle. "tell me how it feels, pretty."
you squeezed your eyes shut as your fingers tightened in his hair. the sensation of him moving inside you underwater was entirely consuming – thick, heavy, and so deep it felt like it was echoing all up in your chest. every glide of his cock pushed you right to the brink, reducing you to a series of helpless, high-pitched whimpers. you were building up so fast, a coil of heat wrapping around your lower stomach.
sex felt so different under water, the natural buoyancy of the pool lifting your hips just enough to let him slide in even deeper. his cock drove back in, locking the moisture out and stretching your sensitive walls.
every shift of his hips caught an involuntary mewl in your throat as you desperately chased the edge.
"so-ah, so good," you choked out, your voice a breathless whisper that broke into a hiccup as he hit that perfect spot again. "jaafar, please – it feels so good."
hearing his name tumble out alongside those needy noises was breaking his restraint bit by bit.
his grip on your waist tightened until his knuckles turned white, his pace picking up.
"such a good girl for me," jaafar rasped, his voice low against your ear as he thrust up into that spot that makes you see stars. "taking every single inch of me so perfectly. lemme hear you, sweetheart. show me how much you love it."
you couldn't even form a coherent sentence, the words completely disintegrating into whines.
"i lov–i love it," you cried out as you clung to his shoulders, your hips tilting up to meet him. “love it so much."
jaafar’s relentless pace was pushing you toward the edge, the heat gathering so deep in your lower stomach that it made your thighs tremble against his sides. your vision blurred, overwhelmed by his cock stretching you out– fucking into you. it made you feel like you were melting from the inside out.
you were completely drunk on the stretch of him, your brain short-circuiting from the intoxicating heat of his skin and the pace he was setting.
it was the absolute filth of the moment talking, a desperate, need to be claimed by him. you needed to feel his cum flooding you, to feel him leave his mark so deep inside your walls that you couldn't forget it if you tried.
"please," you whined. you locked your legs tighter around his waist, tilting your hips up to swallow every single inch of him. "jaafar… put a baby in me. fill me up."
a guttural groan tore from deep in jaafar's chest, your words hitting him like a physical blow. whatever control he had left just snapped.
his eyebrows furrowed as his grip on your waist turned bruisingly tight, pinning you against the tile as his hips started jerking frantically, completely losing the rhythm he initially set.
your cunt was gripping him so tight, a helpless whimper broke past his lips as he slammed into you over and over.
"fuck, fuck – say that again," jaafar choked out, broken moans muffling against your neck. "please, baby– say it again."
your vision began to spot, the world narrowing down to just the sound of his whines and the wet slap of his hips against yours. his demand made your stomach twist, a greedy heat flaring up that made you want to scream.
you couldn't think, couldn't do anything but cling to him as you were dragged under.
you tilted your head back, eyes squeezed shut, your voice cracking into a sob as you gave him exactly what he asked for.
"put a baby in me," you gasped, your voice shuddering. "please, fill me up, j."
the words acted like a trigger; your hips buckled, your walls clamping down around him so tight it feels like you're trying to swallow him whole, and you finally shattered, a whimper tearing out of your chest as you fell apart, your pussy clenching around him tight.
jaafar let out a shattered gasp, his body going rigid as your walls pulse around him, squeezing him so hard he can barely take it.
he wasn’t even pumping anymore – he just shoved himself into you as hard as he can, his hips trembling violently against yours as he started to spill into you.
it was like a dam broke, any remaining filter gone as the words just poured out of him.
"fuck, yeah, yeah, take it all," he rasped. "gonna fill you up so deep, baby…”
his hips stuttered – almost like his own words were egging him on even more. he forced himself even deeper, slamming his pelvis against yours with every staggered breath, his dick twitching inside you as cum spurted out in heavy ropes, filling your pussy to the brim, flooding you so deep until your insides were coated with his seed.
"take–" he choked out with a grinding shove.
"–every–" another desperate thrust followed.
"–single–" his hips snapped forward hard, bottoming out against you.
"–fucking drop."
the staggering force of his climax slowly began to ground him, the tremors in his thighs subsiding into an exhausted weight. jaafar let out one last, shuddering whine against your throat, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as his breathing stayed ragged.
he stayed buried inside you, refusing to pull back even an inch. his hips stay locked flush against yours, acting as a plug to seal everything in. you can feel the swollen heat of him twitching weakly one last time, keeping your walls occupied while the warmth of his seed settled inside you.
slowly, his hands lost their grip on your waist as they slid up your back. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, making you feel his heartbeat slow down to match yours.
you let out a soft breath, your fingers curling into his shoulders.
"jaafar," you whisper against his neck.
he let out a hum in response, his lips brushing against your wet skin. he didn’t move away. his fingers tangled into your hair, tilting your head back just enough so he could press a soft kiss to your lips.
you smiled into the kiss.
jaafar caught the curve of your lips against his and pulled back the tiniest bit, an infectious smile breaking across his own face as his eyes fluttered open, still heavy-lidded.
a quiet laugh bubbled out of you, your shoulders shaking slightly against the tile.
jaafar’s smile widened, his thumb lightly stroking your cheek as he watched you, completely infatuated. "what?" he murmured. "what's so funny?"
"nothing," you breathed, winding your arms a little tighter around his neck. "just... you kinda went a bit crazy just now."
he laughed softly, his nose brushing against yours as his hips nudged forward just a bit, reminding you exactly how deep he was still buried inside you.
"yeah?" he whispered, his smile turning a little sheepish as a flush crept up his neck. "i don’t know… i think i just learned something new about myself."
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
i missed jaafar omg i feel like i haven't written for him in so long
but also writing this kept making me think of chlorine LMAO
summary: you catch michael jerking off to one of your sexy little polaroid pic’s that he stole from your boyfriend's wallet. The sweet girl that you are, you decide to put him out his misery.
warnings: heavy smut with little plot, cheating, dom!reader, sub!michael, virgin!michael, creampie (sorry not sorry), f! oral receiving, m! oral receiving, michael is heavily inexperienced,
a/n: I’ve lowk been wanting to write something virgin michael based & this is what I came up with!! & also I’ve been in heat this week for some reason so fuck all that cute shit here’s sumthin dirty xoxo
𑣲masterlist/taglist
Michael plops himself on the edge of his bed, the sunlight pooling through the window behind him & on the polariod he’s holding, a polaroid of you. In the picture, you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap in an oversized tee, probably his. Your bare ass is jutted out as you look back, smiling cutely at the camera lens, your boyfriend’s hand gripping the fat of your cheek. As much as Michael loves it, it doesn’t belong to him.
The Polaroid he’s holding actually belongs to your boyfriend, your loyal & loving boyfriend. He found it poking out his wallet that was laying on the couch while you, Janet, his brothers & of course your boyfriend, were in the occupied in the back garden drinking & chatting, completely unaware of his sly acts.
Michael’s always been a bit nosey, especially when it comes to you & your boyfriend. He can’t help but despise him, hates the way he looks at you, hates the way he touches you. He’d always feel a way when you brought him over almost every-time you visited. He was still such a boy even in his 20’s, so lustful & envious yet so shy & enclosed.
He’d always ogle at you from across the room anytime you weren’t looking. The natural pout of your ripe pink lips, or the way your tits would bounce a little any time you giggled or moved, practically threatening to fall out of your skimpy camisole.
He lays back on the bed, placing the sultry Polaroid next to him so he’s able to pull of his shorts & his boxers, his eyes never leaving the picture beside him. He leaves them pooled at his ankles, too excited & frantic to take them off completely.
His cock is already rock hard, standing upright, just begging to be milked after multiple painful hours of weeping pre-cum in his pants from the way your ass looked in those denim shorts today. Thank god it was summer, he thought to himself.
His cheeks flush hot & pink as he picks up the picture again, trembling from adrenaline. He knows it’s wrong, you’re taken, someone else’s property. But Michael’s a traditional man, a boyfriend ain’t a husband is it?
He wraps a shaky hand around his meaty shaft, long n’ full veins already making an appearance under the skin from his intense arousal.
Shallow pathetic whimpers fall from his lips as he gently strokes his cock, staring at your slutty little picture, his mouth agape. He’s never been so erect in his life, he can barely wrap it around his hand from how big it’s gotten.
"God help me." He whispers, his voice box cracking.
He was obsessed with you, he’s had a crush on you ever since Janet brought you over, he’s just never acted on it as he’s doing now.
His attempts to keep his eyes out the back of his head start to fail as he gets closer to his climax, his hips bucking sloppily into his fist as he shuts his eyes, falling deeper into his imagination & less in reality with each stroke. Your name fell out of his mouth instinctively like a mantra, his cock a ticking time bomb in his grasp.
All of a sudden, his selfish trance was broken with a creak with what sounded like a door. He looks to the sound briefly, thinking it was something else. But it wasn't, it was you. You'd been standing in the doorway for at least 2 minutes, leaning against it with your mouth pried open in a teasing, judgmental manner. Secretly, you liked watching him touch himself when he knew no one was watching, you found it primal & dirty.
It was you who'd pushed the door open a little so it would creak, making yourself known to Michael.
As soon as he saw you, he shot up & grabbed his boxers to pull them up in a scurried motion. He looked like a deer in headlights, his eyes all blown out & scattered. You watch him slide the Polaroid under his pillow, thinking you wouldn't notice, but of course you did.
Before he could open his mouth to talk, you butt in.
"I was just walkin' past, & I heard my name?" you coo, your sweet Indiana accent making him even more shy.
You step into the room, closing & locking the door behind you with a small click as he sits up. His shorts are still pooled at his ankles as you move closer, taking a seat next to him.
He plants his face in his hands, stiff as anything. He genuinely looked as if he could cry. The last thing he expected to see was you, that's the last person he'd want to see him in that state.
"m' so sorry—" Is all he could manage, his voice shaky & eyes glossy as he looks at you, "please don't tell Janet, I'll do anything for you not to tell her, Im so sorry—"
You place a hand on his cheek, caressing him softly as you tilt your head with a small pout of your lips.
"I ain't gonna tell anyone, okay baby?" You mewl at him like a kid as you nod.
He nods along like he has no mind of his own, totally dumbfounded by anything you tell him. Now that you think of it, he kind of reminds you of a puppy.
"I wasn't thinkin' about you though, I promise, it was just to some Playboy magazines." He protests.
You let out a little giggle as you pull out the Polaroid sticking out from under his pillow like a sore thumb. You hold it up in front of his face with an amused expression.
“What’s this then huh?”
You watch the colour literally drain out of Michael's face as he goes silent. His pulse booms in his ears as he feels his hands grow clammy. He stammers as he tries to explain himself to no avail.
"That's not mine—" He says.
"I know it's not yours silly, it's my boyfriend's." You reply, your bottom lip drawing in from how horny he must've been to take this.
"N-no, but I dont know how it got here."
You tut, putting the polaroid on the bedside table.
“I’m not dumb, I mean look—“ you lift his hand off his crotch, revealing his hard poking under his boxers. He hisses through his teeth from the mere sensation of you touching his hand.
“You’re still hard, I know you were touching yourself to me. You’re such a little perv.”
“No I promise it wasn’t like that.” He presses, shaking his head.
You start to pull his shorts off from his ankles, startling him.
“What are you doing?” He says frantically, his eyes darting back & fourth from your face to where you’re pulling his shorts off.
“Shh, just relax.” You whisper, throwing his shorts to the floor, “I’m just trying to help you, but you can’t tell my boyfriend, you hearing me?”
Selfishly, you wanted his dick after seeing the size of it. & plus, you’ve always found him cute, Janet’s shy older brother who doesn’t talk much always appealed to you.
Michael watches you as if you’ll disappear if he blinks or moves an inch. He nods slowly in regard to your statement, understanding what’s going on. To him everything feels like a hazy dream, like he hasn’t accepted its reality yet.
You throw his shorts on the ground, leaving him in his boxers as you situate yourself in-between his legs. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him under the fabric like an incubus, ready to feed of him.
You caress his slim thighs, the stubble of hair making your palms tingle.
“Wait, this is wrong. This is really wrong.” Michael whines, dragging a hand across his face as he watches you tug at the hem of his boxers.
“I’ve always had a little thing for you Mikey, y’know that?” You say, pulling down his boxers & off his feet.
“—Always found you so cute.” You continue.
His cock sprung free the second you pulled down his boxers, hitting his lower abdomen. His tip was a deep mauve, glistening pre-cum still gathered at the top. His chest rises & falls as he stares at you, waiting for you to make another move.
You take his shaft in your hand & you can barely get it around. He bites his bottom lip at the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him. You bring your hand up to his mouth, laying your palm out.
“Spit,” you tell him.
He does as you say, gathering as much salvia as he can to put on your hand. You rub the fluids onto the head of his cock as you begin stroking slowly.
Michael’s eyes pinch shut tightly as he battles with something deep inside him. He’s tried to be holy his entire life, as unlustful as possible, following the ways of God. Not only that, but he was also thinking about how angry his brothers would be if they found out he betrayed their close friend. So many things were circling in his mind.
That thinking was soon brought to a stop as he feels something warm & wet touch him down there. He opens his eyes, seeing you bent slightly with your plumpy lips wrapped perfectly around his swollen tip.
“Oh my god,” he groans.
You swirl your tongue around his tip as you watch him squirm & struggle. His knuckles turning white as he tugs at the sheets beside him. You loved how in control you felt. You wrap a hand around the bottom of his base, not being able to take him all.
You begin bobbing your head up & down his shaft enthusiastically, squeezing him tighter with your wrapped hand as little gags rip from your throat, making him swell larger in your mouth. You love your boyfriend, but you didn’t expect Janet’s brother’s to be bigger than him. You release him from your mouth with a wet pop, stroking him absentmindedly.
“Anyone ever done this to you before?” You question with a twinkle in your eye.
Michael shakes his head frantically, his breath now completely erratic.
“No never, I’ve never done something like this before.” He admits, his cheeks flushed a light pink.
You hum in satisfaction, “you’re so innocent, that’s what I loved about you. You ain’t like everyone else, you’re pure.”
Michael’s unable to respond as he watches you remove your t-shirt, leaving you in your black laced bra. You lean down, giving his cock one last lick from bottom to top, making him wince & contract.
You stand on your feet as you push him back so he’s laying flat on his back, helpless. You reach behind you, unclasping your bra. Your perky tits fall free, sitting politely infront of him as you let the useless material fall to the ground.
“You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” Michael says barely above a whisper. His mouth falls agape as he gawks at them like a moth to a flame.
You giggle as you bend down, pushing your capris down your legs & off your feet. You follow along with your panties, throwing them onto his chest. He wastes no time in grabbing & touching them as if they’re gold. He brings them to his face, inhaling the natural scent of you he’d been dreaming of.
Never would you think you’d be standing in front of Michael stark naked. He relishes in the sight of you, his cock visually twitching as he furrows his brows. He comes back to reality for a second.
“What if someone comes? My brothers or Janet—“
“They won’t, just be quiet & they won’t okay?” You say, walking over to him as you situate yourself on his lap.
You were just about to grab & position him to your entrance when he stops you, grabbing your waist.
“Wait, can I?” He whispers nervously, pointing to your pussy.
You get off him, looking a little confused. You think you know what he’s asking for, yet you love to play games.
“Can you what baby? Use the right words.”
He hesitates before finally saying, “Can I lick it? Just wanna taste it so bad.”
“C’mere then.”
You nod with little giggle as you lean your back on his headboard spreading your legs in-front of him. You play with yourself with one hand, the other reaching out to place on his head as he lays down on his stomach. He looks up at you momentarily as you thread his curls between your fingers tediously.
He latches his mouth on your pussy instantly, lapping up your juices from bottom to top. The hums of satisfaction from him send a vibration to your clit, making you tense up & whimper. For someone who’s never eaten pussy before, he does it pretty well. Your boyfriend never made you feel this way, not enough desire as Michael has.
He continues suckling gently, moving to random places that wouldn’t usually bring pleasure, completely messy & inexperienced but so damn desperate.
“Feels real good Mikey, just like that don’t stop m’kay?” You breathe out, your thighs starting to clench as your eyes become teary.
You pinch your eyes shut, the muffled sounds of him slurping up your arousal adding to your pleasure. His hand comes up to gently grab one of your breasts.
“Right there, gonna come, y-yeah—“
Before you can process anything else, an orgasm rips through you with searing force. You arch your back into a sharp C as Michael makes an attempt to keep riding you through it with his mouth. Deep guttural moans erupt from your throat as you cover it with your hand, trying to stay quiet.
Michael sits up, wiping his chin with his wrist as he smiles in pleasure.
“You taste,” he pauses, “so good.”
You push him back down again to his original position, crawling on top of him as you hover yourself above his erect cock. You grab his face gently, pulling him in closer for a messy kiss. He’s probably been dreaming of simply kissing you for a while.
He moans into the kiss as your tongues battle for dominance, both of you extremely horny & greedy for eachother.
You reach down & grab his base, angling him perfectly with your weeping slit. Once it’s in the perfect position, you sit up & place both your hands on his chest.
“Remember, not a soul.” You remind him, placing a finger over his damp lips.
Michael blinks at you with his big brown adoring eyes, humming in submission as he waits impatiently to be inside of you. He’s excitement is tripled due to him never having sex, always having to wonder how it felt.
Finally, you start to sink down onto his length slowly. Each inch fills you up to the brim more & more, causing your eyes to roll back automatically. You reach the bottom, wiggling your ass you try to squeeze the last inch inside.
“It's so much bigger than his, fuck.” You whimper as you start to create little bounces.
Michael’s head falls back as low strangled groans rip from his throat. He’s not touching you yet, as if he’s afraid to overstep a boundary.
“You can touch me, Michael.” You say in between moans.
You bring his hands up to grab your hips, looking at you dumbfounded. He grabs you so gently you can barely even feel it. He slides his hands down towards your ass with a squeeze, a little wave of confidence washing over him.
"Like this?" he asks.
"Yes, exactly like that."
You continue bouncing on his length, a sweet ring of white elixir forming between the base of his cock & your pussy. Even if you two weren’t making noise, the obvious sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room — almost ratting out your little secret to the rest of the house.
“So tight,“ he manages to push out.
The room begins to feel humid, the unique aroma of your scents melting together to create an addictive combination that fills your nose with each breath.
Michael’s hips rut into you desperately from beneath, the thrusts becoming sloppy & erratic as he chases his release. He sits up slightly, wrapping his arms around your lower waist as he latches his mouth onto one of your nipples. He sucks with a warm gentle pull, catching the breath from throat. He pulls you in tighter with each second, murmuring gibberish around your areola.
You hold the back of his head, running your manicured nails through his hair as you continue bouncing on him, occasionally grinding back & fourth.
“Think I’m gonna come, can’t stop.” He moans around your breast.
You pant furiously as you feel your own release crest in your lower belly, “f-fuck, me too. Come with me honey.”
Before you could move any more, the cord in your belly snaps. Your second orgasm riding through you blissfully. You throw your head onto Michael’s shoulder, your heartbeat booming in your ears as blind spots cover your vision temporarily.
Michael tried to last in hopes of staying inside you longer, yet the way your pussy tightened around him during your orgasm brought him to a sudden halt. His body stiffens up as he releases himself with one last thrust beneath you. You feel his warm seed paint your walls as he twitches, flopping onto his back as he tries to steady his breathing.
You lean forward, allowing him to slowly fall out of you. His flaccid length drops down on his abdomen as soon as it leaves you, his release dripping from you & onto his thighs.
All that was left was you & michael's bodies spent & glued together, a secret that only you two will have to hold from now on.
You look down at him, all fucked out & mesmerised by you. His eyes search you as if you're not supposed to be real. You pepper a kiss on his cheek,
"You're going to make this real difficult aren't you?"
there’s so many scenes where jaafar’s acting is so compelling and i really think, for me, it’s this scene before michael vents to bill. i can’t give a good explanation why, this scene moves me, maybe it’s the small things that jaafar does with his face and even though you can’t see his eyes, purposely, cause we know michael would cover his whenever he was sad. you still feel that heavy emotion as if you could see jaafar’s eyes? i really don’t know how to articulate this.
summary: after finding the nude pictures your babysitter leaves your husband, you can't help but start ignoring him. jaafar doesn't take it so lightly.
disclaimer: does include smut. and yes, this one of my previous works but I feel like jaafar fits??? just wanna see if this encourages me to get back into writing.
as soon as jaafar steps back in the kitchen, you plop yourself on the counter. occasionally shoving grapes in your mouth as you watched the man set his keys down, “did she go in safely?” you ask.
“yeah, her parents were waiting for her.” he said, smiling as he manages to steal a grape from you. “i asked her if she could babysit this saturday. jermajesty keeps pestering me about the baby shower.” he doesn’t notice how you’re staring at him.
for the past few weeks, jaafar and you have decided to go on weekly dates again. too scared to let yourself grow apart. but obviously with two kids running around the house; it was impossible.
so you hired a babysitter. she was great! but then you began noticing the looks the young seventeen year old began giving your husband. then the small touches. but you couldn’t blame her, he was gorgeous. sweet. smart.
but he was yours. you didn’t sweat it at first but jaafar's oblivion to the situation was frustrating to say the least. “she has a crush on you.” you said, turning back to look down at the pile of grapes that was just growing smaller and smaller.
“who does?” jaafar chuckles, closing the fridge doors and giving you his full attention. “how about a drink? the kids are sleeping. you know what that means.” he sends you a playful wink but tilts his head as soon as he notices your serious face.
“daisy. don’t tell me you don’t notice, babe.” you finally smile, shaking your head. “but i don’t blame her. look at you.” you do end up taking the beer can out of his hand. opening it and letting out a sigh of content as you take in the moment. there was nothing you loved more than just spending time with him.
“i think you’re overthinking. i’m sure you know i’m all yours regardless.” his smile doesn’t falter, not for a second as he walks up to you. removing your heels carefully before stepping in between your legs.
“i’m not worried.” you wrap your arms around his neck like they belong there. it was moments like these that made you realize how routinely your nights had become. you didn't care. you still couldn't grow used to his hands on your skin. you could never grow bored of him.
“then we can move on, right? i plan to keep you busy tonight..” his hands are always pulling down the zipper from the back of your dress. "i'm still holding you to your promise of baby number three." he reminds, smiling as he throws you over his shoulder.
-
two months later, you come home to find daisy playing with the kids in the living room. you motion for her not to tell the kids about your arrival, wanting to get a quick shower in before they started bombarding you with questions and all sorts of affection.
all she does is send a nod your way before turning back to the two small boys in front of her.
you are trying your best to be quiet as you look for something comfortable to drown in for the rest of the day. deciding to go for the usual; one of jaafar's shirts. “looks better on me anyway...” you smile to yourself as you tug the shirt out of his drawer. your hands coming to a stop when you spot the white envelope that had once hid beneath it.
and just like you've lost every other battle you had with curiosity, you give in. “i’m sure he won’t mind.” you convince yourself, eyeing the way his name was written on the front. it was such beautiful handwriting, and obviously not his.
you don't have any thoughts as you tear the side off and slip your fingers in. tugging the stacks of thick glossy paper out before letting out an involuntary gasp. your wide eyes flicker between each one as you flip through them.
"what the fuck.” had she put these in here? how could she? why would she?
the knock on your bedroom door breaks you away from your racing thoughts. hearing his voice on the other side of the door, “baby, open up.” you don’t hesitate to shove the pictures under your mattress.
running a hand through your hair that felt messy as you stand up with your legs nearly giving out under you. the sinking feeling in your belly was only growing worse as you began to open the door for him.
“i knew i’d find you in here.” he smiles, closing the door behind him and pulling you close by your waist. “i’ve got two gremlins crying for their mommy down there.” he is so unaware that it almost makes you feel bad for him.
letting out an stifled laugh as you try to ignore the tightening in your throat. it takes you a couple more seconds to decide to ultimately let it go. holding your breath as you let him kiss on your neck that suddenly felt all too tender, “i’m currently hiding. mommy needs a bath.”
“luckily, daddy does too.” and once again, you are over your husband’s shoulder.
-
it has only been a few days since you’ve found the pictures but you can’t seem to stop looking at them. how could she look you in the eyes when she’d done this minutes before?
“what’s that?” his voice suddenly sounds so close behind you. feeling the mattress sink behind you as he scoots closer. his arm sliding over your side isn't enough to make you feel better.
you hold your breath as you shove the pictures in your drawer again, “nothing. go back to sleep, j.” your voice is so faint, like you don't trust yourself to speak any louder.
“i don’t think so.” it takes seconds for jaafar to be sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “you’ve been staring at something for the past hour. it’s not nothing, baby.” he looks more awake now as he turns on his own lamp on his nightstand.
you sigh as you sit up slowly, deciding that maybe he deserved to know. hands tugging at your shirt as he shifts around until he is sitting across from you. “i don’t know if i should tell you.” you don't have it in you to lie anymore.
“that only makes me more curious.” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh. but it quickly dies down when he notices how upset you look, “come on, what is it? you can tell me, baby. you know that.” his hand comes up to move the strands of hair out of your face. his fingertips feel warm, you take notice.
for the first time, talking to him feels hard. you don't know how to say it. how to speak without sounding jealous or angry. she was seventeen. of course, you were angry.
but jaafar only has so much patience, sighing before holding onto one of your hands. only then opening the drawer that belonged to you and reaching for the pile of paper that rests on top. he doesn't frantically flip through them like you.
instead he stares at the one that lays under his thumb for a couple of seconds. not saying a word or making a sound as he looks back up at you. "is this what's bothering you?"
and maybe it is the fact that he looks unfazed that truly bothers you. “does it not bother you?” the tone that comes along with the question surprises you. you know its not his fault. you do.
“no, thats not it.” he says, shaking his head before setting the pictures aside. “you know better than to let things like this bother you. and you know better than to use that tone." his calm expression is what upsets you most. his unwavering tone. his lack of worry. all of it.
“just because i’m your wife doesn’t mean i can’t be jealous or upset. what would you do if a guy sent me his nude pictures? hmm? came into my bedroom and hid them just for me?” you can tell jaafar's patience is running low but you can't bring yourself to care.
“you can be jealous all you want. but don’t talk to me like it’s my fault. i know she likes me, i do. but not once have i ever done anything about it.” he stands up, starting to make his way into the bathroom to try and regulate himself. he didn't want this to be a fight, it didn't have to be.
“you should have. did she finally have to put her hands on you for you to say something?” you walk right past him as you head downstairs. mumbling something about him being an idiot.
and for the first time, jaafar doesn’t go trailing behind you.
-
six days? yeah, it has been six days since you and jaafar have last spoken a sentence to each other. a few words were exchanged here and there but that was about it. neither of you were going to apologize.
“mommy.” you feel the tugging at your shirt, giving the boy a small nod of acknowledgment as you dry off your hands. “when is daisy coming?” your throat suddenly feels dry and tight at the mention of the girl meddling between your marriage.
“she’s not coming today, honey. i'm sorry.” you wished you could at least sound sincere. hearing the front door close and looking up as jaafar stepped into the kitchen. silently watching as he set everything on the kitchen counter before rolling up his sleeves.
he doesn't even acknowledge you as he opens his arms for the small boy to jump into. letting out a small laugh that annoyingly still makes your stomach swirl, “you get heavier every time i carry you.”
you turn away, trying to be quiet as you placed the dishes back in their corresponding place. it was growing harder and harder to pretend like this wasn't killing you. keeping your eyes on the porcelain plate until you hear her name again.
“daisy won’t be coming anymore, buddy. she’s busy.” you wonder if he figured hearing those words would make you happy. you couldn't help but let out a scoff. closing the cabinet before turning around.
“yeah, she’s pretty busy taking more pictures for daddy.” you’re smiling as you fix the young boy’s hair. taking him out of jaafar's arms. giving him a single glare before pushing past him to finally put the boy to bed.
-
“are you fucking serious?” is the first thing you hear when you step into your shared bedroom. rolling your eyes as you close the door behind you. "you're being ridiculous. he doesn't have to know what is going on."
for a split moment, you realize how childish you were behaving. taking off your shirt as you walk past him. it was only temporary though. feeling the disgust sink into your lower stomach again as you ruffle through your closet for something to sleep in.
the shaky sigh that leaves jaafar's mouth makes you tense up where you stood. suddenly becoming aware of his presence behind you as you let go of the cotton shirt. “don’t make me do this, baby. i don’t wanna have to force your words out.” his breath fans your shoulder.
it felt embarrassing. the way his words immediately had you clenching around nothing. shaking your head as you turned and pushed him aside with a push of your palm, “move.” before you could get too far you feel the tug on a handful of your hair.
your breath hitching as you stood still in your spot, looking up at him as he tilts your head. "j, stop." your voice barely makes it out into a whisper. you could tell that neither you or him believed for a second that you wanted it to stop.
“now you wanna talk?” he can't help but laugh. looking down at you as he shakes his head. “fine, we’re doing it my way.” within seconds, your back is pressed back onto the soft mattress you share. lips parting as your hands fell onto the sheets under you.
eyes watching as he pulled down your jeans along with the pink thong in one swift motion. gulping as you fight the urge to close your legs. "j, I think-" before you could finish, he's taking a seat next to you.
thumbs digging into your hips as he pulls you over his lap. you were convinced that was going to bruise. unable to let out any other sounds besides a pant as you cheek pressed against the linen. “you better count or I'll double it.”
for a moment, you feel determined. forcing your eyes to meet his as the fist of sheets on your hands squeezed harder. but the second his large hand landed on your ass, that determination began to fade. whining at this stinging, “fuck you.”
“you’re not going to count? alright.” his free hand coming to your face and taking a hold of your jaw. he wanted you to look at him. maybe you'd notice how much he was liking this. “twenty it is then.”
that makes you speak, “no, j. please...” you feel ashamed at how easy it was for him to make you weak. make you give in. letting out a shaky breath when you feel his hand rubbing the spot he'd slapped before. soothing the warm skin before his hand came down on it again.
“it’s too late. i don’t negotiate.” and jaafar stays true to his word. he doesn't let you go. not when your skin is bright red and aching. not when you're crying and begging. "keep counting." he reminds the second your voice lags behind a cry.
“eighteen! babe, please.” the broken sound behind the please makes him feel bad, you can tell. feeling his eyes on you as your bury your face into his palm. “i won’t talk back anymore, i promise.” you manage to look up at him through the tears in your eyes.
“you should’ve listened when i told you to.” and his hand comes down once again. hearing the loud sob that escaped your lips. “one more, baby. come on, i know you can take it.” his pupils dilating as he takes in the trembling against his lap. "nineteen!"
your open fluttering back open when you feel his hands tearing your legs apart. “j, please!” the last slap makes you choke out a moan. the stinging and soft friction across your slit. "t-twenty! that's twenty..."
"good girl." the praise is so quiet that you barely catch it under the sound of your panting. feeling his gaze burning into your back as he moves you onto the mattress. turning you over with a single push on the inside of your thigh until you laid flush on your back.
he doesn't let you catch your breath properly. already standing in front of you and undoing his pants and belt. watching the way your hips were lightly starting to buck with need. "you don't deserve this, you know that?" he lowers the fabric of his boxers and pants just enough for his dick to be free.
"i know." you sniffle as struggle to speak through the soft sobs that were starting calm down. before you could mutter an apology that wouldn't help, he lines himself up with you.
"god, baby. you sound pathetic." the sound of his voice trails off towards the end as he pushes inside you with a single stroke. the wet sound that your pussy makes as you stretch around him nearly makes him groan. his eyes trailing up your body as your thighs tremble against his sides for a moment.
everything about you makes him realize that you don't deserve this. the way your back arches. the way your eyes roll back. the way your lips are parted enough to let drool drip down the side of your face. god, you really didn't.
"all i have to do for you to listen is fuck you like this?” he laughs, his hips starting to meet with yours repeatedly. hearing the loud echoing of the soft skin slapping against each other filling the room on tops of all your sweet sounds.
“mhm!” your hands already making their way to try and touch him. only letting out soft whine when his hand takes a hold of your wrists in one and brings them over your head. "jaafar, please. let me touch you..." you sound breathless. tired. used up. and he's barely started.
"no, you're going to take what i give you. aren't you?" he can't bring himself to close his eyes. not when he could see your expression so perfectly. the way that whenever he hit that soft spongy spot inside you, you bit down on your lip to be quiet. the way your mascara that claimed to be waterproof was trailing down your temples.
"you’re taking me so well, baby. should i show daisy how good you are? hmm?” he lets out an exhale through his nose as his hips grow relentless. the sound that comes from you reminds him that it isn't just the two of you home.
the hold on your hip grows tighter when your walls squeeze him tighter, "fuck, you like the idea that much? so dirty, baby. so fucking tight." his bottom lip finds its way beneath his death as he starts to fuck you harder. deeper.
when you hear that, all you want to do is please him. take him. “please, baby. fuck, feels so good!" your nails dig into his hand as you try to find a way to cope with the stimulation between your legs.
you can tell jaafar notices the shift in your behavior, his hips resuming before he flips you over onto all fours. the drool that had pooled in the corner of you slips starting to drip down onto the sheets. before you could stabilize yourself, he's pushing himself inside you wordlessly.
gasping as the force jolts your forward and your legs began to feel like jelly. "baby, please." you don't know how much more of this you can take. you don't remember the last time he'd fucked you like this. to the point where it hurt so bad it felt good.
"you almost had me feeling bad for you." for a moment his words confuse you, tilting your head back to look at him through your blurry vision. "but i think you wanted this all along. didn't you?" he keeps talking to you, voice hitching whenever your pussy clenched around him. "you love this. don't you? tell me."
“l-love it. i love it so much, babe.” despite the struggle it was to form coherent sentences at this point, you can't bring yourself to risk losing the ecstasy between your legs. "don't stop, j. please give it to me. n-need you to fill me so f-fucking bad."
“so fucking needy." he groans as he takes a handful of hair, tugging you up until his chest was pressed against your back. "open up." he tilts your head until your mouth is inches from his.
you reach back until you feel his thighs for stability, choked moans ripping from your chest. forcing yourself to open your eyes as you stick your tongue out for him. seeing the way the corner of his lips lift faintly before he spits right in your mouth. the new warmth making you hum as you swallow.
his hips snapping against yours continuously as grew amused. watching the way your tits bounced with each thrust. letting go of your hair and hip to knead them in his big hands. holding back a smile when he heard you hum softly, “such a cockslut, baby. you just love my dick so much, don’t you? you can’t live without it.”
you're incoherent at this point. watching as the whites of your eyes appeared and your mouth hung open. “here. touch me here.” you pant out, guiding his hand down to your pulsing clit. hoping he wouldn’t put up a fight.
“only because you've been so good.” he chuckled against your ear as one of his hands made his way down your body. his fingers finding your bundle of nerves within seconds. starting to rub firm circles on you with a smile. god, you were so easy.
your body nearly falls forward and he takes it upon himself to hold you harder against him. your desperate sounds growing louder and louder, “be quiet before you wake up the kids.”
“I can’t.” your back is arching off his chest. squirming and trying to get away from him, “j, t-too much!" your hand finding its way to his and trying to push his own away.
“you’re so-always have to do everything for you.” jaafar looks furious, even now you can't listen? tilting your head towards his own again before learning down to kiss you. hard. sloppy. your own drool transferring onto his own chin.
“i’m so close. so fucking close.” you wonder if he can even understand you against his lips. whether he did or not, that didn't matter. not when your pussy was trying to milk him dry inside of you. groaning into your mouth as his fingers between your legs began to rub tighter circles.
you can tell when jaafar starts getting close. the way he suddenly grows more vocal. his pace grows uneven. desperate. pulling away to let out a deep sigh when your pussy squeezes him so tight, he swore he saw white, “don’t stop, baby. you’re doing so good. you'll wait for me, won't you?"
you take this moment to look at his expression. blinking away the tears that were built up in your eyes as you held out a little longer for him. “inside-cum inside me, jaafar. don’t you wanna fill me up? give me a baby?” you know how much jaafar loves when you tell him you want a baby. how much he loves when you beg him to cum inside you.
“fuck.” your words suddenly make his thrusts quicker, like now he's desperate to give you whatever you ask for. . “gonna milk this pussy so i can fill you up to the brim. that’s what you want? a baby so she knows i fucked you good? so she knows I'm all yours?"
“y-yes, please. come on, baby.” your voice is so shaky and you’re on the verge of passing out but you don’t stop begging him. all you can think about is him fucking you full. and if you were lucky, you'd even get to see the look on her face when she saw you pregnant.
the thought sends you over the edge, legs shaking violently the moment your orgasm comes over you. letting out a cry as your hands find your way to his thighs again, digging your nails into the skin. it was all becoming too much.
you can feel his thrusts growing sloppy a few seconds before warm ropes of cum are coating your soft insides. crying at the overstimulation, “give it all to me, j. please…” you look so pretty as you look up at him through your glossy eyes.
jaafar pants as his thrusts become soft and slow, diligently milking himself inside you. “there you go, baby. that’s what you wanted?” he asks. leaning down to press his lips against yours as he began to lay you down slowly. slipping himself out of you with a soft exhale before turning you over.
taking a moment to pull away so he could look at the way his cum dripped out of you. a soft smile tugging at his lips. his fingers pushing what he could inside of you as he watched you struggle to keep them open. he couldn't help but find you cute. chuckling as he brought them to your lips.
“clean them well.” you nod tiredly before wrapping your lips around the thick digits. tongue lapping up whatever you could. “such a pretty girl. aren’t you?” for a moment, you ask yourself if you can take another round. jaafar just knows what you like to hear.
your lips are so swollen by the time jaafar pulls his fingers away. fixing your up against the pillows before laying on his stomach between your legs. “you’re dripping, baby. let me help you....” he doesn't wait for your confirmation.
dipping his head between your legs, tongue lapping up everything that your pussy couldn’t hold. your soft and overwhelmed whines making him smile against you. it wasn't until your hands began to push him away gently that he decided you had enough.
“you okay?” he asks, going back to hovering over you. watching as your thighs and hands immediately find their way around his sides. he couldn't help but lean down and press a soft kiss on his cheek. "you're not still mad at me, are you?" although he knows the answer, he wants to hear it from you.
“of course not, j." you reassure quietly, starting to nuzzle your face into his own. “thank you for sending her off...and I'm sorry for earlier."
“are you saying you regret having sex with me?” his question makes you laugh. pulling away and resting your head back into your pillow to look at him. for a moment, you swore his eyes were sparkling as he looked down at you.
shaking your head as your nails dragged up and down his sides slowly, “i know you were just upset, baby. i should’ve listened to you that day. so i’m sorry too.” he whispers, finally taking a moment to lay next to you.
“i love you. you know that, right?” you turned to face him, tugging the sheets that needed replacing over yourselves. scooting closer until your cheek was pressed up against the warmth of his chest. feeling his own hand find yours underneath the sheets and pull it up so it rested on his chest. your ring catching a glint of light and sparkling for a second.
Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader, 2.6k 18+ (like super-duper 18+)
another baby fever fic who's surpised (no one) - so much smut (f!receiving oral, piv, cum play (kinda), general freakiness, two filthy losers in love)
At this point, you were sure you had gotten used to Jaafar’s attention on you. Throughout your whole relationship, he always seemed to be touching you, whether it was the soft weight of his hand on your lower back as he led you through a crowd or his fingertips trailing featherlight on your upper arm as you lay curled up against him. You were used to the lingering kisses, the squeeze of his hand on your thigh beneath the table, the feeling of his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into the hallway, trying and failing not to laugh along with you.
But ever since you decided to start trying for a baby, it was like his life has been given a new purpose, a new mission.
The attention he lavished on you was amped up to levels you never thought possible. It never felt stifling or overbearing, and the feeling of his gaze on you still sent a thrill through you. You remember when you’d gotten engaged, and you’d catch him staring at the diamond on your finger before being pulled towards your bedroom a few seconds later. You remember being taken aback in the best way possible, delighted and shocked that someone could want you that way, with that much intensity.
Recently, it seems like something is off if you don’t find yourself pushed against the mattress or bent over the kitchen counter or pressed against the bathroom sink. And you didn’t mind one bit.
Part of you was a little surprised at the reaction you’ve been receiving. Sure, you expected some enthusiasm, a sense of eagerness, but the hunger and desperation, the behavior that bordered on possessiveness, had come as an entirely welcome surprise. Jaafar’s adoration for you has never faltered, but the way he’s been looking at you lately feels like something else entirely.
At first, you’d been worried that you had been overeager, but from the very first time you’d brought it up, it’s like a flip had been switched in Jaafar. He’s still so entirely devoted to you, just as he’s always been, but now there’s something deeper that runs beneath that affection, something that makes you shiver just to think about it.
When he’d first turned to you as you wandered down the baby aisle, just meandering through the store to kill time, holding up a tiny little onesie with his eyes all wide, that was the moment everything clicked into place for you. You’d known that you were both serious about trying to expand your little family, but deep down you’d wondered just how soon he wanted that to happen.
Even if his words and actions in the heat of the moment, the way his hips snapped against yours and the praise he heaped onto you, made his desires apparent, you could never stop yourself from questioning the sincerity of his urgency. Before then, the serious conversations you had were vague in terms of timing, neither of you wanting to rush anything or put any pressure on yourselves.
But seeing the way his eyes lit up at the smallest piece of clothing you’ve ever seen, hearing the way he marveled at how a person could ever be so tiny, you suddenly knew that his desire wasn’t just for show. Feeling your chest grow tighter, overcome with a rush of affection, you pointed out the display of baby shoes just to see how he reacted, laughing when Jaafar turned to you with an adorable pout.
Later that night, as you slip on a t-shirt following your shower, you don’t bother with panties, knowing for certain that before the hour is up, they’ll just be discarded onto your bedroom floor. And maybe you were trying to help that along, having spent the entire afternoon thinking about a baby with your nose and Jaafar’s eyes, your hair and his dimples.
He wasn’t the only one who approached things with a new sort of purpose.
At first, he didn’t even notice that the large shirt you were wearing was the only piece of clothing you had on. Pressing himself behind you, he slots his face against your neck and inhales deeply, laying a soft kiss to your bare skin.
“You smell nice,” he compliments, and you don’t even need to see his face to know that he’s got a cheeky smile on his face. Without fail, he always seems to think that he needs to lay on the compliments before taking things a step farther, as if you’re not already frothing at the mouth for him. It makes you laugh, though, and maybe that’s his real goal.
“Well I’d hope so,” you tease, leaning more of your weight against his sturdy frame. He wraps his arms around you, palms flat on your ribcage. He trails his warm, broad hands lower, trailing along your abdomen until he reaches your hips. All he can feel is the fabric of the shirt and your warm skin beneath, and when you hear him groan out behind you, a grin takes over your face.
“Ulterior motives,” he tsks, and you spin around in your grasp, a look of disbelief on your face.
“Yesterday you asked me to get you something from the kitchen just so you could press me against the counter,” you retort, and Jaafar just grins down at you. “And the day before you acted like the sink in the bathroom was leaking so you could-”
He cuts you off with a hand pressed softly against your mouth, his whole frame shaking with laughter. Playfully, you lick at his palm, and he shakes his head at your childish antics.
“Alright, you made your point,” he concedes, letting his hand fall from your mouth to your shoulder. The other fans out on your lower back, pressing you closer.
“Hypocrite,” you scold, even though you’re smiling. You couldn’t be mad at him even if you wanted to, especially not when you wanted him just as bad, when the thought of him wanting you in that way still makes your head spin.
“Want me to make it up to you?” He asks, voice laden with fake sympathy, all syrupy-sweet. You nod eagerly, and he grins like he just got exactly what he wanted. In the blink of an eye, your back is flat on the mattress, legs wrapping around Jaafar’s waist like second nature as he leans over you to capture your lips in a kiss.
It’s all consuming, the feeling of his body above you, pushing you further into the bed, his nose bumping against yours as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss until it’s as if he’s devouring you. Fingers sinking into his hair like you’re trying to keep yourself tethered to the moment, your legs tighten around him as if he’d even think about pulling away, and you feel his bulge pressed against you.
You feel dizzy with desire, your need for him overtaking every other thought in your brain.
Using your legs around his waist as leverage, you roll your hips up, desperate for more. Jaafar groans against your lips, leaving a fraction of an inch between you as he gasps for air.
“Yeah? You want me?” He asks, knocking his forehead against yours. He rolls his hips down, grinning when you gasp out. You nod, not trusting your ability to form words, and Jaafar responds with another sloppy kiss.
He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips before trailing them lower, leaving a line of spit and desire on your cheek, your jaw. He continues downward, dotting kisses and little nips down the column of your neck. When he reaches the dip in your collarbones, he pauses, looks up at you with his pupils all blown out, eyes wide with need.
“Want me to put a baby in you?” He mutters the question against your skin, watching for your reaction. It’s a question he’s asked before, a question you’ve responded to eagerly a million times in the preceding weeks, but there’s a charge in the air, a heaviness.
“Please,” you tilt your head back, your voice gone high and thin with the intensity of your desire. Jaafar sinks his teeth into you, a bite he soothes with his tongue, with his lips, right afterward. You need him, and he’s never been one to deny you.
He continues his trail lower, sliding down your body until he reaches the junction of your thighs. Softly, he grabs hold of your legs and removes himself from their grasp, settling them back on the bed with a gentle squeeze before he releases them.
“Gonna take care of you,” he promises, sliding his hands beneath the fabric of your shirt to expose your bare skin underneath. You feel feverish, hot to the touch, and it makes his head spin. “Gonna make you feel good.”
Jaafar’s true to his word, and even when all he can think about is fucking into you until you’re full of his cum, full with his baby, he’s going to take care of you first. He’d spend hours with his head between your thighs if he could, and the sight of you all wet and desperate for him will never fail to drive him crazy. Normally he’d tease you, draw the whole thing out until you couldn’t take it anymore, but you’re both ready to snap.
With his hands to anchor you to the mattress, he dips forward, pressing a kiss to your clit before falling deeper. He’s a practiced hand, and he uses his tongue like he’s trying to memorize you by the feel alone, like he’s trying to map you out. It seems like it only take seconds before you’re crying out above him, but time seems to stand still for him when he’s got his head buried between your thighs.
You shiver around him, legs starting to tremor as you give yourself over to the feeling. Jaafar doesn’t stop, lapping up your cum like a man starved. It’s only when you reach down to push feebly at his head that he pulls away, lips glistening with your release and a smile on his face as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Please,” you whine again, reaching for him. He climbs back up your body eagerly, slotting himself between your legs, pressing his clothed bulge against your bare, over-sensitive cunt. The feeling makes you gasp out, but you need more.
“Still so needy, huh?” He teases like he’s not so desperate that he’s grinding against you, the grip on your hips tight enough to bruise. “Want me to knock you up, is that it?”
“Mhm,” you sink your teeth into your lower lip to stop yourself from crying out in disappointment when he pulls back, settling onto his knees. Pushing his pants down past his hips, you resist the urge to whine when you see his cock, all hard and leaking pre-cum. The sight alone is enough to drive you crazy, but then he’s leaning back over you, so tantalizingly close to where you need him.
Ever so slowly, he sinks into you, pressing himself deeper inch by inch. You still feel so sensitive, like an exposed live wire, and all you can do is reach for him. Hips pressed against yours, fully buried inside you, Jaafar grabs your reaching hand, holding it tightly in his own.
The rhythm he sets is almost painfully slow, especially when you’re both already so close to the edge. He pulls almost all the way out before sinking into you again and again, and you swear you can feel every ridge and vein along his cock. It’s always a stretch with him, and he always takes his time for you, loves feeling the way you adjust, the way you always hug around him so tightly.
Jaafar sets a hand on your lower stomach, right in the center of your hip bones, before a disbelieving sort of laugh makes its way out of his throat. He shifts his weight, taking the hand he’d been holding and pressing it right where his had been. Slowly, he pulls out before drilling back in, and you swear you can feel him inside you where he presses your hand down.
“Feel that, baby?” He asks, and you nod, unable to form any sort of words, “Gonna put my baby in you, yeah? Right there?”
He keeps babbling away, the words spilling out of him almost unconsciously as he picks up the pace, hips slamming into yours over and over again. You let yourself go boneless, sinking into the mattress and feeling the pleasure take over every sensation, every thought you have.
Even though he’s pounding into you with enough force the bedframe rattles, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, Jaafar’s thoughts veer towards something softer. He thinks of you, pregnant with his baby, and while the image of you all pregnant makes him feel a little bit dizzy with desire, he thinks of all the gentler things too.
He thinks about how he’ll take your aching feet in his hands, massaging the tension away, or rubbing soothing circles in your sore back. He thinks of getting you whatever you need, no matter the hour or the day, because he’s here to take care of you. It’s impossible for him to separate these thoughts from the more feral part of his brain, because to him, it’s all part of the same package.
At the end of the day, he just wants you so bad, wants to take care of you in every conceivable way. And right now, taking care of you means making sure you cum for the second time before he knocks you up, because he has a feeling that this time is the real deal.
Still hammering into you, he presses his thumb against your clit, moving just the way you like with just the right amount of pressure. You cry out, unable to do much else, and that’s the only warning he gets before you’re tightening around him, and Jaafar fucks you through it with little thrusts that push him impossibly deeper into you.
It doesn’t take long for him to follow suit, pressing himself as deep as possible as he groans out, filling you with his cum. He practically falls forward, lowering himself to press his chest against your own, just breathing in the same oxygen as you. It takes him a second to get his bearings, and then he lifts himself up, gently pulling out and making soft little noises when you whimper at the feeling.
He leans down, watching the way you look all stuffed full of him, cum leaking out. Gently, he swipes a finger through the mess and presses it back inside, soothing you with a soft grip on your thigh when you try to shift away from his touch on your over-sensitive cunt. You ache in the most perfect way, and Jaafar pushes his cum back in you one last time before straightening up again.
As he takes a pillow and props it under your hips, you tease him about old wives’ tales even though the gesture warms your heart. He lays next to you, feeling as spent and boneless as you, and looks into your eyes with a soft sort of smile that seems totally at odds with the moments that went before.
“I think it worked that time,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to jinx it.
“Me too,” you respond as you shift your hips against the pillow, trying to find a more comfortable position. “We should probably keep trying though, just be sure.”
Jaafar laughs and leans closer to you, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You smile against him, feeling all sorts of bliss, certain you’re the luckiest girl in the world.
When you see those two little pink lines a few weeks later, you’re both convinced you know exactly what made it happen.
hi! if u get the chance, i’d love to see a fic/headcanon with jaafar & a bookworm!reader. 📚
maybe they meet at a bookstore & their relationship blossoms from there…or an established one where he surprises her with a home library or debriefs him on a book she’s reading & he’s just continuously enamored of her…OR he finds a certain page in one of her books & would like to reenact that scene with her 👀
(ps: loved ur work on under the same chandelier!)
✎𓂃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒
pairing: jaafar jackson x bookworm!reader
warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, lowkey rough sex, creampie, slight dom vibes, jaafar being feral after discovering his gf’s spicy book, multiple orgasms, cursing, fluff (lol), soft jaafar, established relationship
a/n: loved this request, thank you! hope you’ll enjoy it anon <3333 can you tell I love thriller and romance books lol
First time meeting him.
Rain tapped softly against the wide windows of Chapter & Verse, a tucked away indie bookstore in a quieter corner of Los Angeles. The kind of place that smelled like old paper, fresh coffee from the attached café, and possibility. You’d claimed your usual spot in the fiction section, an oversized armchair tucked between towering shelves, legs curled beneath you as you lost yourself in the book you were reading.
The prose wrapped around you like velvet shadows and candlelight. Your lips moved faintly with the words, a habit you’d never quite kicked. The world outside the pages felt distant until a pair of white sneakers stopped just at the edge of your peripheral vision.
You glanced up.
He was tall, wearing a simple black hoodie, dark curls peeking out, and a look on his face like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
'Oh sorry,' he said, voice low and warm, like a late night melody. 'I didn’t mean to stare. You just…looked really into it. What are you reading?'
You blinked, surprised he’d actually spoken to you. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, genuinely waiting for an answer.
You tilted the book so he could see the stark cover. 'The Silent Patient. It’s a psychological thriller. A woman shoots her husband and then stops speaking entirely. The therapist trying to unravel why…it’s dark, twisty, and way too hard to put down.'
Jaafar’s eyes lit up. He crouched down a bit to be more at eye level, scanning the shelf beside you. 'I’ve seen it around. Never picked it up though. I’m more of a music guy, but my mother always says stories and songs are basically cousins.' He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. 'That probably sounds corny.'
'It doesn’t,' you replied, smiling despite yourself. 'They both make you feel things you can’t explain. That’s the point, right?'
He nodded slowly, like you’d said something profound. For a moment, the only sound was the rain and the distant hum of the café espresso machine.
'Um, i’m Jaafar, by the way.' He extended a hand.
You took it. His grip was warm and gentle. 'it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N'
He repeated your name after you said it, like he was committing it to memory. Then he gestured to the book. 'So…is it any good? Should I risk getting pulled into a whole new world? my usual way of decompressing is just…driving around with music on. This might be better.'
You hesitated, then held the book out to him. 'Here. Borrow my copy. I’ve read it twice already. If you hate it, no hard feelings. But I have a feeling you won’t.'
He looked genuinely surprised. 'You sure? I can just buy my own—'
'please, take it,' you insisted. 'Pay it forward by telling me what you think if you finish it.'
Jaafar took the book carefully, fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. His smile was slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes. 'Alright. Deal. But only if you let me buy you a coffee while I get your number. You know…for the book report.'
As the two of you walked toward the café section, side by side between the shelves, Jaafar glanced back at the spot where you’d been sitting and smiled.
Almost a whole year had passed since that rainy afternoon in Chapter & Verse, and somehow the two of you had slipped into something beautifully steady. Jaafar called you his 'anchor in the chaos.' You called him the only person who could make your heart race faster than a plot twist.
Your days together were a blend of his whirlwind schedule and your quieter world of books. You still worked full time at the editorial, but you’d carved out plenty of room to be with him, especially during the intense filming of Michael. You became a familiar face on set, always with a book in your bag and a calm energy that seemed to ground him after long hours of dancing, singing and stepping into his uncle’s shoes.
On set, days were some of your favorites. You’d show up with coffee for him, just how he liked it, and whatever thriller or romance had you in its grip that week, that depended on your mood. One day it was a dark, atmospheric mystery that had you whispering theories to him between takes. The next, it was a swoony romantasy with enemies-to-lovers tension that made you blush every time he caught you highlighting spicy passages.
The crew got used to seeing you tucked in a quiet corner of the trailer or a folding chair off camera, legs crossed, lost in the pages. Jaafar would steal glances at you during breaks, that soft enamored smile breaking through even when he was exhausted from perfecting choreography. Sometimes he’d come over, still in costume or half in makeup, and drop a kiss on your forehead.
'What chapter are we on today?' he’d ask, voice tired but warm.
You’d tell him the latest twist or read him a particularly good line. He’d listen like it was the most important thing happening on set, even with directors and producers waiting. 'I need to get back to reading more. You’re rubbing off on me.' he’d say, thumb brushing your cheek.
One afternoon, after a particularly emotional scene, he found you curled up in his trailer with a new romantic thriller. Without a word, he flopped down beside you, head in your lap, and let you run your fingers through his curls while he decompressed. The steady rhythm of you turning pages became his favorite kind of silence.
Nights at home were pure comfort. Soft music played low in the background. You were stretched out on the wide sectional couch, your legs draped comfortably over his thighs. A thick romantic suspense novel rested against your propped knees, the kind with simmering tension and heart-pounding twists.
Jaafar had his own book open but his attention kept drifting. His free hand moved slowly up and down your bare leg in lazy, soothing strokes, fingertips tracing light patterns from your ankle to just above your knee and back again. Every so often he’d glance over at you, watching the way your expressions shifted with the story.
'You’re doing that thing again,' he murmured, voice low and fond, a small smile playing on his lips.
You looked up, marking your place with a finger. 'What thing?'
'Your eyebrows do this cute little furrow when something suspenseful happens…and you bite your lip during the romantic parts.' He gave your calf a gentle squeeze. 'It’s basiclaly my favorite show.'
You laughed softly and nudged him with your foot. 'You’re one to talk. You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.'
'Busted.' He closed his book and set it aside, turning more toward you. His hand continued its gentle path along your leg, warmer now. 'I keep getting distracted by someone.'
You shifted the book aside and sat up a little, leaning in to kiss him. It was slow and sweet at first, the kind of kiss that tasted like quiet evenings and shared secrets. When you pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, that enamored look deeper than ever.
'Tell me about today’s book,' he said, tugging you closer so your legs stayed tangled with his. 'Then maybe later…you can read me one of the good parts.'
You grinned, knowing exactly which kind of 'good parts' he meant. 'Only if you promise to keep doing that thing with your hand on my leg.'
'Deal,' he whispered, already pulling you in for another kiss.
It was a random Tuesday afternon, a year and a handful of days into your relationship. Jaafar had been acting a little suspicious for the past week, like texting you more than usual during breaks on set, asking innocent sounding questions about your favorite bookish things like 'what kind of lighting do you like for reading?' 'do you prefer big windows or cozy corners?'. You chalked it up to him being his usual thoughtful self and didnt really press.
When he picked you up after your work shift, he was practically vibrating with excitement, though he tried to play it cool.
'I’ve got a surprise for you,' he said, lacing his fingers with yours as he drove. 'No peeking until we get home.'
Your curiosity spiked, but his warm smile and the way he kept stealing glances at you kept you patient. When you pulled into his driveway, he covered your eyes with his hands, gentle, always so gentle, and guided you inside, steering you down the hallway toward one of the spare rooms you’d always assumed would eventually become a gym or music studio.
'Ready?' His voice was soft against your ear, sending a happy shiver down your spine.
You nodded.
He dropped his hands.
The door swung open to reveal something straight out of your dreams.
Floor-to-ceiling wood bookshelves lined three walls, already partially filled with books. A beautiful rolling ladder on a brass track waited to reach the higher shelves. By the large window sat the coziest window seat you’d ever seen, plush cushions in beige, fairy lights strung overhead, and a soft throw blanket draped over the side. A small antique desk held a stack of blank journals and your favorite pens. In the opposite corner, a sleek record player sat beside a curated collection of vinyl.
You stood frozen, hand over your mouth, eyes already stinging with happy tears.
'Jaafar..' you whispered.
He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. 'I wanted you to have your own world here. Somewhere you can escape whenever feels like . I stocked it with every book I know you love, first editions where I could find them, plus a bunch of new ones I thought you’d like. Goodreads helped quite a lot.' He chuckles softly kissing your shoulder. 'The rest of the shelves are yours to fill however you want.'
You turned in his arms, burying your face in his chest as the tears slipped free. He held you tight, rubbing slow circles on your back, pressing kisses to the top of your head.
'You’ve been bringing pieces of your world to my set, to my couch, to every crazy day I have,' he murmured. 'so I wanted to bring a piece of yours into our home. Permanently.'
You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes shining. 'This is… the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I don’t even know what to say.'
He smiled, that soft, enamored smile that always made your knees weak, and brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. 'You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you’ll read to me in here sometimes.'
You laughed through the tears and tugged him toward the window seat. The two of you curled up together immediately, your legs draped over his like they always were on the couch. He’d even placed a fresh thriller on the little side table, a new psychological suspense you’d mentioned wanting to read.
For the next hour, you explored the shelves together. Jaafar listened intently as you pulled books out, telling him why certain ones mattered, reading opening lines aloud. Every time your voice lit up with excitement, his eyes softened more. He was completely gone for you, your passion, your quiet intensity, the way stories lived inside you.
Later that night, after takeout and soft music playing from the new record player, you found yourself back in the library with him. This time the lights were dimmer, and he had you pulled into his lap on the window seat.
'You know,' he said, voice low and warm as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your thigh, 'I used to think my favorite sound was a perfect melody. Now it’s you talking about books.' He kissed the corner of your mouth.
The fairy lights glowed softly overhead, casting a warm, golden haze across the shelves. The record player hummed with a gentle Gregory Porter trakc, smooth and low, the perfect soundtrack.
You'd picked up one of the new romantic books he’d stocked for you, a romantic suspense with sharp dialogue and simmering chemistry. Jaafar settled into the window seat first, stretching his long legs out, then patted the space between them. You nestled back against his chest, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist as you opened the book.
'Ready for storytime?' you asked, tilting your head to look up at him.
'Always,' he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. 'Read to me, bookworm.'
Your voice filled the quiet room, soft but expressive, rising and falling with the tension on the page. You read about the two protagonists circling each other with charged banter, the slow build of danger and desire. Every few paragraphs you’d pause to comment or point out a clever line, and Jaafar would hum in agreement, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.
But as the minutes passed, his focus drifted from the words to you.
God, I’m so lucky.
The thought hit him like a quiet chord resolving perfectly. A year, and every day still felt like a gift. He’d met you in the middle of one of the busiest, most overwhelming chapters of his life and somehow you’d become the calm at the center of it all. The girl who brought books to set like they were talismans, who made even the longest days feel lighter.
His hand moved in slow, absent strokes along your arm as you kept reading. He watched the way your lips shaped the words, the subtle shift in your expression when the story took a twist, the way your fingers gently turned the pages like they were something precious.
I’m so in love with her.
It wasn’t new, but in this moment, surrounded by the room he’d built just for you, it felt overwhelming. He loved your mind, the way it dove so deeply into stories. He loved how passionate you got about fictional characters, how you could dissect a plot twist or a romantic moment with the same focus he brought to a melody.
And you were so beautiful.
Not just the way you looked curled up in his arms, hair a little messy from the day, wearing one of his hoodies that swallowed you whole. But the kind of beautiful that came from the inside, your quiet confidence, the spark in your eyes when you talked about books, the way you made ordinary moments feel like magic.
He tightened his hold around you just slightly, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo mixed with the paper and ink smell of the new library. You glanced back at him mid-sentence, catching the soft, adoring look on his face.
'You okay?' you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips. 'Am i boring you?'
'Never,' he said, voice thick with emotion. He leaned down and kissed you, slow, reverent, full of everything he felt but didn’t always have words for. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. 'Keep reading. I just..I love listening to you.'
You smiled and settled back against him, continuing the chapter. Jaafar closed his eyes for a moment, letting your voice wash over him, heart full to the brim. In that quiet, book filled room, with rain starting to tap gently against the window again, just like the day you met, he thought:
This is it. This is the best chapter of my life.
Weeks after the library surprise, Jaafar came home from a morning meeting while you were still at your work shift. The new library was already your favorite room, but you’d left one of your current reads on the bedside table in the master bedroom, a thick romantic one that had been living on your nightstand for the past week.
Curious, he picked it up. The bookmark, a pretty pressed-flower one he’d given you, sat about three-quarters through. He flipped to the page, intending to read just a paragraph or two.
What he found was filthy.
Detailed, heated prose describing the hero pinning the heroine against the headboard, his mouth on her neck, fingers sliding between her thighs, her breasts... The language was raw: slick sounds, desperate moans, the way he teased her until she was begging.
Jaafar’s eyebrows rose. He read the entire scene once. Then again, slower. A low chuckle escaped him.
'I didn’t know it was this interesting,' he muttered to himself, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He memorized every line, every filthy detail. By the time he closed the book, heat had pooled low in his stomach.
He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about it.
That evening, he picked you up from your workplace like usual. The drive home was filled with easy conversation, like how your day went, continuation of the drama between Cheryl from accountant and Josh from HR, their plans for the week...day to day conversations. You had no idea he’d found your book.
After dinner and a quick shower, Jaafar stepped into the bedroom steam followed him out of the bathroom, his curls damp and glistening, a white towel slung low around his hips that he quickly traded for a pair of gray short sweatpants. His body was still buzzing with leftover heat when his eyes landed on you.
Jaafar leaned against the doorframe for a moment, just watching. You were already in bed, propped up against the pillows in nothing but his favorite oversized black t shirt and a pair of soft black lace panties. The covers were pushed down to your waist, your legs spread comfortably open beneath the thin sheet as you held the thick romantic book in your hands. Your lips parted, eyes glassy and dark with arousal. That exact fucked out expression you always gave him right before he ruined you. You were clearly in the middle of the scene.
Jaafars cock twitched hard at the sight. He’d read that filthy page earlier. Now seeing his sweet, book obsessed girlfriend soaking in it? He was instantly rock-hard, hunger surging through him like fire.
He crossed the room in two strides, yanked the covers completely off your body, and climbed onto the bed between your spread legs.
You startled, blinking up at him in confusion. 'Jaafar? What—'
'Keep reading,' he said, voice already low and rough with lust. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he stared down at the wet spot already darkening the crotch of your panties. 'Out loud, baby. Don’t you dare stop.'
Your breath hitched, realization flooding your face along with fresh heat. You swallowed hard but lifted the book again, voice shaky as you started reading the explicit scene aloud.
'Um...he dropped to his knees between her thighs...shoving her soaked panties to the side…'
Jaafar didn’t hesitate. He hooked two fingers into the lace and yanked your panties aside, exposing your glistening pussy. Without another word he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, groaning at your taste.
'Fuck…that’s right, keep going,' he growled against your folds, the vibration making your hips jerk.
You tried. 'His tongue circled her clit, licking and sucking like he was starving— ahh!'
He latched onto your clit, sucking hard while two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling instantly against that spongy spot that made your toes curl. Your voice cracked, the words turning breathy and broken as he ate you out like a man possessed, messy, nasty, tongue fucking into you alongside his fingers while his other hand pinned your thigh open.
'Jaafar— oh my godd—' You tried to keep reading, but your head was spinning. 'He— he added a third finger, stretching her open while he sucked her clit har— harder, making her drip down his chin— fuck!'
He did exactly that, pushing a third finger deep into your tight cunt, pumping them fast and filthy while his tongue worked your swollen clit in relentless circles. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as your juices coated his mouth and hand. You were soaking, dripping down to the sheets, but you kept trying to read, whimpering between every filthy line.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny with your arousal, eyes dark with raw hunger. 'Don’t stop reading.'
You were trembling, trying so hard. 'He buried his tongue inside her pussy, licking every drop while his thumb rubbed her clit— nngh— Jaafar, I can’t—'
You lost the ability to form coherent sentences as he devoured you, fucking you with his tongue and fingers until your thighs shook around his head. The book wobbled in your hands. Your hips bucked against his face, chasing the pleasure, but he held you down and kept going, sucking and slurping loudly like he couldn’t get enough of your taste.
Finally, you cried out, the book dropping from your fingers onto the bed as your first orgasm crashed over you. Jaafar didn’t stop, licking you through it until you were a whimpering, oversensitive mess.
He rose up, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free his hard, throbbing cock. It slapped heavy against his abs, tip already leaking. He looked feral, hungry.
'On your back. Legs open,' he ordered, voice hoarse.
You barely had time to obey before he was on you, hooking your legs over his arms and lining up. In one brutal thrust he buried his thick cock to the hilt inside your dripping pussy, stretching you wide.
'Fuck— yes,' he groaned, starting to pound you immediately. Hard, deep strokes that made the headboard slam against the wall. 'So fucking wet for me after reading that nasty shit. My innocent little bookworm’s actually a freak, huh?'
You moaned loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he railed you. Every thrust was punishing and perfect, his hips snapping against yours, balls slapping wetly against your skin. He was so deep, hitting that spot over and over, making your eyes roll all the way back.
'Pick the book back up,' he demanded, even as he fucked you senseless. When you could barely move, he grabbed it himself, holding it above you with one hand while the other gripped your hip. 'Read it. Read how he destroys her pussy while I destroy yours.'
You tried desperately, voice completely broken now. 'He— he fucked her harder, pounding deep— oh fuck, Jaafar— stretching h—'
He growled and slammed into you even harder, sweat dripping from his chest onto yours. The t-shirt had ridden up, exposing your tits which he leaned down to suck and bite while never slowing his brutal pace.
Your hands flew to his back, gripping desperately as pleasure overwhelmed you. The book fell from your grasp again, forgotten on the sheets. You couldn’t focus on anything but the way his thick cock split you open, the filthy wet sounds of him fucking your soaked pussy, the way his pelvis ground against your clit with every thrust.
Jaafar was lost in it too, pounding you like it was his last night on earth. 'That’s it, baby. Let go. Grip me just like that— fuck, you feel so good. So tight and sloppy for me.'
He shifted angles, folding you nearly in half as he drove deeper, harder, faster. Your second orgasm hit like a freight train, pussy clenching and pulsing around his cock so hard it almost pushed him out. You screamed his name, nails raking down his back as waves of pleasure tore through you.
Jaafar followed with a deep, guttural moan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot, thick ropes of cum deep inside you. He kept thrusting through it, fucking his release even deeper until you were both trembling and spent.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing. Jaafar collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your swollen lips, soft and reverent again, the same adoring man who built you a library.
'God,' he whispered, voice full of awe and affection. 'I knew you read romance…but that? Baby, I’m the luckiest man alive.'
You laughed breathlessly, burying your face in his neck. 'You’re never letting me live this down, are you?'
’never, never,' he promised, stroking your back. 'And I’m volunteering for every single reenactment from now on.'
mj ❤︎ 𝒻.rea ! 3.6k. smut 𖬺 mdn𝒾 ◌ ׄ 𓈒 𝓶.list 𝒸w. pervy!michael, janetsbsf!reader, porn with little plot, explicit themes, dual loss of virginity, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, small time jumps, dry humping, mentions of masturbation, slightly subby!michael, not proofread, creampie, breast fondling, cum swallowing
𝓼ynopsis ׁ ᛝ michael and you share your first intimate moment ever together—but at what cost, exactly? movie night at havenhurst, and janet drifts quietly to sleep beside you. do you & him still pull forward with the perversion? well, of course!
𓈒 ݁ ݂ 𝓉he television set buzzed with music and liveliness, the animated characters reciting gorgeous melodies with a mix of small choreography to even it all out. you, janet, and michael had all sat down for the night to have a tiny disney movie marathon. the three of you started with the first princess, michael singing along to most of the tunes snow white had to offer. janet and you became his background vocalists, everyone clapping at the end as if you were present at some sort of theater production. next up was bambi—which made you all cry, naturally.
michael mostly enjoyed the watching experience with the two of you for bambi, mostly because you kept cuddling up to him whenever you'd get upset for the 2D animals. your grip would hang tight around his arm as you frowned from the scenes, michael's stomach swelling up with butterflies.
a few more hours had passed, and it seemed as if the movies were becoming longer and longer each & every time. the current film that was alice in wonderland. the colorful yet eerie animation lit up the dark living room, the colors reflecting and illuminating the atmosphere with bright and saturated hues. you looked over at janet, only to find her completely knocked out—her softly shut eyes tagging alongside her slow breathing.
"looks like jan couldn't handle anymore disney mayhem." you whispered, smiling at your sleeping best friend. michael lifted his head from his knuckles to glance over as well, giggling quietly at the scene.
you giggled as well, turning your attention back to the television. after a few minutes of silence following the 'giggling at janet' session, michael began drifting into some deep thinking. he wondered if now could be the perfect timing to make a move, since he had been waiting eagerly for such a moment to fall into his life. he looked out the corner of his eye at you, your face being lit up by the ephemeral scenes of craziness. he kept his limited sight on you and your body language, holding his breath as he began to shift. you and michael had been sharing a blanket the entirety of the night, him trying out of utmost respect not to do anything to create an awkward or uncomfortable experience.
he moved his hand down, heavily breathing as it grazed against your plump thigh. you jumped slightly, his touch tickling your skin softly. you smiled to yourself, letting your hand reach down to find his. you linked your fingers with his, michael's hand taking a delayed second to respond with the same action. michael's eyes shot down at the spot in blanket where your hands now lay intertwined. michael was clearly getting hot and bothered, your mind telling you to ignore his awkward mess as much as you could. but, it was undeniably hard. you never told anyone, but you secretly had feelings for michael. and little did you know, he felt the exact same way—maybe even a little more due to his perverted tendencies.
he never thought this day would come, truly believing his silly crush was going to continue being one-sided as he masturbated his life away. he presumed you were totally unobtainable—i mean, hello, you were his sisters best friend. he didn't want to make anything awkward between the three of you, especially not with his own sibling.
but that was all going to change now. it was like your touch gave him that reassurance he'd always longed for about his feelings. he looked up at you directly, gulping hardly from his nerves. you saw his gaze using your peripheral vision, turning your head as well to meet his eyes. you watched as he gulped, swearing in your mind he didn't even blink a single time while locked on your stare. you smiled, your look softening to sort of signal he didn't need to be so skittish. michael's anxious shoulders slowly fell down, his frightened expression slowly shifting into a soft grin.
"i- uhm, sorry i hope i didn't-" michael began, his stuttering sentence being quickly cutoff by your lips. he didn't have time to react whatsoever, his hand squeezing yours underneath the blanket. you brought your free hand up to cup his face, pulling him closer. michael's eyes slowly shut, his interrupted mouth melting into the kiss. he couldn't believe what was going on. his dream girl—the girl he shamelessly jerked off to countless times—was making the first move so swiftly. he could feel himself brazenly getting hard, his cotton pajamas becoming a tad hot and crowded. but to his dismay, you pulled away from the romantic gesture, visibly distraught.
"oh my god. i'm so sorry, really—i wasn't thinking at all. i should've-" yet another discontinued apology. michael clearly wasn't finished kissing you, and wanted to show it with his blatant interruption. the kiss quickly becoming steamy—unlike last time, where you and michael clearly were adjusting to the new physical affection. you didn't feel as guilty this time, reaching up quickly to cup his face once more. michael's hand broke away from yours under the covers, finding its way to your thigh as he softly squeezed your flesh.
the sudden action caused you to wince, a small whine from your mouth forcefully sneaking its way into the kiss. and that had seemed to be your final straw with this man. you both now had made it extremely obvious just how much you mutually wanted this to continue—so naturally, you took the opportunity.
without breaking any contact between your mouths, you shifted under the blanket quietly, climbing slowly onto michael. you straddled him, the position now making you fully aware of his erection. you surrendered from the kiss, the both of you panting in what was almost full synchronization.
"i just wanna make sure you're okay with this.." you whispered, watching as michael immediately nodded. how the hell was he going to turn down such a thing? and with that, you returned the gesture, biting your bottom lip from his eagerness. you were a virgin yourself, but didn't want to show michael how nervous you were—since you didn't want to become a turn-off during such a good moment.
you leaned back slightly, aligning your clothed cunt to hover over his mutually clothed length. you began rocking your hips slowly, rubbing your covered heat along his cock. michael exhaled softly, his hands gripping the couch cushions that sat below him. he felt like he was fucking dreaming—his longtime crush was quite literally humping his dick in real time. he watched, mouth agape, as you humped him so needily. your hips rocked avidly, his eyes giving away just how insanely turned on he was—besides his rock hard cock, of course.
he loved the way you were moving, his teeth secretly clenching together so he wouldn't say something filthy to your gorgeous face. he thought disgusting thoughts to himself as he watched your body continue to grind and shift—the feeling of your pussy being just out of reach, the way your body jerked back and forth as you humped—oh, he was definitely far gone.
"mmh.. love feeling you so bad." you spoke softly, your eyes tightly closing as you rolled your hips faster, your hands sternly placed on the space between michael's arms and the couch for stability. those words did something to michael, something so tantalizing and genuine. he groaned, beginning to rock his hips jointly below. he began to grip your moving hips instead of the couch, which caused you to quietly gasp. his hands were big and cold, the sudden frigid temperature meeting your warm sides deliciously.
you whimpered quietly, flinching as michael's hips bucked in response to your pretty noise. you felt his tip softly graze against your hidden clit, causing your hips to buck ferociously as well. michael grinned at your pleasure, forcefully stopping the motion of your hips just so he could start harshly rocking his own. you watched in awe and utter pleasure as his eyes still lay focused on yours. you pursed your lips, trying not to wake your sleeping best friend up to such a sight. janet shifted a few times in her sleep, which did cause you and michael to stop and stare for a few moments before heavily continuing.
michael licked his lips, watching your glossy eyes fail to keep their gaze specifically on him. he'd stop purposefully a few times, hoping it would get you to come back to your senses and give him his desired prolonged eye contact.
"michael.." you breathlessly spoke, whining quietly.
"yeah, girl?"
"ngh," you groaned, looking down at his torso and watching as the muscles contracted with each shift of his hips. "need you bad—so, so bad. 'want you to be my—ughh—god, please, just fuck me."
michael's eyes widened, his hips slowing down from the feeling of utter shock.
"r-run that last part by again?" he began to heavily breathe.
"i want you to- uh, to fuck me." you looked down at him with pleading eyes. "please?"
he could feel his throat dry up instantly, his hips movement coming to an abrupt halt. after a few seconds of him being completely dumbfounded, he moistened his mouth back up as he gulped hardly.
"oh! mh—okay, yeah. yeah. mhm. why don't we-"
your fingers met his lips, shushing him on the spot. you softly smiled, subtly clearing your throat.
"don't overcomplicate it. please, michael. 've been waiting so long." you faintly whined out.
he could feel his infatuation with you increase significantly from those words. never, and i mean never would he have thought that his biggest fantasy would be slowly unfolding before him in the middle of reality.
michael desperately obliged, having you sit up slightly so he could shimmy a little out of his pajama pants. hungry eyes stared as you saw his cock spring up, your mouth beginning to slightly water from how hot the sight was. michael looked away sheepishly, embarrassment mapped all over his face.
instead of sitting in awkward silence and letting michael feel shameful, you decided to break the ice in the situation. you grabbed his chin with your thumb and index finger, pointing his gaze back at you. you pointed down at your tiny shorts, grabbing his cock in one hand and pulling the bottoms and your panties to the side, exposing your pretty pussy lips.
michael nearly fucking died. he stared intensely, examining everything there was to your flower. his body tensed as you began brushing his tip—now leaking with precum—against your delicate folds. you stroked him a few times, hoping you were doing something right. the only sexual encounter you ever had was janet giving you tips on how to please guys in bed, since you had bashfully asked before out of curiosity.
you broke the anticipated mutual gaze the two of you have kept up to focus on your actions. you watched as his tip slipped inside a few times due to your moistened arousal, causing the both of you to jump and gasp. michael tucked his bottom lip inward under his teeth, his breath suddenly shaky and weary. you gave him a final look, basically asking with your body language for permission to go all the way.
michael glanced at his sleeping sister then back at you, wondering if this was the time for such a thing. he then trailed his eyes down your body, finally to his throbbing dick. your hand never escaped it while awaiting his answer, your gaze soft and your eyes big—which just continued to persuade him further more.
he felt a small lump in his throat form, knowing he couldn't say no to you no matter how hard he tried. the prettiest girl he knew, cock in her hand and looking oh, so needy. he could feel his dick twitch in your grasp, earning a small giggle from the both of you. michael ultimately fell for your begging gaze, he himself becoming needy by the second for your gorgeous cunt. it was right there—oh, so close.. he could literally feel your heat radiating onto himself from how close your pussy was to his length. fuck it. he was going to put aside his religious worries, the infatuation taking full control.
michael bit his bottom lip, nodding vigorously to signal his desperation. your brain squealed, the excitement building up in you as you realized just how dreamy the situation was—your crush, unaware the feeling was mutual, was about to take your virginity within a matter of seconds.
michael assisted you with positioning, having you sit up once more for a slight moment so he could adjust himself. he spat on his hand, dragging it slowly up and down his cock to act as lubrication.
he gently grabbed your tors, bringing you back to your original spot. you hovered over his aching tip, reaching down to slightly spread your lips. you lined yourself up perfectly, head whipping up to stare at michael. you gradually lowered yourself onto his throbbing sex, your mouth loosely falling open from the painful yet arousing sensation. michael hissed, his chest slowly rising and falling as he tried to stay conscious in reality.
you barely made it a few inches past hit tip, stopping completely to try and regain your composure. michael let out a groan, the noise almost being inaudible from how quiet it escaped.
"i- i don't think i can go any farther. it's, hmm— 's too big." your words softly pushing their way out, the pain blending in with the pleasure as you tried not to move. janet had warned you sex for the first time would hurt, but she didn't mention the part where it was excruciatingly painful—jesus fucking christ.
"nah, girl.." michael sat still himself, scared of harming you further. "c-can uh, can you try it jus' for me...?" his hands landing firmly on your frozen hips. "please, baby? i'll make you feel so good, i promise."
your core only tightened further, his words seemingly casting some sort of sexual hex all over your body. you gripped the couch firmly, pushing your body down further—a few more inches being the only amount you could take. and don't get him wrong, he wasn't all that confident either. his touch deprived cock suddenly feeling new sensory he only ever dreamed of during the darkest of nights.
his hands were still sternly pressed on your hips, now moving in the painfully slow rhythm that you rocked. he watched as your body moved leisurely, staring in awe as he witnessed his dick slightly disappear inside of you, only to reappear damp with your sweet slick juices the next second. he could really tell just from these first few movements that he wouldn't last as long as he had planned—not like he had planned this in the first place. but, god, wasn't it something straight out of his perverted fantasies? doing something so intimate and secretive all with the risk of getting caught.. has he jerked off to this exact scenario before? mm, maybe just a bit!
your eyes constantly darting between michael, janet and your own body, you tried with all your might to not create too much of a scene. the only sounds that were really audible were those of the television and your pussy's arousal spreading all over michael's shaft.
starting to see the pearly gates of heaven, michael continued to help guide your hips. he didn't know what he was doing at all, but just wanted to make this highly enjoyable for the two of you. you—and secretly himself as well—wanted ohhh so badly for your tight flower to fully descend onto him. but with the pain you were experiencing currently not even halfway down his length? yeah, not happening...maybe some other time in the future.
your body seemed to have finally adjusted to this tiny sliver of his length, your pain overly transcending into full-on pleasure. your moves became more confident—more precise. you were still confused on the concept of the man's side of the situation, utterly hoping you weren't harming michael or making him freakishly uncomfortable. but unknowingly, michael's expressions and body languaged matched yours all too well—the furrowed brows, the occasional shifting of pelvis', the small whines—all secretly in sync.
your slow grinding and rocking transformed into subtle bounces, your body increasing the amplitude. and rashly, without thinking, you grabbed one of michael's hands, lifting it off of your hip. he cocked an eyebrow, slightly disappointed from your little action. his small whine he was about to release broke halfway abruptly, watching as you dragged his hand along your torso until it sat under your shirt. you placed his hand—now warm and welcoming—on your left tit, sliding your hand back down to leave it in solitude with your flesh.
his eyes sat wide and alert, his body completely frozen. he still was slightly flinching from your sensual movements, but he was so nervous to do anything else. he gulped, your nod of apporval giving him butterflies. he hesitantly began softly squeezing your breast, the back of his hand sitting comfortably against the fabric of your t-shirt. you looked down—still sloppily bouncing on his dick—and realized how stupid you were for your previous action. why not give him some more freedom, hm? and of course, you did just that.
you halted your body, michael's confusion plastering all over his puppy eyes. he held his breath timidly, visibly gawking as your hands arose to lift your top, sitting the bottom of the fabric right above your breasts as to fully expose your heaven-sent bust. he cleared his throat harshly, staring at your gorgeous bosom. he was shortly interrupted though, as your hips continued to work flawlessly.
and then he felt it. that all too familiar feeling forming in his lower stomach—was quickly about to burst. his face turned hot, his palms clammy as he silently continued to knead your breast.
"mmh– baby.. c-can i?" he lifted his other hand off your constantly moving sides, pointing towards your connected sexes. your mind immediately knew what he was insinuating, shyly 'mhm'ing him, acting as if you didn't desperately want such a thing to occur.
your hips rocked few more times before michael released his grip from your boob. he placed one hand on your back and the other back on your side, adjusting the two of you slightly. he lifted himself up barely from sitting, the both of you now hovering a bit over the couch and his original spot.
rashly, michael began to sloppily fuck you. it took you by complete and utter surprise—his pelvis hungry and only after the goal of satiating the growing sense. you threw your head back, moaning through a closed pallette as he forced a few more inches inside of your sweet hole. michael leaned forward, planting kisses on your torso, smiling as he watched your shirt slowly unfold and fall down due to the harsh friction down below.
now you could feel it. you had rarely been frequent with masturbating, but you knew this feeling overwhelmingly. smiling to yourself as you reminisced cumming on your fingers to the thought of michael even slightly touching you. both of your dreams had come true, and neither knew how long the mutual feeling lasted before this—making it all the more exciting.
michael's strokes became faster, desperate to reach the gorgeous emotional climax that was his orgasm. you sat like a ragdoll, your eyes tightly closed as you let michael rearrange your fragile insides—all while trying to stay silent enough to not angrily wake janet.
his knot snapped first, his head curling inwards as his curly hair rested on your torso. you weren't far behind either, your legs softly shaking from the slight overstimulating sensations of his cock. he let out a guttural groan against your belly, the vibration travelling through your torso upwards, giving you a serious case of intensified rosy cheeks. they were already quite rosy from the workout that was fucking your best friends brother. god, it was so morally wrong but neither of you seemed to care—i mean, this man was quite literally still inside of you spewing his cum as we speak.
"oh- god." he moaned into your skin, his seed continuing to spill in perfect pearly ribbons, decorating your walls so deliciously. it was like decorating his own art gallery, but it was like a museum that was only sanctioned to you—his muse.
michael sat back down, softly pulling out of your swollen cunt. he continuously held your hips, having you sit up for a moment so he could watch something so enticing unravel. his lustful eyes widening as two small strings of his cum spilled out of you, landing on his partially covered thighs. you kept your eyes on him sternly, smiling as you dabbed a finger in his seed, licking it off your pretty finger—tucking your panties and shorts back into place shortly after, basically showing off how you were keeping his cum fully inside. michael's jaw hung open, sheepishly watching you sit back down in your original spot between him and janet. janet was still fully knocked out, painfully unaware of the bizarre occurrences that happened right before her on the family sofa.
michael shimmied his way back into his pants, the two of you currently sitting in the atmosphere that was old cartoons and bodies panting.
"wanna go to the bathroom?" you spoke, eyes not lifting from the television screen awkwardly.
"yeah, sure."
and with that, the two of you fleed into the guest bathroom that sat a few feet from the living room—you both needed more.
pairing: jaafar jackson x reader
summary: in which jaafar loses the bet after five days and fucks you senseless
warnings: established relationship, smut, multiple rounds, edging, handjobs + blowjobs, spanking, praise kink, loud/vocal jaafar because we love our men loud, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, soft aftercare. a bit of sub!jaafar and a bit of dom!jaafar (the best of both worlds).
a/n: idk, I felt like I had to write this
You and Jaafar have always been like magnets. From the moment you wake up tangled in each other’s limbs to the way his hand finds the small of your back the second you’re in the same room, physical touch isn’t just a love language, it’s your entire vocabulary. Fingers brushing, thighs pressed together on the couch, stolen kisses that turn into full makeouts in the kitchen while dinner burns…it’s constant. And the sex? Even more insatiable. You two fuck like you’re addicted, loud, messy, and often, very often. Morning, afternoon, late night, quickies in the car, slow and lazy on the couch, desperate and loud against the bathroom door, it didn’t really matter.
Touching each other was as natural as breathing.
Which is why jaafar’s little joke that afternoon was so dangerous.
So when Jaafar flops onto the bed one lazy Sunday evening, shirtless and grinning, he starts teasing you about it.
'Baby, we’re basically glued together. I touch you more than I touch my own face. Its a problem,' he laughs, poking your side.
You arch a brow, rolling over to straddle his waist just to prove a point. His hands immediately slide up your thighs. 'so wanna make a bet, then?'
His eyes light up. That competitive streak kicks in instantly. 'Bet is my second name.'
'Yeah okay, Jeremiah,' you smirk.
He groans dramatically. 'Low blow. Alright, what’s the bet?'
'Let’s see who can keep their hands off the other the longest. A full week. No touching, no kissing, no sex, no nothing. Loser has to do whatever the winner wants for a whole day.'
Jaafar’s grin is cocky as hell. 'That’s easy. Bet.'
DAY 1
The sun is bright and warm in the backyard, casting a golden glow over everything. You’re lying on the large lounge chair by the pool, stretched out on your back in nothing but Jaafar’s favorite red bikini. The one he always says makes your body look sinful, tiny triangles barely covering your breasts, strings tied at your hips that could come undone with one tug. You’d picked it on purpose.
You hear the sliding glass door open. Jaafar steps out, probably planning to join you for some lazy Sunday sun, but he stops dead the second he sees you.
'oh, come on..' he breathes.
You lift your sunglasses and tilt your head, smiling sweetly. 'Oh, hey babe’
His eyes drag slowly down your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the way the red bottoms sit high on your hips. He swallows hard, already looking like he’s in pain.
'You’re wearing that…on day one?' His voice is rough, lower than usual. 'That’s straight up evil.'
You stretch languidly, arching your back a little so your chest pushes out more. 'The bet was no touching. You never said anything about what I could wear.'
Jaafar lets out a low groan and runs a hand over his face. He’s shirtless in just grey sweatpants, and you can already see the effect you’re having on him.
He takes one step closer, then another, hands twitching at his sides like they have a mind of their own. You can see the battle in his eyes, that overwhelming urge to touch you that’s always been there between you two.
'Baby…come on. Just one little touch? I’ll be good after that,' he tries, flashing that charming smile that usually gets him whatever he wants.
You shake your head, biting your lip to hide your grin. 'Rules are rules. You agreed.'
He stops a few feet away, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze is glued to the little red strings at your hips. 'You’re really gonna lie here looking like that and expect me to keep my hands to myself all day?'
'Yepp.' You turn onto your stomach slowly, giving him the perfect view of your ass in the tiny bottoms. You rest your head on your arms and glance back at him over your shoulder. 'You can always tap out early if it’s too hard, you know?'
Jaafar makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He looks like he’s physically restraining himself from pouncing. After a long moment, he forces himself to sit down in the chair across from you, legs spread, elbows on his knees as he stares.
For the next hour, the tension is delicious. Every time you shift or reach for your drink, his eyes follow. When you ask him to pass you the sunscreen, he tosses it to you instead of rubbing it on like he normally would. His jaw is tight the entire time.
Later, when you flip over again and 'accidentally' let one of the bikini strings loosen just a little, he stands up abruptly.
'I need a cold shower,' he mutters, voice strained. 'This is gonna be the longest week of my life.'
You laugh softly as he walks back inside, sweatpants doing nothing to hide how hard he still is.
Day 1 had only just begun, and Jaafar was already struggling.
DAY 2
The morning after your red bikini stunt, Jaafar decides it’s his turn to play dirty.
You wake up to the smell of coffee and something sweet. When you walk into the kitchen, still half-asleep in one of his oversized t-shirts, you nearly trip at the sight of him.
Jaafar is standing at the counter in nothing but a pair of low-slung black basketball shorts. His toned back and shoulders are on full display, muscles shifting as he flips pancakes. The shorts hang dangerously low on his hips, showing the deep V-lines that always make your mouth water. His hair is still messy from sleep.
'Morning, baby,' he says casually, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
You swallow hard and try to play it cool, sliding onto one of the barstools. 'Smells good.'
He turns around fully, giving you a front-row view of his abs and the very obvious morning bulge pressing against the thin fabric of his shorts. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Instead, he leans back against the counter, stretching his arms above his head. The motion makes his shorts dip even lower.
'Want some?' he asks, voice innocent while holding up a fork with a piece of pancake. When you lean forward to take it, he pulls it back at the last second so your fingers almost brush his.
You narrow your eyes at him. 'Tease.'
'Who, me?' He chuckles, stepping closer until he’s right in front of you, standing between your legs. He’s so close you can feel the heat coming off his bare skin, but he doesn’t touch you. Not technically. His eyes drop to where the hem of his t-shirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing the fact that you’re bare underneath.
Your heart is already racing. You press your thighs together under the counter, trying to ignore the growing ache between them.
Throughout the rest of the morning, he keeps it up. He 'works out' in the backyard right where you can see him shirtless, doing push-ups, planks, and stretches that show off every muscle. Sweat starts glistening on his skin. Every time he catches you staring, he gives you that cocky little grin.
Later in the afternoon, you’re reading on the couch when he walks in fresh from the shower, towel wrapped low around his waist, water droplets still running down his chest and abs. He stops right in front of you, pretending to look for something on the coffee table, bending over so the towel slips just a little lower.
You grip your book tighter. 'Jaafar.'
'Hmm?' He straightens up slowly, the towel barely hanging on. 'Something wrong?'
You want to reach out and yank it off so badly your fingers twitch. He notices, of course.
'Bet’s hard, huh?' he teases, voice dripping with amusement. He leans down, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head, bringing his face close to yours without touching. You can smell his body wash, feel his warm breath on your lips. 'I can stop if it’s too much for you…'
You tilt your chin up defiantly, even though your whole body is screaming to pull him down. 'I’m fine.'
He chuckles darkly and pulls away, leaving you flushed and frustrated. 'Good. Wouldn’t want you tapping out on day two.'
By evening, the tension is unbearable. You’re both in the kitchen making dinner. Every time he moves behind you to grab something, he gets just close enough that you feel his body heat, but he never makes contact. His hand hovers near your waist. His chest nearly brushes your back when he reaches over you.
At one point he presses up against you for half a second, completely 'accidental', letting you feel how hard he still is before stepping back with a soft, innocent oops.
You’re soaked by the time you both sit down to eat, thighs clenched, trying not to squirm.
That night in bed, the pillow wall between you feels useless. You can hear Jaafar breathing heavily on his side, clearly just as wound up as you are. Neither of you sleeps well.
DAY 3
The double date was planned weeks ago, long before the bet. You almost cancel, but Jaafar insists you go with a mischievous glint in his eyes that tells you he’s going to make it torture for both of you.
You decide to fight fire with fire.
You slip into his favorite dress: a deep red that hugs every curve, dips low in the front to show off your cleavage, and has a high slit up one thigh. It’s the kind of dress that makes him weak, tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. You pair it with strappy heels and leave your hair down the way he likes.
When you walk out of the bedroom, Jaafar is adjusting his shirt in the mirror. He freezes.
'Fuck…' The word slips out before he can stop it. His eyes devour you, dark, hungry, and full of frustration. 'You’re really testing me today, huh?'
You do a slow spin, letting the fabric sway around your thighs. 'Like it?'
'I love it, baby, you look amazing.' He steps closer, hands hovering inches from your waist, fingers twitching. You can see the vein in his neck pulsing. 'I want to rip it off you right now.'
'Ha, but you can’t,' you whisper, brushing past him so your body grazes his chest for the briefest second. He lets out a low, pained groan.
The entire car ride to the restaurant is charged. His hand keeps drifting toward your thigh on the gear shift, stopping at the last moment. You cross your legs, letting the slit fall open, and catch him staring multiple times.
At the restaurant, you meet your friends, another couple who have no idea about the bet. The four of you sit at a cozy booth. Jaafar slides in next to you, his thigh pressed against yours under the table from the very beginning. Not technically breaking the rules…but close.
Throughout dinner he’s relentless.
He leans in to 'whisper' something in your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. 'You look so fucking good in that dress. I keep imagining bending you over this table.'
You nearly choke on your drink.
Later, when you reach for your glass, his fingers 'accidentally' graze yours. The brief contact sends electricity shooting up your arm. He smirks when he sees you shiver. Your friends are chatting and laughing, completely oblivious, while you’re fighting the urge to climb into Jaafar’s lap right there.
By dessert, you’re both a mess. You keep catching him staring at your cleavage and the way the dress rides up your thigh. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful.
On the drive home, the car is silent except for the heavy breathing. When you finally get inside the house, he corners you in the hallway again, arms braced on either side of your head, chest heaving.
'That dress should be illegal,' he growls, eyes dropping to your lips. 'Four more days of this? I’m gonna lose my mind.'
You tilt your head, lips inches from his. 'Then give up, baby.'
He lets out a frustrated whine and pushes off the wall, storming toward the bedroom. You hear the shower turn on again, cold water, no doubt.
You smile to yourself as you slip out of the red dress, already planning what you’ll wear tomorrow.
DAY 4
By Day 4 the house feels like a pressure cooker. The constant denial is starting to wear on both of you, turning every little interaction into sweet torture.
Around midday, Jaafar turns the tables again.
He comes back from a quick run outside, shirtless and glistening with sweat. The shorts he’s wearing are soaked through, clinging to his strong thighs. He doesn’t head straight for the shower. Instead, he stands in the kitchen drinking water, letting it spill down his chest on purpose.
You’re sitting at the counter trying to eat lunch. He walks right up beside you, so close his sweaty arm nearly brushes yours.
'Thirsty?' he asks, holding the bottle out toward you. When you reach for it, he pulls it back and takes a slow drink, throat working, water dripping down his neck and chest.
You’re staring. You can’t help it.
He sets the bottle down and stretches his arms overhead, giving you a full view of his V-lines and the way his shorts are hanging even lower now. 'Fuck, it’s hot today,' he murmurs, voice rough.
You squeeze your thighs together under the counter. The ache between your legs has become a constant throb.
Later that afternoon you’re both on the couch watching a movie sitting on opposite ends like the rules demand. But Jaafar keeps shifting, 'accidentally' letting his foot brush against your calf. Each small touch feels electric after days of nothing.
At one point he reaches for the remote on the coffee table and leans all the way over you, his bare chest hovering inches above your lap. You can smell his skin, feel the heat rolling off him. He lingers there for a few seconds too long before sitting back with a satisfied smirk.
'You’re evil,' you whisper.
By evening the tension is almost unbearable. You’re both in the kitchen making dinner. The space feels too small. Every time you move past each other, your bodies nearly touch. His hand hovers at your waist as he reaches for a pan. Your ass brushes the front of his shorts when you bend over to grab something from the fridge.
Neither of you speaks much. The air is thick with want.
After dinner, you take a shower, leaving the door open just a crack on purpose. You hear Jaafar pacing outside the bathroom like a caged animal. When you come out in just a towel, he’s leaning against the wall across the hall, arms crossed, breathing hard.
His eyes rake over you. 'One touch. Just let me kiss you. I’m losing it, baby.'
You step closer, so close you’re almost chest to chest, then stop. 'Rules, Jaafar, rules.'
He lets out a loud, frustrated whimper, the kind that always turns you on, and drags a hand down his face. 'I hate this bet.'
You smile and walk past him to the bedroom, dropping the towel just as you cross the threshold, giving him a full view of your naked body before closing the door behind you. From the other side you hear him groan loudly.
DAY 5
Five long, torturous days of no touching, no kissing, no sex. Just stolen glances across the room, teasing texts that never crossed the line, and that stupid bet you’d both agreed to: whoever caved and touched the other first had to admit defeat.
Jaafar had been cocky as hell in the beginning, flashing that charming grin and saying he could outlast you easily. But by day four the confidence had cracked. By day five? He was a mess.
You were lounging on your shared bed in nothing but one of his oversized t-shirts and panties, pretending to scroll on your phone. Jaafar had been pacing the room for the last twenty minutes, curls messy from constantly running his hands through them, jaw clenched tight. His eyes kept drifting to your bare legs, the way the shirt rode up your thighs. You could see the bulge in his sweats. He was painfully hard and had been for days.
Finally, he stops in front of you.
'Baby.. I’m tapping out.'
His voice is low and strained. You look up slowly.
'I can’t do this anymore,' he continues, eyes dark and desperate. 'Its only been five days and I feel like I’m going crazy. I need you. I need to touch you so fucking bad.'
You set your phone down but stay seated. 'but the week isn’t over yet.'
Jaafar exhales shakily and drops to his knees right there next to the bed. He looks up at you with raw hunger, hands resting on his own thighs because he doesn’t trust them not to reach for you.
'Please,' he says quietly. 'I’m literally begging you. Call off the bet. I lose. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…let me touch you. Fuck, baby…please. I’ve been hard for days. Every time I close my eyes I think about burying my face between your legs. About how good you taste. About how tight you get when you cum around me.'
He leans forward slightly, still not touching, but close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your skin.
'I miss you,' he says, voice cracking. 'I miss kissing you. I miss your hands on me. i miss the way you moan my name when I’m deep inside you.' Another desperate whimper slips out. 'Please end it. I’m so fucking horny it hurts. I’ll get on my knees every single day if that’s what you want. Just please…let me have you.'
You reach down and slowly run your fingers through his hair. Jaafar leans into the touch like a man starved, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
'You know? You sound sooo pretty when you beg,' you murmur.
He lets out another broken whimper. 'I’ll beg as much as you want. I’ll do anything. Just touch me. Kiss me. Ride me. Fuck me. Please, baby. I can’t take another day of this.'
You finally lean down and kiss him.
He climbed onto the bed as you pulled him into a desperate kiss, hands roaming everywhere as he whimpered against your mouth, his hands finally sliding up your thighs, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. He pours five days of frustration into the kiss, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, breathy little sounds escaping him.
But you had other plans. You loved reducing him to a moaning, twitching mess with your hands and mouth, and after five days of denial you were going to take full advantage.
You pushed him onto his back and straddled his thighs, slowly pulling his sweats down. His cock sprang free, rock hard, the tip flushed a deep angry red and already leaking steadily. It twitched visibly in the cool air, begging for attention.
'Aw, look at you, baby,' you murmured, wrapping your hand around his throbbing length. Jaafar let out a loud, shaky moan, hips bucking up instantly. 'So hard…You’ve been suffering, haven’t you?'
You started stroking him slowly, squeezing just right on the upstroke, thumb swirling over the sensitive head to spread his precum. Jaafar’s head fell back against the pillows, a deep groan tearing from his throat.
'Fuck— your hand feels so good. I missed this so much…ahh shit—'
'Mm, yeah? You like that?' you cooed, leaning down to lick the precum from his twitching tip. 'I love how red and sensitive you get when I tease you like this.'
You loved watching him like this. You leaned down and dragged your tongue slowly from base to tip, savoring the way his cock twitched hard against your tongue. Then you took him into your mouth, sucking gently on the swollen red head while your hand worked the rest of his shaft.
Jaafar was loud immediately. Whimpers, moans, broken curses, all of it spilling out as you bobbed your head. Every time you felt him start to throb and his thighs tense like he was about to cum, you pulled off completely, just stroking him slowly with a teasing grip.
'No baby please... don’t stop,' he whined, voice cracking. 'I’ve been good for five days. I need to cum so bad—'
'Not yet, besides, you sound so pretty,' you cooed, pressing a kiss to the twitching red tip. You edged him three more times like that, alternating between slow, torturous handjobs and wet, sloppy blowjobs. His cock was impossibly harder now, the head even redder and shinier, twitching violently every time you denied him.
On the last edge you sucked him deep into your throat while stroking the base. Jaafar’s back arched, a loud moan escaping as he tried to hold back. His hand flew to your hair but he didn’t push, he just held on like you were his lifeline.
When you finally pulled off, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing cock, he was a complete wreck: flushed, sweating, whimpering nonstop with tears in his eyes.
'Please— I can’t take it anymore, baby. I need to be inside you. Need to make you feel good too,' he begged.
You stripped off your panties and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling. He stretched you perfectly, filling you so deep after days without him. You started riding him slowly, grinding your clit against him with every roll of your hips, chasing your own pleasure while keeping him on edge.
Jaafar’s hands gripped your waist, whimpering every time you clenched around him. 'You feel so fucking good, so wet...Baby I’m so close already—'
'God, you fill me up so perfectly,' you breathed, hands on his chest.
Jaafar whimpered beneath you. 'Ride me harder, baby— please—'
You bounced faster, moaning his name. 'Like this? Fuck, Jaafar… you feel so good inside me.'
Every time he got dangerously close you slowed down again, edging him even while he was buried inside you. The frustrated, needy sounds he made were addictive.
'mph—! No, no, no, please— I’m gonna cum— fuck—!' he moaned into your shoulder, the sounds muffled as he tried (and failed) to stay quiet.
But he’d had enough of being teased.
With a deep growl he suddenly flipped you onto your back. He grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new position let him sink even deeper as he pushed back inside you in one smooth thrust.
'Oh my fucking god— Jaafar!' you cried out, eyes widening at how deep he was.
He didn’t hold back. He fucked you with hard, relentless strokes, hips slamming against you. The wet slap of skin on skin was loud and obscene, punctuated by his deep, animalistic moans.
He leaned forward, pressing your thighs closer to your chest, driving even deeper. Sweat dripped from his curls onto your skin. His moans were loud and unrestrained raw, needy sounds that made your stomach flutter.
'You’re driving me crazy,' he whimpered, the sound vibrating against your neck as he kissed and sucked marks there. 'I can feel everything…the way you’re clenching…I’m so close but I don’t want it to end.'
'Right there— don’t stop, you’re so...so deep baby,' you gasped, nails raking down his back. The overwhelming fullness and friction had you spiraling fast. 'you sound so hot when you moan like that— fuck I’m gonna cum'
Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Intense pleasure exploded through you, making your walls flutter and clench hard around him. You cried out his name loudly, legs shaking uncontrollably on his shoulders as wave after wave washed over you.
The feeling of you cumming pushed Jaafar over the edge. 'Baby, oh babyyy...' he moaned loudly, the sound raw and broken. His hips stuttered as he buried himself as deep as possible, thick pulses of cum filling you while his whole body trembled with the force of his release. Little whimpering sounds kept escaping him with every aftershock.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you panting. Slowly, he lowered your legs from his shoulders, groaning softly at the shift. He collapsed on top of you, face buried in your neck, his cock twitched inside you again, already starting to harden.
'Round two already?' you teased, clenching around him playfully.
Jaafar let out a low groan. 'Can’t help it.'
He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity, then flipped you onto your stomach. He gripped your hips and pulled you up onto your knees, positioning you perfectly in doggystyle. You arched your back for him, pushing your ass back against him.
'Fuck… look at you, my pretty and precious girl,' he murmured, voice thick with lust as he ran his hands over your curves. He rubbed his cock against your soaked folds before pushing back in with one deep thrust.
Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling.
'Still so wet and tight for me, huh?' he groaned, starting a slow, deep rhythm. 'My good, good girl.'
He gradually picked up speed, thrusting harder. The wet slap of his hips meeting your ass filled the room. Then, smack, his hand came down on your right cheek, firm but playful.
You clenched hard around him the second his palm made contact, a sharp moan escaping your lips.
Jaafar chuckled breathlessly, clearly noticing. 'Oh? You like that?' Another slap landed on the other cheek. Smack.
'Ngh—!' you whimpered, clenching even tighter around his cock.
He groaned loudly at the feeling. 'Mh, fuck..you squeeze me so good every time I slap this pretty ass. Such a good girl for me.'
Smack. Another firm spank.
'baby' you moaned, pushing back against him, your body betraying how much you loved it.
He leaned over you, one hand gripping your hip while the other delivered another slap. 'What a good girl I got,' he praised, voice husky right next to your ear. 'Clenching like that every single time. You love when I spank you, don’t you?'
'Y-yes, baby I do,' you admitted between moans, the mix of pleasure and the sting making your head spin.
Jaafar straightened up again and started pounding you harder, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder and filthier. He kept alternating between thrusting deep and landing well-placed spanks on your ass, each one making you clench and whimper.
Smack.
'Mhm— fuck!' you cried out, gripping the sheets tightly.
'Listen to those pretty sounds,' he teased, voice strained with pleasure. 'Every slap and you’re squeezing me like you never want me to pull out. My perfect girl.'
He reached around to rub your clit while continuing to fuck you senseless, his hips snapping forward relentlessly. His own moans and whimpers were loud and unrestrained, deep groans mixing with breathy sounds every time you clenched around him.
'Baby, you feel so, so fucking good,' he whimpered. 'Gonna make me cum again if you keep squeezing like that'
'Harder— please, Jaafar,' you moaned, pushing back to meet his thrusts. 'I’m so close…'
He delivered a few more firm spanks in quick succession, each one drawing out a fresh moans from you. The praise kept flowing between his own desperate sounds.
'That’s it…what a good girl. Taking me so well, my baby. Clenching so nicely for me every time I spank this pretty ass.'
The combination of his deep thrusts, the stinging slaps, his fingers on your clit, and his filthy praise finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard with a loud moan, walls fluttering and clenching rhythmically around him.
'Jaafar— fuck, I’m cumming!'
The feeling of you coming undone sent him spiraling right after you. He buried himself deep and came with a loud, broken moan, filling you up again while his body shook. Little whimpering sounds kept slipping out as the aftershocks hit him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you panting heavily. Slowly, he pulled out with a shared hiss of oversensitivity. You collapsed flat onto the bed, and Jaafar immediately followed, covering your body with his.
He pressed soft, lazy kisses along your spine, then gently rubbed over the warm, slightly reddened skin of your ass where his handprints lingered.
'Shit…I got a little carried away with the slapping,' he murmured, voice soft and a bit shy now that the heat had passed. 'You okay, baby? Didn’t hurt too much?'
You turned your head to look at him with a satisfied smile. 'It was perfect. So hot.'
'Come here, baby,' he whispered, voice hoarse and gentle. 'Let me take care of you.'
He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a clean towel, carefully wiping between your legs with soft, loving strokes. Every touch was feather-light, mindful of how sensitive you were after two intense rounds.
He leaned down and pressed gentle kisses over the warm handprints. 'I got a little carried away… my good girl took everything so well, but I still wanna make sure you’re okay.'
You sighed happily, melting under his care.
He grinned and carefully rolled you both onto your sides so he could pull you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand gently stroking your hair while the other rested possessively on your hip.
'What a good girl I have,' he whispered again, but this time it was sweet and full of affection. He nuzzled into the back of your neck, breathing you in.
You laughed softly and intertwined your fingers with his. 'I love you, baby.'
'I love you more,' he replied, pressing a kiss behind your ear.
He pulled the sheets over both of you, holding you close as your breathing slowly synced up. His fingers continued tracing gentle patterns on your skin, occasionally brushing over the marks he’d left. The room was quiet now except for soft sighs and the occasional contented little hum from him whenever you shifted closer.
Eventually his voice grew sleepy. 'Round three in the morning?' he mumbled, already half-asleep but still clinging to you like a lifeline.
You smiled and squeezed his hand. 'We’ll see, needy boy.'
☙ SYNOPSIS: you’re janet’s best friend so you got invited to stay the whole summer with her at her home in hayvenhurst. you’ve always been attracted to her older brother, pff who wouldn’t? but little do you know he sort of has a crush on you too. so now you have to figure out how you’re going to survive six long weeks while being under the same roof as him.
⌫ WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI — post!thriller michael, age gap (reader is 21 & michael is 26), janet knows about readers crush and teases her about it, michael is such a gentleman, j*e doesn’t exist cause i said so, michael’s brothers being teases, also randy tries to flirt with reader a lot, jealous!michael, oblivious!reader, horny!reader, first kiss, virginity loss, sub!michael if you squint really hard, oral (m!receiving), riding, unprotected p in v, creampie (oops), no use of y/n, happy ending
☙ WORD COUNT: 6.0k words
✿ NOTES: guys i got a bit lazy at the end as i always do lol. but i hope you still enjoy it, this is also one of my personal favs mwah!
michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi
SUMMER 1985
you hum to the soft music playing in your car, feeling the warmth of a summer afternoon through your car window as you start to get closer to the hayvenhurst gates.
you cannot believe that you're staying the whole summer at hayvenhurst.
you've been friends with janet jackson since you both met at school in indiana but you lost contact over the years when your family had to move away. it was only recently that you both reconnected and have been inseparable ever since.
that's why she invited you over to her beautiful family home, to spend the summer and you are more than excited. not only are you going to be having the best summer of your life with your best friend but you'll also get to meet him.
yes, michael jackson.
when you were younger, you never actually got the chance to meet janet's older brothers but it was only when you moved away to a different state and you saw how popular the jackson's became that you realised that your friend had fine ass brothers.
you remember having a crush on all of them, not knowing who to choose, but there was always one that stood out from the rest and that was michael.
it was just a coincidence that he turned out to be a bigger star than the rest of them, with him going solo and having the biggest selling album of all time.
you pull your car to a stop, pushing your sunglasses on top of your head before opening your car door.
just as you go to open up your trunk so you can get out your multiple suitcases, the door of hayvenhurst bursts open.
“you’re here!” janet squeals, running towards you and giving you a massive hug.
you laugh, hugging her back just as tightly.
“im so excited to be here. oh my gosh this place is much bigger in person.” you gawk, looking up at the massive lawn.
“ehhh you get used to it.” janet smiles, before looking at the multiple suitcases and bags that are stuffed into your trunk.
“girl did you pack your whole life in here?” she laughs, helping you take out your stuff.
“janet im here for six damn weeks, i need options.” you giggle.
“fair enough.” she nods, “i hope you have a lot of bikinis in there because we’re about to be by that pool all the time!” she raises a brow.
you give her a look that means ‘girl be so for real.’
she laughs at your facial expression, grabbing a few of your bags and helping you to the door.
“but seriously,” you start. “are you sure your mom is fine with me staying?” you ask.
“pff of course! mommy is more excited for you to stay than i am. she did say there needs to be more women in the house.” janet laughs, dropping one of your suitcases right by the door.
“what about your brothers, will they be fine with me staying?”
“who cares what they think?” janet shrugs. “plus this estate is big enough for us to never see their ugly faces.”
you laugh at her words, going back to your trunk so you can grab a few more bags. it does really feel like you packed your whole world in here. but you’d rather have too much clothes, than too little!
you jump when you hear janet scream at the top of her lungs. “randy! michael! come down here!”
“what?” janet shrugs, when she sees your expression. “we shouldn’t have to carry all of this by ourselves.”
“janet it’s fine.” you smile. “this is all technically my stuff so i should be the one carrying it all.”
“girl please, i have brothers for reasons like this one.” right as she says those words, randy comes round the corner followed by michael.
“did you really have to shout that loud?” randy raises a brow, putting his hands on his hips.
you stop in your tracks when your eyes find michael’s. he looks even more beautiful in person.
“who’s she?” michael’s questions, his voice so smooth and soft spoken that it feels like you’ve been wrapped in a blanket.
“she’s my friend.” janet smiles, “and she’s staying for the summer so be nice.”
“oh ill be nice alright.” randy says, his eyes trailing your body up and down.
you laugh at his words, pulling out another suitcase.
“now go help the girl, that’s what i called y’all down for.” janet says, pushing michael towards you.
randy sighs, coming towards you and helping you with your bags.
“what’s your name?” he asks.
you tell him your name, fixing your sunglasses that are trying to slip off of the top of your head.
“that’s a pretty name.” randy smirks, shaking your hand. but not before squeezing it gently.
“randy stop flirting with my friend, and michael,” you look over to see that michael still hasn’t moved from his position by the door, “stop gawking and go help randy!” janet huffs, bossing around her older brothers.
michael sighs, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, and walking over to your car so he can help with the bags.
the first thing you notice when he steps near you is his cologne.
how can a man smell so damn good.
“hi.” michael nods, holding his hand out for you to shake.
his hand is big, way bigger than yours and you look down at the warmth radiating from his palms.
“hi.” you say, sounding just a bit breathless. “thanks for helping with my stuff, i know it’s a lot but i’m here for the whole summer and i wanted to make sure that i had enough clothes…” you trail off when you see the amused look on janet, randy and even michael’s face.
your face starts to feel strangely warm at the realisation that you just word vomited in front of michael jackson.
randy let’s out a laugh in disbelief. “no way.”
michael stays silent, still gripping your hand, and still staring into your eyes like he’s trying to look into your soul.
“girl.” janet shakes her head, a smile forming on her face, “come and get your butt in this house so i can show you your room.”
“right!” you clear your throat, letting go of michael’s hand who still hasn’t moved, and making your way to the massive doors of hayvenhurst.
“thank you again by the way!” you say over your shoulder to the two men.
“just come on!” janet laughs, leading you into the large foyer.
“i just embarrassed myself didn’t i.” you let out a nervous laugh.
“why did you just spill your guts out there?” janet laughs. “and to michael of all people…”
“i don’t know,” you shrug, “he’s just so nice and…”
janet throws her head back in laughter. “oh my god you totally have a crush on michael.”
“wha— no!” you exclaim, following your friend as she leads you up a large staircase.
“you definitely do. i can’t wait to tell the rest of my brothers and la toya. i mean, i think randy already realised.”
“janet i don’t have a crush on him!” you shout, following her down a long hallway until eventually you both stop at a door.
“mhmm, sure you don’t.” she laughs, “well if you do then this will become a very interesting summer!”
“well i don’t. so there will be nothing interesting to see!” you cross your arms.
“okay!” janet holds her hands up in surrender. “anyways this is your room, my room is just down that hall, to the left and if you must know michael’s room is down that way, all the way at the end of the hall. you can’t miss it.”
“janet!” you gasp, pushing her shoulder playfully.
“okay! okay! ill stop.” she laughs. “but i’m really happy you’re here, you’re gonna enjoy yourself so much!”
“i cannot thank you enough for letting me be here this summer, i know we’re going to have so much fun.” you pull her into a hug.
“that we are!” she says, pulling away. “i mean hot girl summer, remember?”
“exactly that!” you both cackle, doing the handshake that you both learnt when you were both just little girls in school.
“i’m going to leave you here and see how the boys are doing with your overwhelming amount of bags, and you can just meet me downstairs at the pool in, ill say maybe an hour?”
you nod. “definitely! i’m going to take a quick shower because the drive here was long, and ill meet you by the pool, if i can even find where it is.” you laugh.
“okay then how about i meet you here in an hour so i can show you where the pool is because id hate for you to get lost on your first day here!” janet giggles.
“yes, that’ll be amazing.” you open your door, stepping inside. “thank you again, janet.” you say, before closing your door and realising that you may have fucked up by coming here.
because the whole time you were speaking to janet, the only person who was on your mind was michael freaking jackson.
“so…” randy smirks, leaning against your car with his arms crossed.
michael looks up at his younger brother in confusion. “what?”
“so what do you think about pretty girl… janet’s friend.”
michael shrugs, “nothing? i don’t even know her.”
“oh but i bet you wanna know her.” randy laughs.
michael scrunches up his face, “no i don’t. she’s not my friend, why would i want to get to know her? stop being stupid randy.”
“well she obviously likes you.” randy says, raising his eyebrow. “pretty girl never even gave me a second glance when she saw you.”
“she has a name.” michael huffs, crossing his arms.
“ohhhh!” randy cackles, pushing his brothers shoulder. “you don’t like me calling her that do you? getting a bit protective aren’t you mikey?”
“oh shut up.” michael mumbles, feeling his face start to burn up.
“just admit that you like her.” randy states.
“i don’t know her, randy. how can i like someone i don’t know?” michael exclaims, getting frustrated by his little brothers pestering.
“so you’re saying you don’t find her attractive?”
“i— i don’t…”
randy laughs at his brother fumbling over his own words.
“it’s okay to find a girl pretty mikey.” randy snickers, finding this whole situation comical.
michael’s face now feels hot to touch, because he does find you attractive, more than attractive and this is the first time he’s ever met you. so how on earth is he going to handle spending the whole summer with you?
“what are you guys just doing standing there?” michael hears janet call from the open door.
“we’re talkin!” randy yells back.
“well less talking and more carrying these bags upstairs for my girl!” janet stomps back into the house.
“i swear sometimes i wonder who’s worse, her or mother.” randy shakes his head, doing exactly what his baby sister is asking him to do.
michael on the other hand is distracted by you. the way you showed up in tiny tank top, showing a sliver of your smooth stomach, and jeans that hugged your arse so perfectly that he wonders if they were painted on.
he sighs in frustration, annoyed by his own mind.
he shouldn’t be thinking this way about another woman, especially not a woman that’s the same age as his damn sister.
but for some reason he can’t, his mind is engraved with the thought of you.
for the past couple of days, all you and janet have been doing is lazing around by the pool, painting each others nails, shopping, gossiping about ex boyfriends, and just having fun.
you never thought hayvenhurst could be this welcoming, and have such a homey feeling. and you also didn’t expect janet to be correct about the mansion being big enough that you won’t even see her brothers or anyone else for that matter, because you’ve actually hardly seen them.
this is only your second week here so far, and you’ve only caught a tiny glimpse of marlon when he was on his way out to a date, but that’s it.
it’s like they all have their own seperate bubbles in the estate and only come out when they feel like it.
that’s why it was such a shock that when you decided to come into the kitchen late at night to grab a bottle of water, you found michael sitting on a stool at the island, with a notebook and a glass of orange juice.
you nearly run back out of the kitchen and back to your room because not only is the one person who you can’t get out of your mind less than ten feet away but also because you’re alone… with him.
a man who has been in your dreams for as long as you can remember and now he’s just there, right in your reach.
you’re probably going to embarrass yourself again.
he still hasn’t noticed you by the door way, too busy scribbling down notes.
“hi.” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen and making a beeline straight for the fridge.
michael’s head pops up at the sound of your smooth, velvety voice and immediately takes in what you’re wearing. he tries not to let his eyes wander, but it’s hard to stay focused when he can make out your tiny pyjama shorts, that look like they just about cover your arse.
he clears his throat, ridding his mind of those filthy thoughts. “hi.” his mouth forms a tight lipped smile, before he ducks his head back down and tries to concentrate on his notebook filled with unfinished lyrics.
you feel a small pang of hurt in your chest at the feeling of being dismissed. you get it, you’re just a regular girl who happens to be his sisters bestfriend and also staying in his home for the summer, but he doesn’t even care that you’re here, at all.
honestly why would he? he probably has hundreds of women fawning over him and you think that out of all of them, you’ll be the one to catch his attention.
ugh, you hate that you’re so delusional and you hate that you can’t get him out of your fucking head.
“sorry.” you apologise, taking out a bottle of water from the fridge. “m’ just here to get water, i didn’t mean to disturb you.” you give him the same tight lipped smile that he gave you and start to make your way out of the kitchen.
“it’s okay.” his soft voice, stops you immediately. “you didn’t disturb me.”
you turn around immediately at his words, biting your bottom lip.
“are you not tired?” you ask, mentally face palming at the question. you just got an invitation to carry on a conversation with your biggest obsession and the first thing you ask him is that? “im sorry, that’s not what i meant, i mean… its late and you’re not in bed like everyone else.” you shrug.
you should really stop speaking. because it’s like the more you speak, the more embarrassing shit comes out your mouth.
michael let’s put a soft chuckle. “it’s okay. i find it hard to sleep at night sometimes, so instead of sleeping, i write down all the ideas that keep me up.”
you nod in understanding.
“why aren’t you sleeping?” you see him raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips and how he easily flipped the question back onto you.
“i- i was sleeping!” you sputter out.
“yet you’re here standing in front of me.” your mouth widens in shock at his bold words.
he normally seems so shy and secluded but you didn’t know that he could be so bold and dare you say, funny?
before you knew it you found yourself on the stool right beside him, talking, laughing and joking around like life long friends.
“you’re so funny!” you laugh, after recovering from a laugh attack that he just gave you. you swear you probably have abs from how hard he’s made you laugh.
he shrugs, a wide smile on his face.
and that’s when you realise that it’s already later than it was before, and you are getting a bit tired.
you yawn for what feels like the twentieth time, and that’s when michael realises you should probably go to bed.
he stands up, stretching out his legs. “c’mon.” he holds out his hand so you can help you off of the stool even though he doesn’t have to. but he is a gentleman after all. “you need to go to bed. you’re practically falling asleep sitting up.”
“i do.” you yawn. “i really enjoyed talking to you tonight mikey.” you give him a tired smile.
“mikey?” he raises a brow.
“yeah. short for michael, do you not like that?” you ask, wondering if you’ve overstepped a line. you may have just spoken to him for an hour straight but you’re still practically a nobody to him.
“i like when you say it.” he says, causing heat to creep up the back of your neck.
was that him just flirting with you?
“okay.” you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “ill call you that more often then.” you smile, grabbing your unopened bottle of water.
“goodnight mikey.” you whisper, leaving him standing at the kitchen island all by himself.
as you walk out of the kitchen, michael takes a deep breath.
he never wanted this. it was okay at first because he thought he could keep himself busy and avoid you. but now that he’s heard your laugh, heard your sassy comebacks, saw the way you looked so relaxed in his presence… he just may have fucked up.
because now he has to have you.
you and michael have sort of made a routine since that one night you both spent talking in the kitchen. it happened once, then again, then again until every single night after that, you found yourself in that kitchen talking to michael about how your day went, what you and janet got up too etc. and he did the same, talking to you about his demo’s that he showed quincy, telling you about how he went to visit a children’s hospital with bill so he could give them toys and read them stories.
you never thought you could become even more obsessed with someone. but michael is genuinely one of a kind. he’s quirky, has a good soul, loves to compliment you. at this point you’ll consider him your friend.
you remember trying to hide it from janet the first night but she saw underneath all of your lies and is aware that you want michael jackson… badly.
she wastes no time with teasing you about him every chance she gets, like now.
“i can practically see you drooling.” janet snickers.
you gasp, hitting her softly on her arm.
“that was so loud, what if he hears!” you exclaim, looking over at the pool where michael and his brothers are relaxing.
“oh please, he’s already staring at you.”
your neck snaps towards michael, who’s laying on a float, with his shirt unbuttoned and swim shorts. you can’t exactly see if he’s looking at you since he’s wearing his shades, and marlon seems to be saying something to him. but with the way his head is pointed in your direction, you can’t exactly rule out the fact that he might be looking at you.
you lean back on your sunbed, scoffing. “why would he even be staring at me?”
“because he likes you, and you unfortunately like him.” she makes a face in disgust, still trying to get over the fact that you have a massive crush on her brother.
you laugh, “it’s not unfortunate, he’s cute. really cute.”
she pretends to gag at your words. “okay i can just about deal with you having a crush on my brother, but i can’t and won’t sit here and listen to you absolutely drool over him.”
“you started it. you should’ve never said anything.” you say, watching the way randy jumps into the pool, splashing everyone even you a bit.
“damn it, randy.” janet yells, wiping her arms off with her towel that was hung at the back of her sunbed.
“that’s what happens when you girls refuse to get in the pool.” randy grins.
“im tanning.” janet holds up her middle finger, before settling back and closing her eyes.
“what about you pretty girl, you wanna come in the pool with us.” you laugh at the nickname randy has given you, because unfortunately from the first day he met you and he called you that, it’s seemed to have stuck.
“sure.” you shrug, taking off your shades and plopping them on your sunbed.
janet lifts her shades up and gives you a cheeky wink.
“stop it.” you laugh, taking off your cover up that’s wrapped around your waist.
you slip into the pool, and right away you’re getting splashed with water from randy.
“randy!” you squeal, splashing water back at him.
you shriek, swimming to the edge of the pool coincidentally next to michael and his float.
“quit it.” michael says to randy, when he sees you trying to get away from him.
“oh you hiding behind mikey now?” randy smirks, when you hide behind michael’s float.
your smile is so big that you’re surprised your cheeks ain’t aching, “i thought i was going to have a peaceful swim in the pool not for you to try and drown me!” you joke.
“that’s why i never go in the pool with them boys!” janet shouts from her sunbed.
“you could’ve warned me!” you shout back, still clutching onto the edge of michael’s float who is laying there unfazed by this whole thing.
“it’s okay pretty, ill get you back next time.” randy gives you a wink before getting absolutely dunked by marlon.
“and that’s what he gets.” michael whispers to himself but you overhear it.
“hey!” you look up at him, brushing some of your wet curls out of your face.
“hey,” he says softly, smiling down at you.
michael tracks the way you bite your lip nervously before opening up your mouth to speak.
“were you watching me over there?” you grin.
“i was.” he says, honestly.
“why?” you question, putting both of your hands on his float, right near his shoulder.
“‘cause you’re pretty.” your heart speeds up at his choice of words.
“you think so?” you ask boldly, you have no idea where this surge of boldness has came from.
“mhm.” he hums, his gaze dropping to your lips. a sudden silence takes over and you realise that your faces are much closer than they were before.
“will yall just kiss already!” marlon shouts, from across the pool.
the tension snaps, you both looking in marlon’s direction.
“that’s what im saying!” janet shouts, making you duck your head in embarrassment.
“you guys are annoying.” michael mutters, settling back onto his float. you were so entranced by him that you never realised that he was leaned over his float just so he could be close to you.
you shriek, when randy catches you off guard yet again with a splash of water.
“you know what!” you shake your head, deciding to splash him back with everything you got.
“wait wait— pretty m’sorry!” he pleads, when you don’t stop.
“that’s what you get!” you laugh, you look back at michael’s float after being distracted by randy for so long, only to see that his float is empty and he’s making his way back inside with a towel on his shoulder.
“where’s he going?” you ask, “it’s still hot outside?”
“he might be jealous...” marlon says, raising a brow towards you and randy.
“huh?” you ask, seeing randy and marlon laughing. “why would michael be jealous?”
“pretty girl, have you not seen the way he looks at you? that man is obsessed!”
you give randy a look in utter confusion. “i- we… we’re friends, i think? i mean i- i find him cute but he hasn’t made any move that suggests he feels the same about me?” you just about sputter out your words, heat creeping up your neck at the thought that michael may feel the same way about you.
he did call you pretty, so maybe that might mean something. but so does randy and there’s nothing romantic about that?
janet says your name with a groan, sitting up on her sunbed. “babe i love you, i really do but you’re acting really stupid right now.”
“what?” you exclaim.
“he likes you!” marlon says, “you really thought this whole time that this was him just being friendly?”
“yeah!” you shrug. “he’s a nice guy!”
“oh my god.” janet throws her hands in the air, dramatically. “girl you better get your butt in that house and search for your man.”
you nearly choke at her words, “he’s not my man!”
“well he wants to be, and i know you want him to be exactly that, so stop acting like you don’t!” janet says, you stay in the pool, staring at her and her brothers in utter bewilderment.
janet says your name, “go!”
you blink away your nerves, swallowing nervously and getting out of the pool with randy’s help.
“make sure he’s not too mad at me aight, i just wanted to give you both a little push,” randy winks at you, sending you into the hayvenhurst mansion in search of michael.
“michael!” you yell, wrapping your towel around your waist.
you check in the kitchen, no sight of him.
you check the living room, nope, not there.
you remember janet saying that his room is on the same floor as yours, just the last door down the hall, so you decide to trust her words and find his room.
you get to his door, knocking on it a few times. “michael! are you in there?” you ask.
“mikey!” you knock again, not hearing an answer.
you go to knock again, but the door opens revealing michael who looks utterly pissed.
you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this furious before, and you want to know why.
“can i come in?” you question, when he just stands at the door in silence.
he steps to the side, letting you come into his room. you look around, seeing albums and vinyls everywhere.
pictures and post it notes stuck to every wall, his room basically looks like a studio booth, just with a bed in the middle.
you turn around when you realise he’s still silent behind you.
“michael what’s wrong?” you ask him, sitting on the couch that’s opposite his bed.
“nothing.” he shrugs. “you didn’t need to come and look for me.”
“well i do because you’re brothers were saying that you were upset, did i do something?”
michael looks at you, really looks at you and sees the desperation in your eyes.
“you did nothing, there’s nothing wrong.” he repeats himself, sitting on the edge of his bed.
you sigh, standing up and sitting beside him. “mikey…” you whisper, trying to amp yourself up so you can ask him the question. you are hoping that janet, randy and marlon aren’t setting you up because if they are, what you’re about to say will be embarrassing. “were you jealous seeing me with randy?”
michael’s head snaps up, and the look in his eyes tells it all. “yes. i was.” he admits, truthfully.
your mouth opens in shock at his words, because they were right. janet, marlon and randy were right, he does feel the same way about you.
“i— i hated seeing you two laugh with each other, or the way he kept on calling you pretty girl and—” before you can stop yourself you lean up and press a deep kiss on his lips, stopping him from speaking. after the initial shock of the kiss vanishes, michael closes his eyes, his hand coming up to the back of your head so he can deepen the kiss.
you let out a small whimper in the kiss when michael gently pushes you down onto the bed so he’s now on top of you. you grip onto his unbuttoned shirt, pulling his mouth harder against yours, as you let his tongue push past your lips. the kiss is desperate, messy, filled with heat and lust. but at this point you don’t care, this is all you’ve needed from when you first saw him.
he breaks away from the kiss panting, his forehead dropping against yours. you give him a few light pecks, not wanting your lips to leave his.
“you don’t have to be jealous.” you pant, your hand coming up to tangle in his curls. “because all ive wanted is you.” this time michael is the one kissing you, his mouth shifting into a grin, kissing you like he just the thought of you makes him hungry.
you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his body more firmly on top of yours. you gasp in his mouth, when you feel something thick and heavy pressed against your stomach.
michael realises, breaking away from the kiss and looking down to see a massive tent in his swim shorts. you immediately see the embarrassment on his face. “m’sorry,” he sits up and covers his face. “you— you just drive me insane and you’re so pretty and…”
“mikey.” you say, sitting up and pulling his hands from his face.
“it’s okay.” you smile, biting your bottom lip. you put your hand over his bulge, giving it a squeeze.
michael groans, dropping his head back.
“baby…” he moans, just by the light touch of your hand.
“do you want this?” you question.
“yes.” michael says quickly when your hand goes into his shorts, finding his hot and heavy length. “ive never… fuck,” he curses when you wrap your hand around him, your fingers not even touching all the way, “ive never done this before.”
him saying that shocks you because he’s older than you by a couple years, and while you’ve had boyfriends and have fucked a few times… he hasn’t.
you’ll be lying if you say that you being his first doesn’t make you wet.
“that’s okay.” you whisper, climbing off the bed and getting on your knees right in front of him. you pull him out of his shorts fully, gawking at the length and thickness of him.
“baby, you don’t have to—” michael groans, his eyes rolling back when you wrap your warm mouth around his fat tip. you open your mouth wider, trying to get as much of him in your mouth as possible.
you bob your head up and down, humming at the taste of him.
“oh…” he pants, swallowing hard when you look up at him, your eyes filled with lust. “this feels so good.”
you hum, opening your legs a little wider, your clit throbbing just from you sucking him off.
you take him into your mouth deeper, gagging when his tip reaches the back of your throat. you come off his dick with a pop, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting all the pre cum that’s oozing out.
michael bucks his hips, when you put him back into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and bopping your head faster.
you feel his dick twitch in your throat, knowing that he’s so close, “oh gosh…baby!” michael whines. his mouth falling open in utter bliss.
“wait, wait!” michael pants, gently using your hair to pull you off of him.
you look up at him, spit dribbling down your chin, your eyes glossy with lust.
“come here,” michael says, pulling you up from your position on your knees.
“wha— mphhh!” michael kisses you, groaning when he tastes himself on your tongue and pulls you onto his lap so you’re right above his throbbing length.
“wanna feel you.” he mumbles against your lips. you nod, pulling your bikini bottoms to the side and feeling your wetness coating your fingers. you reach behind you, raising yourself up as high as you can, feeling his tip breach your entrance.
your mouth falls open, feeling the delicious stretch of his tip pushing inside of you.
michael pushes his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his moans.
you push your self down slowly, taking in every single thick inch of his length.
once you’re fully seated you pull michael’s face towards you, connecting your lips in a messy kiss.
you hold his face, staring into his eyes when you raise yourself up right to the tip and then drop yourself back down.
you moan, finding a steady rhythm and loving the feeling of his thickness stretching you open every time you reach the hilt of him.
“you feel so good,” michael gasps, leaning back on his hands and watching the way your pussy swallows him.
“hmm… so big. you’re so big.” you whine, bouncing faster and feeling that warm heat low in your stomach.
michael grips onto your hips, laying his back down on the mattress fully, even though his feet are still pressed on the floor.
you grind your hips, rubbing your clit and feeling the coil in your stomach tighten.
gripping your hips tighter, michael starts thrusting up into you, throwing his head back at the utter tightness and warmth of your cunt.
he swears he’s never felt such pleasure before in his life.
you shatter above him, flopping onto his chest, hearing his almost broken moans, while his thrusts quicken until you feel him push his whole length into you, feeling the warmth of his seed burst into your womb.
“holy shit.” is the first thing you hear, after the ringing in your ears subside.
you look up at him with a dazed smile, seeing how fucked out he looks.
his curls are sticking to his head, his eyes are completely glossed over. dare you say that he looks… reborn.
“i didn’t expect that to happen when i just came up here to check if you were okay.” you giggle, dropping your head back onto his chest.
“me neither.” he chuckles, “but im glad it happened.”
“really?” you say.
“definitely. ive been wanting to do that since i saw you.”
you hide your face in his neck, feeling embarrassed after you’ve already rode the fuck out of him.
“mikey.” you giggle.
he drops his head down, giving you a kiss on your temple. “im serious though, i didn’t like the way randy was all over you.”
you laugh, “he said he was just doing that so he could give us a little push and now you have to thank him because it worked!” you gesture between the two of you.
“nah i ain’t ever thanking that big head.” michael grins, rubbing a hand up your back.
you smile, leaning up to kiss him deeply.
who knew staying at your bestfriend’s home would have you shackling up with her older brother.
“you think they’re both okay up there? should i go and check on her?” janet asks her brother’s, who have long since came out of the pool and are just playing catch with a beach ball.
marlon snickers, shaking his head. “if you know what’s better for you baby sis, you better leave that girl alone until tomorrow morning. she ain’t coming down anytime soon.”
randy laughs, shaking marlon’s hand.
janet’s eyebrows furrow in confusion at what they’re getting at. after a couple moments of thinking it over, she nearly throws up at the thought. “ew gross! don’t be saying that marlon!” she shouts, throwing a towel at his head.
“you did ask!” marlon cackles.
“yeah right!” janet pouts, knowing that as disgusting as it is, marlon is right and now she’s unfortunately going to have to share you with michael.
because knowing you and knowing michael, you both aren’t letting each other go.
