Could u make a fic where jaafar gets like corrupted to cheat on Maddie with a model from his music video and make it smutty 😛
Oh and can one of the scenes have the reader cover his mouth with her hand as she’s riding him bc he was too loud bc they did it near Maddie 🙏🏽
pairing :: jaafar jackson x reader
warnings :: cheating, corruption, smut
Taglist: @d3adlyclassrat , @uh444 , @perfectillusiontreasure , @islandsunning , @ivorydays , @sassenachmalfoy , @shanilovesbils, @trinitythegatg , @uknownn111 , @booklvr32, @rockstarfics , @weepingwillow12344, @woonhak4prez ,
The bass from the car speakers still vibrated through your chest as Jaafar pulled into the driveway, the engine cutting to silence. You'd been flirting all day on set—stolen glances between takes, his hand lingering on your waist during the close-up shots, the way he'd bitten his lip when you'd run your fingers through his hair for the third take of the chorus. The chemistry was undeniable. Everyone on set had noticed it. His manager had given you both a knowing look when wrapping for the day.
"Come back to my place," he'd murmured against your ear, his breath hot and promising.
And now here you were, heart pounding as the garage door closed behind you.
"Wait here for a second," Jaafar said, his voice low as he stepped out of the car. He moved toward the door connecting to the house, pressing his ear against it like he was on some covert operation. You watched him through the windshield,admiring the way his fitted shirt pulled across his shoulders, the confident set of his stance. He turned back to you with wide eyes, jogging around to open your door.
"Maddie's home," he whispered, helping you out of the car. "But she's in the bathroom—her car's here but she's not in the living room. I can hear the water running."
Your stomach dropped, heat flooding your system. "We should—"
"No, no, it's fine." His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "She does this whole routine. Hair, makeup, the works. We have at least thirty minutes before she even thinks about leaving the bathroom."
The guilt should have hit you harder. Maddie was beautiful, talented, clearly devoted to him. But watching Jaafar's tongue dart out to wet his lips, seeing the hunger in his dark eyes, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
He tugged you toward the side entrance, moving quickly now. The door opened into a dim hallway, and you could hear it—the distant sound of water running, a radio playing something upbeat from the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was cracked open, a sliver of warm light spilling across the hardwood floor.
Jaafar pressed a finger to his lips, his other hand still wrapped around yours.
You crept down the hallway together, your footsteps muffled by the plush runner rug. Past the bathroom door, past the guest room, toward his bedroom at the end. Your pulse throbbed in your throat. Every shadow felt dangerous. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made you freeze.
But the music from the bathroom continued, and the water kept running.
He pulled you into his bedroom, closing the door silently behind you. The space smelled like him—cedar and sandalwood and something uniquely Jaafar. His bed dominated the room, dressed in dark linens, pillows perfectly arranged.
Until he pushed you against the door, his mouth crashing into yours.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he breathed between kisses. His hands roamed your body, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips. "Every time you looked at the camera, I imagined you looking at me like that. Every time you licked your lips between takes, I wanted to bite them."
You moaned against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair. He walked you backward toward the bed, your knees hitting the mattress before you tumbled down together. His weight settled over you, his hips pressing into yours in a way that made you gasp.
"Quiet," he whispered, though his smile was wicked. "We have to be sneaky, remember?"
"Then you better do something about my mouth."
His eyes darkened. He kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue sliding against yours while his hands worked at your clothes. Your top came off first, tossed somewhere behind him. Then his shirt, revealing the smooth planes of his chest, the definition he'd built for the video. You ran your hands over his warm skin, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. Each kiss left a burning brand on your skin. "I couldn't focus on anything but you today. The director kept yelling at me for missing my marks."
"Maybe you should have concentrated on your job instead of staring at me."
"Couldn't help it." His teeth grazed your collarbone. "You were standing there in that outfit, moving like that... I was hard through half the shoots."
You reached between your bodies, palming him through his jeans. He groaned, low and deep, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"Told you you're too loud," you teased.
"Fuck, keep touching me like that and I won't be able to help it."
You worked his belt open, then the button, sliding your hand inside to wrap around him. He was hot and hard in your grip, and the sound he made—somewhere between a growl and a whimper—sent heat pooling between your thighs.
"Your turn," he said, pulling away long enough to strip you of your remaining clothes. His eyes raked over your exposed body, appreciation and desire heavy in his gaze. "Even better than I imagined."
Then his mouth was everywhere—your breasts, your stomach, lower. Each kiss, each lick, each calculated stroke of his tongue built the pressure higher and higher until you were biting down on your own hand to keep from crying out.
"Jaafar, please," you begged, voice barely a whisper. "I need you inside me."
He kissed his way back up your body, positioning himself between your thighs. He paused, reaching toward the nightstand. The drawer opened with a soft sound, and then he was rolling protection on with practiced efficiency.
"Ready?" he asked, meeting your eyes.
You nodded, lifting your hips in invitation.
He pushed forward slowly, giving you time to adjust. Your body stretched to accommodate him, pleasure mixing with the delicious fullness. When he was fully seated inside you, he paused, his breathing ragged against your ear.
"Move," you urged, your nails raking down his back.
He started a slow rhythm, each thrust deliberate and deep. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. You could still hear the water running in the bathroom, the radio playing its upbeat tune. So close, yet so far.
"You feel incredible," he groaned, his pace quickening.
"Shh, you're too loud." But your own voice was breathless, barely controlled.
"I can't help it—you're so tight, so wet—"
You silenced him the only way you could think of, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. But that only made him thrust harder, the headboard beginning to tap against the wall in a damning rhythm.
Both of you froze. The sudden silence from the bathroom felt like a held breath, the radio now the only sound filtering through the walls. Jaafar's weight pressed you into the mattress, his chest heaving against yours as you both listened with predatory intensity.
Footsteps. Soft ones, padding across tile. Then the creak of the bathroom door opening wider.
"Shit," Jaafar breathed, barely audible. He pulled back, his dark eyes darting toward the bedroom door. "She's moving."
Your heart slammed against your ribs. The thrill of it—dangerous, electric—coursed through your veins. You should have been terrified. Instead, arousal pooled low in your belly, your body still aching for him despite the proximity of disaster.
"Under the bed," you started to whisper, but he was already shaking his head.
"No time. Just—" He glanced around the room, then back at you. Something shifted in his expression. Hunger. Desperation. The thrill of the forbidden. "Get on your stomach."
"I know." His voice was rough, controlled. He grabbed your hips, flipping you over with a determination that made you gasp. The comforter was soft against your bare chest, still warm from your shared heat. "But I'm not stopping. I can't."
The defiance in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You heard movement in the hallway—Maddie's footsteps light on the hardwood, heading toward the kitchen. The faucet turned on. Glasses clinked.
Jaafar's hands spread across your lower back, sliding down to grip your hips. He pulled you up onto your knees, positioning himself behind you. The vulnerability of it—face pressed into his pillow, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, your body exposed and waiting—made your thighs tremble.
"You good?" he asked, one hand tangling in your hair.
"Yes." The word came out breathless. "Hurry."
He didn't need to be told twice. You felt the blunt press of him against your entrance, then the slow, deliberate push as he filled you again. The angle was different this time—deeper, more intense. Your fingers twisted in the sheets, a moan catching in your throat.
"Quiet," he reminded you, leaning forward until his chest pressed against your back. His lips brushed your ear. "Be good for me and stay quiet."
His hips pulled back, then snapped forward. The sound of skin meeting skin was obscene in the stillness, punctuated only by the distant noise of Maddie moving through the house. A cabinet opened. Closed. Footsteps again, closer now.
Jaafar set a ruthless pace, each thrust deliberate and punishing. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back until your neck was exposed. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin below your ear.
"You feel so fucking good," he growled against your throat. "Taking me so well while she's right there."
A door creaked. The hallway, maybe. Your whole body tensed.
Jaafar's hand flew to your mouth, pressing firmly. "Shh," he breathed, hips stilling inside you. Both of you listened, hearts pounding.
The footsteps retreated. Another door opened—the closet, you thought—and then the sound of hangers sliding across a rod. She was getting dressed.
"Keep going," you whispered against his palm. "Please."
He didn't hesitate. His hand stayed pressed to your lips as he resumed his rhythm, harder now, faster. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard threatening to betray you both. You buried your face in the pillow, biting down on the fabric to muffle the sounds threatening to escape.
"You're so wet," he groaned, barely audible. "This turns you on, doesn't it? The risk."
You couldn't answer—not with his hand still covering your mouth—but your body responded for you. You pushed back against him, meeting each thrust with equal desperation. The coil of pleasure wound tighter in your core, building with every stroke.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice ragged. "Fuck, I'm so close."
A drawer slammed somewhere in the house. Footsteps again, moving toward the bedroom.
Panic and pleasure warred within you. Jaafar's rhythm faltered for just a second before he doubled down, driving into you with renewed urgency. His hand pressed harder against your mouth, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place.
"Don't stop," you managed, the words muffled against his palm. "Don't—"
The footsteps paused right outside the door. Your breath caught. Jaafar buried himself deep inside you and held, his chest heaving against your back. Neither of you moved. The silence stretched, agonizing and absolute.
A phone buzzed. Not in the room—somewhere else in the house.
The footsteps retreated. "Hello?" Maddie's voice drifted through the walls, bright and casual. "Yeah, I'm almost ready. Give me like twenty minutes."
Jaafar exhaled shakily against your neck. His hips twitched, unable to resist the urge to move even in the aftermath of almost being caught. The danger had passed—for now.
"She's leaving soon," he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. "I need to finish. Can you—"
You nodded frantically, pushing your hips back in invitation.
He didn't hold back. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, chasing his release with single-minded focus. His hand slipped from your mouth to grip your hip, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You reached between your thighs, fingers finding your swollen clit, matching his rhythm with tight circles.
"Come with me," he ordered, voice rough. "I want to feel you."
The command pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, wave after wave of pleasure that had you biting down on the pillow to keep from screaming. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and he followed you over the precipice with a strangled groan that he buried in the crook of your neck.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The aftershocks rippled through your body, your legs trembling from exertion and adrenaline. Jaafar's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breathing ragged against your skin.
"Holy shit," he finally managed.
He withdrew slowly, both of you hissing at the loss. You collapsed onto your stomach, boneless and satisfied, while he disposed of the protection and grabbed a shirt from his drawer to clean up.
The front door opened. Closed. A car engine turned over, then faded into distance.
Jaafar slid back into bed beside you, pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat was still racing beneath your palm, his skin damp with sweat. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind a warm satisfaction that spread through your limbs.
"That was insane," you murmured.
"That was the craziest thing I've ever done." His lips pressed against your temple. "You were incredible."
"So were you." You tilted your head to meet his eyes. "What happens now?"
He considered the question, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip. "Now? Now you should spend the night with me. Show you what it's like when we don't have to be quiet."
His expression flickered—something complicated passing through his dark eyes before he masked it. "She's gone for the night. Girls' thing or whatever. Won't be back until morning."
The guilt pricked at the edges of your satisfaction, but you pushed it aside. Tomorrow, you'd deal with the consequences. Tonight, you had Jaafar to yourself.
"So," you said, turning to face him fully. "Round two?"
His smile was slow, wicked, promising. "As many rounds as you can handle."
