knowing all the dedication and time jaafar put into learning michael as a person and performer and wanting to clear his name makes me sob
Monterey Bay Aquarium
tumblr dot com
One Nice Bug Per Day

Discoholic 🪩
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
occasionally subtle

oozey mess

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AnasAbdin

@theartofmadeline

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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available

★

titsay

Love Begins
almost home
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
$LAYYYTER
seen from United States

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seen from Netherlands
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seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

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@moniiimuffins
knowing all the dedication and time jaafar put into learning michael as a person and performer and wanting to clear his name makes me sob
where is my husband!
SUMMARY: inspired by this request. Michael spends months hiding an engagement ring and waiting for the perfect moment to propose. unfortunately, Y/N doesn’t know about either of those things and writes a song making that everybody else’s problem.
CONTENT: michael jackson x singer!reader. established relationship. raye inspired reader. “where is my husband!” - all credits go miss raye! fluff. comedy. public shenanigans. michael needs to hurry up. did no proofread.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MICHAEL JACKSON x fem!reader
synopsisৎ michaels 'odd' obsession with you, his muse, is hidden between the pages of his sketchbook.
porn w/ plot smut 18+ dry-humping inexperienced michael/reader switch!michael size-kink (if you squint) friends with benefits MDNI.
You were always considered an outlier in the earth’s hypothesis. Something to be dealt with rather than accepted.
You weren’t entirely ‘weird’, but being even slightly outlandish in a family that was all business, networking events, and societies twice your age made you stick out like a sore thumb.
You studied your parents' business partners, trying to understand the scripts they’d write and relay just to sell or be sold something. And when your mind refused to make sense of it, you decided you were okay with always being a step behind.
You were accepting the fact that your unwillingness to alter your oddities would leave you lonely–until him.
MICHAEL is officially the biggest music biopic of all time. i am so insanely proud of jaafar and everything he brought into this movie. he must have felt the weight of the world and so much pressure, and to see it play out like this is so beautiful. i remember when it was first announced that he was going to be doing it and now look at him!! this is so well deserved; polish the damn oscar! he wanted to wipe his uncles slate clean and show his humanity, and that’s exactly what he did. THIS SHIT MEAN SOMETHING TO ME MAN!
lying to my therapist
pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: after a bad breakup, you start therapy to fix your intimacy issues. your new therapist, steve harrington, is younger than expected and far too way attractive. what starts as professional help slowly turns into something more complicated and probably forbidden. wc: 8.9k warnings: porn with plot, +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, therapist / client relationship, thigh riding, cheating mention, fingering, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, female masturbation, semi-public if you squint, internal conflict, p in v, consensual sex, kinda forbidden sex, big dick steve. author's note: hihiii sorry for not posting tysm for 490+ followers and ty ani for the idea & nic for the help. i have a lot of exams but i wanted to post this before locking in and coming back with all requests and fics <3 love yall
If you are apart of #baenation or interested in the Jackson’s at all this is for you.
If you genuinely can’t separate Fantasy from reality then there IS an issue, being a creep is not funny AT ALL, reading fanfics is 100% okay but asking jaafars fiancé about their sexual relationships is not okay. Most of everyone in the fandoms have came out and said it was so weird when Michael would get questioned on if he was a virgin or any other sexual questions so I’m confused as to why people in the fandom are doing it to other especially HIS NEPHEWS, baenation is okay to call his fans but yall definitely need to dial it down, as for the fics I feel like all the Jermajesty fics on tumblr (that I have seen) are definitely appropriate for this app and I have been loving them!
It’s not only Baenation but Michael and jaafar fans are getting out of control also, editing Michael with abs and making ai videos of him in bed with yourself is NOT okay get a fucking grip, you don’t have to like Maddie nor support her I get it I don’t support her either but if you don’t like her just simply leave her the fuck alone
—cappaslota
To Have and To Hold (You Down)
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem! reader
Summary: The night after losing his virginity, Michael Jackson finds he can't control his body or his obsession. What begins as a tense ride home from the AMAs erupts into a raw, relentless claiming in the one place he was always meant to be innocent: his childhood bedroom. (established relationship)
Word Count: 4530
Tags: off the wall era, smut, porn with plot, oral sex (f receiving), prone bone, sexual awakening, sort of romantic smut?, michael is pussy drunk y'all, slight praise kink, marking, unprotected sex, creampie (oop) overstimulation,
Authors Note: this was a request. people want more otw mike! and another anon requested pussy drunk michael otw era as well, so NATURALLY this was born. im so sorry if this is not what either of you had in mind lmao. rarely see smut or much at all in this era tbh (ITS HIS BEST??? ARGUE W THE (off the) WALL -- hAH get it?)
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
18+ minors dnu!!!
oh his smile, how it melts my heart
i can't get over jaafar's research room. angel is a researched, peer reviewed and board certified michael jackson historian 😭
⌞ Home is Where his Heart is: Behind the Gates of Hayvenhurst ♡ ⌝
we're coming onto 17 years now that michael has been gone, and people simply just can't keep his name out of their filthy mouths. this man has been proven innocent TIME after fucking TIME & yet you still have the decency to say "you decide." ??? bitch dont play. in all honesty, if michael truly was such a terrible human being don't you think he'd still be alive? the elites give up their fucking arms and legs to protect the disgusting people of this world, so if that was the case with michael, why is he not alive and well?
& the fact people still make jokes about the allegations, whether they believe them or not, is disgusting. you have been desensitized to horrid criminality so you joke to make yourself feel better.
what i'm trying to say is that, you know damn well a dead person cannot defend themselves. and that is exactly why we are seeing through your cheap bullshit. "yeah we have tons of court evidence but let's wait 17 years to discuss it. oh and let's put it out right at the time people start to indulge in his innocence again." these people are fucking pathetic. and still, nobody who was around michael wants to speak out for his innocence. yk why? because he was killed by elites, and if these other celebrities speak out they know their lives are at risk too. which is still not a fucking excuse.
F.U.C.K. the press, michael you're the best. FUCK bashir, FUCK netflix & FUCK this documentary.
𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍
Husband!Michael who carries you through the doors of Neverland after your wedding. You told him he didn’t have to but he said he wanted to do it like how it is in the movies.
Husband!Michael who comes home from a long day of rehearsal and flops beside you on the couch with a dramatic sigh. His whole body is sore, and he could really use a nice massage from you, but is too stubborn to ask. He keeps sighing loudly and rolling his shoulders with a groan. You side eye him, catching his gaze already on you.
"Michael," you hold his name out, "Do you want me to rub your shoulders?"
He tries to play it off cool, shrugging, "Well, if you're offering then yeah, sure. I guess that would be nice." All the while he's immediately moved to sitting in front of you, waiting patiently for your touch.
Healing Touch (pt. 4)
part 1 ; part 2 ; part 3 pairing: michael jackson x fem!reader (jackie’s wife) era: late 70s/otw wc: 3.5k
summary: someone finally learns how to love and someone learns how to let go.
warnings /tags: ⚠️ ANGST!!!! infidelity(?), brother-in-law trope, age-gap (reader is slightly older), reader is jackie’s neglected wife :(, guilt, angst, mutual emotional repression, michael is catastrophically in love, ANGST ANGST ANGSTTTT, also an inaccuracy - i've made it look like "she's out of my life" was written by michael when in reality it wasn't but idc it's for the plot :c taglist : @kae2kaee , @boredpretty , @18lkpeters , @mjssluttyfish , @skiicoreee , @evetheegoonette ; @xoxogossipgirl02 ; @tojiswifeforlife ; @pixieelixer-24 ; @weepingwillow12344 ; @bringitonhomejohnb ; @bawdylanguageee
a/n : ahhhhh this is the final part of healing touch :( im gonna miss writing this sm!! thank you for all the reblogs and notes and love for this series!!
Half Awake, Fully Yours
pairing: Jaafar Jackson x f!reader summary: Getting your fiancé through wisdom tooth surgery should be simple. Except Jaafar, who never says anything out of line, has apparently left all his self-control at the door of the operating room. warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, anesthesia doing its thing, dirty talk (kinda? idk), established relationship word count: 1.6k words image credits: anotherpartoffme, davischloe881, filmsbyavs and themastersreign on tumblr
a/n: sooooo, this is my longest fic in a good, good while. I really enjoyed writing it, so I hope you guys enjoy it too! Forgive me if my sense of humor was only funny in my own head lol ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · ·
You should have known. You absolutely should have known.
Even before Jaafar told you he was getting his wisdom teeth out and that he would need you around for the post-anesthesia aftermath, you'd already lost count of how many videos you'd seen online of kids and adults saying the wildest things after the procedure.
You'd even sent some of them to a Jaafar who hadn't even considered the possibility yet, with captions like "your turn is coming." It was only natural to expect something like that, but why did nobody warn you it would be a thousand times worse?
She's probably loving every second of this, you thought, glancing at the nurse from the corner of your eye. Obviously she wouldn't warn you it would be a thousand times worse - obviously she would kill to be alone with Jaafar in a moment like this. Bitch. She was ogling Jaafar so hard you were tempted to pull her wisdom teeth out yourself, right then and there.
If you didn't have to worry about the fact that Jaafar had nearly undressed himself three times, almost stabbed himself with a scalpel that was dangerously within reach, and belted out Livin' On a Prayer at the top of his lungs - or, as he sang it, "peeing on the mayor" - in the last five minutes, you would have absolutely been the one sticking that scalpel somewhere near the nurse instead.
Jaafar seemed both fine and not fine at the same time. The surgery had gone well and he just needed a few good days to recover, but now came the fun part: waiting for the anesthesia to wear off. He was more restless than usual and way more talkative, and you kept going back and forth between wanting to help him and wanting to film him for blackmail material later.
Surprisingly, Jaafar hadn't quite registered your presence yet, which for now put you on equal footing with the nurse who was already occupying the space. And showing absolutely no signs of leaving. What do you want, you evil witch? He's not taking his clothes off again as long as I'm here.
"I need to pee right now-now or I'm gonna turn into a faaau-cet, do you want that? Pee-ee leaking like a faucet? I don't think so, my pee-ee is very hea-"
"Jaafar, your pee is very healthy," you cut in, with a smile on your face.
That was the first time he actually looked looked at you. His eyes, still glazed over from the anesthesia, did nothing to hide the admiration that washed over him as he looked you up and down, letting out a whistle so loud you felt your cheeks burn on the spot.
"Who are you?"
"It's me, baby," you said with a small laugh, though a seed of worry settled in your chest. Did he really not recognize you?
"Is it my birthday? What is this little piece of caaaa-ndy? I'm gonna need to unwrap it to see if it's-"
"Jaafar!" you said, equally mortified and in disbelief.
Jaafar was a reserved, shy man. There was only one moment his mouth became dirtier than anything you'd ever heard, and that was when he completely lost control in bed. But hearing him say things like that was rare enough. I don't want to disrespect you, he always said. Hearing him say it in public? Code red.
"What? I really want something sweet right now," he said, his voice dripping with a barely-disguised second meaning.
"Yeah, easy there, Willy Wonka, the one thing you absolutely cannot eat right now is sugar," you said calmly, taking a sip of your juice.
"Nobody said I can't eat you."
The coughing that tore through you was so sudden and violent that for a moment you genuinely considered that this was how it ended. The nurse glanced over and moved to help, but you waved her off quickly to signal you were fine. Oh sure, go ahead and finish suffocating me, why don't you?
"Jaafar, you're not going to remember any of this. And I will happily tell your brother every single word."
"You know my brother? Who are you?" he asked again, suddenly very curious about how a woman this beautiful would know so much about him. Thank you, Lord.
"She's your fiancée, Jaafar. Don't you remember?" The nurse's cold voice cut through the room for the first time, and it was like a thousand tiny daggers straight to your ribs. Yeah, you kinda wished you'd choked after all.
"My fiancée?" Jaafar's eyes went wide as he looked at you again, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.
"Unless you've changed your mind and don't want to-"
"Don't want to what?"
"Marry me."
"Bury you?"
"Jesus, baby, marry me."
"Although I really would like to bury... my dick in your pus-"
"Jaafar, oh my God!"
That was enough to send the nurse huffing out of the room. If I'd known, I would've climbed him myself.
"What? He really needs some comfort right now."
"What?"
"My little friend down he-ere. He saw you and gave you a standing ovation."
"A standi- Jaafar, what's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong. Everything down here is very, very right”
You genuinely didn't know whether to laugh, dig a hole in the floor, record all of it, or call the nurse back in to double-check that the anesthesia doses had been anywhere near reasonable.
“I’ll die if you don’t kiss me.”
"I'll kiss you, just not right now."
"Why not? Aren't you my fiancée? Don't fiancées kiss their fiancés?"
"Yes, fiancées kiss their fiancés, but right now you'd moan in pain if I kissed you."
"You want to make me moan?"
"Jaafar." You felt your cheeks burning, a subtle wave of heat running between your legs. You almost slapped yourself at the thought, he had just gotten out of surgery, for God's sake.
"So you do want to kiss me."
"Jaafar."
"Not even a little peck?"
"Are you going to behave?"
He nodded, looking like a mischievous kid who would do absolutely anything to get his reward.
Moving slowly toward him, you cupped his face gently and looked him in the eyes. Even clouded by the anesthesia, the love was still there, in the way he looked at you, melting under your hands. You let your hands slide down to his neck, resting your right one on his chest, which immediately went off like a drum. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be better once you kiss me."
You smiled and pressed your lips softly against his. The kiss was quick, light, barely a peck, but just enough to fill your chest with that warm, familiar feeling of home. Jaafar tried to deepen it, but you pulled back, remembering it could hurt him.
"Baby..."
"God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, tracing the outline of your lips with his fingertips. "You actually taste like something sweet."
"You're not going to remember any of this later," you murmured, suddenly flustered.
"I will absolutely remember the taste of your lips."
“Oh Lord, give me strength.”
"I'll give you something better than strength, do you-”
“Jaafar, I swear to God.”
“Shhh, pretty girl. Stay here with me, come closer", he murmured, and you clenched your thighs together at the sound of pretty girl so close to your ear.
"I'm right here."
"You're not even touching me properly", he said. He might not have recognized you fully in that moment, but his body, heart and mind did, and he wanted you as close as possible.
"Baby, I’m literally touching you."
"Debatable."
"Debatable how? I’m literally tou-"
"Now you are."
And with one swift movement, Jaafar grabbed your hand and guided it right onto his hard cock, making very clear to you that the anesthesia had done absolutely nothing to affect certain things.
"Mr. Jackson, here are your-"
The nurse went as white as her own scrubs at the sight in front of her, as she entered the room unannounced. You could have been mortified. Flustered. Maybe both at once. But the wave of satisfaction that washed over you was so much stronger than any of that.
Better than choking to death, right bitch?
✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · ·
"I said what?" A mortified Jaafar asked, sitting on the couch in your shared apartment, the anesthesia long worn off.
What hadn't worn off was the shame creeping through him after you'd recounted everything that happened, and that had been twenty minutes ago.
"You said you wanted to unwrap me and eat m-"
"Okay, you don't have to repeat it."
"You're the one who asked."
"Baby, I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me."
"It's fine, baby. I would've been more worried if you'd said all that to that nurse who was absolutely dying to flirt with you. Right in front of me!"
"What nurse? I didn't even notice anyone else there."
"Right, you were a little too busy putting my hand on your cock to notice much of anything."
"Ughh, no," Jaafar groaned, burying his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare”.
"Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of, baby. That's just what anesthesia does, don't you remember those videos I sent you?" you asked, sitting beside him on the couch and trying to pull his hands away from his face.
"Yeah, but in none of them was the guy trying to fuck his fiancée in front of everyone," he said, freezing the moment he realized what had slipped out. "I think the anesthesia hasn't fully worn off yet."
"You say much worse things to me in bed."
Jaafar looked at you, a mix of shame and arousal dancing in his eyes, and pressed a slow kiss to your cheek.
"So what do you say... We head upstairs so I can give you a proper standing ovation?"
"I say... I'm sending your brother everything I recorded first," you grinned diabolically, holding up your phone with a frozen frame of Jaafar mid-attempt at his first striptease.
"You wouldn't dare," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh yeah?" you said, already hitting send. "Catch me if you can!"
For the record: he caught you. He always did.
The wisdom teeth could go, but he never would. He was still, and would always be, yours.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ THE LADY IN MY LIFE
pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
era: thriller
summary: when Quincy Jones dares him to beg in one of his songs, Michael has no choice but to invite you into the booth with him… to ease his nerves, of course.
content: (MDNI), smut, makeout, late-night setting, fingering, mutual masturbation, piv, cowgirl, y'all know the drill, not proofread
a/n: I know there have already been some fanfics about this, but I wanted to make my own spin on it. This is also one of my favorite songs, so why not?
I am also getting to your requests, I promise. I just graduated high school 2 days ago, so I've been pretty busy :). love you guys!
masterlist
"Michael, you already got the sensuality in your music. I just think you should try this out. Just once."
He shakes his head shyly, "I, uh, I don't know about this, Q."
✧ THE CLOSER I GET TO YOU: jaafar jackson x reader
ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚ content/warnings: suggestive but in a cute way, reader is fem AND is jaafar's assistant, super duper cute fluff, a sprinkle jealous and drunk jaafar too, once again jaafar is so simp and cute ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚ WC: 5.5k ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚ A/N: needed to feed y'all more jaafar fics 🤭 also i got a request of like reader comforting jaafar during his filming and so here's me including a mini scene on that :))) felt like it felt so perfectly in this fic
“Jaafar, please, stay still.” You mumble, sending a text as you hear Jaafar shuffle as his stylist attempts to get his measurements.
Jaafar gives you a laugh, halting his movements. He thanks the stylist, huffing a breath as he walks to you and peers at your phone. You playfully tuck the phone in your chest, raising your brows at him. “Stop being nosy, and focus.”
“I need to make sure you’re not cheating on me and assisting someone else.” You playfully roll your eyes, but let out a small smile.
. . . . .
You have been Jaafar’s assistant for as long as you can remember, a few months after he released his single, Got Me Singing, to be more specific. You encouraged him to release more music as a fan of his delicate, melodic voice.
“They won’t let me.” Is all he told you one afternoon, and the sadness in his voice told you all you needed to know about the real power and position Jaafar was in as a Jackson family member.
His career was smooth because he wasn’t a high-profile figure. He still had eyes on him, of course, because of his name, but he wasn’t making big career moves where he or you were stressed in your positions. That was until Graham King reached out to you, a few years later, kindly asking if he could get in touch with Jaafar for lunch.
Jaafar agreed, of course, unaware of what the meeting could be about. As soon as he got back into his car, he rang you. “He wants me to play Michael.”
You sat up, pausing your television. “Michael Myers?”
Jaafar lets out a laugh as he connects his phone to his car and drives. “No, my love. Michael, as in my uncle Michael Jackson.”
“Holy crap.” Is all you said, and told him to talk to you about it in person. You met up that evening at his apartment, bringing over some Italian takeout from his favorite restaurant.
He opened his door and pulled you into a hug, appreciating the warmth of the embrace. He touched you as if he hadn’t seen you for ages, yet he was right next to you days before. You smile, pull away, walk in, take your shoes off, and throw your keys onto the coffee table. The move was all familiar, getting so used to being so friendly with Jaafar. You sometimes forgot you worked for him until you got a text message asking you to arrange agency meetings or book a golf tee time for him and his friends. You didn’t mind, of course, loving the fact that you could love your boss/job and be friends with him.
“And this is why I love you.” Jaafar groaned, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and preparing it on glass plates.
“You only say that cause I work for you, Jackson.”
Jaafar lets out a choked laugh. He wanted to say “that’s not really why,” but he stopped himself. Professional boundaries, of course.
You both talked about the role, the training, and the dedication it’d take to do it. You had faith in him, no doubt. But if he accepted that role, his life would change.
“I say do it, you’re clearly thinking about it. But taking the role will alter your life. You’ll be more known, and you’ll be required to do all these promotions. And I obviously have no doubt about you; you can accomplish all of that. But it’ll be a change for your career, you know?” You sigh after chewing your food.
Jaafar nods, licking his lips. “Our lives will change.”
“Our?”
Jaafar looks at you like you’ve asked the most obvious question ever. “Yes, our.”
You tilt your head, confusion etched onto your face. “You’ll be the superstar in front of those cameras, not me.”
“No, because you’ll be by my side. We’re in this together, remember? I won’t let go of you anytime soon. You’re the best assistant I could ask for; I won’t voluntarily get rid of you ever.”
You feel the butterflies swarm in your stomach, but you give them a soft tap. Stop it. “And if I quit then? Or what if you get so big you forget your real ones and leave them and get someone more adequate to deal with the rising fame?”
“That won’t ever happen. I won’t let it.” Jaafar shakes his head, tapping your nose before standing, grabbing your empty cups, and refilling them. You sit there, cheeks flushed. You knew he meant well and was innocent, simply expressing his care for a friend. But at your core, you felt hope ignite. You felt love for Jaafar, of course. But it was a type of love that would leave you disinterested in other guys, feeling ashamed whenever someone asked you for a date, and you would decline, saying you were “not looking to date,” but in reality, the person you secretly and truly wanted was your boss.
. . . . .
Jaafar began training, traveling from his home in the city to Hayvenhurt Estate in Encino. You came with him on the first day, emailing the coaches who would come and help Jaafar train. You pulled into the front of the house and covered your mouth, scared Jaafar would notice your reaction.
He lets out a laugh and points to the yard. “I grew up there.”
“There? And now you live, where you’re at now?” You say in shock. Jaafar nods, stepping out of the car and opening your door in a swift move. You give a small smile, fixing the wrinkles in your skirt.
“I’ll be moving back here for a bit while I’m training. I’m gonna try to familiarize myself with the place all over again, and connect with Michael’s childhood.” You nodded, watching as Jaafar walked away and began reconnecting with his old home. You began calling people, scheduling meetings, and doing other important things Jaafar needed.
And that’s how your routine went on for almost 3 years, until shooting was done. Jaafar devoted his entire life to ensuring his portrayal of such an important figure was the best that had ever existed. He trained himself tremendously, often ignoring the numbness of his toes or the weight he was vastly losing, all so he could dance perfectly. There would be times when the stress would get to him, walking past his friends and family without saying anything. You didn’t take it personally, however, and dismissed it. He would apologize about it the next day, expressing how exhausted he was. You understood, of course, and he’d take you out for dinner to make it up, or let you sit and watch his rehearsals and studio sessions. This meant more to you, however. You knew how shy he was, and he’d put all his energy into making sure that that session was perfect in rhythm, vocals, and sensation.
There was one incident you’ll never forget. It was a late night, and Jaafar had been practicing for a scene shoot that’d take place the week after. He told you he hadn’t eaten anything for hours and asked you to bring him some dinner. You drove to Encino, heart warmed that it’d be you bringing something so basic yet fulfilling that Jaafar needed. You shook off the feeling as you stepped into the house, nodding to the security guard as you walked inside, bag in hand. You stood outside the small studio, admiring as Jaafar danced along to one of Michael’s songs. You watched the sweat shine on Jaafar’s face, the way his curls bounced as he thrusted his hips so innocently, the way his pants hugged his body so perfectly. You clear your throat, waiting for Jaafar to find a stopping point before walking in, smiling as you shake the bag.
“The prince has asked, and I have delivered. Where’s your court jester’s compensation?” You joke, smiling, faltering as Jaafar gives you a small smile, takes the bag from you, and ensconces a seat on the floor. You take off your coat, hang it on a rack, then walk to Jaafar.
You sit in front of him, giving him space. You notice the tired lines that crease around Jaafar’s eyes as he takes a bite of his food. You lick your lips, softly sighing. “J?”
Jaafar looks up and into your eyes. You spot a hint of solace, and it takes every professional cell in you not to reach over and trace your fingers on those beautiful eyelashes you’ve grown jealous of. “Talk to me.”
He takes a deep breath before crossing his legs. He plays with the ruffles of his pants, attempting to multitask so he doesn’t break down right then and there. “I’ve put in so much for this, I have. I work day and night to make sure this goes perfectly, and yet I feel like it’s not enough. Like, I’m not enough.”
You sigh, shaking your head. “I’ve seen the work you’ve put in, and it’s incredible. You can’t tell yourself that, because if you do, you’ll believe it, and it’ll set you back.”
“But I already believe it.”
“No, you don’t. If you did believe it, you wouldn’t be here, still trying.” You say, and Jaafar freezes. You were right.
He nods, and the smile you’ve fallen in love with grows on his soft lips, and you reciprocate. “Since when are you so smart?”
You playfully shove him, laughing as he falls onto the floor. He grips your ankle and pulls you down with him. You fall onto him, laughter erupting from you both as he begins tickling your sides. “Jaafar Jeremiah Jackson, stop it.”
“Or else?” Jaafar teases, and the deep octave in his voice as he grips onto his onto your arms makes you slightly gulp. You let out a nervous laugh, your legs across his thighs, his juicy and perfectly-muscled thighs, and you look down, avoiding eye contact.
“I’ll quit.” You tease back, and Jaafar playfully rolls his eyes. He bites his bottom lip, scooting back and raising his arms in defense.
“Fine, you win. Just this once.”
You ignore the way your skin feels empty without his touch, crossing your legs, and finishing your dinner along with Jaafar. Jaafar, on the other hand, watches you for the rest of the night. His heart wrapped tight around his fist as you both moved on from the conversation, talking about a new show you two wanted to watch. You clean up and help Jaafar pack up before walking out the door and down the driveway.
Your hands are in your pockets, using them as a shield to prevent you from reaching out and touching his face. You were unsure why tonight was a hard night to be normal about your crush. Jaafar walked beside you, shoulders touching yours as you took your time reaching your cars. He walks you to yours and lets out a soft breath. “Thank you.”
You open your mouth to respond, but decide against it. You knew he appreciated you, not just because you were his assistant but because you were a friend who cared about him deeply. The look and nod he gave you before walking away, getting into his car, made your heart swell. You made a vow to yourself then and there that, no matter what happened, no matter how long it took, you would always care for Jaafar and be there for him.
Jaafar drove him that night, an image stuck deep in his mind. The heat that ran through his body as he gripped onto you, your mesmerizing laughs as you reacted to his jokes, and the comfort you gave him all drove him crazy. He felt like a fool dwelling upon it, feeling guilty almost, like he was taking advantage of your friendship. He didn’t want you to feel like there couldn’t be any professionalism between the two of you, given your boss-employee dynamic. However, times like that night often reminded him that he wanted to fire you just so he could get the guts to ask you out. To press his lips against the plumpness of your own, tasting you and memorizing every breath you could breathe so heavenly into him.
. . . . .
Shooting ended a few months after that, and your workload has gotten busier since then, with marketing running its course as the film was edited. You worked day and night, making sure Jaafar’s social media presence was not high until the trailer was released. You made sure he was getting the rest he needed before his life changed, and you would visit him almost every day just to check in.
“I’m getting the feeling you just want to call me just to hear my voice.”
“Ha ha.” You’d slyly respond and pinch yourself afterward. He was correct, but you couldn’t ever tell him that. It was far too embarrassing and improper.
Before you knew it, it had hit April. Jaafar’s manager, Alex, had you constantly making appointments for stylists to adjust Jaafar’s carpet outfits, arranging interviews with famous hosts, and even persuading him to redownload social media to at least show he was somewhat online. It was your job, and you weren’t complaining. It all just got so real, too real, for both of you that it was hard to no longer take anything seriously.
The Berlin premiere was days away, and you were currently helping Jaafar adjust his clothes for the carpet. He was planning to wear an all-black suit with a slight detail commemorating his uncle. His jacket would have a Michael twist and a red-and-gold band on the right arm.
“How good do I look?” Jaafar teased, waiting for your reaction as you hand him a coffee. You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “I would never tell you that.”
“Ah, so you’ve thought of it.”
You shake your head quickly, maybe a little too quickly, because Jaafar lets out one of his infamous chuckles. “No, I never said that. You did.”
“Just tell me I look good, darling, so my ego can be completed. You know that your compliments mean the most.”
You softly smile at him, taking a seat as you pull your phone out. A comfortable silence fills the room, the stylist occasionally humming as she measures Jaafar’s height and width. You take occasional peeks, eyes widening as you shamefully run your hands down Jaafar’s back, noting how perfect his pants hug him in the right areas.
“Hey, eyes up here, weirdo.” Jaafar snaps his fingers, and you let out a soft gasp, eyes squinting as Jaafar holds a laugh in. You shake your head, but grin, looking back down at your phone, pretending that your feed is much more interesting than Jaafar Jackson being in front of you.
. . . . .
“Jaafar! Jaafar! Michael! Right here, please!” Jaafar took a deep breath, gripping his jacket as he let out a brusque smile to the cameras. He had never been exposed to so many people in his life before, and he understood so perfectly why celebrities often ignored paparazzi.
You stood to the side, Jaafar’s phone in your hand as you watched him. He stood firmly, willing to smile despite the missing light etched onto his face that he usually carried. You were proud of his ability to choose uncomfortableness over his own pleasure, and that reminder was all you needed for tears to begin welling up in your eyes. Jaafar turns to you, and he notices the glassy film coating the eyes he’s become so infatuated with. He gives one more smile to the crowd before walking to you. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Jaafar questions, looking around for any potential danger.
“I’m okay. More than okay, actually.” You whisper, holding onto his arm for “support” as you readjust the end of your dress.
Jaafar says your name, a hint of unwillingness and desperation infused in his voice. “Then why are you crying?”
You sigh and look up to Jaafar, turning slightly as the cameras capture the moment without shame. “You make me want to cry in a good way.”
Jaafar lets out a relieving breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, and dips his head. He grips onto your waist, tucking his phone into his jacket. “Your ability to find compassion and softness in everything that I do is warming. I take it to heart, and always think about it before I sleep and when I awake.”
He pulls you onto the carpet, and your mouth gapes open. You look at him, and lay your hand onto his chest, feeling the beating of his heart under your palm. The smoothness and normalacy in Jafaar’s words made your heart match the tempo of his, and you bite your inner cheek, skin tingling as he taps you, nodding to turn to the cameras. You watch a genuine smile reach his face, and the cameras go crazy, capturing every millisecond of your existence. You stand there, body in contact with Jaafar’s, and the what-ifs go crazy in your head. Being PR trained, you know that the first thought in people’s minds would be, "Is that her girlfriend? You’re prepared to have that conversation with him, even though the delusions run crazy in your mind.
You give him a soft pat on his chest, pulling away gently. “That’s enough publicity for me. Need to let the prince have his moment to shine.”
Jaafar shakes his head and lets out a boisterous laugh, tender hands on the curve of your back, guiding you to the side. He runs his hand up and down your arm, a pattern so assuring and soothing. “What’s so bad about having a princess by my side then, hm?”
“Nothing wrong with that, we’d just have to find you one quickly.” You murmured, blinking rapidly as you turned your head.
“Maybe I want the one that’s been in front of me this whole time.” You shift your weight side to side, Jaafar’s words teasing the nerves roaming throughout your body. You shake your head, pushing him gently as his cast-mates pull him away for pictures.
You hold Jaafar’s affectionate words deep in your bones as you clench your fist, distracting yourself by arranging carpet interviews for him. You pick a couple of journalists who look respectful and go through the questions they plan to ask him. You’re nodding to one of them, listing the questions in your hand when you feel the warmth of a familiar hand touch the back of your shoulder. You turn and bite your lip as Jaafar smiles at you. “Hi.”
“Hi there.” Your flushed cheeks make an appearance, and you mentally slap the fool out of you before turning to the reporter, whose eyes and camera are intensely focused on the two of you.
“Here’s your first interview. I’ll walk you to your next.”
You step to the side, giving Jaafar his respectable distance as he answers some questions, showing genuineness as he talks. You keep that routine up for another half hour, walking side-by-side into the cinema. There’s a terse look in Jaafar’s eyes as a background actor approaches you, complimenting your hair. You give him a graceful handshake, confidence slightly boosting by the overture. Jaafar’s lips part but quickly purse, aware of his prominent RBF showing so proudly. He grabs onto your hips and leans down to whisper in your ear. “Want to go find our seats?”
You look up, slightly startled by the intimate breath in your ear, but you comply, giving a small smile to the guy before following Jaafar. The corner of your lips nudge upward, aware of Jaafar’s very much unnecessary move but secretly grateful for his confidence. You stand in front of Jaafar’s seat, holding onto one of his fingers as your lips make a slight moue. “I guess I’ll see you after the movie, then?”
Jaafar shakes his head, leaning towards you slightly. Your eyebrows relax out of habit, and you can feel the increase in your blood flow so tenderly. “Your seat’s beside mine.”
“You can’t live without me that bad, huh?” You hum, eyes shining bright under the warm-toned light above you. Jaafar croons and laces his fingers in your hand. He didn’t care that the move was unprofessional or risky, given the number of cameras on him. He just cared about the way your fingers fit so perfectly against his hand, like the universe took a mold of your hands before you even met.
You wait for the lights to turn off, and you cross your legs, fingers slightly fidgeting in your hands as the crowd begins to quiet down. Jaafar reaches over, holding onto your hand as you relax, the gentleness of Jaafar’s energy radiating through you. The movie starts a few seconds later, and you sob, laugh, look over with pride at Jaafar as you notice the reflection linger in Jaafar’s eyes. You were beginning to reach over and offer a hand of support when you realized his hand never left yours, and you turned your head quickly, heart racing as a calm smile settled across your face. You feel the soft heat climb up your neck and reach your ears, before it spreads across your cheeks, a subtle but impossible shift that etches onto your face.
The movie ends, and Jaafar receives a well-deserved standing ovation. You stand next to him, eyes brimming with proud, silent cries. Jaafar goes to the front, along with the main cast, director, family members, and executive producers. They all give a short speech, but push Jaafar to the microphone. “First and foremost, I want to say that this movie would be nothing without the legacy and memory of my uncle.” Jaafar nods, and the crowd exclaims in cheers. “I’d like to thank all the team that put effort into this film, making sure we portrayed Michael in the most accurate and honorable way possible. I’d love to thank my family, who supported me and watched me with pride in their eyes as I stood on that stage, dancing away like there was no other movement in the world possible.” Jaafar’s eyes fall on you, his pupils dilate as you offer him one of your favorite smiles.
“And lastly, I would like to thank the one person who stood by my side as I trained for years for this opportunity,” Jaafar speaks your name, and the crowd looks for you. You notice the sincerity in Jaafar’s eyes as he keeps his gaze on you. “This woman answered her phone every single time I called. Whether it was to bring me food after a 14-hour shoot or to simply hear her perfect voice, she was there. She encouraged me to take this role, and in doing so, I fell in love with acting and can see myself doing it more. Without you,” He points at you, “I wouldn’t be here. So I stand here grateful, my love, for you, for our relationship, and for your love. Thank you.” He slightly bows, and you feel the tears fall down your face. Jaafar finishes his speech and immediately looks for you. He walks across the crowd, embracing you in a melting clasp. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and press a soft kiss against his Adam’s apple.
“You’re sick, you know that. You have me crying in front of everybody.” You mutter, wiping away your tears as you pull your head back, fanning away the wetness from your face.
Jaafar doesn’t let go of your waist, prepping a comforting kiss on your forehead. “I meant every single word. You’ve seriously been the muse of my life since I met you.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, grinning softly as you adjust Jaafar’s color. He looks down, the movement so small, yet it opens a future outlook to Jaafar, one that many would call crazy and delusional.
“My dad’s throwing me a little afterparty. Come with me. Be my date.” Jaafar murmurs against your forehead, soft lips running chills down your body.
“I thought I was already that.” You tease back, pulling away. Jaafar grabs your hand, and you both walk outside and into the limousine. You relax into the leather seat, eyes closing. It was relieving to be in a quiet space after being in such loud spaces before. You open your eyes, Jaafar’s gaze on you. You tilt your head and lick your lips. “Let’s drink.”
Jaafar nods and grabs a champagne bottle from the mini fridge, taking a very long gulp before handing it to you. You take a sip and sigh, handing the bottle back to him. You both sit in silence, the recollections from that night playing in your minds. The rush had cooled off, and as you fidgeted with the string of your dress, you wondered what Jaafar really meant tonight. Was he simply expressing his appreciation for the work you’ve put in your role as his assistant, or was he genuinely grateful for your love and truly did love your soul?
He notices the questioning that remains in your face and clears his throat. “You look extravagant tonight. I don’t think I’ve told you that yet.”
Your lips curve upward, and you cross your arms. “Thank you.” Your eyes stay on one another before you arrive at the event center, and Jaafar gets out first, opening his hand to you as you step out the door and walk down the corridor. You walk inside the doors and get hit with LED lights, Michael Jackson music, and familiar faces all around. You turn to Jaafar and give two squeezes to his hand before pulling away. “Go explore, I’ll start posting on your accounts.”
“No working. Just have fun with me.” Jaafar mutters with a whiny voice, and you let out a laugh. The champagne’s beginning to run its course, and you notice it as the sweat builds up on his forehead. His cousins pull him away, and he gives you a sad smile before walking away. You walk to a corner, sit down on one of the high chairs, and begin uploading some pictures to his Instagram story. You’re so busy making sure every caption, angle, and photo looks right that you miss Jaafar’s gaze from across the room. One glass of vodka lemonade in his hand isn’t enough to grant him the confidence to finally and directly confess his feelings to you. He basically did during his speech after the movie, but he knew that wasn’t enough. He inhales the mixture in his cup before ordering another, not enjoying the taste as he just wants to wash away any anxiety and uncertainty. Tonight needs to be the night.
It’s about an hour later when you finally finish posting on Jaafar’s media accounts, so you power off your phone and look around, attempting to find the bar. You began walking to it when you heard Jaafar’s room echo around you. You turn, and spot his jacket off, tie undone, and hair wet with sweat. You rake your eyes all over him before letting out a chuckle. “Someone had too much fun, I see.”
“Not really, you weren’t with me.”
Jaafar mutters, shaking his head. He isn’t drunk to where he can’t think right, but he is buzzed to the point where the confidence runs through his mind, pushing him to be the boldest he should be. “How you are?” You laugh and take the cup from his hands, taking a sip of whatever it was he was drinking. “I’m good, I finished posting on your accounts, so we should be good till tomorrow morning.”
“No, no, no more work talk. I’m tired of us pretending that’s all we care about. I want to know how you feel for me without using work as an excuse to hide away from me. I want to see you, the version that isn’t with me because I pay you, or because it’s your job, but because you feel something more.” His words hit you instantly, and if it weren’t for both feet straight and on the ground, you’d swear you’d fall over. Jaafar takes a much-needed breath after quickly screaming those words, and he blinks.
Your mouth parts open in surprise, unsure of what to say. So you say what you know, “You’re drunk.”
“Drunk on love.”
You nervously laugh, your clothes quickly suffocating you. You want to crawl out of them, burn them, and then take a cold shower. You’re frozen, scared to breathe in case it snaps you out of whatever daydream it is you’re thinking about. “You’re drunk, JJ. Get it together.”
Jaafar defensively shakes his head. “I don’t need to be drunk to know that I love you. Guess I needed to be drunk so I could gain the confidence to finally tell it to you after all these years of wanting you.”
There’s a slight tightness in your stomach, but you rest your hands on it, calming the anxiety with a soft hum. “Don’t play with my emotions, not even while drunk.”
“But I’m not playing, baby. I have fallen for you in ways I can spend eternity describing. Every single word you say makes me feel some type of way, and I tried to tell myself we could never be more than friends. And yet, you’re the reason why I wake up and try; your voice is the lullaby I fall asleep to. Your body, and the warmth that it radiates on me when I’m cold.” Jaafar’s voice cracks, and the dragging of his fingertips on your spine makes you shiver, but mostly because of his words. The raw and sincerity of them, so comforting and filling.
“But I’m your assistant.”
“Then you’re fired.”
You lean towards Jaafar and softly gulp. “You need to stop being so sappy, you’re making every one of my thoughts about you.”
“What will you give me if I do?” Jaafar’s finger is now at the top of your lip, tracing the curves and plumpness of it as you softly pucker them, reaching for more. Your shoulders are no longer stiffened, so you balance them, feeling your heartbeat even against Jaafar’s hand.
Your eyes close, and you feel Jaafar beginning to lean in, before he pauses. “Can I?”
Your breath hitches, and you grip onto his shirt as you nod. His lips melt onto yours, and there’s an uneven rhythm of your teeth clashing against each other. You both laugh, but don’t let go. Every trace of his tongue on yours is exploratory, the desire burning through your body. After some minutes, you both pull away, foreheads on one another as you take breaths.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day we met.” You mutter, and Jaafar chuckles. His hands scanned up and down your arm, getting familiar with every birthmark and vein.
“You’re beautiful, and every second I’ve ever spent with you has fueled my heart to continue happily beating for you,” Jaafar whispers, and you feel your lip quiver with emotion.
. . . . .
It’s the next morning, and the light coming through the windows is shining on your face. You turn, and Jaafar’s eyes are already on you. You shake your head, softly groaning. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”
“So long, I heard you snore.” You groan and let your head fall onto Jaafar’s chest. You two had a long night, so you changed into some pajamas and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. You woke up once early in the mirror, feeling Jaafar’s hand imprinted onto your waist. It felt wrong to move away from them, so you smiled and fell back to sleep.
Your bodies were in close proximity, focusing on how electric the air felt and on how your heat seared his soft, perfectly bronzed skin. There’s a tightness in your chest as you look up and sigh. “I have always loved you.”
“I was scared you’d reject me or find me weird, so I masked it as friendship, but for the past few years, my eyes began searching for you in every room,” Jaafar murmured and rested his chin on top of your head. You pull away, stretching your muscles as he softly groans at the loss of your touch. You smile, watching as his fingers begin finding their way on your body. “Come a little closer so we can celebrate the way we feel about each other’s love.”
Jaafar grips onto your hips and lays you on top of his stomach. He presses kisses against your face before pulling back. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
He shakes his head before pressing his lips onto yours. “Impossible.”
You close your eyes, smiling against Jaafar’s teeth before sighing, the touch of his love reaching your fingertips and spine, reminding you just how real he was.
THE PHONE PRANK 𖥻 JAAFAR JACKSON
synopsis: you pull a prank meant to make Jaafar jealous quickly spirals when your nonstop phone notifications start making him genuinely suspicious
ᵎ!ᵎ 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 ⊹ 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠youtuber.ᐟ𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ⊹ jaafar ⊹ jealousy ⊹ prank