#biopic

[an7body]

⋆˚࿔ ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ⋆˚࿔

starring JAAFAR JACKSON ; IN THEATERS APRIL 24, 2026

[mikesfavfish]

✧ 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. 

[jaafar-jackson-mj26]

Use Me- (Jaafar Jackson) WARNING 18+ smut 🔥

This is my first Jaafar smut so please take it easy on me lol ✨ let me know what you think. If you have a request please send it to me.

The hotel suite door opened just as fast as it slammed shut with a force that made the pictures on the wall tremble. You didn't even have to look up from your spot on the bed to know who it was. Jaafar was back, and he was radiating a rage you'd never felt from him before. This wasn't your sweet, patient Jaafar. This was something else entirely.

It had started with his texts. Short. clipped. One-word answers that were a stark contrast to his usual heart emojis and playful typos. Here. No. Fucking disastrous day. You'd felt the anger through the screen, a five-alarm fire that told you exactly what was coming. You'd shimmied out of your sleep shorts and pulled on the sheer, black robe he loved, the one that left nothing to the imagination. You were a goddamn feast, and you were ready to let a starving man devour you.

"Fuck," he snarled, ripping his jacket off and throwing it across the room. It hit the armchair with a heavy thud. "Just... fuck."

You sat up, watching him pace the length of the room like a caged animal. His movements were sharp, agitated. "J, what happened? You said it was a tough day."

"Tough?" He let out a harsh, bitter laugh that held no humor. "Tough doesn't cover it. I couldn't get the steps right. Not once. We wasted six hours. Six. Fucking. Hours. The director was about to lose his mind, the crew is looking at me like I'm a joke, and I just... I wanted to punch a hole through the goddamn wall." He said with tears filling his eyes.

His chest was heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You saw the raw frustration rolling off him in waves. This was a man who prided himself on his control, his artistry, and today it had all slipped through his fingers.

"Hey," you said softly, swinging your legs off the bed and standing up. "Look at me."

He stopped pacing but didn't turn, his back still to you. "I'm so pissed, Y/N. I've never been this fucking angry in my life. I don't know what to do with it." His eyes were red. He was so angry he wiped tears away fast.

You walked over and placed a gentle hand on his tense back. You could feel the coiled muscles beneath his thin shirt. "Then don't hold it in. Just come here. Come over here with me and breathe. We'll figure it out."

He finally turned, and his eyes were dark, almost wild. "Breathe? I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm not that guy, Y/N. I'm not the one who loses his shit like this. I am so disappointed in myself. Now production will probably get delayed.”

"I know you're not," you murmured, looking up at him. Your heart was pounding, but not with fear. There was an electric current in the air, a dangerous energy that was drawing you in. "So let me help."

He stared down at you, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, but then his hands shot out, gripping your upper arms. "No. I can’t do that to you.” You look up at him. “Why? What is it Jaafar?” “It’s terrible, I want to use you," he ground out, the words low and guttural. "I want to fuck this anger out of my system. I want to fuck you so hard we both forget our own name."

A shiver ran through you, straight to your core. "Then do it," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. "Fuck me hard. Use me."

That was all the permission he needed.

In one fluid motion, he quickly closed the space between the two of you. His lips violently crashing on yours. Moans filling the air. Desperation. Need. Anger. Want. Jaafar spun you around and shoved you forward, bending you over the edge of the bed. You barely had time to catch yourself on your forearms before he was yanking your robe open your panties being ripped down your legs in one rough pull. The cool air hit your exposed skin, making you gasp and bite your lips.

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, his zipper being yanked down. “Baby, I don’t think I can contain myself enough to be gentle with you right now.” You pleaded out a “It’s fine.” Then, without warning, you felt the wet heat of his spit landing directly on your pussy. He used his fingers to roughly smear it over your folds, a crude, primal form of lubricant that sent a jolt of pure lust through you.

"Mmm fuck," he groaned, and then he was lining himself up and driving into you in one hard, deep thrust.

The violent force of it stole your breath. It was almost too much, a sharp, stinging stretch that bordered on pain. But you didn't pull away. You pushed back, taking him deeper, meeting his anger with your own desperate need.

He set a punishing rhythm immediately. His hips slammed against your ass, each thrust deep and powerful, designed to bruise. One of his hands tangled brutally in your hair, pulling your head back, arching your spine. The other hand gripped your hip so tightly you knew you'd have fingerprint-shaped bruises tomorrow.

"You like that?" he snarled in your ear, his voice ragged. "You like being fucked like this? Like a little slut for my anger?"

"God, yes," you choked out, the words torn from your throat. "Harder, Jaafar. Don't hold back."

He let out a guttural groan and obliged, his thrusts becoming even more forceful, more erratic. He was chasing something, trying to burn out the rage with pure, physical exertion. His free hand left your hip, and you felt a sharp, stinging slap against your ass cheek. The sound echoed in the room, followed by another on the other side.

The sting was intense, but it only heightened the pleasure building deep inside you. You were completely at his mercy, bent over and taken, and it was the most intoxicating thing you had ever felt.

His grip on your hair tightened, and he leaned down, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder. It wasn't a gentle love bite; it was a claiming, a mark. You cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure, as his hips continued their relentless assault.

"I wanted to put my fist through that wall," he panted against your skin. "Wanted to smash something until it broke."

"Then break me," you gasped out. "Use me, J. Let it all go."

His hand moved from your hip to wrap around your throat, not cutting off your air, but holding you in a possessive, dominating grip. He pulled you up slightly, your back now flush against his chest as he continued to pound into you from behind. “I want to violently pump a baby in your pussy right now.” He winced. “I don’t know what has taken over me but.. fuck.. the thought of shooting all of my cum into you right now and making a baby is actually making this worse.” He laughed. Part of the Jaafar you know and love coming right back. You couldn’t help but giggle. Some how you found words as you caught your breath. “If you really want to the do it.” You moan taking his rather violent tempo.

The combination was overwhelming. The deep, almost violent thrusts, the hand on your throat, the rough stimulation on your clit, the feeling of his teeth still marking your shoulder. It was too much and not enough all at once.

"Come for me baby," he commanded in your ear, his voice a low growl. "You better fucking cum all over my fucking cock like the good little girl you are."

That was it. The command sent you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing, your muscles clamping down around him as a scream tore from your lungs. You saw stars behind your closed eyelids, your entire world narrowing down to the intense pleasure coursing through every nerve ending.

He followed you over the edge with a guttural roar, burying himself deep inside you one last time as he came, his hot release flooding you. He held you tight, his body shuddering against yours as the last of his anger and tension finally fucking drained away, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. His fingerprints imbedding in your soft skin.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, tangled together, panting and trying to catch your breath. Then, slowly, he released his hold on you, gently lowering you back down onto the bed. He pulled out carefully, and you felt the immediate loss of him, followed by the slow trickle of his cum leaking out of you. The thought made you shiver.

He disappeared into the bathroom, then returned with a warm, wet cloth, gently cleaning you up. His touch was now infinitely tender, a stark contrast to the roughness from moments before. He pressed a soft kiss to the mark he'd left on your shoulder, then another on the small of your back.

When he was done, he laid down beside you and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. You rested your hand on his chest, feeling the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. You closed your eyes tight and let out a little moan that it was over. You were exhausted in the best way.

"Hey baby are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft, almost shy. "I didn't... I didn't go too far?"

You looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, the remnants of the rage replaced by concern. "I'm more than okay," you assured him, leaning up to kiss him softly. "That was... everything. I wanted it too. I didn’t know I needed it. But I realized how much I wanted it.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. "I've never... I didn't know I had that in me."

"You do," you said with a small smile, snuggling closer. "And I'll take it anytime. Especially if it ends with you trying to knock me up." You tease.

A real smile finally touched his lips, the first one you'd seen all day. "Oh, that wasn't just trying," he murmured, his hand drifting down to rest possessively on your stomach. "That was a promise." He said leaning in and kissing you medium hard.

You broke the kiss after a little bit of back and forth and just smiled and closed your eyes, knowing that your sweet, loving Jaafar was back. “Baby, I know today was rough but please remember you don’t need to put this much pressure on yourself again. You will get it right. Honoring your uncle the way you are will mean a lot to people. More than you will even know. So please be kind to yourself. You haven’t gave up and no one is giving up on you.” You say rubbing his arm. Tears flood his eyes again like your words reassured him. He pulls you tighter and kisses your temple. “Thank you baby!” He smiles. And knowing that you now held a piece of his darker side, a part of him he only ever shared with you. A part that was already planning round two.

@woonhak4prez I hope you like it! 🔥✨

[jkkyks]

Warm.03🍃

Jaafar Jackson x reader. (angst)

Content : It’s the making of Michael 2. You’ve just landed a job as an editor director’s assistant on the biopic about your idol… what could possibly happen?

Recommended Song to listen -> Worry by LONOWN & riserayss (slowed)

Warm.01 - Warm.02 - Warm.04- Warm.05 - Warm.06

The first week after the kiss felt almost embarrassingly easy.

Like something had shifted quietly into place between them.

Jaafar still found excuses to hover near her editing station between takes, still stole her iced latte whenever she stopped paying attention for longer than five seconds.

Still leaned very close when reviewing footage until their shoulders touched naturally .

Always the fastest replier to her messages, they always joke around on random pauses of the footage that she is editing.

And every time he looks at her, his expression softened in that same unconscious way that made her stomach flip violently every single time.

It felt real and that was the problem.

Y/N hadn’t meant to let herself fall into it this quickly.

But then he’d smile at her from across the chaos of the set like seeing her was the easiest thing in the world.

And suddenly she was done for.

A week passed and something started to feel wrong..

Like someone carefully removing pieces of warmth one at a time.

At 11:13 P.M., She was laying in bed staring at the bright glow of her phone in the dark.

After a full minute of overthinking, she finally decided to text him , she wants to debrief with him.

Especially that they weren’t able to sit down together today like how they usually do.

Y/N:

survived today somehow🥹

Delivered.

Normally he would’ve answered immediately, or sent a voice not, or teased her dramatic wording.

Instead, she got absolutely nothing.

Delivered 20 minutes ago.

Notification 🔔 : Jaafar Jackson Uploaded A New Instagram Story.

Oh so ..he is on the phone..?

Forty minutes passed. Still left on delivered.

An hour and twelve minutes later:

Jaafar:

proud of u!

Seen.

Y/N stared at the message.

Her chest tightened strangely.

Because it was sweet.

But it didn’t feel like him anymore.

She typed:

missed u toda-

Deleted it immediately.

Locked her phone instead.

The next day it got worse.

Around lunch, she spotted a badly edited freeze-frame while sorting footage.

One of those accidental horrifying paused expressions that always made him complain dramatically, and they would laugh so hard on it together.

Without thinking, she snapped a picture and sent it instantly.

Y/N:

[photo attached]

you look terrifying btw🥸

Delivered.

Normally he would’ve escalated it immediately.

Fake offense.

Voice notes.

Threats of legal action.

MJ Stickers.

She got the reply two hours later

Jaafar:

😂😂😂😂

Seen.

That was it.

No follow-up or continuation, just enough effort to avoid being rude.

Her stomach dropped so hard it genuinely embarrassed her…because suddenly she felt clingy.

Like she was trying to keep alive something he was already quietly stepping away from.

On set, it was worse somehow.

Because he still looked at her, still noticed her immediately.

Still softened around the edges whenever she spoke.

But now there was restraint and restraint hurt more than distance.

She noticed it every time. The way his eyes lingered too long before he forced himself to look away first.

It was like watching someone actively deny themselves something.

Something they no longer wanted to want.

And God….that hurt

By the fourth day, Y/N couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore.

She found him alone after the shots , just freshly showered, looking clean and cozy.

Sitting near the edge of his caravan with script pages spread across his lap, while he highlighted something on the script absentmindedly.

For a second, just seeing him like that softened her immediately.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

His head lifted instantly.

And there it was.

That automatic warmth and immediate softening in his face the second he saw her.

It hit her so hard she almost forgot the last few days entirely.

Then, almost visibly, he remembered himself.

And the warmth dimmed into something more careful.

Her heart sank.

“Hey,” he said.

She sat beside him slowly, leaving more space between them than she used to.

He noticed, and she knew he noticed but neither mentioned it.

“You disappeared today,” she said lightly.

A small exhale left him.

“Sorry.. busy day” he mumbled looking back at the script.

Busy.

The word lodged sharply under her ribs.

Because busy days had never stopped him before.

Not when he wanted her.

Still, she tried.

“I fixed that transition you hated,” she said, opening her laptop slightly toward him. “Wanted to show you.”

His eyes flicked toward the screen. For one second she thought he’d lean closer like always.

Instead, he looked away again.

“Can you send it to me?”

The sentence hit her embarrassingly hard.

Because before?

Before he would’ve found it an excuse to get too close to her to watch the footage.

Before he would’ve looked at her first instead of the screen.

Before this wouldn’t have felt difficult.

“Oh,” she said softly, trying not to let it show on her face. “Yeah. Sure.”

Silence settled awkwardly between them.

Not naturally quiet.

Careful quiet.

The kind where both people feel something breaking and pretend not to notice.

Then someone from production jogged over.

“Jaafar—they need you for vocal test.”

Every other time before this, he would’ve waved them off immediately.

Give me five.

Coming later.

Hold on.

….something.

Instead, he stood almost instantly, “Yeah,” he said. “Coming.”

The movement felt like a slap she wasn’t prepared for.

Because he didn’t even hesitate. Not really.

And the worst part? He noticed.

His eyes flicked back toward her too late, catching the brief flash of hurt she failed to hide properly.

For a second he looked conflicted, like he almost sat back down.

But then he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly instead.

“I’ll text you later.”

He left before she answered.

Oh and?

He never texted later.

That was the moment something inside Y/N finally gave out quietly.

Not dramatically.

Not all at once.

Just… a slow collapse.

Two nights later, she sat near the monitors reviewing footage while the crew reset lighting for another scene.

The set buzzed around her in familiar chaos.

Cables dragged across floors.

Someone argued over continuity near makeup.

Music played faintly from somebody’s speaker.

And across the room, Jaafar laughed.

The sound made her look up automatically.

He stood surrounded by cast and crew, smiling easily at something someone said, head tilted down slightly while another actor shoved his shoulder jokingly.

The version of him she’d been missing for days existed perfectly fine.

Just not with her anymore.

And suddenly the realization hollowed her out.

It wasn’t that he was struggling or he was distant from everyone.

It was her specifically.

She stared at him from across the set while laughter moved easily through him, while people pulled his attention naturally, while he smiled in that open effortless way she hadn’t seen directed at her in days.

And horrifyingly, she realized she missed him while standing less than twenty feet away.

Her throat tightened painfully.

Because somehow that hurt more than actual absence would’ve.

Jaafar looked up suddenly. Found her instantly.

His smile faded the second their eyes met.

For one awful moment she thought, maybe he’d come over.

Instead he hesitated, but Y/N looked away first and opened her laptop, quietly deciding she couldn’t do this anymore.

The department transfer request took less than five minutes.

“Finalized editing?” her supervisor repeated.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You’ll barely be on set anymore.”

Y/N forced a tiny shrug.

“I think I need the quieter environment.”

He nodded slowly. “If you’re sure.”

She signed the papers before she could rethink them.

Then packed her essentials from the set, alone after the day’s wrap. No one really noticed anything anyways.

She packed everything quietly, then folded Jaafar’s hoodie and placed it inside a clean bag before asking one of the crew members to leave it in his caravan.

The next morning, Jaafar arrived earlier than usual.

The studio lot still carried that strange half-awake quiet before filming properly started. Crew members rolled equipment across pavement slick from early fog, coffee carts hissed softly near the trailers, voices low and tired in the cold morning air.

He stepped into his caravan with a distracted exhale, script tucked beneath his arm.

And stopped immediately.

There was a paper bag sitting on the couch beside the mirror.

His brows pulled together faintly.

For a second he just looked at it, confused.

Then something low in his chest tightened before he’d even touched it.

He set his script down slowly and walked over.

Inside……his hoodie.

The exact hoodie he’d draped over her shoulders that night.

Something about seeing it here instead of on her made the air feel strangely thin.

He picked it up slowly.

It still smelled faintly like her.

Soft shampoo. Her perfume. Something warm.

The familiarity hit him embarrassingly hard.

And suddenly the past few days replayed all at once.

Her texts getting quieter, her sitting further away.

The hurt on her face yesterday when he stood up too quickly.

The way she looked at him across set last night before looking away first.

His stomach dropped.

Because now he could see it clearly from her side.

Every careful distance he thought he was creating gently had probably felt like rejection.

“Fuck,” he muttered quietly.

He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, hoodie clenched loosely in his hands.

What exactly was the plan here? He just didn’t want to be attached..maybe? He got scared..maybe?

Keep pretending he didn’t want to be around her until she eventually stopped trying…no.

The thought made something twist sharply in his chest.

Because the truth was, it looked like it.

That was the insane part.

His eyes dropped to the hoodie again.

Folded neatly, without a note or a message.

And suddenly panic settled cold and heavy beneath his ribs.

Because she wasn’t the type to make scenes.

If she was hurt, she’d disappear politely.

The realization hit him so hard he actually stood up again.

No.

No, he’d fix this.

He’d talk to her before filming started properly and will explain himself.

Tell her the truth even if it came out messy and pathetic and completely unlike him.

Because he didn’t want space from her.

God, he wanted the exact opposite.

He grabbed the hoodie immediately and headed for the door.

The walk to set felt faster than usual.

His pulse sat strangely high in his throat the entire way there.

People greeted him as he passed.

He barely registered any of it.

For the first time in days, his thoughts felt painfully clear.

He’d been scared.

That was it.

Scared because she’d become important too quickly.

Because she made him feel calm in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

Because after his engagement collapsed, wanting someone this much again felt reckless.

But Y/N wasn’t reckless.

She was gentle, funny, safe and he’d made her think she was unwanted.

The guilt sat heavy in his chest.

He stepped onto set already scanning for her automatically.

Near the monitors with coffee in hand probably.

Oversized sweater sleeves over her fingers.

Half-focused on editing while pretending not to notice him approaching.

His eyes landed on the editing station, and stopped.

Wrong.

Someone else sat there.

A girl he barely recognized looked up briefly from behind Y/N’s usual monitor setup.

Different headphones.

Different laptop stickers.

Wrong.

Jaafar slowed mid-step.

His heartbeat stuttered strangely.

“Hi um…where’s Y/N?”

The girl blinked. “Oh—she transferred departments.”

The words didn’t fully register at first.

“What?”

“She moved to finalized editing.” She shrugged lightly. “Started today.”

Started today.

Something cold dropped violently through his chest.

Transferred.

No….

No, she wouldn’t—

His eyes instinctively searched the set anyway, like maybe she was somewhere else.

Maybe running late.

Maybe grabbing coffee.

But she wasn’t.

The absence hit all at once then.

Brutal.

Because suddenly every space she used to occupy looked unbearably empty.

And horrifyingly, he realized he’d already built parts of his day around her without even noticing.

Looking for her between takes, listening for her laugh, watching for her reactions during scenes, finding excuses to walk near her station.

Gone.

She was just… gone.

Because of him.

Heat rushed sharply into his chest followed immediately by something dangerously close to panic. Quiet panic.

The kind that hollowed everything out slowly from the inside, because she hadn’t fought him on it.

Hadn’t demanded answers nor even made him explain himself.

She’d simply believed the distance he created, and removed herself from it.

Jaafar stared at the now unfamiliar editing station for one second too long.

Then looked down at the hoodie still clutched tightly in his hand.

And for the first time since the breakup of his engagement four months ago..he felt genuine fear at the thought of losing someone.

Next Part

A/N : AM SORRY DON’T KILL ME

🏷️ : @kymb-10 @heartbreakylian @thinklikeky @mama-2001 @woonhak4prez @kylottin10 @auriuex @a-dal7490 @seelmo

[sahind]

Jaafar Jackson as Michael Jackson MICHAEL (2026) Directed by Antoine Fuqua

[acecroft]

ANGELINA JOLIE as Maria Callas in Maria (2024)

[jermajestysbaby]

His working girl

A/N: help I’ve been procrastinating this all dayyy 😭, anyway I hope this is good for your request, I tried my best to match it to how I think jermajesty is, despite him not being that much on social media like his brother, pls pls keep requesting stuff!! Enjoy :)))

Warnings: smut, usage of “mama” and “baby” and alcohol!

Word count: 2141

As you finish up your call with your best friend, you’re met with Jermajesty walking through the door, setting his keys on the counter, chucking off his shoes, “Hii baby, why you still working” he says, settling down on the couch, wrapping his arm around the couch. “Hey jer, I’m actually about to finish up” you say closing your laptop. “Thank goodness, what are you doing tomorrow?” he asks resting his head on his fist, “Umm I’m going out with my usual group of friends” you say grabbing to sip your glass of wine, he looks up at you, “Well I’m coming with” he said smirking. “That’s fine but you know (best friend’s name) is gonna want you to bring your crew too” you said chuckling. “Of course she does, but that’s fine” he says getting up to walking to the kitchen

————

It’s finally friday, you’re getting ready, feeling good, blasting music, hearing the loud knocking on the door already knowing who it is, “Baby can you get the door for (best friend’s name) please” you say, curling another piece of your hair. “OOOO GIRL YOU ALREADY LOOK GOOD” your best friend yells. You can already tell she’s tipsy, “Thank you girl, let me finish my hair so I can show you my outfit” you say finishing the last piece curl. You quickly go to your mini walk in closet, putting on your cream colored deep v-lined halter mini dress. You put on your gold open toe heels, walking out your mini walk in closet. “Holy shit y/n you look amazing” your best friend said with her mouth nearly wide open. Hearing your response, Jermajesty walks in to see you, “Gah damn mama, she wasn’t lying you look good” he said leaning against the door frame. “Thank you two” you say smiling, walking over to your vanity, to finish your makeup.

As you finish your makeup, spraying your setting spray, and now putting on your lipgloss, you’re interrupted with Jermajesty’s hands on both sides of your vanity kissing your neck, “My pretty baby” he says looking at you through the mirror, “Hell no Jer, we’re making sure she goes out tonight” your best friend interrupts you two.

————

You guys finally make it to the club, you and your best friend make sure to get your pictures with your girls (you of course got some with jermajesty), you guys got your drinks, Jermajesty getting you guys a booth. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go get another espresso martini” you say in Jermajesty’s ear. “Okay just text me if you’re feeling uncomfortable” he replies back in your ear. Jermajesty always knew you were loyal to him and you knew his was loyal to you, nothing more, nothing less.

You walk over to the bar, catching the first bartender you see, “Can I get an espresso martini please” you say trying to speak over the loud music. “Put it on my tab for the young lady” a man says right beside you, “Oh no really it’s fine” you say smiling nodding. “No I insist” he says. You leave it there before it can get any worse, “So what is a pretty girl like you doing this time of night?” the random man asks you. “Just trying to relief some stress from work” you say showing no interesting. “Are you by yourself?” he asks. Showing a slight of discomfort hoping he’ll get the hint, “No I’m not” you say, looking around, you finally decide to text Jermajesty knowing he’ll handle this situation better than you are.

Jer, come here please.

What’s wrong baby?

Some dude is trying to get at me, pls just come here

Omw.

“Hey we’re having a conversation, you know it’s pretty rude to be on your phone” he said to you, in a condescending tone, “Excuse me?” you say finally giving some attitude. “See you women nowa-” before he could, Jermajesty steps right between you leaning towards your side, “I know you not talking about my lady” he said, staring the dude down. “Oh this you? My bad bro” the dude said, walking backwards with his hands in the air like he’s innocent, “You alright baby?” Jermajesty asks, softly putting his hands on your hip, “Yes i’m okay love” you say wrapping your arms around his neck. Jermajesty using his free hand to grab your chin to pull you in a kiss, that’s filled with devotion but morley desire. Like he’s been waiting all night for this kiss.

Pulling away from the kiss looking up at him through your lashes, “Jer come on baby, you’re already starting and we haven’t even been out that long” you say leading him back to the booth. Soon as you guys get back to the booth, he’s all over you like, he was when you guys first got together. “Damn Jer she ain’t goin anywhere” Jaafar says, laughing leaning towards your best friend. “Shut up jaafar” he said pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

During the rest of the night, Jermajesty just can’t keep your hands off you. You need to use the bathroom? He’ll walk you while holding your hand. You need another drink? He’ll get it for you if you give him a kiss.

You and your group of friends are about to go to another club but Jermajesty can see it on your face that you’re tired but most of all he wants you. “Guys me and y/n are gonna head out” he said grabbing you, already putting you in the wifey hold, “Bye yall just going to go fuck” Randy jr. replied walking off, “Byeeee (best friend’s name)” you say smirking, “Bye girl, love you” she replies rolling her eyes.

You guys finally get to your apartment, Jermajesty finally opening the door, leading you two to the couch, he sets you down on the couch softly, and begins taking off your heels. “You still here with me pretty girl? He says looking up, setting both heels on the ground near the coffee table. “Mhmmm” you say slowly tipsy. “Come here mama” he says, getting enough strength to get up and sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck setting your head on his shoulder. Jermajesty taking the opportunity to kiss the open spots on your neck, leading up along the open space of your jaw ending on the corner of your mouth. You bring your head up to meet him, kissing him. He recipocates the kiss, licking your bottom lip to let his tongue in, making the kiss more intimate than before, earning a whimper from you. He finds his hands roaming around your body leading at your ass.

“Jer…” you say before continuing the kiss. He pulls away and looks at you, “What does my sweet girl need huh?” he says tilting his head with a grin on his face. Jermajesty loved making you saying what you needed from him no matter what it was. “I need you..” you say getting nervous, feeling your cheeks get warm, “you need me to what baby?” he asks bringing on hand from your ass to your hip. Making you meet your core with his manhood that’s nearly about to come out his pants. Earning a moan out of you, liking the friction, you continue rolling your hips letting your wetness create a print on his linen, black pants.

“Talk to me pretty mama” he says hiding his bottom lip underneath his teeth, “I need you inside of me Jer” you said, instantly grabbing his shoulders, from the pressure going on. You saying that was all Jermajesty needed. Instinctively grabbing you from your ass bouncing you once to make sure you stable, quickly going up the stairs to your shared bedroom. Closing the door with his foot, laying you down softly on the bed, up facing him. He kisses you softly but still filled with the desire it had before, he slowly releasing from the kiss to kiss further down. From your jawline, to between your tits, endings right before your core. Looking up for the extra consent, you looking down nodding immediately.

He slowly lifts your dress up, finally taking it all leaving you with just your laced black panties. He kisses from your ankle to your inner thigh on your right. He brings his thumb to touch your clothed clit, arching off the bed from pleasure, “All this for me baby?” he says looking up. You nod quickly, wanting him to touch you already. “Jer…stop stalin my love” you say bringing your hand to his curls. “Paitence angel” he said finally pulling off your panties.

Throwing them somewhere near your dress. He instantly brings his lips to your wet core, swiping through your folds, “Oh fuck–Jer baby” you say arching higher than last time, increasing your grip on his curls. He continues, sucking every ounce of precum from your core, slipping his index finger into you, “You taste so good pretty girl” he said, slipping his middle finger in as well, earning a loud moan from you. Feeling the warmth build up in your stomach, “how you feelin pretty baby?” he says looking up, sucking on your clit, bucking your hips up, “oh so good jer, I’m close” you say gripping the sheets. Jermajesty starts building up his speed with his fingers still going slow with his mouth. Before you can warn him, you moan out as you release. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry baby” you say messaging through his curls. “It’s okay pretty” he says getting up.

You help him take his shirt off, and his pants. Now being met with his boxers being the only thing between you two. You slowly pull down his boxers maintaining eye contact with him. You look down breaking the contact to see what you’re dealing with you like you haven’t seen it a million times. Jermajesty was big but so incredibly thick. He meets his manhood towards your core. Swiping his manhood up and down using your wetness as a lubricant. “Oh shit baby, you’re so wet” he says hissing.

Before you can reply, he pushes himself halfway in, allowing you to breathe and get used to his size because no matter what you can never get used to Jermajesty’s size. After you finally get used, he pushes the rest of himself in, now balls deep, he hides in the crook of your neck. “So damn tight, you okay angel?” he says, making sure you’re fine.

Jermajesty always made sure to put your pleasure before his no matter what the reason was. “Yes love, shit–” you say wrapping your arms around his neck. Jermajest begins to start a slow rhythm while peppering you kisses and giving you nothing but whispering sweet nothings and compliments. “Making my pretty girl feel good hm?” he says bringing one of his hands to your breasts, twisting your nipple, getting a moan out of you.

Wanting to reply to him but you just can’t, hoping he takes your loud moans as an answer. “Jer-baby, I-I can’t” you releasing one of your arms to reach over to grip the sheets. “yes you can mama, talk to m-fuck” he says keeping the relentless pace, bringing his hand down to your clit adding more pressure. “so so good jermajesty, love when you make me feel so good” you say moaning in his ear. “Oh fuck-pretty girl I’m close” he says tighting his grip on your waist. “Please give it to me, want it so bad” you say marking his back.

Jermajesty’s pace becoming more messy, then stopping to fill you up, making you feel so full like he always does, as well as you releasing feeling it all come down.

You both laid there for a second before Jermajesty got up to rinse you off with a towel, “you okay angel? I wasn’t to hard on you was I?” He asked putting a strand of your hair behind your ear, “No you took care of me like you always do baby” you replied, kissing his cheek.

[obriy]