jaafar jackson’s muse

you're sitting on the edge of his balcony, legs dangling over the city lights. jermajesty's apartment is always warm, always smells like vanilla and something else—something earthy that clings to his hoodies and makes you bury your face in them when he's not looking.

"you sure you wanna smoke out here, ma?" he asks, sliding the glass door open wider. he's wearing those sweatpants you like, the grey ones, and a white tank that shows off his shoulders. "it's cold."

"it's pretty," you say, swinging your legs. "come sit with me."

he does, settling behind you so you can lean back against his chest. he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. you can feel him smiling against your neck.

"you got everything?" you ask.

"yeah, yeah. hold on." he reaches back into the apartment and grabs a small tray, a grinder, some papers. his hands are gentle when he rolls, tongue poking out in concentration like he always does. you watch his fingers work, familiar and precise.

"you're staring," he says, not looking up.

"'cause you're pretty," you say back, and he laughs, that low sound that vibrates through his chest into your back.

he finishes the joint and lights it, taking the first hit before offering it to you. you turn your head, accepting it from his fingers. the smoke is smooth, familiar. you've done this before—plenty of times—but something about doing it with him, here, with the city glittering below, feels different. better.

"there you go," he murmurs, watching you exhale. his hand comes up to stroke your hair, fingers threading through your braids. "that's my girl."

you pass it back and he takes another drag, holding it for a second before blowing it out slow. the smoke curls up into the night air, disappearing above you.

"you feel it yet?" he asks, voice soft.

"mm, starting to," you say, your body already loosening, melting into him. your head falls back onto his shoulder and he adjusts, holding you closer. "you?"

"yeah," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "you're warm."

"you're warmer."

he laughs again and takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. the joint burns down between you, shared and easy, no rush. when it's done he sets it aside and just holds you, rocking slightly, humming something under his breath that you think might be an old jackson five song but you're too floaty to be sure.

"ma," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "you good?"

"yeah," you sigh, closing your eyes. "i'm good. you're here."

"always," he promises, and you believe him. you always do.

the city lights blur a little, soft around the edges, and everything feels hazy and golden. his thumb traces circles on your palm and you turn your head, finding his mouth without trying too hard. the kiss is slow, unhurried, tastes like smoke and him.

"love you," he mumbles against your lips, and you feel it in your chest, warm and blooming.

"love you too, majesty," you whisper back, and he pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in.

you stay like that for a while, tangled together on the balcony, high and happy and completely at peace. the world can wait. right now, you have everything you need.

Fast forward to today. Your schedule was tight. Interviews all day and you were exhausted, feet aching from the heels that caused the heels of your feet to become tender and sore from the constant running around. To be honest, there was nothing you wanted more than to be left alone with the light hum of the air conditioner and sheets that seemed to engulf you completely.

That thought was disturbed by the sound of the phone ringing, a heavy sigh slipping from your lips as you stepped onto your already sore feet.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Complete silence.

"Um."

Confused wasn't even the word at this point.

"Hello, this is Michael"

The voice was soft and familiar, yet you couldn't put your finger on it.

“Michael who?”

“Jackson”

Click.

Your fingers moved faster than your brain could comprehend, and just like that, you'd hung up on Michael Jackson. There were few thoughts that ran through your mind as you processed what exactly happened.

'No way, I just hung up on Michael Jackson. Wait, no, that definitely wasn't him. No way, that was definitely his voice, but why could he be calling me?'

It didn't take long for the phone to ring once more. Cautiously you pick up the phone like it might bite you if you touched it, leaning back like you were afraid of what, no, who was waiting for you on the other side.

“Hello?” Your voice was much smaller than when you originally answered the phone.

"Y'know, I really like your music, it's great."

Part of you wanted to hang up a second time, because there was absolutely no way. It was hard to even form a proper sentence given the circumstance.

“Uh, t-thank you, it means a lot coming from you."

“You're welcome! I'm sure you have a busy schedule coming up, but keep up the good work."

And just like that it was over. You blinked rapidly, wondering if this was real. Hell, were you even real?

©appleheadluvrr

The truth? He can’t stop thinking about that night with you that nearly happened two weeks ago.

How he can’t stop thinking about the way you squirmed helplessly under his hands, hips chasing for more of his mouth. How he can’t stop thinking about the way your voice whined out his name, a pitch he’s longing to hear more of. How he can’t stop thinking about how you tasted, tongue lapping up the entirety of your cunt like a starved man who couldn’t get enough.

Each day he’s getting busier due to the making of his new album, thriller, hence why he hasn’t seen you since. He doesn’t know if your mind is also constantly taking you back to that moment, having you toss and turn at night, like it’s doing for him. He doesn’t know where you stand after that in the bond you two share, if you’ll start to pull away or maybe come back for more.

What he does know, though, that he’ll gladly finish what he started if you ever do come back.

bestfriend!michael who remembered he still has your panties.

He fishes it out from the jeans he wore that day, being semi-forgotten in the pocket. He runs a thumb over the light pink lace, his mind trying to recall back how it looked on you before he tore it off, impatient to get to your heat. His hand moves before he could think about it, bringing the cloth to his nose.

Your smell caught him off guard on how quick it traveled down to his cock confined in his sweats, briefs growing tight. It hits Michael on how much he misses you, more than he thought, never being apart from you this long. Especially with barriers being now broken, no longer having to pretend you both don’t want to run your hands all over each other, the distance is starting to physically hurt.

Your smell isn’t enough for him anymore. The pressure between his legs is getting impossible to ignore, so he lays himself on his bed, propping up a pillow to support his back to lean against. He takes his sweats off, along with his briefs, with such speed you would think they were on fire, having his cock spring out and lightly hit against his stomach.

He wraps the material around his length, and the memories he has of you sharpens as he touches himself. He strokes slowly, the cloth following along, hips lifting into it.

Michael doesn’t just focus on the way your panties feel against his skin, starting to think about the way you sometimes look at him, gaze heavy and focused, like he’s the only thing that matters. The way your voice sounds, how it ached when you called out his name because he was being a tease. The way you crave him, showing it with your mouth, your body, your eyes.

His strokes begin to get firmer, images getting dirtier, thinking about how it would feel if it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own. He lets out a soft groan, hand moving faster, chest rising with every breath.

But then— the phone on his bedside rings.

His entire body freezes, eyes in search for the clock on the wall, it reading 12:30 AM.

It isn’t common for it to ring this late at the night, and even though he’s in the middle of something that’s hard to put a pause all of a sudden, his curiosity tends to get the best of him.

So, he answers. “Hello?” His voice is higher than usual, trying a little too hard to act calm. It got even harder when he heard who was on the other line.

“Michael?” You respond back, continuing on. “How’re you? Im sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up or anything.”

Michael clears his throat. Nope, you surely didn’t, just interrupted him jerking himself off with your panties he stole, is all.

“Uh, no of course not, what’s up?”

“Well..” You start, not really sure on how to ask this. “Remember the last time I came over? I was wondering if you might, uhm, y’know, seen my uh..”

How uncomfortable you felt asking your best friend such an awkward question was almost silly, considering the last time you guys saw each other he nearly made you see stars from his just his mouth alone.

“I was wondering if I left my panties at your house.” You ripped off the band-aid, because truth be told, you tore up your entire room looking for them. They were your favorite pair, in your favorite shade of pink, with the cutest lace designs you’ve ever seen. You think back to that night, how immediately after he asked you that stupid question with that stupid grin, footsteps were heard coming directly to his door. You sprang up in a panic, collecting your pants off the floor, hiding in his closet as the doorknob turned and Joseph was leaning on the doorframe, completely oblivious to what was happening seconds before.

Afterwards, you were too spooked on how you barely dodged the both of you getting caught, that you called it a night and headed your way home. You thought in the mix of your panic you also picked up your panties alongside with your pants, too, but it didn’t seem to be the case.

So here you were.

You were about to repeat yourself, the silence on the other end deafening, until you heard him shifting around. “U-Uh, no, I can’t say that I have.”

Michael hoped the lie wasn’t so evident in his tone, because his hand has yet to unwrap from his length, your cute pink panties getting covered in his precum.

He hears you huff, believing him a little too easily. “Can you at least try to look for me? This might sound weird, but they’re my favorite pair.”

A burn of guilt starts to brew in his chest. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll call you tomorrow if I found them, okay?”

You did not receive that call tomorrow.

bestfriend!michael who’s waiting on you to decide what the relationship could blossom into.

In the meantime, he shuts down any rumors the tabloids comes out of him potentially having a thing with a celebrity, any questions from interviewers who ask him if he’s crushing on any musicians he’s worked with in the past, any interactions with fans that try to go for more than a hug. He wants you to see he doesn’t want anybody that isn’t you, how he’ll prove to you you’re the only thing running around in his mind.

How it’s your touch, your presence, your voice he dreams about every night. How he yearns to call you his one day.

bestfriend!michael who started to give you a different type of attention now.

The lunches you’d occasionally grab with him turned into high quality fancy dinners, places you never saw yourself stepping foot in.

How you’re beginning to not remember the last time you bought something for yourself, every item you mindlessly mentioned to Michael you have found cute being gifted to you the very next day.

How you feel his burning stare from the corner of your eye every time you have polite small-talk with one of his brothers, as if he’s sticking around to make sure they don’t pull any moves on you. Y’know, something he didn’t give two shits about a few months back.

How your goodbyes no longer ended in a wave, or a short friendly hug, but quick pecks to the cheek or lips. Something he started first, and you had no problem in turning it into a habit.

How you see him physically flinch of the mention of any guy’s name you bring up during conversation, regardless if you tell him they’re just a friend and nothing more. A fact you never felt the need to reassure him of, until now.

bestfriend!michael who doesn’t want to rush you into putting a label on what you guys have, because he knows his fame squeezing into the relationship will be inevitable. It would be without a doubt an overwhelming experience for you, the world all of a sudden being aware you exist. Not for who you are, but because you would be dating the Michael Jackson. How the media would hunt for you in public, to ask such invasive questions about your guys relationship for their written articles to post for all of the public to read about.

Because of that, Michael isn’t bothered to have the both of you keep calling each other friends to anybody who asks, when behind closed doors it’s a completely different story.

How right now you’re seated comfortably on his lap, his hand behind your neck to prevent you from escaping his feverish kisses, as if you even wanted to. Besides the sounds of lips clashing together, a movie plays from the tv that no longer has either of your guys attention.

You didn’t come over for that, anyways.

You started to feel him growing the need to take this further, hands gripping your hips to bring you to lay on the couch so he could hover above. You didn’t let it happen, although, pushing his chest to have him seated again. You smirk as your action puzzled him, leaving a few scattered kisses near his ear.

“Let me have a turn to please you this time.”

You go to copy his movements he’s done on you the night he ended up between your legs, bunching his shirt up to press kisses down the center of his chest, following to his stomach. You worship the trail of goosebumps you leave behind, every shiver you feel him do. You had no patience in dragging this out, fingers fumbling to undo his jeans and strip him bare for his cock to spring out.

Once it’s set free, you admire for a minute, how deeply flushed and heavy it rests against his stomach, dripping with need. You lift your head up when you heard a whimper from above, and his face is wrecked. Lip caught between his teeth, a shaky please he lets out to have you understand how badly he’s been wanting this for some time now.

You hold back your smile, reveling in the desperate state you have him in just from the ghost of your touch, like how he had you.

You go to wrap a hand gently around his cock, feeling the weight of it, the heat. His breath trembles the way you exhale over the head, as it turns into another whimper when you lower your mouth to place a kiss, soft and teasing.

You drag your tongue slowly up the length of his cock, slow and deliberate, his thighs flexing around you. The sudden jolt of sensation has his head tipping back, trying to even his breaths out.

You go to do it again, slower. Your hands are at his thighs to keep him open, to keep him steady, to take the way your tongue goes to flick against the sensitive head. You trace lazy circles on the ridge just under his head, dipping down along the underside.

You caught the way he tried to hold himself still, to not fuck up into your mouth. Strength you’re surprised he’s listening to, so you decide to reward him for it.

You finally go to take him in, lips wrapping around the tip, to sink lower and lower, mouth stretching to take him fully. He keeps his hands to his sides, nails digging into the cushions, afraid you might stop if he places them on your head to try and take control.

You hollow your cheeks, humming around him as you keep your pace painfully slow, keeping the strokes of your tongue careful and measured. Your hand goes to sync with the motion of your mouth, stroking what you couldn’t fit.

Your eyes don’t leave his face, wanting to watch every noise you pull out of him, every scrunch of his face from the way your tongue goes up to flick at the tip again.

Your hair starts to cover your view, but not for long as Michael has his hand wrap it in a faux ponytail, not wanting to miss a single thing you do to him. Not wanting to miss the way you choke around his cock because you got a little confident in wanting to take him deeper, addicted to how it makes him pulse harder against your tongue.

“Fuck, oh god, please don’t stop..!” He gasps, eyes squeezing shut. You respond by holding yourself all the way down until his pubic hair tickles your nose, forcing to choke again around his length to hear him moan, cracked open around the edges.

You bring your mouth back up again, having him rely on the way your hand squeezes him a little tighter, working him faster, letting his hips buck into your hand. You stick out your tongue, letting his tip meet the wet muscle every time his hips lift off the couch, enjoying the way his groans gets louder and filthier.

His body begins to tense, getting ready to cry out, and that’s when it became the perfect time to pull away.

Ripped away in a single, brutal second. The frustrated, aching sound he makes has you chuckle under your breath, his eyes wide and glassy to look where you’re knelt with a similar grin he had when he denied you. The sudden absence of the heat of your mouth and hand lands hard in his stomach, the sound that tears out of his throat full of protest.

“What— Why— No, please—“ He stumbles over his words, broken and useless. You run your manicured nails gently up and down his inner thighs, still giving a reason for his body to tremble.

the first time you witnessed it was when you saw it up close during michael’s rehearsal in the studio at midnight.

michael had been drilling the choreography for his upcoming tour for hours. the red, leather jacket fit loosely around his frame, one white, sparkly glove glowing under harsh lights of the studio. you sat crossed legged on the floor, not too far from. head resting on your hands as you admire your boyfriend’s moves.

suddenly, michael planted one of his feet, glided forward and spun. his body whipped around so fast, curls bouncing and jacket flaring. your eyes widen when he stopped and met his eyes with yours, instantly clapping and hooting.

“baby!” you continued to clap, jumping up. “do that again, that was wonderful honey.”

michael grinned, bashful as usual. he began to get shy but did the move once more, earning a uproar from you. you rushed over to him, hands cupping his face to kiss him hard. “i love that move, so much. it’s like you’re floatin' on air!”

the second time was during the full on run through of the billie jean choreography on the actual concert stage. a few crew members were around, testing electronics and instruments to make sure the sound and the concert will run smoothly. michael was in his own world, on stage doing the dance moves with you, again, on the floor watching. the billie jean instrumental was blaring in the background , you were tapping your feet and bobbing your head to the rhythm as you were watching michael.

you had your arms folded, making sure to not cheer to loud. you knew how michael got when cheered for, especially in front of other people. your eyes were glued to him when he did it, when he did THE move.

the spin was much faster, sharper, precise. your stomach flipped and heat rises to your cheeks. you had told yourself you would keep yourself reserved and quiet but all of that completely left your mind when you scurried up on your feet hollering:

“whoa! do that spin baby!”

all of the crew mates and musicians started to laugh at michael’s supportive yet performative girlfriend. michael had looked straight at you after your outburst. he bit his lip, trying to hide his smile but failing miserably.

later that day, michael had backed you against the wall, voice all low and flirty. “you really like it when I do that spin, huh?”

“every single time.” you replied, hands on his chest. “it does something to me.”

the third time didn’t require any music or anything. it was 3am in the morning and, like always, michael couldn’t sleep. he was thinking to much about his music and certain dance moves.

he was in the kitchen, grabbing a snack and humming “wanna be startin something” under his breath. unbeknownst to him, you had woken up too and was leaned against the doorway of the kitchen in your silk robe, watching him with a grin.

then he did it, no music, no instructions just him and his mind. the sounds of your laughter made him hum in surprise and turn around. his face warmed at the sight of his lovely girlfriend, laughing and clapping by the door.

“michael jospeh jackson, you are sum else .”

he smiled before spinning again, playfully. after the spin he moonwalked backwards until his back hit your chest making you snort at him before grabbing his shoulders and turning around. he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling him flush against him.

you melted against him, fingers raking through his jheri curl.

“i love you, mr spiny man.”

“mr spiny man loves you too.”

the fourth time was amazing. it was finally the day of the thriller tour and your emotions were very high, mostly excitement.

the lights were beaming. the crowd was screaming. michael had hit the stage, making the crowd cry, half of the crowd fainted before he could bust a move. but when michael hit the signature move during “billie jean” the crowd lost their minds and you did too, if not worse.

from your spot in VIP, your heart was pounding. you felt electricity. your man was owning the entire arena with move. you screamed along with fans, jumping up and down, curls bouncing.

michael had closed with the song “p.y.t” michael had arranged for the stage cameras to show you from the VIP section, making you show up on the large screens on the wall. you obviously were surprised, seeing yourself on the big screen while listening to michael singing to you, after all you were his pretty young thang.

when he came off the stage later that day, he was drenched in sweat, towel around his neck. he made his way right to your direction. you met him halfway, practically throwing yourself on him.

“baby that was wonderful, and you did the spin!” you told him, voice highly pitched with pride and want. “you killed the night, especially me.”

michael laughed, softly and pressing a even more softer kiss to your temple. “i saw how big your smile was, made me hit it harder.”

the fifth time was literally that same night. you and were together in private, at a hotel after the show.

the lights were dimmed in room, only the light from the bathroom was on. you sitting on the edge of the bed, applying body lotion to your feet after taking a well needed bath. your hair was in curlers, wrapped in a sheer fabric.

michael wasn’t too far, actually he was in the bathroom. he stood in front of the mirror, hair damp from the bath and dressed in some pajama pants and a mickey mouse printed shirt. he was still in a aftershock from the show, reminiscing about his dance moves and the songs.

he playfully did dance moves in the mirror with a grin, which was wider when he caught you staring through the mirror. he glanced at you, playfully before planting his feet in a familiar position and spinning.

he heard your soft giggles from behind him and your voice telling him to “come here”

when he reached in front of you, you pulled him down on top of you, making him yelp with a wide smile. “i love that damn spin.” you whispered before michael couldn’t contain himself and planted his lips on yours.

-