🎂BIRTHDAY BOY🎂 - JAAFAR JACKSON
🎊 pairing: jaafar jackson x blackfem!reader (imagine any race tho baby)
🎊 warning: oral sex (male and female receiving), face-fucking, cream pie, multiple orgasms, fingering, praise and dirty talk, established relationship, explicit sexual content, Somnophilia (reader initiates oral while Jaafar is asleep, he wakes up during and is enjoying it, but the initial moments are while he's unconscious)
🎊: happy birthday to my man jaafar 😩 and ts took too long bro didn’t finish till 6 am and had to proof read and I promise if this only gets like a little bit of likes I PROMISE I’m leaving this app (jkjk but don’t pmo).
🎊: Find the “💋” if you wanna dive straight into the smut
Tagging: @sweetdreamingx, @d3adst4r
Jaafar was dead to the world. He lay sprawled on his back, his breathing slow and deep and utterly peaceful. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath.
The duvet had slipped low during the night, riding down to the curve of his lower chest.
He was thirty years old today. And he had absolutely no idea what was about to happen.
You'd been awake for twenty minutes. Long enough to brush your teeth and splash water on your face and tie your hair up.
You then stood in the bathroom doorway and watch him sleep, your heart so full it felt like it might crack your ribs.
You crossed the room on silent feet, the plush bedroom carpet swallowing your footsteps.
The mattress barely dipped as you slid onto it, positioning yourself beside his sleeping form.
You started with his shoulder. Just your lips, soft and barely-there, pressing a kiss to the warm skin.
Then another, and another, a trail of feather-light kisses working their way down his chest.
He stirred and his fingers twitched. But he didn't wake.
You reached the dip of his lower back. You took the edge of the fabric and pulled it down.
He slept naked he always did, said it made him feel free and his body was laid out before you like a gift.
You shifted lower, settling between his legs. Your hand found him and you pressed a gentle kiss to the head.
He smelled like skin and soap. You took him into your mouth.
He was soft enough that you could fit all of him easily, your lips stretched around the base, your tongue cradling the shaft.
You sucked. Gently at first, a slow, steady pressure that made your cheeks hollow.
Above you, Jaafar's breathing changed.
You didn't stop. Your tongue worked along the underside of his cock, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip, and you felt him stir against your palate.
He was getting harder, the softness giving way to rigid heat, expanding until your jaw ached pleasantly with the stretch.
"Baby...?" His voice was groggy, confused, thick with sleep. His hips twitched, an involuntary movement. "What are you— nnngh—"
You pulled off him just long enough to look up. His eyes were open now, still half-lidded, still fighting off the last dregs of sleep and he was staring down at you with an expression of pure, bewildered wonder.
His curls were a disaster. His lips were parted. His chest was already rising and falling faster than it had been a moment ago.
"Happy birthday," you murmured, and then your mouth was on him again.
This time you didn't hold back. You took him deep, as deep as you could, letting the head of his cock bump against the back of your throat.
Your hand wrapped around the base, he was too long to fit all of him in your mouth, but you made up for it with your grip, twisting slightly on each upstroke, your tongue flat against the sensitive underside.
"Fuuuuuck— baby— aaaaah." His voice cracked on the moan. His hands flew to your head, fingers tangling in your hair.
You hummed around his cock. He bucked up into your mouth, and the sound he made was halfway between a sob and a prayer.
"Baby— I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna— fuuuuck!"
His hips stuttered. His thighs tensed against your shoulders. And then he was cumming, hot and thick and salty-bitter across your tongue, pulse after pulse, his cock twitching against your palate, his whole body shuddering through it.
You swallowed every drop, working him through it with gentle suction until the last spasm had passed and he was lying limp against the mattress, gasping for air.
"Good morning," you said, pulling off him with a wet pop.
"That's one way to put it." His voice was wrecked, hoarse and trembling. He was staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe.
"I think you just killed me. I think I'm dead. This is heaven and I'm dead."
"You're not dead. Yet." You crawled up his body, pressing kisses to his hip, his stomach, his chest, his collarbone, until you were face to face with him.
His eyes were finally fully open now, dark and soft and still slightly glazed. "Happy birthday, Jaafar."
"Best birthday ever," he whispered. "And it's not even seven AM."
You kissed him. He could taste himself on your tongue, and he groaned into your mouth, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other sliding down to grip your bare ass.
"You're naked," he observed when you finally broke for air.
"Because I've got a whole day planned for you, and the dress code is 'anything you want.'" You kissed the tip of his nose and rolled off the bed. "Now get up. Breakfast is ready."
"Your favorite. I've been up since five."
"You've been up since five making me breakfast?"
"And setting the table. And arranging the flowers. And—" You glanced at the clock.
"We've got a schedule to keep, birthday boy. Shower. Brush your teeth. Meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes."
He sat up slowly, the duvet pooling around his waist, his softening cock still glistening from your mouth.
The morning light caught his face, illuminating the sharp angle of his jaw and the soft wonder in his eyes.
"I love you," he said. "You know that, right?"
"I know." You paused at the bedroom door, looking back at him over your shoulder. "I love you too. Now move that pretty ass."
You'd pushed the breakfast table against the bay window, where the morning sun was now streaming through the glass in warm, golden shafts.
A white tablecloth covered the surface and in the center sat a small vase of sunflowers, their bright yellow petals catching the light.
Two place settings were laid out with the good china, the ones you'd registered for last spring and had used maybe twice.
Candles flickered in crystal holders, their vanilla scent mingling with the rich, savory aroma of the food you'd spent the last two hours preparing.
His favorite breakfast: ackee and saltfish with fried dumplings and callaloo, the way his grandmother used to make it.
You'd called his mom three days ago for the recipe, and you'd practiced twice since then, determined to get it right.
Beside the main dish sat a platter of fresh fruit, mango slices fanned out like butterfly wings, pineapple chunks glistening with juice, strawberries cut into perfect hearts.
Fresh-squeezed orange juice sparkled in a glass pitcher.
A pot of coffee steamed gently on a warming trivet.
Jaafar walked into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Baby." His voice was barely a whisper. "When did you— how did you—"
"I told you. I've been up since five." You pulled out a chair and gestured for him to sit. "Now eat before it gets cold."
He sat. He stared at the food. He stared at the sunflowers. He stared at you moving around the kitchen with the kind of casual confidence that made his heart stutter in his chest.
"I don't deserve you," he said.
"You deserve the world. Sit and eat."
He ate three servings of ackee and saltfish, four dumplings, half the fruit platter, two cups of coffee. (Fucking fatass . Jkjkjk)
Between bites, he kept looking at you with that same expression of soft wonder, like he couldn't quite believe any of this was real.
"So what are we doing today?" he asked, sopping up the last of the saltfish with a piece of fried dough.
"You'll find out when we get there." You leaned across the table and kissed the corner of his mouth, licking away a crumb of fried dumpling. "Trust me?"
"Then finish your coffee. We've got places to be."
Rodeo Drive was already bustling.
The air was warm and dry. You'd dressed for the occasion, a burgundy colored sundress that hugged your curves and made your S/C skin glow, hoops brushing your shoulders, your hair freshly re-done.
Jaafar was in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, the outfit he'd thrown together in five minutes because he'd spent the rest of his twenty-minute window staring at you. He still looked like he'd stepped off a magazine cover.
"Okay," you said, tugging him toward the first store. "We're starting here."
"Baby, you don't have to buy me anything—"
"It's your birthday. I'm buying you everything."
And you did. You bought him a leather jacket from Saint Laurent, butter-soft black lambskin that fit his shoulders like it had been tailored specifically for him.
You bought him sneakers from Balenciaga and boots from Prada and a watch from the Rolex boutique that made his eyes go wide as dinner plates.
He tried to protest every single time, and every single time you silenced him with a kiss and a swipe of your credit card.
"This is too much," he said for the dozenth time as you left the third store, his arms now laden with shopping bags. "Baby, seriously, this is insane."
"Nothing is too much for you."
"You've been working sixteen-hour days for six months straight. You've learned to moonwalk for a role. You've transformed yourself into a legend. You deserve nice things."
You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a tourist to swerve around you, and cupped his face in your hands.
"Let me spoil you. Just for today. Let me show you how proud I am of you."
His eyes went glassy. He blinked rapidly, his lashes damp. "I'm not gonna cry on Rodeo Drive."
"You can cry on Rodeo Drive if you want to."
"I'm not gonna cry on Rodeo Drive."
He cried on Rodeo Drive. Just a little. Just enough that you had to pretend not to notice while he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his t-shirt.
Brunch was a sprawl of small plates and bottomless mimosas at a table tucked under a canopy of fairy lights.
The smells of truffle oil and fresh bread and wood-fired pizza weaving through the air.
Jaafar fed you bites of his prosciutto-wrapped melon and call it romance.
"Best birthday so far?" you asked, sipping your third mimosa.
"Best birthday of my life. And it's only one o'clock."
"We've still got the whole evening ahead of us."
"Nice try. You'll find out."
He groaned dramatically, slumping back in his chair. "You're killing me."
"I do." He caught your hand across the table, his thumb tracing the ring on your finger, you hadn't taken off since the night he'd put it there. "I really, really do."
The bathroom was a cloud of steam and the sweet, floral scent of jasmine-scented bubbles.
Candles lined every surface. The tub was filled to the brim, mountains of white bubbles threatening to spill over the sides, and the water was hot.
Jaafar was already in the tub, his arms draped over the edges, his head tipped back against a rolled-up towel. His eyes were closed. His lips were curved into a small, contented smile.
The bubbles came up to his chest, obscuring everything below, but you could see the edges of his collarbones.
"You gonna stand there staring, or you gonna get in?" he asked, not opening his eyes.
You dropped your robe. It pooled around your feet in a puddle of silk, and you stepped into the tub, one leg at a time, the hot water swallowing you inch by inch.
You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder.
His arms came around you immediately, his hands finding your thighs under the bubbles.
"This is heaven," he murmured against your ear.
"Thank you. For today. For everything. I don't say it enough."
"Not as much as I feel it." His lips found the curve of your neck, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear.
"I love you. I love waking up next to you. I love watching you cook. I love the way you laugh when you've had too many mimosas."
"I did not have too many mimosas."
"You absolutely did.. And you were being drunk."
"And cute," he agreed. His hands slid higher on your thighs, fingertips tracing the crease where your legs met your hips. "So fucking cute."
His touch was light at first, just teasing, tracing patterns on your skin.
Then his fingers dipped between your thighs, finding your folds through the slick, soapy water, and you gasped.
"It's my birthday." His voice had gone low and rough, the way it always did when he wanted you.
"You've been spoiling me all day. Let me spoil you a little."
He didn't wait for an answer. His fingers parted your folds, finding your clit, circling it.
Your head fell back against his shoulder, a moan slipping from your lips.
"Nnnngh— that's— aaaaah—"
"You're so wet. Is that from the bath, or is that all for me?"
His other hand came up to cup your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple until it pebbled under his touch.
His fingers on your clit, his hand on your breast, his lips on your neck, it was overwhelming.
The water sloshed around you as your hips bucked, bubbles spilling over the edge of the tub.
"I want to be inside you," he breathed. "Turn around. Ride me."
You turned, water cascading everywhere, bubbles clinging to your skin like lace.
You straddled his hips, and he was already hard, already waiting, the tip breaking through the bubbles.
He was so long that even half-submerged, you could see the length of him, curving slightly up.
"Put it in," he commanded. "Take what you want. It's your day too."
"Then do what I want. And what I want is to watch you fuck yourself on me."
You reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the base of him, positioning him at your entrance.
The head nudged against your folds, and you both groaned at the contact.
Then you sank down, inch by devastating inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you.
"Mmmmmmppphhh— fuuuuuck— Jaaaaafar."
"God, you feel incredible. You're so tight. How are you always so tight? You still grip me like it's our first time again"
You started to move. Slow at first, rolling your hips in a rhythm that made the water lap against the sides of the tub.
Then faster, riding him with abandon, your hands braced on his shoulders, your breasts bouncing with every thrust.
The bubbles were mostly gone now, beaten into submission by the motion, and you could see everything,
He was sliding in and out of you, your slickness mixing with the bathwater, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks.
"Aaaah— aaah— aaaah— Jaafar, I'm gonna cum"
"Cum for me. I want to feel it— want to feel you squeeze me."
The orgasm hit you like a wave, rolling through your body from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers.
Your cunt clamped down on him, pulsing, milking, and you screamed his name so loud it echoed off the bathroom tiles.
"That's it. That's my girl." He was breathing hard, his hips still thrusting up into you through the aftershocks. "I'm close."
"Cum in me J. It's your birthday."
"Fuuuuck— baby I’m bout to cum"
His cock pulsed inside you, hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy, filling you up until you could feel it dripping down your thighs and mixing with the bathwater.
He buried his face in your neck and groaned, his whole body shuddering, his hands clutching at your hips like you might disappear.
Y’all stayed like that for a long moment, panting, trembling. Then Jaafar started to laugh.
"I've peaked. It's all downhill from here."
"Shut up." You kissed him, soft and sweet. "We've still got the whole evening ahead of us."
Neverland had been transformed.
Tonight, for Jaafar's birthday, it had been elevated to something out of a dream.
Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the courtyard, casting a warm golden glow over the assembled guests.
The Ferris wheel was lit up in shades of gold and cream, spinning slowly against the deepening twilight.
A live band played on a stage near the pond, all smooth saxophone and brushed drums, and the music drifted through the warm summer air, mingling with the scent of grilling meat and fresh flowers.
Tables had been set up on the lawn, draped in white linen and decorated with centerpieces of roses and hydrangeas.
The guest list was overly full with family, close friends, and a handful of cast members from the biopic.
And in the center of it all, Jaafar Jackson, thirty years old and glowing.
He'd changed into a cream-colored suit for the evening.
He looked like a prince. He looked like a star. He looked like the happiest man on earth.
"To Jaafar!" Jermaine raised his glass, and the crowd echoed the toast. "Thirty years old and already making us all proud. To many more years, many more movies, and many more reasons to celebrate!"
Jaafar ducked his head, embarrassed by the attention, his hand finding yours under the table. "This is too much," he murmured.
"Nothing is too much for you."
Dinner was a feast, every side dish imaginable, catered by the best restaurant in Santa Barbara.
The cake was a three-tiered masterpiece, vanilla with strawberry filling, his favorite.
The toasts went on for nearly an hour, each one more heartfelt than the last.
Colman told a hilarious story about Jaafar accidentally moonwalking off the edge of the stage during rehearsals.
Nia got teary-eyed talking about how much he reminded her of Michael.
At one point, Jaafar's mom stood up and delivered a speech so beautiful that half the guests were openly weeping by the end.
They opened presents. They danced under the fairy lights. They rode the Ferris wheel at least twice, just because they could.
Jaafar was smiling so hard his cheeks must have been aching, but he never stopped, he just kept looking at you with those big brown eyes like he couldn't believe any of this was real.
"Best birthday ever?" you asked, leaning against him as the Ferris wheel reached its peak.
"Best birthday ever." He kissed your forehead. "But I have a confession."
"I kind of want to get out of here. Just... sneak away. Just the two of us."
"You want to leave your own party?"
"I want to be with you." His voice was soft, almost shy. "I love all this. I love my family. But what I really want, more than anything, is just... you. Alone. Somewhere quiet."
You kissed him. "I know exactly the place."
The smell of sizzling burgers and frying onions hung in the air, thick enough to taste.
Jaafar in his jeans and a fresh t-shirt, you back in your sundress.
You both slid into a corner booth, the vinyl squeaking under y’all’s weight, and ordered burgers and fries and chocolate milkshakes because it was his birthday and calories didn't count.
"This is perfect," Jaafar said, munching on a fry. "The whole day. Everything. You planned all this?"
"Who needs sleep? I've got a birthday boy to spoil."
He reached across the table and took your hand. His thumb traced the ring on your finger, the one he'd given you on his nineteenth birthday, the one you hadn't taken off since.
"I'm gonna marry you someday. You know that, right?"
"Soon. Like, really soon. Like, maybe we should start planning soon."
"Jaafar Jackson, are you proposing to me in a diner?"
"No. Not yet. But I'm telling you—" He squeezed your hand. "When I do propose, it's gonna be the second-best day of my life. Because today was the first."
Your eyes were burning. "You're making me cry in a diner."
"You made me cry on Rodeo Drive. It's only fair."
Jaafar had you pinned against the bedroom wall, his body pressed against yours, his mouth hot and demanding on your neck.
Your dress was already unzipped, hanging off one shoulder.
His shirt was gone, discarded somewhere between the front door and the staircase.
"We're supposed to be packing," you gasped.
"We have an early flight—"
"We'll sleep on the damn plane."
His hands were everywhere, cupping your breasts, gripping your hips, sliding up your thighs and pushing the hem of your dress higher.
He was already hard, pressing against your belly through his jeans, and you could feel the heat of him through the denim.
"Bedroom," you managed. "Now."
They stumbled down the hallway in a tangle of limbs, shedding clothes as they went, your dress in the hallway, his jeans in the doorway, your panties somewhere near the nightstand.
You were both naked, both breathing hard, both desperate.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back against the headboard, his dick jutting up toward his belly.
You knelt between his legs.
"Again?" he breathed. "Baby, you already—"
"It's your birthday. You're getting spoiled until midnight." You glanced at the clock, 12:37 AM.
"Okay, technically it's the day after your birthday. But we're still celebrating."
You took him in your hand first. Just holding him, feeling the weight and heat of him against your palm.
He was beautiful, long and curved, the shaft smooth except for that thick vein running up the underside, the head flushed and already slick with pre-cum.
A pearl of it beaded at the tip, and you leaned forward to lick it away.
He tasted like salt and skin and something faintly sweet. You took the head into your mouth, sucking gently, your tongue swirling around the ridge.
He groaned, his hands fisting in the sheets, his hips twitching like he was fighting the urge to thrust deeper.
"You don't have to hold back." You pulled off just long enough to speak, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. "It's your birthday. Fuck my face if you want to."
You took him deep. All the way, until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat and your nose pressed against the trimmed hair at the base.
You held there, your throat convulsing around him.
His hands flew to your head, tangling in your hair. He didn't push but when you hummed around his shaft, he bucked up into your mouth, a short, desperate thrust that made him hit the back of your throat again.
"Fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" But his hips snapped up, fucking into your mouth.
He was so long that you couldn't take all of him, your hand wrapped around the base, stroking what wouldn't fit, twisting on every upstroke.
You let him use your mouth, let him chase his pleasure, your jaw aching and your eyes watering and your pussy absolutely dripping at the sounds he was making.
"Aaah— aaah baby, I'm gonna cum."
He was pulsing against your tongue, thick ropes of cum flooding your mouth.
You swallowed every drop, working him through it, milking him until he was trembling and oversensitive and begging you to stop.
"Too much— fuuuuck— too much."
You pulled off with a wet pop. "Good?"
"I'm seeing stars." He slumped against the headboard, chest heaving. "Actual stars."
"Good. Now it's my turn."
Before he could catch his breath, you'd pushed him onto his back and swung a leg over his face.
Your pussy was hovering inches above his mouth, still slick from the blowjob, still wet from the arousal that had been building since you'd gotten home.
He didn't need to be told twice.
His hands gripped your thighs and pulled you down onto his face. His tongue was relentless, licking into you like you were his last meal.
He found your clit and sucked on it, hard. “Jaafar— right there please don’t stop!"
He didn't stop. His tongue circled your clit, his lips sealed around it, and his fingers found your entrance, sliding in deep, curling up to hit that spot inside you.
He sucked and licked and fingered you like it was his job, like he was starving, like there was nothing in the world he'd rather be doing than eating your pussy.
"Oh shit oh shit. I'm gonna cum— don't stop don't stop don't stop !"
The orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your whole body seized, your thighs clamping around his head, your cunt pulsing against his tongue, your juices flooding his mouth.
He lapped it all up, greedy, groaning into your pussy like the taste of you was the best thing he'd ever experienced.
You collapsed off him, landing on the bed in a heap of trembling limbs. "That was— fuuuuck."
"We're not done." He was already moving, already positioning himself over you. His was hard again "It's still my birthday celebration. And I want to fuck you."
He flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. He pulled your hips up, your ass in the air, your face pressed into the pillows.
You felt the head of his cock nudge against your entrance, you were so wet, so slick from your orgasm and then he pushed inside in one smooth, devastating stroke.
"You like that?" He pulled back and slammed in again, harder this time. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.
"You like getting fucked like this? Bent over our bed like a good little slut?"
The dirty talk was new. It was also the hottest thing you'd ever heard.
"Yesss— yesss— I love it— fuck me harder."
He fucked you harder. His hips slammed against your ass with a rhythm that was brutal and perfect, his cock hitting so deep you could feel him in your guts.
One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise and the other reached around to find your clit.
"You're so tight— so wet— this pussy was made for me— only me."
"Only you— aaaah— only ever you."
"Gonna cum again?" His voice was strained, his rhythm starting to falter. "Gonna cum on this cock like a good girl?"
Your second orgasm ripped through you, even stronger than the first. Your cunt clamped down on his cock, squeezing him so tight that he groaned and nearly lost his rhythm.
"Fuuuuck that's it milk me."
But he didn't stop. He fucked you through your orgasm and kept going, driving into your sensitive, spasming pussy.
The overstimulation was almost too much but the pleasure was building again, a third orgasm coiling at the base of your spine.
"I can't— I can't— it's too much!"
"One more. Give me one more, baby. I know you can."
He flipped you onto your back, never pulling out, somehow.
Now he was on top of you, your legs hooked over his shoulders, his cock driving into you at an angle that made you see God.
"Look at me," he commanded. "Look at me when you cum."
Your eyes met his. His face was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, his curls plastered to his temples.
He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
"Cum with me," you begged. "Please, Jaafar. cum with me."
Your third orgasm crashed over you, your whole body arching off the mattress.
Jaafar came at the same instant, he was pulsing inside you, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts.
He groaned your name against your neck, his whole body shuddering, his hips still pumping weakly as he emptied himself inside you.
"Fuuuuuck baby I love you, I love you."
Y’all collapsed together. The clock on the nightstand read 2:47 AM.
The suitcases were still empty on the floor. They hadn't packed a single thing.
"We should probably..." Jaafar gestured vaguely at the suitcases.
"We'll pack in the morning."
"We have to leave for the airport at six."
"That's three hours from now."
"Then we should probably rest." You snuggled closer to him, your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his hip.
His cum was still leaking out of you, warm and sticky on your inner thighs, and you didn't care one bit.
"Best birthday ever," Jaafar murmured, already half-asleep.
"It's still true." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"Best birthday of my life. Best day of my life. Best everything."
"Go to sleep, birthday boy."
"You'll always be my boy."
"Fair enough." His arms tightened around you. "Love you."
You both fell asleep like that, tangled together in the wreckage of y’all bed.
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