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.

michael jackson x girlfriend reader

summary: exam season can be stressful, but it’s a lot lighter with your beloved boyfriend there to take a much needed break with you.

content: fluff, michael sketches us (yum).

a/n: lets just pretend mj wrote the lyrics to PYT. anyways, I wrote this as a reward for being an absolute academic weapon this past week😋. also, reader is an english lit student at uni bc this oneshot is so self indulgent (oops). I was thinking abt otw era michael when writing this, but any works <3

The late afternoon sun was relentless through my living room windows, not only with its bright orange glow but how it taunted with the promise of summer.

So close, and yet blocked by the mountain of work to be done before exam season was over.

I worked on my literature dissertation by frantically rereading Frankenstein for what felt like the millionth time, just to triple check if there was absolutely any potential angle or analysis that I had missed.

But as always - and no matter how many times I repeated this pattern - I found myself making copious notes on the most minuscule details that Shelley herself likely hadn’t even noticed when writing.

Michael was beside me on the couch, leant facing me and against the armrest, engrossed in whatever he was scribbling down in his sketchbook. Song lyrics, I assumed. The ever workaholic; one of many things we connected deeply on and admired about the other.

I had been so immersed in my study that I hadn’t noticed at first how frequently Michael glanced up at me, often times lingering like he was lost in complete wonder.

“Michael?” I called, without looking up from the line I highlighted in pastel green.

He almost seemed caught off guard for a moment- reasonable considering how concentrated I’d been, causing the pair of us to fall into a comfortable silence. Unbroken until now.

He hummed in response.

“You’re staring again.” I smiled knowingly and finally met his warm eyes, swirling full of devotion.

“Can you blame me?” He grinned.

“It’s distracting.” I argued with no real weight behind it.

“Maybe you need a brief distraction.” He said, eyes flickering to the pen marks and red imprints on my hands from extensive note-taking.

I simply tilted my hand in a ‘not-yet-convinced’ manner.

“Shelley argues that excessive pursuit of knowledge can be dangerous,” Michael acknowledged, arm looped around a Mickey Mouse teddy he had gifted me on a random day before. “Therefore, it’s risky for you to not take a break with me.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, laughing from just how endearing he was. “You’re so adorable, Mickey.”

“It’s Mickey now?” He raised his brows in humoured incredulous, as I set my book and papers full of notes aside. “Your nicknames get worse by the day.”

He wasn’t wrong. My nicknames for him had somehow evolved from Mikey to now apparently Mickey Mouse. In my defence, Disney was another one of our shared interests, and he just suited it too well.

“It’s your fault for being so sweet. Like a Disney prince.” I teased. But it was true: he did look as though he’d been conjured up from a fairytale. Especially there in his cosy knitted jumper, smooth curls framing his face, and that perfect smile.

“Such a flirt,” he turned away from me, trying to contain his fluster - just so endearing.

“Well, as a literature student,” I began, shifting onto his lap to close the distance, as a slow smile spread across his face. “I guess I just have a way with words.”

I looked down at his sketchbook to see what he had been working on this whole time, a smug expression slipping onto my face after.

“And with you, it would seem.”

Michael casted his eyes down and shyly moved to conceal the contents of his sketchbook, but I stopped him with my hand, looking back up at him for permission to observe his work in more detail.

He eventually caved and handed me the leather bound book, filled with all his creative ideas and most intimate thoughts.

I flicked to the double spread pages he spent that evening on and saw sketches of familiar features: my eyes - which he somehow always managed to capture in such precise detail, full of emotions I wouldn’t have been able to identify myself - my brows knotted in deep concentration, my hands stained with ink from taking notes inside my book, and so much more that proved he didn’t just see me, but truly understood. Beyond the surface.

Maybe it was the analytical side of me coming out, but I admired Michael’s art more than anyone else’s. Not just because of my emotional connection towards him, but because of how much of himself he put into everything he created. From his lyrics, melodies to drawings: everything brimmed with absolute passion and depth.

“Incredible.” I said with a breath of amusement and shake of my head from how he never failed to surprise me with the extent of his talent. He laughed in response and blushed ever so slightly.

My fingers traced the lines over the pages, taking in every single expressive choice. I zoomed in on the words delicately scribed alongside the sketches: pretty young thing.

“Michael, we’re the same age.” I jested, knowing it was likely a lyric he thought of.

“I meant it as describing your essence! How you’re like an adorable little cat curled up on the couch.”

I smiled contentedly and shifted to lean back against his chest, enveloped in his comforting warmth instantly.

Such relaxation drew out a tired sigh from me. “Well, after staring at my annotations for so long, some T.L.C. would be nice.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around me. As his face nestled between my shoulder, peppering soft, soothing kisses, I felt the stress of exams and my dissertation rolling off me in waves.

Then he paused. An idea clicked.

“Tender love and care.” He repeated, then scoffed in humour, as if unraveling a mystery.

“Oh dear - what have I set off now?” I looked back at him, enjoying being able to see his thought process in real time.

“How would you feel about stopping by the studio?”

“I don’t see why not. I could bring my book and continue studying there.”

“No,” he held my waist a little tighter, before I could move to retrieve my book. “No more studying for you. You need to relax for the day.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, equally as pleased as he seemed. “I suppose I do love to watch you work.”

“As you’ve already seen, so do I.” He leaned in for another kiss, completely enamoured and feeling endlessly blissful about it.

꧁ ༺ ❀ ༻ ꧂

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