jermajesty j. jackson. “jer/maj/sunshine”. pre-law student. twenty-three. listens to chase atlantic, deftones, TV girl, cigarettes after sex lover, bryson tiller, brent friyaz + more. introverted. loves orchids, chrysanthemums, and peonies. dr pepper connoisseur. has a soft spot for his roommate (aka you). heartthrob, lowkey a manwhore. can play the guitar + can sing. needs his glasses but never wears them. highly obsessed with mcu and disney. lowkey scared of horror movies. sometimes smoke’s weed. has a thing for making you flustered. can solve a Rubiks cube in under 30 seconds. swears he hates Queen Charlotte/Bridgerton but gets caught crying over it. got into anime because of you <3. lowkey a gym rat. can go on and on about FNAF, bendy and the ink machine, and resident evil. he definitely likes you but he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship.
Author’s Note: been fighting migraines left and right, wasn’t the original post—i’ll make it up soon🫤.
The arcade was a cathedral of neon and noise, every corner stuffed with whirring machines and flashing lights, a hundred different games going off.
The air smelled like buttered popcorn and ozone and the faint, sweet tang of cotton candy drifting over from the prize counter.
Kids ran past, clutching plastic cups full of tokens, their sneakers squeaking on the polished concrete floor.
A group of teenagers were crowded around the Street Fighter II cabinet, arguing loudly about combos.
Somewhere near the back, a pinball machine chimed out a victory melody, bells clanging in celebration.
Jermajesty Jackson was absolutely obliterating you at Skee-Ball.
"You're cheating," you said, watching another one of his balls roll perfectly into the hundred-point hole.
The machine spat out a string of tickets that pooled at his feet like paper waterfalls.
"I'm not cheating." He adjusted his glasses that sat slightly askew on his nose. "You're just bad at Skee-Ball."
"I am not bad at Skee-Ball."
"Baby." He gestured at your score, which was pitiful. "You have forty points. I have four hundred."
"Girl bye. You ready for round two? I want a rematch."
"Boy, don't make me take these tickets and go home."
"You wouldn't." His voice went soft, uncertain, the bravado crumbling. "It's our anniversary."
"I know it's our anniversary, silly. I'm just messing with you." You leaned up and kissed his cheek, and the blush that had been fading came roaring back full force.
"Now get your tickets. We've got dinner reservations."
———- DINER ———-
The diner was one of those places that existed in the strange space between nostalgic and genuinely fancy—red leather booths worn soft with decades of use, chrome fixtures polished to a mirror shine, a jukebox in the corner that played actual vinyl records instead of digital tracks.
The lighting was low and golden, little tea candles flickering on every table.
The air smelled like seared steak and roasted garlic and fresh bread.
You guys gotten a booth in the back corner, tucked away from the rest of the diners, half-hidden behind a partition made of frosted glass.
Jermajesty had requested it specifically when he'd made the reservation. "I want it to be private," he'd explained, and the hostess had given him a knowing smile that made his ears turn red.
Now he sat across from you, his flannel discarded on the seat beside him, his graphic tee rumpled from a long day.
He was fiddling with his napkin, folding it, unfolding it, folding it again, the way he always did when he was nervous.
"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching across the table to still his hands.
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
"You're perfect. This is perfect. I just— I can't believe it's been a year. I can't believe you've put up with me for a whole year."
"Put up with you?" You squeezed his hands. "Jermajesty, I'm obsessed with you. Have you met you?"
"I'm me. I'm not— I'm just a guy."
"And I'm a girl who loves a guy." You ran your thumb over his knuckles. "I don't want an athlete. I don't want a rapper. I want you. I've wanted you since the day you spilled coffee on my shoes in the campus library and almost cried."
"That was so embarrassing."
"It was adorable. You offered to buy me new shoes. You didn't even know my name."
"I knew your name." His voice dropped, barely audible over the ambient noise of the diner.
"I'd known your name for months. I just never had the courage to talk to you."
"Well, you talked to me eventually."
The server arrived with y’all’s food, a massive burger for Jermajesty with sweet potato fries and a side of garlic aioli, and a steak and mash potatoes for you (my fucking fav 😩).
They ate and talked and laughed, their knees bumping under the table, their hands finding each other across the checkered tablecloth.
The jukebox switched from Prince to Michael Jackson, and the whole diner seemed to sigh into the vibe of it.
At some point, between the main course and dessert, Jermajesty reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
"Before you freak out," he said quickly, "it's not a ring. I mean— it is a ring. But not that kind of ring. I'm not— we're not ready for— I just saw it and thought of you and—"
"Baby." You put your hand over his, stilling the nervous rambling. "Breathe."
He breathed. Opened the box.
Inside was a (silver or gold you choose) ring, delicate and elegant, with a small emerald set in the center.
The stone caught the candlelight and threw tiny green sparks across the tablecloth.
"It's your birthstone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y/B/M, right? And it's vintage, from the 1920s, the lady at the shop said. I thought... I don't know. You're so modern and confident and cool, but you've got this timeless thing too, like you could've been a queen in any era, and I wanted something that matched that. That matched you."
Your eyes were burning. You blinked rapidly, refusing to cry in the middle of this beautiful diner. "Jermajesty Jackson."
"Yes?"
"Put this ring on my finger right now before I lose my mind."
He took the ring out of the box with trembling hands. His fingers were long and slender fingers, and they shook as he slid the ring onto your right hand. It fit perfectly.
"How did you know my ring size?"
"I, uh." His blush was back. "I measured your finger while you were sleeping. Like, two months ago. With a piece of string. You're a heavy sleeper."
"You're a creep."
"Romantic creep."
"You're my romantic creep." You leaned across the table, cupped his face in your hands, and kissed him. His lips were soft and tasted like the root beer he'd been drinking, and when you pulled back, his eyes were still closed, his glasses slightly fogged.
"I love you," he breathed.
"I love you too, nerd."
——- Jermajesty's Apartment ——-
The apartment was a surprise.
Jermajesty had somehow managed to transform his living room into something out of a romance movie.
Rose petals, deep red and velvety were scattered across the floor in a winding path that led from the front door to the couch.
Candles flickered on every surface, the coffee table, the bookshelves, the windowsills, their vanilla scent mingling with the faint musk of old comic books and the clean smell of the Pine-Sol he'd definitely used to scrub the place down before you arrived.
A bottle of wine sat chilling in an ice bucket on the coffee table, two glasses waiting beside it.
The curtains were drawn, and the only light came from the candles, casting the whole room in a warm, golden glow.
"Jermajesty." You stood in the doorway, your hand pressed to your chest, your mouth hanging open. "When did you— how did you—"
"I had help." He was behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in that self-conscious way he had.
"Royal helped me set it up while we were at the arcade. Do you like it? Is it too much? It's too much, isn't it. I knew it was too much—"
"It's perfect." You turned around and threw your arms around his neck. "You're perfect. This whole day has been perfect."
"Really?"
"Really."
He kissed you then, slow and sweet, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. He was always so careful with you, always so gentle, like he was afraid you might break if he held on too tight.
You'd spent a year trying to convince him that you weren't fragile, that you wanted him to touch you, that you were just as desperate for him as he was for you. Tonight, maybe, he'd finally believe it.
"Wine?" he asked, pulling back just enough to breathe.
"Wine."
He poured them each a glass, red, something French that Jaafar had probably picked out for him.
The rose petals rustled under their weight, releasing another wave of floral scent into the air.
You kicked off your heels and tucked your feet up under you, leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.
His arm came around you automatically, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your upper arm.
"A whole year," he said eventually, his voice soft and wondering.
"A whole year."
"I didn't think we'd make it three months."
"What?" You sat up, twisting to look at him. "Why?"
"Because..." He shrugged, his gaze fixed on his wine glass rather than your face. "
You're you. And I'm me. You're like... this goddess who walks into rooms and everyone stops talking, and I'm the guy in the corner who gets nervous when the waiter asks me how my food is. I kept waiting for you to wake up and realize you could do better."
"Jermajesty." You took his wine glass from his hand and set it on the table, then took his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you.
"There is no better. There's only you. I don't want someone who makes everyone in the room stop talking. I want someone who blushes when I kiss his cheek and measures my ring size while I'm sleeping. I want you. Only you. Always you."
His eyes were wet behind his glasses. "Really?"
"Really."
"Oh." He swallowed hard. "Okay. Good. That's... good. Because I want you too. Obviously."
"I know, baby." You kissed his forehead. "I know."
The candles burned lower, their flames dancing in the drafts from the air conditioning.
"Hey." Jermajesty's voice had gone slightly husky in a way you'd never heard before.
"I was thinking... maybe... we could take a bath? Together? I have this big tub and I got those bath bomb things that Janet said you liked and I thought— only if you want to—"
You kissed him mid-sentence, because if you let him keep going he'd talk himself out of it. "I want to."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Okay." He stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the wine bottle. "Okay. Great. Let me just— I'll go run the water— you just— stay here—"
He practically sprinted toward the bathroom.
————
The tub was enormous. Jermajesty had filled it with steaming water and a bath bomb that turned the water a deep, swirling purple, releasing the scent of lavender.
More candles lined the edges of the tub and the bathroom counter, their flames reflected in the tiles and the mirror and the water itself.
Jermajesty was standing beside the tub, wringing his hands.
"Baby." You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding very loud in the quiet room. "You're nervous."
"No, I'm not."
"You're literally shaking."
He looked down at his hands, which were, in fact, trembling. "Okay. Maybe I'm a little nervous."
"Why?"
"Because..." He took a deep breath. "I've never seen you. All the way. And you've never seen me. And what if— what if you don't like what you see? What if I'm not— what if my body isn't—"
"Jermajesty." You stepped closer, close enough to take his trembling hands in yours.
"I've spent a year dreaming about seeing all of you. Nothing you show me tonight is going to make me want you any less. Okay?"
"Okay."
"And as for my body..." You released his hands and reached for the hem of your top. "I'm going to show you mine first. So you know what you're getting into."
He swallowed so hard you could hear it.
You undressed slowly. The top went first you pulled it over your head and let it fall to the floor.
Your bra was black lace, Jermajesty made a small sound in the back of his throat that might have been your name.
Your skirt came next, the zipper hissing down, the fabric sliding over your hips and pooling at your feet.
Your panties matched the bra and you stood there in your underwear, letting him look, letting his eyes trace the generous curves of your body.
"You're shaking," he whispered.
"So are you."
"My turn?"
"Not yet." You reached behind your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease.
The straps slid down your shoulders, and then the lace fell away, revealing the full, heavy swell of your breasts.
Your nipples were already pebbled, from nerves or arousal or both.
"Wow," Jermajesty breathed. His glasses had fogged up slightly. He didn't seem to notice. "You're— I mean— I knew you'd be beautiful, but— wow."
"You haven't seen the rest yet."
Your panties were the last to go, and you took your time with them, hooking your thumbs into the waistband and sliding them down inch by inch.
The soft spread of your hips, then the round curve of your ass as you turned to give him the full view.
"Okay," you said, turning back to face him, completely naked now. The candlelight painted your skin in shades of gold and amber. "Your turn."
Jermajesty fumbled with his flannel, his fingers suddenly seeming to forget how buttons worked.
You stepped forward—still naked, still unashamed—and gently pushed his hands aside.
"Let me."
You undressed him the way you'd undressed yourself.
The shirt got pulled off, revealing a chest that was lean and surprisingly toned, all those hours of nervous pacing around his apartment must have done something.
His stomach was flat, his hips narrow, his collarbones sharp and elegant.
He was beautiful in an unexpected way, the kind of body that spent most of its time hidden under baggy t-shirts and oversized hoodies.
"Your jeans," you murmured, your fingers already at his belt.
"Right. Jeans." He swallowed again. "I can— I'll do it—"
"I've got it."
His jeans came off, and then his boxers, then he was naked in front of you, and you both stopped breathing.
His dick was already hard, curving up toward his belly. It was the longest you'd ever seen, and it was thick and solid.
"You're gorgeous," you said.
"I'm— what?"
"You're gorgeous, Jermajesty. Why do you hide this body under all those baggy clothes?"
"Because..." He seemed genuinely confused by the compliment. "Because I don't look like... like the guys in the movies? Like the superheroes I'm obsessed with?"
"You look better than the guys in the movies." You took his hand and guided him toward the tub. "Come on. Water's getting cold."
They sank into the bath together, the purple water swirling around them, steam rising in lazy curls toward the ceiling.
The tub was just big enough for two, your legs tangling with his, your body settling against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around you automatically, his hands resting on your belly, his chin on your shoulder.
"This is nice," he murmured.
"So nice."
"I can't believe we haven't done this before."
"We were waiting."
"I know." His hands moved slightly, tracing gentle circles on your stomach.
"I'm kind of glad we waited, though. It made this feel... special. Important. You know?"
"I know." You turned your head to kiss his cheek. "You're a romantic, Jermajesty."
"Only for you."
They soaked in the bath until the water started to cool, sipping wine and talking about nothing and everything.
He told you about the new comic series he'd been reading.
He touched your stomach, your sides, the curve of your hip.
His fingers brushed the underside of your breast and then retreated, like he was still asking permission.
"You can touch me," you said, catching his hand and guiding it back. "Anywhere you want."
"Anywhere?"
"Anywhere."
His palm cupped your breast, tentative at first, then more confident when you moaned softly.
His thumb found your nipple and circled it, and the sound that escaped your throat was somewhere between a gasp and a plea.
"Let's go to the bedroom," you breathed.
"Now?"
"Now."
————
His bedroom was a museum of everything he loved. Anime posters with their bright colors and dramatic poses softened by the single lamp glowing on the nightstand.
A bookshelf in the corner was stuffed with graphic novels and fantasy paperbacks, the spines cracked from multiple readings.
His bed was covered in a navy blue comforter, the pillows mismatched, the sheets slightly rumpled because he'd forgotten to make it this morning in his excitement about the anniversary.
It was the most Jermajesty room you'd ever seen, and you loved every inch of it.
Now you were in his bed, the comforter soft beneath your back, and Jermajesty was lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his free hand hovering uncertainly over your hip.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"We're in my bed."
"We are."
"Naked."
"We are."
"Together."
"Jermajesty." You reached up and pulled him down for a kiss. "Stop overthinking."
"Can't help it," he mumbled against your lips. "It's what I do."
You rolled, straddling him in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips.
His cock was already stirring again, pressing against the curve of your ass.
His hands flew to your waist automatically, gripping tight.
"Oh," he said. "You're on top of me."
"I am on top of you."
"This is— I've thought about this— I mean, not in a creepy way, just, you know, hypothetically—"
"Jermajesty."
"Yes?"
"Touch me."
His hands moved. They slid up your sides, over your ribs, cupping your breasts with the same gentle reverence he'd shown in the bath.
His thumbs found your nipples again, and your head fell back, a moan slipping from your lips.
"You're so soft," he breathed. "Everywhere. I didn't know— I didn't know skin could be this soft."
"Kiss me."
He did. Deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours, his glasses bumping against your nose.
You reached up and carefully removed them, folding them and setting them on the nightstand beside the lamp.
His eyes without the glasses were dark and slightly unfocused, his lashes long and delicate.
"You're beautiful without them," you said.
"I can't see without them."
"You don't need to see. You just need to feel."
You ground down against him, rolling your hips in a slow, sinuous motion.
His cock slid through your folds,you were already wet and he groaned, a sound that was half your name and half something wordless.
"Is this— are you—" He was struggling to form sentences. "Can I— I want to taste you. I've thought about it. A lot. Is that okay?"
"You want to eat me out?"
The blush that spread across his cheeks was visible even in the dim lamplight. "I— yes. That. I want to do that. If you want me to."
You kissed him again, because he was adorable and ridiculous and you loved him more than you'd ever loved anything. "Yes. You can eat me out. But then I get to return the favor."
"Return the— oh." His eyes dropped to his own cock, which was now standing fully at attention. "Oh. That's— yes. Okay. I would like that."
He moved down your body slowly, pressing kisses to your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.
His tongue traced a wet path down your stomach, pausing at your navel, dipping inside briefly before continuing lower.
Your thighs fell open for him, and he settled between them, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
"You smell amazing," he murmured.
"Jermajesty—"
"I'm serious. You smell like— like the ocean or something. Sweetness. I can't describe it." He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, working his way inward.
"Tell me if I do something wrong. Or if something's uncomfortable. Or if you want me to stop."
"I'm not going to want you to stop."
"But if you do—"
"Jermajesty."
"Right. Going now."
His first lick was tentative. Then another, slightly firmer. Then another, and another, until he was licking into you that made your hips buck and your fingers clench in the sheets.
"Holy— fuck— Jermajesty—"
"Is that good? Is this the right spot?"
"Stop talking"
He found your clit, his tongue circling it with surprising precision, his technique based on your reactions.
When your thighs tightened around his head, he backed off slightly. When your hips bucked, he pressed harder.
"You're— you're really good at this."
"I told you." His voice was muffled against your pussy.
"Oh my god—"
He slid lower, his tongue trailing down from your clit to your entrance, pushing inside briefly before moving even further down. And then his tongue was somewhere else entirely further back, and your whole body jolted like you'd been electrocuted.
"Jermajesty!"
"Too much?"
"No— don't stop— fuuuuck—"
He didn't stop. His tongue worked against your ass while his fingers found your clit,.
The orgasm built at the base of your spine like a wave gathering strength, and when it finally broke, you screamed his name so loud the neighbors probably heard.
"Jermajesty I’m bout to cum"
He worked you through it, his tongue gentling, his fingers slowing, until the last shudder had passed and you were lying limp against his pillows, gasping for breath.
"Was that good?" he asked, crawling back up your body. "Did I do okay?"
"Baby." You pulled him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "That was incredible. Now it's your turn."
His cock was standing straight up, the head purple and slick with pre-cum. A bead of it had dripped down the shaft, leaving a glistening trail.
"You're so hard," you murmured, wrapping your hand around the base. He was thick enough that your fingers didn't quite meet. "Is this all for me?"
"Always," he breathed. "It's always for you. I'd have to go to the bathroom and— I shouldn't be telling you this."
"You absolutely should be telling me this." You lowered your head and licked the pre-cum from the tip. He tasted salt and musk and something uniquely him. "Tell me more."
"There was this one time— this one time you wore that sundress. The yellow one. And you bent over to pick up your bag and I could see— I could see the outline of your— aaaaah—"
You'd taken him into your mouth. Just the head at first, sucking gently, your tongue swirling around the ridge.
Then lower, taking more of him, letting the shaft slide along your tongue until he hit the back of your throat.
"Fuuuuck—" His hands fisted in the sheets. His hips twitched, like he was fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth.
"Baby— baby, I'm gonna— if you keep doing that—"
You kept doing that.
He came with a cry that was almost pained, his cock pulsing against your tongue, hot spurts of cum flooding your mouth.
You swallowed it all—salt and bitterness and him—and when you finally pulled off, his chest was heaving, his eyes were squeezed shut.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "Holy shit."
"Good?"
"I think I saw God."
You laughed, crawling back up to kiss him. He tasted his own cum on your tongue and groaned, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you tight against his chest.
"Can we..." His voice was hesitant, almost shy. "Can we keep going? I want— I've wanted to be inside you for so long— but if you're tired—"
"I want you inside me." You kissed his forehead.
"Okay." He took a shaky breath. "Okay. How do you want to— what position should we—"
You rolled onto your stomach, pulling a pillow under your hips.
"Like this. I want you to take me from behind. I want you to be in control."
"Me? In control?"
"You've been following my lead all night. Now it's your turn." You looked back at him over your shoulder, your braids falling across your face.
"Show me what you've been dreaming about, Jermajesty."
Something shifted in his expression, something hungry, something that had been waiting a long time for permission to come out.
He positioned himself behind you, his knees nudging your thighs apart.
He was still half-hard, already stirring back to full attention nudged against your entrance.
He was slick from your mouth and his own cum, and when he pressed forward, the head slipped in without resistance.
"Aaaah—" Your hands fisted in the pillow. The stretch was almost too much, almost painful, but in the best possible way.
He pushed deeper. Inch by inch, his cock sinking into your wet heat, until his hips were flush against your ass and he was buried to the hilt inside you.
"You're so tight," he gasped. "So tight and hot and— I've dreamed about this. And it's better than— better than anything I imagined—"
"Move." Your voice was strained. "Please, baby. Move."
He moved.
The first thrust was experimental, like he was still learning the rhythm. The second was more confident.
By the third, he'd found his pace, his hips rolling against your ass, his cock dragging against your inner walls with every stroke.
"Nnngh— aah— aaah—"
"You sound so pretty," he breathed. "Making those sounds for me. All those sounds I've jerked off thinking about— and now they're real. Now you're real. Now we're really— fuuuck—"
His rhythm sped up. His hands found your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, joining your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bed frame.
"I love you," he gasped. "I love you so much— you're everything, you're my whole world, I can't believe this is happening."
"I love you too— aaaah— don't stop please don't stop."
"I'm not gonna stop. I'm never gonna stop. I'm gonna make you feel so good."
He reached around you, his fingers finding your clit.
Your second orgasm crashed over you, even stronger than the first, your cunt clamping down on his cock like a fist.
"Jermajesty— fuck—"
The feeling of you cumming around him was apparently enough to push him over the edge.
He pulled out at the last second, you felt the head of his cock drag against your sensitive walls, felt the sudden emptiness, and then hot spurts of cum were painting your lower back, your ass, dripping down the curve of your hip.
There was so much of it, pulse after pulse after pulse, until you felt like you were covered in him.
"Baby— fuuuuck—" His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. His hands were still gripping your hips, his cock still twitching against your skin.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, the only sound in the room their ragged gasps and the distant hum of the air conditioning.
Then Jermajesty carefully, reverently, reached for the towel they'd left at the foot of the bed and began to clean you up.
"I can't believe that just happened," he whispered.
"Believe it."
"I lost my virginity to the most beautiful girl in the world."
You laughed, turning over to face him. His curls was a mess, his eyes were still slightly unfocused without his glasses, and he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery. "Best anniversary ever?"
"Best everything ever." He finished cleaning you up, tossed the towel in the vague direction of the hamper, and collapsed beside you on the bed.
"Are you okay? Are you sore? Do you need water? I can get you water—"
"Stay." You pulled him against you, your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his hip. "Just chill."
"Okay." His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I can do that."
pairing: gf!reader x bf!jaafar | gf!reader x bf!jermajesty | gf!reader x bf!randyjr
summary: three separate blurbs of you doing the "full name" tik tok prank on your boyfriend.
authors note: this was one of my favorite tiktok trends so i just wanted to write some lil blurbs about it for each brother hahahaha
jaafar
you love doing tiktok trends on jaafar, and your followers love it too. jaafar doesn’t love it, but he also doesn’t hate it. after being with you for so long, he’s become used to occasionally finding himself at the center of whatever trend has taken over your for you page that week, and even when he realizes you’ve gotten him again, he can never stay annoyed when he sees the smile on your face afterwards.
today you were doing the full name prank on him, while at family dinner. every sunday, you and jaafar go to hayvenhurst to have dinner with his mom, alejandra, his father, jermaine, and his siblings, genevieve, randy jr, donte, and jermajesty.
you had set up your camera in the living room, making sure you had a full open view of everything without placing it somewhere that would draw too much attention, and you smiled to yourself once you were satisfied with the angle.
as everyone lingered inside and the siblings drifted to the living room while alejandra and genevieve were finishing up cooking, you had been upstairs using the bathroom, and you used your phone which was connected to your camera to start the recording before making your way back downstairs.
the boys, jermaine, randy jr, donte, jaafar, and jermajesty were in the living room, talking and laughing together, completely unsuspecting of what you were about to do, and you could also see genevieve and alejandra moving around in the kitchen. after your prank, you were gonna go help them, but first, you had something far more important to accomplish.
as you descended the stairs, once the boys came into your visibility, it was time for your prank, and you carefully kept your expression serious as you looked directly toward your boyfriend.
“jaafar jeremiah jackson,” you said in a loud but chilling tone as you came down the stairs. the men’s talking and laughter immediately died down as soon as they heard jaafar’s full name come from your mouth, the sudden silence almost comical as all eyes turned to him at once.
jaafar’s stomach dropped because there was something so unfamiliar about hearing his entire name come from you that for a second, all he could do was stare. jaafar was technically the name you’d met him with, but somewhere along the way, his full name started to leave your vocabulary as the two of you fell in love. he was j when you were calling for him across the house, honey when your voice softened during the most intimate moments, and baby so often that he probably heard it from you more than his actual name, but never jaafar jeremiah jackson.
especially not jaafar jeremiah jackson in that tone.
his mind immediately started working backward, searching through every interaction the two of you had shared recently for something he’d missed. he couldn’t remember forgetting anything important, couldn’t think of an argument that had gone unresolved or something he’d said that might’ve upset you, but the way every man in the room had suddenly turned to look at him made him feel like he needed to figure it out quickly.
jermajesty laughed a little as an “oooh” fell from his lips, as randy jr said, “oh, shit.”
“full government name is not good,” donte added in shaking his head.
the reactions only made the weight settle heavier in jaafar’s stomach as one by one, you watched his brothers and dad silently get up from where they were sitting, each of them clearly deciding that whatever was about to happen had absolutely nothing to do with them as they slowly made their way into the kitchen to join alejandra and genevieve, who had also stopped when they heard you say jaafar’s full name.
you had to fight the smile threatening to break through your serious expression as the living room gradually emptied, leaving jaafar behind to face whatever imaginary crime everyone clearly believed he had committed.
when the living room was clear, jaafar walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. there wasn’t any defensiveness, only genuine confusion and concern as he searched your face, desperately trying to figure out what could have made you call him by his full government name in front of his family.
“did i do something wrong, baby?” he asks. you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck, and now he’s confused, the sudden softness in your expression completely contradicting the chilling tone you had used only moments ago.
“nope, just wanted to tell you i love you,” you say as you kiss his cheek and jaafar stumbles over his words for a moment, caught somewhere between relief and complete disbelief, and you hear the surprised laughter from the kitchen as his family realizes that all of that panic had apparently been for nothing.
“bro are you making another tiktok?” jermajesty calls out and you turn back to jaafar and giggle, your reaction immediately confirming jermajesty’s suspicion. jaafar shakes his head as realization finally settles across his face, all of the pieces clicking together as he leans in and kisses your forehead.
“this trend is my least favorite, you almost gave me a heart attack!” he exclaims and you giggle again, unable to feel too guilty when the relief on his face has already melted into affectionate exasperation.
“sorry, baby,” you say and jaafar kisses your forehead, keeping you tucked securely against him despite the prank you had just pulled on him, before mumbling against your temple,
“i love you too,”
jermajesty:
you had a new tiktok trend you wanted to try out on jermajesty, something that had become a pretty regular occurrence in your relationship considering how much fun you had catching him off guard and how much your followers loved watching it happen. you knew he hated (but the term hate is very loose here) whenever you did tik tok trends on him.
it wasn’t that he actually minded being in the videos, especially when he knew how happy they made you, he just hated that no matter how many times you pranked him, he somehow never realized what was happening until the very end.
today you and jermajesty were going to hayvenhurst for a pool day with the cousins. your camera was already set up outside where it had a good view of the pool, and you had the perfect excuse for why it was there.
you told jermajesty you wanted to film some of the pool day for an upcoming “a day in the life of” video you were going to make which he said he was a good idea, never suspecting that the innocent explanation had given you exactly what you needed to prank him without a camera suddenly appearing and giving you away.
you were just about to walk outside when you pulled out your phone to start your camera, watching the live view for a moment to make sure everyone was in frame. jermajesty was already in the pool with his brothers and his cousins bigi and prince, all of them enjoying themselves while paris was laid out tanning nearby. she was waiting for you, refusing to be the only girl in a sea of boys since genevieve couldn’t make it today, but she was going to have to wait just a little longer because you had something else to do first.
you made your face neutral, forcing down the smile already threatening to ruin everything, and cleared your throat before walking outside.
“jermajesty jermaine jackson!” you yelled while putting your hands on your hips, and the movement in the pool immediately stopped.
jermajesty’s eyes widened the second his full name carried across the backyard, his stomach dropping with such sudden force that any trace of relaxation disappeared from his face. around him, his brothers and cousins went just as still, all of them turning toward him with matching looks that only made his growing sense of dread worse.
in all the time you’d been together, you had never full named him like that. hell, you barely call him jermajesty. he was always maj or baby, with the occasional jerdada thrown in whenever you wanted to annoy him with the internet trend of putting “jer” in front of everything.
hearing “jermajesty jermaine jackson” come out of your mouth in that tone could only mean one thing in his mind: somehow, somewhere, he had fucked up.
before he could even begin figuring it out, he noticed his brothers and cousins starting to move toward the walls of the pool, and his confusion deepened as one after another they began heaving themselves out of the water.
“hold up, where y’all going?” he asks.
“we’re giving ourselves plausible deniability if she drowns you,” jaafar says, making them laugh as they get out of the pool and grab their towels to dry off before going inside. jermajesty could only watch them abandon him while he remained standing in the water, and even paris had walked inside, but not before giving him a pointed look.
with everyone suddenly gone, jermajesty stayed frozen in the pool, his eyes following you as you walked toward the edge.
“mama, what’s wrong? i know it’s not your birthday, or our anniversary, i wouldn’t forget those,” he said, his words coming out faster because he’s panicking trying to figure out why you just yelled his name.
the fact that he immediately started accounting for the dates that could potentially get him into this level of trouble almost broke you, but you managed to hold yourself together long enough to sit down at the edge of the pool.
jermajesty immediately walked over to you, concern overtaking his confusion as he stood between your legs and waited for whatever explanation you were about to give him, but with him this close and his worried eyes fixed entirely on yours, you couldn’t hold it for much longer and finally smiled.
“nothing, i just wanted a kiss,” you say.
jermajesty’s entire face fell. for several seconds, he simply stared at you, all that panic amounting to absolutely nothing because you wanted a kiss. before he even thought about it, he splashed you, sending water across your stomach as your eyes widened.
“maj!” you yell.
“girl, you nearly made me throw up in this pool over wanting a kiss?” he asks, still looking at you in disbelief. then, his eyes land directly on your camera, the same camera you had conveniently told him was there for a “day in your life” video, and you can practically watch the realization happen across his face.
“you set me up,” he says.
“just a little,” you say with a smile.
jermajesty shakes his head, but the look that comes over his face makes your smile falter because you know him well enough to recognize when he’s about to get you back. before you can move away from the edge, he grabs your waist and drags you into the pool. you squeal as you both go underwater, completely caught off guard by the sudden plunge, and when you resurface, you wipe the water from your eyes while trying to catch your breath.
“you’re lucky i love you, mama,” jermajesty says and then he leans in and brings your lips together. your laughter melts into a smile against his lips as you sink naturally into the kiss, your fingers slipping into his damp curls while he keeps you close in the water.
you hear the sliding glass door open as his siblings and cousins come back out once they see you guys kissing, figuring whatever it was you must’ve figured it out.
when you two pull back, you smile at him, your fingers still resting among his damp curls as you look into his eyes.
“i love you too, maj.”
randy jr:
you loved your boyfriend. you really did, and you also really loved how, despite being subjected to enough of your tiktok pranks that he should’ve learned to be suspicious of you by now, randy never caught onto the trends you’d pull on him until it was already too late.
you never did any of the crazy ones that were honestly borderline disrespectful for someone to do to their partner because making him genuinely uncomfortable or hurting his feelings wasn’t funny to you, but the harmless ones that left him staring at you in disbelief once he finally realized what was happening were too good to resist.
you were especially anticipating the best reaction from him because you were going to do the full name prank on him, and unlike most people doing the trend, you had something that made yours even better. ever since you’ve known randy, you’ve never called him by his legal first name, not when you were friends and especially once you started dating.
you and randy were at home in your shared apartment, but his brothers, jaafar and jermajesty, and some of his friends were over to hang out, giving you exactly the audience you needed for the prank. your camera was already secretly set up in the kitchen, positioned where it wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention but still had an open view of the living room where they were gathered, playing video games and talking over one another while completely oblivious to what you were planning upstairs.
you quietly descended the stairs so randy wouldn’t hear you coming, careful with each step as you tried to preserve the element of surprise, but he felt your presence anyway. he always knew when you were around, sometimes looking toward a doorway seconds before you even walked through it or reaching for you without needing to see exactly where you were, and this time was no different. he knew you were there before you said a word, however, nothing could’ve prepared him for what came next.
“steven randall jackson jr!” you yelled when you got downstairs.
you watched as all the boys collectively froze, the game forgotten as jermajesty paused it almost instinctively, and the easy noise filling the living room vanished beneath the weight of a name none of them were used to hearing you say.
randy turned toward you with wide eyes while his brothers and friends slowly turned toward him with equally wide eyes, but for the first few seconds, there was almost a delay in his reaction. hearing steven from your mouth was so foreign that his brain didn’t immediately register that you were even speaking to him.
“she went full government name…” one of his friends said.
“she’s never called him steven before, he’s cooked,” jermajesty says. the boys all quietly start to get up and leave the living room, heading out onto the back patio, none of them willing to stick around for whatever they assumed was about to happen.
you walk toward randy while everyone else disappears outside, and the fact that he’s still frozen on the couch makes it even harder to maintain the seriousness on your face. his eyes stay fixed on you as you approach, his mind visibly racing to catch up with a situation he hadn’t even known existed five minutes ago.
“baby? everything okay? you’ve never called me steven before,” he says and when you don’t say anything, the confusion in his expression begins giving way to genuine worry. whatever amusement you’re fighting becomes harder to hold onto when his voice softens. “talk to me angel,” he says.
you lean down and kiss him before you can accidentally give yourself away by laughing, and the kiss catches him completely off guard after spending the last several moments preparing himself for some relationship catastrophe.
instinct takes over and he easily melts into you, kissing you back with the same familiar affection he always does, even though he still has absolutely no idea what is happening.
when you pull away, you’re still smiling at him, and randy searches your face for a beat before shaking his head at you as realization slowly replaces the worry that had been there moments ago.
“you made me think of everything i could’ve ever done wrong to you in the last 2 years just for a kiss?” randy asks and you just smile with a shrug, far too pleased with yourself to offer him anything more.
then his eyes widen. the kiss, your sudden smile, the full government name that had sent everyone fleeing from the room, all of it finally comes together in his head as he looks around suspiciously.
“where’s the camera?” he asks.
“whatever do you mean steven?” you ask with an innocent smile and he shakes his head, the sound of that name coming from you somehow seeming even more wrong now that there’s no panic distracting him from it.
“stop calling me that… it sounds weird coming from you,” he says and you laugh a little.
“is it not your legal first name?” you ask, fighting the urge to laugh as he shakes his head.
“baby, stop playing with me,” he says in a more warning tone and you shrug.
“don’t worry steven, i’m done, you can tell your friends and brothers to come back,” you say as you start to walk away, entirely too satisfied with how perfectly the prank had gone, but randy is faster.
before you can get more than a step away, he props himself up on his knees on the couch and grabs you by your waist, hoisting you over it so quickly that you don’t have time to realize what he’s doing until your feet have already left the floor.
your eyes widen as you squeal, completely caught off guard, but instead of tumbling awkwardly onto the cushions, you land directly on randy’s chest with his arms securely around you.
“oh my god! what are you doing?” you exclaim through your giggling.
randy looks up at you while you’re sprawled over him, clearly deciding that after making him mentally revisit two entire years of your relationship trying to uncover some imaginary offense, you aren’t getting away quite that easily.
“what’s my name, girl?” he says and you smile down at him, letting the question hang between you as you lean in to give him another kiss.
“mine,” you tease with a smirk. randy rolls his eyes, but the smile spreading across his face ruins any attempt he might’ve made at looking annoyed.
“close enough,” he says laughing as he pulls you into another kiss.
summary: three months after your breakup with jermajesty, your friends decide you need a night out. what starts as an attempt to cheer you up, turns into a night filled with tears, jermajesty picking you up from the club, and the misunderstanding behind your breakup finally coming to light
themes: angst, hurt/no comfort (yet), reader is a sad drunk. reader & jermajesty still very in love, jermajesty being an idiot, no use of y/n.
authors note: part two | part three. and yes, i will be doing this premise for michael and jaafar as well, don't worry :)
2025
los angeles
three months.
that’s how long it’s been since jermajesty broke up with you for reasons you still fully don’t understand. everything had been going so well. two years together, you were planning a surprise for his birthday, and then all of a sudden, it was over. some days you found yourself replaying that conversation over and over, searching for something you had missed, some tiny moment that would finally make everything make sense. every time, you reached the same ending. you had loved him just as deeply as you always had, and somehow you still lost him.
you still continued your daily life. you worked as a costume designer for films, which is how you met jermajesty in the first place. you had been hired in the costume and design department for the michael movie, where two years ago a quiet friendship had slowly turned into the kind of love everyone around you teased you for. now you were working on a new film, the next hunger games movie, another lionsgate film, which you were excited about... most days.
most days, you could lose yourself in fabric samples, sketches, fittings, and production meetings long enough to forget the ache sitting in your chest. the work demanded your attention, and for a few hours you could pretend your heart wasn't carrying around a wound that refused to close.
other days, it was hard just to get out of bed and walk into lionsgate knowing these were the same studios where you and jermajesty had fallen in love. every hallway seemed to hold a memory, every soundstage reminded you of passing him in the mornings, every coffee run brought back memories of him somehow always knowing exactly what you'd order before you even opened your mouth. a place that had once felt like the beginning of everything now constantly reminded you of what you'd lost.
your friends didn’t know what happened. you couldn’t tell them because you didn’t fully understand either. they just knew that one minute you were planning a surprise trip for his birthday and the next minute you texted your group chat saying you’re single, which all of them were in complete disbelief over.
you and jermajesty were disgustingly cute, according to everyone who knew you two. the couple who couldn't walk past each other without reaching for the other's hand, who somehow managed to disappear into your own little world even when surrounded by friends and family. nobody saw the breakup coming because neither did you.
thankfully it was friday, and you had the day off. after forcing yourself through another work week pretending everything was fine, spending the day in bed sounded far more appealing than doing anything productive. the apartment was quiet, almost too quiet, until the familiar sound of work song by rihanna drifted across your bedroom from the nightstand.
you reached over and grabbed your phone, a tiny smile finding its way onto your face despite everything when you saw your friend's name lighting up the facetime notification.
“bitch, i know you’re not still in bed,” she said the second the facetime connected, laughing the moment your sleepy face filled her screen. despite everything, you couldn't help rolling your eyes because she knew you too well.
“i’m off today, i have nothing to do but rot,” you said.
“you better not have been going through your pictures,” she said. your stomach tightened and you didn't say anything, but the silence answered for you.
you had managed to delete every picture of you and jermajesty from your instagram because seeing his face every time you scrolled had become too painful, but your camera roll was different. so were your snapchat memories.
deleting those felt like admitting there was nothing left to hold onto, like accepting that those memories belonged to a life you would never get back instead of convincing yourself that maybe one day they would just become part of your story together again. no matter how many times you told yourself you should let them go, your finger could never quite press delete.
“i wasn’t…” you say. the weak excuse only makes her laugh.
“you’re lying, but that’s fine. anyways, we’re going out tonight, we’re staging an intervention for you,” she says.
a dramatic groan escaped you as you let your head fall back against your pillow. knowing your friends, she had absolutely already talked to everyone else before calling you. there were only five of you, but that somehow made you all even closer. when one of you was hurting, the other four refused to let them disappear, and over the last three months they had become determined not to let grief convince you that you were meant to carry it alone.
“i don’t need an intervention, i’m not an addict,” you say. she laughs even harder.
“you seem to be addicted to this sadness. so, get up, take a shower, pick out your sexiest outfit, and we’ll be there around 7 to pregame,” she said.
you groaned again, already knowing there was no arguing with her because your friends would show up whether you were ready or not. if they had decided tonight was your intervention, then your opinion on the matter had already been unanimously overruled.
“fine,” you relent with an exaggerated sigh, finally surrendering because you knew you'd already lost this argument before it even started.
her smile softened immediately. “okay, love you, i’ll bring you lunch on my break,” she says.
despite everything weighing on your heart, you couldn't help smiling back. over the last three months, your girls had quietly become the pieces holding you together. one dropped off dinner when you forgot to eat, another showed up with coffee before work, someone always found an excuse to text, call, or drag you out of the apartment for a few hours. they couldn't put your heart back together, but they never stopped trying to make sure it wasn't breaking by itself, and you loved your girls more than they probably realized.
“okay, love you,” you say. you ended the call with a quiet sigh, your phone still resting in your hands as the apartment settled back into silence. you already knew what you were about to do.
your thumb tapped open your camera roll almost on instinct.
looking through the photos of you and jermajesty was almost too much to bear because every picture captured a version of the two of you that had no idea heartbreak was waiting just around the corner. there were so many smiles. him kissing your cheek while you laughed so hard your eyes disappeared, you stealing quick kisses from him when he wasn't paying attention, blurry selfies in grocery store aisles, pictures from date nights, and candid photos his family had secretly sent you after catching the two of you curled up together around a bonfire or leaning into each other at family gatherings like the rest of the room had disappeared.
you lingered on each picture longer than you probably should have. it didn't feel like you were looking at photographs; it felt like you were looking at pieces of a life that had been ripped away before you ever got the chance to understand why.
a few tears slipped down your cheeks before you even realized you were crying, you missed him so much.
you were supposed to be in jamaica with him right now, watching his face when he realized the trip you'd spent weeks secretly planning with his brothers and your friends was all for him. you had imagined that moment so many times, pictured the shock on his face before he broke into that smile you loved more than anything.
instead, you were sitting alone in your apartment, crying over pictures of the man you still loved, wondering how a surprise meant to celebrate him had somehow become the reason you lost him.
you toss your phone aside before you can talk yourself into opening your camera roll again and force yourself out of bed, shuffling toward the bathroom. the hot water does little to wash away the heaviness sitting on your chest, but at least by the time you step out, you feel a little more like yourself and a little less like someone who's spent the morning hiding underneath the covers.
just like she promised, your friend stops by during her lunch break with food in hand, refusing to let you survive on nothing but coffee and heartbreak. the two of you talk for a little while before she has to head back to work, reminding you that you had exactly zero excuses to cancel tonight before kissing your forehead and leaving.
by the time evening rolls around, you find yourself standing beneath the shower again, letting the warm water run over you for a second time before getting ready.
you slip into a pair of loose black trousers that sit comfortably on your waist before pulling on a fitted black strapless top with subtle cutouts across the front. it was simple but effortlessly flattering, hugging you in all the right places without feeling overdone.
after finishing your makeup, you spend a little extra time on your hair, curling it into soft, voluminous waves that framed your face perfectly. by the time you finished, the woman staring back at you in the mirror looked far more put together than she felt.
the knocks at your door pulled you away from your reflection. you open it to find your friends already grinning at you. one of them immediately looked you up and down with an approving smirk.
“you look hot as fuck,” she says. a quiet laugh escaped you as you felt heat creep into your cheeks.
“thank you,” you smile, stepping aside to let everyone inside.
for the first time in what felt like months, your apartment filled with something other than silence. music started playing through the speaker someone had brought, drinks appeared on your kitchen counter, conversations overlapped as everyone bounced between getting ready and making each other laugh, and little by little, the heaviness you'd been carrying all day became easier to ignore.
it was safe to say by the end of the pregame, you were already a bit tipsy.
one of your friends ordered a lyft to take you all to the club, and once you were there, the drinks didn’t stop coming. for a while, you let yourself disappear into the music, allowing the bass vibrating beneath your feet and the alcohol warming your chest to drown out the thoughts you'd spent the last three months trying to outrun.
your friends pulled you onto the dance floor over and over again, cheering whenever you finally let loose, and somewhere between laughing until your stomach hurt and singing along to songs you barely knew, you forgot to check the time entirely.
the five of you always took care of each other, making sure nobody wandered off alone and nobody's drink was ever left unattended. as the night wore on, though, the drinks continued to find their way into your hands until the pleasant buzz became something much heavier.
by the end of the night, you were very drunk.
eventually, the five of you claimed one of the lounge sections to give your feet a break. the second you sank onto the couch, your entire body seemed to melt into the cushions as you let out a long, exhausted breath.
“my feet are killing me,” you say. one of your friends giggles.
“i bet they do with the way you were moving out there,” your friend says.
you laugh softly before letting yourself sink even farther into the couch. the room tilted ever so slightly every time you moved your head, the lights blurred together into colorful streaks, and you closed your eyes for a second, convincing yourself all you needed was a minute to sit down.
but then you started to miss jermajesty.
every time you got drunk, it put you in an overly affectionate mood. it always had. you became softer, clingier, happier, and all you ever wanted at the end of the night was to curl up against the person you loved. you'd always end up tucked into jermajesty's side, his arms wrapped securely around you while the two of you laughed about the night on the drive home before eventually falling asleep tangled together.
your heart reached for him before your mind could stop it. you wanted to call him, you wanted him to come pick you up, tell you you'd had enough to drink, laugh when you pouted at him for taking your glass away, and take you home so you could curl up against his chest and let him play with your hair until you fell asleep.
instead, the realization settled over you all at once; you couldn't call him, he wasn't your boyfriend anymore.
the thought hit with a force that made your chest ache. it had been three months, but moments like these still caught you completely off guard, as though your heart hadn't quite accepted that the person it instinctively reached for was no longer yours to reach.
you didn't even realize you were crying until you heard one of your friends speak.
“uh oh,” one of your friends says as she looks at you.
you blinked, confused. “what?” you ask.
“you’re crying, babe,” your friend says softly.
your hand immediately came up to your face, your fingertips brushing against damp skin before you hurriedly wiped your cheeks, embarrassed that you hadn't even noticed the tears. but the second you brushed them away, more took their place, your emotions spilling over faster than you could force them back down.
“i-i’m sorry, i just miss him so much… i want to call him… i want to cuddle,” you say.
your voice broke around every other word, and all four of your friends looked at you with the same heartbroken expression. they'd spent the last three months trying to help you put yourself back together piece by piece, and seeing you cry over him still hadn't gotten any easier.
“we know, babe, but you deserve better. he broke up with you out of nowhere,” one of your friends says.
“i don’t even understand. he said that he had to break up with me before i broke up with him. what does that even mean? i wasn’t gonna dump him!” your words slur as you throw your hands up, your frustration mixing with your tears until you could barely get the sentence out.
the four of them looked at each other almost immediately. their expressions shifted from sympathy to confusion. that wasn't the explanation any of them had been expecting, and it sounded like some kind of miscommunication happened.
“we know, babe,” your friend says gently.
“we were…” you pause, another hiccup interrupting your sentence before you tried again. “we were supposed to be in jamaica right now… all of us! for this birthday, today is his birthday,” you cry.
the confession seemed to suck every bit of noise away from your little corner of the lounge. one by one, your friends looked at each other, and you watched the realization slowly settle across each of their faces. when they'd insisted on dragging you out tonight, all they'd wanted was to give you one evening where you weren't sitting alone in your apartment missing him.
none of them had realized they'd accidentally chosen the one night that was always going to hurt the most.
“oh fuck, baby girl we’re sorry… we forgot it was his birthday today,” one friend apologizes. you quickly shake your head despite the tears continuing to fall.
“it’s okay… you guys are the best friends… i know you wanted to cheer me up,” you slur as you sniffle, your voice thick with emotion. even through the haze of alcohol and heartbreak, you knew exactly why they had dragged you out tonight. none of them had wanted to watch you spend another friday curled up in bed crying over someone they couldn't fix for you.
“i just miss him so much,” you say again. your friends exchanged another look.
they'd all watched you try so hard to keep yourself together these last three months, and tonight, for the first time, every wall you'd carefully built had completely fallen away.
most of them had already texted their boyfriends to come pick them up whenever the night was over. they weren't ready to leave yet, but they all silently agreed that you were. while your attention stayed fixed on the two friends comforting you, one of them quietly reached over and picked up your phone from the table without you noticing.
“i’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she announced.
another friend immediately stood. “i’ll go with you, safety in numbers,” she says.
the two of them disappeared into the crowd while your other two friends stayed beside you. one gently guided your head onto her shoulder without saying a word, absentmindedly rubbing your arm while the other reached over to wipe away the fresh tears that refused to stop falling.
once inside the bathroom, your friend locked the door behind them before looking down at the phone in her hand. she typed in the passcode she'd watched you enter more times than she could count, and opening your contacts, she scrolled until she found exactly who she was looking for.
maj 🤍
her heart sank a little. even after three months, you still hadn't changed it. she pressed his name and lifted the phone to her ear.
on the other side of los angeles, jermajesty was having one of the worst birthdays of his life.
despite jaafar and randy jr insisting on dragging him out of the house, he'd barely touched his food all night. he'd laughed when they expected him to laugh, smiled when someone took a picture, thanked everyone for wishing him a happy birthday, but it all felt hollow.
nothing about today felt worth celebrating, not when this wasn't how today was supposed to look.
jaafar and randy jr had known you were planning something for his birthday. they'd never told him what because it wasn't their surprise to ruin, but after the breakup, they hadn't held back about telling him exactly what they thought of his decision.
they'd called him every variation of dumbass imaginable.
they'd told him he needed to talk to you, that he needed to stop hiding behind assumptions and actually have the conversation he'd been too scared to have three months ago, but every time he'd picked up his phone, fear convinced him to put it right back down again.
he'd spent weeks convincing himself you were going to break up with him. by the time he'd actually said the words first, he'd believed them so completely that he thought he was protecting himself from the inevitable.
instead, he'd only managed to make himself miserable.
half of your clothes still occupied one side of his dresser because every time he thought about packing them into a box and bringing them back to you, he couldn't bring himself to do it. your hoodie still hung over the back of his bedroom chair, and on the nights he missed you the most, he'd find himself falling asleep curled around it simply because it still smelled like you.
he thought it was pathetic, another reminder that he had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, but his brothers never saw it that way. they knew he still loved you. they'd known from the moment he came home after the breakup looking more devastated than relieved, and nothing he'd done over the last three months had convinced them otherwise.
the vibration in his pocket pulled him out of his thoughts, and with a small frown he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. the second your contact filled the screen, his entire body froze.
your name still read "mamas ♥️," because no matter how many times he'd considered changing it over the last three months, he never could bring himself to do it. beneath your name was your contact picture, one of the two of you smiling into the camera with your cheek pressed against his, and for a moment all he could do was stare at the screen while his heart pounded against his ribs.
he pushed through the restaurant doors and stepped outside before answering. “mama?” the nickname slipped out before he could stop it. his eyes closed almost immediately “hey…”
the word came out quieter than he'd intended because the truth was, he'd imagined hearing your voice every single day for the last three months.
he just never thought he'd actually get the chance.
“hi maj, it’s actually her friend. we all came out tonight and we’re all very drunk, but we think she’s ready to go home now, we weren’t sure who else to call,” she says. it was an obvious lie.
there were plenty of people they could've called before jermajesty. they could've ordered you a lyft, called your brother, called your sister, or any number of other people who would've happily come to get you.
calling jermajesty had been a choice, a very intentional one.
“how drunk is she?” jermajesty asks, already reaching for his car keys before she can even answer.
“she’s crying… and wants to cuddle,” your friend says.
the first part made his heart sink so quickly it almost hurt. the thought of you crying was enough to make every protective instinct in him flare to life, but before he could fully process it, the second half of her sentence reached him, and despite everything, a small, bittersweet smile found its way across his face.
he remembered that version of you.
there had been so many nights where you'd gone out with your friends while he stayed home, only for you to come back to his apartment a few hours later with flushed cheeks and a sleepy smile. you'd always insist on taking a shower before getting into bed, claiming you hated smelling like the club, and the second you were clean, you'd crawl straight into his lap or underneath his arm, wrapping yourself around him as though you hadn't seen him in weeks.
your words would slur together while you rambled about how much you loved him, how much you missed him even though you'd only been gone a few hours, and how he was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen. he'd always laughed, kissing the top of your head while you slowly drifted off against his chest.
he missed you so much.
“what club are you guys at? i’ll come get her,” he says without a second of hesitation. your friend couldn't help smiling a little as she told him the name of the club. she'd hoped he'd say yes, but hearing how quickly he'd agreed confirmed everything she'd suspected.
he still loved you.
“thanks, maj, and happy birthday,” she says. a quiet, humorless chuckle escaped him as he leaned against the side of the building.
“thanks, i’ll be there in 30 minutes,” he says before ending the call. he slipped his phone back into his pocket and headed inside, immediately catching jaafar's and randy jr's attention the moment he returned to the table. they could tell from the look on his face that something had happened.
“i have to go,” he says. “one of her friends called, she’s drunk and crying.” neither brother needed him to clarify who "she" was. jaafar and randy jr exchanged a glance before looking back at him.
“make sure when she’s sober you actually talk to her,” jaafar says. jermajesty let out a quiet sigh, running a hand across the back of his neck. he knew that, he’s known for three months that he should’ve reached out and talked to you, he just hadn't been brave enough to do it.
“thanks… for forcing me out of the house i guess,” jermajesty says, managing the smallest smile. “i’ll text you both later.”
the two of them watched him hurry out of the restaurant, silently hoping that maybe tonight would finally become the beginning of something instead of the end.
true to his word, exactly thirty minutes later jermajesty pulled into a parking spot just outside the club. the music could still be heard spilling through the entrance every time the doors opened, and as he climbed out of the car, he immediately spotted your friends slowly helping you outside.
the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze. even through the alcohol clouding your thoughts, you recognized him immediately.
your eyes widened in surprise. “what’s he doing here?” you ask as you look at your friends.
“he’s gonna take you home, we knew you wanted to leave a little earlier, and we didn’t want you in a lyft by yourself,” one of your friends says.
you looked back at jermajesty, your expression softening into something quieter. “oh,” you say.
he approached you slowly, careful not to crowd you, stopping just close enough that if you wanted space, you could still take a step back. after everything that had happened between you, the last thing he wanted was to assume he still had the right to touch you.
instead, he simply held his hands out. “may i?” he asks.
you looked at him for a long second before giving the smallest nod. “okay…”
his hands settled gently around you, helping steady you as your friends stepped back, and the moment you leaned into him, warmth spread through your entire body before you could stop it. it was familiar in a way that hurt, your body recognizing him long before your heart could remind you that he wasn't your boyfriend anymore. after two years of instinctively finding comfort in his arms, your body still trusted him completely, settling against him as naturally as breathing.
“we’ll check on you tomorrow, love you,” your friends say. a sleepy smile pulled at your lips.
“love you, too, and thank you,” you say before letting yourself lean more of your weight against jermajesty so you could keep your balance.
he thanked your friends quietly before leading you toward his car at an unhurried pace, matching each of your unsteady steps with one of his own. once he reached the passenger side, he opened the door for you and carefully helped you into the seat, making sure you were settled comfortably before closing the door and jogging around to the driver's side.
your friends waved as he climbed into the driver's seat, and he returned the gesture before starting the car. as you settled back against the seat, your eyes drifted toward the cup holders. in them sat your favorite flavor of gatorade, and a bottle of water.
“hydrate, mama,” jermajesty says.
your eyes lifted to meet his. “you can’t call me that anymore,” you say, though there wasn't any real bite behind the words.
a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “force of habit.”
you let out the tiniest huff, unable to find the energy to argue, and reached for the gatorade instead. taking slow sips, you sank farther into the passenger seat as silence settled comfortably between the two of you.
the entire car still smelled like him.
it was the same familiar cologne that used to linger on his hoodies after you'd stolen them, the same scent that clung to his pillows whenever you'd fallen asleep at his apartment, the same smell that had become so deeply associated with home over the last two years that simply breathing it in made your chest ache.
it wrapped around you so effortlessly that, for a fleeting moment, it almost felt like the last three months had never happened.
your throat tightened. you blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to look out the window before the tears threatening to return had the chance to fall.
jermajesty drives back to your apartment in comfortable silence, only occasionally glancing over to make sure you're okay. every now and then, he catches you fighting to keep your eyes open, your head resting against the window before it slowly tips forward again. he remembers every late-night drive home after nights out with your friends, remembers how you'd always insist you weren't tired right before falling asleep halfway through the ride. it almost feels like one of those nights again.
once he pulls into your apartment complex, he hurries around to your side before you even have the chance to reach for the door handle yourself.
“easy,” he says softly, offering you his hand.
you slip your hand into his without thinking, letting him steady you as the lingering alcohol leaves your balance a little untrustworthy. together, the two of you slowly make your way upstairs until you're finally standing inside your apartment.
jermajesty quietly closes the door behind the two of you before looking over at your outfit.
“you need help getting to the shower? you’ll be pissed if you wake up still in this outfit,” he says. the words cut through some of the haze clouding your thoughts; he remembered.
out of everything that had happened over the last three months, he still remembered something as small as how much you hated waking up after a night out still smelling like the club. every single time you'd gotten home after drinking, you'd always insisted on showering before bed, no matter how exhausted you were.
your chest tightened. “i-i think i can manage,” you softly slur.
the room wasn't spinning nearly as badly as it had back at the club. your vision was still a little blurry around the edges, but you convinced yourself you could make it through one shower without embarrassing yourself.
“i’ll stay out here. if you need anything, shout,” he says.
you nodded before slowly making your way toward your bedroom.
jermajesty watched until you disappeared around the corner before turning toward the kitchen. without needing to think about it, he opened the cabinet where you always kept your medicine. he knew exactly what he was looking for because he'd been the one handing it to you for the last two years whenever a migraine hit or your cramps became too much to deal with.
it only took him a moment to find the prescription bottle.
after filling a glass with water, he carried both back to your bedroom and placed them carefully on your nightstand, already knowing your future self would be grateful that drunk you wouldn't have to search for them in the morning.
the sound of running water continued from the bathroom; a few more moments passed, then a few more, something didn't feel right. walking over to the bathroom, he noticed the door hadn't been shut all the way. it sat slightly ajar, steam curling through the small opening as he gently knocked against the frame.
“you okay in there?” he asks.
for a second, there was nothing, then your voice floated through the steam. “the room is spinning, maj, and the steam is making me lightheaded… i need help.”
he was already reaching for the towel hanging nearby. “okay i’m gonna open the curtain but i have your towel okay,” he says.
“okay.”
he slowly pulled the shower curtain back just enough to help, immediately lifting the towel in front of himself so it shielded his view. it wasn't because your body was unfamiliar to him; it was quite the opposite.
there wasn't an inch of you he hadn't memorized during the two years you'd spent together. he'd traced every curve with his hands, kissed every part of you that had ever been entrusted to him, and loved you with a tenderness that had never asked for anything in return.
but those moments belonged to the relationship the two of you no longer had. whatever existed between you now, it didn't give him permission to look simply because he once could. he kept his eyes respectfully averted behind the towel, focused only on making sure you were okay.
“what do you still need to do?” he asks.
“i keep trying to turn the water off but the handles keep moving,” you whine. the drunk, sleepy complaint pulled the smallest laugh from him before he reached past you to turn the shower off himself.
“there,” he says gently.
he held the towel out toward you, and after taking it with a quiet, “thanks,” you carefully dried yourself off before wrapping it securely around your body.
once you were ready, jermajesty held his hand out. “come here.”
you slipped your hand into his again, allowing him to help you step safely out of the tub without risking a fall on the wet tile. the moment both of your feet were firmly on the floor, you let go, and he immediately stepped back to give you space.
you wandered into your bedroom while jermajesty stayed behind in the bathroom, making sure you had the privacy to change.
still feeling the lingering effects of the alcohol, you pulled open one of your dresser drawers and reached inside almost absentmindedly. you pulled out a pair of sleep shorts, and then your hand landed on one of jermajesty's oversized t-shirts. without thinking, you pulled it out too.
just like he still had half your clothes at his apartment, you still had a lot of his here. you'd always loved sleeping in his shirts. they were softer from being washed so many times, they were oversized enough to swallow you whole, and for the longest time they'd smelled just enough like him to make falling asleep easier whenever he wasn't beside you.
you hadn't been able to give them back either.
“you can come in now,” you say as you make your way toward the bed.
jermajesty stepped quietly into the room. the moment his eyes landed on you, a small, almost involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. he recognized his shirt immediately.
it had disappeared from his apartment months ago because you'd claimed it was more comfortable than any shirt you owned, and he'd never asked for it back because he'd secretly liked seeing you wear it.
seeing it on you now made something in his chest ache. it was another quiet reminder that neither of you had ever really let go.
he walked over and sat beside you on the bed, leaving enough space that you wouldn't feel crowded before gently resting his hand against your hip, careful and hesitant, silently checking that the contact was still welcome.
“i grabbed your medicine and your water, so take some, okay?” he says.
you nod, taking the bottle from him before swallowing one of the pills with a long drink of water. once you'd finished, you handed him the glass back and slowly settled beneath your blankets again, exhaustion beginning to pull at your body now that the adrenaline from crying had started to wear off.
“thank you for taking care of me, maj,” you whisper.
he set the glass back on your nightstand before letting his hand drift absentmindedly across your hip on top of the blanket, the gentle motion so familiar that neither of you seemed to think about it.
“always, baby,” he says softly. the word always settled somewhere deep inside you, and before you could stop it, something in your chest gave way as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.
jermajesty's hand stopped moving immediately. “baby, what happened, what’s wrong?” he asks, leaning toward you as concern spread across his face.
“you say you’ll always take care of me, but you broke up with me, and i still don’t get it!” you cry, the words tumbling out faster than you could control them. his stomach dropped.
for three months he'd been so certain that he'd only beaten you to the inevitable, so convinced you'd been preparing to leave him, that he'd never stopped to consider what the breakup had actually felt like from your side. he'd expected you to be hurt, of course, but not devastated. not like this.
“i thought...” he barely managed two words before your emotions carried you right past them.
“i loved you with everything in me… i still love you, and you... you broke up with me out of nowhere, and why... why...” your voice cracked apart as your breathing became uneven, each sentence interrupted by another shaky sob until you could hardly catch your breath.
“breathe, baby,” he says quietly as his hand moves from your hip to your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades the same way he always had whenever you cried.
you tried to steady your breathing, but the tears refused to stop. after a few moments, you spoke again. “why would you think i was going to break up with you?”
your tear-filled eyes finally met his. the hurt he saw there stole every remaining ounce of certainty he'd been clinging to over the last three months.
“you were being so secretive and evasive. like when i asked to borrow your phone to get us dinner because mine was dead and charging and you got weirdly defensive. you never did that before. you were always hanging out with my brothers and never inviting me. secret conversations...” he swallowed hard, struggling to explain thoughts that had seemed so convincing at the time. “i just... i didn't know what else i was supposed to think.”
“i wasn’t planning on breaking up with you, maj,” you cried harder, shaking your head through another wave of tears. “i was trying to plan a surprise for your birthday... we were supposed to be in jamaica today.”
the room fell completely still, your continued sobs filling the silence. jermajesty simply stared at you, it felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath him.
for months he'd replayed every one of those moments in his head, using them as proof that you were pulling away because you didn't love him anymore. he'd convinced himself that every whispered conversation, every locked phone screen, every unexplained plan with his brothers had been another sign that your relationship was quietly coming to an end.
but none of it had been about leaving him, you'd been planning something for him. everything he'd mistaken for distance had been love. every explanation he'd created over the last three months collapsed under the weight of a single sentence, and suddenly jaafar's voice echoed through his mind.
“you're a dumbass.” and “talk to her.” he'd heard those words so many times that he'd eventually started tuning them out, convinced his brothers simply didn't understand, but they'd understood far better than he had.
if he'd asked one question instead of assuming he already knew the answer, the two of you would've been in jamaica together instead of sitting on opposite sides of a bed, trying to make sense of a heartbreak that had never needed to happen.
“baby, i...” he trails off again, because what could he say?
“i’m home safe, and i’m in bed. you don’t have to stay,” you say quietly through your tears. he recognized what you were doing immediately. you weren't telling him to leave because you hated him, you were ending the conversation because you couldn't keep having it, not tonight and not like this.
he also knew that asking you to work through three months of heartbreak while you were drunk would only make things worse.
without arguing, he slowly stood from the bed.
you'd already turned away from him, curling deeper beneath your blankets until only the top of your head was visible against the pillow. his chest tightened at the sight because for two years that had always been his place. every night, you'd curled into him exactly like that, your face tucked against his chest while he wrapped himself around you.
now there was only empty space between you. he could still hear your quiet cries, muffled by your pillow as you tried not to let him hear them.
unable to stop himself, he knelt beside the bed one last time and gently pressed a kiss against your temple. his lips lingered for only a heartbeat before he forced himself to pull away, knowing that if he stayed any longer, he might never find the strength to leave the room.
he quietly switched off your bedside lamp before making his way into the living room.
thankfully you had a comfortable couch, but jermajesty knew he wouldnt be getting much sleep tonight. he lay back and stared at the ceiling, sleep feeling impossibly far away.
everything he'd believed for the last three months had been wrong. you hadn't been slipping away from him, you'd been planning his birthday. you'd loved him enough to organize a surprise trip to jamaica, and he'd mistaken that love for rejection before throwing away the relationship the two of you had spent years building together.
he closed his eyes and let out a slow, unsteady breath. all he could do now was hope that when morning came, you'd still be willing to talk to him, and hope that somehow, after all the pain he'd caused, you'd be able to forgive him, because as he lay awake in your living room listening to the occasional muffled sniffle from your bedroom, one thought kept repeating itself over and over.
he couldn't believe he'd made the biggest mistake of his life over a conversation he never had.
، summary𓈒 you go live on tiktok and your fans realize you gotta boyfriend and they wanna know who he is.
، pairing𓈒 jermajesty Jackson x influencer!black reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, fluff.
، notes𓈒 lauv ittt- enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. jermajesty is a chud and I love him, so ignore how corny this is. Now im GETTING back to the requests.
"First of all, whoever said my lace is lifting in the back...your mama is a man."
You leaned in closer to the ring light, squinting at the chat flying across your iPad screen. The tiktok live was currently sitting at eighty four thousand viewers, and every single one of them had decided today was the day to choose violence.
"I’m serious," you muttered, parting your freshly installed 30 inch bustdown middle part. "Don't play with my stylist like that. She glued this down with the tears of my enemies. It’s sitting. It’s melted. It’s giving scalp but you bitches are just blind."
User38492: Not the wig defense protocol 😭
Kayla_From_The_Block: GIRL forget the hair, who was that tall shadow in the background of your vlog yesterday??
TeeTee_Bandz: Wait hold on because I saw him too! Tall, broad, and moving like he own the place.
Mya.M: SPILL THE TEA SIS. WHO IS HE?!
You paused, your edge brush frozen mid swoop.
Damn. You thought you had cropped that clip perfectly. It was a three second transition in your "Spend the Day with Me in LA" vlog- just a quick aesthetic pan across your living room to show off the new sofa. But the internet FBI apparently had 4K vision and a magnifying glass.
"What shadow?" you asked, trying to keep your face deadpan. You went back to swooping your baby hairs, acting like your heart didn't just do a little skip hop drop. "Y'all are hallucinating. That was probably just the coat rack. Or a ghost. This apartment is old as hell, I keep telling y'all."
Breezy_B: A coat rack in a designer Balenciaga hoodie? Chile, please.
NoName90: And the coat rack got shoulders like a linebacker? Okay.
RealRecognizeReal: Is she blushing??? OH SHE BLUSHING.
"I’m not blushing- black people don’t blush!" you yelled, laughing despite yourself and covering your face with your long, acrylic french tips. "Y’all are so nosey! This is why I don't show y'all my business. Can a girl just live? Can I just have my little apartment in peace without a whole interrogation committee?"
The truth was, you did have a man. And not just any man.
You had been lowkey seeing Jermajesty Jackson for the last six months. Yes, that Jackson. The legacy, the boy with a name so grand it sounded like a decree issued by a medieval king. He was sweet, incredibly fine, ridiculously tall, and, much to your amusement, absolutely obsessed with you.
Up until this point, you guys had kept things strictly on the low. You weren't hiding, but you definitely weren't broadcasting. In the influencer world, once you show your relationship, it belongs to the public. You weren't trying to have tiktok tea pages analyzing your man’s micro expressions to see if he secretly hated you.
"Anyway," you tried to pivot, grabbing your lip gloss. "So, I’m thinking about doing a closet sale next week because..."
The apartment door clicked open.
You froze. The chat froze- or rather, it started moving so fast the text became a blur of vertical light.
You heard the heavy, unmistakable thud of size 12 designer shoes hitting the hardwood floor. Then, a low, melodic hum. He was singing. Because of course he was. The man couldn't walk into a room without sounding like a three part harmony.
"Baby?" his voice boomed from the hallway. "I got the tacos from that spot you like. They was packed but you know I got us taken care of."
You squeezed your eyes shut. Jermajesty, please, not right now, you prayed to the heavens.
"I'm on Live, baby!" you called out, trying to sound casual while throwing warning daggers with your eyes toward the doorway.
But Jermajesty was already halfway into the room.
He stopped dead in his tracks just on the edge of the camera’s peripheral vision. He was wearing a black hoodie, with some black sweatpants, and his hair was perfectly curly. He looked down at his hands, holding a massive brown paper bag that smelled like heaven, then looked at you, then looked at the glowing ring light.
"Oh," he said, his eyes widening slightly. "My bad. I didn't know you was tapped in."
"It's fine," you laughed nervously, waving your hand to dismiss him. "Just set it on the counter, I'll be done in a minute."
But it was too late. The chat had officially lost its collective mind.
Keisha_D: BABY???
Tink_88: HE GOT THE TACOS???
TheGhettoGourmet: HOLD ON THAT VOICE. WHY THAT VOICE SOUND SO FAMILIAR?
BadLilThing: Show him! Show him! Show him!
DripOrDrown: Girl if you don't turn that camera to the left right now I’m unfollowing
"They want you to show your face," you murmured, looking up at him with a helpless grin. "They think you're a shadow demon."
Jermajesty chuckled, a chesty sound that probably made half the girls in the chat weak in the knees. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the edge of your vanity desk. He wasn't shy, you don't grow up with the last name Jackson and fear a camera, but he respected your boundaries.
"They wanna see me?" he asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't know, baby. I ain't got my makeup on. My skin might not be camera ready for your millions of fans."
"Boy, stop," you laughed, hitting his hip with your hand. "Your skin is clearer than my future. Quit playing."
"Let me see what they saying," he said, leaning down over your shoulder to look at the iPad screen.
And just like that, his face entered the frame.
The chat went dead silent for approximately one second. Then, it exploded like a firecracker in a trash can.
SpiritualGhetto: WAIT.
Lexi.K: IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS???
NoWayJose: JERMAJESTY???
BaddieOnABudget: GIRL YOU GOT A JACKSON?!
Mimi_Monroe: Not Jermajesty! Oh you eating good fr
Nene_T: HE IS SO FINEEEEE LORD
Jermajesty saw his name flashing repeatedly on the screen and raised an eyebrow, looking down at you. "Damn, they recognized me quick. I thought I had a disguise on with the hoodie."
"You are literally six foot something, looking like majority of your family, Maj. There is no disguising you," you said, tossing your hair back and finally giving in to the chaos. You turned your chair slightly so the camera captured both of you. "Alright, y'all. Yes. This is my man. Satisfied now? You can stop spamming the chat about the Balenciaga coat rack."
Jermajesty looked directly into the camera, waving with a charming, easygoing smile. "What's up, everybody? I'm the coat rack. Nice to meet y'all."
"Don't encourage them," you warned, though you couldn't stop the massive smile spreading across your face.
"Nah, they cool," Jermajesty said, eyes scanning the comments. "They saying you bagged a prince. I don't know about all that, but I definitely bagged a queen."
"Oh, brother," you groaned, covering your face as the chat went into a full cardiac arrest.
Chrissy_Pooh: HE IS A SMOOTH TALKER OMG
LoverGirl: The way he looked at her...I’m throwing myself in traffic
Didi_100: We need a Q&A! Right now! Turn this into a couple's stream!
YeezyTaughtMe: Q&A! Q&A! Q&A!
You looked up at Jermajesty. He looked down at you, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.
"You got time before the tacos get cold?" you asked him.
"For you? I got all the time in the world," he said, pulling up a rolling stool from your vanity and sitting right next to you, his frame completely taking over the screen. "Let's give the people what they want."
"Alright, keep it respectful in the comments," you warned, pointing a manicured finger at the screen. "Because I will block a bitch. Do not try me today. Keep it cute or get booted."
"Yeah, keep it cute," Jermajesty echoed, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too comfortable. "I’m sensitive, y'all. Don't hurt my feelings."
"You are not sensitive," you laughed, nudging him.
"I am! I’m a libra. We feel things deeply," he protested, putting a hand over his heart with dramatic flair.
User9028: How did y'all meet? Who shot their shot first?
"Oh, this is a good one," you said, pointing at the comment. "Because he likes to tell a whole lie when people ask this."
"A lie?" Jermajesty gasped, looking genuinely offended. "Excuse me? I am a man of integrity. I tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"Okay, go ahead then. Tell 'em how we met," you challenged, crossing your arms.
Jermajesty cleared his throat, looking directly at the camera like he was about to deliver a monologue. "Alright, so look. We was at this private party in the Hills. Very exclusive, very lowkey. I’m standing by the bar, minding my business, looking majestic as usual-"
"See, lying already," you cut in, rolling your eyes.
"Let me finish! I’m standing there, and I see this beautiful, radiant black woman walk in. She was wearing this orange dress-"
"It was rust colored."
"Orange, rust, whatever, it was fire. And she was walking like she owned the whole villa. I said, 'Hold on. Who is that?' So I did my little walk over. I gave her the look. I said, 'Excuse me, miss, but I think you dropped something.' And she looked at me and said, 'What?' And I said, 'Your standards, because you ain't talking to me yet.'"
You stared at him, completely deadpan, before turning back to the camera.
"Y'all, please do not believe this man," you said, shaking your head. "This is not what happened at all. First of all, he was not 'standing by the bar looking majestic.' He was standing by the buffet table eating chicken like he hadn't eaten in three business days."
"Hey! The catering was fire, I wasn't gonna let it go to waste," Jermajesty defended himself.
"Secondly, he did not use that corny ass pickup line. What actually happened was, he accidentally backed into me while trying to take a selfie with his cousin, and he spilled half a cup of ginger ale down my back."
"It was an accident!" Jermajesty protested.
"He ruined my dress, y'all. I turned around ready to cuss him out- and I mean, I had the words lined up in my head. I was ready to give him the full treatment. But then I looked up, and he was looking down at me with this big, goofy, puppy dog face, saying, 'Oh my god, I’m so sorry, please don't beat me up, I'll buy you a new dress, I'll buy you ten dresses.'"
"And did I lie?" Jermajesty asked triumphantly. "Did I not get you the dress?"
"He did," you admitted, a soft smile slipping through. "He literally followed me around the rest of the night making sure I had water, napkins, and dry cleaning contacts, and even gave me his jacket so I didn’t look a mess. By the end of the night, he asked for my number so he could 'verify the dress delivery.' Smooth, but goofy."
"Hey, it worked," he said, leaning over to kiss your temple. "You here, ain't you?"
Jasmine_Rose: OMGGGG that is so cute! He was sweating!
Tasha_T: Not the ginger ale 😭 he was nervous!
Kiara_D: He was folding under pressure
"I wasn't folding!" Jermajesty argued, though he was smiling wide. "I was just being a gentleman. My mama raised me right."
LaToya_S: Does Ms. Katherine know about her? Has she met the family?
The chat went wild at this question. Meeting a famous family is one thing, but meeting the Jacksons is a whole different level of pressure.
"Oh, they wanna know about the family," you said, looking at Jermajesty.
"Oh, they love her," Jermajesty said instantly, without a second of hesitation. "My mama loves her. My aunts love her. My grandma...man, grandma wanted to keep her at the house last Thanksgiving. I had to tell her, 'Grandma, she gotta come home with me, stop trying to adopt her.'"
"It’s true," you laughed. "I was so nervous, y'all. You have no idea. When he first told me he wanted me to meet his family, I almost booked a one way ticket to Ghana. I was like, 'Nope, I’m changing my identity, I cannot do this.' I was practicing my posture in the mirror, trying to make sure I didn't say anything too outta pocket."
"You was tripping for no reason," Jermajesty said, shaking his head. "You walked in there and had everyone laughing in five minutes."
"Because I was masking my terror with humor- that’s how I cope!" you shouted. "But no, they are literally the sweetest people. His mom is so gorgeous, and she made me feel right at home. She actually gave me some old family recipes."
"Which she still hasn't cooked for me," Jermajesty pointed out, giving you a look.
"Because you eat too much! If I cook that big pot of peach cobbler, you’re gonna eat the whole thing in one sitting and then complain about your stomach," you shot back.
"I have a fast metabolism," he argued. "I burn it off."
"You burn it off by playing video games and yelling at fifteen year olds on the game," you retorted.
The chat was eating up the banter, the viewer count now climbing past one hundred thousand.
User4820: Who is more clingy?
"Him," you said immediately.
"Her," Jermajesty said at the exact same time.
You both looked at each other.
"How am I clingy?" you asked, offended. "I am a strong, independent woman. I have my own bag, my own apartment, my own schedule."
"Baby," Jermajesty said, leaning forward and looking at the camera. "Let me tell y'all something. This girl right here? If I don't text her back within five minutes, she starts sending me tiktoks of women saying 'If he wanted to, he would.' She starts playing sad SZA songs in her stories."
"That is a lie!" you screamed. "That is a complete fabrication of the truth!"
"It is not!" Jermajesty laughed, enjoying your reaction. "And then, when we sleeping, she gotta have her whole leg wrapped around me like a koala bear. I’m hot, y'all. I’m like a human radiator, and she’s there clinging to me like she’s trying to survive an ice age."
"First of all, your apartment is cold," you defended yourself, pointing a finger at him. "Secondly, you love it. Don't act like you don't pull me right back if I try to move."
"I gotta keep you safe," he said softly, his tone suddenly dropping into that warm, sincere place that always made your heart melt. He looked at you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of your track behind your ear. "Even if you do kick me in your sleep."
"I do not kick you," you mumbled, looking away, suddenly shy under his gaze.
"You do. You got some strong legs, baby. I think you be running track in your dreams."
The chat was practically sobbing.
Aaliyah_99: I am crying in the club rn
Renee_Baby: They are so real for this
FineAssGirl: No but why are they actually perfect for each other?
LoveLies: Jermajesty is down BAD. Look at his eyes!
"Alright, alright, next question," you said, trying to clear the air before you got too mushy. "We aren't trying to do a whole romance novel on here."
BigDrip_12: Can he do your hair though?
You read the comment out loud and immediately looked at Jermajesty with a devious smirk. "Ooh. Now this is the real test. Maj, do you think you can lay my edges?"
Jermajesty looked at the pink edge brush and the jar of edge control sitting on your vanity. He looked back at the screen, then at your hairline.
"Lay your edges?" he repeated. "Like, swoop them? The little wavy things y'all do?"
"Yes. The swoop de swoop."
"Oh. Easy," he said, puffing out his chest. "Give me the brush."
"Oh lord," you laughed, handing him the brush and opening the edge control. "If you ruin my hair, we are breaking up. I’m telling you right now. This is a high stakes situation."
"Trust the process, baby," he said, taking the brush with absolute confidence. He leaned in close, his face just inches from yours. He put one hand gently on the back of your head to steady you, and his touch was so warm and gentle it made your breathing stop.
The chat slowed, everyone watching intently.
Jermajesty dipped the tip of the brush into the gel. He looked at your forehead like he was Da Vinci looking at the Sistine Chapel.
"Alright, so you gotta do the wave, right?" he muttered, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. He placed the brush at your hairline and made a tentative, shaky swoop.
"Ow, not so hard!" you laughed, wincing slightly. "You're scraping my skin, not painting a fence!"
"My bad, my bad," he whispered, softening his touch. He used his thumb to smooth down the gel, just like he’d seen you do a thousand times. He actually didn't do a terrible job, managing to create a decent, slightly thick, swoop near your temple.
"Hold on," he said, looking at his work. "Wait a minute. I might have found my calling. Look at that! That is a masterpiece."
You looked in the mirror and laughed. "Maj...it’s literally in the middle of my forehead."
"It’s a modern art swoop," he insisted, waving his hand. "It’s avant garde. You don't understand the vision."
"It’s giving 'I fell face first into some grease,'" you teased, but you didn't wipe it off. You looked at him, his face still close to yours, his eyes bright with laughter.
"You love it," he murmured.
"I love you," you whispered back, before you could even think to stop yourself.
Jermajesty’s smile softened into something incredibly warm and private, completely forgetting about the hundred thousand people watching. "I love you more, baby."
The chat exploded into a final, chaotic frenzy of hearts, crying emojis, and caps lock keys slamming.
"Alright, y'all," you said, turning back to the screen with a flush on your cheeks. "We gotta go eat these tacos before they get soggy. Thank y'all for tapping in! Say goodbye, Maj."
Jermajesty leaned over, waving at the screen. "Bye, y'all! Keep supporting my girl, she’s the best to ever do it. Peace!"
You blew a kiss to the camera and hit the 'End Live' button.
As the screen went dark, the quiet of the apartment settled back in. Jermajesty immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.
"So," he murmured in your ear. "The whole world knows now."
"Yeah," you said, looping your arms around his neck. "They do. You ready for the crazy?"
"With you?" Jermajesty smiled, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "I’m ready for whatever."
summary: your husband becomes the first actor of any gender to have their debut film gross 1 billion worldwide, and you can't stop celebrating him or telling him how proud you are of him
themes: established marriage, sickening, nauseating fluff, more fluff, slight angst (if you squint and read the fine print), oh did i mention fluff?
author's note: in honor of the biopic grossing 1B worldwide today, i wanted to write something cute
2026
london
the day had started off like any other. it was a quiet sunday in london. jaafar had been invited to wimbledon, something the two of you had been looking forward to ever since the invitation arrived, and getting to watch him experience milestones like this never stopped making you smile. after everything he'd accomplished over the last few years, it still made your heart swell knowing you got to be by his side for moments like these.
the two of you were renting a country house for your stay, while his brothers, randy jr and jermajesty, had rented another nearby because, in their words, they didn’t want to hear “married people doing married people activities,” a comment that had left both you and jaafar laughing far harder than it probably should have.
the morning settled into an easy rhythm. you were already downstairs, dressed and ready for the tournament, moving around the kitchen while breakfast cooked on the stove. upstairs, you could hear the shower running as jaafar got ready, the familiar sound blending with the quiet sizzle coming from the pan. it felt ordinary in the best way, until your phone began ringing across the counter.
you glanced at the screen and immediately smiled to yourself, rolling your eyes when “maj 😝” flashed across the caller id beside one of the most ridiculous contact pictures you'd ever saved for him.
you answered and put it on speaker. “maj, i swear if you’re rushing us again, i will not bring any breakfast over for you,” you say, remembering how he'd already texted in the group chat that you have with the brothers that you and jaafar better not make everybody late today with any extracurricular morning activities.
“one, good morning to you, too. two, that’s rude. three, no i was calling because did you see the news?” he asks and you raise an eyebrow as you flip another pancake.
“what news?” you ask and you hear him laugh.
“the movie hit a billion worldwide,” jermajesty says. your hand froze halfway through flipping the pancake as your eyes widened, your mind struggling to catch up with the words you'd just heard.
the movie hit a billion, the michael movie… your husband's movie.
the movie that had consumed the last three years of his life.
in an instant, it was like every memory came rushing back at once. endless rehearsals that left him too exhausted to do much more than collapse into bed beside you. acting classes where he worked twice as hard because he wanted to earn every bit of the role he'd been entrusted with. the days imposter syndrome got the better of him, when no amount of reassurance seemed enough to quiet the voice telling him he wasn't ready. the choreographers who pushed him because they knew exactly how high the standard was. the blood on his feet after dancing for hours because stopping simply wasn't an option in his mind.
you remembered loving him through every high and every low, through every breakthrough and every setback, and there had even been moments where the weight of the film had settled so heavily over your marriage that the thought of what it might cost the two of you had quietly crossed your mind.
and now... the movie hit a billion.
“what?” your voice is barely there when you speak, shock still filled you.
“j made history! first actor of any gender to have their debut film make a billion worldwide. we hit a fucking billion!” jermajesty says again, and this time the words finally sink in.
the breath caught in your chest before a scream burst out of you, loud, joyful, completely disbelieving as the realization crashed over you all at once.
upstairs, jaafar had just stepped out of the shower. he'd barely managed to wrap the towel around his waist when he heard you scream, and his heart dropped.
without thinking, he was already moving.
you were still standing there, your hand pressed against your mouth as another shocked scream escaped you, barely hearing jermajesty's laughter coming through the speaker. your thoughts were moving too fast to form a sentence, every emotion colliding at once as you tried to process the fact that the movie, his movie, had just become the first biopic in history to reach a billion dollars worldwide.
“baby?!” jaafar’s voice snaps you out of the haze just enough to look up.
his eyes are impossibly wide, his chest still damp from the shower and rising quickly as he struggles to catch his breath after racing downstairs. the towel is hastily secured around his waist, a few drops of water still slipping from the curls at the nape of his neck, but all of that is forgotten the second his eyes land on you.
before you can even answer, he's already in front of you.
his gaze moves over you instinctively, from your face to your hands, down the rest of your body, searching for any sign that you'd been hurt. the smell of breakfast reaches him and his eyes briefly flick toward the stove before returning to you again, his expression filled with nothing but concern as he tries to understand what could've possibly made you scream like that. he doesn't even notice your phone sitting on the counter, jermajesty still very much on the other end of the line. in that moment, the only thing occupying his mind is making sure you're okay.
“baby girl, what’s wrong, why are you screaming?” jaafar asks, and the longer you stay silent, the more panic settles into his voice. you finally look up at him.
his eyes immediately find yours, and the moment he sees the tears gathering there without falling, his stomach twists. one second ago he'd been convinced you'd burned yourself or gotten hurt. now, with tears in your eyes and no explanation, his mind races through every possibility, each one worse than the last.
“j…” your voice trembles as you try to steady your breathing enough to speak. “maj is on the phone… the movie, it hit a billion worldwide.” everything about him stills. his hands remain on you, but his expression changes completely as the words slowly settle in. it takes a second for his mind to catch up, as though the sentence is simply too unbelievable to process.
“what?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“your debut acting role made a billion… you hit a billion, baby, oh my god,” you say as your smile widens. for a heartbeat, he only stares at you, then the disbelief breaks.
a laugh escapes him before he can stop it, loud and completely unrestrained, the kind of laugh that comes from carrying something impossibly heavy for far too long and finally being allowed to put it down. without a second thought, he scoops you into his arms and spins you around the kitchen, your own laughter joining his as you instinctively wrap yourself around him.
“we really made a billion?” he asks.
still smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, you lean over his shoulder just enough to grab your phone from the counter. the group chat lights up the screen exactly as you'd expected. jermajesty had already flooded it with article links, randy jr following right behind him, every headline saying the same unbelievable thing.
you turn the screen toward him. “you did it,” you say.
jaafar shook his head. “no, baby… we did it. i couldn’t have done it without your support,” jaafar says.
“okay if you guys are gonna start with the sappy shit, im hanging up,” jermajesty teases. you laugh, the sound lighter now that the shock is beginning to settle, while jaafar lets out an exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes.
“he’s gonna be insufferable when he gets a girl,” jaafar says. that only makes you laugh harder.
“whatever, we’ll be over soon for breakfast,” jermajesty says. you say your goodbyes and hang up, but neither of you moves. jaafar is still holding you in his arms and it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared.
“i’m so proud of you, j… you worked so hard for this, you deserve this,” you say as you lay your hand on his cheek. his smile softens, neither of you says another word, but you don't have to.
as your eyes stay locked on each other, the last three years replay between you in complete silence, each memory finding its place without either of you needing to speak it aloud.
you remember the nights he'd stumble through the front door long after dark, exhausted from rehearsing until all hours of the night. there were evenings where he'd given so much of himself to the day, to the choreography, to the acting, to becoming michael, that by the time he made it home there wasn't much left for anyone else.
you'd never held that against him. instead, you'd quietly found your own ways of loving him through it, making sure there was always a plate of food waiting in the microwave, laying out ice packs and hot water bottles for his aching feet before he even asked, helping him upstairs on the nights his body was so worn down that he'd barely make it to the bed before falling asleep.
those were the easier days. the harder ones left bruises no one else ever saw.
rescheduled dates became canceled ones. anniversary dinners turned into promises that you'd celebrate another night. there was the birthday he'd almost missed altogether because filming had run later than anyone expected, and somewhere along the way the two of you had started living on opposite schedules, missing each other more often than you actually got to be together.
the loneliness had been suffocating.
there were nights you'd lie awake wondering how much longer your relationship could survive living around a movie that seemed to demand every piece of the man you loved. and then the guilt would creep in just as quickly, because how could you resent the thing he'd worked his entire life for when you knew the impossible weight he was carrying? everyone expected him to honor one of the greatest entertainers who had ever lived, and you knew better than anyone how desperately he wanted to get it right.
it hadn't been perfect, not even close. there were arguments that stretched longer than either of you intended, words spoken in frustration that lingered long after the moment had passed, and nights where tears came easier than understanding. there were times when the distance between you felt too wide to bridge, when you slept in separate bedrooms and moved around each other like strangers, unsure of how to close the gap that had formed.
but even in those moments, even when it felt like everything was unraveling, neither of you ever stopped choosing to come back to each other.
the conversations were difficult, sometimes painful, but they mattered. jaafar listened when you told him you missed your husband. he reorganized his priorities. he started coming home earlier whenever he could, making a conscious effort to leave the role at the studio instead of bringing it into your home. he still poured everything he had into the film, but he learned that giving everything to the movie couldn't come at the cost of having nothing left to give the person waiting for him at the end of each day.
looking at him now, standing in the kitchen with tears threatening to spill from both of your eyes, you realized every rehearsal, every sacrifice, every difficult conversation, every lonely night, every compromise the two of you had fought so hard to make had somehow led to this moment.
and it had all been worth it.
you were so caught up in the memories that you didn't even notice the tears gathering in jaafar's eyes until a quiet sniffle pulled you back to the present.
your gaze immediately found him.
“baby?” you ask softly.
he doesn't answer right away.
instead, he carefully walks you backward until the backs of your legs meet the kitchen counter. his hands never leave you as he gently lifts you onto it before stepping between your knees. he takes a slow, shaky breath, as though he's trying to gather three years' worth of emotions into words.
“there were so many moments when i didn’t know if i’d be able to get through the movie. michael’s choregraphers initially not thinking i could do it… feeling like i had to prove myself, that i deserved this role, not because michael’s my uncle but because i earned it… and all the work put into it… it almost cost me you… i couldn’t have made it through these three years without you, yet i almost lost you… us,” he says as he shakes his head.
every word chips away at your heart.
you reach up without thinking, your thumbs gently brushing away the tears slipping down his cheeks. it hurt knowing that even today, after all he'd accomplished, a part of him was still carrying the guilt of what those years had asked of both of you.
“it was hard… but we got through it, and you more than proved yourself to everyone. no one else could’ve played this role, j… look at the many people who have tried before and failed. you were meant to do this… you told your uncle’s story with the respect and kindness he always deserved, and you put your literal blood, sweat, and tears into this,” you say with a small laugh that makes jaafar crack a smile.
the smile is small, but seeing it return feels like watching the sun break through after days of rain.
“and you always had ice or a hot water bottle ready for me,” jaafar says.
you can't help smiling back as your fingers drift into his damp curls, gently combing through them. only then do you fully register that he'd sprinted downstairs exactly as he'd stepped out of the shower, still standing in nothing but a towel because hearing you scream had mattered more than anything else.
“i remember when you took off your socks and your feet were… so cracked with dried blood, it took everything in me not to cry,” you say as you shake your head.
the memory still sat heavy in your chest.
he'd tried so hard to brush it off that night, insisting he'd be fine after a little rest, but you'd seen the pain written all over his face long before he'd admitted it. you'd knelt in front of him anyway, cleaning his feet as gently as you could, wishing there was some way to carry even a fraction of what he was carrying.
jaafar presses a kiss to your forehead.
“when i say i wouldn’t have made it here without you, i mean it. this is just as much your win as it is mine… i know i dropped the ball and messed up a lot, and i ended up neglecting you and us… but even through your disappointment, you held me together,” he says.
more tears spill over, and seeing them makes your heart clench.
because this wasn't an acceptance speech. there were no cameras, no interviewers, and no audience waiting to applaud. it was just your husband standing in the middle of your kitchen, letting himself be vulnerable in the one place he'd always felt safe enough to be.
“there was never a moment where i wasn’t proud of you, jaafar,” you say softly.
you watch him exhale. you feel it beneath your hands as the tension he'd been carrying slowly leaves his body, like he'd been waiting three years to hear those words. looking into his eyes, you realize he'd been afraid. not that the movie would fail, not even that audiences wouldn't accept him.
he'd been afraid that somewhere along the way, after everything the two of you had endured, you'd stopped being proud of him.
you gently cradle his face. “michael is proud of you,” you say. the words break something open inside him.
he lets out a shaky breath before lowering his head against your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his shoulders begin to tremble. this time he doesn't try to hide the tears or apologize for them. he simply lets them fall, clinging to you as though his body finally understood it didn't have to stay strong anymore.
you wrap your arms around him without hesitation, one hand rubbing slow circles across his back while the other rests against the back of his head, your fingers disappearing into his curls.
these weren't just tears of sadness.
they were tears of relief and release.
for three years he'd given pieces of himself away one rehearsal at a time. he'd poured everything he had into dance rehearsals that pushed his body to its limits, into acting classes that challenged every insecurity he'd ever had, into honoring his uncle with the care, respect, and humanity he knew michael deserved. he'd carried impossible expectations on his shoulders every single day, never allowing himself the luxury of putting them down.
today, for the first time since this journey began, it finally felt like he could.
for three years he'd stopped knowing where michael ended and jaafar began.
there were days he'd spend so many hours studying interviews, rehearsing mannerisms, perfecting the voice, the movement, the smallest expressions, that by the time he walked through the front door he wasn't always sure how to simply be himself again. the role had demanded every part of him, and he'd willingly given it.
for three years, without ever meaning to, he'd let his marriage drift to the backburner while he chased the impossible expectations that came with portraying one of the greatest entertainers who had ever lived. every day became another chance to prove himself. to prove he belonged. to prove he wasn't standing there because michael was his uncle, but because he'd earned the right to tell his story.
for three years he'd carried that weight.
and now, it had all led here: the highest grossing biopic ever made. the first biopic to ever gross one billion dollars worldwide, and him, the first actor of any gender to have their debut film gross one billion dollars.
the reality of it was almost too overwhelming to hold onto. relief washed over him in waves so powerful they left him shaking, and after spending years holding everything together, he simply couldn't anymore.
as he sobbed into your shoulder, you held him even closer, your fingers slowly combing through his curls while your other hand traced comforting circles over the warm skin of his bare back. every few seconds you whispered the same things into his ear.
that you loved him, that you were proud of him, and that he deserved this.
each reassurance seemed to loosen another piece of the weight he'd been carrying, yet his arms only tightened around you, holding you like you were the one thing anchoring him to the present. after spending three years giving so much of himself away, all he wanted was to be here, in your arms, where he could finally just be jaafar again.
eventually, his crying softened into quiet sniffles. he drew in a long breath before slowly lifting his head from your shoulder. you reached up without thinking, gently cupping his face as your thumb brushed away the last few tears clinging to his cheeks.
“thank you for sticking by my side,” jaafar says, his voice still thick with emotion as he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every part of your face.
your smile comes easily, soft and full of everything you’ve both endured together.
“it’s in the vows… i love you so much, j… we definitely have to celebrate after the matches,” you say, your voice warm and steady, grounding him in a way nothing else ever could.
for a moment, jaafar just stares at you, the words settling in before realization suddenly flickers across his face. his eyes widen slightly, and then he lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head at himself.
he’d completely forgotten about wimbledon.
“right, the matches… let me go change, and i’m sure my brothers will be here soon,” jaafar says, still smiling as he pulls himself back into the rhythm of the day.
you laugh, shaking your head at how quickly the morning had spiraled into something neither of you could've ever expected.
“yeah, i should finish making breakfast for everyone,” you say.
before you can hop down from the counter, jaafar leans forward and captures your lips in a deep kiss. it isn't rushed or playful, it's grateful.
every emotion he'd struggled to put into words poured into the kiss instead, and you felt it immediately. the way his lips lingered against yours, the tenderness behind every movement, the silent thank you that only the two of you could understand after everything you'd survived together.
when your lips parted, he deepened the kiss without hesitation, and the quiet sound that escaped the back of your throat only made him smile against your mouth before kissing you even more deeply.
your legs instinctively squeezed around his waist, drawing him a little closer until there wasn't any space left between you. his hands settled against your sides as the kiss grew more fervent, the rest of the world fading away until neither of you noticed the front door opening or the footsteps echoing through the house.
your fingers found the towel wrapped around his waist, and just as you were about to tug it away, the front door opened wider.
you immediately pulled back, your eyes widening before you started laughing. “damn your brothers,” you tease.
jaafar laughed too, though the sound came out breathless as he hurried to put even the smallest bit of space between you before randy jr and jermajesty stepped fully into the kitchen.
they both froze the moment they saw you.
their gazes lingered, slowly taking in every detail of the scene in front of them—jaafar standing between your legs, you still perched on the counter, your hand curled around the towel secured at his waist like you hadn’t quite let go yet.
for a brief second, silence stretched between all of you, then they looked at each other, and just as quickly, the silence shattered into laughter.
“man, i told you we should’ve called first,” randy jr said, shaking his head as he tried to catch his breath. jermajesty only grinned wider, clearly far less apologetic about the interruption.
“nah, this is exactly what i was talking about when i said they better not make us late,” he replied, his tone teasing but knowing. “so it’s good we showed up.”
you roll your eyes, unable to stop laughing anyway, while jaafar just shakes his head, laughing along with all of you.
“you better get up there and dress like your movie just grossed a billion bucks,” jermajesty says to his brother.
jaafar bites down on his lip, shaking his head as another smile slowly spreads across his face, softer this time, touched with something deeper than excitement alone.
before heading upstairs, he leans down one last time, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead, letting it stay there for a moment longer than usual as if he’s grounding himself in you before stepping away, then he finally disappears toward the staircase to get dressed for wimbledon.
his brothers watch him go with matching smiles, pride evident in the way their eyes follow him.
“a billion dollars baby!” randy jr calls out after him.
jaafar laughs from halfway up the stairs, the sound echoing through the house, lighter than it had been in a long time.
you shake your head with a smile of your own before hopping off the counter to finish making breakfast, your heart somehow feeling impossibly full, like everything had finally come together in a way you hadn’t even realized you’d been waiting for.
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