I wanna start writing but I’m dyslexic, and I don’t want to write bad, or anything that is confusing to read 😔. Like I swear I have so many scenario that I wanna write about.
Just in case you needed your daily reminder that the Jackson’s were black as hell. Marlon joning on everybody and Mike pickin lil buddy’s hair, love to see it 🥹
، summary𓈒 dealing with randy after fucking him has turned your college dating life into a total nightmare. he wanna act all sweet, and innocent in public, but behind closed doors, he is an absolute lunatic who is just obsessed with you and your pussy.
، pairing𓈒 track runner!randy jackson jr x track runner! black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 SMUT, 18+, no use of y/n, mean!randy, possessive!randy, biting (🤭), manipulating, smut, slapping, kissing, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, blood, reader is a bird? (Im sorry).
، notes𓈒 go read pt1 if you haven’t – im sorry for taking so long to post pt2 (the ending is kinda bad if you really think abt it – but there’s more coming, and it won’t take three weeks)…if you pay attention to my notes – once you’re done – really fucking flame me in the comments for how bad it is…if you don’t, I’ll delete my acc 🤭…enjoy my strange ladies.
، taglist𓈒 @divaaprincess ,@uh444, @cannonindeez , @saigesspace , @junhuisfairy , @dicksapointed , @bbybeminee , @4ngelfacee , @lyneaa , @theonlyfemme , (go here to be added!!)
want more? go here! 𐃘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
You had stood under the scalding water for twenty minutes, scrubbing at your inner thighs with cheap hotel bar soap until the skin turned raw and bright pink. But no matter how hard you dug your nails into your skin, you couldn't erase the phantom weight of Randy’s hand on your windpipe. You couldn't scrub away the faint, dark purple finger marks wrapped around the soft flesh of your neck like a choker, the skin already rising in a tender. Down on your shoulder, the deep, crescent shaped indent of his teeth was turning an ugly, mottled shade of a bruise. He hadn't just bitten you; the motherfucker tried to brand you while he filled you up.
Maya hadn't questioned a damn thing when you walked back into the room at 12:15 AM. She was used to your pre meet ice runs, your silent, antisocial routines before big finals. When she blinked open one sleepy eye to ask if you were good, you just muttered a "yea", slipped into your bed with your back turned to her, and pulled the sheet up to your chin.
She didn't notice the compression turtleneck you pulled on under your warm up jacket at 5:00 AM the next morning. It was eighty degrees in Atlanta, the sun beating down on the red polyurethane track like a heat lamp, but you wore that high collared black undershirt without flinching. You couldn't use makeup– the second you hit your drive phase in the 200m, sweat would stream down your throat and wash concealer right onto the white collar of your singlet.
Randy, of course, walked onto the infield looking like a million fucking dollars.
He didn't have a single visible mark on him. You had choked him, dug your manicured nails into his tough neck muscle until you felt him shudder, but the motherfucker didn't even have a scratch. His skin was smooth, golden, completely flawless under the stadium lights. He wore his standard bright white headband, his thick, ridiculous bushy eyebrows moving casually as he laughed with the hurdles coach, acting like he hadn't been buried balls deep inside you six hours prior on a creaky mattress.
He didn't look at you once during warm ups. He didn't have to. The silence between you two on the infield was so heavy, so dense with remembered filth, that every time he walked within ten feet of you, the skin on the back of your arms prickled with static electricity.
And then the meet started.
You destroyed the field in the 200m, coming out of the curve three strides ahead of the favorite from Georgia, digging your spikes into lane four and crossing the finish line at 22.61– a new stadium record. Two hours later, you anchored the 4x100m relay, taking the baton from Maya and blowing past the competition like they were standing still.
Randy did the same. He won the 400m hurdles by half a second, clearing the final barrier with that terrifying stride, practically floating over the line to secure his own gold medal.
By 4:00 PM, Marshall University had swept the team titles. The infield was a circus of photograhers, parents, news cameras, and crying freshmen.
You were standing near the high jump aprons, cooling down alone, a bag of crushed ice pressed against your right shoulder. The bite mark Randy had left on your skin was a dark, angry crescent of purple where his teeth had sunk into your flesh while he pounded into you. It throbbed with every beat of your heart, a constant reminder of your own weakness. But you had run with torn hamstrings before. A bite mark was nothing.
"Hey! Look at my champions!" Coach Miller’s loud, booming voice echoed over the turf.
You turned around, pulling the ice bag away from your shoulder. Coach Miller was jogging over, his face flushed red with joy, holding two giant golden team trophies under his arms. And walking right behind him, looking modest and humble in his dark green tracksuit, was Randy.
"Unbelievable performance today! Both of you!" Coach Miller beamed, looking back and forth between you two. "Randy, congratulate your captain properly! She set the tone for the whole squad today!"
"Yes sir, Coach," Randy said smoothly, his voice warm, polite, and full of team spirit. "She sure did. Incredible leadership."
Coach Miller clapped Randy on the shoulder and turned to walk toward the athletic trainer, leaving you two standing alone near the high jump mats.
The second Miller’s back was turned, Randy stepped directly into your personal space.
Before you could back away, his big, heavy hands reached out and clapped down directly on both of your shoulders; his left hand coming down hard right on top of the deep, swollen bite mark on your skin.
A sharp pain shot down your arm, bright white sparks flashing across your vision. Your breath caught in your throat, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as your knees wobbled slightly.
Randy didn't let go. His fingers dug in deeper, his thumb pressing straight into the center of the bruised bite mark.
"Smile, boss lady," Randy murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasps that didn't carry more than two inches. His mouth was fixed in a bright, photogenic grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners for the local news cameras thirty yards away. "Smile real big. Everybody’s watching their favorite girl."
Your jaw locked, your teeth grinding together so hard your temples throbbed as you fought the urge to scream from the pain in your shoulder. You forced your lips into a tight, fake, brilliant smile, staring directly into his dark brown eyes.
"I'm going to kill you," you gritted out through your sparkling smile, your voice a tiny, deadly hiss. "I swear to God, Randy, I will kill you in your fuckin’ sleep."
"No you won't," Randy whispered, his thumb grinding deeper into the bite mark, making your eyes water behind your sunglasses. "You love this shit. You all leaning into my hands and shit. I know my nut still leaking out your sweet little hole every time you take a step. You ran real fast today…was you running from me, or was you trying to pump my cum deeper inside you?"
"That's impossible, first of all. And second. Get your hands off me," you whispered, maintaining the brilliant, championship smile for the photographers taking pictures from the track lane.
"I'm holding my captain," Randy said softly, his smile widening. "Showing team unity. Look how pretty we look together. Coach is probably tearing up right now."
"Let go of me, you motherfucker," you gritted out through your teeth.
He ignored you again. "You look kinda good in this tight ass turtleneck," he whispered, fingering reaching up to dig underneath said turtleneck to see his work. "Sweating like a whore in church. Trying to cover up where I put my hands on you."
With your body completely hidden from behind by his broad shoulders and back, and without breaking your fake, camera ready smile, you reached your right hand straight down between your bodies. You slid your hand under the waistband of his shorts, past his briefs, and grabbed his nuts and the base of his dick in a tight, crushing fist.
Randy’s body went completely rigid in your arms.
His warm breath hitched violently against your neck, his eyes widening as your nails dug straight into the sensitive skin of his scrotum, squeezing just hard enough to make his knees buckle. A sharp, choked noise caught in his throat, his jaw locking so hard a vein bulged on his temple.
"Don't fucking play with me, Randy," you whispered right into his ear, your smile staying completely fixed, your voice cold as ice. "I will tear 'em off right here on the lane. See how well you run hurdles with one nut. I don't give a fuck who's watching."
Randy stayed frozen for three long seconds, his fingers still digging into your bruised shoulder, your fist clamped around his balls like they were stress balls.
Slowly, Randy let out a choked, shaky breath that vibrated against your throat.
"Fuck..." he rasped, a dark, breathless chuckle escaping his lips despite the pain. "You really are a crazy bitch, ain't you?"
"Try me," you hissed, squeezing just a fraction tighter.
"Aight...aight," he whispered, his hands slowly relaxing on your shoulders, tapping your back in a gentle surrender. "Message received, captain."
You released his nuts slowly, sliding your hand out from his shorts, wiping your palm against his track jacket before pulling back with a sweet, polite nod.
Randy took half a step back, his face slightly flushed, his breathing a little deeper than usual, but that cocky, infuriating smirk crept right back onto his face as he adjusted his shorts.
"Great meet, boss lady," he said out loud, loud enough for Coach Miller to hear as he walked back over. "Looking forward to the rest of the season."
"Thanks, Randy," you said sweetly, your smile bright enough to blind the sun. "You’re too kind."
After that you stayed away from him for ten full days.
It took five days for the handprint on your neck to fade from dark purple to a faint, sickly yellow, and another three days for the bite mark on your shoulder to stop throbbing every time you lifted a dumbbell in the weight room.
You changed your routine completely. You showed up to the track at 5:00 am instead of 6:00 am so you wouldn't see him on the oval. You ate your meals in your dorm room instead of the dining hall. You blocked his number on your phone– not that he texted you anyway, because Randy didn't text like a normal person; he preferred to ambush you in person like a weirdo.
By day eight, your brain felt clearer. You told yourself that Atlanta was a fluke. A moment of extreme stress, high adrenaline, and temporary insanity brought on by pre meet nerves and a horrible diet. You were a serious athlete, an academic scholar, a woman with a future. You didn't feel the kind of girl who'd let a light skinned, bushy eyebrowed sociopathic motherfucker choke her out in a three star Marriott while his roommates slept.
But then came the Annual Marshall Athletic Gala.
It was held in the grand ballroom of the Downtown Regency, a black tie event where all the sports teams, football, basketball, track, volleyball, tennis, dressed up to celebrate the end of the spring season.
You wore a black, floor length dress. You felt pretty.
It was simple, and classic, and devastatingly sexy. It pressed against your breast, and it exposed every inch of your smooth, unblemished collarbones, and a back that dropped all the way down to the top of your lower back. Your skin was nice and oiled, glistening under the chandeliers, your hair styled in a long ponytail, your edges laid in pretty swoops, and your forehead was shiny.
There wasn't a single mark on your neck, thanks to those ten days.
You were standing near the open bar with Maya and two girls from the tennis team, Kennedi and Brianna, sipping a glass of champagne, laughing at a story about the football team's offensive line getting kicked out of an all you can eat buffet.
"Girl, don't look now," Maya whispered, elbowing you in the ribs, "but Randy has been staring at your back for fifteen minutes flat."
You didn't turn around instantly. You took a slow sip of your champagne, letting the cold bubbles tickle your throat, before casually glancing over your shoulder.
Randy was standing near a tall cocktail table, leaning against it with one hand in his pocket.
He was wearing a tailored black tuxedo, no tie, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone, exposing his pretty collarbones and the chain resting against his skin. His curls were shiny like he had just got it done, his jaw was sharp, his thick, bushy eyebrows drawn together in a brooding line.
You couldn’t even lie; he looked so sexy right now.
And he wasn't looking at the athletic director who was giving a speech near the stage. He was looking directly at you. His eyes were completely unreadable, dragging slowly down the open of your dress, taking in every inch of your bare back.
You offered him a indifferent smirk, raised your champagne glass in a silent, mocking toast, and turned back to your conversation with the three beautiful ladies.
Ten minutes later, you slipped away from the crowd, making your way down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward the restrooms near the back of the ballroom.
You didn't even make it to the fucking bathroom.
A hand shot out from the dark alcove near the emergency exit stairs, wrapping firmly around your wrist, pulling you violently out of the main hallway into the shadowy, quiet stairwell.
The heavy steel door slammed shut behind you, cutting off the loud jazz music from the ballroom into a distant thump.
Before you could scream, you were slammed back against the cold concrete wall, Randy’s broad body pinning you completely in place.
"You havin’ fun?" Randy rasped, his voice quiet, and cocky in the echoey stairwell.
He was leaning over you, his hands flat against the concrete on either side of your head, trapping you. The intoxicating scent of his cologne filled your lungs instantly, making your stomach drop.
"What the fuck, Randy," you said, crossing your arms over your chest, looking up into his face with frown on your face. "You're ruining my dress."
Randy’s eyes flicked down to the top of your dress, taking in the smooth, clean skin of your collarbones and neck.
"Calm the fuck down," he murmured. "You thought you was slick ignoring me for ten days?"
"I wasn't ignoring you," you said, offering a tight, patronizing smile. "I just don't waste my time on cocky assholes."
Randy let out a low laugh that sounded more like a threat. He stepped closer, his knee sliding between your thighs, pinning the thin silk of your dress against the concrete.
"Cocky assholes?" he repeated softly, leaning down until his lips were hovering a millimeter from yours. "Is that what I was when I had you moaning on that hotel bed? Is that what I was when you was choking on my fingers so you wouldn't wake up Trey?"
"Why you always gotta bring that up? That was a mistake," you said, looking him straight in his eyes. "A one time lapse in judgment because I was stressed about the 200m final. It meant nothing."
Randy’s jaw worked silently. The arrogant smirk vanished from his face, replaced by an anger that made his bushy eyebrows pull together.
"It meant nothing?" he whispered, his hand coming up to wrap around the back of your neck, his palm sliding up your sleek ponytail, wrapping his hand around it, pulling your head back gently. "You wanna lie to me right now?"
"I don't owe you anything, Randy," you snapped, your composure slipping just a fraction as the tips of fingers dragged over your jawline towards your chin. "We aren't a couple. We aren't friends. You're just a guy on the track team who talks too much."
"Yeah?" Randy rasped, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Then why you standing here in this dark stairwell with me? Why ain't you screaming for help?"
You didn't answer. You didn’t fucking answer because you couldn't.
Because the truth, the sickening, terrifying truth, was that you had missed it. You had missed the filth, and the crazy, and the sick power struggle that only existed between the two of you. You had been bored for ten days.
You looked up into his face, your eyes narrowing into a sharp, predatory line.
"You wanna do me a favor, Randy?" you whispered softly, your voice dropping into a low purr.
Randy blinked, slightly caught off guard by the tone of your voice. "Hmm?"
You reached down, your hand sliding under his tailored suit jacket, your fingers tracing the line of his abs through his white shirt, moving down to the waistband of his trousers.
"Get on your knees," you said.
The stairwell went dead silent.
Randy jerked his head back as if you had slapped him, staring at you, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What the fuck did you just say?"
"You heard me," you said, your voice dead calm. "Get on your knees, Randy. Give me head right here in this stairwell, or don't ever speak to my name again."
Randy let out a disbelieving, harsh laugh. "You out your fucking mind. I ain't getting on no knees for you–"
"Then move," you said instantly, shoving his shoulder, making a move to step past him toward the steel door. "I have a date to accept with a guy from the basketball team waiting in the ballroom. And maybe he’ll eat my pussy.”
The second the word basketball left your mouth, something completely unhinged snapped behind Randy’s pretty eyes.
His hand shot out, grabbing your hip, and with a sudden drop, Randy Jackson Jr, the golden boy of the university, the national hurdle champion, the proudest, most arrogant motherfucker on campus, dropped straight down onto both knees on the dusty concrete floor between your legs.
The sight of him down there, looking up at you with dark, hooded, hungry eyes, his expensive tuxedo pants gathering dust on the floor, his broad shoulders framed between your thighs, made your clit jump in anticipation.
"Look at you," you whispered, a slow, wicked grin spreading across your face as you looked down at him. "Look at the track star." You mocked before biting your lip as you cupped his cheek.
Randy didn't say a word. His hands came up, grabbing the back of your thighs, pulling you forward until your covered core was pressed against his face, his nose digging in as he sniffed, his nose nudging lightly at your clothed clit making your brows twitch.
"Did you miss my pussy, Randy?" you asked, your voice a soft, mocking purr as you reached down, lifting the front hem of your black silk dress, pulling your tiny black thong to the side, exposing your wet, swollen slit directly to his mouth.
Randy looked up at you through his thick dark lashes, his eyes hooded, and completely consumed by lust.
He slowly nodded his head, a low, deep "Mmm..." vibrating through his chest as he buried his face straight into your pussy.
His tongue came out, all long, and warm, dragging in one slow, soaking stripe from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.
You gasped, your hands shooting to his shoulders, your head falling back against the concrete wall as a violent shudder ran down your spine.
"Oh...fuck..." you whimpered, your fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.
Randy didn't stop. He ate you like a man who had been starving in the desert for ten days. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking in fast strokes while his thumbs spread your cheeks wide, holding you completely open to his mouth.
Every time he sucked your clit into his mouth, he let out a low, vibrating hum, "Mmmmm...", that sent vibrations straight through your nerve endings, making your knees shake violently.
"Randy...unhh...Randy..." you moaned softly, trying to keep your voice quiet as distant footsteps echoed from the floor above you in the stairwell.
Randy heard the footsteps, too. Instead of stopping, it made him nastier.
He shoved two long fingers deep inside your soaking entrance, curling them upward against your g spot, while his mouth sealed over your clit, sucking hard, swallowing your slick, fast flowing juices like it was wine.
"Tell me you missed it," you rasped through your teeth, tears of pleasure blurring your vision, your hands raking through his curls, and gripping, pulling his face tighter into your cunt. "Ouu fuck...tell me you missed it..."
Randy didn't pull his mouth away only cause he didn’t want to. He kept eating your pussy, his tongue working frantically, and gave two firm nods of his head against you, letting out another deep, vibrating hum that echoed through your bone marrow.
Your climax hit you suddenly, so suddenly after not having this man for so long.
Your back arched off the wall, your hands clenching into his hair, your body locking up as a long, broken, silent sob left your lips. You came hard right on his face, your pussy walls clamping down furiously on his two fingers, pumping wet your juices all over his lips, chin, and tongue.
Randy took every drop. He kept licking you through the contractions, swallowing everything you gave him, his hands holding your trembling thighs steady until the last spasm passed.
When he finally pulled back, strings of your slick cum following before breaking, he stood up slow, his long legs unfolding.
He was breathing heavily, his white dress shirt slightly wrinkled, his face glistening with your juices from his nose down to his chin. He pulled a white silk handkerchief from his suit pocket, slowly wiping his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.
"You feel better now?" he whispered.
You dropped the hem of your silk dress, your chest still heaving.
"It was alright," you said smoothly, shrugging as though it was something as simple as trying the food he cooked. "You're getting better,” you said mockingly, patting his arm.
Randy let out a low chuckle, stepping close, leaning down to kiss your cheek before moving back to look into your eyes. "Keep playing with me. See if I don't fuck you on the hood of Coach's car next time."
He turned, pushed open the steel door, and walked back into the bright lights of the gala, leaving you standing in the dark stairwell, your thighs dripping, your body completely ruined once again.
It was like after that night in the Hilton bathroom, the shabang had changed.
It wasn't just secret, violent hookups anymore. A strange, suffocating shift took place in the air between you two, a shift that made your skin crawl in a completely new way.
Randy stopped being just an asshole who whispered filth in your ear. This crazy ass bitch started acting...possessive. It was as though your pussy had put a spell on him.
It started at a mid week weight session.
You were on the squat rack, wearing your normal grey gym shorts and a sports bra, doing a set of heavy back squats. Jaiden, the basketball player you’d used to push Randy’s buttons at the gala, was standing nearby, waiting for the bench press, laughing with you between sets.
"You're looking strong today, cap," Jaiden said, offering a warm smile, reaching out to pat your shoulder in a completely innocent, friendly teammate gesture. "Form is looking crazy."
"Thanks, Jay," you smiled, wiping sweat from your forehead with a towel. "Trying to keep up with you."
Before Jaiden could answer, a shadow fell over both of you.
Randy walked up, holding a set of 45 pound weight plates. He didn't look mad. He had that fuckass bright ass, wholesome ass, smile on his face, the one he used for Coach Miller and the local news reporters.
"Wassup, Jaiden," Randy said smoothly, his voice warm, polite, and full of brotherhood. "The basketball coach needs you over at the gym."
"Oh, word?" Jaiden blinked, wiping his hands on his shorts. "Aight, thanks Randy. See you later, cap."
"No problem, man," Randy smiled, nodding politely as Jaiden walked away toward the indoor field.
The second Jaiden was twenty feet away, Randy dropped the two 45 pound iron plates onto the rubber floor with a deafening cradh that made half the weight room, including you, jump.
He stepped directly into your space, his large body blocking you from the rest of the team, his shadow swallowing you whole.
“Thank, Jay.” He mocked your voice.
You rolled your eyes.
Though his smile didn't drop.
"What he touching you for?" Randy murmured, his voice so quiet.
You wiped your neck with your towel, staring up at him with a cool, unbothered expression. "He patted my shoulder, Randy. We're teammates."
"He don't need to touch your shoulder," Randy said, his voice completely flat, devoid of its usual mocking filth. "He don't need to stand that close to you, either."
You let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "Are you serious right now? You don't own me, Randy. We aren't dating."
Randy leaned down, his face inches from yours, those thick bushy eyebrows pulled into a tight, dark line.
"Don't play with me," he whispered, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, his fingers squeezing firmly around your pulse point. "I don't care if we dating or not. You mine. I put my hand on your neck, I put my nut inside you. (Oh, he would not let that go.) You don't let no other nigga touch you on this campus. You understand me?"
You jerked your head back, your brows coming together. "Or what?" you challenged, leaning into his space. "What are you gonna do, Mr. Nice Guy? You gonna throw a tantrum in front of Coach?"
Randy’s jaw worked. He stared at you for three long seconds, his grip on your wrist tightening until your fingers went slightly numb, cutting so deep that rubbing your fingertips together produced no feeling at all
"I'll break his fucking leg," Randy whispered, his voice dead serious, completely stripped of any humor. "While we're all in the gym. I'll drop a weight on his leg and make it look like an accident. Try me and see if I won't."
Your heart took a heavy, uneven thud against your ribs. You stared at him, looking for the joke, looking for the smirk, looking for the cocky asshole.
It wasn't there.
Randy was dead serious.
"You're insane," you breathed, pulling your wrist out of his grip. "You're fucking crazy, Randy."
"Yeah," Randy smiled softly, his warm expression snapping right back into place as Coach Miller walked into the weight room. "I am. So don't make me prove it, honey."
Two days later, you decided to test his boundary.
You accepted a dinner date with Jaiden when he'd asked. He had been asking you out for three weeks, and you finally said yes, picking a nice, upscale restaurant twenty minutes off campus, far away from the university athletic complex.
You dressed up, feeling pretty all over again. A nice lil red mini dress, black heels, your hair styled in soft waves falling over your shoulders. You sat across from Jaiden in a cozy, candle lit booth, sipping white wine, listening to him talk about his games.
Jaiden was nice. Jaiden complimented your smile, he held the door open, he didn't whisper foul shit about your pussy in public.
It felt like heaven. It felt like being a normal twenty one year old college girl.
Until like, what, 8:30 pm?
You were halfway through your chicken pasta shit when the front door of the restaurant opened, the bell ringing softly overhead.
You didn't think anything of it, until you saw the host lead a tall, wide shouldered man in a dark suit toward the booth directly across the aisle from yours.
Fucking Randy.
He walked in alone. He had a coat draped over his arm, his dark curls damp from the light drizzle outside. He looked completely composed, completely natural, as if he ate at this specific restaurant every Thursday night at 8:30 PM.
He didn't look surprised to see you.
He sat down in the booth right across from yours, unfolding his cloth napkin, placing it neatly over his lap. When the waitress walked over, Randy offered her a warm, charming smile.
"Just a glass of water and the lasagna, please," Randy said politely, his voice carrying clearly over the soft jazz music playing in the dining room. "Thank you so much."
Your hands froze on your fork. Your face went completely drained of color.
Jaiden was still talking, completely oblivious. "...so my coach says if I drop twenty five points a game at the showcase, I am looking at a five star ranking guaranteed– hey, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
"I'm...I'm fine," you forced out, your voice trembling slightly as you took a long gulp of your white wine.
Across the aisle, Randy slowly turned his head.
He looked directly at you over the top of his cup. He didn't glare. He didn't frown. He offered you a soft, polite, friendly nod.
Then, he set his glass down, pulled his phone out of his pocket, typed a quick message, and set the phone face down on the table.
Two seconds later, your phone buzzed in your lap.
You reached down, your hands shaking slightly, and unlocked the screen.
lil fucker 🙄
Tell him u have a headache and leave. or I'm walking over there, sitting next to him, and telling him how i ate ur pussy in the hilton bathroom.
Your chest heaved. You stared at the screen, your blood running entirely cold. This bitch.
You looked up at Randy.
He was looking at his menu, humming softly to the jazz music, perfectly calm, perfectly polite, waiting.
"Jaiden," you said, your voice tight, and completely strained. "I'm...I'm so sorry. I suddenly feel really sick. My head is pounding."
Jaiden blinked, his eyes filled with immediate, genuine concern. "Oh man, really? Do you need me to drive you back to the dorms? I can get the check right now."
"No!" you said, a little too loudly, catching the attention of a nearby waiter. "No...please, stay and finish your food. I'll take an Uber. I really just need to go lie down."
"Are you sure?" Jaiden asked, reaching out to touch your hand on the table.
Before Jaiden’s fingers could even brush your skin, Randy’s fist slammed onto his table resulting in a sudden burst of noise.
Randy stood up from his booth before pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, slapped it onto his table to cover his untouched meal, grabbed his coat, and walked toward the exit doors.
"I'm sure," you choked out to Jaiden, snatching your purse off the seat. "I'm so sorry, Jaiden. I'll call you tomorrow."
You made sure to kiss his cheek before you practically ran out of the restaurant.
You pushed through the heavy glass doors of the restaurant, your heels clicking fast against the concrete, your breath coming in ragged, angry bursts.
The night air outside was cold and wet, a soft drizzle slicking the ground of the parking lot.
You looked around the dark parking lot. "This nigga…" you muttered.
A black car parked under the streetlamp flashed its headlights twice.
You walked across the wet ground, opened the passenger door open, and sat yourself into the dark leather seat, slamming the door shut.
Randy was sitting in the driver's seat. He had both hands resting on the top of the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the rain slicked windshield.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" you yelled, turning in your seat to glare at his side profile. "You followed me?! You threatened me?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!"
Randy slowly turned his head to look at you.
His expression was completely stripped of emotion. No smile, no cocky fucking smirk.
"You sat at a table with that nigga," Randy said, his voice quiet, flat, and completely devoid of inflection. "You wore this fuckass dress for him."
"And?! I can wear whatever the fuck I want for whoever I want!" you yelled, your clapping your hands for emphasis. "I don’t know how many times I have to fucking say this! You don't own me, Randy!"
"Then why the fuck are you in my car?"
Randy’s voice didn't rise. The engine idling beneath the hood made a low, steady rumble, shaking the floorboards just enough to vibrate straight through the thin soles of your heels.
You stared at his side profile. He looked like an oil painting of a bad story.
You let out a scoff, dragging your eyes up to the dark leather headliner before rolling them so hard your temples ached. "Oh, my fucking God," you muttered, throwing your arms across your chest. "Don't do that. Don't sit up here acting like you didn't just back me into a corner with your stalker ass text messages."
"I asked a question," Randy murmured, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles went pale under his golden skin. He still wasn't looking at you. He was staring straight ahead through the sweep of the windshield wipers. "If I don't own you, if you don't give a fuck about me, why didn't you let that nigga bring you home? Why you sitting in my passenger seat dripping rainwater on my leather?"
"Because you were about to make a scene in a four star restaurant, Randy!" you snapped. "You were sitting twenty feet away looking like a goddamn serial killer! You think I wanted Jaiden getting into a fight with you over some sick ass mind game you're playing?"
"Jaiden wasn't gonna fight nobody," Randy said softly, a faint, ugly twitch pulling at the corner of his jaw. "He was gonna listen to me tell him how you sounded in the hotel Room, and then he was gonna ask for his ring back."
"He didn't give me a ring, you fucking idiot!"
"Whatever the fuck he gave you," Randy said, shifting the car into drive with one hard, fluid jerk of his wrist. The transmission clicked into place, and the black sedan pulled out of the parking space, its tires spinning once against the wet gravel before gripping the wet pavement of the avenue.
The silence in the car immediately slammed back down, thick enough to smother you. You quickly put your seatbelt on, knowing Randy’s crazy ass, he probably would have flipped this whole car if you actually made it through that date with Jaiden.
The rain picked up, tapping a fast, relentless rhythm against the roof. You kept your face turned toward the side window, watching the neon signs of suburban strip malls blur into streaks of yellow, red, and electric blue. Your heart was still knocking against your ribs, at a fast pace that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that every time this motherfucker got within six inches of you, your body acted like it had forgotten how to function without him breathing down your neck.
Three miles went by without a word. The air conditioner was blowing a faint, cool breeze across your bare legs, making the goosebumps rise along your thighs. You reached out to turn the knob down, but before your fingers could touch the dash, Randy’s right hand shot across the center console, clamping down over your wrist.
He didn't squeeze hard enough to bruise, but his grip was immovable.
"Don't touch shit," he muttered, eyes still glued to the road.
You yanked your hand back with everything you had, wrenching your wrist out of his grip so hard your knuckles struck the side of the center console with a dull, sickening thud.
"Well shit, don’t fucking touch me then!”
He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the empty, rain slicked stretch of highway leading back toward the eastern edge of campus. The dark silhouette of the university's high rise dormitories loomed through the gray mist in the distance like a pretty castle.
"Keep screaming," he murmured, his voice low, completely smooth, like he was discussing the weather. "See if anyone cares."
"You are a sick, crazy motherfucker, Randy," you hissed as you glared at his side profile. "You literally tracked my phone or followed me from the athletic building. That is stalker shit. That is criminal shit."
"I didn't track shit," Randy said, his jaw tightening. "You left your schedule printed out on the locker room bench. Big red circle around tonight. 'Dinner with Jay.' You leave your shit laying around like a little kid and then get mad when somebody reads it."
"It was in my personal locker, you fucking psycho!"
"Locker wasn't locked," he countered, flipping the turn signal with a flick of his finger. The rhythmic click clack of the blinker filled the quiet car, mocking you. "Door was cracked an inch. I was just being helpful. Closing it for my favorite captain."
"Oh, Fuck you."
"You already did," he rasped, turning the steering wheel to the left as the car swung onto the quiet, tree lined access road behind the dorms. "Twice. And both times you looked like you was meeting God."
"First of you, didn’t fuck me twice. Your dick has only been inside of me once. And then you ate my pussy. Second of all, it was trash. I’ve had better," you lied, your teeth grinding together. "It was literally the worst twenty minutes of my life."
Randy let out a low, breathy laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, okay."
He brought the car to a smooth, silent stop right in the loading zone outside the front glass doors of your dorm building. The engine idled down to a faint, steady pulse beneath your feet.
Randy pulled the handbrake up until it clicked four times, and turned his head to look at you.
His face was completely half drowned in the orange glow of the streetlamp outside. Those eyebrows were drawn down low, his eyes hooded, and completely saturated with that same energy that made your skin prickle.
He didn't make a move toward you. He just rested his left wrist on top of the steering wheel and looked at you.
"Here's your stop," Randy murmured. "Go on inside. And don’t go textin’ your lil basketball boyfriend telling him you sorry your stomach was hurting. I’ma break your fuckin’ phone.”
You gave him a side glance.
Your hand was already resting on the silver door handle. All you had to do was pull it, step out into the rain, run up the concrete steps into the lobby, swipe your keycard, and leave him sitting out here in his dark car like the sick fuck he was. You could go upstairs, wash your face, block his number again, and pretend this whole night never happened.
You didn't open the door.
You sat there, breathing heavy, staring into his dark brown eyes, watching the faint, cocky twitch at the corner of his lips.
You hated him. You hated the way he talked to you. You hated the way he made you feel like you were losing your mind in real time.
You hated the fact that the second he told you to get out, your chest tightened up with a sick, desperate urge to drag him straight into the dirt with you.
Without saying a single word, you unbuckled your seatbelt with a sharp clack.
Randy’s eyes flicked down to your waist, his eyebrows lifting just a fraction.
You swung your left leg over the center console, high heels digging into the floorboards, and threw your body right across his lap, straddling his thighs in the cramped driver's seat. The tight red mini dress rode up past instantly, your bare thighs coming into direct, heavy contact with the dark fabric of his tailored pants.
A smirk spread across Randy’s face instantly. He didn't even look surprised. He looked like a man who had laid a trap in the woods and watched the deer walk right into the steel jaw.
He didn't speak. He didn't say 'I told you so.' He didn't give you the satisfaction of a verbal victory.
His hands just came down onto your ass, broad palms cupping the smooth silk of your dress, his long fingers digging deep into your flesh through the thin fabric, pulling you down hard against his erection.
You grabbed his face with both hands, your nails digging straight into his jawline, and bringing his mouth to yours.
There was no sweetness to the kiss, no gentle slow buildup whatsoever. It was two elite athletes slamming into each other in a confined space.
Your mouth opened over his, your tongue pushing deep into his mouth. Randy let out a grunt against your lips, his tongue tangling with yours in wild strokes, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to make you taste blood.
You pushed deeper, your fingers tangling wildly into the thick, damp curls at the back of his head, yanking his hair back, dragging his mouth harder against yours.
Randy lifted his hips off the leather seat, grinding his bulge right into your cunt through your panties and his pants.
A muffled, broken whimper escaped your nose as the friction hit your clit through the layers of clothes. You rolled your hips against him slowly, your chest heaving against his white dress shirt, your nails digging so deep into his scalp you felt him shudder beneath you.
He shifted his broad shoulders, leaning you back against the steering wheel until the horn gave a tiny, accidental beep into the quiet night, his mouth completely overwhelming yours. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, his breath coming fast and hot through his nose, his large hands working their way back down to grab two big handfuls of that ass, making you grind on his lap over and over.
The car filled with the sound of messy, wet kissing, heavy breathing, and the frantic rustle of silk against wool.
His tongue stroked yours, swallowing every gasp you tried to make.
Then, without warning, Randy pulled his mouth back like three inches.
His pretty face was flushed, his eyes completely dilated with lust, his chest heaving under his shirt. He held your face pinned between his big hands, his fingers cupping your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together until your lips pouted out making you frown in slight confusion.
Before you could process what he was doing, Randy tilted his head, and spat straight into your open mouth.
The thick, warm spit landed directly on your tongue.
Your eyes went wide as a motherfucker. You only swallowed it out of instinct, wink wink. But that motherfucker should’ve warned you first.
Or you wouldn’t have slapped the absolute fuck out of him.
The sound echoed through the car and his head snapped to the left, his cheek instantly rising in a bright red, palm shaped welt.
"You sick ass fuck!" you screamed, wiping your mouth frantically with the back of your wrist, your voice shaking.
His right hand shot out, his open palm coming across your face in a blinding slap.
Sparks danced across your vision. Your ears rang with a sharp, high pitched whine, your cheek burning like you had been branded with a hot iron. “Why the fuck…”
Randy big hand shot straight out to grab a massive fistful of your hair. He yanked it backward, pulling your head back until your neck was completely exposed, your throat stretched taut.
"You like slapping me, huh?!" Randy asked. "You think you can just keep laying your hands on me whenever you feel like it, you crazy ass bitch?!"
"Randy!" One of your hand was fisting his shirt, the other was trying to pry his thick fingers out of your hair. "Let go of my fucking hair, Randy!"
Randy didn't let go. He yanked your hair even tighter, forcing your chin up toward the headliner, and dipped his head straight down onto your bare neck.
He opened his mouth wide, stuck his tongue out to lick a stripe of your neck making you gasp before he bit down directly into the soft, tender flesh right over your carotid artery.
A high pitched scream tore from your throat, echoing off the wet glass windows. Your left hand moved from his shirt to his forearms.
His teeth sank deep into your skin, digging through the top layer of your skin, pressing so hard into it you felt the pressure straight down into your collarbone. He bit down like a dog on a leash, grinding his jaw, marking you, claiming you, leaving another deep, bloody, crescent shaped tear in your flesh.
"Randy! Stop! Stop it!" you gasped, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm until blood welled up under your manicured tips.
Randy kept his teeth locked into your neck for five seconds, feeling your pulse hammer wildly against his tongue, feeling you tremble beneath him in pain and overload.
Then, slowly, he released his bite.
He pulled his mouth away with a wet, sickening sound. A thin line of your blood glistened on his lower lip.
You leaned back against the steering wheel, clutching your neck with both hands, tears welling in your eyes, your entire body shaking under your dress.
The mood was completely ruined.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you whispered, your voice raspy, trembling as you glared at him through your wet lashes. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Randy?"
Randy sat back in his seat, breathing heavily, resting his head against the headrest. He reached up with his thumb, wiping the tiny drop of blood off his lower lip, looking at it on his skin before dragging his eyes back to your face.
"You slapped me first," he murmured, shrugging.
You hit him in his arm just because he shrugged. "You fucking spat in my mouth!"
"…my bad. You ain’t say anything about the biting last time." he curling his lips in.
"You are fucking insane!" you yelled, grabbing your purse off the floor of the car, wanting to get out on the driver side while you’re over there. "You are literally a fucking lunatic!"
"Yeah, well, you keep coming back to the lunatic, don't you?" Randy shrugged lazily, sitting up, watching you struggle with the door handle.
He watched you for a second before he just did it for you. The car door swung open, the cold, wet night air instantly rushing inside, rain splashing against your legs and face.
You swung your legs out of the car, stepping directly out onto the wet ground, your heels splashing into a shallow puddle near the curb.
You were standing right outside his driver's side door, your hair slightly wild, your red dress pulled down over your hips, one hand clamped tightly over the bleeding bite mark on your neck.
You turned around and slammed his car door shut.
Randy rolled the driver's side window down, grabbing your attention.
He was leaning out the window, looking up at you through the rain with his arm resting on the window frame.
His expression softened a bit. That dark, crazy ass light in his eyes flickered out, replaced by a strange, and quiet, and exhausting look of regret.
"Aye. C’mere…"
"Fuck off, Randy," you gritted out, stepping back toward the curb, pulling out your phone and going to your camera to look at your neck. Your face screwed up at the sight of it. This nigga keep fucking biting you.
"Wait, baby," he murmured, reaching his hand out through the open window, his long fingers hovering in the cold air between you. "Don't...don't walk away like that."
You stopped, staring at his open hand, your jaw locked, you wanted to slap it away but also wanted to hear what he had to say (bars). "You bit me again, you fucking idiot. I'm bleeding."
Randy let out a slow, heavy breath, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. "I know," he whispered, looking up at you through his lashes. "I'm sorry. Fuck...my bad, aight? I lost my head."
You scoffed, wiping a drop of rain off your nose. "Yeah. You always lose your fucking head.“
"Come here," Randy said again, only this time he said it more clearer. "Just...come here for a second."
"No."
"Please," he murmured. "Just one second. I'm not gonna touch you crazy. I swear."
You stood there for three long seconds, cold water dripping down your shoulders, your neck throbbing.
Against every single grain of common sense you possessed, you took one step back toward the open car window and leaned down a bit.
He just reached out gently, his big, warm palm coming up to cup the side of your wet face, his thumb resting softly on your high cheekbone, wiping away a drop of rain.
"You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice warm, gentle, and completely sincere.
“Don’t get me started.”
He leaned forward slowly, giving you all the time in the world to pull back, and pressed his lips against yours.
You could say it was the most sweetest kiss he had ever given you.
He pressed his mouth against yours, holding it there for five long seconds, taking a slow, deep breath of your scent, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.
It felt like an apology in a way…but also a trap wrapped in a pretty ribbon.
When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed softly against your chin, then down to your jaw, before his mouth rested right against the shell of your ear.
"Get in there," he whispered softly, his breath hot against your rain chilled skin. "Don’t text that nigga." He reminded you.
He pulled his hand back into the car, his eyes lingering on yours for one last second, before he reached up and hit the button to roll the window up.
You stood on the wet sidewalk, completely frozen, watching the dark glass slide up and seal him inside.
He shifted the car into drive, released the handbrake, and pulled smoothly away from the curb, his red taillights slicing through the rain as he drove off toward the campus exit.
You stood there in the rain, your red dress wet and sticking to your skin, your hand pressed against the fresh, warm bite mark on your neck as it throbbed under your touch, your lips still tingling from that fuckass kiss.
You rolled your eyes so hard your head ached, let out a long, shaky breath before you turned around, and walked up the steps into your dorm.
contains: 18+, mdni!, p in v, unprotected sex wrap yo will don’t be silly, size kink if you squint, big dick randy, fwb, verydom randy
notes: “ppl writing them toxic fics abt the wrong brother” @jermajestysbaby after seeing Randy Jrs tweets
earlier in the day you posted a risqué picture of yourself on your instagram story and of course everyone liked it and filled your dms with compliments, fire emojis, and thirsty desperate men but you were waiting for a certain someone to see it…Randy
you said in bed doomscrolling on tiktok when your phone vibrates in your hand, you look at the notification and a very pleased smirk comes across your face
rjacksonjr liked your story
suddenly a call came to your phone showing the contact “rj” your smirk grew wider
“got his ass”
…
a knock was heard at the door and you walked towards it, your house shows making noise skidding across the floor
you untied your robe and then opened your front door and there he ways
“long time no see” you purred, leaning against the doorframe, he looked down at you and bit his bottom lip “hey stranger” he murmured, taking a slow step past you and into the apartment
“how you been?” you asked closing the door and leaning your back against it, he stood in front of you, his hands in his pockets “good, you?” he replied
the two of you stared at each before crashing your lips together, you wrapped your arms around your neck and he lifted you off your feet
…
“fuck Randyyy!”
you screamed into the pillow Randy had your face pinned against
his fingers were tangled deep in your hair, holding your head firmly in place, while his other hand pressed heavy against the small of your back, holding your hips perfectly pinned beneath him as he repeatedly pounded into you from behind
the heavy sound of skin slapping against skin and his ragged breath filled the dimly lit bedroom
“ss’good fuck!” you gasped out, grabbing the sheets tightly in both fists
“you knew exactly what you were doing when you put that post up, didn't you?” Randy huffed, skin slick with sweat as the bed frame creaked in time with every deep, heavy thrust
“maybe...” you gasped out, barely able to form words over the intense sensation filling you up
“maybe’ my ass” he muttered, letting out a sharp breath as he pulled out just to thrust even deeper, hitting that exact spot that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably “you wanted me right here, say it”
“Randy—“
“say it” he commanded, burying his dick deep inside you, kissing your cervix and then rolling his hips
“wanted you” you cried out, repeatedly curling your toes “i wanted you right here—fuck!”
hearing you admit it broke whatever restraint he had left, speeding up into a furious, unyielding pace his fingers bit into your hips, holding you pinned right where he wanted
“you like playing games, huh” Randy rasped out, his chest as he pulled out just enough to reposition, he grabbed you by the hips, flipped you onto your back, and dragged you down to the edge of the bed
he hoisted your legs up, throwing them over his broad shoulders, he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, locking them against the mattress
“Randy—“ “hold on” he groaned, staring down at you with blown out pupils
he slammed back into you, filling you completely in one hard thrust. you let out a loud, high pitched gasp, your toes curling as he set a rapid pace
“look at me” he commanded, his voice tight with exertion
you forced your eyes open, breathless and dizzy, instantly locking onto his gaze. Randy’s face was flush with heat, he relentlessly pounded into you, driving you deeper into the mattress with every stroke. the bed frame frantically rocking and squeaking
“you wanted to show off for the internet?” he muttered, his thumb tracing over your wrist as he kept you pinned, his thrusts turning fast and short “you think any of those soft-ass niggas in your dms could fuck you like this?”
“No— fuck, Randy, no!” you cried out, your back arching off the bed as your vision blurred. you couldn't even keep your hips still, every time you tried to pull back he used his grip on your legs to pull you right back down onto him
“that’s it…take that shit” he grunted, feeling your inner muscles clamp down tightly around him. he let go of your wrists, slamming both palms flat on either side of your head as he picked up the pace, driving you straight over the edge into a breathless, trembling finish
“oh my god! Randy! please!”
you couldn't even finish the sentence before he set a brand new pace. he hooked his arms beneath your knees, shoving your legs straight up into the air and folding you completely in half, letting him drive deeper than before, hitting that sensitive spot with accuracy that made your whole body shudder
“please what?” he said, staring down at you as he pounded flush against you “you thought we were finished?”
a loud, piercing scream tore from your throat as another intense wave of pleasure surged through you. you reached up desperately, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his back, your nails dragging down his warm, sweat slick skin
Randy grunted at the sting, his jaw clenching tightly as the pain only seemed to fuel him, driving his hips forward with even more force
“fuck you’re so tight” he rasped out, his chest heaving as he held your legs pinned high in the air, using the leverage to completely run through you
“oh my god you’re fucking so good” you sobbed out, your voice raspy and broken as your head thrashed against the pillows. you couldn't stop the sharp red lines your nails were leaving down his shoulders, but he didn't care, he just tightened his grip, keeping you locked in place
every time you thought you reached your limit, he pushed you past it, the relentless rhythm driving you completely out of your mind until you were clutching onto his back for dear life, screaming and sobbing his name
“don't stop— Randy! fuck! don't stop!”
your nails dug deeper into the meat of his back, drawing dark red lines down his shoulder blades, but the pain only made him snap. Randy let out a rough, guttural growl, his teeth grazing over the curve of your neck as he buried his face into your skin, his hips snapping forward in a fast, frantic rhythm that didn't leave room for you to catch a single breath
your legs were trembling high in the air, held fast by his broad shoulders, your hips rising off the mattress to meet every single heavy, slick thrust
the force of him was relentless, running straight through you until your vision blurred with tears and all you could do was clutch his back and scream his name
you felt the tight, overwhelming coil build in your stomach all over again…harder, hotter, completely out of control
“Randy— I'm gonna—“
“go ahead” he grunted, his fingers digging into your thighs, locking you down “cum on my dick”
your body completely gave in, your inner walls clamping down and throbbing on on his dick in violent, shivering waves
feeling you cum completely undone around him broke whatever thread of restraint Randy had left. he let out a low, heavy groan, and pinned himself against you as his own body went rigid, spilling all his warm cum himself inside you while you both clung to each other
…
“hold still damnit”
you were sitting crisscross on the edge of the sink, in Randy’s oversized shirt. Randy sat on the closed toilet lid in front of you, his back turned, shoulders slouched forward as he rested his elbows on his knees
“i am holding still” Randy grumbled, though his back muscles were flexed tight
you gently dabbed cold water and antibacterial soap over the red lines crisscrossing his shoulder blades. the moment the cloth hit the fresh scratches, Randy flinched, a sharp hiss of pain escaping his teeth as his shoulders jerked upward
“stop moving” you whispered, trying not to smile as you pressed the cloth down again “you weren’t complaining thirty minutes ago”
“thirty minutes ago you weren't trying to skin me” he muttered, turning his head slightly to glare at you over his shoulder “look at what you did to me woman” “you asked for it” you pointed out, wiping the cloth down to his lower back
he stayed quiet for a moment, letting the warmth of the washcloth soothe the sting, before leaning his head back until it rested against your hip and tilting his face up to look at you “next time, keep your hands on the sheets”
A/N : this was lowkey ass but i just wanted to write smth about his sexy ass in honor of his dump
The light breeze felt cool against your skin, your light blue dress flowed flawlessly against your brown skin.
You and Jermajesty had been matching for the last few days that y'all were in Italy, and boy did he look good in blue.
He felt the same as you—he had been hella touchy all day, his hands constantly finding their way to your waist or thigh.
When you asked him to take your pictures, he always hyped you up, but today he was overly freaky about it. It was funny, though.
Right now yall were out for lunch for jaafar’s birthday and jermajesty couldn’t keep his hands off you as usual.
His fingertips traced the inside of your thigh— almost making it to your heat before you pushed his hand away.
Shooting him a quick glance before you continued listening to maddie rant about things.
Maddie kept talking, completely oblivious to the under-the-table antics, gesturing animatedly with her hands as Jaafar and jermajesty laughed about something completely different.
Suddenly both men let out a loud laugh, their shoulders shaking at how much they were laughing. Both you and maddie looked at them in confusion.
Jermajesty caught your wrist, his thumb gently stroking your pulse point, and nodded subtly toward the grand, old-world hotel across the narrow street.
Following his gaze, your eyes widened. Up on a wrought-iron-railed balcony, bathed in the soft glow of a wall sconce, a couple was completely lost in each other, going at it with zero regard for who might be watching from the bustling street below.
You let out a gasp which made maddie look around in confusion. Once maddie caught what yall were looking at her mouth dropped open, “Um what the hell”
“Aye baby we gotta try that” jermajesty said shaking his head as the laughter calmed down.
You looked over at him with wide eyes “man hell no, i have respect for myself, no shade”
"ssss-fuck maj" you hissed as jermajesty pounded into you. Your ass recoiling against him after every thrust.
Yes, yall were in fact on the balcony, but the view yall had was mainly the ocean— no one could actually see you two unless they looked too close.
Your hands gripped the railing, your knuckles turning white. Jermajesty held your hips tightly, his finger nails digging into you.
"shit baby, you so wet" he threw his head back, biting back his moans.
Every time yall had sex it honestly felt unreal. Between his stroke game and your wet cunt-everything just felt like heaven.
The curve of his length rubbed against your gummy walls and was hitting your g-spot sent you up a spiral.
"wait jer please, nngh—it's-it's too much" you reached back pushing his lower abdomen which made him grab your hand and pin it behind you.
"nah mama, you can take it" his voice deep and sexy, your head dropped down as you felt a orgasam pile in your stomach.
You were a moaning mess, and you were sure if anyone had their window open they could most definitely hear you.
Your legs buckled but the grip that jermajesty had you weren't going to fall. You felt him let go of your arm but you were too cockdrunk to register it.
His movements slowed down but his strokes were still strong. You heard a shutter go off meaning he took a picture, but again you were too cockdrunk to realize.
Guessing the phone was now out his hands you felt him wrap his hands around your hair and give it a tug making your head tilt back.
"You look so pretty like this mama, you know that?" he bit his bottom lip, all you could do was let out a whimper making a deep chuckle come out of his mouth.
"i need words beautiful" his pace sped up, your legs shook slightly as you felt your orgasam rushing through you.
"yes baby, fuckkk" you cried out as you tried your best to hold yourself up.
Jermajesty felt his own orgasm coming, so he didn't slow down; his thrusts were hard and fast, keeping you completely trapped against his body.
Feeling another intense wave of pleasure rush through you, tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and sudden against your skin.
"Maj, it's-it's too much, mmm fuck-l'm coming again," you shook your head, your fingers clawing uselessly at the railing as you tried your hardest to pull away from the overwhelming friction.
"Stop running baby" he gritted out, his voice rough and demanding as his grip on your hips tightened until you knew it would leave bruises.
Just as you gasped out another broken plea, Jermajesty let out a loud, ragged groan and muttered curses under his breath, his movements turning frantic right as his hot seed shot into you, filling you up completely.
The suddenness of it pushed you over the edge all over again. Soon after, a heavy rush of clear liquid spilled out of you, your vision got fuzzy and your legs go entirely weak beneath you.
Jermajesty held up and turned you around, his chest rising and falling and his face full of sweat. Both of you calming down from the sensation.
"shit baby, we gone have to do this again" he panted making you let out a breathy laugh, "yeah right, maj what if somebody saw me"
"okay and? you was getting fucked good they probably wished that it was them" his chuckled making you shake your head.
"mhm, give me a kiss" you smiled as your hands found their way to his cheek, lightly caressing it.
Jermajesty leaned down giving you a wet kiss, tongues fighting eachother as your arms moved to around his neck.
After a minute he moved his head back breaking the kiss, he tugged your hair once again tilting it back. He trailed kisses down from your jaw to your neck giving it sweet kisses and sucking lightly leaving purple bruises.
"mmm, that feel so good bae" your hands tangled in his curls, he continued his movements, sucking just a little harder. He then leaned back up giving you another sloppy kiss before letting his spit drop into your mouth.
You smiled as you swallowed then licked your lips, "you so nasty boy" Jermajesty grinned copying your actions "only for you mama"
🍫contains: Explicit content, strong language, age gap (like 4-5 years), cunnilingus, fingering, tribbing/scissoring
🍫summary: Your neighbor asked you to wash her car and it’s time for you to get your payment!
🍫vid inspo: here(xxx)
🍫a/n: Based off a request but I had some technical difficulties and had to repost it😔
You wiped the sweat and water droplets from your forehead with the back of your hand, taking a heavy sigh. The sun was beaming and college was starting back up so you needed all the funds you can grab.
Which is how your car washing service began. A few cute posters and signs, you were never ran out of business. Flashing a pretty smile would have them agreeing even if their car isn’t already clean.
That hot Saturday, your neighbor, Janet Jackson asked for you to wash her car. The pretty cherry red sports car parked perfectly in her driveway. The whole time you cleaned, she sat on her porch, tanktop snug against her breast, shades on while sipping on a glass of lemonade.
Every small glance exchanged, she delivered a pretty smile and you could’ve folded every time. She was so fine to you, even down to her voice, that sultry tone could’ve talked you right out of your panties.
Once you could see your reflection on the vehicle, you walked over to Janet. “I’m done, ma’am.” You smiled. “Thank you, baby, just call me Janet.”
Your heart fluttered at the small nickname but you quickly brushed it off.
“Okay…Janet.”
“Come on, let me get you a treat for your hard work.” She stood up, walking to the house, ass sitting perfect in her shorts. God, help your soul.
The AC in her house felt amazing against your hot, damp skin. The hardwood floors creaked as you trailed her to the kitchen. You watched as she grabbed a class for you, covered in strawberry stickers before putting ice in it.
“Lemonade or sweet tea?” She asked, back still facing you. “Sweet tea please.“
She grabbed the pitcher of sweet tea, pouring it in the tall ice glass before sliding it over to you. You wasted no time chugging the cold sweet drink.
Once you were finished and set the glass now, you noticed her eyes were still dead set on you. “Good?” She asked, tilting her heard. Every word she said held a weight to it. The weight mixed with her sultry tone stirred a heat in your stomach.
“Very.”
“The money is in my room, follow me.” She said, walking past you. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest at this point as you followed behind her.
She exuded a confidence that made you want to fold to your knees and do whatever she says. Her room was well decorated, a variety of neutral colors with dark drapes for curtains.
It smelled clean as if the air was purified. Her dresser rattled as she tugged open one of the drawers and took out a wad of money.
“Here you go.” She smiled handing it to you. The money sat thick in your hand, it was way more than your usual charge.
“This is way too much.” You shook your head trying to hand it back. “Calm down, baby.” The warm soothing hold of her hand found your wrist.
Just like that, you stopped talking. She licked her bottom lip, “Can you take it for me? Please.” She said.
Your mouth went dry at the plea, it more so sounded like you didn’t have a choice. The tilt of her head and her soothing voice all you could do was nod your head.
“Thank you, baby.”
She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“You’ve been so sweet, I think you deserve another treat.” She smiled.
•••
You felt her tongue swirl around your clit and you couldn’t help but moan. Her eyes were half lidded as she watched you writhe in pleasure. “Mmm,” she sucked your clit into her mouth, hands massaging your thighs.
“J-Janet.” You cried out. Her tongue lapped thirstily at your slit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. Her tongue flicked against your nub in a firm manner causing your orgasm to creep up on you.
“P-please, im so close.” Your fingers laced in her hair, gently holding on to ground yourself. She disconnected her lips, a thin string of spit lingering between her mouth and your pussy.
“Not yet, baby. I wanna feel you.” She spoke. She stood up straight, tugging down her shorts and panties. You were practically about to drool seeing her toned body.
She crawled on top of you, leaning down to kiss you. You let out a soft moan as her tongue slipped in, swirling around yours causing your back to arch.
Her fingers found your clit, rubbing in a tight circle and your mouth struggled to kiss back, dropping your head onto her shoulder. “My poor baby, don’t you like your reward?” She cooed.
Her fingers found your entrance and slipped in her middle finger, slowly pumping inside of you. “Y-yes, I-I like my reward.” Your legs shook as her fingers curled inside of you beckoning you to tip over the edge.
“Want to feel my pussy, baby?” She asked and you quickly nodded. You were soaking her bed at this point. She pulled her fingers out, sucking your juices off her fingers.
Her leg swung over yours until her ass sat perfectly on top of your spread folds. You tossed your head back as soon as you felt her warm pussy. “J-Janet.” You whimpered, palm flying to grasp her waist.
A light moan left her lips, and she slowly begin to rock against you. The wet sounds of your clit grinding against each other. “Fuck, you feel so damn good.” She moaned.
Your head thrashed from side to side, trying to calm your breathing but every swivel of her hips you were losing your mind.
The sticky sound of your arousal filled the room. She adjusted herself leaning over, giving you a clear view of her plump ass. You watched as it slowly lifted before dropping back down on your clit and your body jolted.
“P-please!” You whined. “I got you, baby, just breathe.” She cooed.
Another bounce.
Your eyes began to roll back, toes curling as her ass rippled against you. Your arousal spread across her pussy as she continued to repeatedly press against you.
She was twerking on you at that point, strings of wetness connecting you together with every lift of her hips. “Y-you’re gonna make me cum.” You told her.
“Yea? You’re gonna cum for me?” She asked, speeding up her pace. You nodded with a whine even though she couldn’t see you. The hand that rested on her waist couldn’t help but drag her back against you.
Your hips lifted, meeting her with every drop. “Fuck…cum for me, baby. Cum for me.” She turned to look at you, eyes half lidded. “Cum for mommy.”
Your body tensed up, eyes rolling back and your legs shook. You felt your orgasm wash over you, starting from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
She let out a high pitched moan as she came at the same time, grinding you both through your high. The slow, sensual, wet sound of the both you came to a halt as she rested catching her breath.
She giggled seeing your dazed out form and with a small wiggle of her hips she sat up.
“You did so good.” She said, leaning down to kiss across your face. “T-thank you.” You panted.
“I’ll let you know when my car needs to be washed again.”
If you haven’t read this yet and you are looking for a mj book go read it, it is so good I’m not all the way finish, but right now it’s a 7/10. I haven’t stopped laughing at the comments.
⠀⠀⏝ ۪ ゛ sleepy & slow lovemakin' w/ your boyfriend
summary. ❪ 2.6𝒌 ❫ otw.era!𝒎ichael 𝑥 𝒻.childhood bsf!reader ╱ an ordinary morning at Hayvenhurst becomes anything but when your unusually affectionate boyfriend wakes you with kisses, only for the rest of the Jackson household to hear far more than either of you intended.
contains 𑣲﹕ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship. sleepy morning intimacy. affectionate and needy michael. softdom!michael. gentle praise, pet names and consent check-ins. slow, passionate unprotected sex—pls wrap it up sillies. clingy afterglow and cuddles. interrupted by Marlon & brothers. sweet domestic fluff.
❛ august, ‘𝟖𝟎 — ℰncino, 𝒸alifornia ❜
It appeared to be an ordinary morning at Hayvenhurst, the bedroom still wrapped in that peculiar silence that existed before the rest of the house had begun to wake. Pale sunlight slipped through the curtains and settled across the rumpled duvet in uneven streaks of gold, while the ceiling fan hummed lazily overhead. Somewhere beyond the windows, birds had already begun their morning chorus, though neither of you seemed particularly interested in joining the rest of the world just yet.
Michael had fallen asleep exactly as he usually did. Sometime during the night, he had migrated until he was nestled comfortably between your thighs, his cheek resting against your chest as though your heartbeat had become his favorite lullaby. One of your hands remained loosely tangled in his curls from the night before, the position so familiar that neither of you questioned it anymore. It was simply how the two of you slept.
Usually, you were the one burdened with waking him, coaxing him from beneath the covers while he complained that another five minutes would surely make no difference. This morning, however, Michael had awakened first—and, for reasons you had yet to understand, had decided your beauty rest was no longer nearly as important as having your attention.
At first, you thought you were still dreaming. Something featherlight brushed your temple before disappearing, followed by another kiss against your cheek and one beneath your eye. Sleep blurred the line between imagination and reality until familiar lips lingered against your forehead, accompanied by the faintest breath of laughter warming your skin.
Your brows pinched together before your eyes finally fluttered open, your vision adjusting gradually to the muted morning light and the figure hovering affectionately above you.
Michael was already looking at you. His curls stood in every direction imaginable, his face still creased from the pillow, yet he wore the unmistakable expression of someone who had been awake long enough to admire the person sleeping beneath him. There was tenderness in his gaze, certainly, but something more restless lingered beneath it—a quiet, boyish mischief that became increasingly difficult to overlook when his mouth wandered toward your jaw again.
“Baby…” Your voice emerged soft and heavy with sleep as you shifted beneath the duvet. “That tickles.”
“‘M sorry…” he whispered with a sheepish grin. “You just looked so pretty sleepin’. Then I started kissin’ you… and I couldn’t stop.”
The apology lost some of its credibility when he immediately pressed another kiss beneath your jaw. His body remained warm and pleasantly heavy over yours, one arm curled around your waist while his face disappeared against the curve of your neck. Every movement was softened by sleep, yet his affection possessed a persistence that was beginning to feel suspicious.
“Oh, yeah?” you murmured, dragging your fingernails gently along the back of his shirt. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”
“I dunno…” Michael mumbled, answering far too quickly.
He lifted his head at last, resting his chin against your chest as he met your eyes. The innocence carefully arranged across his face might have convinced you had he not shifted between your thighs at that exact moment, revealing the unmistakable reason behind his sudden devotion through the layers of blankets separating you, his hardened member undeniably poking against your lower stomach.
Understanding arrived slowly, followed by a knowing smile that made the tips of his ears begin to redden. “Michael…”
“What?” His eyes widened as though he had been falsely accused of something, though the grin fighting its way across his lips ruined the performance almost immediately.
“So that’s why you’ve been so affectionate this morning.”
“I’m always affectionate,” he protested, dipping his face toward your neck again as though hiding there might rescue what remained of his dignity. “Can’t a man kiss his girlfriend good morning?”
“He can,” you conceded, your fingers returning to his curls as his lips grazed the sensitive place beneath your ear. “But he usually isn’t this determined about it.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, muffled against your skin. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your sleep shirt and settled against the warmth of your waist, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles there. It was an unhurried touch, affectionate enough to preserve the softness of the morning even as the atmosphere between you gradually began to change.
Michael finally looked up again, his expression caught somewhere between bashfulness and want. “Good morning, my Sleeping Beauty.”
“Good morning, angel face.”
You smoothed your palms over his small, disheveled fro before gathering his face between your hands. His smile softened the moment your palms found his rosy cheeks. Instinctively, he leaned into them, his eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat as though being held so gently first thing in the morning was every bit as comforting as falling asleep beside you the night before.
When his eyes opened, the playfulness in them had deepened into something warmer. His gaze lowered to your mouth, and this time, when he leaned forward to kiss you, there was nothing quite innocent about the slowness with which his lips met yours.
The kiss deepened without either of you seeming to make a conscious decision to take it there, your mouths moving together in the sleepy rhythm reserved for mornings when neither person had fully awakened and there was no reason to hurry. It was tender but imperfect, softened by lazy smiles and the occasional uncoordinated meeting of your lips, each little mistake drawing a quiet laugh that disappeared into the next kiss.
Michael’s hand remained warm against your waist as yours slipped back into his curls, holding him close while satisfied hums passed between you whenever one of you lingered a little longer or pressed a little deeper. He kissed you as though he had nowhere else to be, pausing only long enough to breathe against your mouth before seeking it again, just sloppy enough to make the whole thing feel deliciously real.
“Mike…” you murmured against his lips when he pulled away just enough to leave you chasing after him, the sleepy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth making it painfully obvious that he knew precisely what he was doing. “Stop teasin’ me.”
His hand continued caressing your waist, entirely contradicting the innocence he attempted to arrange across his face. “What do you want, baby?”
“You know what,” you mumbled, burying your fingers deeper into his curls as you tried to pull him back toward you.
Michael resisted only slightly, keeping his forehead pressed against yours while his gaze searched your face. “I wanna hear you say it.”
Your embarrassment lasted no longer than the next slow brush of his lips against yours, the tenderness of it loosening the words before you could reconsider them. “I want you…”
“Yeah?” he breathed, his teasing expression softening into something warmer and considerably more affected.
“Mhm.” You drew him closer until there was hardly any space left between your mouths. “I need you’ closer...”
His nose brushed gently against yours, though he still paused long enough to ask, “You sure, darlin’?”
You answered with a small, eager nod, your fingers tightening gently in his curls. “I’m sure.”
That was all the reassurance Michael needed before his mouth found yours again, the satisfied little hum escaping him disappearing into the kiss. His free hand drifted beneath the blankets as he adjusted his boxers to reveal his needy and throbbing penis. His fingers maneuvered to your panties, hooking them around the fabric to move them to the side, allowing him entry. every movement careful and unhurried, his attention never leaving your face long enough for you to doubt how completely he was watching you as he carefully pushed through your walls.
The tenderness remained even as the nature of the morning shifted. Michael buried his face against the curve of your neck, a soft, groggy groan escaping him as your arms tightened around his shoulders. Your fingers slipped from the messiness of his curls to the backs of his arms, holding him there while the two of you settled into a slow rhythm together.
His movements remained patient, each one drawing another quiet whimper from you. There was no urgency in him yet, only the sleepy devotion that had awakened you in the first place, his lips wandering over your neck and jaw whenever he leaned close enough to reach them. Occasionally, he paused merely to kiss you, allowing the moment to soften again before continuing.
“You’re so gorgeous like this,” he murmured beside your ear, pressing a kiss just beneath it. “All sleepy underneath me.” His hand that stayed rested beneath your shirt now shifting to your breasts, massaging each and giving them a gentle squeeze.
Your breath caught as you pulled his body closer, unwilling to leave even the smallest distance between you. “Feels so good…”
“Yeah?” The single word emerged lower this time, the earlier playfulness giving way to something darker, though his touch remained careful.
“Mhm…” Your response dissolved into another breathless whine as the pace gradually deepened, each of his movements reaching far enough to steal the air from your lungs. “Need more, baby… please.”
Michael lifted his head to look at you, searching your expression once more before giving you what you had asked for. The change was slight at first, a subtle quickening that made your arms tighten around his upper back and your hips moving instinctively along with his. Each time he drew you closer, another helpless moan threatened to escape your swollen lips.
“Shh, darlin’,” Michael whispered against your neck, amusement softening the strain in his voice. “Don’t wanna wake the whole house.”
“I’m tryin’, honey…” And you were. You buried your face against his shoulder in several desperate attempts to contain yourself, but the creaking mattress and the quiet knocking of the headboard against the wall were proving considerably less cooperative. A small laugh escaped Michael before breaking into a low, lazy groan when you clung to him more tightly.
He pressed another kiss to your temple, maintaining the steady pace that had already begun to undo you.
“Oh Mikey..” Your nails curled into his shoulders as your pussy tightened around him instinctively, the involuntary reaction telling him you were nearing the edge long before you managed to find the words.
Michael noticed immediately. His mouth returned to yours, swallowing the next trembling sound that escaped you as he held you closer, preserving the tenderness of the morning even while everything between you steadily grew less restrained.
Your legs began to tremble before tightening helplessly around his torso, drawing him impossibly closer as the tension that had been steadily gathering inside you finally broke, coating his dick in your arousal. Michael’s movements faltered for the first time that morning, losing their careful rhythm as he followed only moments behind, his body shuddering against yours while a string of soft, breathless moans and tiny “I love you’s” disappeared into your mouth. Neither of you pulled away, clinging to one another through every lingering aftershock, your lips meeting in clumsy, interrupted kisses between uneven breaths until the intensity gradually softened into something warm, heavy, and deeply satisfied.
For several quiet minutes afterward, neither of you made any effort to move. Michael remained draped over you beneath the tangled covers, his cock still buried deep in your warmth and his face hidden against the warmth of your neck while your fingers wandered lazily through the curls at his nape. The urgency that had possessed him earlier had dissolved into something soft and pleasantly heavy, leaving behind uneven breaths, occasional kisses, and the faint smile you could feel against your skin whenever you held him a little tighter.
He had only just begun mumbling something about never leaving the bed when three abrupt knocks struck the bedroom door causing his entire body to tense.
“Miiike~?” Marlon’s voice traveled through the wood with suspicious brightness. “Ma said breakfast is ready.”
Michael lifted his head from your shoulder, his eyes widening as the two of you stared toward the door. For one terrible second, neither of you spoke, silently attempting to determine exactly how much sound might have escaped the room before the rest of the house had fully awakened.
“Okay,” Michael finally called, clearing the lingering strain from his voice. “We’ll be down.”
There was a short pause followed with faint sounds of snickering.
“Take your time,” Marlon answered, his tone far too innocent to be trusted.
Someone beside him released a poorly muffled laugh before several pairs of footsteps retreated down the hallway. Michael continued staring at the door long after they had disappeared, though when no further comment came, some of the tension slowly left his shoulders.
“Y' think they heard us?” you whispered.
“No,” he answered almost immediately. “They would’ve said something.”
“Your brothers?”
Michael considered that, then grimaced. “They definitely would’ve said something."
By the time the two of you made it downstairs, you had nearly managed to believe him. Michael had changed into a clean shirt and attempted to tame his curls, though several remained stubbornly disheveled around his temples. You had repaired your own appearance as carefully as possible, and apart from the warmth creeping into your cheeks whenever your eyes met, there was nothing especially incriminating about either of you.
The kitchen was already filled with the familiar noise of breakfast. Katherine moved between the stove and the counter while Jackie, Tito, and Marlon sat around the table, speaking among themselves until Michael entered with you beside him. Their conversation stopped almost immediately.
“Morning,” Michael said cautiously as you greeted with a small wave, pulling out your chair before settling into the seat beside you.
“Morning,” his brothers answered, each of them wearing an expression that made your confidence begin to falter.
Marlon waited until Michael had reached for his fork before leaning slightly across the table. “Sleep good?”
Michael’s hand stopped. “Yeah,” he answered slowly.
Marlon nodded as though genuinely pleased to hear it. “Sure sounded like it.”
Your head ducked toward your plate before you could stop yourself, the heat in your face worsening as Jackie covered his mouth to conceal a laugh. Michael’s ears turned a brilliant shade of red, though he continued arranging food on his plate with the determined concentration of someone pretending not to understand.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered.
“Neither do I,” Tito agreed innocently. He reached for the syrup before sighing in an exaggerated, breathless voice, “‘Oh, Mikey—'" causing Jackie to choke on his drink.
Michael’s head immediately snapped toward him. “Stop.”
Marlon’s shoulders began to shake as he lowered his voice into an equally dramatic imitation. “‘Baby, please—’”
“Shut up,” Michael hissed, glancing toward Katherine to make certain she had not heard.
You pressed your lips together before nibling at your bottom one, staring firmly at your breakfast while the mortification and laughter fought for control of your expression. You could never face his brothers again after this. Beneath the table, Michael’s hand found yours and squeezed it tightly, as though reminding you that the two of you were enduring the humiliation together.
“Everything all right over there?” Katherine asked without turning from the stove.
“Fine, Ma,” the brothers answered almost perfectly in unison.
She glanced over her shoulder with quiet suspicion, though the boys had already returned to their plates with expressions of practiced innocence. The moment she faced the stove again, Marlon leaned toward Michael one final time.
“Next time,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, “turn on some Marvin Gaye.”
Michael stared straight ahead with the wounded dignity of someone reconsidering whether blood truly made a family. He kicked Marlon beneath the table, earning a muffled yelp, before tightening his fingers around yours once more.
You finally dared to look at him. The moment your eyes met, the corner of Michael’s mouth twitched despite his embarrassment, and the laugh you had been suppressing threatened to escape all over again.
His brothers might never let him forget that morning, but judging by the way they immediately changed the subject when Katherine approached the table, they had no intention of letting anyone else hear about it.
، summary𓈒 jermaine calls just as he promised, inviting you over to hang out...
، pairing𓈒 jermaine Jackson x black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, J*seph being an asshole, fluff, kissing, the jackson siblings doing a lot, a shy jermaine (look at the picture, he happy asl)
، notes𓈒 uhhh yeah. Enjoy?
Jermaine had never sprayed this much cologne in his entire life.
He stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, his chest bare and glistening from a fresh shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up the bottle of cologne, hesitated, and then gave himself two more heavy spritzes right on his neck.
"Man, you tryin' to suffocate the girl before she even gets through the front gate?"
Jermaine glared at the mirror’s reflection. Jackie was leaning against the doorframe, a toothpick dangling from his lip, looking thoroughly amused. Behind him, Marlon was peering over his shoulder, a grin stretching across his face.
"I don't smell like too much," Jermaine grumbled, grabbing a green and white striped shirt from his bed and pulling it over his head. "I just wanna make sure I smell fresh. You know she’s been traveling all day."
"Traveling all day because you flew her out from a whole different state, Mr. Moneybags," Marlon teased, walking into the room and flopping onto Jermaine’s neatly made bed. "I still can't believe you did that. You've been on the phone with this girl every single night like a love sick puppy."
"Leave me alone, man," Jermaine grumbled.
Usually, he could throw on whatever was sitting at the top of his dresser, run a pick through his afro for two seconds, splash some cologne on his neck, and walk out the door looking like a million bucks. He was a Jackson. Confidence was practically written into his DNA. But today, Jermaine was sweating even after his shoulder.
After putting on his shirt, he just kept adjusting the collar for the fifteenth time. He unbuttoned three buttons. Too much. He buttoned one back up. Too stiff. He sighed, running a hand over his face, his heart thumping a heavy, nervous rhythm against his ribs.
"Man, get it together," he muttered to his reflection.
It had been three weeks. Three weeks of the most intense, late night phone marathons of his entire life. Ever since that night at Flipper’s Roller Palace when he had literally flattened you onto the hardwood floor, you had been the only thing occupying his mind. He’d kept that sticky, silver gum wrapper tucked safely inside his wallet like it was a winning lottery ticket.
The first time he called, he’d been so nervous his palms were sweating. But the moment you answered, your voice coming through the receiver with that familiar, teasing attitude, all his nerves had melted. After that, it was over for both of you. You guys literally couldn't get enough of each other.
Every single night, the second the clock hit nine, Jermaine would drag the extra long telephone cord all the way into the hallway closet, squeezing his large frame between the winter coats just to get some privacy from his loud ass family. You two would talk about everything and nothing– the music you actually liked to listen to, his crazy schedule, how much your head had throbbed the day after the fall, and how cute his nose really was up close.
Half the time, the calls would end with you laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach, or Jermaine whispering sweet, low toned melodies directly into the receiver just to hear you sigh on the other end.
Other times, the calls only ended because your dad would start shouting in the background.
"Girl! If you don't hang up that damn phone! This bill is gonna look like a car payment! Hang it up now!"
You’d have to whisper a rushed, giggly, “I gotta go, Jermaine, he’s coming!” before clicking the receiver down, leaving Jermaine staring at the phone with a goofy, longing smile.
Which brought Jermaine back to the massive oversight that had almost ruined everything.
During one of those late night, whisper quiet conversations, when the longing to actually see your face was getting too heavy to ignore, Jermaine had blurted it out: "Man, I was thinking," he had said, his voice smooth and lazy. "Maybe I can slide by your house tomorrow after we finish this vocal tracking session. We can go grab some of that nasty pizza you like so much, or maybe walk around the park. I just wanna see your face."
"What park are you talking about? The park down the street from me is surrounded by sand and tumbleweeds."
Jermaine had frowned. "What you mean? The park by the arena. It's only like a twenty minute drive from the studio."
You had laughed, a sweet, musical sound that made his stomach do flips. "The studio you’re talking about is in Los Angeles, California. Jermaine, you do know I live in Las Vegas, right? Like...Nevada. That's a whole other state."
Jermaine had frozen in the dark closet, his jaw dropping. He’d completely forgotten. The night they met, the Jacksons had been in Vegas for a quick weekend trip, just hitting up Flipper’s on a whim while they were in town. In his mind, you were just there. He hadn't even processed the three digit area code on the gum wrapper until that very second.
“Oh,” Jermaine had muttered, his stomach dropping. “Man...I forgot. You...you really live in Vegas.”
“Yeah,” you had sighed. “And my daddy barely lets me go to the grocery store by myself, let alone out of state. We literally can't even see each other.”
But Jermaine wasn't about to let a few hundred miles get in the way. He was already too far gone.
“Wait, hold up,” he’d interrupted, his voice suddenly filled with determination. “Don't worry about none of that. I can pay for the flight. I'll get you a ticket, first class, round trip. I'll handle everything. You just gotta say yes.”
The silence on the other end of the line had been deafening. You were completely speechless. For a girl who was used to regular neighborhood boys who could barely afford to buy a slice of pizza, the offer was mind blowing.
"...Jermaine?" you’d whispered.
"Yeah?"
"You serious?"
"Dead serious. Just let me do this for you. I wanna see you."
"That’s...that’s a lot of money. I can't just let you do that.”
“Hey,” he’d said softly, his voice incredibly tender. “Listen to me. I want to see you. Just say you'll come.”
So of course you said yes. But getting you to California wasn’t as simple as just buying a ticket. You had to go through the ultimate gauntlet: your parents.
You had spent three solid days begging, pleading, and practically doing chores on your knees. First, you had to tackle your dad, who was convinced that some "fancy haired singer boy" in California was trying to kidnap his daughter. You had to sit him down, show him the respect he deserved, and let him speak to Jermaine on the phone for a terrifying ten minute conversation where Jermaine had used his most polite, "yes, sir," "no, sir" church boy voice.
Then came your mama. Your mama was a tough nut to crack, but once Jermaine had promised that his mother, Katherine, would be supervising the entire visit, and that you would be staying in a completely respectable guest room, she had finally softened.
"Yo, Jermaine! Earth to Jermaine!"
Tito’s voice snapped him back to the present. Jermaine blinked, looking at his brother, who was waving a hand in front of his face.
"Man, you got it bad," Tito laughed, shaking his head. "Look at him, he’s daydreaming already. She ain't even here yet."
"He took a whole shower for this girl," Marlon said from the bed, a massive grin on his face. "A shower, Jackie. Jermaine usually just splashes some water on his face and calls it a day if we ain't performing. He is whipped."
"I am not whipped," Jermaine said, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "I'm just being a gentleman and I want her to feel welcome."
"Oh, 'welcome'?" Tito walked by, holding a soda, shaking his head. "Is that what we're calling it now? Man, you better hope she doesn't remember you leveling her at the rink. If I was her, I’d make you wear a helmet the whole time you're around me."
"She forgave me for that!" Jermaine protested, his cheeks heating up.
"She only forgave you because you bought her pizza and you got that pretty boy face," Michael’s voice drifted in from the hallway. He popped his head into the doorway, holding a bowl of popcorn. "But for real, Jermaine, you look nice. Very fancy. Are we doing the movie night in the theater room?"
"Yeah, that’s the plan," Jermaine said, trying to regain his composure. "I was thinking we could put on a movie or something."
"Mmm, sweet," Marlon teased. "Can we sit in the back row and throw popcorn at y'all?"
"No." Jermaine said, his face all screwed up, pulling on a pair of dark slacks and stepping into his shoes. He smoothed down his shirt, checking his hair one last time.
The brothers all burst out laughing. It was rare to see Jermaine like this. Usually, he was the cool, quiet, flirty one who had girls chasing him left and right. He never had to try. But today, he was visibly shaking in his boots, acting all shy and soft over one girl who didn't even listen to their music. They loved every second of it.
"Just make sure you behave yourself," a stern voice boomed from the end of the hall.
The laughter instantly died down. The brothers parted, clearing a path as Joseph Jackson walked slowly, his eyes hard and calculating as they swept over Jermaine.
Joseph stopped in the doorway, his presence immediately shifting the lighthearted energy in the room to something very tense and heavy. He looked Jermaine up and down, his chest expanding with a slow breath.
"You got a lot of distractions going on lately, Jermaine," Joseph said, his voice low and gravelly. "I don't mind you having a little friend over, but don't forget we got rehearsals tomorrow morning. Early. I don't want to see you dragging your feet because you stayed up all night with some girl."
"I won't, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly, his posture straightening up instantly. He kept his eyes respectful, but there was a faint tightness in his jaw. "I’ll be ready for rehearsal."
Joseph stared at him for a long, silent moment, then gave a single, curt nod. "Make sure you are." He turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps fading down the stairs.
Jermaine let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, slouching slightly. The brothers exchanged knowing looks, the teasing temporarily paused. They all knew how Joseph could be.
Just then, the distant sound of a car engine pulling up the long driveway echoed through the open window.
"She's here!" Marlon yelled, springing up from the bed, and sprinting down the stairs. "First one to the door gets to introduce themselves!"
"Marlon, don't you dare!" Jermaine shouted, his voice cracking as he scrambled past Jackie and Tito, rushing down the grand curved staircase.
Within ten seconds, they both were flying down the grand staircase, shoving each other, their brothers trailing closely behind them like a pack of eager puppies.
Jermaine reached the massive front doors just as the driver opened the back seat of the black car and you stepped out.
Jermaine’s breath caught in his throat. You looked absolutely stunning. You were wearing a simple sundress that complimented your smooth brown skin perfectly, your hair styled beautifully with a matching headband, and a pair of neat sandals. You looked around the massive estate, your eyes wide with a mix of awe and slight intimidation, clutching your small suitcase in front of you.
"Hey," Jermaine called out, his voice softer than usual as he walked down the front steps.
You looked up, and the moment your eyes met his, a massive, brilliant smile broke across your face. All the nervousness you’d been feeling on the flight completely melted away. "Jermaine!"
Before you could even take another step, he was there. He reached out, his large hands gently taking your suitcase from you and setting it aside on the driveway, before wrapping his arms securely around your waist. He pulled you into a warm, tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. You hugged him back just as tight, your hands sliding up the softness of his shirt, laughing softly against his chest.
"Man, you don't even know how good it is to see you," he murmured, his voice rumbling against your collarbone.
"It's good to see you too, clumsy," you teased, pulling back just enough to look at his face. "And look at you, all dressed up. You look nice. And you smell...really good. A little strong, but good."
"I try, I try," he grinned, his cheeks warming under his skin. (Imagine the picture on the banner)
The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by a wall of people. The Jackson siblings were lined up like a welcoming committee, all of them grinning, while Katherine stood in the center, looking beautiful in a soft floral dress. Joseph was standing a few paces back, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.
You froze for a second, a bit overwhelmed by the size of the house and the famous faces staring at you.
Jermaine felt you tense up and gently squeezed your shoulder. "Don't be nervous. This is everybody."
You took a breath, stepping forward with a polite smile. "Hi, everyone. It's so good to formally meet you all. I...okay, I gotta be honest." You looked at the brothers. "You all are gonna have to introduce yourselves and say your names, because I still don't know which is which. I don't want to call the wrong brother." You admitted, your hand covering half your face. "Jermaine only talks about himself on the phone."
The brothers burst out laughing, the tension in the room instantly breaking.
"I'm Jackie," the oldest said, stepping forward with a warm smile and shaking your hand. "The actual smart one."
"Tito," the next one said, nodding with a cool, relaxed grin. "The one who told this fool his plan was stupid."
"It was," you agreed, nodding solemnly.
"Marlon," the younger one waved energetically. "The one who predicted he was gonna break something."
Michael stepped forward, his eyes soft and sweet, a shy smile on his face. "I'm Michael. It's really nice to meet you. Jermaine hasn't stopped talking about you for three weeks."
"And I'm Randy," a smaller voice piped up from the back, as a young boy squeezed through his brothers' legs, staring up at you with wide eyes.
You also met the sisters– you hadn’t known about them. La Toya was sweet, and little Janet, who was only about five years old, peeked out from behind her mother’s dress, her eyes all wide and innocent. You knelt down, giving Janet a little wave, and Jermaine watching the interaction, his expression melting into something so tender.
"Alright, boys, leave the poor girl alone," Katherine said, her voice like warm honey. She walked straight to you, her hands reaching out to clasp yours. "Hello, beautiful. I'm Katherine. Welcome to our home."
"It is so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Jackson," you said, your voice naturally dropping into your most respectful, polite tone. "Thank you so much for having me in your house."
"Oh, the pleasure is all ours," Katherine smiled, her eyes searching your face with a gentle, approving look. "And let me apologize on behalf of my son. Jermaine has always been a bit clumsy when he gets nervous, but running over a beautiful young lady like you...I raised him better than that. I hope you're feeling much better."
"Mama, please," Jermaine groaned, covering his face with his hand.
"Oh, I am, Mrs. Jackson," you smiled warmly, feeling completely at ease with her, glancing at Jermaine. "He bought me pizza to make up for it, so he's partially forgiven."
"Good," Katherine nodded. "He should be working hard. Now, let's get you settled..."
From the back of the room, Joseph let out a low grunt. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto you. The warmth in the room seemed to dip a few degrees. "Welcome," he said, his voice flat. He gave you a long look, just staring at you, his sharp, scary ass eyes evaluating your dress, and your posture, and your hair.
Nobody else seemed to notice the coldness of the look– or maybe they did and just didn’t show it, but you definitely felt it. You offered him a polite nod. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson."
"Jermaine, remember what I said about tomorrow. Don't be running around all night."
"Yes, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly.
With that, Joseph turned and walked into his office, closing the door behind.
"Jermaine, show her to the guest room so she can put her stuff away," Katherine said, breaking the brief silence. "Then we'll have some food ready."
After a long dinner filled with the brothers teasing Jermaine along with Marlon flirting with you, Katherine asking you about your family in Vegas, and Joseph sitting quietly at the head of the table giving you occasional, sharp looks that you tried your best to ignore.
The tension broke the moment Joseph left after dinner, not wanting dessert that they were all making. The brothers piled in, and suddenly, the house felt alive again. La Toya and Janet, seemed to have taken an immediate liking to you. You were showing them how to make a proper milkshake, the three of you laughing as the blender whirred. Michael was showing you his new dance steps he’d been practicing on the tile floor, his feet moving so fast they were a blur. Marlon was trying his best to flirt again, cracking jokes, but you kept brushing him off.
Jermaine stood close to you the entire time, his hand occasionally resting on the small of your back, his eyes tracking your every laugh.
He was so soft with you, so attentive. Every time you spoke, he leaned in close to listen, completely ignoring his siblings' loud antics.
"Look at him," Jackie whispered to Tito as they watched Jermaine carefully wipe a drop of melted chocolate from the cookies off your thumb with a napkin, looking like he was handling a piece of fine china. "I've never seen him this quiet in my life. He’s usually the loudest one in the room when a girl is around."
"He's in loveee," Tito agreed, grinning.
After the milkshakes and cookies and a quick tour of the grounds by Marlon and Michael, including the pool and the exotic rat cages, and the game room, Jermaine decided it was time to get some privacy.
"We're gonna go upstairs," Jermaine announced, grabbing your hand. "Watch a movie in my room."
You blinked, “Oh, okay.”
"In your room?" Marlon raised an eyebrow, a devious smirk playing on his lips. "We got a whole theater room, Jermaine. Why you gotta go to your room?"
"Because the theater room TV is acting up," Jermaine lied smoothly, not even blinking. "And I got a TV in my room. Come on."
He didn't wait for them to protest. He gently pulled you up the stairs, your hand locked firmly in his. Your heart started doing that flutter as you walked down the hallway.
When he opened the door to his bedroom, you stepped inside and smiled. It was spacious, and clean, and completely him. There were bass guitars resting in the corner, posters of classic soul artists on the walls, and a large, comfortable looking bed with a dark comforter. A small television set sat on a wooden dresser opposite the bed.
Jermaine shut the door, locking it. The chaos of the Jackson household was completely locked outside.
"Sorry about them," Jermaine said, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking very shy as he stood by the door. "They don't know how to act."
"It's okay," you smiled, walking over to his dresser to look at a framed photo of him and his brothers on stage. "I think they're sweet. They clearly care about you a lot."
"Yeah, well...sometimes they care too much," he muttered, playing with a singular ring on his finger.
You walked over to the window, looking out at the sprawling, moonlit backyard. "It's really beautiful here, Jermaine."
"It's alright," he said, shrugging. "But it's a lot better with you in it."
You turned around, giving him a look. Jermaine was standing a few feet away, fidgeting with his fingers, that shyness taking over him once again.
"You're really sweet, you know that?" you said softly, walking over to the edge of the bed and sat down, resting back on your elbows, looking up at him as he finally moved from his door to near his dresser, trying to play it cool.
"I'm just being real," he murmured.
"So," you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. "You brag about being the singer. Are you gonna show me something, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?"
Jermaine grinned, his confidence returning suddenly. "You wanna see something?"
You only nodded, your tongue pressing against the back of your teeth.
He walked over to his guitar case in the corner and pulled out the instrument. He sat on the floor, making you sit up just so you could see him fully. He started to play; just a soft, bluesy melody.
He didn't sing like you’d. He just hummed a low, soulful tune, his fingers dancing across the strings. His eyes sometimes locking on yours.
Eventually he stopped playing, setting the guitar aside. He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, right next to you and for a few minutes, you both just talked, but the conversation was different now. It was quieter, and slower. Jermaine’s eyes kept dropping to your lips, then back up to your eyes, his breathing getting a little shallower.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I spent three weeks trying to remember exactly what you looked like under those lights. But the memory didn't even do you justice. You're perfect, truly."
"Jermaine..." you whispered, "Thank you. I would say the same but then I'd be lying."
The tension snapped instantly as Jermaine threw his head back, letting out a bright, startled laugh. You couldn't help but join in, the playful mockery melting away any lingering nerves between you. For a few seconds, the room filled with the easy sound of your shared amusement.
Gradually, the laughter subsided, tapering off into soft, breathless smiles, a sudden wave of shyness washed over the space. Jermaine ducked his head slightly, a faint flush creeping up his neck, though he never broke eye contact. You found yourself looking down at your hands, suddenly hyper aware of how close he was sitting, your heart doing a nervous flip.
Jermaine slowly reached out, his large, warm hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone.
"I’ve been wanting to do this since the night I met you," he whispered, his voice dropped to a low tone.
"What's stopping you?" you whispered back, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.
He didn't say anything else. He just leaned in, slowly. You thought about pulling away but you didn't. You leaned in too, your eyes fluttering shut as the space between you completely disappeared.
It was your very first real kiss, and it was everything the phone calls had promised and more. His lips were incredibly soft, and warm, pressing against yours with a gentle, slow rhythm that made your head spin far more than the fall at the roller rink ever had. You reached up, your hands finding the collar of his shirt, your fingers curling into the soft fabric as you pulled him just a fraction closer.
Jermaine let out a soft, shaky sigh against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your neck, his fingers gently tangling in your soft curls, holding you like you were the most precious thing he had ever touched. The kiss was slow, and completely intoxicating, a perfect blend of sweet innocence and a burning, built up desire that had been waiting for weeks to finally be set free.
You felt yourself leaning back slightly, pulling him down with you onto the plush comforter, completely lost in the warmth of his mouth, the smell of his skin, and the absolute perfection of the moment.
The door swung open, and a tiny, energetic body burst into the room.
"Jermaine! Mama said you gotta-"
You and Jermaine scrambled apart so fast you practically got whiplash. Jermaine flew to the opposite side of the bed, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his face a deep, burning red. You sat up instantly, smoothing down your dress, your heart beating in your throat as you tried to look completely casual.
Little Randy stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two of you with a weird look. He might have been the youngest, but he wasn't stupid.
For a solid five seconds, there was dead silence in the room.
Jermaine stared at his little brother, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He looked around the room frantically, trying to find something to make it look like they hadn't just been locking lips.
"Uh..." Jermaine stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he suddenly pointed to the carpet. "We...we were just...looking at the carpet pattern, Randy. Yeah. The...the weave is really interesting. Look at how the fibers...they go left to right."
You quickly leaned over, staring at the plain brown carpet like it was a piece of high art. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. It's...it's a very fascinating weave, Jermaine. I’ve never seen a brown like this. It's very...brown."
Randy looked at Jermaine, then he looked at you, then looked down at the completely plain, uninteresting carpet. He blinked slowly, completely unimpressed.
"Mama said you gotta bring the extra pillows down to the guest room," Randy said. He crossed his arms, looking at Jermaine. "Why y'all standing so far apart? You look weird."
"We don't look weird!" Jermaine snapped, his voice cracking. "Go tell Mama I'll be right down! And knock next time, Randy! Seriously!"
"Alright, alright," Randy giggled, turning on his heel and running back down the hallway, his loud laughter echoing through the house.
Jermaine let out a long, defeated groan, covering his face with his hands. "Man...I am so sorry. My family has absolutely no timing."
You turned around, looking at his embarrassed face, and let out a beautiful laugh that filled the room. "It's okay, Jermaine. It keeps things interesting."
The guest room at Hayvenhurst was nice, and big, and clean, smelling faintly of incense and whatnot, but right now, it looked like a full blown convention center.
You had just finished washing up, your skin still warm from the shower, and you were wearing your favorite pair of pajamas. The second you walked back into the bedroom, you stopped in your tracks and just had to laugh. It seemed like the entire Jackson lineup had decided that the guest room was the only place to be at ten o'clock at night.
"Alright now, don't y'all be crowding her out," Jackie said, leaning casually against the doorframe, acting like he wasn't part of the problem. "She had a long flight from Vegas, she needs her rest."
"You're the one who led us up here, Jackie." Marlon grumbled from the corner, sitting backwards on a wooden chair, flashing you a dazzling smile. "I just came to make sure the pillows were soft enough. You know Jermaine don't know how to host a lady."
It was honestly the cutest thing you’d ever seen. The little ones were the best part. Janet, who was wearing her little nightgown with her hair in two neat puffs, came running right up to you the second she saw you. She didn't say a word, just wrapped her little arms right around your thighs.
"Oh, look at you, sweet pea," you cooed, melting instantly. You dropped to your knees on the thick carpet, wrapping your arms around her small frame and lifting her up for a proper hug. She smelled like baby powder and gave you a big, toothy grin.
Then Randy, trying to act way older than he actually was after busting into Jermaine's room earlier, marched over. "I gotta get a goodbye hug too," he demanded, crossing his arms. "Since Jermaine almost took my head off earlier."
"Come here," you laughed, pulling him into a hug too. You looked over his shoulder and saw Michael standing by the edge of the bed, doing a little shy shoulder shimmy, holding a book.
"Goodnight," Michael said softly, waving five fingers at you with a giggle. "Don't let the bedbugs bite. And don't let Jermaine sneak in here either, he's sneaky."
"Michael, shut up!" Jermaine’s voice yelled from the hallway. He appeared in the doorway a second later, looking completely flustered, his chest heaving like he’d just sprinted up the stairs. He looked at his siblings with murder in his eyes. "What are y'all doing in here? Get out! Let her go to sleep!"
Marlon was quick to get his hug though he was lingering, his small hands rubbing your back, giving Jermaine a look. "We're just saying goodnight, man! Dang!" Marlon complained, holding his hands up as Jermaine practically shoved him out the door but he still lingered in the doorway.
It took another ten minutes of laughing, and shooing, and extra hugs from them all, including La Toya, and Tito, and Jackie before the room finally cleared out. Katherine’s voice could be heard from down the hall, calling the little ones to bed, which finally broke up the party. Jermaine was the last one left. He stood by the edge of your bed, looking at you with those big, apologetic brown eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. "They got no boundaries. I swear they act like they never seen a girl before."
"It's okay, Jermaine," you smiled, climbing into the big bed and pulling the covers up. "It’s sweet. You got a beautiful family."
"Yeah. They alright," he chuckled, leaning down to plant a quick, gentle kiss on your cheek. "Get some sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."
Oh, but by midnight, you were still wide awake.
The house was dead silent now, save for the distant sound of the wind rustling the trees outside. You turned over on your side, staring at the unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling. This wasn't your room. It didn't smell like your house, and the bed was way bigger than yours back in Vegas. Your brain just refused to shut off.
Sighing, you reached over and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets. You pulled a book out of your bag and started flipping through the pages, trying to force your eyes to get heavy.
The sound of the door handle turning was so quiet you almost missed it. Your head snapped up, your heart doing a quick, nervous stutter in your chest.
The door cracked open, and a tall shadow slipped into the room. It was Jermaine. He had changed into a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a plain white tee, his hair a little messy from laying down. He closed the door behind him carefully, making sure the door didn't snap loud.
He turned around and paused when he saw you sitting up with your book.
You raised one eyebrow, putting your hands on top of the book, giving him a look that spoke volumes. You glanced at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock: 12:14 AM, then looked right back at him.
"Jermaine," you whispered, your voice a hushed, teasing scold. "What are you doing here?"
Jermaine offered a sheepish grin, treading softly across the carpet until he reached the side of your bed. He didn't sit down immediately; he just stood there, looking down at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"I just...I wanted to check on you," he whispered back. "Make sure you were comfortable."
"Uh huh," you smirked, closing your book and setting it on the nightstand. "At midnight, though? You couldn't check on me at seven AM?"
"Nah," he murmured, finally sitting down on the very edge of the mattress. The weight of him made the bed dip, bringing him closer to you. "I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about you being right down the hall. It’s crazy having you in my house."
You shifted under the covers, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them, making the covers slide down to your feet. The golden lamplight caught the edges of his jawline, making him look entirely too handsome for this hour of the night.
"It's a little crazy for me too," you admitted softly. "Your house is huge. And your siblings...man, they are a trip."
"Tell me about it," Jermaine grumbled, a small smile playing on his lips. "Which one was bothering you the most? Let me guess...Marlon?"
You let out a tiny, hushed giggle, covering your mouth so the sound wouldn't carry through the quiet hallway. "Actually, yeah. I think Marlon might have a little bit of a crush on me, Jermaine. The way he was looking at me at dinner? And he kept trying to flirt with me during dessert."
Jermaine rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck, crossing his big arms over his chest. He let out a low puff of air through his nose.
"Marlon wishes," Jermaine muttered, his voice suddenly thick with attitude. "Don't pay him no mind. He’s just a flirt. Besides, he knows better than to try and move on something that’s mine."
You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at that last word. Mine. You bit your lower lip, looking up at him through your lashes. "Oh, so I'm yours now? I don't remember agreeing to that, Mr. Jackson."
Jermaine leaned in closer, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. The playful jealousy in his eyes melted into something much warmer. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently sliding over your ankle through the material of your pajamas.
"You agreed the second you gave me that gum wrapper, beautiful," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips before rising back to your eyes. "And you definitely agreed when you kissed me on the sidewalk in Vegas. I ain't forgot about that."
"I’m pretty sure you almost tripped over the curb right after," you reminded him, your voice barely a breath.
"Because you had me dizzy," he murmured, his thumb starting to trace slow, soothing circles against your skin. "Still do, honesty."
You felt that familiar, thrilling flutter in the pit of your stomach. The shyness was completely gone, melted away because it was midnight, and it was quiet, and you were alone, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only person left in the world.
Slowly, you uncurled your legs. You shifted forward on the mattress, your pajamas rustling softly against the sheets until you were sitting right in front of him on your knees.
Jermaine’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes tracking your movement.
You leaned in close, your eyes dropping to the center of his face, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right on the tip of his cute nose.
Jermaine let out a low, shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut. Taking advantage of his compliance, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling the solid, warm muscle beneath his plain white tee, and wrapped your arms securely around his neck. You shifted your weight, leaning into him as you moved your lips from his nose to his cheek. You pressed your mouth against his smooth brown skin, letting the kiss linger there, breathing in the scent of his clean skin.
He groaned softly, his hands automatically coming up to find your waist, his grip firm but incredibly gentle, but not pulling you against him.
When you finally pulled back just a fraction, his eyes slowly blinked open, completely filled with affection. You didn't give him time to speak. You tilted your head and pressed your lips directly to his.
This wasn't like the quick, shy peck on the sidewalk back in Las Vegas nor was it the hesitant kiss from his bed. This was a slow, and sweet kiss. His lips were impossibly soft, parting slightly as he tasted you, his hands smoothing down the fabric of your pajamas, anchoring you to him. You squeezed your eyes shut, completely losing yourself in the warmth of him, your fingers tangling into the thick, soft hair at the back of his neck.
Jermaine’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you just a little bit closer but not into his lap. He deepened the kiss, his lips pressing harder against yours, and then he smoothly tried to introduce his tongue, wanting to take the kiss to a whole different level.
The sudden heat of it caught you entirely off guard. Your eyes snapped open, and you instinctively pulled your head back, your lips parting from his with a soft, breathy sound, the tiniest bit of slick following before breaking off.
You didn't pull away completely, your arms were still looped around his neck, and your faces were just inches apart, but you stopped him right in his tracks.
Neither of you said a single word. The silence in the room returned, twice as loud as before. Jermaine opened his eyes, looking a little startled, his face burning underneath his skin. He bit his lower lip, a nervous expression crossing his face as he realized he might have moved just a little too fast for the guest room at midnight. He looked at you like he was silently apologizing, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction.
You just stared at him for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, a tiny, amused smile breaking through your surprise. You weren't mad; you were just teasing him.
Before he could spiral into his own head and start stammering out an apology, you pulled his neck back down.
You pressed your lips back to his, but the energy was completely different. The initial rush eased into something much more comfortable, a slow, synchronized rhythm that felt natural and easy. There was no rush, no pressure, just the two of you figuring each other out in the quiet room. Your tongue brushed against his this time, but it was gentle, a sweet, exploratory stroke that made your toes curl. He tasted like the sweet mint from brushing his teeth earlier, and you let out a soft sigh into his mouth, melting like butter in his arms.
The kiss went on for what felt like hours, a beautiful, lazy loop of warmth.
Slowly, your lips drifted away from his mouth. You trailed your kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, making him tilt his head back with a sharp inhale. You moved lower, pressing soft, warm kisses down the side of his neck, right where his pulse was jumping erratically against his skin.
Jermaine let out a ragged breath, his head dropping back, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Baby...you're gonna be the death of me," he whispered into the quiet room, his voice completely wrecked.
You only smiled against his neck.
Jermaine hadn’t gone back to his room. Instead, he had stayed right there, shifting under the covers to pull you against his chest.
Right now, he was asleep, his breathing slow, deep, and steady against the back of your neck. One of his large, heavy arms was wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, while his chin was tucked right in your hair. You were completely tangled up in him, your legs intertwined under the sheets. It felt incredibly natural, like you’d been waking up next to him for years instead of just meeting him a few weeks ago.
The quiet of the morning didn't last long. The door handle turned, and the door swung open with absolutely zero warning.
"Alright, lover boy, wrap it up. Time to get to work."
Jackie’s voice boomed through the quiet room like a megaphone. He was standing right in the doorway, fully dressed, rocking a pair of pants and a nice simple shirt, a smirk plastered all over his face. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as his eyes locked onto the two of you tangled up in the bed.
Jermaine stirred instantly. His grip on your waist tightened automatically, a low, frustrated groan rumbling deep in his chest. He buried his face further into your hair, trying to block out his brother’s voice. "Man...Jackie, get the heck out of here," Jermaine muttered, his voice thick, and completely heavy with sleep. "Knock, man. Have some respect."
Jackie just let out a loud snort, completely unbothered. "Respect? In this house? You know better than that. Joseph is already downstairs, and the van is getting loaded up. Mama said breakfast is on the table right now, and you got exactly an hour to get your tail downstairs before we leave for rehearsal. Don't make us late, Jermaine."
You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness of the room, your cheeks burning hot underneath. You tried to pull the comforter up over your face, completely mortified that his oldest brother had just caught you guys cuddling. "Morning, Jackie," you mumbled shyly from beneath the sheets.
"Morning, beautiful," Jackie smiled, his tone softening out of respect for you, though the teasing glint never left his eyes. He pointed a finger at Jermaine’s shoulder. "Up. Now. I’m not playing with you, Maine."
With that, Jackie finally stepped back and clicked the door shut.
The second the door closed, Jermaine let out a long, dramatic sigh, letting his forehead drop against your shoulder. "Christ," he grumbled, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips, squeezing gently. "I swear he times it just to mess with me."
You chuckled, turning around in his arms so you were facing him. His hair was a beautifully messy afro, his brown eyes still half closed and sleepy, looking so soft and handsome it made your heart ache. "Come on, Maine," you teased, "You heard your brother. Go get ready for rehearsal."
A half hour later, the dining room was loud, filled with the clinking of silverware, the smell of sizzling bacon, grits, and biscuits, and the chatter of the Jackson siblings.
You were sitting at the long table, quietly eating your breakfast, trying to keep a low profile. Joseph had already eaten and left the room, which made the atmosphere a lot lighter, but you were still a little shy surrounded by them. Jermaine was sitting right next to you, his thigh pressed against yours under the table for reassurance, though he was mostly focused on inhaling his eggs so he wouldn't get chewed out for being late.
La Toya was sitting across from you sipping her orange juice. She had been watching you with a sweet smile, and as the chatter around the table died down for a second, she leaned forward.
"Hey," La Toya said, her voice gentle. "Me and Janet were thinking about getting in the pool later on this afternoon, once the sun hits the backyard. You should come get in with us. It’s gonna be so hot today."
Little Janet, who was sitting next to her mama with a mouth full of biscuit, vigorously nodded her head, her eyes wide. "Yeah! Come swim!"
You paused, setting your fork down, looking a little embarrassed. You offered a small, apologetic smile. "Oh...thank you, La Toya, that sounds so nice. But I can't. I didn't even bring a bathing suit with me. Honestly, when Jermaine asked me to come to California, I was so rushed trying to pack and get permission from my parents, I didn't even think about the fact that y'all had a pool."
La Toya instantly giggled, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, girl, don't worry about a bathing suit. You can just put on some casual clothes- like some old shorts and a tank top or a t shirt. We do it all the time, it's no big deal at all. Just come hang out."
Before you could answer, Katherine Jackson walked into the dining room from the kitchen, holding a pitcher of oj. She caught the end of the conversation and set the pitcher down on the table, her warm eyes settling on you with nothing but kindness.
"Don't you worry about that for one second, sweetheart," Katherine said as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you want a proper suit, I can easily take you out to the shop down the street later this morning, or I'll just send one of the bodyguards to go pick you up a nice one in your size."
You looked up at Mrs. Jackson, completely touched by how welcoming she was. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Jackson. You really don't have to go through the trouble, though. The shorts and a tee sound perfect."
That’s how you found yourself, like, three hours later, completely submerged in the cool, crystal clear water of the Hayvenhurst pool, floating on your back while the bright California sun beat down on your skin.
You had a proper swimsuit on, too. Katherine had put her foot down about the whole "swimming in casual clothes" idea. About an hour after breakfast, a huge security guard named Big Dan had arrived at the front gate to start his shift. Katherine immediately pulled him aside and asked him to run to the boutique down the street to grab a swimsuit for you.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Jackson, please," you had insisted, stepping forward with your hands raised. "I’ll go with him real quick, just so I can pick out the right fit."
The second you said that, Janet’s ears perked up like a little puppy. "I wanna go!" she gasped, dropping her coloring book onto the coffee table.
La Toya took one look at Janet’s face, then looked at you, and let out her soft, high pitched giggle. "Well, if you guys are going, I’m definitely coming. I need to get some stuff anyway."
What was supposed to be a quick, five minute errand turned into a whole chaotic, hilarious production. Big Dan looked so out of place driving a luxury station wagon filled with three laughing girls, looking through the rearview mirror every two seconds like he was concerned. When you all got to the boutique Janet kept running up to you, grabbing adult sized sun hats three times bigger than her head, putting them on, and asking, "Do I look pretty? Do I look like a star?"
La Toya was holding up these tiny, brightly colored two piece bikinis, whispering, "Get this one. Jermaine’s jaw is gonna drop right off his face."
You gave her a look, shaking your head.
You ended up picking out a nice yellow two piece that complemented your skin- cut just high enough on the hips to be flattering, but modest enough that you wouldn't feel awkward around Joseph if he randomly walked past the backyard. Janet approved it by giving you a big thumbs up, and La Toya bought you a matching pair of oversized sunglasses just because she thought you looked fabulous.
Now, back at the pool, the water felt like heaven.
"Watch this!" Janet squealed from the shallow end. She took a deep breath, pinched her little nose, and ducked her head under the water for all of three seconds before bursting back up, splashing water everywhere. "Did you see me?! I stayed under for an hour!"
"An hour?" you laughed, wiping the pool water from your eyes as you swam over to her. "Felt more like three seconds to me, little lady!"
"Was not! It was an hour!" she giggled, splashing you right in the face.
You spent the next forty five minutes completely splashing around with her and La Toya. You played marco polo, helped Janet practice her kicking, and just floated around talking girl talk with La Toya on the edge of the pool deck. They were just so normal.
You didn't really know how to put it into words. When you thought about "The Jackson 5," you thought about screaming television crowds, bright flashing lights, bell bottoms, and unapproachable superstars. But sitting here in the backyard, watching La Toya dry her hair with a towel and watching Janet, who was busy using a plastic cup to pour pool water all over a ladybug that had the misfortune of landing on the edge of the cement, you realized they were just a regular, sweet, Black family that happened to be ridiculously talented. It made you feel so comfortable, like you were right at home.
"Don't drown the little bug, Janet," La Toya said gently.
"I'm giving him a bath!" Janet protested as she dumped another cup of water down.
You swam over to the deep end ledge, resting your elbows on the smooth tile, kicking your feet lazily behind you. You pulled the wet hair back from your face, wiping a stray drop of water from your eye, and looked over at La Toya.
"I gotta be real with you," you said, resting your chin on your hands. "Before I came out here, I was lowkey terrified. I thought everybody in this house was gonna be all stiff and Hollywood, expecting me to act a certain way or whatever."
La Toya let out a soft laugh. "Stiff? With all these boys running around here? There’s no room for anybody to be stiff." She sat back a little, leaning back on her hands. "Besides, we were all excited to meet you. Jermaine hasn't shut up about you since that trip to Vegas."
You blushed a little, feeling that warm flutter in your chest again. "Really?"
"Oh, please. Don't let him play you coy," La Toya giggled, shaking her head. "That boy has been floating around here like he lost his mind. It’s funny, too, because Jermaine usually thinks he’s the smoothest thing walking on two feet. You know how he is– all that hair, that little smirk, always talking about his music. He usually has all the ladies swooning and running behind him, trying to get his attention."
You raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on your lips. "Oh, so he's a player, huh?"
"Well..." La Toya fanned herself with her hand, leaning in like she was telling a big secret. "...he likes to think he is. But the second he got back from Vegas, all that slick stuff went right out the window. He was practically pacing the floor waiting for a perfect time to call, yelling at Randy every time he picked up the house phone! Then he wants to act all shy, and quiet, and sweet around you, like he’s a little church boy who doesn't know what to say."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I guess he thought telling you he had all those fans would make him look big and important, but then he turns right around and acts like a softie the minute you actually look at him. It’s hilarious to watch. We’ve never seen him act like that with anybody."
You chuckled, feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction. "Good to know. I’ll make sure to keep him on his toes then."
"Please do," La Toya smiled warmly. "He needs it."
While you guys were out by the pool, you could hear the distant, heavy thumping of bass reverberating through the thick walls of the house. You’d assumed when Joseph said they had "rehearsal" that they flew out to some massive, soundproof studio in downtown Los Angeles with engineers and executives running around. But nope. They were literally just down in the living room.
They had cleared out the furniture, set up their equipment , and microphones, and were running through their vocal harmonies until the walls literally shook. Every now and then, between pool splashes, you could hear Michael’s high, clear voice cutting through the air, followed by Jackie yelling out a count: "One, two, three, go!"
Around one oclock, the side door that led to the patio creaked open, and Mrs. Jackson walked out into the shade of the overhang. She was holding a massive plastic tray stacked high with thick triangular sandwiches, wrapped neatly in wax paper, alongside a huge pitcher of ice cold lemonade with sweating plastic cups.
"Alright, girls, time to get out of that water for a little bit!" Mrs. Jackson called out, her voice sweet but firm. "Come on and eat before the sun bakes you completely. And make sure you dry off real good before you sit on those chairs!"
"Yay, food!" Janet cheered, instantly abandoning her soaked ladybug and scrambling out of the shallow end like a little dog, shaking water everywhere.
"Janet, don't run too fast or you’ll fall!" Mrs. Jackson scolded gently, handing her a big fluffy towel. She looked over at you with that motherly warmth that just made you feel completely safe. "How’s the water, sweetheart? Is the suit fitting you alright?"
"It’s perfect, Mrs. Jackson," you said, climbing up the ladder and wrapping your towel around your waist. "Thank you so much. Really."
"Oh, it's no trouble at all, child," she smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. She turned toward the side of the house where the living was located, took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs; "BOYS! FOOD'S READY! COME GET IT BEFORE THESE SANDWICHES WARM!"
The response was instant. The loud bass cut out mid riff with a sharp screech.
Within three seconds, the herd arrived.
Jermaine was practically sprinting. His forehead glistening with a light sheen of sweat from singing and playing under the living room lights. All of that coolness completely evaporated the second he saw the tray of food.
"Man, I am starving!" Jermaine announced, stepping right up to the patio table, his big hands reaching straight for the biggest sandwich on the tray. He was greedy as hell, completely locked in on the food like he hadn't eaten in a week.
"Unt unt," Katherine said, lightly tapping his hand away. "Hands off that one, Jermaine. That one’s got mayonnaise on it. Yours is right over here on the side with the mustard, just how you like it; don't go grabbing blindly just cause you're hungry."
"Thanks, Mama," Jermaine mumbled, reaching for the correct plate, his mouth practically watering.
He lifted the sandwich toward his mouth, ready to take a massive bite before his eyes swept across the patio deck and landed squarely on you.
You were standing by the edge of the pool deck, pulling your wet hair back over one shoulder with one hand and the other holding your plate. The bright yellow two piece swimsuit fit you like it was custom made, highlighting your smooth brown skin, the slope of your waist, and your long legs, with just a hint of water glistening off your shoulders under the California sun.
Jermaine froze.
Literally froze mid motion. The sandwich was about two inches away from his face. His jaw subtly dropped, his big brown eyes widening as he took you in from head to toe. The greedy ass, hungry boy who had just sprinted out of the house completely vanished, replaced instantly by a man who looked like he’d just been hit over the head with a brick for the second time this month.
He completely forgot to eat. Entirely. He just stood there, holding his mustard sandwich in mid air, staring at you like you were a vision.
Jackie wiping his face with a towel, Tito grabbing a cup of lemonade, Marlon stretching his arms, and Michael was staring too as he took a sip from his cup. It took them all of two seconds to notice Jermaine malfunctioning.
Marlon stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Jermaine, then looking at you, and a massive grin spread across his face.
"Yo," Marlon whispered loudly, nudging Jackie with his elbow. "Look at the statue over here. I think his battery ran out."
Jackie looked over, let out a loud snort, and slammed his hand against Tito’s shoulder. "Man– Jermaine, if you don't put that sandwich in your mouth or put it down; lookin like a whole fool standing there drooling.”
Michael giggled, covering his mouth as he sat his cup of juice down. "His eyes are gonna fall out of his head!"
Jermaine snapped out of his trance, his face instantly twisting up. He quickly lowered the sandwich, clearing his throat awkwardly, trying his absolute best to recover. He adjusted his stance, though his hands were slightly shaking as he set the plate back down on the table.
"Shut up," Jermaine grumbled, his voice cracking just a tiny bit, making his brothers erupt into even louder laughter. He crossed his arms, glaring at Marlon. "I was just...I was just taking a breath. Mind your business."
You couldn't help the huge, glowing smile that broke across your face. Remembering what La Toya had just told you about him acting all shy and soft, you decided to lean into it. You took a slow step toward the table, sitting your plate down, tilting your head, resting one hand on your hip as you looked right at him.
"Hey, Jermaine," you said, your voice all smooth, and sweet, and playful. "How was practice?"
Jermaine looked directly at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The boy who could sing in front of thousands of screaming fans suddenly looked like he was trying to remember how the English language worked.
"It...it was good," he stammered out, his voice dropping into that quiet tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, his eyes darting down to your yellow swimsuit and then right back up to your face, a completely smitten, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Practice was...real good. You, uh...you look real nice."
"Oh, brother," Jackie groaned, throwing his head back. "Look at him– the man is paralyzed,”
"Gag me," Tito joked, taking a big bite of his sandwich. "He lost all his game in Las Vegas and never got it back." He mumbled shaking his head.
"Please, shut up," Jermaine snapped at them, though he couldn't even keep a straight face because he was looking back at you. He stepped away from his laughing brothers, walking closer to where you were standing by the edge of the shade, completely ignoring his food now.
He stood right in front of you, looking down at you with those soft, big eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets. All the bravado was gone, leaving just the boy who was hopelessly, completely crazy about you.
"You really do look beautiful," he whispered softly, so only you could hear it over the noise of his family. "For real."
You bit your lower lip, stepping just an inch closer to him, smelling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh sweat from his rehearsal. "Thank you," you murmured back, your eyes sparkling. "You gonna eat your mustard sandwich, or are you just gonna stand here staring at me all day?"
Jermaine let out a low, sweet laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at his feet, his heart practically beating out of his chest. "Honestly? I think I'd rather just stand here and stare at you."
And that is exactly what ended up happening; Jermaine didn’t even touch that mustard sandwich for another twenty minutes. He was too busy hovering near you while you sat and ate. Jermaine offered to hold your lemonade, and Jackie shook his head like a disappointed father, but Jermaine didn't give a single damn, a dopey smile stuck on his face.
Once everybody finally finished eating and the plates were cleared, La Toya took Janet and Randy inside to get them cleaned up from the pool and settled down. Michael and Marlon vanished somewhere into the house to mess around with their record collection, their loud laughing fading up the stairs. That left you, Jermaine, Tito, and Jackie kicking around the shaded patio.
"Alright, look," Jermaine said, lowkey trying to reclaim his cool guy demeanor now that he was dressed in a dry shirt and some shorts. "I'm about to show you how to play real pool. Not that amateur stuff you play back in Nevada."
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your yellow swimsuit cover up. "Oh, so now you're a pool shark? Last night you were an expert roller skater, and look how that turned out for my head."
Tito nearly choked on his cup of ice water, letting out a laugh. "I cannot lie, she got you, Jermaine," he admitted, shaking his head.
"Man, leave my past mistakes in the past," Jermaine grumbled, the skin behind his cheeks burning, though he couldn't hide the grin twitching at the corner of his lips. He grabbed your hand, his large, warm fingers weaving effortlessly through yours, pulling you toward the double doors that led into the game room. "Come on. Let me beat you in eight ball real quick so I can get my respect back."
The game room had a massive felt topped pool table sitting right in the center under a stained glass hanging lamp, a jukebox tucked in the corner, and walls lined with framed gold records and posters.
Jermaine walked over to the cue rack, picking out two wooden sticks. He checked the straightness of one, rolling it along his palm, before handing the lighter one to you.
"Alright," he said, stepping up close behind you as you walked up to the green felt table. "You ever played before?"
"A little bit," you lied softly, biting your lip to keep from smiling. Truth was, your uncle had an old slate table in his basement back in Vegas, and you’d spent half your childhood hustling your cousins out of their pocket change. But watching Jermaine try to play the protective teacher was entirely too cute to interrupt just yet.
"Okay, so look," Jermaine whispered, his chest pressing lightly against your back as he reached around you to adjust your hands on the cue stick. His chin was resting right near your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps straight down your spine. "You gotta form a bridge with your left hand. Like this. Keep your fingers flat...yeah, just like that, beautiful. Now slide the stick back slow..."
He was so busy trying to smell your hair and act smooth that he wasn't even looking at the balls lined up in the rack.
You took a deep breath, adjusted your grip just a fraction, and lined up the cue ball. With one swift stroke, you pulled your hand back and struck the white ball dead center.
The break was loud and perfectly executed. The balls scattered across the green felt like marbles, two solid colors instantly dropping into the corner and side pockets with a satisfying thump.
Jermaine blinked, stepping back instantly, his jaw dropping open for the second time that day.
Tito, who was sitting on a high stool in the corner chalking up a cue stick, let out a loud whistle. "Lord have mercy! Jermaine, she set you up!"
Oh, you loved Tito.
He just kept going. "Man, she played you like a cheap fiddle! You out here trying to teach her, and she’s out here breaking like a whole professional.”
You turned around slowly, resting the pool cue against your hip. You looked Jermaine up and down with a sweet, innocent expression. "So...what were you saying about forming a bridge with my fingers, superstar?"
Jermaine stood there, looking from the pockets back to your face, somewhat flabbergasted. But instead of getting mad, that big, gorgeous, helpless smile broke out across his face. He shook his head, laughing softly to himself.
"You are something else, you know that?" he murmured. "You really are something else."
He reached out, catching you by the waist, pulling you in close before you could line up your next shot. You giggled, pressing your hands against his chest, but he didn't care. He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss right against your lips, completely unbothered by Tito making gagging noises from the corner stool.
"Aye! No kissing the opponent!" Jackie yelled, tossing a piece of chalk at Jermaine’s back. "Play the game!"
"Shut up, Jackie," Jermaine laughed against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, his hands resting soft on your waist. "She’s running the table anyway. I’m just trying to get my consolation prize."
You ended up beating Jermaine two games out of three, though he managed to sink a crazy bank shot in the second game just to save a little bit of his pride. You guys played music on the jukebox, danced a little bit in the tight space between the pool table and the leather sofa, and drank cold sodas while Tito and Jackie argued over who was up next.
It felt like a dream to you. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt, completely wrapped up in Jermaine's easy warmth and the playful, loud energy of his brothers that you didn’t hear the heavy wooden door opening, and Joseph Jackson walking in.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the easygoing laughter vanished into thin air. Jackie stopped mid sentence. Tito quietly set his pool cue back into the wooden wall rack. Jermaine’s hand, which had been resting casually over your shoulder as you sat together on the sofa, slowly slid back to his side, his body tensing up instantly.
Joseph didn't look at Jermaine. He didn't look at Tito or Jackie. His sharp eyes swung directly onto you.
It was the same look from yesterday that made the room feel twenty degrees colder. He looked at your bare shoulders, your bare legs hanging over the edge of the sofa, and the way you were sitting so close to his son.
"Jermaine," Joseph’s voice echoed.
"Yeah, Joseph?" Jermaine answered quickly, sitting up straighter. His voice sounded different, smaller in a way, more guarded, completely stripped of that confident, flirtatious tone he’d been using all afternoon.
"You got time to be messing around in here playing games?" Joseph asked, his eyes still lingering on you with a look of disdain, like you were nothing more than a distraction taking his boy's mind off business. "The tape deck in the studio needs resetting, and you haven't finished going over those basslines for the new track. Y’all already know rehearsal tomorrow starts at six in the morning. I don't pay for studio time so you can sit around doting on company."
The way he said company, like it was a slur, like you were an unwanted stray cat that had wandered in from the street, stung like a slap across the face.
You felt your throat tighten, your hands pulling the edges of your cover up tighter around your lap. None of the brothers said a word to defend themselves let alone you. Jackie stared down at his shoes. Tito literally turned his back to look at the wall. They were terrified of him, and the control he had over the room was terrifying.
Jermaine swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white where his hands gripped his knees. He looked over at you, his eyes filled with a sudden embarrassment, clearly hating the way his father was looking at you and talking about you right in your face.
"I'll get to it, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly, his head lowered slightly. "We were just finishing up."
Joseph gave you one final look, a look that plainly said you don't belong here, before turning and walking out, slamming the door behind him.
The silence left in his wake was deafening.
Jackie let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm...I'm gonna go upstairs," he muttered softly, stepping past the pool table without looking at anyone. Tito just gave Jermaine a sympathetic, quiet pat on the shoulder, and nodding at you before following Jackie out, closing the door softly behind them.
You were left sitting on the leather sofa, your heart pounding against your ribs, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life. You looked down at your hands, your throat burning with unshed tears of…embarrassment? Hell, you didn’t even know why you were crying–
"Hey..."
Jermaine’s voice was barely a whisper. He shifted on the couch, sliding closer to you, his large hands gently reaching out to take yours. They were warm, but they were trembling just a little bit.
"Look at me...please?" he begged softly.
You slowly lifted your head, biting your inner cheek to keep your lip from trembling.
Jermaine looked completely broken. His brown eyes were swimming with guilt, searching your face desperately. He reached up with one hand, his thumb softly brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with such gentleness it made a tear slip past your lash line despite your best efforts.
"I am so sorry," Jermaine breathed, his voice cracking without his permission. "I am so, so sorry for how he just looked at you. For how he talked. You don't deserve that; you don't deserve that at all."
"Jermaine, it's fine," you whispered, trying to pull back a little, feeling awkward. "He's your dad, I get it–"
"No, it's not fine," Jermaine cut you off firmly, his grip on your hands tightening, pulling you closer until his forehead leaned on your shoulder. "It's not fine at all. He acts like that with everybody, but he had no right to treat you like you're nobody. You are everything to me right now. You hear me? Everything."
The intensity in his voice made your heart stop for a beat.
"He doesn't see what I see," Jermaine whispered, his thumb catching that lone tear and wiping it away tenderly. "He just sees work and records and money. But I see you. I see how good you are to my family, and how smart you are, and how beautiful you are...how sweet you are to me even when I’m being an idiot."
You looked at him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes.
"He ain't gonna ruin this," Jermaine promised. "I won't let him. I don't care what he says."
A tiny smile broke through your sadness, and you let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against his chest. "You really mean that?"
"On everything I got," Jermaine murmured, wrapping his broad arms around you, burying his face into the side of your neck, holding you so tight like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. "I mean every word."
You gently pushed against his chest, pulling back just enough so you could look him in the eyes. He looked exhausted.
"Hey," you whispered, your fingers lightly tracing the soft line of his cheekbone. "It’s getting real late...and we should probably head to bed anyways. I got that early flight back to Vegas tomorrow, remember?"
The second the words left your mouth, Jermaine’s whole body went completely stiff.
It was like somebody had just sucked all the air right out of his lungs. His lower lip twitched, a tiny, frustrated crease forming right between his eyebrows. He didn't let go of your hands, though. If anything, his fingers tightened around yours, holding on like you were about to slip straight through the floorboards.
"Tomorrow?" Jermaine echoed, his voice dropping into a tone that sounded completely wrecked. "Man...don't say it like that. Don't remind me."
"Jermaine, I have to," you said softly, offering him a sad, small smile. "My daddy barely let me come out here for the weekend as it is. If I miss that plane tomorrow morning, he’s gonna drive all the way to California himself and drag me back by my hair."
Jermaine looked away, staring down at the dark green felt of the pool table like it had offended him personally. He let out a long, heavy exhale through his nose, his shoulders slumping.
"It went too fast," he grumbled softly, his thumb tracing nervous, restless circles over the back of your hand. "It feels like you just got here. I didn't even get to take you nowhere real nice. We just stayed in the house..." he frowned.
"Jermaine, stop," you said, reaching up with your free hand to gently cup his chin, forcing him to look back at you. "I had the best time. Seriously. I got to swim, I got to kick your butt in eight ball, I got to hang out with your mama and your sisters...and I got to be with you. I don't care about going nowhere fancy. This was perfect."
Jermaine looked into your eyes, searching your face like he was trying to memorize every single detail. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.
"I don't want you to go," he admitted, his voice barely louder than a whisper, completely raw and honest. "I don't."
"I know," you whispered back, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek. "I don't want to go either. But I have to. Come on...let's get out of this room."
You both stood up from the leather sofa. Jermaine kept one arm draped securely around your waist as you walked out of the game room.
When you finally reached the door of the guest room, you stopped and turned around to face him. You stepped out of his grip, resting your back against the cool wood of the doorframe, looking up at him. He stood there in the quiet hallway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts, looking down at you with those big, puppy dog brown eyes that were driving you completely crazy.
"Well..." you murmured, biting your lip. "goodnight, Jermaine."
Jermaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at the carpet, then back up at you. The quiet stretched out between you two, sweet and heavy.
"Hey..." Jermaine started, his voice cracking just a little bit. He took a step closer, closing the distance until he was standing right in your personal space, his chest almost touching yours. He reached out, his fingers lightly pulling at the ribbon of your cover up, his eyes swimming with hesitation. “Uh…”
"...you want me to sleep in here with you again tonight?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours desperately. "Just...so I can like…hold you? So we don't gotta waste the last few hours sleeping in different rooms?"
The vulnerability in his voice made your heart melt right into your chest. He looked so hopeful, so sweet, standing there asking for permission.
You looked up at his cute nose, his soft lips, and the messy afro framing his handsome face. A soft, warm smile broke across your lips, and you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him gently toward the open doorway.
"I thought you'd never ask," you whispered.
Jermaine’s entire face lit up with that beautiful grin, all the tension leaving his shoulders in an instant. He slipped into the room behind you, shutting the door, making sure the lock didn't make a single peep.
You both washed up quickly in the adjoining bathroom, stripping down into comfortable clothes. You slipped into your soft satin pajamas, and Jermaine pulled on a t shirt and his comfortable sweatpants.
The moment the bedside lamp clicked off, plunging the room into the soft, blue toned darkness, Jermaine didn't hesitate for a single second.
He climbed into the big bed, sliding under the heavy comforter, and immediately reached for you. He pulled you right against his chest, his long arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling your back flush against him. He tucked his face right into the crook of your neck, his warm, steady breath fluttering against your skin, sending a sweet wave of shyness through you.
"Mmm...much better," Jermaine mumbled into your skin.
You let out a soft, contented sigh, intertwining your fingers with his where his hand rested over your stomach.
"Jermaine?" you whispered into the quiet room.
"Yeah, beautiful?" he murmured, his lips pressing a lazy, sweet kiss right against the side of your neck.
"You better call me the second I land back in Vegas."
Jermaine let out a low, sweet chuckle, his chest vibrating against your back. He squeezed you just a little bit tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck.
"Girl, I'm gonna be staring at that house phone until it rings," he whispered softly, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your hip. "You ain't gotta worry about that. Now get some sleep...I got you."
And right there, wrapped up in his arms in the middle of Encino, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heart beating against your back, you finally closed your eyes and drifted off into the sweetest sleep you’d had all week.
I wanna start writing but I’m dyslexic, and I don’t want to write bad, or anything that is confusing to read 😔. Like I swear I have so many scenario that I wanna write about.
“You’re never ready, Mar,” you say while packing your suitcase.
“Then maybe we should just take her with us,” he suggests.
“We are not taking our baby to Paris with us,” you refuse.
“It’ll be so much fun!” Marlon pushes.
“Marlon!” you scold.
“It would be!” he adds.
“We’re not doing that. Jermaine and Michael offered to watch her and that’s that,” you say.
“Do I even get a say?” Marlon asks, throwing his hands up.
“You know what, sure!” you say. You hold up two dresses. “Which one should I bring to Paris?”
———
“I’m not strong enough,” Marlon complains for the millionth time. You both are currently in the living room of the shared-family home.
Marlon is rocking the baby and himself. An attempt of keeping himself from crying.
“I’m attached,” Marlon adds.
“I can tell,” you roll your eyes and take your baby girl from him.
Michael and Jermaine walk in.
“Look at the baby!” Jermaine says. He walks over to you and looks over your shoulder. “Such a cute baby, how could it be Marlon’s?”
“You got jokes?” Marlon tilts his head.
“We already fed and changed her. If she gets hungry or anything, I have food in the fridge,” you say, cutting them off. “If you run out, just go to the store,”
“We got this, Y/N,” Michael reassures. He boops the baby’s nose to wake her up.
“No, they don’t,” Marlon whines, his hands tangle up in his hair.
“I’m extremely experienced with babies,” Jermaine says. “Trust me, your kid is in good hands.”
“She’s screwed,” Marlon covers his face.
“Mar!” you say. Your baby starts to squirm in your hold. “She’s waking up,” you whisper. You hand her off to Michael who’s quick to support the babies neck and head.
“Alright, you two can go,” Michael says. You giggle and start to walk away but Marlon is still on the couch.
“Marlon,” you say.
No response.
“Marlon,” you try again. Still no response.
“Do you not hear your lady calling you?” Jermaine asks.
“I can’t do this,” Marlon says.
“Stop with the mid-life crisis!” you groan. “We’re going, NOW,”
Marlon jumps at your “now” and hops up.
“Fine! But if there is even a scratch on my baby!” Marlon threatens.
“You’ll do what?” you turn and stare at him. “We deserve this, babe, it’s a weekend in Paris,”
He mumbles something under his breath as you guys exit the house. Once the sound of your voices can no longer be heard, Jermaine turns to Michael.
“I can’t wait to parade this baby around, the girls are gonna love this,” Jermaine says. Your baby’s eyes flutter open and she begins to cry when she realizes that her mother is no longer holding her.
“Maine!” Michael still rocks the baby. “Look what you did!”
