After Hours
Jaafar Jackson x black!fem!reader
Contains: heavy intoxication, cursing, fluff, softdom, aftercare
A/n: Hii guys sorry I haven't been uploading i literally haven't had the motivation to but I'm trying to be more active i swear & THANK YOU @iiiamlalaz FOR THE IDEA
Wc: 1.3k
Jaafar's fingers fly across the screen as he sends another text, his anger rising with each unanswered call. "Where the fuck are you?! I've been calling nonstop, and you ain't even bothering to reply. You better not be out fucking around without telling me."
After about the hundredth text and twenty missed calls, he finally checks her location. When he sees that damn dot at "Echo Lounge," that exclusive club downtown, his jaw tightens. He grabs his keys, still texting her: "Better hope I don't find your ass, 'cause you gon' have a whole ass problem when I do."
He walks into the club, eyes scanning immediately for her. He spots her on the dance floor with her friends—some of them giggling, others whispering. You’re on her third drink at least, the glass tilted dangerously as you laughs at something one of them says.
His jaw clenches as he watches your hips sway, feeling that possessive fire in his chest.
He pushes through the crowd, ignoring the heavy bass vibrating through the floor. When he finally reaches you, his expression is a mix of relief and annoyance.
He grabs your arm firmly but not harshly, turning you to face him. His voice is low and stern over the music.
"Aye, what the actual fuck are you doing out here? I been blowing up your phone for hours." His hand moves to her waist possessively. "You drunk?"
You stumbles slightly in your heels, needing to lean heavily against him just to stay upright. Your lashes flutter as you looks up at him, a lazy, sloppy grin spreading across her face. "Jaaafarrr..." you draw his name out, slurring your words hard. "Why you yelling at me? I'm havin' fun with my girls."
You rolls your eyes playfully, nearly losing your balance and knocking your shoulder into his chest. "You being so dramatic, I swear." You giggles, waving a hand dismissively in his face, missing his nose completely. "I had like... three shots. Or four? Maybe five. I don't even know." You hiccups, blinking your eyes slowly.
He sighs heavily, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you closer to steady you. He leans down to speak directly in your ear so you can hear him over the music and your own slurred words. "Three or four or five shots too many, you're fucked up right now. We're leaving."
"Nooo, I don't wanna leave yet," you whines, trying to pull away but only managing to stumble further into his chest. Your hands grip his shirt, fingers fisting the material. "I'm having fun. My friends are here." You look over your shoulder at them, then back at him,your bottom lip poking out in a drunken pout.
His jaw tightens but you can see the softness in his eyes, the way he's careful not to let you fall even as he's frustrated with you. "I don't give a fuck about your friends right now—you can't even stand on your own legs, ma. Look at you." He catches you before you stumbles backward.
"I am standinggg," I argues stubbornly, grabbing onto his biceps like a lifeline. Her eyes are glossy and half-lidded, obviously completely wasted. "You acting like my daddy or some shit. I'm grown, Jaafar." You pokes his chest, missing twice before actually hitting him. "Let me dance." You tries to wiggle away drunkenly.
He catches her easily before she can actually escape, handling her firmly but with undeniable gentleness. "Nah, you not doing shit. You tripping over your own heels." He strokes her messy hair back, smoothing it down even as she argues. "You too drunk to be acting stubborn. Stop fighting me." He lifts her up easily, tossing her over his shoulder effortlessly.
You lets out a shriek, grabbing onto his back as your world tilts upside down. "Jaaafarrr! Put me down, I'm fine! I can walk!" You kicks her legs lazily against his back but there's no real force behind it—you’re too drunk to put up an actual fight.
He ignores your protests and keeps walking, his hand firmly placed on your ass to keep you in place. He pushes through the club's crowded entrance and steps out into the cool night air. He sets you down gently but keeps a supportive arm around your waist.
"You ain't walking shit."
You wobbles immediately when your feet hit the ground, head spinning from the sudden change in position. You grabs onto his arm tightly, her face pressing into his shoulder as she tries to stabilize herself. "I hate you," you mumbles into his shirt, pouting heavily.
He doesn't even flinch at her words, just guides her toward his car, his hand still firmly on her waist keeping her from toppling over. "Love you too, ma." His tone is dry, mocking. He clicks his car remote open, the lights flashing as he guides her into the passenger seat, bucking her seatbelt in with an exasperated sigh.
You pouts the entire drive home, occasionally mumbling under your breath about how mean he's being. You tries to take her shoes off twice but can't manage the simple task, giving up with a frustrated huff.
By the time they get to the house, you’re half-asleep, head leaned back against the headrest. He kills the engine, coming around to her door and unbuckling her. He lifts her out effortlessly, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. "Come on baby." You just whines burying her face in his neck.
He carries her into the house easily, kicking the door shut behind them. He walks straight to the bedroom, knowing this routine perfectly. He lays her down gently on the massive mattress, immediately pulling off her heels—which she definitely couldn't manage herself. "Stop pouting, I swear." He taps her nose softly. "You're drunk, ma. Stay still."
You make a face at him but stays still as he pulls your shirt off carefully, then her shorts. She's way too drunk to be doing this herself—you’d probably faceplant trying to undress. He leaves you in just your black lace underwear, tossing the other clothes on the floor.
You tries to sit up, reaching for her clothes. "I can do it myself..." But she can barely balance on her elbows, tilting dangerously to the side. He catches her, pushing her gently back down. "Sit yo drunk ass down." He grabs a warm washcloth, beginning to wipe yourr face, neck, and chest where makeup smeared and sweat dried.
You watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, pout softening a bit as he takes care of you. Too drunk to push him away, too far gone to maintain your own stubbornness. You lets out a soft sigh, your hand reaching out to grab his wrist. "You..."
He pauses, looking down at her. Her hand on his wrist is surprisingly gentle, almost innocent. Her drunken state has stripped away her usual tough exterior, leaving only vulnerability. "What, ma?" He asks softly, leaning down a bit closer. The washcloth pauses mid-wipe.
You tries to form words but they come out garbled.
"You... being... mean." You slurs, your thumb rubbing over his wrist. Your eyes are barely open now, eyelashes drooping. As you hiccups softly, your body going limp against the mattress. "Was just... having fun. With my girls. Why you always gotta..."
"Because I worry about your ass." He cuts you off gently, finishing wiping your face and tossing the cloth into the hamper. He pulls the blanket up over you chest, tucking you in securely. "You turn your phone off, don't answer texts, and get wasted. That shit scare me, ma." He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You closes your eyes at the touch, something about the kiss making her chest tight. She's too drunk to process it fully. "You're... annoyin'." She mumbles, but there's no bite in her words. Her grip on his shirt loosens as she settles deeper into the mattress, her body finally relaxing as the alcohol pulls at her consciousness.
He chuckles low in his throat, seeing her fighting a losing battle against sleep. "Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep, princess." He smooths her hair back one last time, watching her eyelids finally flutter shut. She drifts off almost instantly, breathing slowing down. He kicks his shoes off, climbs in next to her, and pulls her sleeping body against his chest.
