೯ warning: smut and explicit language, pet names, voyeurism? no incest ( have to make that so clear omg )
— this was req by anon, they do not wish for their info to be disclosed.
೯ summary: jermajesty and his gf join his nosy brothers on vacation, meaning being intimate got a whole lot harder.
the vacation house was a sprawling modern retreat perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean, all glass walls and open decks. you'd been here three days, and the tension between you and jermajesty had been building like a slow tide. his brothers, jaafar and randy, were good company, always laughing, always teasing, but their presence meant no privacy during the day. at night, everyone retired to their own rooms, but the walls were thin. you'd already had to stifle your moans against his shoulder the first night, biting your lip raw.
tonight, you wanted more. you wanted to be heard, or at least, you wanted the thrill of almost being heard. jermajesty grinned when you whispered the plan in his ear after dinner. "you're a menace," he murmured, his hand sliding down to squeeze your thigh under the table. randy was across the room, scrolling through his phone, while jaafar was in the kitchen.
you excused yourselves to the master suite, claiming exhaustion. the moment the door clicked shut, jermajesty pushed you against it, his mouth hot on your neck. his hands were rough, needy, already tugging at the tie of your shorts. you let out a soft gasp as his fingers found your pussy through the fabric, pressing hard.
"fuck, you're already wet," he growled against your ear.
"been waiting all day," you breathed back, your own hands working to unbuckle his belt. his cock sprang free, thick and hard, and you wrapped your fingers around it, stroking once before he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the bed.
he didn't bother with your shorts, just yanked them down to your knees, then guided his cock to your entrance. no more teasing. he pushed in with a single, deep thrust, and you cried out, the sound loud in the quiet room. he clapped a hand over your mouth, his hips already pounding into you.
"shh, babe, walls are thin," he panted, but his rhythm was brutal, relentless. the slap of his thighs against your ass filled the room. your hands clawed at the duvet as he fucked you, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep inside. you tried to muffle your moans, but they escaped through his fingers, high and breathy.
then you heard it. a door creaking open down the hall. soft footsteps. jermajesty didn't stop, if anything, he fucked you harder, his grip tightening on your hip. the bedroom door wasn't fully closed; a sliver of light from the hallway cut across the floor.
randy's voice, low and rough: "maj? you in there?"
jermajesty grunted, still thrusting. "busy, bro."
but randy didn't leave. the door pushed open wider. you turned your head, face half-buried in the pillows, and saw him leaning against the doorframe. his eyes were wide, fixed on where you and jermajesty were joined.
you moaned louder, deliberately, shamelessly, letting him hear every wet slide, every breathy gasp. jermajesty caught on, his pace quickening. he pulled his hand from your mouth and grabbed your hair instead, pulling your head back.
"yeah, let him hear," he rasped, his voice raw. "let him see how good you take it."
the sight of him watching, pushed you right to the edge. you came with a shuddering cry, your pussy clenching around jermajesty's cock. he followed a second later, burying himself deep, his cum hot and thick inside you. he stayed there, pulsing, while you both caught your breath.
randy finally spoke, his voice strained. "you two are fucking loud." but he didn't leave. he stayed, his hand now gripping his own hard-on through his jeans, his gaze still locked on the wet mess between your thighs.
from the hallway came another voice. jaafar, curious, he called out "what's going on in there?"
randy didn't answer. he just stepped forward, pushing the door fully open.
hiii 😛 can i pls request the offsprings suprising uncle michael with a suprise sleepover and reader gets a little too angry during UNO
i love ur writing and text fics, so totally up to you to write it the way you want <333
Sleepover — The Offsprings
featuring: uncle!michael jackson x the offsprings
summary: the offsprings surprise michael with a sleepover. everything goes to plan until UNO is involved.
contents: twin banter, michael having none of it.
author's note: this cracked me up bye.
When Michael got home and found his nephews and kids—or "The Offsprings," as they called themselves—each carrying an overnight bag, he was the happiest man alive. With everyone's busy schedules, even finding time for dinner together was sometimes complicated, so to Michael, this was something truly special. They had to make the most of it.
They all wanted the same thing: a sleepover, just like when they were kids.
They baked cookies, played darts and billiards, swam in the pool, and ate sandwiches by the water. After everyone had showered, they surprised Michael with matching pajamas covered in pictures of him from every era. The moment he saw them, he almost peed himself laughing.
Everything was fine, until UNO.
He knew better than to have a group of full grown adults play a children's card game.
Everything officially fell apart when Jermajesty slapped down a Skip card.
"Ha! Happy Meal, you're skipped."
"No." Nugget blinked. "The fuck you mean 'no'?" Jermajesty frowned. "I reject it."
"You reject the Skip card?"
"Duh."
"That's not how UNO works."
"It does now."
Jermajesty gasped.
"UNCLE MICHAEL!" Michael didn't even look up from the couch.
"No."
"I didn't even tell you what happened!"
"I don't need to. I know better than to get in between y'all."
Nugget calmly placed another card down.
"My turn."
"THAT IS LITERALLY CHEATING!" Jermajesty lunged across the table.
"Prove it."
"THE RULEBOOK!" he shouted, pointing at nothing. "The rulebook wasn't invited, and I don't know how you managed to get invited." Nugget looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
"I knew we shouldn't have done this." Prince buried his face in his hands.
"So we're just making up rules?" Jermajesty was now standing. "I've been making up rules since we started, cry about it, your majesty." Nugget giggled.
"YOU ADMITTED IT!"
"I did, I ain't no pussy." Nugget shrugged. "Adapt."
"Oh, I'll adapt." Jermajesty immediately stacked three random cards on top of the discard pile. "There, I'm adapting." He pointed to the table. "What are you doing?" Paris asked. "Creating lore," he said in an obvious tone. "That's not lore. That's fraud," Bigi said. "It's advanced UNO."
"You wanna go?" Nugget stood up too, looking at her twin. "I've wanted to go since birth." He rolled up his sleeves.
"You two were born fighting," Randy Jr. muttered. "This is actually on brand."
"Why are you taking her side?" Jermajesty frowned. "I'm not. I'm saying you both came into the world ready to annoy everyone."
The twins ignored him.
Genevieve had completely abandoned the game at this point. She sat back on the couch with a plate of cookies, watching her younger siblings like she had front-row seats to a UFC fight in Las Vegas.
"This is better than sex." Jaafar looked at her strangely. "What kind of sex are you having? Actually, don't answer that." He waved a hand dismissively.
"I have lived with you my WHOLE LIFE." Jermajesty pointed at Nugget. "Well, I'm your twin you dumbass." She rolled her eyes.
"You make me tired."
"You woke up angry."
"I woke up because you were singing."
"I sounded amazing."
"You sounded like an ambulance."
Nugget clutched her chest.
"That was personal."
"It was meant to be."
Michael finally sat up.
"Guys..."
Neither twin acknowledged him.
They kept arguing, each determined to outdo the other's increasingly specific curses. "I hope your pillow is warm on both sides." "I hope your phone charger only works at one specific angle." "I hope your cereal is always slightly soggy." Neither of them seemed interested in winning the argument anymore; they were simply competing to invent the most inconvenient life imaginable for the other.
The entire room went quiet.
"They're weaponizing inconveniences." Prince slowly lowered his hands from his face.
Michael stood up and walked over. "No más." He reached down and took the UNO deck from the table. "I'm confiscating these."
Both twins immediately stopped.
"Give it back." Nugget looked at him as she sat back down. "No." Michael looked back at her. "We weren't done." Jermajesty crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes. Yes you were." Michael nodded.
"No, we were about to settle it."
"How?" Michael raised an eyebrow.
Jermajesty and Nugget looked at each other.
"Rock, paper, scissors." Michael stared at them. "You two are unbelievable."
Before he could walk away, Nugget suddenly narrowed her eyes.
Jermajesty noticed.
"No." He pointed at her. "What?" she asked, innocence in her voice. "That look." He shook his head. "What look?" she asked. "The look you get before you do something stupid." Nugget grinned. "Too late."
She jumped up from her seat and launched herself at him.
The room erupted.
The twins crashed onto the carpet in a mess of matching pajamas, pillows, and laughter.
"GET OFF ME YOU ANKLE BITER!"
"I'm winning!"
"You tackled me!"
"It's called strategy!"
"More like assault. Ow, my ass!"
"You should've seen it coming!"
The twins rolled across the floor, both laughing too hard to actually fight properly.
At first, everyone laughed.
Then Randy Jr. and Jaafar stopped.
Randy immediately stood up.
"Okay, okay, that's enough."
Jaafar was already moving toward them.
"Careful, careful."
Nugget had Jermajesty pinned against the carpet, but it was obvious they were both too busy laughing to actually do anything.
"Nugget, don't hurt yourself," Randy Jr. said, reaching for her arm. "I'm fine!" She whined when he lifter her up. "That's exactly what people say right before they are not fine."
"Damn bro, I'm fine too." Jermajesty rolled his eyes as Jaafar helped him get up.
"I can't believe this started because of a goddamn Skip card." Bigi was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "I'm saving this forever." Paris laughed too.
Michael picked up the UNO cards.
"There. No more UNO. And if you pull some shit like that again, you're both getting put in time out."
🍫summary: One thing Randy will have you is FOLDED!
🍫“Dick so good, got me all in my feelings, got me forgettin’ we not relationship dealing - SupahBadd
It was a random Tuesday night, it was a late night and unfortunately you were up studying for your exams. The more you scrolled through the reviews the more you were ready to check yourself into a mental asylum.
Your eyes struggled to stay open as if they carried 10 pound bricks, your back was sore from being hunched over the screen, and if you saw the word ‘finals’ one more time, you were going to break your laptop. In the midst of your spiraling weakness, a buzz sounded from your phone, screen lighting up.
It was two in the morning so you were a bit confused but once you saw ‘R.J’ you already knew.
Randy Jr.
He was just your sneaky link, nothing crazy. You met at an off-campus party and got along well which led to a night at his apartment. You mutually agreed to keep it casual, too busy and stressed for a relationship.
You didn’t feel like dealing with someone else when you struggled to deal with yourself.
You unlocked your phone, pressing on the notification and reading,
“What you up to?”
You debated on responding, while the bright laptop screen practically yelled at you to lock back in.
Clearly your laptop didn’t scream loud enough as you picked up your phone to respond.
“Just studying, whats up?”
The grey bubbles appeared in no time.
“Can I slide?”
That damned question. If he comes over you know exactly what you’ll be up to, but you need to study. Well…you do understand most of it.
Maybe a little relief won’t be so bad…
“Come on, look at me, mama.” Randy grunted above you. Looking at him was something that felt physically impossible in that moment. Your eyes felt permanently stuck to the back of your head.
He filled you to the brim. So full that you had to remember to breathe. The way he was stuffed inside of you made your brain void of everything else. Not a single care about an exam, not a single care about the R.A down the hall, only his dick.
His fingers lightly tapped your cheek, hips still pistoning in you. The tapping brought you back for a small moment, eyes shifting forward to look at him.
“Thank you, mama. Can you keep looking at daddy?” He cooed. His palms found place on the back of your thighs, holding them down to keep you spread open for him. Your knees were damn near touching your ears, and he only pushed deeper. Absolutely folded.
You nodded—not without struggling—and attempted to keep your eyes on him. He looked heavenly from this angle, thick eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and his biceps that naturally flexed.
He was so fine.
“Nngh—Randyyy.” You moaned, back arching against the sheets. “I know baby, you doin’ so fuckin’ good.” He swung your legs over his shoulders, leaning down into a mating press.
You could’ve lost your mind in that moment. The way his tip nudged against your g-spot had you planning a wedding in your head.
Maybe a green wedding dress? Who should be the flower girls? Big or small wedding?
You would be sick to your stomach right now, if you found out some other girl was experiencing this.
“Fuckkkk, waittt.” You cried out, hand pressing against sculpted abdomen. “Shhh, you can take it. You been stressing right?” His voice could’ve soothed you to sleep if it wasn’t for him digging you out.
“Y-yes.” You whimpered, finally getting the small reminder of your exams but that didn’t sit in your head for too long, diminishing with every stroke from Randy.
“Exactly so let me take care of you.” He delivered a soft kiss to your cheek. The tenderness made your eyes roll back, and you fought the urge to say I love you.
Good dick just does that to you.
“Randy, I’m gonna cum.” You moaned. “Yea?” He sat up, angling his hips till his tip kissed your g-spot making your legs shake. “FUCK!” You cried, palms pressing against his abdomen.
“Move.”
One simple demand that you did not bother listening to. He gathered your wrists into one hand, holding them in the air as he rolled his hips against yours.
So how should you propose to him?
“Cum for me, mama.” He said. The knot in your stomach broke, releasing and creaming all over him. He thrust you through your orgasm, refusing to take his eyes off the bliss on your face.
You clenched repeatedly around him, chest heaving from the waves of pleasure. "Mhm, keep takin' that dick." He muttered, pace not faltering. Your legs shook from overstimulation, your back arching towards him.
"You creamin' all on me, fuck!" He groaned, listening to the wet squelch of him pumping into you. You felt brain-dead at this point, body jolting with every pump, hyper-aware of the thumb stroking your thigh.
"You look so pretty, mama." Oh, he knows what he's doing. You couldn't help but clench around him practically keeping him stationary inside of you. Maybe it's a good thing you can't speak because you would have absolutely told him to nut in you. Baby trapping doesn't sound too bad right now.
Maybe he was thinking of you the same way. Probably not, but the way he's looking at you, you couldn't help but wonder.
You felt his large body weigh on you, burying his nose into the crook of your shoulder. Another ball of heat began to unravel in your stomach as you smelled his sultry, cedar wood cologne. You were quite literally covered by him, and it only made your maddening obsession worse.
You were so hyperfixated on the feeling of him thrusting and stretching you out, you didn't realize your orgasm overtook you once again. Shaking underneath him while he peppered wet, gentle kisses on the side of your neck.
At this point the only thing you were thinking is, where is the nearest ring store?
summary: based off that one clip of the kardashians when kourtney and travis are trying for a baby and khloe waited for them to finish
notes: he’s so fine in this pic bro
“you look more refreshed and bright than usual” jaafar said “aren’t you and y/n trying for a baby” jermajesty said with a grin
Randy Jr. slowly looked up from his laptop before immediately looking back down, his ears turning pink
“y’all must be going at it like rabbits” Jermajesty said laughing “ew man i don’t wanna think about that” Jaafar said
“unfortunately he’s right” Randy said and let out a sigh
Jermajesty leaned back with a grin. “project pink??”
Randy sighed dramatically “she’s determined” “determined as in??” Jaafar asked
Randy glanced toward the hallway before lowering his voice “we already have the twins but she wants a girl so bad” he looked around and then whispered “we’re doing it three times a day THREE i’m genuinely terrified she’s gonna walk in here right now and ask for it” he confessed
“three times..” said jaafar “she must want that girl bad” jermajesty said cracking up
“i swear to god it’s been worse since shes ovula-” “RANDYYYYY” your voice echoed down the hallway, cutting him off mid sentence. Randy froze like a deer in headlights
you poked your head in the living room and smiled “hi jaafar, hi jermajesty can i borrow him for 20 minutes” and said pointing at randy “i’ll bring him back i swear”
Jaafar and Jermajesty slowly turned to look at Randy, he let out the longest sigh imaginable as he stood “told you” he muttered standing up, and dragged his feet over to you with his head hung low
before he could even cross the threshold, you grabbed him firmly by the collar and yanked him down the hall
Jaafar stared at the empty doorway, then slowly turned to his brother “are we seriously about to just sit here and wait for them to finish?”
Jermajesty pulled out his phone and leaned back into the couch “i mean i guess so…she said she’d bring him back”
an hour later…
both brothers looked up as Randy stumbled into the room
Randy shuffled back into the living room looking like he’d just run a marathon. his hoodie was slightly crooked, his hair was a mess, and he let out the deepest sigh known to mankind before practically collapsing onto the couch
Jaafar slowly looked up from his phone “…you good?” Randy stared blankly at the ceiling “no”
Jermajesty checked his watch “twenty minutes, huh?”
Randy didn't even lift his head “she... she tracked her peak” he mumbled, his voice entirely drained of life “it was a trap”
“bro, you look like a dried up raisin” Jaafar said, staring at him in genuine concern “do you need some water? a paramedic?”
“i need a nap” Randy croaked, finally rolling onto his side “and a fake identity cause if she finds out I survived this round, she’s gonna check her tracking app again in four hours”
، summary𓈒 he’s the golden boy of the collegiate track team- a beloved teammate, the coach’s favorite, and the guy everyone loves. but when the stadium empties and the doors lock, the mask slips. he turns into an absolute nightmare, pushing you to your breaking point. the worst part? nobody believes you. they just think you're cracking under the pressure of losing your top spot.
، pairing𓈒 track runner!randy jackson jr x track runner! black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, mean!randy, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, power dynamics, eventual smut, choking, slapping, kissing, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), dirty talk.
، notes𓈒 (really little to no plot honestly, the whole track/college shit is just for decoration✨) ik i said i would get back to jermaine, and i have it but I wanted to post this first, bc I’ve taken a liking to randy jr…this is...questionable, enjoy.
، taglist𓈒 @uh444
It was 6:15 AM, the sun barely cutting through the thick morning fog over the bleachers, but you were already on your third lap, spikes digging into lane one, breathing locked into that rhythmic click clack you’d perfected since high school.
You were the star of the women’s 200m and 400m sprint squad. Three time conference champion, national qualifier, and the queen of the athletic department. Coaches used your tape to teach freshmen how to drive out of the blocks. The girls on the team walked around you like you were made of glass and lightning. You had the endorsements, the crisp uniform, the slicked back edges, and an undefeated record that stretched back twenty two months.
Until Randy Jackson Jr. transferred in.
He wasn't even supposed to be a threat to your peace. He was on the men’s 400m hurdles and relay squad- a tall, golden skinned motherfucker with dark brown eyes, a sharp jawline, and these thick, ridiculously bushy eyebrows that framed a face that looked like it belonged on a 90s rnb album cover. He was soft spoken. He smiled at the lunch ladies. He held the gym doors open for the athletic trainers. Everyone on the team loved him. Coach Miller practically drooled over his stride length.
"He's just so polite," your roommate, your girl, and fellow sprinter, Maya, had gushed during week two of fall training. "And he's so fine, girl. Like...respectfully fine."
Respectfully my entire ass.
Nobody saw what happened when the crowd cleared out. Nobody saw the slick, psychological warfare he waged the second the locker room doors swung shut or when you two were left alone waiting for the athletic bus.
To the public, Randy was the golden boy. To you? He was a localized, concentrated nightmare designed specifically to test your sanity.
It started at the mid season intra squad scrimmage. You had just run a season best 22.84 in the 200m, cooling down near the high jump mats, taking slow gulps from your water bottle while the rest of the team clapped.
Randy had walked over, towel draped over his broad shoulders, sweat glistening on his collarbones. He offered a warm, blindingly white smile, bowing his head slightly as Coach Miller passed by.
"Great run, man," Coach had yelled out, patting Randy’s back. "Look at her form! That's what I want from you on the curve!"
"Yes sir, Coach," Randy had said, his voice smooth, warm, and modest. "She’s incredible. I’m just trying to get on her level."
Coach walked away, beaming.
The second Miller was out of earshot, Randy’s smile didn't drop, but the warmth completely evaporated from his eyes. He stepped closer, leaning down under the guise of grabbing his track bag from the bench right beside yours. His shoulder brushed yours, all hot and heavy.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, raspy whisper that barely registered over the sound of the stadium speakers. "Breathing all heavy. Pussy probably throbbing right through them tight ass spandex."
Your jaw locked. You snapped your head around to glare at him, your blood boiling instantly. "Excuse me?"
Randy straightened up instantly, his face a picture of wholesome concern, his thick, bushy eyebrows pulling together like he was deeply worried about your health.
"Whoa, you okay?" he said, loud enough for two girls on the distance team to turn around and look. "I just asked if you needed some ice for your shins. You look a little hot."
The distance girls frowned at you, like you were the bitch for snapping at the team sweetheart.
"Don't do that," you gritted out between your teeth, stepping into his personal space, pointing a manicured finger right at his chest. "Don't fucking play with me, Randy."
Randy held his hands up in gentle surrender, offering a warm, apologetic laugh to the onlookers. "My bad! My bad, boss lady. Just trying to be helpful." But as he bent back down to pick up his bag, his face dipped near your ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of peppermint and a little bit of weed. "You look real pretty when you look like you wanna kill me," he breathed, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. "Makes me wanna take you behind the bleachers, throw that little leg over my shoulder, and fuck that cocky attitude right out of you."
Before you could smack the shit out of him, he straightened up, gave you a soft wave, and jogged off toward the weight room like he was a goddamn saint.
It had been like that for three straight months. A slow descent into madness. In front of the team, he was the humble transfer who constantly praised your times. Alone? He was a filthy mouthed menace who seemed to know exactly which words made your pulse race, your jaw tighten, and your pussy react in ways that made you hate yourself every time you showered.
He was fucking with your head. He’d stare at your ass while you got into your starting blocks, making a faint clicking sound with his tongue that only you could hear. He’d leave little anonymous notes in your locker with foul, explicit descriptions of what he wanted to do to you, only to walk by ten minutes later asking if you wanted him to save you a seat at the dining hall.
You hated him. You hated his stride, you hated his polite lil "Yes, ma'am" to the women coaches, and you especially hated those thick ass bushy eyebrows that twitched every time he said something that made your throat go dry.
By the time the conference championship meet rolled around in Atlanta, you were a ticking time bomb.
The team was put up at an old, sprawling Marriott near the track complex. The carpets were faded floral patterns, the hallway lights flickered with a faint, low hum, and the air conditioning in the rooms smelled vaguely of stale ice and bleach.
It was 11:45 PM. Curfew had been enforced by Coach Miller at 10:00 PM flat; anyone caught in the hallways or in the opposite sex’s room was getting pulled from the meet, no questions asked.
You were sprawled across your queen bed in Room 412, wearing a tiny grey sports bra and a pair of black cotton boy shorts, staring at the textured ceiling. Maya was already fast asleep on the other bed, snoring softly, her face buried in a pillow.
Your stomach growled. You hadn't eaten since 6:00 PM, a tiny bowl of grilled chicken and brown rice, and your brain was hyperactive, buzzing with pre meet nerves and frustration.
You needed a bag of chippssuhh and a sweet tea from the vending machine on the third floor.
Sliding out of bed, you pulled a grey hoodie over your top, leaving it unzipped over your shorts, slipped your feet into a pair of slides, and grabbed your room key card.
The fourth floor hallway was quiet, lit by pale bulbs overhead. You walked down the carpeted corridor toward the elevator, your slides squeaking softly against the floor.
When you reached the third floor, you padded down the hall toward the recessed alcove where the ice and vending machines sat.
As you turned the corner, you froze.
Leaning against the glass of the snack machine, holding a bag of peanut m&ms, was Randy.
Because of course it was.
He was wearing a pair of low slung dark grey sweatpants, so low you could see the dark waistband of his boxers and the sharp, v line of his hips, and a tight white sleeveless compression shirt that hugged every ridge of his chest and abs. He had a pair of bulky headphones resting around his neck, his dark curls slightly messy from bed.
He looked up when he heard your slides.
That stupid, infuriating smile spread slowly across his face, his thick eyebrows lifting in mock surprise.
"Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice sounding like warm honey poured over gravel in the quiet hallway. "Look who’s breaking curfew. Coach catch you out here, he’s gonna make you run 800s until you throw up."
"Shut the fuck up, Randy," you hissed, walking past him to grab the edge of the soda machine. "I’m getting a drink."
"Why you always so mean?" He stepped closer, sliding his hands deep into the pockets of his sweats. The heavy scent of him filled the tiny alcove instantly. "I'm just standing here, minding my business, watching the track star sneak around in her little panties."
Your eyes snapped up to his. "They're shorts."
"They look like panties to me," he countered softly, his gaze dropping slowly down the front of your open hoodie, lingering on the curve of your waist, the smooth brown skin of your thighs, before dragging back up to your face. "Cute ones, too. You wear those so it's easier for me to get inside them?"
Your chest heaved. "You are literally the most disgusting person I have ever met."
"And you’re a terrible liar," he whispered, stepping even closer until the toe of his slide bumped yours. "You’ve been looking at me all day. On the bus. During walk throughs. You look like you wanna eat me alive."
"I want to break your jaw," you gritted out, slamming a dollar bill into the coin slot of the drink machine. It spat the bill right back out. You cursed under your breath, flattening the dollar against your thigh, and shoved it back in. It spat it out again.
Randy let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Machine knows a bad girl when it sees one."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crisp dollar bill, and reached right over your shoulder to slide it into the slot. His chest pressed against your back for a split second, all broad, and heavy, and hot. The smell of him flooded your nose, making your stomach drop through the floor.
The machine accepted his dollar with a loud mechanical groan. He pressed the button for sweet tea, the bottle dropping into the plastic slot with a heavy clunk.
"There you go, boss lady," he murmured, his mouth hovering right near the top of your ear. "Saved your life again."
You didn't reach down for the bottle. You turned around inside the tight space between him and the machine, trapping yourself against the plastic glass, looking up into his face.
"You think you're so slick," you rasped, your voice shaking slightly from the overload of anger and adrenaline. "You act like a goddamn puppy in front of Coach, and then you come around me talking like a dirty ass dog."
Randy’s eyes darkened. His playful smirk fading, replaced by that heavy, dangerous focus that always made your knees feel weak. He didn't step back. He leaned down, placing one big hand on the soda machine right beside your head, blocking you in.
"I talk to you like that because you're the only one here who actually wants it raw," he whispered, his thumb coming up to lightly trace the edge of your jaw. "All them other girls want polite. You? You want somebody to put their hands on you. You want somebody to ruin your little perfect reputation."
"I hate you," you breathed, staring directly into his dark brown eyes, watching those bushy eyebrows pull down into a sharp angle.
"No you don't," Randy said, his hand moving from your jaw down to your neck, his fingers resting lightly against your pulse point, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath your skin. "Room 314. Marcus and Trey are knocked out cold on melatonin and NyQuil. They wouldn't wake up if a bomb went off."
You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs like a caged beast. "You think I'm going to your room?"
"I know you are," he murmured, his thumb pressing just hard enough against your neck to make you swallow. "Or you can go back upstairs and keep staring at the ceiling, thinking about my mouth on you while you touch yourself under them sheets."
He pulled his hand away, bent down, grabbed the sweet tea from the plastic bin, and tossed it to you. You caught it against your chest.
Without another word, Randy turned around and walked down the hallway toward Room 314, leaving the door unlatched just an inch behind him.
You stood in the hallway for thirty seconds.
You told yourself to go upstairs. You told yourself that this was career suicide, that if Coach found out you were in Randy’s room at midnight before the biggest meet of the spring season, you’d be stripped of your captaincy, suspended from the team, and thrown off scholarship. You told yourself that Randy Jackson Jr. was an arrogant, manipulative prick who was trying to break your mental focus so he could be the sole star of the program.
And then you walked straight down the hallway and pushed open the door to Room 314.
The room was pitch black, save for the faint orange glow of the city streetlights bleeding through the heavy sheer curtains. On the left side of the room, two huge lumps under the blankets; Marcus, the team’s top long jumper, and Trey, the hurdles captain, were snoring in heavy, synchronized rhythms, completely knocked out.
To the right, Randy was sitting on the edge of the second queen bed, his dark silhouette illuminated by the streetlight glow. He had his hands on his knees, watching the door close behind you.
The lock clicked shut with a small sound.
"Look at that," Randy whispered, his voice cut with a low edge that made the little hairs on your arms stand up. "The little track star couldn't resist."
You didn't say a fucking word.
The months of subtle insults, the filthy whispers near the starting blocks, the slick comments, the constant mind games; it all rushed to the surface in a single, burning wave of rage…and desire.
You dropped the sweet tea onto the carpet, crossed the small room in three fast strides, and before he could even stand up to greet you, you raised your right hand and slapped him across the face.
The crack echoed through the room. Marcus snored heavily on the other bed, shifting slightly, but stayed completely under.
Randy’s head snapped to the left, the room going dead silent.
Slowly, Randy turned his face back toward you. A dark grin spread across his features, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek where your hand had landed.
"Oh," he breathed, his eyes flashing with something mean and completely unhinged. "So that's how we doing this?"
Before you could step back, Randy’s arm shot out like a whip. His big, heavy hand collided with your cheek in a sharp, blinding slap that sent a jolt of heat straight down your neck.
Your head snapped to the side, your jaw aching, vision swimming with tiny silver sparks for a fraction of a second.
"Bitch," you hissed through your teeth, lunging at him.
You grabbed him by the throat with both hands, your manicured nails digging into the tough muscle of his neck, shoving him backward onto the bed. Randy let out a rough, breathy grunt as his back hit the mattress, his hands immediately coming up to wrap around your throat, his long fingers squeezing with terrifying pressure.
You were both gasping, eyes locked in the dark, choking each other out on top of a creaky hotel mattress while two of your teammates slept five feet away.
His grip was like iron. He squeezed just hard enough to make your throat construct, cutting your breath down to a tiny, ragged whistle. You squeezed back with everything you had, digging your thumbs into his airway, trying to crush him, trying to make him hurt, trying to rip that arrogant smirk off his handsome fucking face.
Randy’s dark eyes narrowed, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in focus. He rolled his hips up, before slamming his other hand flat against your chest, shoving you down until you were straddling his lap, forced onto his thighs.
"You like that, huh?" Randy rasped, his voice barely a choke as your fingers stayed locked on his throat. "You wanna choke me out, little girl?"
"I want you...to die," you gasped out, your face hot, blood rushing to your ears as his fingers tightened on your neck.
Randy let out an uneven laugh. He released your neck with one hand, grabbed your hair at the nape of your neck, and yanked your head back, forcing your face up toward the ceiling.
"Look at you," he commanded softly, his voice a filthy, velvet threat. "Grinding on me while you strangle me, you crazy ass bitch."
You dragged your eyes down to look at him. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving under his tight compression shirt, his mouth open, his throat red under your fingers. But his eyes, his fucking eyes were filled with a possessive hunger that made your stomach twist into tight, delicious knots.
You loosened your grip on his neck, sliding your hands down to his broad shoulders, breathing in ragged, heavy lungfuls of air.
Randy didn't let go of your neck. He kept his large palm cupped around your throat, his thumb resting right under your jawline, feeling the beat of your pulse.
"That's it," he whispered, his thumb pressing in lightly, reminding you who held the power. "Be good. You wanna ride this dick or you wanna keep fighting me?"
"Fuck you," you whispered, your lips brushing against his jaw.
"You about to," he smirked.
Without waiting for him, you reached down between your bodies, grabbing the hem of his tight compression shirt, dragging it up over his broad chest and pulling it off his arms, forcing him to release your neck, tossing it onto the floor. His bare skin was smooth, and warm, and mapped with hard muscle, sweat glistening over his collarbones.
Randy’s hands immediately went to your waist, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh above your shorts, dragging you forward until your clothed pussy was pressed against the bulge sleeping inside his sweatpants.
You gasped at the size of him; he was thick, and heavy, and completely rock hard, pressing right against your wet cunt through the thin cotton of your shorts.
"Damn," Randy groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as you rolled your hips against him once, testing the weight. "Sitting on my dick while my boys are asleep...you really are a dirty little freak, ain't you?"
"Shut the fuck up, Randy," you rasped, shrugging off your hoodie, dropping it onto the floor beside his shirt, leaving you in just your sports bra and shorts.
Randy’s eyes locked onto your chest, his hands sliding up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the underside of your sports bra before fully cupping both mounds, squeezing your breasts firmly through the fabric.
"Take 'em off," he commanded softly, "I wanna see everything."
You huffed, rolling your eyes before rolling off of him.
You reached down, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts and your panties, dragging them down your legs in one smooth motion, kicking them off the edge of the bed. You sat back up, completely bare from the waist down, straddling his waist in the dark.
Randy sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
His hands moved instantly, spreading your thighs wider, his long fingers sliding right up your wet inner skin until his thumb hit your slick, swollen center. He pressed down, rubbing a slow, heavy circle right over your clit.
You bit your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood, a broken, high pitched whimper escaping your throat.
"Shhh," Randy hissed, his eyes flicking over toward Marcus’s bed. "Keep it quiet, baby. Unless you want them to wake up and see how wet you are for the guy you hate so much."
"Randy..." you warned, your back arching as his thumb kept working you, slick sounds filling the tiny space between your hips.
"Look at this," he whispered, bringing his hand up between your faces, showing you his long fingers glistening wet in the dim light. "Look how soaked you are. You was thinking about this all day, wasn't you? Sitting in them meetings, listening to Coach talk, just waiting to get my dick inside you."
“No.” You replied with a scowl, slapping his hand away.
He shook his head, “You’re such a liar, sweetheart.”
He reached down with his other hand, shoving his dark grey sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs, letting his thick thang spring free.
He was massive and veiny, and hot, and heavy, his pretty tip glistening with pre cum.
You stared down at him, licking your lips. Every instinct you had as an athlete, as a competitive, proud black woman, told you that giving in to this man was surrender. But as he grabbed your hip with one hand and guided his thick head right against the soaking entrance of your pussy, your body made the choice for you.
You lifted yourself up slightly, guiding his dick in.
Randy’s eyes locked onto yours, his bushy eyebrows twitching as he raised his hips, driving himself up into you as you slid down.
"Fuck- !" Randy grunted, his jaw locking hard as your tight, hot walls stretched completely around his thick head, swallowing him down to the middle in one agonizingly slow, deep stroke.
Your head fell back, a choked, silent scream tearing from your throat as he filled you so deeply you felt the pressure right in the center of your gut. Your pussy gripped him like a vice, pulsing furiously around him, completely overwhelmed by the size and warmth of him.
"Goddamn," Randy rasped, his hands digging into your ass, holding you pinned down on his dick, his chest heaving. "You...you feel so fuckin' tight...jesus christ..."
"Don't...don't talk," you whispered, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as you began to lift your hips, sliding up his shaft before sliding back down, taking every inch.
Randy’s hands clamped down on your hips like steel bands, controlling your rhythm, pulling you down hard against his pelvis with a wet, heavy slap of skin against skin.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound was filthy in the quiet hotel room. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, biting your skin, your hips rolling in tight, frantic motions while Randy thrust upward to meet you, his long stroke hitting that sweet, deep spot inside you over and over again.
"Yeah," Randy groaned in a harsh whisper, his eyes wild as he stared up at you. "Ride it. Ride this dick, you cocky ass bitch. Show me how fast you can go."
You leaned forward, clenching your jaw and biting your tongue so you wouldn’t make a sound as you placed your hands flat against his broad chest, your nails digging into his skin as you picked up the pace, bouncing on him with reckless, desperate energy. Every time you dropped down, his dick hit your cervix, sending waves of pleasure shooting straight up your spine, making your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
Randy reached up, his big hand wrapping around the front of your throat again, squeezing firmly, pulling your face down until your mouth was inches from his.
"You like this?" he hissed, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. "You like getting fucked by the guy who takes all your shine?"
"Shut up– unh– shut up, Randy!" you whimpered against his mouth, your hips going down faster, your body completely consumed by the overwhelming friction.
"Say it," he commanded, his hand tightening on your neck, cutting off your air just enough to send your nervous system into overdrive. "Say you love my dick."
"Fuck you–"
"Say it," he rasped, his hips bucking up violently, driving himself into you so hard the bed frame gave a low, dangerous squeak.
“No–”
On the other side of the room, Trey shifted under his covers, letting out a loud, grumbling groan in his sleep, turning over onto his stomach.
You froze, your entire body going rigid, your chest heaving, Randy’s thick dick buried deep inside you, pulsing against your wet walls making you clench around him.
Randy didn't move a muscle. He stared up at you, his hand still on your throat, a smirk slowly spreading across his face in the dark. He bent his head up, his tongue dragging slowly over your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him.
"Don't stop now, boss lady. If you don’t keep going, I’m gonna yell…" he breathed against your mouth, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "You wanna wake them up? You want them to see you taking all this dick?"
You bit your lip so hard you felt the tang of copper on your tongue. The thrill of the danger, the risk of getting caught, the filth of his mouth, the feeling of him stretched so thick inside you, shattered whatever sanity you had left.
You began to move again.
Slower this time. Those torturous rolls of your hips that made Randy’s eyes roll back into his head, a low moan escaping his throat that he had to bury by biting down hard on your shoulder.
His teeth sank into your skin, hard enough to leave a deep, bruised mark before he licked and sucked over the ruined skin, his hands grabbing your ass cheeks, pulling you down into the hardest, deepest thrusts yet.
"Ah...fuck, girl..." Randy rasped, his composure completely dissolving, his fuckass persona cracking under the heat of your pussy. "You...you gripping me so tight...shit..."
Your walls were spasming violently around him, contracting in fast waves as your climax approached. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hear anything over the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears and the wet, filthy, squelching sounds of your pussy taking his long ass dick.
Randy felt it coming. He grabbed your waist, flipping you off him in one fast movement, throwing your back flat onto the mattress.
Before you could even process the shift, Randy was over you, hovering like a shadow, his dark face inches from yours. He grabbed your left leg, slinging your long, toned thigh right over his shoulder, opening you up completely to the room.
"Look at me," he gritted out, his voice thick and ruined.
The command forced your eyes to his, you blinked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.
He lined himself up and slammed back into you with a brutal thrust that made your back arch completely off the bed.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
He fucked you like he was trying to erase your name from the record books. Them deep, relentless strokes that knocked the air from your lungs every single time his hips met yours. His big hand slammed down over your mouth, muffling the high, broken cries that were tearing from your throat, while his other hand gripped your waist, leaving red prints in your skin.
"Take it," he said into your ear. "Take every inch of this dick."
Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm tore through you. It wasn't soft nor was it sweet, it was violent, it made your legs shake, your toes curl, and your pussy clamp down on his dick with crushing force. You bit down hard on his hand covering your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of it.
Randy let out a low groan into your neck, his body going rigid as his own climax hit him. He shoved himself as deep as he could go, burying his tip right against your cervix, his hips shuddering as he filled your wet, contracting hole with spurt after spurt of his nut.
The heavy, ragged sound of two elite athletes trying to catch their breath in the dark filled the room; other than that, the room was dead silent.
Randy collapsed over you, his heavy, sweaty chest pressing you deep into the mattress, his head buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart hammering wildly against your ribs, all fast and frantic, matching your own pulse.
For two full minutes, neither of you moved.
The smell of sex, and sweat hung thick in the air between you.
Randy slowly lifted his head. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving a little. His eyebrows were slightly relaxed, his eyes looking down at you in a strange way that made your stomach flutter, in a way that scared you far more than his dirty talk ever did.
He didn't make a slick joke and he didn't smirk.
He reached up, his long, calloused fingers gently pushing a curl away from your face, his thumb softly tracing the swollen line of your bottom lip.
"You good?" he whispered, his voice surprisingly soft, and surprisingly sweet.
You stared up at him as though he were crazy, your chest still rising and falling fast, feeling his thick, softening dick still resting inside you.
You hated him. You hated how good he felt. You hated that he had shattered your armor in less than an hour.
Your palms slammed against his broad, sweaty shoulders, the sudden force catching Randy off guard just enough for his weight to shift. His dick dragged out of you with a wet, heavy slide that made your pussy twitch, his nut immediately spilling out over your inner thighs in a humiliating stream.
"Get the fuck off me," you snapped, your raspy voice a furious whisper in the dark.
Randy stumbled back onto his side, his eyes wide for a fraction of a second, his eyebrows pulling together as he watched you scramble off the edge of the mattress.
You didn't look at him. Your hands were literally shaking as you snatched your shorts and panties off the carpet, dragging them up your legs with zero grace. You grabbed your hoodie, shoving your arms through the sleeves, yanking the zipper up to your throat like armor.
"Look at you," Randy murmured from the bed, his voice dropping right back into that arrogant tone. He sat up slow, completely unbothered by his own nakedness, leaning his elbows on his knees as he watched you shove your feet into your slides. "Look how fast you running now. You wasn't moving that fast when you was choking me out."
"Shut the fuck up, Randy," you gritted out, snatching your sweet tea off the floor.
"You leaving my nut inside you, boss lady?" he whispered, a smirk spreading across his face as he gestured down at your legs. "That shit gonna leak all the way up to the fourth floor."
You glared at him with, your chest heaving under the heavy cotton of your hoodie. You didn't give him the satisfaction of another word. You turned on your heel, unlocked the door as quietly as your trembling fingers would allow, and slipped out into the hallway, the latch clicking shut behind you.
You walked back to Room 412 like a ghost, your thighs slick and aching, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you felt it in your teeth.
Video with info here proof of messages @gravenoirr
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I know this post is going to piss some people off, but I've never been one to keep my opinions to myself, so here we go.
Months ago, I said I didn't think Jaafar and Maddie's relationship was going to last. People called me parasocial, miserable, a hater, jealous, and everything else under the sun because I had an opinion about a public relationship. The funny part is that I never once said I knew these people personally. I never claimed to have insider information. I looked at the same public information everybody else had access to and came to a different conclusion than a lot of you did.
And my opinion hasn't changed.
One of the biggest reasons I felt that way was because, in my opinion, Maddie has always come across as deeply insecure. Every time they're seen together publicly, she's hanging off Jaafar's arm like she's trying to convince herself and everyone watching that the relationship is rock solid. That's the impression I've always gotten, and no amount of people getting mad at me is going to change the fact that that's how I interpreted it.
Another reason is her attitude. There have been screenshots of her being rude to fans, and whether you personally care about that or not, I do. It contributed to the opinion I already had of her.
Then there's the political side of it.
I don't like Maddie because of her publicly expressed support for Israel. I don't support the killing of innocent Palestinian civilians in Gaza, and that's a line I don't move on. People keep bringing up Paris Jackson as some sort of "gotcha," but I don't think the situations are comparable. Paris publicly apologized, admitted she was uninformed, and denounced Zionism. Until Maddie publicly changes or clarifies her own position, I'm going to take her previous public statements as exactly that her position.
And before somebody says, "That was years ago," I genuinely do not care. It could've been from the fucking Stone Age. If someone publicly shares an opinion and never publicly retracts or corrects it, I have no reason to assume they no longer believe it.
Now let's talk about what everybody's talking about.
There's publicly circulating video and screenshots that appear to show that, during a break in the relationship, Maddie tried to pursue Jaafar's older brother, Randy Jackson Jr., including leaving flirtatious comments under his Instagram posts. The video and screenshots are pinned at the top of this post. Seeing that doesn't make me think, "Wow, I was completely off." If anything, it reinforces why I questioned the stability of the relationship in the first place.
Does that mean I know everything that happened? No.
Does it mean I'm saying every rumor on the internet is true? No.
What it does mean is that the people acting like there was absolutely no reason for anyone to question this relationship weren't working with any more information than I was.
We're all coming to conclusions from the same limited amount of public information.
That's literally what I've been saying from day one.
The difference between us is that I'm comfortable saying my opinion is an opinion. Some of y'all act like your opinions are facts.
Disagreement is not hate.
Thinking a relationship won't last is not the same thing as wishing for it to fail.
Talking about public figures is not the same thing as being parasocial.
And speaking of that, there was somebody in my comments about a week ago calling me parasocial because I said I didn't think the relationship would last. Meanwhile, they were riding harder for Maddie than I've ever ridden for anybody, and she doesn't even know they exist. The call was coming from inside the house. They're blocked now, and that's exactly where they'll stay.
Something else I've said multiple times is that I will defend Maddie when people start attacking her appearance or her body. My problem has never been the way she looks. I don't think it's fair to drag somebody for something they can't control. If I'm criticizing someone, it's going to be because of their behavior, their personality, or their publicly expressed opinions not because of their face or their body.
The internet has this weird habit of speaking in absolutes. If you don't love a celebrity couple, you're a hater. If you criticize someone's actions, you're obsessed. If you don't change your opinion because strangers in your comments tell you to, you're somehow the bad guy.
No.
You're allowed to disagree with me.
You're allowed to think I'm wrong.
And I'm allowed to think you're wrong.
I've said from the beginning that I could end up being completely wrong, and if that happens, I'll own it. But based on everything that's publicly available, my opinion is exactly the same as it was months ago.
You don't have to agree with me.
But stop acting like having an opinion about public figures is some moral failing.
It isn't.
One last thing before I go.
The only reason I'm even making this post is because I already know people are going to ask me about it. Y'all are still asking me questions about Jaafar and Maddie's relationship based on a post I made weeks almost a month ago. So instead of repeating myself in fifty different asks, here's my answer.
When you come to me and ask for my opinion, I'm going to give you exactly that: my opinion.
An opinion.
Not a fact.
Not a confirmation.
Not insider information.
An opinion.
The problem is that some of y'all don't actually argue with what I say. You take what I said, twist it into something I never said, get mad at the version you created in your own head, and then come back arguing with that. At that point, you're not even talking to me anymore. You're arguing with yourself.
And let me make something else very clear: I do not care about the majority opinion.
Whether ten people agree with me or ten thousand disagree with me, it does not change what I think. I've never formed my opinions based on what gets the most likes, and I'm not about to start now.
While I'm here, let me address two other things.
First, to the person who said, "I guess I can applaud your passion. Every time someone asks you a question, you write a whole dissertation."
Did I ever ask for your applause?
You came onto my blog, read my post, and then got mad that I... had an opinion on my own blog?
Clearly you read the dissertation, otherwise you wouldn't be commenting on it.
Nobody is forcing you to read my posts.
Nobody is forcing you to follow me.
Nobody is forcing you to interact with my content.
If my essays bother you that much, unfollow me. Block me. Scroll past. It's really that simple.
Brevity has never been my strong suit, and if I'm passionate about something, I'm going to talk about it. That's who I am.
As a Black woman, I know what it's like to have your voice dismissed, talked over, or treated like your opinions matter less. I refuse to let that happen in my own space. I won't let it happen in real life, and I'm definitely not going to let it happen on a blog that I built.
If you don't like my long posts, this probably isn't the blog for you.
Second, I keep seeing people complain that my discussions show up under tags.
If you're looking for Jaafar fanfiction, search Jaafar x Reader.
If you're looking for OC content, search Jaafar x OC.
If you're looking for smut, search Jaafar Smut or Jaafar x Reader Smut.
If I'm discussing Michael Jackson, I'm going to tag it Michael Jackson.
If I'm discussing Jaafar Jackson, I'm going to tag it Jaafar Jackson.
That's how tags work.
I'm not tagging discussions as fanfiction. I'm tagging them according to who they're about. If you searched a person's name and found a discussion about that person, that's exactly how the tagging system is supposed to work.
If that bothers you, Tumblr gives you a very easy solution.
Block me, bye
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@strawberrykittymp3 @melaninjoys
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