What you do to me || Jermajesty Jackson
Jermajesty Jackson x Reader
Synopsis: Domestic Fluff, Married Life, Pregnancy, Breeding Kink if you squint, Established Relationship
Word Count: 2.9k
It’s a calm, quiet Sunday morning and you’ve been blessed with a bit of alone time. Well, as alone as a woman carrying triplets can be. You carry three little humans with you wherever you go and it certainly feels that way from how nearly unbearably heavy your belly has become in recent weeks.
You feel beyond blessed of course for your prayers for a baby to have been answered threefold, two little boys and a precious girl. But the arrival of your third trimester has brought new challenges, physically and mentally. This being your first pregnancy, it's been a lot to process day-to-day.
Your husband had kissed you goodbye in bed to go for a run about two hours; you then proceeded to lounge in bed until you could no longer resist the call of a warm bubble bath. The steaming hot water and lavender bath salts did wonders for your achy back and taught skin across your protruding mid section.
A soft tranquility hangs in the air of your home, emanating through the walls from the late June stillness outside. The sun beams her golden rays across the lush estate and through the windows while the birds sing their usual gleeful melody. The open windows in the living room have allowed for the delicate aroma of the rose bushes outside to perfume every inhale of air around you.
The hardwood floors are cool under your bare feet as you now waddle down the hallway from the master bedroom to the kitchen. Coffee is on your mind. A single hand gently caresses the curve of your large belly, a habit that you’ve unconsciously adopted over the months of being pregnant. You massage the tightness of your stretched skin away the best you can, desiring to feel your occasionally kicking children beneath your palm at the same time.
Your skin feels soft and dewy-fresh, dressed in the floral scent of jasmine soap from your morning bath. The supple silkiness of your skin stems from vanilla-scented body butter and oils that carry a similar toasty yet light scent. You’re dressed in grey sweats and a white cotton tank top that leaves the bottom half of your swollen belly exposed to the cool air of the AC.
When you turn the corner into the kitchen, you’re surprised by the sight of your husband leaning against the sink with a glass of water. You jump with a soft gasp, startled slightly, your hand jumps to rest over your heart that had skipped a beat.
“Jer, I didn’t know you’d gotten back.” Being startled quickly melted into a warmth that spread across your face and throughout your chest when you realized that it was him. His bronze skin is flushed with a runners glow that makes his warm complexion glisten even more than it usually does. He bares the image of a shimmering copper statue of some ancient deity. A few of his black curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and his damp t-shirt hugs his toned chest nicely.
"Good morning, mama." Jer's full lips curl into a sweet smile at the sight of you as he sits his glass on the counter. You look so hot like this, dressed down, hair natural, face fresh from a bath and plump carrying his children. Two steps across the kitchen and both his large hands are gently holding your belly as he presses a kiss atop your lips. It's hot and deep and sucks more air from your lungs than you expected this early in the morning.
Your hands find themselves planted atop his firm chest through his damp shirt like it's the choreography to some sultry song you've memorized.
A wet click ripples in the air waves of your kitchen when he finally lets your lips be after his first taste of the morning. His touch returns to your face in the form of the back of his hand brushing your cheek. Tenderly, his fingers are strong but warm as they stroke your cheek. His thumb brushing rows into the soft skin covering the highest point of your cheekbones.
A content hum vibrates from your throat that's sweet and feminine, the sound to Jermasjesty's ears is a familiar form of praise. "Morning, baby." Your voice carries more of a rasp than you'd planned or expected, you blame the depth of that kiss and the smell of his musk to your very hormonal senses for that.
Eleven o'clock in the morning and his pupils are blown to black like it's 3 am under a full moon. "How was your run?" You ask with a soft tone that rings of a genuine desire to hear the response that follows. You do love to listen to him talk, and he loves the feeling of having such a pretty woman that'll listen to him ramble about anything and everything.
His hands fall to brush the circumference of your belly once more before he steps back to lean against the counter again. "Good, I beat the rain and grabbed you a coffee from that place you like." He turns to grab two clear, plastic cups from off the counter, one for him and one for you. You can already tell from the ratio of rich, dark espresso marbling with the visibly creamy milk that he got your exact order right.
He knows your love language like nobody else does. The first sip is heaven, exactly what your every taste bud was craving. You hum with delight, Jer watches the way your pretty lips hug the straw. The robust earthiness of the espresso hits first; it's strong in a way that hits the spot and carries a delightful bitterness that marries well with the creaminess of the milk and sweetness of vanilla syrup.
The iced beverage chills your throat nicely on the way down; a welcome combatant to the humidity threatening to break in from outside. "Thank you baby, you know me so well." You smile warmly, your words almost purr with love as he delves into his own drink, a very manly plain iced americano, of course.
You place the plastic cup atop the granite counter that's a warm mix of beige swirls and flecks of gold. The surface reflects the morning sunlight with a blonde hue that warms the space from the counter upwards. You lift your hand to massage your belly as you lean against the edge of the counter with the other. You don't colapse into the counter, just lean for stabilty.
A groan grumbles from the back of your throat that's soft enough to let your husband know that you're either trying to hide it, or have become unfortunately accustomed to whatever pain is causing it. Your lower back aches, maybe it's the bath wearing off, your head hangs towards the floor as you inhale a few grounding breaths.
Your belly feels like it's an anchor pulling you towards the floor. So heavy, all of the time now it's so heavy, your skin is stretched to what feels like the limit. You hadn't realized during your second trimester how much the weight of triplets would affect you during the later weeks of your pregnancy. But nowadays you feel like if you sneeze too hard you'll give birth.
In an instant Jermajesty is at your side, his coffee recently abandoned on the counter to free his hands to gently rub your shoulders. "You okay?" His voice is soft like silk in a way that unravels the tension tugging at your temples. His words are carried on a warm breath that smells earthy like coffee and tickles your cheek with the delicacy of a feather.
If eyes could radiate the gentle heat of a smoldering fire, his cinnamon brown ones would be doing so. His brows are knitted closer together with concern. Jermajesty's strong hands knead knots out of your shoulders that you hadn't known were there, causing you to moan in a way that's weak but grateful.
"Yeah, honey." It's not totally a lie, but it's not entirely the truth. You feel like you've got an about-to-burst five gallon water balloon attached to you all the time. Yeah, you're uncomfortable, but you are uncomfortable in a beautiful house that a loving husband bought you. You're healthy and so are your babies. It's in moments like this reminding yourself that some women are less fortunate in such circumstances that makes you suck it up a bit. Still, this is hard in the most joyous, fulfilling way.
The warmth of Jermasjesty's palms gliding from your now less tense shoulders to down your arms makes your skin buzz; his hands provide a tenderness that their size wouldn't suggest. "You don't seem okay. Talk to me, ma." He whispers into the crook of your neck, the scent of vanilla perfumes the deep breath he inhales of your aroma, his dark curls tickle your chin. The heat of his exhale brushes your neck like a fan of feathers flickering with embers.
Your husband presses a kiss into your skin, you smell so sweet he couldn't resist. Your eyes flutter closed, partially savoring the security his closeness brings you and partially choking down something that feels more pitiful. You turn around to face him, but his hands never leave you when you do.
Standing face to face, his hands gently run up and down the sides of your arms. "Talk to me." He murmurs again, his eyes soften in yours like an invitation, like the safest of safe spaces.
He knows you, he knows you'll pretend to yourself to be alright so that you don't have to confront what you're feeling. Trying to get you to open up by pushing you only causes you to retreat more into avoidance. So over the years he's learned to draw you out of your head and into communication with honey rather than a fire under your feet.
A deep breath stretches your lungs, then the following exhale deflates your chest slowly as you breath out whatever had planned on binding your tongue.
"I'm 32 weeks today." You begin, your face still carries a holding-it-together mask that your words will have to help him understand. "And since entering my third trimester my belly has been so heavy, Jer. I feel like I'm about to pop, like my body can't stretch anymore." The rant begins steady, but spilled all over the place towards the end; more emotional and candid than when you began the paragraph.
Once the floodgates of emotion had found the slightest crack into the open, everything you were feeling burst forth through the dam of avoidance you'd built. Jermajesty's brows knit closer together with an expression that lies somewhere between revelation and guilt. There are flecks of contriteness in the empathy that paints his brunette eyes.
What you feel is far from sadness, it's just an overwhelming mix of fear, frustration, discomfort and surely hormones. You know that if you were more willing to speak about how you've been feeling recently, this all probably wouldn't feel like a damn bursting now.
Luckily you could cause no flood that Jer couldn't still simply by being him. "I just feel achy all of the time, I get winded, I can barely get out of bed. I'm so blessed, I feel blessed, but carrying three little humans is not for the weak." The last part was an attempt to cheer yourself up, but your breath still shakes as you inhale nonetheless.
Your gaze falls downward towards the floor that you can't see because of your belly. Jermajesty sees the frustration in your eyes melt into a tired relief beneath your lashes.
His hands leave from brushing the supple skin of your arms to securely cupping your face between them. You fit perfectly there, each cheek sits inside his palms like the last piece to the most beautiful puzzle he's over laid eyes on. His eyes speak before his lips do, he's here with you and you hear him say it without words. It's the way his breathes in tandem with you, the way his thumbs massage your skin. The way the broadness of his chest shields you from all harm.
When the two of you found out that you were pregnant with triplets, the joy he felt was beyond words; that is, after the ultrasound nurse had managed to awake him from having fainted on the floor. He felt overjoyed, favored by God, even. But unbeknownst to you, as the days and weeks went by, worry began to seep through the joy that had blinded him to the what-ifs.
This is your first pregnancy, your body is experiencing this for the first time and it's with triplets. It scared him, sometimes the anticipation of becoming a father morphs into dread of the most dangerous day of his wife's life arriving. You may be mother to his children that he hasn't met yet, but today you're his wife and the woman he doesn't want to live without.
Some nights he'd lay awake staring at the ceiling, while you laid fast asleep cuddling against him as close as possible. He'd think, and pray and worry about you, about all of this. All the ways that carrying multiple could affect you, or take you from him if things went wrong. He hated thinking about it, but his mind went there with a frequency that's torturous.
Over the last few weeks that tug of worry has increased, but so has his determination to hide it from you. He knows it would sound horrible and politically incorrect to say, but there are time when he wishes that you were only having one baby, not three.
Then maybe he could sleep and relax and not feel whatever this feeling of impending doom is. Maybe then his heart wouldn't jump every time you groaned at the aches or moaned in discomfort every time a baby stretched in your uterus.
Still he puts on a brave face for you and savors the happy moments for which there have been many over the months.
Jermajesty's grip becomes firmer, not tight, but secure like a weighted blanket; he wants you to feel that he's got you in every way that his cells can offer. You're swaddled in him and would rather be no other place on earth than in the grasp of his arms and hands and chest. His strength is your shield and he offers it to you on a silver platter and on his knees.
He tilts your head up for your eyes to meet his. His eyes take in your face, you carry the beauty and grace of a doe. Your pupils are dilated with love and safety, but your eyes still droop at the corners with worry.
"Then it's a good thing that you're the strongest, most badass woman I know. You're beautiful and I never doubted that you're able to do this, baby, never." His words hold you like everything is going to be okay and warm you down to your bones.
You smile weakly but it's enough to say thank you. "I love you." You breath, pressing your forehead into his. The breath you exhale is a release of tension and a blissful hum that declares your love. That's the only thing your heart could manage to say, it's the only thing necessary or worth saying in that moment.
A moan chokes from your throat when you suddenly feel your belly stretch to a limit you're not ready for; it's almost always the same little boy doing flips in there. The sound is strained and almost gargles in your throat as you ride out the discomfort. It's the strangest type of pain as you feel your son's little feet pushing the boundaries of his current residence.
The sound of your groans causes Jer to look down to see his son stretching beneath your white tank. He's kicking so hard he can see your belly raise and stretch like the baby is trying to break free. "I gotchu, baby." His hand moves to the spot to massage small circles.
When the movement subsides your moans ease into a sigh of sweet relief. Jer presses a kiss to your face, then your jaw. "Just, hold me for a while, Jer. Just..." It comes out more of a plea than you intended, sloppy and desperate, begging for him to get the message without too many words. Your voice is tired even though it's eleven in the morning.
You whine vulnerably, fully having unmasked your former veil of okayness. "Hold them, please, they're so heavy." Your words are a sighed, your forehead stays pressed into his and your eyes squeeze shut. All you want is relief, it blinds you throughout your mind like molten metal when it begins to glow white. You crave just a moment of rest for your back, relief from carrying this tight belly around everywhere.
Your husband gently turns you around on your feet so that your back is pressed into his chest. You brace yourself by planting a hand on the edge of the counter on either side of yourself. Jermajesty's hands circle under your belly with such care, his fingers drag across your hot skin.
He gently and slowly lifts your large belly higher and higher to take the weight into his arms and off of you. He holds your belly with strong, sure hands, raising your womb to a comfortable degree and holding you there. Every bone in your body feels relief for the first time in weeks and you moan, high pitched and unreserved as you lean limply back into his chest.
Jermajesty stood there, holding the weight that you haven't the strength to bare in the moment. He stands there for as long as you need him to, he feels your muscles relax against him. "I love you, too. I gotchu, always."
