jermajesty jackson x blackfem!reader
notes: yes it’s Aliyah she’s so cunt i love her and i just got this random thought of her so like I hope you guys like it (imagine the reader however you want thooo )
“Divider Symbols & Text Separators” is where I got 👇 from
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Jermajesty's voice thundered through the apartment the moment you stepped inside.
Your heels made a soft thud as they hit the floor, briefly punctuating the tense silence.
"Good morning to you too," you teased, a hint of a smile flickering across your face.
"Why are you doing that," he shot back.
"Doing what?" you countered, arching an eyebrow.
"Acting like you didn't vanish all night," he accused.
You chuckled quietly, heading toward the kitchen. "I was at a party."
"You didn't answer your phone. You didn't text. You didn't come home," he pressed.
His jaw clenched tightly. "And I was worried."
You turned slowly, eyes narrowing. "Worried? That's funny."
"What's funny about it?" he asked, confusion flashing in his eyes.
"The same guy with a hundred girls blowing up his phone suddenly worried about me?"
"Yeah, because you're my girlfriend, and you never let me know where you were. So, yes, I was worried," he said, his voice tinged with frustration.
You sighed, your patience thinning. "Jermajesty, I'm not gonna argue with you, bro."
"Oh, I'm your bro now?" he shot back.
"You're acting like a jerk for no reason. I wasn't at some guy's house. It was an all-girls party," you explained calmly.
"So you couldn't let me know?" he asked, his voice rising.
You rolled your eyes. "My phone died."
"Oh really," he retorted.
"There you go again," you said sharply.
"There I go again?" Jermajesty snapped, crossing his arms. "Acting like I don't care?"
"No, acting like everything's some big thing," you countered.
He scoffed, running a hand over his face, frustration clear. "Forget it."
"No, say what you wanna say," you demanded.
He laughed bitterly. "You disappear all night, and somehow I'm the bad guy for asking where you were."
You folded your arms, irritation flickering.
"Because you're acting like I cheated on you," you accused.
"I never said that," he replied hotly.
Silence fell, thick and heavy.
Jermajesty's jaw clenched again. "I was worried."
His eyes narrowed. "What kind of question is that?"
"Because half the time it feels like you don't even like me," you blurted out.
His expression instantly shifted, surprise and disbelief flashing across his face. "What?"
"You heard me," you said softly.
"That's ridiculous," he shot back.
"Is it?" you whispered bitterly. "Your phone rings constantly with other girls. You're always texting somebody, seeking attention. So don't act like I'm your biggest concern."
He looked away for a moment, hurt flickering in his eyes. "That's what this is about?"
"No. It's about how you act like boyfriend of the year, but it's all fake," you replied, your voice trembling.
"I'm serious," you insisted.
"And I am too!" he raised his voice. "I don't care about those girls."
"Sure." You crossed your arms. "Sure, Jer."
His irritation flared, eyes blazing. "See? That's your problem. You don't listen."
"And you don't think!" you retorted.
The room fell into heavy silence as you both stared at each other, the tension almost suffocating.
After a long moment, Jermajesty shook his head. "I can't do this right now."
"Then don't," you shot back.
He grabbed his keys from the counter, shoulders tense. "Fine."
"Fine," you echoed, watching as he stormed out and slammed the front door shut. The echo of the door's slam lingered through the apartment.
You made your way into the bedroom, anger bubbling inside you, but beneath it was a strange emptiness.
"Whatever," you muttered, pacing the room and ranting to no one.
"He gets on my nerves," you mumbled, kicking off your shoes. "Always gotta be right."
Yet, without him there, everything felt off. The anger slowly ebbed, replaced by guilt.
You sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the worried look on his face and the crack in his voice.
Tears began slipping down your cheeks.
You hated crying after arguments.
After almost an hour, you finally pushed yourself up, realizing you needed him.
The stubborn part of you wanted to stay mad, but the aching truth was simple. You missed him.
Eventually, you heard the balcony door slide shut.
Curious, you got up and headed toward the living room.
Sitting outside on the balcony, scrolling through his phone.
He looked up when the door slid open.
Quietly, you moved closer and sat beside him before leaning against his shoulder.
Jermajesty glanced at you before opening his arm.
You immediately curled into his side.
"You still mad?" he asked.
"A little," you admitted.
Despite yourself, you smiled.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
He looked down at you, his eyes gentle. "For what?"
"Not calling or texting letting you know where I was."
"But you hurt my feelings too."
His expression softened. "I know."
"And those girls really do bother me," you added quietly.
Jermajesty sighed. "I know that too."
"I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't matter."
Tears threatened again, but you held them back.
"You matter more than all that dumb stuff," he said softly.
You looked up at him, hope flickering in your eyes.
"Really," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"I was scared, that's all," he admitted.
"And I'm sorry for being a jerk."
"A little bit of a jerk."
A thought surfaced your mind and you spoke. "Can we shower together?"
Jermajesty pulled back just enough to look at you. "Yeah. Come on."
The bathroom filled with steam and the hot steam fogged up the mirror.
Jermajesty stepped in first, water sliding down his shoulders, down his chest, down the all his muscles. You followed, and the glass door clicked shut behind you.
For a moment you just stood there, letting the heat work into the tension knotted between your shoulder blades.
Then his hands found your hips.
He pulled you into him, and his mouth was on yours before you could draw breath.
All the words that hadn't been said, all the apologies that needed to be felt rather than spoken.
His tongue swept past your lips, and you tasted the faint salt of him, the clean water running between you.
Your back hit the cool tile, and you gasped.
Jermajesty took one hand sliding up your ribcage while the other stayed on your hip.
His thumb traced the curve beneath your breast, his teeth grazed your bottom lip.
"You know what went through my head?" he murmured against your mouth. "When you weren't answering?"
You shook your head, breath catching.
"Every worst-case scenario." His hand slipped higher, palm cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightened. "Every single one."
Your head fell back against the tile. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah." His other hand dropped lower, fingers trailing down your stomach. "You are."
His two fingers slid through your folds, parting you open.
The water beat against his shoulder, ricocheting onto your collarbone, and you couldn't tell where the heat of the shower ended and the heat of his touch began.
You did. His eyes were fixed on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every twitch of your mouth.
"Next time," he said, and slid one finger inside you to the knuckle, "you tell me where you're going."
Your response faded in your throat as he curled that finger, finding the spot that made your vision swim.
"I'll— yes —I'll tell you."
A second finger joined the first, stretching you, and his palm pressed against your clit with each slow thrust.
Your nails bit into his arms. Your hips rolled to meet his hand, chasing more friction, more depth, more anything.
"You're so tight like this," he said, almost to himself. "Always are when you're worked up."
The coil in your stomach drew tighter. Every stroke of his fingers sent a pulse through your thighs, up your spine, behind your eyes.
The bathroom filled with the sound of water and your uneven breathing and the wet rhythm of his hand.
But he stopped. Just before you were able to cum, he stopped and you whimpered.
"Not yet," Jermajesty said, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. "Bedroom time!."
The shower ended after that. You both left the towels on the bathroom floor.
You dropped to your knees before he could tell you to.
The carpet was soft beneath your shins. Jermajesty stood above you, water still beading on his chest, his cock heavy and hard and inches from your lips.
You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the heat of him, the pulse that matched your own.
You took him into your mouth slowly.
Eyes up watching his face the way he'd watched yours.
"That's it," he breathed. "Just like that."
You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, letting your tongue work the underside of his shaft.
You sucked him until his breathing turned ragged, until his hips started to thrust into your mouth, until his hand finally tugged you back.
"Enough." His voice was rough. "I want to be inside you."
Jermajesty took you to the bed and the sheets cool against your knees.
Jermajesty was behind you, one hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, guiding you into the deepest arch your spine could manage.
"Look at that." His palm smoothed over your ass, then gripped it hard enough to leave fingerprints. "This is where you belong."
You heard the sound of him stroking himself, and then you felt pressure of him at your entrance.
He didn't ask if you were ready cause He already knew.
One push, and he was buried inside you. The sound you made was muffled by the mattress.
He filled you completely, stretching you around him, and the sensation bordered on too much.
He didn't move he just let you feel it and adjust.
"From now on," he said, voice low and steady, "you don't walk out that door without telling me. You understand?"
He pulled back and thrust in. "Yes, what?"
Your mind blanked. The rhythm he set was slow, deep, each stroke hitting a place that made your thighs tremble.
"Daddy." The word left your mouth before your pride could catch up. "Yes, Daddy."
His hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to arch your neck. "That's my girl. That's my good fucking girl."
The pace quickened. His hips slapped against your ass. Your fingers clawed at the sheets, your eyes roll back and your mouth fall open.
"Such a pretty little slut when you're bent over like this." He leaned forward, chest pressing against your spine, lips brushing your ear. "Taking all of me. Taking it so well."
You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
He watched himself disappear into you over and over, fascinated by the sight.
"You feel so good." He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. "Taking me so well. Like you were made for this."
"I was." You pushed back to meet every thrust. "Made for you, daddy. Only you."
His orgasm was building now, coiling tight at the base of his spine. He could tell you were getting close, your walls starting to clench around him, your moans becoming more desperate.
"Touch yourself," he commanded.
Your hand slipped between her legs, and he felt her fingers working your clit as he fucked you.
A strangled yes was all you could manage.
The permission was what broke you. The wave crashed through your body, thighs shaking, back arching deeper, a cry tearing from your throat that you didn't recognize as your own.
He fucked you through it, then he buried himself deep one final time and spilled inside you with a groan.
Afterward, in the quiet, he pulled you against his chest. The sheets were lost somewhere at the foot of the bed.
His arm draped over your waist, and his breathing slowed against the back of your neck.
"No more running off," he murmured.
"No more," you agreed, voice hoarse.
"Good," he said. "Because next time, I won't let you off so easy."