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naomihatake · 5 months

Text

Solitude

you can find other zoro fics here: Naomi's archive

pairing: zoro x fem reader

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, consumption of alcohol

summary: One would expect the swordsman to unwind after a battle, but there are times when he can't help but think. Alcohol doesn't always come in handy when a specific crewmate he grew fond of cuddled a tad bit too close to his heart.

word count: 3.3k

theme song: 'Daylight' by David Kushner

A/N: It can be imagined with both anime and opla Zoro. I don't know if he's slightly ooc or not, but I genuinely wanted to dig into this side of a relationship with the swordsman. The awkward times when he's getting used to it and simply accepting everything as a new part of his life.

I didn't forget about my multi chapter fiction, I just didn't find the inspiration for the 8th chapter. I couldn't help but write this for my own comfort and I want to mention that this original art of @tea917339 inspired me (check it out, it's absolutely amazing!!!)

I'm always open for your opinions and comments, so don't be shy about sharing your thoughts with me! <3

Usually, nights with the Straw Hats were lively, even after battles that left the crew members injured and bleeding. They would pick each other up and cheer up by simply bickering — that's what Zoro thought.

The same way Luffy's hand extended to help him back on his feet after he plopped down on the ground to rest. The same way Zoro reassured Chopper after the kid tried his best not to get emotional afterwards. The same way Sanji threw some remarks and the swordsman spat back in annoyance. And, for fuck’s sake, Nami reminded him for the tenth time that day he owes her berry for something he completely forgot about. Usopp was sighing in relief every time he remembered they escaped with life again while Robin agreed with a soft smile on her face. Truly, it was almost insane — Zoro wouldn't exactly call that a miracle because he's doubtful of its existence.

However, he couldn't bring himself to cheer up once the celebration of their victory was over and everyone went into their rooms. He was on the night watch and all he found himself capable of doing was burying in memories of all kinds, be it happy or not. With not enough alcohol in his system yet, it was rather hard to push those thoughts into the back of his head.

The swordsman sat on the deck, his back resting against the wooden cabin. Hidden from prying eyes, he found peace in the temporary silence. Rare were the times when the crew was so peaceful and it was usually during the night, when they were asleep, because otherwise they would've caused a mayhem.

The side of his mouth curled upwards at that thought. It was equally annoying and endearing, since in the months spent with them he found a lot of things about himself. Like the fact that he found his crew to be a family, like the way he sometimes found peace even in the chaos caused by them.

Or like the presence he grew way too fond of along the way. That witch — she truly was one, judging by the effect she had on him. Only a spell could've made his mind get so clouded, only some unknown force could've managed to soften his edges so well. She joined the crew from the first day and he believed that a spell had been casted upon him since the first time they gazed at each other.

Right. Zoro gulped down. The effect she had on him was equally annoying and pleasant.

Annoying because he should've focused on his promise to Kuina, not get lost in between fairytales. He wasn't by any means the charming prince riding a white horse and he didn't intend on becoming one anytime soon. It filled him up with feelings unknown to him. Zoro might be a fan of adventures and he had rather insane ideas — as one might say —, but such sentiments were an entirely new path to walk on.

First and foremost, it bothered him the fact that he wasn't sure he could fulfill both his promises and whatever the fuck was going on between him and the witch. He couldn't pinpoint what was happening, it was all in a blur, even if everything was clearing up whenever he saw her.

That's when he's reminded why he likes their relationship — what kind of, he didn't know. When he saw her, there were always sparkles in her eyes and the smile on her face would grow wider, lines of happiness appearing on her cheeks. The curl of her lips would make his heart skip a few beats and he would relax his shoulders unconsciously. Eyes filled with joy looked at him as if he was the very reason behind her purest sensations.

Also, not to mention how warm the depths of his chest felt when she was near. The heat would rise to his cheeks, which he sometimes found uncomfortable, but Zoro never ran away. A side of him wished so badly to go the other way and never look back, ignore her and those stupid damned feelings, but he never gathered enough courage to do so. Every single time, he would remain stuck, with his eyes stuck on her frame and fingers aching to touch and lips tingling to kiss.

God fucking dammit.

With a curse rolling off his tongue casually as he closed his eyes, the back of his head collided with the wooden wall he rested his back against. Zoro sat with his knees bent and feet planted onto the floor, only his Wado Ichimoji in his proximity. With its hilt glued to his shoulder, the sheathed sword was in between his fingers. By that time, he held it for comfort.

If that's what he could call it. The swordsman wasn't sure what else to associate it with. Or was it familiarity? The white sword was the only memory he had of a long lost friend and his first home at the dojo, by the side of his sensei. It was the only object tying him to his past, to his beginning, to times when he was much weaker, but determined nonetheless.

To care about his promise was familiar. Zoro wouldn't give it up — proof was the simple fact that he still achieved to become the strongest swordsman in the world. One day, he will meet Mihawk again and when he does, he will be stronger than the first time he encountered him at Baratie.

Looking back, it's been so long since. So long since a new life appeared before his eyes and he accepted it with no hesitation. He was a pirate, a Straw Hat, Luffy's first mate. The swordsman swore to help his captain achieve his own dream.

Those promises were familiar. The erratic heartbeats caused by the witch weren't. The sensation settling in the pits of his stomach when her gentle fingers would brush over his arm weren't. It was foreign and it didn't sit well with him.

Kuina.

He still saw her face in his dreams sometimes and it was usually her ghost haunting him. Other times, in her place would be one of his friends and each time it was harder to fall asleep.

When awake, memories of her replayed so vividly in his mind. Swords clashing together and whistling as they cut the air in half. A grin brightening up Kuina's face when he would fall on his butt and cuss her out again. They promised that one of them would become the greatest, but he was the only one capable of that, because her bones lay in a grave somewhere far away.

Zoro opened his eyes and stared at the night sky with scars scattered all over it. A calming view, even if there was tumult inside of him, hidden in between ribs that broke with each new pump of his heart. His brown eyes fell to the floor and he crossed his arms on top of his knees, gripping the sword tighter. His chest puffed up with air when he inhaled and he let out a heavy sigh.

“Zoro?” a soft whisper made him jump out of his thoughts.

The swordsman snapped his head and he was greeted by the sight of someone he didn't even know he was searching for. A side of him wished to say something along the lines of “fuck off” while the other side desperately wanted to soak into her presence.

A witch, indeed.

His eyes ran up and down her figure. She didn't seem surprised to find him there, in a rather hidden spot, which meant she didn't search for too long. Did she even search for him or did she also wish to be alone for a while? The first place to search for someone during night shifts was the crows nest.

She held two bottles of what he guessed to be alcohol and she swung them carefully before stepping closer. His chest tightened and he found it harder to breathe, even if it was inevitably easier than before at the same time. For some reason, she had that effect on him.

Maybe he knew that reason all too well, but he just avoided thinking of it.

“You told me we'd drink something together,” she reminded him in that warm voice of hers.

The sweet melody that calmed his nerves.

He didn't know what kind of energy radiated off him, but her behavior was far more gentle than usual. She wasn't hesitant, the witch never hesitated around him, she was just mindful of her actions and words.

He didn't know why for a second he saw understanding in the curl of her lips when she crouched down. Unconsciously, Zoro knitted his eyebrows together in confusion at her gestures.

The bottles hit the floor and she let go of them. Her eyes sparkled like they always did, but there was something different that time — a warmth they held only when she comforted Chopper or encouraged Usopp. Warmth similar to the shy rays of the sun of the morning, when the cold is still lingering and there's a specific scent in the air. Gentleness he only ever saw in her, because Luffy's kindness was different.

A warmth so humane that was visible for the crew alone or those in need of it.

The witch recognized something in his demeanor and Zoro had no clue what that was about. He could only see it in her gaze.

“I suppose it isn't really the perfect time for me to butt in, hm?” she whispered.

Like a promise only for him to hear. A secret.

“How'd you find me here?” he found himself speaking before he thought it through.

The question made her shrug.

“I pick up easily on your energy. It's quite unmistakable, y'know?”

There it was — one of the main reasons why she had the nickname of Witch both on the ship and outside of it. She's spoken about that for a few times and he had to admit he understood what she meant. However, the swordsman only felt those “energies” (as she liked to call them) in specific moments. He remembers that time in Lougetown when everything felt like energy instead of palpable objects, the reason why he won that fight.

Sometimes he seriously wondered if she hadn't met his sensei at some point in her life.

“What is it like?” once again, he asked before thinking.

The witch pulled her lips in a tight line and hummed, gathering the right words to describe it. Her gaze bounced around and she grimaced once, when she probably found her choice of words to be unpleasant or inappropriate — she always scrunched her nose when it was difficult to find the proper terms.

“It's sharp, but warm. Kind of steady, constantly flickering. For example, Luffy's energy is always all around the place and Chopper's gets out of control easily. Robin has the steadiest energy of all of us, even if it was kind of… strange lately.”

Zoro arched his eyebrow at the last piece of information and only received a hand waving through the air.

“Ignore the last part, I'm still figuring it out myself. No need to worry.”

The swordsman knew the energy she was talking about was different than what he felt when she was in presence, but he wondered if whatever laid in her heart interfered with her ability to distinguish his being from the others.

He watched as the witch looked at the bottles next to him and then clicked her tongue, deep in thought.

“I don't know if they'd help you tonight, but I'll let you be.”

None of those words were accusatory. They were all coming from a place of kindness and patience.

Suddenly, her fingers curled around his bicep, below the bandana wrapped around his arm. Skin on skin, her touch was hot and pleasant, even if very confusing.

What was she thinking?

His puzzled feelings were written on his face. Uncertainty laid in his dark brown eyes and his fingers held onto the sword tighter. He didn't even notice when the grip on his Wado Ichimoji loosened up.

Her gaze was reassuring as ever and she gently rubbed her thumb into his tensed muscles.

Zoro had to at least admit to himself that vulnerability was uncomfortable. Without spoken words, she picked up on it.

“I don't know for sure if I'll get to sleep tonight, so you could cut your night shift in half.” She's having issues with nightmares again? he silently wondered. “I'll be in my room, reading. Do what you see fit.”

Instantly, she was back on her feet with her back straight and walked away. The swordsman didn't know what happened or what he should understand.

He was utterly and completely confused. What just happened?

Oh. The witch gave him space and time to think. She also told him where she was in case he decided to grip at the promise of comfort and hold tightly onto it. The opportunity laid right in front of him and he was the only one to decide whether he used it to his advantage or not.

Zoro didn't notice when his shoulders relaxed. His body wasn't as tense as a few minutes ago, his back didn't feel as stiff. The exhale he left wasn't heavy anymore.

The swordsman knew what this was about. Maybe it was the time to just accept his feelings and get on with it. He had to suck it up and deal with it, even if dealing with her wasn't the right way to word it out. It always felt more like she was dealing with him.

With closed eyes, he remembered the last time her lips brushed by his. Gosh, it was so hot and his blood was bubbling like lava in his veins. It wasn't an accident, he intended on kissing her back with fever, but he had a hard time accepting everything. It was… weird. Facing that reality was troublesome.

She has yet to lose her patience. The witch remained firm and each one of her questions were answered by gestures instead of words — something familiar for him. She was far more skilled with expressing herself even when sensitive topics came up.

That was a miracle. Her presence alone could be compared to a miracle because it was completely unexpected and somehow always caressing him the right way. It was scary how accurately she could read him and the same applied to him.

The sky before his eyes continued to sparkle with stars and he remained still in his place. His fingers caressed the scabbard of his sword as he blinked in the darkness, the chill air of the night invading his lungs.

It was complicated and so simple at the same time. Zoro knew the answer — he just had to come to terms with it.

Just as age promised, the witch sat on the bed in her room with a blanket warming her up. The lamp on the nightstand by her side casted a golden light over the pages of a book sitting in her lap. It was hard to focus on the story — a captivating part of pirate's history, sometime before the appearance of Gold D. Roger.

Her thoughts were followed by the swordsman. Zoro's mood was… sad at best. She didn't expect to find him in that state, but she quickly came to the conclusion that leaving him alone might do him good.

She tapped her finger over the pages of the old book and clicked her tongue. Was it right to leave him? The witch never saw him in a similar mood and she also realized she didn't know how to help him. There could be a lot of ways to bring him back to earth or at least keep him afloat. Those ways were only known by him. All she could do was guess and hope for the best outcome.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. When it opened wide, there was Zoro's tall silhouette, his white sword in his hand and one bottle of alcohol in his other. He came closer, his face hard as a stone. The pink hue painting his cheeks was the only detail giving away the fact that he drank one of the bottles she brought hours ago.

“Why aren't you sleeping yet?” he said with a gruff voice as he plopped down on the mattress.

There were only a few hours left before the sun would rise up from the sea.

“You've probably guessed already,” she averted her eyes from his figure.

“Nightmares again?”

The witch only nodded, eyes focused on the book. Zoro let the sword against the couch.

“I won't fall asleep, so you could as well take a night off,” only then she looked at him again.

His darkened eyes have been locked on her since he entered the valley. The witch wanted to move, to eventually get away from his knowing gaze, but she knew there was no possible way to do it.

“Are you alright?” she blurted out.

She had to fill that silence with some kind of conversation. Maybe that wasn't exactly the wisest decision, considering his shoulders visibly tensed and he straightened his back. A frown appeared on her face. She regretted talking.

The witch figured out he needed more time to sort his thoughts.

“Why don't you go to sleep?” she tilted her head to the side. “The fight has worn us all out. You could rest for a while.”

“And you?”

“We'll be sailing for a few days. I can sleep ‘till afternoon.”

“Nothing will happen for as long as you're on this ship with us,” the reassurance slipped so easily. “Do you trust us?”

“More than anything,” the witch responded with a faint smile.

Several weeks ago, her answer and reaction would've been so different. She made so much progress since she first met them, her trust now fully laying in their palms. Long ago, she would've backed away at such a question and, if they were lucky enough, the witch would admit she “needs time to adjust”.

At first, all he did was lean close enough for his shoulder to touch hers. The swordsman only intended to enjoy some peace while he shared his booze with the witch. From time to time, she'd gulp from the bottle and then give it back to him before continuing her lecture. After each two minutes, the room would be filled by the rustling of pages.

It didn't last long until he fell into her trap and tiredness dragged him glued to her. With his head in her lap, Zoro bumped his nose in her thigh. The witch's fingers ran through his hair and he let out an audible exhale, eyes closing instantly. Greeted by darkness, he felt warm not only on the inside. The blanket she curled around herself earlier was now covering his upper body as he sunk into the soft mattress and her.

One of his hands curled around her knee and he dug his fingers into her flesh. Her leg jerked slightly at the unexpected touch, but when he tried to move away, she muttered a sweet “It's okay”, stopping his movements.

The oxygen in his lungs was exchanged with her perfume and he bit back a groan. Her voice was like a lullaby, even if there weren't many words rolling off her tongue. Zoro wasn't bothered by the light of the lamp, completely forgetting about the world around him once her fingers continued running through his hair.

His hand traveled up, until it fully rested on her thigh, the warmth of her body seeping through the thin material of her pants. Truth be told, he's never felt better.

She was a remedy. His remedy.

“Good night.”

Zoro heard her whisper solely because he was near her; otherwise he would've confounded it with the night breeze.

Maybe giving in to her affection isn't that bad.

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sapphicvqmpires · 8 months

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❁ཻུ۪۪♡ wouldn’t change a thing

Pairing - sub!shuri x dom black fem!reader

Word Count - 6.8k

Contains - smut (18+), sub!shuri, dom!reader, fingering, masturbation, voyeurism, overstimulation, edging, strap-on, choking/breathplay, brat!shuri, jealous!shuri, kinda possessive!shuri, brat tamer!reader, shuri rolls tf outta her eyes in this one cuz she got a little attitude

Divider From - @firefly-graphics

Sneak Peak - “Do me a favor and go sit on the edge of the desk for me, yeah?” And she complied, for it was in instances like these that her royal title, her professional achievements, and her intellectual brains held no significance. In these moments, it didn’t matter who she was to the country of Wakanda, that they looked up to her, relied on her, and even bowed to her, it all faded away; she consistently yielded to your dominance.

Tags - @inmyheadimobsessed @amplifiedmoan @vampzxi @abenomeiiii @heejayy @shurislover @shurismainbxtch @shuriszn @naomis-daydream @prettymrswright @pocketsizedpanther @gardenof-venus @tiii-iiiiii @verachii @ihearttish @playhousedistee @somethingcleaverandwhitty @niyahwrites @tishsrealwife @oceean @sookiesookie @myaraines @cafehyunji @6-noir @ventingfanfics @ririslove @marsology @imjusthere2readbruv @desswright29 @mqiswrld @ooglyboooglybitxh @sweetalittleselfish-honey (comment if you want to be added, 18+ only)

Writers Note: Special shoutout to @inmyheadimobsessed and thank you for being real patient, I know you wanted this bad! I really enjoyed writing this one, it’s just pure smut for all you filthy people (just like me!), but anyways, hope you all enjoy this read!

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ Another day unfolded at the lab; another day filled with complex equations that your mind effortlessly processed. It was a typical lab scene in Wakanda, where the brightest minds convened to work on various projects. Amidst the hectic environment, your girlfriend, who happened to be the most brilliant of them all, shot disapproving looks at you from across the lab. You were busy assisting someone else, another girl, helping her with difficult equations only you and Shuri had the brains to solve in a minimal amount of time. Despite the girl's subtle attempts at flirting, you provided her with the help she needed, choosing to overlook her flirtatious mannerisms. But Shuri, she was angry; seething in jealousy as she watched the way you fessed up to the needy girl beside you.

For another fleeting moment, your eyes met Shuri's, but she averted her gaze quickly, causing your stomach to churn with unease. You were well aware that as soon as the door to your bedroom closed, you'd have to brace yourself for her inevitable whines and complaints that would leave her lips and slip through her body language.

As the sun began to set and the lab gradually emptied, you made your way back to your room. Finding your bedroom unoccupied wasn't surprising, given that Shuri typically lingered in the lab until late hours. And so you proceeded with your night, changing into a more relaxed attire and prepared a snack while anticipating Shuri's eventual exit from the lab to join you, readying yourself for her likely complaints. The minutes ticked by, until finally, your girlfriend entered through the doorway.

“Hey,” you muttered, but she completely ignored you, making her way to the bathroom for her daily shower. You were utterly astonished, taken aback by the extent to which she was willing to make her point and you were growing frustrated and impatient.

After what felt like an eternity, Shuri eventually came out. Her curls retained its dampness from her shower, and your gaze traced the tattoo situated behind her left ear, which extended down to her hand. The sight of your girlfriend made your stomach flutter. She was always ridiculously sexy and the thought of having your way with her at this very moment was enticing, yet Shuri had alternative plans. She takes her place beside you on the bed, continuing her performance of silence as she proceeds to ignore you and your most obvious frustrated presence.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on with the attitude?,” you spat with a harsh tone, breaking the silence that hovered between you two.

“What attitude?,” Shuri replies, eyes still nowhere on yours. You let out a hefty sigh, one that was accompanied by an aggressive eye roll.

“You know, you’re really starting to piss me off,” you mention.

“Ditto.”

By this point, your patience with her and her demeanor had worn thin. You seize her jaw, possibly with an aggression that you hadn’t initially intended, forcing her gaze to meet yours as you were teetering on the edge of reaching a breaking point.

It’s not that you weren’t aware of why she was upset, you knew why. But you didn’t believe your actions deserved this type of behavior from Shuri.

“Shuri, baby, talk to me or don’t start.” You let go of her jaw, an act of permission to get her to speak. Shuri rolls her eyes in response, a sly smirk subtly peeking through her lips as you move your hands to firmly grab her throat.

“Baby…” A word of warning as you pressed down a bit further. Shuri bit her bottom lip, her face softening as she willingly brought her gaze to yours for the first time tonight. You let go of her throat, getting lost in the way it bobbed once she swallowed.

“You know why I’m upset, nkoszana, so I’m not even sure why you’re making me say it.”

“Because I was simply doing my job, and you’re getting upset Shuri, like what is it you want me to do?”

“I don’t care. I don’t like her. She clearly has a thing for you and you’re just kissing up to her obvious flirtations.”

“Shuri, I’m not doing anything but my job. She asks for help, and I give it to her in a polite manner. Whatever other motives she has is none of my business and I don’t give a fuck, I really don’t. But I have to do what I’m required to do, right? You’re the boss, so you tell me.” Your tone was clipped and straight to the point.

“Whatever. I don’t care.”

“No, you clearly do care, so tell me what I should do, princess.”

“Do what you want.”

Once more, you let out a forceful eye-roll, your frustration evident as you massage your temples in an attempt to ease your upcoming headache. Dealing with your girlfriend's constant complaints was nothing new; you were aware of her challenging nature even before you entered into the relationship but your determination to set things straight was one of the numerous reasons that made you her perfect counterpart. You had every intention of properly dealing with her attitude, but tonight, you decided to grant her a head start….but just for tonight.

You turned over in the bed, shifting your body to fully face her as you grasped her face once more, this time with ease as you spoke your gentle words.

“Look, my love, I’m sorry. Ok? I’m so sorry,” you cooed as you began caressing her chiseled features.

“Forgive me?,” you asked with doe eyes as Shuri shifted her body to meet yours. You quickly pecked a kiss on her lips, forcing a smile to creep through her.

“There’s my girl,” you muttered lovingly, as she softened her attitude with yours. Shuri grabbed your body and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her chest as she placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like seeing people trying to take what’s mine,” she whispered into you.

“I’m always going to be yours, Shuri, and you know that.”

“I know…but does she know that?”

“Forget about her, baby. Just let me fall asleep in your arms tonight, yeah?” You move your face from her chest to meet her sleepy eyes, raising your head to gently kiss her button nose. Shuri's face brightens with a smile, and she playfully wrinkles her nose, breaking into a gentle laughter as you embrace each other once again. The two of you drift off into slumber, finding a peaceful interlude before the inevitable storm.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The following morning unfolds with ease, your time in the lab offering a less hectic state as your previous days have, but this was short-lived as you spot the familiar figure of the girl approaching you once again for assistance. A deep sigh escapes your lips, not directed at her, but rather because you knew what would happen as a result of it.

Beyond her annoying flirtations, you do understand why she came to you for help. You were one of Shuri’s best lab assistants and it was no secret that Shuri was not keen on the other girl, therefore she came to you.

Shuri's piercing gaze was far from discrete, juggling her attention between attending her tasks while also casting a vigilant look your way, a stare brimming with unmistakable jealousy. She observed every action, ensuring you stayed well within the boundaries she had set, and you were more than aware. The intensity of her glares grew distracting, making it difficult to attend to your duties and so you had to cut it short.

“Hey, I’m sorry but I got to take care of something real quick. I’ll be right back.”

As you approach Shuri, her gaze drops, redirecting her focus to her task while she inhales deeply. Your face clearly displays frustration as you bend your knees to align with her seated form.

“You’re being a brat,” you whispered, keeping an eye out for any nosey lab assistants.

“I don’t give a shit,” she spat back instantly.

“Shuri…” Your tone was a warning, but Shuri persisted in keeping up her facade, rolling her eyes with a subtle smirk and that act alone pushed you to your breaking point. You seized her wrist, leading her into her vacant office space. You lock the door and push her into the office chair. Leaning forward, you positioned yourself to meet her eyes, intentionally highlighting your lifted cleavage and Shuri’s gaze was anything but subtle.

“You, my love, are really starting to piss me off and get on my nerves,” you said, lightly grasping her jaw.

“I do not care. She’s obviously into you and I don’t like it.”

“So what you gonna do Shuri? Fire her and put that poor girl out of a job cuz you don’t like her??”

“Sounds enticing…”

“Shuri!”

“What?? I don’t see why she only goes to you anyway. I’m the smartest in the lab, she could come to me for help if she really needs it.”

“Now you know damn well why she won’t go to you, giving her the nastiest looks and all.”

Another eye roll manages to escape her, crossing her arms as she sits manspread in the chair in front of you. You've reached your limit with her bratty behavior, allowing her to hold the upper hand for long enough. Now, it's your moment to employ what you do best. You squat down, meeting her seated eye level, grasping her face between your thumb and middle finger as you exert a pressure that makes her flinch in response.

“You are reealllyy starting to piss me off, baby.” Your voice turned into a low, husky murmur, a sound that caused Shuri's pussy to pulse beneath your firm grip, a fact you were well aware of. You had an eye for detecting when she began to soak her boxers, the subtle gentleness in her eyes and the accelerated rhythm of her breath never escaped your notice.

“Do me a favor and go sit on the edge of the desk for me, yeah?”

And she complied, for it was in instances like these that her royal title, her professional achievements, and her intellectual brains held no significance. In these moments, it didn’t matter who she was to the country of Wakanda, that they looked up to her, relied on her, and even bowed to her, it all faded away; she consistently yielded to your dominance.

“You know baby, I’m starting to think this little attitude is simply because you want something from me,” you cooed seductively, playing with the waistband of her baggy shorts and she gulped beneath your touch. She would consistently attempt to maintain the illusion of holding the upper hand when dealing with you, a charade that only Wakanda believed. However, once the doors were closed, she would abandon her strength, discard the influence of the heart-shaped herb, and surrender complete control of her body to you.

You ease your hold on her face, letting your hand slide along her throat until you arrive at its base, where you apply a subtle pressure, eliciting a soft gasp from her, a sound that sends a pulsating sensation through your own pussy. As your grip tightens, she draws her final breath, savoring the dominance you exert as you deny her the ability to inhale.

“Nod if you’re ok.” And she does, frantically clutching your wrist as she intensely longs for more. You briefly release your hold on her throat to remove her baggy shirt and sports bra, and she helps you with equal excitement, both of you impatient to indulge in each other. You unbutton her baggy shorts and eagerly slip your hands beneath them, encountering the outcome of your actions through the mess between her legs. Her reaction is visceral; her mouth opens in astonishment as you circle her clit through the fabric, and she wastes no time pressing into you, seeking more friction.

“You’re so needy, you know that? A fucking brat, for real.”

“I…”

“You what? Wanna be punished baby? Is that what this is all about? Just wanna be fucked good, huh?”

“Mhmm,” she moaned with a nod, biting on her bottom lip but it wasn't enough for you. What you craved was the sound of the voice, the quivering words that attempted to escape her; observing how she struggled to string together coherent sentences while you toyed with the heat between her legs. Your other hand sought her throat once more, a location it favored when it wasn’t occupied in her snug cunt. You applied just enough pressure to milk a strangled gasp and she knew exactly what it was you needed from her.

“Y-yes,” she responded, but you still weren’t pleased and so you pressed firmer into her windpipe.

“Sentences, Shuri. You know I don’t do that weak shit.”

“Yes, y/n. I-I w-want you to p-punish…me. P-put me in my place,” she struggled to say amidst her airflow being restricted and your hand down her pants, but she smiled her way through it, her smile fading into a breathless moan as you slip your hand into her boxers and come head on with her saturated pussy. Her slick was audible and sticky, clinging to your fingers as you pranced through her plush folds, purposefully toying with her clit to drive her insane.

“Y-y/n…please…please?”

“Ssshhh, my pretty girl, I’m getting there.”

“Unh.”

You grabbed her chin and forced her gaze on yours. Her eyes were so desperate, so sleepy and she shut them completely when you finally sunk them into her without warning.

“Oh, shit…y/n, baby.”

Your fingers were well equipped with Shuri’s pussy, familiar with the walls that paved the way to the spot that always led your beautiful girl to her sweet bliss. It didn’t take long before your pace quickened, your fingers soaking in everything Shuri’s wet pussy had to give you. Her walls hugged your fingers, weeping around them as you plunged into her g-spot.

“Bast…ewe...ewe! Nceda ungayeki…” (Bast…yes….yes! Please don’t stop…). Per usual, Shuri’s body became needy, her hips bucking forward to meet your thrusts, her breasts bouncing frantically and the sight of her body being so overwhelmed by you made you wet.

“Look at you Shuri…so fucking needy, yeah?”

“Mhmm. Yeah.”

“Such a brat, you’re frustrating as hell. I can feel you squeezing my fingers real good already…you gonna cum soon?”

“Yes, y/n! Y-yes…I-I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered, her pussy walls clamping down further and further with each thrust you gave her.

“You think you deserve it?”

“Ye-yeah.”

“Oh? You sure?”

“Mhmm, yes y/n…I deserve it, just…fuck.”

You released your fingers from her cunt, tapping her lips as a signal for her to open wide and taste herself and she obliged.

“Mmmm,” she moaned at her own flavor as you swooshed your fingers through her mouth, hitting the back of her throat to make her gag just once and you chuckled at the tears that began to brim on the outer corners of her tired eyes. And instantly your hands are back into her aching cunt, milking her as her whole body trembles beneath your touch.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time…do you deserve it?”

“Ye-”

You cut her off mid-answer with your palm slapping her drenched pussy lips, a whimper falling off Shuri’s tongue at the gesture.

“Answer me, princess. Properly this time.”

“N-no…I don’t deserve it.”

“What don’t you deserve?”

“To cum. I do-don’t deserve to c-cum.” A pout formed on her face and you responded with your own pout, mocking her with a fake frown.

“Poor baby,” you taunted.

“Y/n…pleeassee. I’ll be good. I’ll d-do better, just…unh…please let me cum for you.”

And you so badly want to give into her, fulfill her bodies desires and make her soak your whole hand but you were in control, carrying the power over her approaching orgasm and so you ripped your fingers from her tight pussy as she was on the brink of releasing, a full pout forming on her face as the knot in her stomach remained there.

“Wha--why? Nkosazna, please.”

You gave her no answer, but wrapped your lips around your fingers, savoring the intimate taste of your girlfriend as your gaze connected with hers.

“Do you know why I didn’t let your pretty pussy cum, baby?”

But Shuri says nothing, angrily rolling her eyes as she tries to regain an ounce of dominance; also secretly hoping you may continue “punishing her.” She attempts to push her way around you but you would not allow it. You pushed her chest, forcing her to sit back onto the desk. You clutched her jaw, almost painfully this time, a reminder of her place.

“I’m not gonna ask again.”

“Because I was being needy.”

“Mhmm…and?”

“And jealous.”

“What else?”

“And a brat.”

“Yes you were, my perfect girl.” You let go, gently caressing her face before you pull her lips into yours. She moans into the kiss, her flavor still lingering on your lips and you both feel like you could stay there forever.

“I love you,” she breathed into you, not wanting to let you go.

“I love you more,” you replied, finally breaking the kiss.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The rest of the day goes by fairly well. Shuri works diligently at her desk, putting on her best behavior but you notice her slip up every now and then, subtly rolling her eyes at you because what is your beautiful girlfriend if not a spoiled brat?

As the evening draws near, you make your way to your room. As before, you're met with an empty bedroom until the sound of running water reaches your ears from behind the closed bathroom door. You get comfortable, waiting for her to emerge. And just like that, she appears once again, exuding an even greater sex appeal than before, dressed in a pair of gray sweats and a wifebeater. The waistband of her boxers peaks above her sweats, and a dainty set of gold chains adorns her neck, as if she needed the accessories to be any more attractive. She looks stunning, and you find yourself wanting to give her everything she didn’t deserve, a desire to untangle her until she’s your good girl again.

Shuri didn’t notice your presence until your voice broke the silence, casually startling her in your tracks.

“Bast, baby, you’re killing me,” you said, and you most definitely meant it. “Come sit here,” you gestured to her to come on your lap. For the gazillionth time, Shuri playfully rolled her eyes, smirking as she made her way to straddle you.

“You and this damn attitude…what I gotta do to take it out of you, hm?” You pull her in for a kiss, both of you needy with your grip and movements as she softly moans into your lips, causing you to smile against her.

“What is it you want, Shuri?,” you asked, your voice was low, your gaze even lower, admiring the way her nipples pierced through the fabric of her shirt.

“I want you to finish what you started,” she replied, her plea soaked in impatience.

“Hmmm? Attitude too damn loud, I can’t hear you over it.”

She sighs heavily before proceeding to speak. “You know what I want and if you won’t give it to me then I swear to Bast, y/n, I’ll just touch mys--”

But you cut her off as you swiftly raise a finger to hush her parted lips. Her immediate compliance sets a promising tone for the evening ahead, aligning perfectly with the intentions you had planned for her. You taunt her, daring her to finish her sentence, yet she refrains, her face contorting into profound yearning for your touch alone. Drawing her closer, your lips meet hers once again and she whimpers into your mouth and that sound in itself almost forces you to give in to her, to succumb to everything she wants without a fight on her end. Almost.

“You know that thing you said you’d do? Yeah, I’m gonna need you to do it.”

“W-what?”

“Imma need you to play with yourself. Make yourself cum at the pace I allow, my girl,” you softly command, caressing her cheek as you watch the way her face falls into your touch.

“I wanted you to do it,” she pouts, but you raise your eyebrow in question, challenging to see what’d she do but it shuts her right up instead. Good girl.

“Ok but…I need you to do something for me while I’m touching myself…please?”

“Hm? And what would that be?”

“I want you to choke me. You know how I like it, sthandwa.”

"Absolutely, I do," you respond, drawing her in for a final kiss before you begin to remove her clothing and undergarments soon after, leaving her in nothing but her dainty gold chains that have been driving you crazy. You orient yourselves just as you would if it were your own fingers about to sink into her cunt, your legs spread apart as she nestled between them, her back fitting snugly against your chest. Shuri mimics you, spreading her own legs as you set your gaze on her juicy, undeniably tempting pussy that catches the light in the mirror positioned before you. It was one of your favorite things about her; the deep, plump lips fixated between her thighs was nothing short of art to you.

You grasped her hand gently, guiding two of her fingers into the basin of your mouth, generously coating them in your own saliva. You hummed softly around her tattooed digits just before she trailed them down to her most sensitive area.

“Play with your clit, baby. Don’t go inside just yet,” you guided and she obeyed, nodding her head as her mouth opened the instant her fingers found her clump of sensitive nerves. Your girlfriend was easily influenced when it came to her pussy, making it a brief process for her whimpers to grow into mellow cries. With each push she placed onto her clit, her legs trembled, patiently awaiting your orders.

“Keep it going…don’t stop until I tell you.”

“Choke me,” she said, her plea coming out more demanding than begging. “Choke me, please.” There was the beg.

You take hold of her face, redirecting it towards you, granting her a final kiss before your hand glides down to her neck. A gasp escaped her lips in response to the sensation but her fingers did not halt, her juices becoming louder as she swished her clit.

“You look so beautiful like this Shuri…fuck.”

You applied a gentle pressure to her neck, your palm following the curves of her trachea and you sensed her throat shifting with every forceful swallow she took.

“Harder,” she softly begged, and you do, pressing further into her.

“Harder, y/n, harder. Choke me.”

“Damn, baby, you’re so nasty,” you teased, obeying her desperate plea. Gently, she begins to choke; her moans, soft gasps, and wet pussy become the sole sounds that reach your ears, forming a sinful melody. You lift your gaze to the reflection ahead, entranced with the sight, although Shuri's expression doesn't quite match the moment. She removes herself from your hold, turning her body around to face you before she begins to remove your leather belt.

“Shuri, what…what are you doing?”

“Shut up,” she says quickly, taking you by surprise.

“Hey…hey, this isn’t about me Shuri. This is about you, I don’t need-”

“Ssshhhh,” she says, cutting you off by colliding her lips into yours as she proceeds to remove your belt. Once it’s off, you understand her intentions as she wraps the leather around her neck like you would your waist, slinking it down until it’s firmly hugging her throat. “Choke. Me.”

While her request startles you initially, you eventually give in, pulling at the leather as Shuri proceeds to play with her clit. A second tug follows, leading to the sound and sight you've been longing for. The hoarse gasps that come from the depths of her throat, mingling with her escalating moans, a blended sound that made your pussy throb.

“Oh-ok…y-yes y/n. I-I’m gonna…I’m s-so c-close,” she struggled to say with the material that compressed her windpipe.

“Do what I love, princess. Choke for me,” you demanded and she knew exactly what you meant. Shuri stuck her tongue out with a playful grin, her eyes connected with yours in the mirror's reflection. The jolt in her clit gradually intensified as her walls became tighter and tighter. It was one of the sexiest things to you, watching her tongue stick as she left you in charge of her oxygen intake; drool pouring off the tip of her tongue as she choked and circled her clit in unison, making your drenched pussy clench around nothing but air, your clit aching for a sense of relief but they would have to wait.

“Nod if you’re ok, baby,” you say, pressing harsh kisses into the side of her neck. Shuri nods.

“F-fuck…y/n…I-mhmm.”

“Just tell me to stop if you need me to, ok?” She nods again. You pull a bit tighter, earning another choked response from her.

“O-okay.”

“You’re doing so well for me, just keep doing that. Keep rubbing yourself just like that.”

“Unh.”

She was so beautiful like this, whining beneath her own touch as she left her breathing to your reign and even though she had full power to stop the assault on her clit whenever she pleases, she knew not to without your direction and it made you desire her that much more. Shuri’s clit grew enlarged, her pussy lips puffed out as her drool oozed down the valley between her breasts. Your pussy ached for her, wanting to give her everything she did and didn’t deserve.

“Y/n…I…I-”

“Cum, baby. Give it to yourself.” And she did, letting go at that very moment while her staggered, breathless moans echoed through the room. You slapped her hand, creating space for your own fingers to rub her through the aftermath, tugging the belt hard into her windpipe, momentarily cutting off all her airflow and the act intensified her climax; it was the most elated feeling for Shuri.

“Y/n…unh,” she struggled to say. Her clit jolted under your touch, her cream pooling out of her thumping cunt as she collapsed into you. You removed the belt, allowing Shuri to consume oxygen once more and she coughed in delight, absolutely pleased with her orgasm but you were nowhere near done with her. She got what she begged for and now it was your turn.

You dipped your fingers into her, pumping a few times and she jerked from your touch, still throbbing from her orgasm, though her pussy seemed excited with the way she immediately clenched around you at the contact.

“Bast…y/n…p-please…shit.”

You played with her pussy for a few moments longer, gliding your fingers through her dewy folds and she flinched every time you teased her clit. Her chest grew heavy, making it harder for her to breathe as you tantalized her through her slow, descending climax. You place your fingers on her neck, beginning to caress the tender skin and she winces.

“Are you ok?,” you ask, with genuine concern. Shuri nods along with a small laughter.

You lay her down on her back, beginning to kiss her throat with love as you caress her sore skin with your gentle lips. A soft hiss escapes her as your lips make contact, the tenderness a contrast to the pressure she endured earlier, the pressure she begged for. You bring your lips to hers, kissing her as your hands trail down her body, stopping at her clit and she moans instantly into your mouth. You smirk against her. Her sensitivity made you feral.

You press soft circles into her beating bud, caressing her just enough to drive her insane. Her folds were so plush, sopping wet with her arousal.

“Y-y/n…I need…shit, unh…”

“What do you need, princess?”

“I want y-you in…inside.”

“Hmm? I can’t hear you baby.” Your taunting gaze met her desperate one, sliding your fingers until they met her entrance. You didn't dip inside just yet, though you wanted to, but instead pressed firm circles against her entrance as you watched the way her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure. The sight of her made your already soaking panties even more wet.

“Please y/n, just fuck me alreadyyy.”

“Look at you…so fucking needy. You want me to fuck you with my fingers so bad, yeah? Is that what you want?”

She nods so quickly and the gesture makes you smile. She is completely under your reign. She begins bucking her hips, desperately wanting your fingers to meet the depth of her clenching cunt and although you aren’t buried inside her, you feel her on the surface of her entrance; the way her pussy craves you, needs you to fill her up and make her whole. She closes her eyes, her head slightly tilting backward, but you seize her chin and direct her to face you before her head can fully lean back. For a brief moment, you maintain this posture, locking eyes with her longing gaze while teasing her. Her puffy clit collides with your palm with each buck against you and you allow it.

“Please y/n…I ne-need you. Please.”

“Where baby, where?” You were being mean.

“Inside, y/n. Unh.”

“Do you know why I’m doing this?”

She smirked, struggling to bring back her bratty side as you teased her hole.

“Be-because…”

“Because why, baby?”

“Because I was being a brat.”

“Yeah that’s right…what else?”

“Unh…I was be-being too ne-eedy and jea-lous.”

“Mhmmm.”

“Inside?”

You chuckled. “MY beautiful bratty girl. Always so needy for me.” You press your lips against her cheek, tilting your head into the curve of her shoulder as you dip your fingers inside her and you're greeted by the most seductive, sinful sound of love and lust that emanates from Shuri's mouth, ringing directly into your ear.

“Yeah…YEAH…oh fuck, y/n.”

Even though you can’t see her face, you just know her mouth is hung open, her eyelashes clinging together in ecstasy as you suck the skin on her sore neck.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” you assure, fucking your needy girl with precision. You raise your head a bit, aligning her lips with your ear, eager to catch her filthy moans. You return to meet her gaze, greeted by her perky breasts bouncing in unison with your rhythmic thrusts and her creamy pussy draws you in, captivated by her glossy slick that paints your fingers. But it's her eyes, those defenseless eyes that convey all the essential messages of the pleasure that was coursing through her.

“Yes, my angel…keep making that helpless face while you’re fucking down on my fingers.”

“Mmm..unh.”

“You’re so beautiful Shuri…the prettiest girl ever.”

“Y-y/n.”

You bring her in for a slobbery kiss, swallowing her moans as the squishy sounds down below get stickier.

“I love you, y/n…I…fuck.”

“I love you too, baby. Cum for me. Do it.”

And so she does, her hands fluttering to either side of your face while her unwavering gaze stays fixed on you. Tears gather at the edges of her stunning eyes as her cunt oozes in pure bliss.

“Yeah, y/n…unh…BAST.” She completely stops rocking against you but you don’t stop thrusting into her, causing her whole body to tremble.

“Y/n.. sthandwa…please stop.”

“Hm, baby? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I want you…unh…”

“I can’t hear you my love, speak up.”

“Stop, please…stop.” She’s trembling, her voice shaking, but you knew her body, you knew it all too well. Protest might’ve been falling off her lips, but the grip her pussy contained on your fingers told you otherwise. You brought your thumb up, pressing the pad of it into her clit and she squirmed at the pressure, her pathetic tears continuing to swell in the corner of her eyes.

“Tell me one more time baby. Tell me you want me to stop and I’ll stop.”

But your perfect girl said nothing, nothing but the sound of whimpers came out of her swollen mouth. A faint smile broke through lips but swiftly vanished, replaced by her face that felt nothing but pleasure.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Bast…mmm.” Her sobs were pretty, her helpless state being one of your favorite looks on her.

“You think I can’t tell when your pussy’s had enough baby? She still wants me so badly, squeezing the fuck out of my fingers…so needy for me.”

She was a mess, becoming entranced by your words and cocky grin. She moaned without any concern for passersby because she did not care who could hear Wakanda’s protector submitting to your authority.

“You’re gonna give me another one,” you say, and she almost protests but she knows better. She doesn’t want you to stop anyway.

“You’re gonna cum around my dick this time, you think you can do that for me princess?”

“Mhmm.”

“Of course you can,” you say with a grin. Shuri helps you strip down, observing the way your wet slick adheres to the fabric of your thong as you glide them down your legs, creating a sticky string with your arousal. Your skin was so beautiful to her, its profound richness harmonizing with the textured curls that sat on your head. She admires your stretch marks that lead the way to your thick thighs and plush ass, the hues of brown in your inner thighs deepening the closer the skin got to your pussy. Bast, she was in love with you.

Shuri also helps you strap the vibranium toy to your hips, her most perfect invention that allowed you to feel her perfect pussy each and every time it sank into her. You lie on your back, motioning her to come on top of you and she obeys.

“Ride me, baby. Fuck yourself onto me until you cum around my dick.”

Shuri situated herself on top of you, firmly gripping the dildo before gently pushing it into herself and you both moaned in unison. It's a sensation that never loses its hold on you, the feeling of being inside her resonates, her pussy wrapping around your dick with her willful clench. Her pussy lips opened up for you, effortlessly gliding alongside the dildo and it was amazing to watch.

“Y/n! Oh yes…right there, nkoszana, right there…I..yeah.”

Her words mold unto putty as you consistently strike the nerves inside her, that tender spot that has her chasing both your orgasms. She dips her head back, pinching her erect nipples as her dark complexion glimmers with sweat. She appears heavenly on top of you, like she was floating, and the picture of her nudges you closer to your own pleasure.

“Look at you…you’re so fucking beautiful…sexy as fucking hell…god.”

“I…UNH…ooooo fuuuckkk.”

“You’re gonna cum aren’t you?”

“Yeah…I…I…”

“Don’t you dare s-stop fucking y-yourself. Don’t, Shuri…fuck.”

“Y/n…I-I can’t. I’m gonna c-cum.”

Her breasts bounce with each thrust she pounded onto you, her pussy milking your dick and you could feel your orgasm crying to be released. You grip her hips harshly, fucking her down onto your dick and she wails in pleasure, her eyes rolling back as her jaw drops. She takes one of her hands off her nipple, bringing it down to rub her clit and you swear you could cum right there. She was fucking amazing.

“You’re such a fucking whore, baby, huh? Wanna cum that bad?”

“UNH!”

“Yeah, keep crying like th-that. K-keep squeezing my shit like that.”

“Y/N!”

It took about five more slams and Shuri released once more, an explosive squirt that coated your abdomen and trickled down her thighs. But you didn’t stop fucking her, so close to your own high and she let you chase it.

“Fuck, baby…k-keep f-fucking yourself like that. Use my pussy, y/n, c-cum in me…mmmm…ugnh.”

“Yeah, princess…I’m s-so close just…fuck, shit!”

Shuri fucked herself onto you, ignoring the fact that her pussy was aching to the point of slight pain but she wanted to make you cum, watch her girl that she needed so much to unravel before her.

“Sh-Shuri?”

“Cum, y/n…pl-please? I want you to c-cum inside me.”

The both of you were blubbering messes, minds unfolding into mush as your vision became hazy. Her pussy squeezed you so good, caressing you just right and you spilled right into her.

“Oh fuck, Shuri…FUCK…I’m cumming baby, I’m cumming…shit.”

“I know…I know.”

“Ooooo fuck…GOD. Your pussy is so good, always so g-good for me…UNH. K-keep squeezing me just l-like that…yeah.”

“You’re so beautiful, y/n. Cumming so hard inside me.”

“Only for you. Always for you.”

After moments, Shuri squirted one last time; an orgasm that caused her to falter beside you, both of your chests heaving up and down as you struggled to regain your composure.

“Fuck, Shuri.”

“I love you, y/n.”

“I know you do…my bratty girl. I love you too.”

You pull her in for one last kiss.

“My beautiful, bratty girl.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next morning approached. You and Shuri were about to arrive late to the lab and it didn’t help that Shuri was, per usual, being difficult.

“Sthandwa, I don’t think the makeup is necessary,” she comments as you apply a generous amount of concealer to hide the bruises on her neck.

“Do you see yourself? Look,” you remark, pointing to the mirror where her marked up throat from both your passionate kisses and the impression of the leather belt reflects back at her. A sly grin appears on her face as she appreciates the reflection, tilting her head to gain a clearer view of the results of your actions.

“People are gonna think you’re dating a fucking psychopath,” you add as you continue covering up the bruises.

“Maybe it’s cuz I am dating a fucking psychopath,” Shuri responds, wincing when you press too hard, and you mockingly fake a frown.

“My poor baby.”

“Shut up.”

“Oooo…such harsh language,” you joke, and Shuri rolls her eyes before you both begin to laugh.

“Hurry up, y/n, I got work to do.”

“Be patient, I wanna make sure I cover you up good.”

Another chuckle escapes Shuri’s lips. “I don’t get how you do this makeup thing almost everyday. It’s exhausting just sitting here now.”

“Well I happen to like doing my own makeup, and cuz I can actually do it unlike your ass. Remember that time I got you to do my makeup??” You burst into laughter as Shuri glared you down in annoyance. “That crooked ass eyeliner you gave me! Oh! And what did you call mascara again?? Say it again!”

“Shut up, y/n.”

“Pleaaseee, baby, say it one last time and I’ll leave you alone,” you lie, biting your bottom lip as you try to contain your laughter.

Shuri sighs, rolling her eyes before she says it. “I called it an eyelash enhancer.”

You burst out into laughter and Shuri sits there unamused, trying to contain her own laughter at the sight of you laughing over something so small.

“You’re just too fucking cute. An eyelash enhancer?? PLEASE BABE.”

“Well I wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“No…you were definitely wrong.”

“I forgot what it was called, ok?”

“Hey, hey…don’t be like that baby, you know I’m just teasing you. You’re just too cute. Wait, hold still…I’m almooosttt…there! I’m done. How’s it look?,” you ask, redirecting her to the mirror.

“Mmmm…I think you missed a spot,” she jokes.

“Huh? Where? Hold up, lemme cover that shit.”

Shuri laughs, amused at your concern. “I’m just playing, nkoszana. You did a good job.”

You smile, bringing her in for a kiss. “Don’t ask me to use a fucking belt for a while, Shuri, I mean it.”

“Hmmmm…might have to give you a reason to use it again then, y/n.”

“Oh, you fucking nasty,” you playfully remark, slinging your arms around her neck and she flinches when you accidentally press her bruised skin. “Oh shit! Sorry!”

Shuri laughs. “It’s ok, sthandwa. I just love you.”

You cock your head to the side, biting your cheek as you fight to contain a cheeky grin but it’s no use. She draws you closer by your hips, causing your pelvis to brush against hers before she begins kissing you.

“Shuri…we’re late,” you say, as she begins trailing kisses down your neck.

“How about…let’s just not go?”

While the temptation was undoubtedly strong, now was not a suitable time. The lab needed you both.

“We gotta go, princess.”

A prolonged, annoyed whine escapes Shuri's lips before she releases you. "Fiiinnee," she draws with exaggeration and you can’t help but chuckle at her neediness.

“You’re so goddamn needy, baby.”

“Mhmm. And you said you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And she was correct. You wouldn’t have it any other way. ❁ཻུ۪۪♡

And thank you so much for 700+ followers on here! Appreciate every single one of you that takes their time to read my work 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

#shuri black panther #shuri fanfiction #shuri x reader #shuri x you #smut #shuri smut #lesbian #sub!shuri #dom!reader #sapphicvqmpires

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syoddeye · 1 month

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useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

Text

———

For some reason the lack of a little jingling bell throws her off.

It’s a quintessential diner thing, she supposes. A little bell above the door. There’s the weird decor and the pressed cotton uniforms and the yelling chef and the little bell. It was in both Back to the Future one and two. That’s how she knows she’s right.

But when she pushes open the door with windows so caked with grime she can hardly see through them, there is no little jingle. And when she looks up at the door frame, eyebrows furrowed, it seems sad and lonely. She’s never been so aware of the lack of a sound, the absence of a noise. It makes the rest of the silence of the diner seem eerie, wrong. Dead.

She takes a hesitant step forward, door swinging shut behind her. She realizes as she approaches the ordering counter that her hand rests palm cupped on her belly, and removes it immediately.

“Hello?”

There are a couple groups of people in the back, talking quietly over their food. It doesn’t make the diner seem any less abandoned, somehow. If anything it feels like a TV playing on mute in a hospital. Saturated static.

“Seat yourself, girl. You ain’t never been to a diner before?”

The woman that speaks is tall and plump and harsh-looking. A very strange mixing of features. They’re at odd with the diner-specific yellow uniform she wears, collar pressed but skirt wrinkled. Apron dusted with flour and streaked with machine oil. Face pinched, eyes hard, black hair resting in dainty ringlets along her shoulders. Her name tag only reads the name of the business.

“A couple,” Naomi defends. “One even had a hostess.”

The woman — who must be a manager — raises an eyebrow.

“You see a hostess’ station?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”

“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”

“Well, then, get the hell out of my restaurant.”

Naomi holds her gaze, tilting up her chin. She will not be swayed by orneriness. “I need a job.”

The manager eyes her critically. Naomi’s hands twitch, and the top of her head feels suddenly itchy. Summer before highschool she’d wrote her first resume — Mama’d drawn her a bath and sat behind her and spent two hours slowly untangling the ratty mess of curls on her head with nothing but a bottle of cheap jasmine conditioner and her own two fingers, telling her about lasting first impressions.

“Go home, kid.”

“I’m not a fu —” She stumbles over her words at the last second, catching herself before that eyebrow can climb any higher. It does, and the other eyebrow begins to climb with it, but she rights herself and powers on. “I can vote,” she says finally. “I can throw on a uniform and get blown up across seas. I can — I can adopt a child, if I so choose. Right now.”

The eyebrows reach critical height, brushing the end of her carefully teased hairline. Naomi watches them and their inspiring journey with intensity, instead of noticing how the manager’s eyes drop down to her stomach, linger, and then return to her face.

“You gonna adopt it right outta your womb, or what?”

Naomi snaps her mouth shut.

“Well,” she says, and nothing else.

The manager sighs. “This ain’t a charity.”

Naomi barely manages to bite the snark back from her voice before she speaks.“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for work.”

Eyes shifting to the tables in the back, the manager leans over the counter, long fingers wrapping around the handle of a coffee pot so old the handle has worn right down to plain metal, and walks over to a beckoning customer. She fills a man’s mug with her lips pressed thin, offering a napkin to a child in a high chair.

“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”

The customer pushes over a stack of plates without moving his eyes from the newspaper in front of him. There’s a woman on the other side of the table, holding a spoon out to the little kid, eyes desperate and tight smile slipping when the kid’s pudgy fist hits and sends the scoop of scrambled eggs flying. The man brings the coffee to his lips and waves the manager away.

“It’s illegal for an employer to discriminate against a pregnant person,” Naomi says finally. That had been drilled into her head by her Mama, too. That and how to keep her finances separate. She’ll have real trouble with that, what with the zero dollars she’ll have by the end of the week.

“Good thing I’m not your employer, then.” The manager sets the plates by a soapy sink, putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate. “Get lost.”

I am lost, Naomi almost says, almost slamming a hand in the counter to catch herself from her suddenly weak knees. She watches the manager watch her, tight little frown furling the corner of her mouth, through the blur of her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

“Please,” she says, too quiet, then tries again: “Please.”

The manager disappears behind a short half-wall, following the sound of an oven dinging. Naomi gasps silently, bowing over the counter, breathing heavily. She curls her hands into fists and presses them, hard, one to her chest and one right under her ribs. Ka-thump, ka-thump, kickkickkick. Kickkick ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-kickthump.

There’s an echoing clatter as a hot tray slams on a stove top. Scrambling upright, Naomi lifts the little door on the counter, scanning the space. The register is ancient and yellowed, buttons so worn with use the labels have worn away. There’s a thread-thin mat at the base of it. The counters are clean but scratched, walls stained but dust-free. The coffeemaker gurgles pathetically. An apron hangs from a hook nailed to the wall by the kitchen window.

As quietly as she can, Naomi slips it over her head. It’s tight around the waist, so she folds it once and ties it around her ribs, instead, letting the straps dangle loosely at the butt of her jeans. She ties her hair quickly behind her head and steps up to the creaky sink, silently moving the pile of dishes to the empty counter. When the clatter in the kitchen starts up again, she turns the water on as quick as she can — hack gurgle rush — and squeezes the mostly empty soap bottle as hard as she can to make up a lather.

“Hell are you doing?” says the manager gruffly, two pies balancing on her oven mitt hands.

Naomi shrugs.

“You deaf, or stupid?”

She thinks if laughter like a lyre and sun golden hair, plucking at her out-of-tune guitar string and asking a similar question. The ghost of a smile pulls across her face.

“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”

A pie plate crinkles under the press of a knife, and the scent of candy cherry mixes with slightly-burnt coffee. Makes her think of Grammy’s house, the smell of the jams she spent sixty years making soaked permanently in the wooden foundations. The manager finishes plating the pie slices and sliding them under the display glass around the same time Naomi suds up the last dirty mug. She watches her red-painted finger tap, tap, tap on her bicep out of the corner of her eye as she rinses it off.

Unplugging the sink, dirty water gurgling as it drains, she points a hesitant elbow at the dishtowel tucked into the managers pocket. She grabs it, threading it around her fingers, twisting the worn pink tail.

“Freezer broke two days ago.” She picks at a loose thread ‘til it pulls clean from the rest of the fabric, balling it up and sliding it into her pocket. She tugs on the fabric one last time, then tosses it, bundled, into Naomi’s waiting hands. “Tables in the back better have their bill by the time I get back from fixin’ it.”

Naomi hunches over the sopping dishes to hide her smile, listening to the scritch scritch click of the manager’s shoes as she stomps away.

———

Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.

“Great way to get ripped off,” she likes to grumble, slapping a stack of 20s bundled in a stapled piece of notebook paper into Naomi’s hands every Friday. She doesn’t think much of taxes, either, or lawyers, or racecar drivers. Naomi doesn’t quite understand that last one, but she knows better than to ask. As far as she’s concerned she’s still on probation, and probably will be if she works at the diner for another four months. Or the rest of her life.

On one hand, Naomi doesn’t have a bank account, so a cheque would be useless to her anyway. The cash she can use immediately and whenever she needs it. On the other hand, which is currently occupied with sewing back closed the hole she gouged in her backseat for the seventeenth week in a row, she has nowhere exactly to put that money, so it stresses her out.

Maybe she should look into an apartment.

Of course there are no apartment buildings in Sheffield. But she’s pretty sure Iraan is a big enough town to have a couple, as squat as they may be, and it’s only a twenty minute drive. There’s more to do there, too, so maybe she’d actually have a reason to take a day off every week. It’s not like she can buy a damn house with the less-than 3000 dollars she has saved up.

Waddling out of her car, she ducks into the diner. You’d think she’d be used to the lack of bell, now, but she finds that she still anticipates it; finds that her brain still quietly signals to her ears to prep for it. It always sets her off, a little.

“You’re late,” says Di critically, uniform hanging over her arm, foot tap tap-ing on the linoleum floor.

“I don’t have a starting time,” Naomi says lightly. “On account that I am not your employee.“

Di huffs, rolling her eyes. Naomi rolls them right back, snatching the uniform from her arms on the way to the bathroom. She has to wear Di’s, now, because she doesn’t fit into her old one. Di is much taller and broader than her and the stupid thing hangs down to her mid-calf, awkwardly drowning her shoulders, but it’s the only thing wide enough to cover her belly and Di refuses to let Naomi just wear her regular clothes.

(“You’re indecent,” she always says, sneering at her jean shorts, but Naomi has learned to translate you’re indecent but also you can’t have bare legs around hot oil, which she’s come to appreciate. Sure, Di makes her clean the bathroom whether or not she needs to crawl around in her knees to stay balanced, but she doesn’t want her burned to death, at least. That’s something.)

“And your hair’s unwashed,” she adds, as if Naomi had not walked away. She reaches up and adjusts Naomi’s collar, like that is going to do anything to change the fact that she looks like she’s wearing a collapsed tent. “You’re going to drive customers away.”

Naomi doesn’t say, you open before the community centre does, so I can’t shower in the mornings. She does not say, I spent last night trying to change the oil on my car when I couldn’t lie down to reach it. She doesn’t say, I’m too scared to sleep in the community centre parking lot, because my windows aren’t tinted and I don’t know what’ll wake me up.

She says, “The only thing scaring customers away is your busted attitude,” and scurries into the kitchen before Di can order her to clean the friers.

———

Naomi’s favourite part of the diner is the radio.

She can’t believe that Di allows it, what with her general distaste for joy in all of its forms. But it’s balanced on the window sill watching over the oven, antenna extended out the torn screen, dials permanently stuck on an old forgotten country channel. Naomi likes to hum along as she works, frying potatoes or kneading dough, twirling around the kitchen with a mop or a broom. It’s nice even when she’s cramping, even when her feet are sore — she likes hollering along to Dolly Parton when she knows Di is listening, want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me, likes the way her little parasite goes absolutely buck wild whenever Willie Nelson comes on. She can hear it even when she’s in the dining area, plates balanced all up her arms (and on her belly, too, which is one of the many things she has discovered it’s useful for), humming along to scratching dorks and scritching napkins, working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’.

She amuses herself often by making up lives for the various patrons. They’re close enough to the main highway that they get all sorts driftin’ in, from families with bratty kids who upend their food on the floor for Naomi to clean to men in starched suits who never leave a tip. The regulars she’s gotten to know, like the older, stocky, short-haired woman called Bella who smiles softly at her and leaves more than double her bill every breakfast. Or the two young men, college seniors, she thinks, who come in every Saturday afternoon and laugh loudly and talk about strange subjects and rope her into their conversations when there’s no one around and she’s bored.

Other patrons, though, strangers, she speculates. Like there’s a man in the farthest back corner, now, hunched over in the peeling green vinyl seats, scrawling frantically in a tiny notebook. She imagines he’s a private investigator, chasing a lead, about to discover that the woman on a date on the other end of the diner is cheating on her husband of fifteen years.

“Naomi, if you don’t get your ass back to work.”

She throws her hands up. “There’s nothing to do!”

Di observes the half-empty diner, noting the clean tables, neat counters, sparkling kitchen. Each customer sitting satisfied in their table, coffee mugs full, plates still hefty with food.

“Clean the grout.”

Scowling, Naomi stomps to the kitchen, wrenching open the cupboard under the counter and yanking out the Mr. Clean and scrub brush. It’s an ordeal and a half to get on the floor, wincing at the extra weight on her knees, sitting back on her heels with every spray and keeping one hand on her belly while the other scrubs. I Got Stripes by Johnny Cash starts playing through the radio, and she grits out the lyrics with every drag of the brush through the tiles.

“— and then chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down —”

A pair of worn black boots come stomping into her line of vision. Naomi finishes scrubbing at a stubborn smear of grease, relishing in how it submits under her power, then rests her weight on her tired hands and tilts her chin up to glare up at her boss.

“I got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,” she sings defiantly, “chains, chains around my feet —”

“I should whip you, you damn drama queen,” Di says darkly, glaring right back. “Had three separate customers come on up to me askin’ me if I’m mistreatin’ ‘that poor young pregnant girl’.”

Naomi smiles triumphantly.

Di scowls, rolling her eyes hard enough to visibly strain her face, and drops some kind of foam pads at her feet. She stomps off without another word, scowling at the radio.

Poking at the pads, Naomi discovers they’re meant to be strapped to her knees. She slips them on, immediately noticing the relief.

For the rest of her shift, she’s an angel.

Di even almost smiles at her.

———

“Naomi, go home.”

“What happened to kid?” Naomi pants, knuckles going white against the counter. She breathes slowly and carefully through her mouth — in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, in, two — and grits her teeth, staring determinately at the sticky tabletop until the dizziness fades. “I didn’t even know you knew my name.”

“I don’t.” A roughened hand rests on the small of her back, loosening the too-tight apron straps. “You’re sick, kid.”

“I’m fine.”

She tilts forward. Di barely manages to catch her, settling her slowly on the floor without so much as a comment about how heavy she is.

“The diner is empty, Naomi.” The same roughened hand moves up to the back of her neck, untangling the sweaty strands of hair that stick to her skin. Her voice is unusually soft. “You’re nine months pregnant, kiddo. You need to go home. You need to rest —”

“I need to work.”

With great effort, Naomi shoves her away, standing slowly to her feet. The world is still wobbly and bile climbs up her throat, but she pushes forward, hands half-extended beside her. She reaches back for the wet rag, swiping weakly at the table. An onslaught of nausea makes her pause, mouth clamped shut, breathing quick and deep through dry nostrils.

When she speaks again, Di’s voice is hard. “I’m not asking. Get out of my diner. Go home, or you won’t be allowed back. I won’t be accused of killing some dumbass kid who doesn’t know when to quit.”

“I can’t —” she gags, tears springing in her eyes, desperately trying to wrestle back some control of her body — “there’s nowhere, please, Di, let me —”

She slaps a hand to her mouth, heaving. She hasn’t even — she hasn’t eaten all day. The smell of anything makes her want to vomit. The idea of putting anything more in her body makes her want to peel off her skin. She feels — bloated and freakish and ugly; like an unsuspected astronaut on a sieged spaceship.

Like she’s about to burst.

“Oh, for the love of — Naomi, please tell me you are not nine months pregnant and sleeping in your fucking car.”

Naomi says nothing. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think of Mama’s peony-scented perfume.

“Jesus Christ.”

Stomp, click, stomp stomp. Rattling chain, swishing cardboard. Flicking switch. Turning dial, fading music. Stomp, click, stomp stomp.

Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.

“C’mon, up you get. Where’re your keys?”

A hand digs around in her apron pocket.

“What, d’you fuckin’ run these over or somethin’? The hell’d you fuckin’ do to these things?”

No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.

“No, obviously you can’t — go get in the fuckin’ passenger seat, dumbass. God.”

Di mutters something about stupid kids and stupider adults, for putting up with them. Naomi smiles tiredly. Daddy used to say that all the time, flicking her on the forehead.

“Roll the window down. You need fresh air.”

The slight breeze coming in from the window is helpful, actually. It’s been a disgustingly hot summer, and Naomi has had to sleep with her windows down to avoid suffocating. She wakes up to mosquito bites in places she frankly did not know could be bitten.

“D’you think you’re going into labour?” Di asks quietly, over Dolly’s crooning. Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m takin’ with me.

Naomi sighs, shaking her head. Already, the nausea has faded into the background. The sweat cools against her skin, and she stops feeling quite so much like she’s going to die.

“No. It’s only been eight months and a little less than two weeks.”

“…You remember the exact date?”

Well, hello, feverish flush. How I’ve missed you so. Will you do me a favour and cook me alive, while you’re here?

“It was a very memorable occasion,” Naomi mumbles, shrinking back into her seat.

“I see.”

Naomi’s never seen Di look quite so amused before. Her whole face softens, and her brown eyes look warm, for once. Naomi would attack her if she had the strength.

Di cruises slowly down Main St, conscientious of the kids ducking in and out of the shops, laughing with their friends. A tween girl looks over at an older boy and whips back over to her friends when he meets her eyes, the whole group of them descending into delighting shrieks. Naomi watches them with a smile and an ache in her chest. She wonders how Molly’s doing. How Esther’s holding up, how Leela is faring. Jen’s at school, now, all the way up in NYC. She hopes they’re well and tries not to hate them for not being here.

Sheffield’s small, and there’s not a street Naomi hasn’t driven down. She spends most of her free time in the community centre pool or the desert around the diner, sure, but she’s been around. When Di turns on Pine St and follows her all the way down, though, she frowns, looking over and asking a wordless question.

Di doesn’t answer. She’s driven them all the way to the other side of town in less than five minutes, pulling into a gravel parking lot and killing the engine.

“C’mon,” she grunts, climbing out of the tiny car and waiting, arms crossed, for Naomi to do the same.

“Sure, sure, let the pregnant woman crawl out of her own seat. Don’t lift a finger or anything.”

Di rolls her eyes.

As soon as Naomi has struggled her way out of the car, which takes her a good four minutes, Di stalks off. In her harried attempt to follow her, Naomi feels like a duck hopped up on an energy drink.

“What kinda money do you have?”

Naomi looks at her strangely. “Uh, what you pay me.”

“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”

“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.

Di purses her lips. “Well.”

She does not finish her thought. Instead, she strides down the gravel driveway, heedless of Naomi’s struggle behind her, until she approaches a squat looking building with ‘OFFICE’ printed on the little window.

“She needs a room,” she says to the clerk sitting behind it, gesturing at Naomi.

Naomi looks at her in alarm.

“Di, I can’t —”

“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.

“Try again.”

Di’s response is swift and immediate, ignoring Naomi’s tugging hand. She pulls away, resting her hands on her lower back, swivelling her head between Di and the man.

“Rate’s a rate, Di.”

She’s not surprised this man knows Di — everyone knows Di. But the slant to his eyebrows is unfamiliar, the hands clasped easily behind his head. He relaxes back into a leather office chair, heeled boot hiked up to rest in his knee, whistling absentmindedly in the face of Di’s glare.

“Two hundred a week.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking, Jed.”

The man — Jed — finally starts to look irate, meeting Di’s jaw-set stare with one of his own.

“I’m sorry, I musta missed something. Did you up and buy this place?”

Di doesn’t answer him right away. She never slouches, always standing at her full height, and she’s mighty tall for a woman. For anyone, really. She has a way of planting herself right in front of the sun, no matter where she is. Jed stares up at her, squinting, cast in Di’s shadow everywhere but where he needs to be sheltered.

“You gotta laundry list of shit you done owed me your whole life, Jed.”

Jed just his chin out.

“I don’t owe her shit.”

Blunt fingers wrap around her elbow. “She’s mine.”

“Ain’t how this works, Di.”

“Says who? You?”

For all her intensity, Naomi doesn’t think Di’ll actually fight anyone. If she would, Naomi would’ve gotten her ass kicked months ago.

(She’s mine. Kiddo. You need rest. Roll down the window.)

(…Well.)

Regardless, a flash of fear flits across Jed’s face. He cuts his gaze from Naomi to Di and then back again, pupils shrinking, and then invariably comes to a decision.

“Two fifty,” he snaps, scowling. “Not a penny less, Di.”

Di nods once. “Fine.”

She tightens the hold on Naomi’s elbow, dragging her away from the window. There’s an echoing bang, bang, bang, interspersed with muffled curses, before Jed stumbles out of a door on the side of the scaffolding. He stomps away without looking back, and Di tugs her along to follow.

“Laundry is your own problem. Clean your own shit. If you miss a payment, I’m kicking you out. Clear?”

Naomi stares. Jed standing in front of another low, old building, but this one is much longer, a door posited every dozen or so feet. A plastic chair sits in front of every door, and every door is numbered.

A motel, Naomi realises.

“Clear, kid?”

“Crystal,” Naomi manages, throat dry. Jed practically throws the key at her head, stomping back to the office. Numbly, Naomi slides it in the lock, pushing open the door.

The room isn’t big. There’s a double bed in the middle, a window in the far side and a dresser under it. A TV rests in a dugout shelf in the wall, and there’re two small doors next to it; a closet and a bathroom, Naomi assumes. Smaller than her bedroom back home.

Much, much bigger than her car.

“You’re gonna have to work another ten hours a week to afford this place,” Di says critically. When Naomi looks back at her, she’s lingering at the doorway, staring resolutely at Naomi’s face. Not a spare glance for the room itself.

Naomi does the math fast in her head.

“Twenty hours.”

Di scowls. “Don’t insult me, kid. Ten more hours a week; make sure you’re early tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if you’re sick again, either.”

Naomi swallows. She smooths a hand over the quilt tucked neatly over the bed — it’s soft, if not warm. The pillow is plump.

God, she’s missed pillows.

“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.

Di makes a small twitching motion with her head that may, in some lighting, be considered a nod, then stalks off. Naomi sinks into the mattress; surprised at how much her feet aches now that she’s off of them.

She swings them up, kicking off her boots, to rest on top of the blanket. She leans against the rickety headboard. She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and slowly, silently, begins to cry.

“You and me and sheer fuckin’ will, kid,” she mumbles, face crumpling. The constant ache in the small of her back lifts, slightly. She stretches her toes as far as they’ll go and cries harder. “We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there.”

———

naomi art

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trillscienceofficer · 16 days

Note

Re: your tags about Seven being made into a mother to the Borg children. It's always been bothering me so much! An older sister is what I've been thinking of her as instead. Even with Icheb who was a late teenager/almost adult and Seven was 26ish?

It's always bothered me a lot too! I distinctly remember being very indignant about how Voyager framed the Borg children in relation to Seven even the first time I watched the show. I take exception in particular to the very obvious expectation from the rest of the crew that Seven would become their primary caretaker instead of, you know, a shared responsibility of the whole ship. Of course the crew is only a family until we can shove a woman in the role of “nurturing mother”, then all responsibilities are automatically fulfilled—then again it's what families actually do to women in real life so I guess that tracks.

And the Borg kids are not even the first offenders! There's One in “Drone” for whom Seven is also asked to do the same thing, and sometimes the show does this with Naomi too, when the writers forgot that Naomi had an actual mother already. Thankfully I think Naomi and Seven mostly escape this paradigm, but it's telling that it happens over and over, that Voyager is so insistent in making Seven a caretaker this way and especially that she would not need any support while she learns to be one, framing it as an “motherly instinct” that she just needs to awaken. It's infuriating.

This is all the more ridiculous, like you say, between Seven and Icheb because she's not that much older than him and he's already a teenager on Voyager, so imagine how great it was for me to hear their rapport once again shoved into a mother/son mold on Star Trek: Picard. I was actually talking about this with @directedbygatesmcfadden earlier, I cannot help but see this trend as a complete failure of imagination when it comes to writing women. Can women not be mentors? Does caretaking have to mean motherhood when a woman does it? The fact that Voyager and Picard don't seem to be able to even ask those question for a character like Seven of Nine is... I don't even know what to say. It's bleak, man. Honestly, I wish the fandom resisted the idea of Seven as a “mother” more often.

#askbox #seven of nine #at least the shows are pretty consistent in showing how bad seven is in that role

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cloveroctobers · 2 months

Text

NOTHING SWEETER — BODE LEONE: [Spring Prompts]

A/N: This will probably flop since it’s basically a ghost town in this tag but here I am! Plus it was also requested for me to write for Bode (again) lol which I don’t have a problem with, we love that guy over here. They’re wrong for going on break after giving us what they gave us! I also just want to say that I really miss Max’s curls but here it goes!!

PROMPT IS FROM HERE + I’m using: 18. “Damn, I hate pollen.” + 8. “IT’S A DEER!” “Yeah, and?” “I CAN SEE IT!”

<- read my previous anthology prompt here.

⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡ ♡

Eve was lucky you loved her.

Being up this early on your first day back in Edgewater to give her a ride to Three Rock (her car was in the shop) was a lot to ask! Not really! but what kind of friend would you be if you didn’t complain a good portion about it on the ride up to camp?

“If I get you an iced coffee, would you love me again?” Eve pinched the space in between her brows, elbow resting against the car door.

You hummed while using one hand to tap on your chin, “Add in a Mozzarella, Pesto, and tomato bagel then we’ll talk.”

Eve twisted her lips upwards, “…that’s a thing? Whatever happened to a simple cream cheese with eggs and avocado?”

“You’re lucky I’m not asking for a soft boiled egg stuffed with caviar.” You respond as you reduce your speed once you cross the bridge, spying the familiar deli spot up ahead.

Eve scoffed as she side eyed you, “oh yeah, Switzerland done made you bougie.”

Which earned a laugh from you as you pulled the Toyota 4Runner into the small parking lot. If you weren’t a bundle of nerves you would have got out of the car with Eve to see what changed about the deli you spent many afternoons in with your old friends. However you let your mind wander a bit as you stared out into edgewater’s view.

You were home…except your childhood home was just a memory now that your divorced parents no longer resided in Edgewater. So you crashed at Eve’s although you were completely fine staying in a hotel since Jake talked you out of an air bnb after watching some movie called, “Barbarian,” and you were tired of hearing the statistics and other real life horror stories he pulled out of his ass. Eve was your number one best friend and she was more than willing to open up her place for a friend like you.

As you took up a interest in archery and later turned into a professional Archer, you were inspired to see what the world had in store so the sooner you got out of Edgewater, the better it was for you. Some just didn’t get it (your parents mainly, with your mother being an orthopedic surgeon and your father a fire chief before his MS took over) and expected you to start your own roots here. It was kind of a thing here in this small town, that you were to begin again and build your own legacy. However you were in the tiny group of odd’s that wanted more than the expectations hanging over your head.

Which is why you were proud to say that you’ve been participating in the Olympics every few years because of your passion for archery. Of course you had people down your neck all throughout your career but you still stood as tall as you could.

Now you were back home in the place that was full of doubts but the tightness in your chest wasn’t as noticeable the closer you got to camp.

“Thanks for dropping me off, I appreciate it.” Eve starts as she spots a few inmates hanging around on the yard already, “If you stick around for a minute I’ll even do you a solid and send Bode your way. Since I know it’ll be difficult otherwise.”

Taking a deep inhale you say, “I still can’t believe he’s here.”

“Yeah well…if he stays on the right track this time he’ll be out even sooner.” Eve tells, “He’s still a big pain in all of our asses but I think it would do him some good to see you…you did come all this way.”

It’s been years since you last saw each other but you came back for Riley’s funeral and you reached out to Bode when he moved away to a few towns over and changed his last name. You tried to be there even being ocean’s apart but when Bode felt low, it always felt like he wanted to take the world on his shoulder’s and find a way to make it spin again. Yet that landed him in prison and Eve had no problem filling you in on everything in between.

Would he even want to see you? It’s not like your relationship turned sour or anything…it’s just been awhile being in contact with each other. You weren’t nearly this anxious seeing Eve and doubted you would be when you had lunch with Jake and Cara—which was still weird to you—But being near Bode was different from everybody else and you knew that.

“I did…didn’t I?” You loll your head to face Eve, who studies it for a moment before dipping her head.

She tapped her hand against the outside of the door, whispering into the spring air, “it’ll be fine. He’s in a much better headspace and you’re still family no matter where you disappear off to, you got that?”

A watery smile goes Eve’s way before she leaves you to collect yourself. You’re pulling your mirror down from the sun visor, patting underneath your eyes and beginning to second guess yourself. You were here for two weeks and there was no way that you planned on not seeing Bode. You ran into his parents just last night at the bar, craving some wings before heading to Eve’s, just to be received with warm arms and classic banter from the Leone’s.

They were the parents you could talk to more than your own. If you weren’t crashing at Eve’s then you would definitely be at the Leone’s but then Bode and Cara happened so that’s when some of the distance was created. They didn’t last, like most teenage relationships but out of respect you felt like it was the right thing to do.

It felt right being back, even if it was only temporary.

Maybe that’s just how you had to view Bode’s situation. He wasn’t a temporary kind of friend although you couldn’t socialize as much but you tried to be hopeful. Even climbed out of the car pacing back and forth, not paying much attention to anyone around until you spotted the green dust decorating the navy car.

Scowling in disgust, you swiped the arm of your jacket around the hood of your car before cringing at the greenery you wiped on your sweatpants afterwards.

“Damn, I hate pollen.” A voice comes from behind, which makes you slowly stand up straight and glance over your shoulder.

There he was.

Bode Leone, standing in the flesh, hands deep in his jacket pockets, and a small smile on his lips.

You fully turn to face him and tilt your head to the side, “Didn’t I tell you once before that Orange isn’t your color?”

Bode lifts his shoulders with humor in his blue-green eyes as he motions towards the spot on you, “yeah, well maybe green isn’t yours either.”

You scoff as you motion to your outfit, “what? You don’t think I’m pulling it off?”

The blond chuckles as he takes a step towards you, “As long as you don’t start itching then sure, whatever you say.”

“Oh,” you scratch at the back of your hand and shoot a glare at the man who’s got crinkles by his eyes now, “why did you have to go and say that Bode! Now I’m doing it!”

“Sorry! It’s just that I sorta remembered that you were sensitive to almost everything including air.” He says to you, teasing somewhat, now standing face to face with you.

Rolling your eyes you couldn’t help but to smile at that. You didn’t know what it was growing up in high school, you were highly allergic to almost everything which landed you in the nurses office a lot but it seemed to relax as you reached your twenties and moved away. You always joked that maybe it was Edgewater that was making you sick. Yet the longer you stood in this town and interacted with not only Eve but Bode, you knew that wasn’t completely true.

“It’s good to see you, Bo.” You lightly shove his shoulder back while he nods in agreement, “can I give you a hug?”

Bode blinks the furrow of his brows away as if you were being ridiculous, “of course you can.”

And you’re cradling the back of his head while his fingers are at your spine, swaying from side to side in a firm but gentle squeeze. Then he’s burying his nose into your shoulder and the feel of the embrace tells you that this was meant to be.

When your eyes open, you realize that you could live just fine in Bode’s arms. You remember your final kiss goodbye in Drayscott, one month before you left the country and one month before Bode attempted to pull off a robbery—it was the sweetest thing—the kiss obviously! because it should have been happened. It didn’t come out of nowhere, it was full of intention, full of wonder and love but you were aware that it wasn’t the right time to be something more.

Maybe some day it could be.

Little did you know, Bode kept that memory not far away. He was kicking himself for the what if’s but when he manages to pull himself out of the blue, he thinks about the best possibility being you.

The both of you could be good together, could see the world together and he wasn’t sure how it all looked but he was willing to imagine.

A gasp makes Bode pull away, alarmed.

“IT’S A DEER!” You point, over Bode’s shoulder.

He glances over his shoulder to in fact see the said brown animal, peering at the two of you, “Yeah, and?”

“I CAN SEE IT!” You attempt to lower your voice but the excitement got the best of you as you almost bounce on your toes.

Bode’s still lightly has a hand resting on your waist now, as they watch the beautiful creature sniff at the grass and carried on deeper and away into the woods.

“Are you telling me they don’t have deer out in Switzerland?” There’s amusement in Bode’s voice as he peeks back at you.

“I’ve been in the city mainly but it’s been awhile since I’ve really been one with nature, you know? Which reminds me, I’ll have to make time to go off roading with this baby one of these days. Or hiking.” You jam a thumb back at the car.

Bode nods, “you’ll be careful won’t you? Don’t get so easily impressed with animals, not all of them will have the best intentions.”

You were an animal lover back in the day, so much to the point you wouldn’t dissect a frog sophomore year, which landed you in the principal’s office.

“What?” You blow a raspberry, “I’m like freaking Princess Aurora. Animals love me.”

Bode squints his eyes, “…didn’t you get bit by a goat when we were like what? Fourteen?”

“You’re really killing my vibe man and I don’t like that.” You yank on the end of Bode’s hair who laughs again.

He raises his hands in surrender and grips your wrist from his head, “alright, alright. My bad but if it makes you feel better, I still have that scar after that horse kicked the shit out of me when we had too many drinks partying at Tamsin Kadoka’s farm.”

“Really?”

Bode nods, “yeah, right on my lower back and it’s shaped like Utah.”

You meet each other’s gaze before bursting out laughing in unison at yet another memory. He’s gripping your shoulder again while he’s got your attention, “just promise me when you’re out there in those woods that you’re careful. I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

“Well the feeling is mutual, Bo.” You state, “you just had to go on and choose firefighting huh?”

Bode shrugs, “Must be in the Leone blood.”

“Yeah, must be.” You murmur, staring at him like there’s stars getting ready to rise in your eyes and Bode can’t help but to lean forward to place a lingering kiss on your forehead.

His facial hair pricks you but you don’t mind.

“Leone!” A guard calls out, which means your time is up for now.

You hold his hand, interlocking your fingers, which he squeezes with a smile to match, eyes wandering all over your features, almost as if to tell himself that you are in fact really here.

“Until next time?” He questions.

You smile, “See you soon, Bode.”

And he grins at you, those crinkles by his eyes returning before he slips his hand from yours.

This was brief but sweet and you’re mentally kicking yourself for thinking that this could go wrong.

You’re watching Bode walk away from you and he can’t help but to jog backwards to get another look at you. Almost as if you would disappear again and you would never see him again. When he turns back around, heading to the guard on shift who announces the inmates need to get ready for line ups inside at the bunks, he meets up with Cole on his way.

“Who was that?” Cole nudges his chin in your direction.

You’re seated in the driver’s seat, window down, leaning on your arm as you watch the men in Orange make their way back inside.

Catching Bode’s eye, you wave before rolling your window almost all the way up and pull away from the camp site.

“Someone i would like to give the world and more to once im out of here.”

Cole is smirking but appreciates the honesty as he claps Bode on his shoulder, already knowing what that look is for. “Then let’s make it happen, Leone! Nothing sweeter than having something on the outside to fight for, you know?”

“I agree.” Bode pulls his gaze from your retreating car, finding himself standing up straighter as they awaited for Eve to start their day.

When Eve’s brown eyes set on Bode’s, he just barely tips in his head in thanks, which the woman echo’s as she carries on along the line.

Bode already can’t wait for the next day he can get reconnected with you in person again so, he bites his smile away.

⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡♡✿ ⋆˙⟡ ♡

Continue with my spring anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #fire country #fire country season 2 #bode leone #bode donovan #bode leone x reader #bode Donovan x reader #eve edwards #spring prompts #queued #max thieriot

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annavrse · 11 months

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letitia is the type of girlfriend…headcanons

ー letitia wright x black!reader

ー no smut of course, no sexual content whatsoever, all fluff, a little drama, tish being protective, tish being in love

summary : what it’d be like to date letitia wright. headcanons + small plot

even though the media tries to portray her as a player, tish is definitely a lovergirl at heart.

ー☆ this is very interactive! i’ve included links, photos, and a video! click and watch as you read along. the links are optional but i think it adds to the reading experience. it’s more entertaining cus it’s actual proof of tish doing these things lol.

ー☆ note : i still have that twin fic in a ziplock bag. (truth be told im writing another fic that’s got a real bad hold on me and might come out first) i just wanted to give y’all something while you wait! i had so much fun writing this. don’t take this too seriously or let it determine my true writing abilities. i haven’t given y’all anything to go off of, but trust that i am at least a decent writer and that these hcs are just for fun!

also im sorry for any typos or mistakes i didn’t catch. i hope you enjoy <33

tags : @venusdraco @naomis-daydream @marsolgy @shurislover @inmyheadimobsessed @dominiquesheart @stvrrversee ☆ just tagging some of my mutuals until i create a taglist!

• her love languages are gift giving, words of affirmation, physical touch and quality time.

• she bought the two of you matching bracelets. she has a habit of playing with hers during interviews and she sometimes kisses it when you’re not with her.

• she buys you flowers of your favorite color so it feels more personal.

• always reassuring and reminding you how much she loves you.

“i prayed for you”

“i love you so much”

“you mean the world to me”

• you’re her personal travel buddy. whether it’s for work or leisure, she takes you everywhere she goes.

• she takes you to court side basketball games.

• you’re always her plus one at events. especially award shows. you reassure her when she loses, and you’re the first one she hugs when she wins.

• loves when you visit her on set.

• loves going to concerts with you.

• she loves taking you to her home country, guyana. and where she grew up in london.

• she thinks it’s cute when you mock her british accent. she does the same with your american one.

• she calls you baby and babygirl.

• she loves it when you call her by her middle name.

• loves to dance with you at parties and she especially loves it when you dance on her.

• she never tells you about the movies or the shows she’s filming. no matter how much you want her to.

“the suspense is killing me.”

“well if i spoil it for you, you’ll kill me. so stop asking.” she said, laughing. “you’ll have to wait just like everybody else.”

“but im not like everybody else.”

“that you are not.” she grabbed your chin and pecked your lips.

“pleaseeee just give me a little something. nothing too important.”

“you’re the one who made me promise not to tell you anything, even if you beg.”

“i know but-”

she walked away from you, shaking her head.

“your words not mine.” she yelled over her shoulder.

“michelleeee.” you whined, chasing after her.

• she’s such a cliche when it comes to romance. she likes taking long walks on the beach, especially when the sun is setting. she likes candlelit dinners. she makes you breakfast in bed. you feel like you’re living in a rom com.

• you’re not use to the huge crowds and people following your every move. she knows that this makes you anxious and does everything in her power to make sure that you feel as comfortable as possible with this new life she’s brought you into.

• if you want to leave an event or a party, she escorts you herself if she can. if not, she has her driver bring you home or back to the hotel.

“i don’t wanna leave you though.”

“it’s okay, im fine. seriously if you’re not feeling it, i can bring you home. i don’t want you feeling uncomfortable for my benefit.”

• most of the time she ends staying with you. you two undress, shower, throw on your pajamas and fall asleep watching a movie. she’d much rather lie in bed with you, than mingle at a party you’re not attending.

social media

•she’s your designated photographer. she takes most, if not all of your photos for social media. and she makes sure to get her pic creds in the comments.

• she’s you’re loudest supporter. her fandom has nicknamed her instagram “y/n’s fan account” she posts you more than she does herself. especially on her story. with captions like :

“😩😩😩”

“wow”

“😍😍😍”

“all mine” with the song playing in the background

“she’s insaneee”

“mannn😮‍💨”

• she even has a highlight for you, titled “LOVE ❤️”

• always posts your accomplishments. “so proud of this one 🥹”

• you’re slowly gaining fame/attention from being her girlfriend. some of her fans have started making edits of you, and you two together. you sometimes catch her binge watching them on tiktok. her search bar is full of :

- y/n and letitia

- y/n edits

- y/n y/l/n

- letitia wrights’s girlfriend

she’s hopeless.

• but unfortunately, not all of her fans are okay with your relationship. after you two launched as a couple, you received a ton of hate. it went as far as receiving death threats from jealous fans. she quickly took the situation to social media.

and of course the shaderoom got a hold of it.

theshaderoom : #LetitiaWright defends girlfriend #Y/N from internet trolls who have been sending her “hateful messages and death threats” 🫢

user : it sounded like she’s threatening us 😭💀

user : she said she’ll whoop y’all ass behind her girlfriend in the nicest way possible lmaooo

user : it’s the “im telling you” for me 😮‍💨

user : why can’t y’all just let this woman be happy and leave her gf tf alone 🤦🏾‍♀️

user : not her threatening y’all 🫣

user : oh she don’t play bout ha 🗣️🗣️🗣️

• she went as far as offering you your own personal bodyguard. in which you declined. you felt like it was unnecessary. though you appreciated the offer and how much she cares.

after her post, the hate started to die down. some of the trolls even apologized to you for the things they’ve said. but you ended up blocking them anyway because why send hate in the first place?

interviews

• she always finds a way to bring you into the topic of conversation.

interviewer : filming this movie must’ve took a lot out of you. the hours. the training. the stunts. and i mean the storyline itself is darker than what we normally see you do. what made you take on this role?

letitia : ooo. wow, that is a great question. uhmm. i mean…yea this role was something i never would’ve imagined myself playing. like when i was offered to be apart of this film, my immediate response was “no, absolutely not.” but my girlfriend, y/n, she reminded me that i needed to stop playing it safe. i tend to stay in my comfort zone because i know that it works best for me and it’s what im used to. but me and her talked about this year being the year of trying new things. so if it wasn’t for her, i mean…i probably wouldn’t have accepted the role and uh i would’ve missed out on being apart of this amazing film. so it’s all thanks to her. she’s my number one supporter.

interviewer : wow. that’s beautiful. i’m happy that you found someone who pushes you to be your best self.

interviewer : recently you’ve been rocking some new looks, that i myself am a huge fan of. where are you getting your style inspiration?

letitia : oof i was afraid someone was going to ask me this question.

interviewer : what, why? you’re not ready to give up your source?

letitia : yea i just wanna gatekeep her a little longer—nah im joking uhm, i just don’t have time to hear her mouth ya know? her head is big enough as it is and if tell the world that she’s behind these fits, my god, i’d never hear the end of it.

interviewer : oou is it a snooty designer or—or a bougie stylist of some sort?

letitia : oh she’s definitely a bougie stylist. uhm it’s y/n, my girlfriend.

interviewer : oh reallyyy?

letitia : yeaa, i don’t know what it is. it’s just something about about her closet man. i just find myself going through her things and taking pieces here and there. and she thinks it’s cute cause apparently im *air quotes* “jocking her style”

interviewer : that’s hilarious. so she doesn’t mind you wearing her clothes?

letitia : no not at all. she actually dressed me today. oou im just feeding her ego aren’t i? but yea she has, in my opinion, the best fashion sense. but of course, im biased so—uhm yea i just love her style and i love her.

interviewer : i heard you mention that you and your girlfriend made some vision boards to ring in the new year.

letitia : yea we did.

interviewer : what is the number one goal on that list?

interviewer : ooouu look at you over there blushing. wow, that’s so exciting. is this something that you two have talked about?

letitia : yea we’ve uhm, we’ve been talking about our future and building a life together. ya know, marriage, kids—the whole thing. i think we’re both ready to start heading in that direction. it’s one of my top priorities right now.

interviewer : wow that’s amazing. i am so happy for you two. is it safe to say that the next time you come on the show, you might be engaged?

letitia : that’s crazy to even think about. but uhm yea, yea that’s the plan.

interviewer : and who knows, maybe you’ll even have a little one on the way. a mini letitia running around. you ready for that?

letitia : ooh absolutely. the real question is, is y/n ready? cus i was a little troublemaker when i was younger. so he or she will definitely be a handful. i just know it. we’ll need her mini me to balance out the crazy for sure.

she said laughing.

interviewer : just for balance?

letitia : for balance, exactly.

interview : it sounded like you were trying to sneak in the fact that you want two children.

letitia : aww man you caught onto that? uhm…yea i definitely want two children. preferably a boy and girl. ya know, best of both worlds.

interviewer : well i hope that happens for you, truly.

letitia : thank you. i really appreciate that.

interviewer : of course. and thank you for being so open, you’re hands down one of my favorite guests. next time you stop by, i hope your lovely girlfriend can join us. i’m very excited for you two and i hope that everything works out.

letitia : aww, seriously thank you so much. i’ll definitely try and bring her on for sure. it was nice to come on here and share my goals. i like to think of it as speaking them into existence. im so excited for this next chapter. im ready to be a wife. im ready to be a mom. im just uhm…grateful, is the best way to describe it. i used to pray for love like this. i asked god to send me my soulmate and that’s exactly what he did. i couldn’t be happier. so to be able to even have these types of conversations, is a dream come true. thank you for having me.

#letitia wright #letitia wright x reader #letitia #letitia x reader #annaswriting

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vclvetfleur · 10 months

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Obedient Chapter 10

roman roy x fem!reader

Summary: A week has gone by since you and Roman had argued and you both refuse to let it go. He even had resorted to ignoring you and making your job difficult. You get an offer from Kendall and take it.

TW: dr*g and alcohol abuse

Note: I had such a difficult time trying to figure out how to close this era off to the next. But thank you tik tok for giving me an idea.

Chapter 10: Nut milk

You and Roman hadn’t spoken to one another in over a week. You turned down Shiv’s dinner request, knowing it would be too soon to be around Roman for that long after just spending your morning and afternoon with him. You just thought it was for the best to give him that space. But in return of that, you were spending more time with Jess. You felt guilty though. You constantly lied to her about what happened with Roman. You just passed it off as you both saying very nasty things to each other because Roman was upset about the CEO position being taken away from him. Jess felt sorry for you. It had really taken a toll on you that even Kendall mentioned it. He offered to bring you on his morning runs, but you weren’t up for it. But he did finally come up with an offer you were willing to take.

Since Kendall began seeing Naomi Pierce, they’ve been both falling into bad habits. Their dynamic basically consisted of binges and partying together. He thought it’d be great to invite you out since he had tried to promise you that his idea of fun wasn’t as boring as you assumed it would be. You fought with the idea for a bit before accepting his offer.

You had gotten ready in your normal clothes for the first time in a while. This was the only time you had didn’t feel the need to dress up professionally. You had asked Jess to tag along, but she felt a bit burned out to go out to a party that realistically was going to last awhile. Kendall’s car was going to be there soon. He had brought a few more people out with them, which were all of Naomi’s friends that she felt comfortable sharing her relapse with. She wasn’t willing to let the news break out like the last time. Which she blamed ATN for. You made final edits to your appearance before finally rushing out of the apartment. You had gotten into the limo the Kendall sent out. No one was in there though. I guess you were the only one who lived farther from them. I mean, you did live in Brooklyn, and they probably were in Manhattan. But eventually the car filled up. You had just chatted with the girls that came in, pouring drinks for each other and laughing. They weren’t typically your type of people, but a night out could be fun with them. As long as they didn’t act too out of line. But everyone stopped as the host of the night, Kendall and Naomi got into the car. He seemed a lot more jumpy than he has ever been. He spoke a lot quicker too and seemed to stumble on his own words a lot. You had spent enough time in the club scene to see what was happening. He had just done a couple of lines with Naomi before getting in the car. You just decided to not say much. It wasn’t really your business. He had relapsed long ago, you knew that. Maybe he was handling his addiction better? You tried to rationalize it. Kendall kept encouraging everyone to do shots, even you. “Come on! One more before we go in.” Kendall encouraged. One of Naomi’s friends had poured everyone one before raising hers in the air. “One! Two! Three!” One of them counted before they all downed your shot. You were psyching yourself out before taking the shot down. You dry heaved from the taste of it. “Isn’t fancy tequila supposed to go down easier?” You coughed, grabbing a soda to drink to get rid of the flavor that was still on your tongue. The car stopped, but you fixed your lipstick before getting out with everyone. Kendall made sure to watch over you tonight. He wasn’t sure what you were really prepared for and how much you were willing to even be around. He also did have some care for you after having to see you constantly. He didn’t want to leave you behind. He spoke to the bouncer before leading you all in, keeping Naomi on his arm. You were let into a dark room before the doors open to reveal lights flashing everywhere. There were people covering the entire floor, either dancing or making out with a stranger they had just met. You hadn’t gone out in a while actually. Not since you left college a couple months ago. You had no one to go with. And you were too stressed out. But you use to go out 2 or 3 times a night. “You alright?” Kendall shouted over the music into your ear. You nodded, raising a thumbs up. “Our table is gonna be over there. So just order from there. It’s all on me.” He told you. You appreciated the sentiment. Once you adjusted to the environment, you loosened up. You went into the crowd, dancing with yourself or whoever was willing to join you. Every so often Naomi’s friends would join with you or wonder around and discover more stuff in the club. You had gotten a few drinks, downing some shots to keep your energy up. You knew you’d crash eventually, but you weren’t slowing down anytime soon. After a while of going around, you decided to find Kendall. Luckily for you, he had been looking for you as well. You walked to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as he brought you over to Naomi. “Hiiii my gorgeous girl.” Naomi giggled, pinching your cheeks. You were too drunk to even understand your surroundings. “Where have you been tonight? Me and Sophia had just scored some coke, if you’re up for it.” She tried to test out if you’d join or not. Kendall wasn’t sure where you stood with drugs, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

But you were in a place to want to keep excitement in your body. “How long til it gets here?” You asked her. She smiled, looking at Kendall then at you. “20 more minutes.” She told you. You nodded, agreeing to the offer. You had taken a few hits of poppers from strangers today. You weren’t oppose to it. Plus, Kendall could probably afford coke that wasn’t laced with anything. Thankfully Naomi’s friend, Alisson, knew what was going to go down for the night and brought test strips with her.

“Come on, dance with me till it gets here.” You giggled, dragging Naomi away from Kendall. She laughed, putting her hand on your shoulder as you pushed through the crowd to find enough room for the two of you. You listened to the music, moving your body to the beat of it, not caring who was looking or judging you. You finally broke out of your shell that Roman had created. Being around the Roy’s made you feel so self-conscious of how you acted or dressed, but in a setting like this, it didn’t matter when they were just as much of a mess as you were. After dancing to 3 songs, Naomi broke it short, saying her dealer was here. You both rushed out, you stumbling a little. You sat back with Kendall and Naomi and her two friends had gone out to meet with him.

“You look like you’re having fun. I-uh- I feel like I hadn’t seen you smile-y’know since Nan’s.” Kendall expressed to you. You shrugged, slumped on the couch that was in Kendall’s paid section of the club. “Well, you can thank your dumbass little brother for that.” You giggled, grabbing the alcohol that was on the table, pouring cranberry and vodka into a cup before sipping on it to make sure it tasted good enough. You laid back, looking up at Kendall. “Give it up to Roman for ruining things.” Kendall put his glass up to make a toast on Roman’s behalf. You laughed loudly, probably cause of the alcohol, clinking his glass with yours. “What even- “He started before Naomi came in, tapping you both on the shoulder. She directed her head to the direction of somewhere more private. They couldn’t risk pictures leaking out. The club was huge, there were multiple rooms that had some kind of privacy to them. You followed them as they lead you and 2 other girls to a room that was small, but quiet enough. Naomi cut up lines for everyone, preparing some of it and testing to make sure it was good enough to even sniff. It was. But she couldn’t be too stupid. Naomi leaned forward and took a line before the rest of them took a turn, leaving you last. You held the rolled up dollar bill to your nose, leaning forward and inhaling it. You pinched the bridge of your nose, sniffling to make sure you had gotten it through your nose. It felt a bit like a burning sensation. You just had to wait 2 or 5 minutes before it was going to actually start to kick into gear.

“Have you ever done this kind of stuff y/n?” Naomi asked with a little smirk on her lips. “I mean I did a lot of regrettable things in college.” You laughed, palming your nose. You let your hand drop down. Naomi couldn’t stop laughing. You think it finally had hit her. Her high started. Before you knew it yours did too. You all had about 40 minutes before you come down. But Kendall and Naomi weren’t going to wait for it. They had drawn more lines, offering you some. You took the offer. Your body felt a jolt in itself as you had felt as though you were on cloud nine. Your body had a lightness to it. The rest of the night went on, you all just come back and then going out to dance and cause some kind of issue for yourselves. You and Kendall sat together alone, him finally having a come down. It was 3 am, Naomi was almost ready to leave, but was holding out for her friend who was busy with some guy.

“So what happened between you and Rome? You both seemed to be in some kind of fucking little honeymoon phase.” Kendall wondered; his sunglasses put on in an indoor setting to hide what utter shit he looked like after treating his body like that. “I mean- you both- come on.” Kendall teased. “You both basically eye fucked all day.” He wouldn’t let it go.

You would’ve never said this. But you weren’t in the headspace to even talk about anything serious. You had an awareness to you, but your mouth moved faster than your mind. “Roman and I kissed.” You confessed. Kendall shot up, clapping his hands together once. “I fucking knew it. So what? What’s wrong?” He was trying to invade your personal boundaries, but it was just nice to be able to even say anything to anyone. “I uh- well the next morning- I told him we couldn’t do that anymore.” You shrugged. Kendall laughed in disbelief. You were happy that someone finally knew. “Don’t tell Jess.” You begged him. He crossed his chest, making sure you knew he was keeping the secret with him.

“Well, did you want to kiss him?” Kendall was deeply curious. He didn’t see why Roman out of all people. Yeah, it was his brother, but he knew Roman’s personality mostly ruined every relationship he was in. “Yea. But that’s not the point. I just- it’s wrong, right? Me kissing my boss?” You asked him realistically. It was ethically and morally wrong, but it was something you wanted. There was no pressure. But it was social pressure of how you’d be treated. But regardless, you did want him in that way.

“Fuck no!” Kendall went on and tried to break down his thoughts people being upset about that were at the end of the day pussies. “Do you still want him?” Kendall egged you on. You nodded, admitting it to yourself finally. “You should go to his house.” Kendall continued to egg you on. You weren’t sure it was a good idea, but you took a shot of liquid courage and got up. “Wait- are you actually?” He laughed, wanting up with you. You nodded before grabbing your things. “Thank you for the best advice I could ask for Ken.” You hugged him before leaving him alone in the room. He was in complete disbelief that you would actually take his advice in any consideration; nonetheless you did. Roman’s house was just 10 blocks away, so it was about a 15 minute walk. You stumbled down the streets of New York, drunkenly laughing to yourself. You decided to even call Roman to at least give him a heads up. But he never responded. Regardless of you laughed and practically shouted at your phone to let you in when you finally get there. Before you knew it, you were at Roman’s building. You gave your name to the front desk, they’ve seen you before multiple times, letting you in easily. You had gone up to his floor, stepping out of the elevator and knocked on his door. You had probably been standing there for a good 5 minutes before you saw the lights come on in the hallways. Roman had been asleep, hearing buzzing and slamming on his door. He looked around, rubbing his face before finally sitting up in his empty bed. He looked at his phone, seeing a miss call from you, along with a voicemail. He got up, putting on some lounge pants and shirt before going downstairs. He played the voicemail, hearing a lot of laughing and giggling through his phone’s speaker. He could barely understand what you were saying before hearing you stop giggling as much before. “Okay! Byeeeeee! See you soon!” You then broke out into laughter. He turned on the lights in the apartment each time he entered the room before stopping at the door. He leaned up to the peep hole to see you waiting there patiently for him. He opened the door, being met with you coming inside immediately. You wreaked of booze. “Did you just rob a liquor store? It’s 4 am, they’re not even open now. What the fuck are-?” he asked before you shut the door behind the two of you. You laid on his wall, looking up at him suggestively, grabbing the end of his shirt, pulling him lightly close to you.

“You knoooow, I really wanted to fuck you the other night.” You confessed to him, stumbling on your words as you did, not only because of the alcohol, but you did do another line on your way here. You had stolen their little baggie before leaving Kendall. And the shot wasn’t entirely helping your nerves.

“Fucking haha, very funny joke. Get the fuck out y/n.” he rolled his eyes, turning his head away from you. But you ignored him, keeping your hands to fidget with his shirt.

“Noooo, I’m serious. Come on, you wanted to fuck me too.” You poked his stomach. He flinched, grabbing your hand to prevent you from touching his stomach like that again. He looked down at you as you gave him the goofiest smile unconsciously.

“It isn’t professional.” He mimicked your voice. He assumed you had been out and gotten a bit tipsy. You did smell, but it could’ve also been all the alcohol that accidentally spilled onto you the whole evening.

“Fuck professional. I want you right now.” You laughed, pulling him in before kissing him. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you. Roman could help himself. His hands landed down to your hips, pulling you close to him as your lips moved together, craving one another. It seemed like nothing was gonna tear you both from one each other. He was still mad, but he craved your touch more than ever. He couldn’t ignore how good you had made him feel that night. He just wanted one more night to feel that way again. He knew this was just as big as a mistake as you did. But he knew this could end badly if he continued on. He pulled away from you. You looked up at him desperately, trying to get him to kiss you again, but he shook his head no. “Come on, let’s get you sobered up.” He sighed. He let his hand out, offering it to you. You took it as he helped you walk to the kitchen. He made sure you didn’t trip as you hopped up on the chair that he had at his island. He grabbed you a cup of water, handing it off to you. “There uh- another room on this floor. I’m going to bed since you woke me up with your late night booty call.” He tried to make you laugh, but right now you’d laugh at anything he said. He tried to make sure you got into his guest bedroom bed safe enough before leaving you alone. He laid you on your side, leaving a trash can from the bathroom on the side for you just in case. He went upstairs to his bedroom, laying back down in his bed. He wanted to hold you, but knew once you woke up, you’d freak out on him. There was no way you were gonna remember any of this. Fortunately for Roman, you had passed out once you laid down. You were in a deep sleep. And you had been for most of the morning. You had woken up at 11:40 with Roman in his common area, just close enough to make sure you were okay. He even had run down to the store to get you some milk that you’d actually drink in your coffee in the morning. He grabbed whatever he saw that wasn’t cow’s milk. He even grabbed a croissant that was in a wrapper. He assumed croissants didn’t need any animal products to be made.

You got up with a massive headache and your whole body feeling extremely sore from the night before. You groaned, holding your body as close to yourself as possible. Roman heard the groveling, getting up to go to your room. “Good morning, how was your shift at the bar?” He tried to ease you into what had happened the night prior. “Uh-I have-uh fucking aspirin if you want.” He offered, seeing your glass from last night was still full. You looked up at him before covering your face in complete embarrassment of what you did last night. You remembered everything. You didn’t regret what you did, just how you did it. “Are we even now that you rejected me?” You asked, pulling your hands away from your face, looking at Roman with a pout on your lips. Your eyes were too tired to fully open either. The glass walls didn’t help either.

“Yeah-yeah, you’re forgiven. Uh- here, lets get you up, huh?” He passed the conversation back to you. You nodded, slowly getting up, sitting on the edge of the bed. He helped you up, your legs feeling as if they had been beaten with a bat. They wobbled before finally getting a grasp of it. “I’m fine. Uh- do you have a toothbrush I can use?” You asked him. Your breath smelt terrible. It was a mix of morning breathe and liquor residue. He nodded before rushing back to where he left the bag of shit he got for you. He also made sure to get you a toothbrush. He brought it back as you had made your way to the bathroom already. Your makeup was a complete mess. You washed your face, hearing Roman come in. He set the brand new toothbrush down before sitting on the large counter. “So wanna talk about last night?” He wondered.

You looked up at him, your lips in a tight line. “Can we just have a nice moment again before it goes to shit again?” You begged. He nodded and left you alone. You brushed your teeth and left the bedroom to see Roman pouring himself coffee that he just made you. You went over and grabbed yourself a mug before pouring yourself a cup. “Wanna check the fridge?” He hinted to you. You gave him a questioning look before going to the fridge to see almond milk in the fridge. You weren’t the biggest fan, but the sentiment was kind. You turned to him with endearment. “Thank you, Rome.” You gave him a smile before pouring it into your coffee. “Yeah- shut up.” He pretended to be annoyed. You sat down at the counter, sipping on your coffee. “Uh- I got you a croissant too.” He slid it over to you. Your smile grew, but you suppressed it, trying not to entirely hurt his feelings before breaking the bad news to him.

“Uh- Rome, croissants have egg in them. And butter. And milk. But thank you.” You finally giggled. He quickly grabbed it, calling it bullshit before reading the back to see the allergy warning ‘Contains : Milk and Eggs’. He made an annoyed sound, putting it down.

“Is fucking everything made with that? Fuck- how do you live?” He took his annoyance on you. You put your hand over his and tried to give him a reassuring smile. He pulled away though.

“Rome, I meant what I said last night. I really do want you. I talked about it with someone, and they made me realize that I-uh- that I should stop myself for what a possible outcome could be.” You smiled, finally letting it off your chest. You waited for his reaction. He just stood there and tried to process it. “I’ve liked you for a while, I just didn’t realize until that day and I got scared.” You continued. You hated how silent he was. It made you anxious. You tried to cover the silence with your voice, but Roman finally came to a conclusion.

“Uh- well. I do think you were right. I think it could really hurt both your and my reputation. Fucking-y’know with all that shit about oh abuse of power or whatever the fuck.” He finally gave his answer. He looked over at you, trying to see how you’d respond. You were definitely disappointed and hurt. This is probably how Roman felt the other day. You felt such a large range of emotions. Embarrassed for even putting yourself out there and for kissing him last night. A lot of resentment for Kendall for talking you into it. But a lot of just- sadness I guess- because you wanted to yell at Roman but had no right to. It wasn’t on him.

“Alright- well… I’m uh- I’m sorry for uh- y’know. All that.” You tried to get over the rejection quickly. Roman let out a brief sigh watching as you shifted in your seat. You tried to make it seem as though it didn’t entirely effect you. But it did.

“I-I don’t wanna stop though. If you- only if- you really wanted to take advantage of your boss or whatever the fuck.” He eluded to keeping things private between the two of you. Little sessions and romantic gestures but kept privately. “We don’t need to have sex per say” He tried to dodge that awkward talk of his inability to even have sex hardly ever. “And how would that exactly work?” You asked him, you weren’t entirely sure of what he was even trying to say. “Well-“ He tried to think, walking over to you, laying his hands onto your thighs. He looked at your lips before finally speaking once again. “Maybe just-like this.” He said, laying a hand over your cheek before laying his lips onto yours again. You melted into the kiss, being so much softer yet passionate. You leaned in, moving him in between your legs. Shortly the kiss was cut, you biting down on your bottom lip and looking at Roman as you both shared a mutual understanding of whatever this was going to be. “Well- I guess I’m fine with taking advantage of my poor boss.” You joked before laying one last kiss onto his lips. But Roman couldn’t be in a serious. “Ugh- I can taste that fucking nut water.” You couldn’t help but laugh before drinking your coffee in front of him.

“You’re fucking gross.” You mumbled.

Chapter 11

#succession #succession hbo #hbo succession #roman roy #roman roy fanfic #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession fanfic #kendall roy #shiv roy #siobhan roy #connor roy #greg hirsch #tom wambsgans #logan roy #roy siblings

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fullmetal-angelgrace · 1 month

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wilson tries the entire episode (8x02) to hate house, wilson's patient talks negatively about her ex boyfriend and how he was a bad influence.

wilson gets advice from house to stop accepting the patient's wishes to die - to try harder - by doing something no normal doctor would: he calls her ex boyfriend who enables her alcoholism, who convinces her to do the painful but life extending treatment, and she gets back together with her ex boyfriend, so she's alive but back in a relationship that might ultimately be bad for her.

then wilson allows house back into his life so they can continue to be each other's enablers and bad influences, feeling alive again.... but also back in a relationship that might ultimately be bad for him 🫠

#house md 8x02 #what was in the writer's room in 2010 😭😭#literally insane duo #house md #Gregory house #james wilson #wilson tried to do the exact same thing after amber died and also didn't last very long before getting sucked back in to house's gravity #house md transplant #im not complaining btw we love toxic yaoi here on this blog o7 #early 2000s gay subtext is on such an insane level i hate how compelling it can be #hatecrimes md #hilson #naomi watches things tag #this is like in spn when they compared dean to cain and cas to cain's wife 😶😶#this isnt as overt as that though #but the amber house parallels certainly were that overt lol

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south-of-heaven · 8 months

Note

rhea x fem!reader x liv when rhea betrays liv in front of reader and tries to make her pick a side?

Pick || Rhea Ripley x Reader x Liv Morgan

Summary: When Rhea turns on Liv she tries to make you pick between the two of them.

The deafening roar of the crowd filled the arena as you stood on the ring apron, watching in disbelief as Rhea turned on Liv, sneaking up on her from behind and giving her a brutal beat down. It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that it left you stunned.

They had been in a heated tag team match, facing off against Naomi and Sasha for the tag titles. The match had been intense, the crowd fully invested in every move, every pinfall attempt. But then, in a shocking twist, after loosing the match, Rhea had suddenly attacked Liv, delivering a devastating Riptide that left her crumpled in the center of the ring.

The cheers that had once been for your team had turned into a chorus of boos. The audience couldn't comprehend what had just occurred, and neither could you. Liv lay on the mat, dazed and hurt, her face etched with confusion and betrayal.

Rhea, on the other hand, stood tall, a menacing grin on her face. She pointed at you, her gaze unrelenting, demanding that you make a choice. Her actions had torn your team apart, and now she wanted to split your loyalty.

Your heart ached as you looked from Liv to Rhea, they had been your partners through thick and thin. It was an impossible decision, tearing at your very soul.

The crowd chanted your name, their voices echoing in your ears, urging you to choose. But how could you? Liv was your first love, and Rhea was the person you trusted in the ring like no other.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head, refusing to make a choice. Liv needed your help, but so did Rhea. The weight of the decision hung heavy on your shoulders, and it felt like your heart was being torn in two.

As Rhea continued to demand an answer, you finally found your voice, your words barely a whisper. "I can't choose, Rhea. I won't."

The crowd's reaction was a mix of disappointment and understanding. Liv, still on the mat, looked up at you with a mixture of pain and forgiveness in her eyes. Rhea's expression, however, shifted from anger to something you couldn't quite place.

In that moment, you realized that the bond of trust you had with both Liv and Rhea was more important than any wrestling match or victory. You wouldn't let their rivalry tear you apart, no matter the consequences.

Rhea's expression softened, and she nodded, as if understanding your decision. The match had ended in chaos, and as you helped Liv to her feet, you knew that the path ahead wouldn't be easy. But one thing was certain – you were determined to find a way to mend the bonds that had been broken in the ring that night, no matter how long it took.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #pro wrestling #wrestling #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #rhea x reader #rhea ripley #liv morgan x reader #liv morgan #rhea ripley x reader x liv morgan #rhea ripley x liv morgan #liv 4 brutality #l4b

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peskyfirefly · 2 months

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thank u @snowyshadow for the tag!! (i love the arc of a scythe series btw im so happy to see u enjoying it hehe. and i hope u feel better soon!)

last song played: dark charade by rishloo

favorite color: green 💚💚💚

last tv show watched: downton abbey (im rewatching it for the millionth time oops)

last movie watched: the prince of egypt

currently reading: all of us villains by amanda foody and christine lynn herman. but i did just pick up the second book in the scholomance series by naomi novik 👀 so ill prolly be reading that now !!

sweet/spicy/savory: savory!! and a bit sweet!! i cant handle spice im so sorry

relationship status: single (but also married to mica)

last thing googled: the hours for my local library asdfghjkl;

current obsession: READING!! ive just gotten back into reading recently and im having so much fun. and i love talking about books with people when i can!!

currently working on: nothing atm... *side eyes my cross stitch and coloring wips*

tagging: @koushuwu @tojiswhore-nanamisslut @feitanporter (no pressure as always!!)

#i know u tagged me on my main buttttt im answering here sorry asdfghjkl #also there is a...book theme happening...#tag game #my ramblings

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funkletrunk · 5 months

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“ I’m so sorry that they pick you last” - letter to my 13 year old self by laufey

pairings! + dazai osamu & reader

mentions of ada members, hurt no comfort, reader has anxiety !! enjoy

cross posted to ao3 @/mrfrunklewonk

The party was too cramped, neon lights flashing over the tipsy crowd. Bodies huddled together, dancing and drinking. To get through them all just to find your party was already a tiring mission on its own. One of the ADA members suggested that they go out to party, to loosen up a little. You weren’t much of a party person but they convinced you to tag along. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin your relationship with your colleagues, you were already unsociable enough to begin with. Focusing on work and only polite small talk when necessary. But he changed that.

Dazai bothered you every day nonstop, and whether it was his intention or not, he got you to open up. And his efforts certainly didn’t go unnoticed, the little outings, the flowers in the morning on your desk. You smiled a little more, talked a little more, and a little louder. You became brighter as a person and more sociable. You were still shy and quiet, don’t get that wrong, but he helped you open your heart to more people by forcing himself in there first. Your heart hammered, knowing he was going to be there. He was the reason you were going, having persuaded you while walking you home.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“(Name),” His arms are behind his back, taking long strides next to you. You look at him, humming back in response as you observe his facial features. If he notices your ogling, he says nothing. “You’re going to come to the party right?” He turns to look at you with a smile while you, in return, look away. Your face scrunches as you think and Dazai's smile only grows wider at this. “I don’t know..” “It’ll be fun! Just come, and I’ll make sure you have a great time!!” You look back at his face, a wide grin stretched on it while he gives you a thumbs up. You sigh nod your head and chuckle as you watch Dazai celebrate your answer.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Not that you’ll let your coworkers know that, you’ll just let them think it was their “convincing” that made you come.

You squeezed through the crowds and saw familiar figures sitting in the distance on some sofas in the back. You smiled, getting a little excited as you scurried over to them. You made sure to wear a nice outfit tonight, hoping it’ll impress your coworkers and Dazai. You walk over to Kunikida who is standing rather than sitting with some of the others, scribbling away in his book (typical). “Hello Kunikida-san!” “Oh, hello (Name).” He barely looked up, acknowledging your presence in the slightest. You don’t take it to heart, though, you know he can get very absorbed with his writing. Your eyes drift over to Yosano, Ranpo, Tanizaki, and Naomi on the couch.

You walk over and try to find a space to sit, but there’s no more space so you just stand as you politely greet everyone. Yosano gives you a hello before going back to talking to a grumpy Ranpo, who does not acknowledge your presence at all. You figure it must be important and try not to start a conversation. Tanizaki and Naomi both waved with a small smile and before you could try talking to them, they went back to chatting together. You uncomfortably shifted, rubbing your arm and looking around. Everyone was busy and both Atsushi and Dazai were missing. (Kyouka and Kenji were too young, and Fukuzawa disliked outings like such).

You’re looking around and you see two figures approaching from a door to the left, walking towards your group. As they get closer, you realize it's the two missing members of the group and sigh a little with relief. Besides Dazai, Atsushi was second to make sure you felt most welcome as the newest ADA member. You admired his compassion and bravery. You wave with a smile to the two. Atsushi smiles weakly and waves back and Dazai keeps blabbering on in his ear, his eyes closed and his arms flailing around dramatically. Your smile drops a little, but you’re sure it wasn’t intentional so you grab Dazai’s sleeve and tug on it lightly. He quickly goes quiet, peeking open his eyes to look at you. He smiles at you, albeit it seems a little forced.

“Ah, (Name), you made it!” “Just like you asked,” You averted your eyes shyly and before you could speak again, Dazai's velvet-like voice cut through the air. “I’m sorry (Name) but I happen to have business with Atsushi tonight, could you please excuse us?” You feel your skin crawl and prickle with anxiety, suddenly snapping your eyes up to look at his shut ones. “You’re going to leave me on my own?” “I’m sure there’s another member who wants to talk to you” “Nobody wants to talk to me Dazai, I’ve been ignored since I’ve gotten here!”

Your breathing is fast, your heart rapidly beating as you feel your eyes prickle with tears. You watch as Dazai opens his eyes to observe you with a straight face. Atsushi is still standing next to Dazai, feeling awkward and guilty about the whole situation. “Then maybe you should go home.” You can barely register the words out of his mouth, head spinning and heart thumping. Your head droops, tears building up and threatening to fall. “Alright, I guess I will.” And you leave. You make your way onto the street, the cold night breeze stinging your tear-stained cheeks as you walk home. You can’t believe you thought this time would be different.

“Dazai-san, was that necessary? I’m sure she just wanted to have a good time with us! And is it safe to let a woman walk home on her own at this time?” Atsushi stares at Dazai, frantically spitting out each word faster than the last. Dazai stares at the door where she left before placing a hand on Atsushis shoulder. “She’s a member of the ADA, she’ll be just fine Atsushi.” Dazai smiles at him and waves him off to go get them both drinks. He looks back towards the door, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Sometimes people just need to learn how to live on their own.”

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #hurt/no comfort #i cried #no beta we die like fyodor #one sided feelings but only if you squint

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prettymrswright · 1 year

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Harlem Nights

pairing: rosalie otterbourne x black!fem!reader

background: as a singer and musician growing up in the heart of New York, you constantly had people, places, and things to be inspired by. every chance you could, you were finding places inside those rooms you always desired to be in. there was nothing more you wanted to do but perform. most of your family wouldn’t be so ecstatic about your ‘unrealistic’ and ‘unstable’ ambitions. But you knew deep down that you had what it takes. You’d soon travel down to Harlem’s hottest club of the early 20th century, ‘The Cotton Club’, and an interaction with one of your inspirations would change the trajectory of your life, forever.

content: fluff, flirting, playful banter, intimacy. a lot of sweetness + sass. warmth. little explicit language.

word count: 6k

authors note: 2nd fic down. this one was very fun to create, making it fitting to the time. I have such a sweet spot for Rosalie, I had to dedicate this one to her and all her glory. as a singer and musician myself from NY, this was very special for me. I hope y’all smiling and blushing because I was smiling and blushing writing it! enjoy. p.s. chile i kinda wanna make a part two, this was teaaaa.

taglist: @inmyheadimobsessed @zayswriting @vixentheplanet @pinkwright @saintwrld @verachii @ventingfanfics @abenomeiiii @vampzxi @shuriszn @dejaonline @mysticalmarss @shurislover @msplayas @naomis-daydream @sweetalittleselfish-honey

pinned to my page is my new taglist form. if you wanna be tagged in specifics, go fill that joint out! thank you. (i also have an opt out option for those who no longer want to be tagged if they already are). <3

A warm, summer rain pitter-pattered across the glass of your bedroom window as you began cleaning up your space. It was a comfy afternoon, almost evening, the sun peaking through the clouds and beaming down on the town, preparing for its set. It was gorgeous outside. And despite it's rather saturating nature, many people were outside on their front porches. There were so many things to do in Harlem. So many places to see. And yet you felt you could die of boredom. If you weren't busy cleaning or babysitting the neighbors kids, you were receiving a 15-page verbal essay from your mother about how dangerous the city was and how 'there ain't nothing in Harlem but drugs, scams, and prostituting!'. I mean sure it could be dangerous at times. But where in the world isn't? You just knew that as much as there were frights, there were sights. Opportunity was left and right in this town. All your favorite artists and musicians grew up right here, and you wanted to join that list.

“Alright, Y/N/N,�� your mom began, putting on her jacket, grabbing her things, and approaching your bedroom door. I’m off to work. Remember to drop the evening papers by Miss Jeanine after you finish cleaning. And no clubs!”

You sighed with immediate annoyance. “But Ma—“

“No butts!” She warned sternly. “Unless it’s yours in that bed there, immediately after. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You respectfully reply, feeling defeated.

You were 21, soon to be 22, but Mother didn’t believe in ‘legal adult decision making’. As long as you were her child and under her roof, you complied by her rules. You understood her always being protective over you; You even appreciated it. But at this moment and time of your life, it felt more like a hinderance than anything else.

“Alright now. I’ll see you later. I love you,” she says on her way out.

“Love you too Ma,” you reply faintly, and with that, the door shuts.

You fall back down on your bed behind you, with a big exhale, staring up at your popcorn ceiling. It was such a lovely day. You should be somewhere dancing, or hanging with your best friend Josephine. Even watching the neighbors kids wouldn’t be so bad right now. At least you’d be out in the backyard.

Tonight was also one of hottest summer nights to be at the Cotton. Billie Holiday, Ma Rainey, and Salome Otterbourne were all performing. It was certain to be a full house, for sure. The three black female jazz pioneers were on tour, and this would be the only time in a while that anybody would be able to see them all perform in one night. Dozens of people even travel from out of state on nights like these. That also meant that there’d be a bunch of travel scouts and agents, waiting on more talent to grab and take under their wing. You were nauseated at the thought of even missing it for a moment.

You got up to finish your cleaning, and halfway through, you heard the door open and shut, followed by a familiar voice that you knew and loved so much.

“Why the long face, sugar?” It asked, making sure you’d turn around to see their smile.

“Grandpa!” You ran to him with open arms, beaming with joy.

Your grandfather was your best friend. Since you were a little girl, he took you under his wing. Your dad left to pursue his music dreams when you were younger, so your grandfather was also the Dad you never had. He always spoke life into you, and made sure that no matter what, you knew that you were capable of any and everything. He also instilled you with the unwavering confidence to back that. Grandpa’s think-pieces were like gold. He was very wise, and had been through it all. He’d always say:

'Don’t let anybody take you for a fool! Not even me!' And laughed. But he was serious. "What's going on? Lorraine got you in this house cleaning all day again?" He says in your defense, as he often does. You let out an exhausting puff of a sigh before plopping back down on your bed. "Yea Pop. As usual." You shifted your body towards him and stared at the ground in deep thought, pausing before continuing. "I mean, life has got to be a little more exciting than this, don't it?" He laughed a low, hearty chuckle. "There's always more excitement, Y/N/N. You just gotta find it. Don't wait for opportunity, create it!" He says affirmably, allowing you to comfortably reveal what you've been thinking about all week. "I really wanna go to the Cotton tonight, Grandpa. Salome Otterbourne is performing tonight! And a bunch of other singers and talents and--well--I'm gonna be here, missing it." You look down and fidget your thumbs around each other. "Well why don't you go?" He asks. "You know Mama don't want me around no clubs, Pop. Besides, I told her I would take the evening papers down to Miss Jeanine." You reply in slight aggravation. "Ohhh," He scoffs and waves his hand down in dismissal. "Don't let that child stop you. I'll take the papers down to Jeanine." Your eyes lit up in pleasant surprise and excitement. "Oh you will?!" "Don't worry about it." He says, a confident smirk creeping onto his face. "Go on and enjoy yourself. I don't know where Lorraine gets all that strictness from anyway. Me and Betty ain't raise that child like that. Besides, she's seen and DONE worse." You both share a big laugh. "Thanks Grandpa. You're the best!" You jump up and wrap your arms around the big guy, holding the embrace for a while. "Anything for my favorite granddaughter." He says jokingly. "I'm your only granddaughter, Grandpa." You reply giggling. "I know. Now gone and figure out what you're going to wear. I hear that Mrs. Otterbourne is looking for another back up vocalist for her band." He tells you as if he just revealed the world's biggest secret. You, performing with Salome Otterbourne and her band. Your stomach turned and the mere thought of it. You kissed your Grandpa on the cheek before rushing to the bathroom to get ready for your highly anticipated night. Your mind rushed with all the possibilities of the night's events. You'd be in the same room with people and experiencing things you've once only dreamed of. Intimidating it was, but your desire to even just be in that energy was bigger. .. After lotioning up and powdering down, you slipped on a cool lavender silk midi dress, with spaghetti straps and a flowy, skirt-like bottom. You leaned into the mirror of your vanity, shaping up your thin brows, rolling on your winged liner, and coating your lips with a nude pink gloss, a shade brighter than your natural lip color. You used your same liner to add your infamous faux face moles; one above your lip, one at the tip of your nose, and one at the top corner of your cheek bone. You placed two diamond stud earrings into your ears, decorated your left wrist with a rose gold watch, and clamped your custom microphone necklace around your neck, gifted by your Grandfather. Lastly, pulling your look together, you peel off your bonnet and hair net, coat your fingers with oil, and take out each of your curls, wrapped around perm rods. You fluffed and shaped your hair into its short, curly and tapered state, much like Sheila Guyse. You stood and wrapped your mesh shawl around your shoulders. You walked over to your tall, door mirror and scanned your body, turning each angle, before spritzing your figure with Blue Grass, by Elizabeth Taylor. You always put effort into your look, but tonight was definitely a little extra. You needed to look and feel the part. Like you belonged there, just with everyone else. You grabbed your white clutch hand purse, matching your white pumps before walking out to the living room. "So," you say to your Grandfather, doing a quick and excited 360. "How do I look?"

"Oh, Y/N," Grandpa says swiping across and covering his mouth to conceal his emotional expression. "You look beautiful. Just like your grandmother." Grandma has passed when you were 7. You had faint memories of her. But one thing you did remember, was how madly in love your Grandfather was. You always said you'd want to be loved just like that when you were older. All the family would constantly remind you of how much you looked like her, and even carried a lot of her personality traits.

"Thanks, Pop." You reach down to hug him and wipe his tear before stepping back and giving him an 'It's okay' smile. "Alright, I'm heading out!" "Alright now, have fun and be safe! Be back by 11, and please, don't give your mother anymore reasons to kill me." He says, almost pleading. "You got it, Pop." You chuckled and walked out the door, closing it tightly behind you. You looked out at the busy block and took a deep sigh before walking down your porch steps and strutting down the street, on your way to the Cotton.

When you arrived, the scene was just like you imagined, only even bigger. Bright lights cascaded from all around the venue, and herds of people were beginning to gather. Cars were beeping and honking, forcing to navigate through traffic with all these people taking up the area, many cars stopping just to see what was going on. Above your head were the list of household names making an appearance tonight. Men and women all throughout the area were dressed up in their absolute best. Valet was working overtime & security was tight. It felt like something out of a movie.

You staggered in front the building, and before you knew it, it was your time to walk in. It was no turning back now.

There was a warm, dim but radiant tone to the room. You seen pimps, hustlers, singers, showgirls, every type of personality you could imagine.

Sounds of bass, saxophones, and pianos filled up the club with a soothing but strong undertone. You walked in, looking around in awe at the set up. The seats were almost filled. You were certain you had to sit in the back, but you didn’t mind. Being in the room was enough. Just as you turned to go back, you spotted your best friend Josephine, sitting in front with an older gentlemen.

“Y/N!,” She called out to you, waving you over and patting the seat next to her.

“Girl!” Overwhelm with excitement, you almost run to where she was and accepted her seat offer. “What are you doing here!”

“I didn’t tell you?” She questions. “My Uncle Johnny is playing bass for Mrs. Holiday. I tried calling to invite you, but your mom said you were busy.”

Typical mother. You really wish she’d stop answering for you. You rolled your eyes, but decided not to build on it.

“Oh, well good for him!” You say with sincerely, with a bright smile.

The two of you briefly caught up before the lights dimmed and the announcer came out to direct what would be one of the most riveting moments of your life.

A few acts had already performed, and you were completely enamored. Jazz and blues were your absolute favorite genre, but to hear it live and in person in all its emotion and vulnerability was euphoric. It was life changing. Entertained you were, but all in all, you felt a strong confirmation. You were certain that this was the path you wanted to take. Every strum of string, every note belted, sent chills down your spine. Singing and performing, especially with a live band felt so natural. It felt warm and welcoming— like a warm fudge brownie with cold ice cream on top. The contrast was clear, but together it went so well.

“And now ladies and gentlemen,” The announcer began. “I present to you, singer, musician, and hit phenomenon, Salome Otterbourne!”

He disappeared into the curtains, his presenting arm being the last thing to disappear as Salome approached the stage from the other end. The crowd erupted; cheers, claps, whistles. You turned to grab Josephine's wrists, that were wrested in her lap, the two of you looking at each other and exchanging an excited squeal. She was stunning. She stood tall above the silver microphone on its stand, wearing a powdered pink blouse and skirt set, with a hat and a flowered wrist garnish to match. She had on white silk gloves, covering the hands that held the stand, one up high and one down low, close to her lips and she began to sing her rendition of Bessie Smith's Tain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do. There ain't nothing I can do, or nothing I can say That folks don't criticize me But I'm goin' to do just as I want to anyway And don't care if they all despise me If i should take a notion To jump into the ocean 'Tain't nobody's business if I do, do, do, do If I go to church on Sunday Sing the shimmy down on Monday Ain't nobody's business if I do, if I do

She sang every word as if she wrote it herself. It was fitting, seeing that Salome was a confident, self-assured woman. You looked around to scan her band. There were two guys on strings. Another on the sax. One on trombone. And to the left of Salome, the pianist. A woman. She was the only other woman on stage besides the main singer, and she was playing for her. It was rare to see female musicians. And not only was she playing piano, but she was singing backup as well. She was gorgeous. She had pretty, cinnamon brown skin, narrow, sparkly eyes, and the prettiest smile you ever saw. She was on the taller side and had a slim but sturdy frame. Her hair was in a pin-curled bob, parted to the side, accentuating her sharp jaw structure. "Who is that?" You semi-whispered to your friend, intrigued. "That's Rosalie Otterbourne." She leaned in and whispered back, eyes still glued to the stage. "Salome's niece, if I'm not mistaken." "Oh." You reply back. The only thing you could say really. She was breath-taking, and seemingly just as talented as her aunt. As the song continues, she briefly averts her attention the crowd and her eyes are met with yours. Stopping and holding her gaze for a second, fingers still tap dancing with the instruments keys, she slightly tilts her head and flashes you a smile. You felt your heart begin to take on an unfamiliar arrangement of beats. Taken aback, you sheepishly smiled back, shakily lifting up your hand to give a small wave. She acknowledges it before returning her attention to her piano and back at Mrs Salome as they join in on the next verse. If my friend ain't got no money And I say, "Take all mine, honey" 'Tain't nobody's business if I do, do , do do If I give him my last nickel And it lives me in a pickle 'Tain't nobody's business if I do, If I do

“Holy shit, Y/N/N,” Josephine tugs at your side. “I think she just smiled at you.”

Okay so she saw that too. Surely it wasn’t for me directly. She was being courteous to her audience.

As the song came to an end, the crowd erupted once again.

“How y’all doing tonight New York? Y’all good?” She asks scanning out to the crowd. When answered by more cheers and whistles, she continued. “Alright, that’s what Salome Otterbourne like ta hear!”

“Tonight is a very special night for me. I’m back home and I have to say you all make me feel so welcomed.” She says with a sassy smile. She proceeds to introduces all the members of her band, leaving her for the end.

“And last but certainly not least, on the piano and back ground vocals, my lovely niece, manager, brain and backbone, Miss Rosalie Otterbourne!” She stands tall and blows a few two-handed kisses out across the room and seals her welcome acceptance with a big warm smile. For whatever reason, in the moment, it felt as if time stood still.

Time progressed as Salome and her band finished out their set. You were sad to see it end so soon. It was such a beautiful arrangement of music. People began to scatter; some leaving, some going to the bar, some going to dance. Some even went to ask for autographs and things of that nature. After awhile the chaos began to subside, and there Salome and her team was, alone, packing their things. You wondered if it was your time to approach. Even if she didn’t get to hear you sing, at least you could express to her how much her music quite literally saved you. As all these different thoughts browsed through your brain, your best friend, Josephine, took a page out of its catalog, as she often did, turning to say,

“Look there go Salome and them, finally by themselves. You should go say something!" She exclaimed, mid-chew of her olive that previously rested in the middle of her martini glass. You began to get sheepish. You had thought the same, but you now you were unsure. "Say what, Jose?" She turned to face you completely. "I don't know, but make your existence known. Tell her you sing or something!" "Yeah," you scoffed. "And embarrass myself?"

"Now, don't start that mess," She began, ready to get you together, as she often did. Not to mention she was the only one who could besides your grandpa. "You and I both know you're just as talented as anybody on that stage. And we always both know that you aren't shy." She was right. Being nervous about meeting an idol was regular, but you had prepared yourself for this moment over a million times. But you weren't sure why this specific time had you tucking your tail. "Besides," she continued. "Maybe you could introduce yourself to that pretty gal, Rosalie." She flashed you a smirk. Your eyes grew so wide they almost popped out of their sockets. Josephine could read you like a book. You never discussed or confessed aloud of your feelings toward other women. Not because you were ashamed, but you felt much like the song; ain't nobody business if I do. You choked out a breathy, nervous chuckle before you could began to speak. "Wha--" "Oh, save it. Now go!" She gave you a small but hefty push towards the direction of the stage. You stumbled forward, looking back to grill your best friend before straightening out your dress, dusting yourself off, and taking a deep breath. With that, you took all the confidence you did in that moment and used to it fuel your feet's motion toward the front of the stage. You'd been up there for all of maybe ten seconds before you were spotted. Her loud and heavy laugh drifting from off the end of her last sentence to her bandmate, she turned around from her kneeled position and gave you a small smile. "Hey Sugar. Can I help you?" "Oh n-no Miss Otterbourne I jus--" she shook her head and cut you off mid-sentence. "Please, child, Salome is just fine." You half-smiled at her correction. "Well, Salome. You were phenomenal tonight. Your voice and your arrangements are just what jazz has been missing." You say to her sincerely, hand in hand. "Aren't you sweet," She chuckles at your sincerity. "Well thank you, Sugar. I've worked hard for my sound. You know what they say, you want something done right --" "Do it yourself." You both say simultaneously and you laugh. "I'm with you on that one." You were pleasantly surprised how down to earth she was. "This is exactly why I'm in charge of keeping things together. Auntie where'd Ernie put that cas--" Rosalie came out from behind the stage, stopping mid-sentence once she'd seen you. "Who's this?" She points, asking what of your presence as if you weren't standing right there. You mentally laugh at her rudeness, knowing she didn't purposely mean to do it. "I'm Y/N." "She came to tell us how much she liked the show." Salome helped you finish your introduction. "Is that right," She asks rhetorically, raising her eyebrows, intrigued. "What part striked you the most?" You felt a wave of vibrations flow through your abdomen, immediately thinking of the glance the two of you shared in the midst of the performance. "W-well, I really enjoyed your rendition of T'aint nobody's business. I could relate on personal levels, but I felt that you could too. Especially that bridge. Salome, your vibrato is unreal. And with your tone, Rosalie, it blended perfectly." The singer and her accomplice looked at you with impressed eyes. "Well, well. That's some very specific terminology, Miss Y/N. Are we speaking to a fellow musician?" Rosalie asks, eager to hear your response. "Yes. A singer." You chose the confident route. You wanted to continue their interest. "Really?" Salome says matter-of-factly. "Well let us hear something, sugar!" You were having a hard time grasping that this was reality. You lived in the R.E.M part of your brain, playing out the different scenarios that would lead you to an interaction like this, but you never thought it'd be so soon. "You sure?" You ask honestly. "I know you're a busy woman." "Nonsense. Salome leave when Salome gets good and ready." She reassures you, speaking about herself in the third person once again.

"And if your voice is as pretty as you are, then we're in for a treat." Rosalie says, tossing a wink in your direction.

You felt a lump in your throat begin to form and hurriedly swallowed to force it to subside. You felt your cheeks began to heat up like a stove. Receiving a compliment was one thing, but receiving one from a woman of Rosalie's stature, successful, pretty, and poised, was another. You tried your hardest not to let it phase you, but you couldn't help but to let a flattered smile creep onto your face.

You briefly turned around to find your best friend across the room, smiling and giving you two thumbs up.

The band's bass player came over to take your hand and help you up the stage steps, directing you to where the mic was, still plugged in and hot.

Rosalie walked over to her piano and removed the cover she had just recently placed.

"Any preferences?" Rosalie asked.

"The Very Thought of You." You answered confidently, knowing how well the song complimented your voice. "Do you know it?"

"Billie Holiday." She says with a smile, proving her knowledge. "Like the back of my hand."

"Let's do it." You say, ready to take advantage of your moment.

Rosalie began fingering through the keys of her piano, playing up the intro of the song. As the melody began to fill up the venue, the people who remained in the building all focused their attention to the stage. You closed your eyes, let in a huge breath of air, and began to sing.

The very thought of you

And I forget to do

Those little ordinary things

That everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream

I'm happy as a queen

And foolish though it may seem

To me that's everything

In this moment, it was you and the melodies that filled your ears alone. You sang just as you would if you were home in your room. Your voice was smooth and velvety. It could serenade you to sleep, or it could fill you with emotion. It was soft, two octaves away from breathy. It was easy to be attracted to your voice alone.

The mere idea of you

The longing here for you

You never know how slow the moments go

Till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower

Your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you

The very thought of you, my love

You glanced in Rosalie's direction, secretly searching for a reaction, and was met by a dazed stare and watery eyes. Even outside of her usual, self-assured nature, she was so beautiful. You wondered what thoughts were flying through her pretty head.

You walked over to the piano and sat at the edge, close to Rosalie, and finished out the song beautifully, never breaking eye contact with her.

I see your face in every flower

Your eyes in stars above

It’s just the thought of you

The very thought of you, my love

Rosalie scanned your face with adored eyes as she played out the outro. You held your gaze, adlib-ing out the rest of the song and began to get lost in the pool of her pretty, chocolate brown eyes. The eruption of the crowd before you is the only thing that broke you from the hypnosis she placed you in.

You stood up again in front the crowd, placed your hands on your heart and gave a bow. You were so proud of yourself and simultaneously stunned. They loved you. The crowds reaction just confirmed all those nights you journaled about feeling called to be in the limelight. In the distance you could see Josephine, practically jumping up and down, mouthing “That’s my girl!”

It was a long, loud applause and standing ovation. At this point, people were beginning to get curious about who you were and where you even came from. With that, the cat-calling also began.

“Hold on, where you from, baby?!“ One man shouted.

“Can I take you home?” Another one followed.

You were too starstruck by your own self to be annoyed by men and their ignorance. In fact, it humored you in this moment. Once the crowd begin to subside, Salome ran up to you.

“Well I’ll be damned!” She says, clasping her hands together. “Sista you can blow!”

Nods and sounds of approval were given by the rest of the crew.

“Says you!” You say brightly. “Thank you, Salome. And thank you for allowing me to sing on your stage.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” She says, leaving you with slight confusion. “What does the rest of your weekend look like?”

Cleaning. Possibly babysitting. Absolutely nothing exciting.

“Nothing much, really.”

“Well, I have a couple more stops to make and perform at before we get back on the road. I want you to come perform with me.” She says sincerely.

You were there with a stunned look on your face. You were at a lost of words, and when you finally find them, they come out more blunt than you expected, “Quit playin’.”

The older woman laughed. “Serious as a heart attack, Sugar. Leave your home number with Rosalie, and stay by the phone. We have business to discuss.” She walked off to other side of the stage. You had to conceal your urge to scream your head off.

“Looks like you got yourself a job,” Rosalie began to walk up to you.

“Thanks to you. Where’d you learn to play like that?” you ask genuinely interested.

“Where’d you learn to sing like that? I thought you was just bull-jiving.” You both laugh.

“I’ve been singing since I was a little girl. My mother always put me in the church choir, and I enjoyed it, so I held onto it.”

“Well you definitely got soul.” She exclaimed.

“Thank you.” You say, blushing at her intense focus on you as she spoke.

“So tell me,” She moves closer to you. “Did you mean what you said?”

You tilted your head slightly at her comment. “What did I say?”

“I see your face in every flower, just the mere thought of you, my love” She speaks the lyrics of the song you just sang.

You weren’t expecting that at all, your body slightly trembling underneath the words her forwardness.

“It’s just a song, Miss Rosalie.” You professed, keeping as much ground as you could. “I am a performer, and I performed.”

“Ahh,” She says nodding sarcastically. “A performance, was it? A stunning one, might I add.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her sarcasm and her witt. The girl was indeed charming. And she wasn’t buying that you didn’t feel the tension that was brewing between the two of you.

“Rosie,” Salome called out. “We going on out to the car, when you ready, we can be on our way.”

“You got it,” Rosalie responded.

“Y/N!” Your best friend came running towards you, and you kneeled down towards the edge of the stage. “Girl you killed it! Brought tears to my eyes, I love seeing you in your element girl, you gone be rich!“ She rambles, saying the last part through clenched teeth. She stops and looks up.

“H-Hi Miss Otterbourne. Rosalie. I’m Y/N’s best friend Josephine.” She introduces herself.

“Hello darling,” Salome smiles. Rosalie waves.

“Well, girl,” she was now whispering. “I gotta go, my man is outside waiting for me, but call me when you get home and tell me EVERYTHING.”

You erupted in laughter. Josephine loved her some him.

“You so crazy. Enjoy yourself, and get home safe.” You say back, momentarily reaching for your best friends hand and squeezing it caringly.

“I will girl!” She runs off and out of the venue.

“Well, Miss Y/N,” Rosalie turns to you. “Where do you live? We could drop you off home.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” You assured her. “I live right up the street.”

Rosalie paused for a minute. “Come with me,” she grabbed your hand and the two of you scurried out through the exit backstage.

The warm outside breeze grazed your skin as the two of you began to walk semi-dark, summer streets. It wasn’t freezing, but it was a slight bitter chill that left you feeling more on the cold side.

“Here,” She took off her black, furry jacket and placed it around your arms. “It looks better on you anyway.” You gave a toothless smile at her comment.

“Did you actually enjoy my performance tonight?” You ask, somewhat serious.

“Did I?” She scoffs as if you said the most outrageous thing. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

You look down in nervousness. “You’re not so bad yourself. I mean I always knew she had other talented people in her circle but you,” You paused. “You have such a melodic voice. I enjoyed it very much.”

“Well thank you. Much like you, I keep my accolades undercover. It’s like a pleasant surprise. You think you know me and then— boom.” She illustrates her sentence, flicking her hands open, emulating fireworks.

“Well I don’t know how surprised I’d be considering how confident you are,” You say with an instance. “People like that always have something going on.”

“It takes one to know one, right?” She looks at you through low lids, her figure standing a few inches taller than you. For a while it’s silent. Suddenly, you blurt out something you’d only ever think of to yourself.

“Rosalie have you ever loved a woman?” You ask, almost regretting it, but still wanting to know her thoughts. She furrowed her eyebrows in interest, waiting for you to finish instead of answering right away.

“In the way.. you ain’t ‘supposed’ to love a woman?” you continued emphasizing the quotes, finishing your thought.

She sighed in relief. You sensed that you possibly could’ve opened a safe place for her to speak.

“I have loved women since I learned to walk and talk. My aunt and my band family are the only ones who know. They’d say, ‘Ole Rosalie couldn’t catch a man if she put a bra in a net!’ But they knew I didn’t want to. They ain’t give me no trouble. But everybody story ain’t like mine.” She opens up to you and you look at her with soft eyes.

“What about you?” She then turns to you, returning the question. “I’m guessing you have.”

“Nobody knows about me. Nobody but my bestfriend Josephine. I’ve never even been in love before. Not with a man either. But tonight, standing next to you I- I don’t know. I felt kinda like a school girl.”

Rosalie begins to laugh at your confession. She thought it was sweet. Secretly, she felt the same.

“Oh, stop it, It ain’t funny!” You say defensively, tapping her shoulder, but she continues to laugh. And you continue to fall. Before you could pull your hand back, she grabs it, and pulls you into her. The two of you stop walking momentarily, and it’s you, her, and this lonely street. She places a hand on your waist, the other still holding your hand, and comes close enough to your face to separate the two of you with a single piece of paper.

“Dance with me,” She breathes into you.

“But we ain’t got no music,” You say back, smiling foolishly at her impulses.

“Yes we do.” She begins to hum The Very Thought of You, and the two of you sway side to side, your feet moving in a circle around each other. You begin to him with her, the two of you harmonizing on every chorus. In this moment time stood still. An overwhelming feeling of adoration and excitement washed over you. You felt like the only girl in the world. She had a way of building on your romantic tension, all while making you feel like you gained another best friend. It was the perfect night, and you never wanted it to end.

The two of you stop your tango, and she pulls you in, kissing you ever so slowly and passionately. You felt yourself melt into her, the heat of your bodies keeping each other warm. You finally pull back and share a long gaze, her arms still holding you. Your moment was interrupting by a loud honk from a car coming around the corner.

BEEP BEEP.

“You two ready?” Salome smiled, hanging out the passenger window. “Get in!”

Rosalie led you to the back seat, her getting in first and you following, closing the door behind you.

“What’s your address, sugar?” Salome asked. You gave it to her, and off you all were.

“Oh,” Rosalie began, “Before I forget,” She grabs a pad and a pen from underneath the seat to give you. “Can’t leave without your number.”

You smile and take the materials from her hand.

555-8269 Y/N. You wrote in its red ink, drawing a small heart next to it, and kissing the paper, leaving the mark of your now halfway glossed lips. You folded it up and handed to her, and she delicately placed it in her purse. She slid her hand over top of yours, which now rested on your knee, and interlocked your fingers.

“I’ll be expecting you,” You say softly.

“First thing tomorrow morning.” She affirms to you, holding her intense gaze. She lifts up your hand and places a soft, gentle kiss on the back of it.

Before you knew it, you were pulling up in front of your house.

“Thank you again, Salome. I had a wonderful time.” You express, full of gratitude.

“Don’t mention it, doll. I’ve had a great night myself. Now make sure you stay by the phone, hear? You gone be a star. And I’m gone make sure of it.” She says, turning around to face you from her passenger.

“And I think my Rosalie is very fond of you.” She looks at her niece with a proud and accepting smile. Rosalie gives one back.

“Yes ma’am.” You say, blushing of slight embarrassment but also appreciation. You step out the car and walk up your concrete steps.

“Y/N,” Rosalie says out the window. You turn around.

“Yes?”

“Goodnight.” She says, holding onto every moment she has left of this night with you.

“Goodnight, Rosalie,” You say sweetly, but teasingly.

You walked into your home and crept up to your room, careful not to wake anyone up. You run up to look outside your window and watched as the car drove off. You couldn’t believe this was your life. But you were glad that it was.

All night your head spinned, accompanied by thoughts of you and Rosalie. The instant chemistry between the two of you left you in such a fuzzy state. It was the beginning of something new. It felt warm and welcoming— like a warm fudge brownie with cold ice cream on top. The contrast was clear.. but together, you went so well.

#mrsprettywright #rosalie otterbourne #rosalie x black reader #black sapphic #lesbian #harlem nights

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