@shadowhelmed
the ducati rumbles deliciously beneath her legs, a purr of an engine that rattled her to her core. she rides in that single-minded, no-fucks way that akali jhomen tethi does just about everything - further pressed to the clutch under the weight of nerves, and stress, and stardom. she hasn’t seen him in what feels like months, though in reality it’s only been a few weeks - yet the rapper is the first to admit she grows less than rational in her more stress ridden moments. and stress ridden she was, though few (apart from perhaps evelynn) would ever be able to tell. it all seemed so trivial in comparison to years ago, when her job had been much more... intense. and this? this was nothing more than some pre-release, pre-tour, pre-whatever, induced jitters. right?
she didn’t like to lean on anyone. she didn’t like to want to see or be near or even freaking touch anyone. but here she was, chewing her lower lip raw and pushing one hundred, just because she needed to see him. that, in itself, was concerning enough. but she couldn’t ignore that need.
he probably hears her coming, what with the roar of that damn engine, but it lulls to a purr and finally a stop when she pulls up at his place, pushes the kickstand down, and swings one legging clad leg over the seat. helmet removed (so nefariously designed like a tiger), her phone is out and she texts him in a few rapid, undiminished strokes. a simple demand, really but it gives tell to her eagerness and trepidation in seeing him.
[ SMS ] to: washboard abs come outside.
and so, she waited.
