⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ONE OF US! JUNETEENTH SPECIAL.
jabber wonger x suburban!black!reader
summary: you got lost in the hood, far from your perfect suburban neighborhood! But guess what ? a hot boy with locs comes to your rescue!
cw: reader has a silk press, fluff?¿, reader with adoptive white parents, readers struggles to fit in and struggles with her blackness.
a/n: shoutout to the black girlies from the suburbs/upper class like me (bel air lol) ! the one that had silk presses to fit among white kids! the black girlies adopted by white parents & the one who didn’t feel black enough for the crowd!
The afternoon sun hung low over the cracked sidewalks of the neighborhood, casting long shadows across rows of faded brick houses and chain-link fences. You had taken a wrong turn after leaving the train station, your phone battery dead in your pocket, and now the streets looked nothing like the clean, tree-lined blocks you were used to back home. Your silk press lay flat and neat against your shoulders, catching the light as you walked faster, trying to keep your white sneakers from scuffing on the uneven pavement. A group of kids on bikes rode past, yelling to each other, and you clutched your bag tighter, wishing you had just stayed in the car with your adoptive mom instead of insisting on exploring the city alone.
You rounded another corner and stopped short when you saw the small corner store with its metal gate half open. A tall guy with long locs tied back in a loose ponytail leaned against the wall, phone in hand, scrolling while a couple of his boys stood nearby laughing about something on their own screens. He wore a black hoodie and baggy jeans, the kind of fit that screamed he belonged here. You hesitated, then stepped closer, clearing your throat. "Excuse me, do you know how to get back to the train station from here?"
Jabber looked up from his phone, his eyes narrowing as he took in your clean clothes and the way you stood like you were afraid the sidewalk might bite. "Train station?" he repeated, voice low and laced with that hood cadence. "Shorty, you lost as hell. What you doin' walkin' 'round here lookin' like you 'bout to sell Girl Scout cookies?" One of his boys, a shorter guy named Trey, snorted and elbowed him. "Man, she probably from them rich suburbs. Look at them shoes."
Your cheeks burned, but you squared your shoulders. "I just need directions. I don't need commentary on how I look." You crossed your arms, silk press shifting slightly with the motion. Jabber pushed off the wall, tucking his phone away, and stepped closer, his locs swaying as he moved. "Aight, calm down. You from the burbs, huh? Can tell by the way you talkin'. All proper and shit. Bet your folks got you out here thinkin' the world all nice and clean." He jerked his chin toward the street. "Come on, I'll point you the right way before somebody else decide to mess with you."
You followed a few steps behind him as he started walking, the other guys calling out jokes that made Jabber shake his head. "Don't mind them," he said over his shoulder. "They just never seen somebody like you 'round here. All silk press and suburban vibes." You bristled at that. "Somebody like me? What's that supposed to mean?" He glanced back, one eyebrow raised. "Means you walkin' like the block 'bout to eat you alive. Relax. I ain't gon' bite." The two of you passed a row of stoops where older men sat playing cards, their laughter mixing with music drifting from an open window. You kept your distance, but Jabber slowed his pace so you could keep up.
"So what you doin' in the hood anyway?" he asked, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. "Field trip or somethin'?" You sighed, adjusting your bag strap. "I was trying to find a record store my friend told me about. Thought I'd take the train and walk a bit. Clearly that was a mistake." Jabber chuckled, the sound rough around the edges. "Mistake is right. This ain't no tourist spot. You lucky you ran into me and not some fool who don't care 'bout givin' directions." He stopped at an intersection, pointing left. "Head that way two blocks, then right. Station's right there. Easy." But when you started to turn, a car pulled up slow, windows down, and the driver—a guy with gold chains—leaned out. "Jabber, you good? Who this?"
Jabber waved him off. "She lost. Headin' back to the train. Mind ya business, Mike." The car rolled away, but the interruption made you pause. "Thanks for the help," you said, though your tone stayed cool. "I can take it from here." Jabber studied you for a second, locs falling forward as he tilted his head. "You sure? 'Cause you still lookin' like you don't know which way is up." You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm sure. And for the record, not everyone from the suburbs is clueless. Some of us just don't spend our days hanging on corners." His mouth twitched, half smirk, half challenge. "Aight then, princess. Go on. But don't come cryin' if you get turned around again."
You started walking the way he pointed, but the streets twisted again, and before long you realized you'd gone in a circle. Frustrated, you turned back and spotted Jabber still near the corner store, now talking to a woman carrying groceries who nodded at something he said. You approached again, this time with less attitude. "Okay, maybe I need a little more help. The streets here don't make sense." Jabber looked over, arms crossed. "Told you. But aight, come on. I'll walk you part way so you don't wander off again." The woman smiled at you. "Don't let him give you no trouble, baby. He all bark." Jabber rolled his eyes but started leading you down another street, past kids playing double Dutch and a man washing his car with a hose.
As you walked, the conversation picked up again. "So you really from the suburbs?" Jabber asked, kicking a pebble. "White parents and everything?" You nodded, keeping pace beside him. "Yeah. Adopted when I was little. Grew up with mostly white friends, went to schools where I was one of the only Black kids. It's just how it was." He glanced sideways, dreads moving with the turn of his head. "That explain why you sound like you readin' from a textbook. No slang, no flavor." You frowned. "There's nothing wrong with how I talk. Not everyone has to sound the same." Jabber shrugged. "Ain't sayin' wrong. Just different. Bet you don't even know half the music or food from 'round here." He pointed to a small restaurant with steam coming from the door. "Like that spot. Best jerk chicken you ever had, but you probably never tried it."
You both paused as a group of teens ran past, one of them bumping Jabber's shoulder on accident. "My bad, J!" the kid yelled. Jabber waved him off with a laugh. "Watch where you goin', lil man." Then he turned back to you. "Anyway, you ever even been to a cookout? Or you just doin' the whole suburban barbecue thing with potato salad and hot dogs?" His question hung there, and you felt a strange mix of irritation and curiosity. "I've been to cookouts," you said defensively. "Just not the kind you're thinking of." Jabber smirked again. "Figures. Well, if you ever wanna see the real deal, you know where to find me. Not that you would." The two of you reached another intersection, and he stopped, pointing again. "Straight shot from here. Don't get lost this time."
You thanked him once more, but as you walked away, something about the encounter stuck with you. The way he moved through the neighborhood like he owned every block, the easy way he talked to everyone from the kids to the older folks. It contrasted so sharply with your own quiet life in the suburbs, where everything felt polished and distant. You made it to the train station without further incident, but on the ride home, your mind kept drifting back to Jabber's dreadlocks, his blunt words, and the neighborhood that felt both intimidating and alive. Back in your room that evening, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, silk press still perfect, wondering why his comments about your background had hit a nerve you didn't even know was there.
The next weekend, curiosity got the better of you. You told your parents you were meeting a friend in the city, but instead you found yourself on the train again, heading toward the same stop. This time you brought a charged phone and a small map, but you still ended up near the corner store where you'd first met Jabber. He was there again, leaning against the wall with Trey and another guy named Marcus, all of them laughing about a basketball game from the night before. When Jabber spotted you, his expression shifted from easy to guarded. "You again? Thought you said you wasn't comin' back."
You approached slowly, bag over your shoulder. "I didn't plan to. But I wanted to check out that record store my friend mentioned. Figured I'd try again." Jabber pushed off the wall, dreads swinging as he walked toward you. "Record store? On this side of town? Girl, you really don't belong here." Trey chuckled from the side. "She back already? Must've missed your pretty face, J." Jabber shot him a look. "Shut up, Trey. She just lost again, that's all." You crossed your arms. "I'm not lost. I know where I'm going this time. Just... needed a quick direction to the store." Jabber studied you, then sighed. "Aight. It's two blocks that way, but the owner closes early on weekends. You might've missed it." He paused, then added, "Or you could come with me to the court. Some of the homies playin' ball. Might see somethin' real instead of chasin' records."
You hesitated, the offer hanging between you like a challenge. "Why would I do that? We don't even know each other." Jabber raised an eyebrow. "Exactly. So why you keep comin' back? Curiosity? Or you just like arguin' with me?" Marcus laughed and clapped Jabber on the back. "She got you talkin' more than usual, man. Go on, show her the court." You rolled your eyes but fell into step beside Jabber as he started walking, the other guys trailing behind. The streets felt different this time, less scary and more like a living thing with its own rhythm. Kids still played, music still played from windows, and people nodded at Jabber like he was family.
"So what's your name anyway?" Jabber asked as they neared the basketball court where a game was already in full swing. "Or you gon' keep it mysterious?" You told him your name, and he repeated it, testing the sound. "Fits you. Proper. Like everything else about you." You shot back, "And yours is Jabber? Sounds like you talk a lot." He grinned for the first time, a real grin that showed teeth. "Nah, it's a nickname. From when I was lil and couldn't shut up. Now I use it 'cause it fits." At the court, the game paused as people noticed the newcomer. One of the players, a tall guy named Deon, dribbled over. "Jabber, who you bringin' 'round? New girl?" Jabber shook his head. "Just showin' her around. She from the suburbs. Don't scare her off." Deon laughed and went back to the game, but the stares from others made you feel exposed. Jabber led you to the sidelines, hands in pockets. "See? This is real life. Not no movie set or whatever you used to. People here live, love, fight, and play. All in one block."
You watched the game for a while, noticing how the players moved with a certain energy, high fives and trash talk flying back and forth. Jabber stood close enough to point out who was who. "That one's my cousin. The short one with the quick moves. He always steals the ball like it's his job." The cousin made a shot, and the group erupted in cheers. You found yourself smiling despite yourself, but when Jabber caught it, he nudged you. "See, even you can enjoy it. Bet your suburban friends don't hoop like this." You turned to him. "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean my life is less real. We have our own things. Just different." Jabber nodded slowly. "Different. Yeah. But you ever wonder what you missin' by stayin' in that different? Like the music, the food, the way folks here stick together?" His words hung there, and you felt a small crack in your usual defenses. The game continued, and Jabber cheered when his cousin scored, pulling you into the moment with his enthusiasm.
As the afternoon wore on, the sun began to lower, and the players started wrapping up. Deon came over again, sweating from the game. "Jabber, you bringin' this one to the cookout next weekend? She look like she need some real food." Jabber looked at you, waiting for your reaction. "Up to her. She might be too busy with her white friends to come hang with the real ones." You met the challenge in his eyes. "Maybe I will. If only to prove you wrong about a few things." Jabber's grin returned, this time softer. "Aight, bet. I'll text you the details if you give me your number. Don't worry, I ain't gon' call you every day." You exchanged numbers, the exchange feeling like a small bridge between your worlds. Trey and Marcus waved goodbye as you headed back to the train, Jabber walking you to the station entrance this time. "Don't get lost again," he said, dreads catching the evening light. "And think about that cookout. Might open your eyes a little." You nodded, feeling the weight of the day settle in your body as you boarded the train. The ride home passed with thoughts of dreadlocks, basketball cheers, and the way Jabber's words had started to poke at something deep inside you.
Over the next few days, texts started flowing between you and Jabber. At first they were short, like "You make it home safe?" or "Record store still closed?" but they grew into longer exchanges about music recommendations and small stories from each day's events. You told him about your adoptive parents' quiet dinners, and he told you about the block parties that lasted until dawn. One evening, you found yourself on the phone with him, lying on your bed with the silk press fanned out on the pillow. "So what you doin' tonight?" Jabber asked, voice crackling slightly. "Watchin' some show with your white friends?" You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see it. "No. Just relaxing. And you? Hanging on the corner again?" Jabber laughed. "Nah, at home. Ma cookin' dinner. Smells like heaven. Bet you never had collards like my ma makes." You smiled despite the jab. "Collards? Sounds familiar, but maybe not the way you mean." Jabber's response came quick. "See? That's what I'm talkin' about. Come to the cookout this weekend. See for yourself."
The cookout arrived faster than you expected. You told your parents you were going to a friend's event, but actually met Jabber at the train station as planned. He wore a fresh hoodie and clean jeans, locs pulled back tighter this time.
Look at you, comin' all the way back," he said, walking up with a smile that softened the usual edge in his eyes. You adjusted the strap of your bag and tried not to stare too long at how his locs caught the afternoon light, tied back neat but still hanging heavy down his back. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," you replied, keeping your tone light but guarded. Jabber chuckled low and turned toward the street, motioning for you to follow. "Aight, come on then. Cookout's at my cousin's spot a few blocks over. Whole block gon' be out there. Food already smellin' up the place."
You walked beside him, sneakers tapping against the sidewalk while his stride stayed easy and confident, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. The neighborhood buzzed with life around you—music spilling from open windows, the smell of charcoal and spices drifting on the breeze, kids chasing each other between parked cars. A woman on a stoop called out to Jabber as you passed. "J, you bringin' company today? She look new." He nodded without slowing. "Yeah, Ms. Lena. She from the other side. Tryin' to show her how we do." Ms. Lena laughed and waved at you. "Don't let these boys run you off, baby. Food worth stayin' for."
Jabber glanced sideways at you, dreads shifting with the movement. "See? Already gettin' the welcome. You nervous or somethin'?" You shook your head, though your fingers tightened on your bag strap. "Not nervous. Just... not used to this many people outside like this." He smirked but didn't push it. "You'll get used to it quick. Cookouts ain't quiet. Folks talk loud, eat loud, laugh loud. That's the point." The two of you turned a corner and the smell hit stronger—smoke from grills mixing with sweet barbecue sauce and something fried. A big yard opened up ahead, chain-link fence around it, tables set up with folding chairs, coolers stacked on the grass. People filled the space already, some playing cards at a table, others standing around the grills where a tall man in an apron flipped burgers and ribs.
"That's my uncle Ray on the grill," Jabber said, nodding toward the man. "He don't let nobody else touch it once he starts. Says we burn everything." Uncle Ray looked up and spotted you both, wiping his hands on a towel. "Jabber! Bout time you showed. Who this pretty thing?" Jabber introduced you quick, and Uncle Ray gave you a warm smile that crinkled his eyes. "Well welcome, welcome. Grab a plate when it's ready. Plenty for everybody." You thanked him, feeling a little out of place in your clean jeans and neat silk press while everyone else rocked hoodies, braids, and graphic tees. Jabber must have noticed because he leaned closer. "Relax. Nobody here care how you dressed. Just here to eat and vibe."
A group of guys near the fence started up a game of spades at a folding table, slapping cards down and yelling at each other over bad plays. One of them, a guy with a fade and gold chain named Marcus, spotted Jabber and waved him over. "J! Get over here and lose with me. Trey already cheatin'." Jabber looked at you. "You mind if I jump in real quick? Or you wanna stick close?" You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Go ahead. I'll watch." He nodded and headed to the table, dreads swinging as he sat down. Marcus dealt him in and immediately started trash talking. "This the girl you been textin' about? She too clean for you, man." Jabber shot back without missing a beat. "Shut up and play your hand. She just here to see how real folks get down."
You stood a little off to the side, watching the game and the way everyone moved around each other like family. A woman with long braids came over carrying a tray of cornbread, smiling at you. "You Jabber's friend? I'm his cousin Keisha. Grab some of this before it gone." You took a piece and thanked her, the warm bread smelling like butter and honey. Keisha lingered a second. "He don't usually bring nobody new around. Must see somethin' in you." Before you could answer, Jabber called from the table. "Keisha, stop scarin' her off. She already think we all loud and crazy." Keisha laughed and walked off, leaving you with the cornbread and a strange warmth in your chest.
The game at the table got heated fast. Trey slammed a card down and pointed at Jabber. "That's how you do it! Pay up, fool." Jabber shook his head, dreads falling forward as he leaned back in the chair. "Y'all always teamin' up. One day I'ma bring somebody who can actually play." Marcus grinned at you. "Maybe your new friend can learn. She look smart." You raised an eyebrow. "I don't know spades, but I know when someone's bluffing." Jabber looked over at you, something like approval flickering across his face. "See? She got some fight. Might fit in after all."
Food started coming off the grill soon after. Uncle Ray piled ribs, chicken, and links onto plates while people lined up with sides—mac and cheese, collards, potato salad that looked nothing like the kind your adoptive parents made. Jabber came back from the card game and handed you a plate. "Try the jerk chicken. Told you it was different." You took a bite and the flavor hit hard—spicy, smoky, nothing like the mild stuff you grew up with. Jabber watched your reaction. "Told you. Real food got flavor." You swallowed and nodded. "Okay, you were right about that one. Don't let it go to your head." He smirked and took his own bite, juice running down his fingers before he wiped it on a napkin.
People started dancing when someone turned the music up louder, old school tracks mixing with newer beats. A couple of kids ran through the yard playing tag, nearly knocking over a cooler. Jabber's mom appeared from inside the house, a short woman with kind eyes and her hair wrapped. She spotted you and came straight over. "So this the girl from the train station? Jabber told me about you. I'm his mama, Denise." You shook her hand, feeling suddenly shy. "Nice to meet you, ma'am." Denise smiled wide. "Call me Denise. And don't let my boy give you no mess. He all talk." Jabber rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Ma, we good. She just tryin' the food."
Denise pulled you into a quick hug before moving on to help with more plates. Jabber watched her go, then looked back at you. "She like you already. Can tell." You shifted your weight, plate still in hand. "Why? Because I ate the chicken?" He laughed, the sound low and real. "Nah. Because you showed up. Most folks from where you at wouldn't even come this far." The words sat between you for a second, heavier than the usual back and forth. You looked around at the yard full of people laughing, eating, moving to the music. It felt alive in a way your quiet suburban dinners never did. Jabber must have seen something shift in your face because he nudged your shoulder lightly. "Told you. This the real deal. No filters, no pretend. Just us."
You spent the rest of the afternoon drifting between the card table, the grill, and conversations with people Jabber introduced you to. Trey tried teaching you a quick spades hand while Marcus kept making jokes about your silk press staying perfect in the heat. Keisha brought you more sides to try, and Uncle Ray kept checking if your plate needed refilling. Every time someone asked how you knew Jabber, he answered before you could, saying you met when you got lost and he had to save you from wandering forever. You shot back each time that you would have found your way eventually, and the back and forth made the group laugh.
As the sun started dipping lower, the energy in the yard stayed high. Someone brought out a speaker and old R&B filled the air while couples danced slow near the fence. Jabber leaned against a tree, dreads loose now, watching everything with that easy stance. You stood next to him, the plate long empty in your hands. "So?" he asked after a minute. "Still think your suburban life got everything figured out?" You met his eyes, the challenge there but softer now. "Maybe not everything. This... it's different. Loud. But it feels real." Jabber nodded, like that was enough for now. "Aight. That's a start. You can come back next time if you want. No pressure." You nodded back, the silk press shifting as you turned to watch a little girl dance with her mom near the music. The day had stretched long, full of new faces and flavors and words that poked at parts of you you hadn't looked at in years. Jabber stayed close, not pushing, just there as the cookout kept going around you both.
pt 2 or do i leave it there?
# cred @/bbyg4rlhelps , @pixopix .
@corsetdevious all rights reserved. i don’t want my work to be copied/plagiarized/stolen, fed into ai, or translated without my permission
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