#david cliff

[imanisays]

Kelvin Harrison Jr as “David Cliff “in The High Note.

[saturnville]

soon as I get home | David Cliff

Pairing: David Cliff (The High Note) x Black Fem OC (Sybelle Selene Jackson) Summary: David goes all out for his first anniversary with Sybelle, just for it to get blown in his face. Warnings: Angst WC: 2529 Reference: Loosely based on Soon as I Get Home by Faith Evans AN: Because @youreadthatright asked about David and Sybelle...part 2. I genuinely hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know your thoughts! Remember: likes are appreciated, but reblogs, asks, and comments are encouraged!

Hubby

Dinner will be done at 8. Can’t wait to see you. 

Everything okay?

What happened to our plans? 

Food’s in the oven. 

Oh. Oh. Suddenly, the studio session was unimportant. The lyrics the novice artist sang behind the glass screen were nothing but Charlie Brown’s teacher’s murmurs, unintelligible and ear-blitzing. Her fingers scrambled to pick up her phone. She announced her dismissal in a hushed voice and stumbled toward the door like she had one too many to drink. 

Her thumb hovered over his contact. The phone seemed to ring for eons before he picked up on the last ring. “What’s up, Slim?” Uh-oh. What’s up? Her stomach churned as a part of her grieved the hey, baby, she was so accustomed to hearing whenever he picked up the phone. Usually, she could hear his smile through the phone. Now, radio silence and undeniable tension kept his lips in a tight line. 

She heard it in his voice. The disappointment. The frustration. The sadness. Their anniversary. One year ago, her father walked her down the aisle. Down the aisle with the gold runner that arrived the day of the wedding toward the man she teased for his God-awful palm tree shirt, where their lips connected, her name changed, and their union was sealed under the heavens. 

“Hi,” she grinned, placing her shaking hands in his. She was sure her face would lock in place from the smile that seemed to be permanent. She could hardly make out his features behind the blurred vision, but she saw a string of white and knew he was as ecstatic as she was. 

“Hi, baby,” he whispered. His thumb dabbed away a tear that pedaled down her cheek. “Can’t wait to spend forever with you, Slim.” 

One year of becoming partners—her lifting him when he stumbled, him carrying her when she fell. One year of him being the best husband she had and the only husband she wanted to have. He wouldn’t know that, though. Not by how she forgot. 

She forgot. She forgot their anniversary dinner. All for work. 

At 7:57, he lit the last candle. 

The table had been set with the expensive ass plates and fancy napkins she insisted on purchasing when they began decorating the kitchen. It was for the vibe, she said. To set the mood no matter the occasion. He figured their anniversary was the best time to bring out the sleek, black plates with complimentary flatware and ribbed wine glasses. 

A bottle of wine sat chilled in a bucket, perspiration dripping down the side, waiting to be in the warm embrace of awaiting palms belonging to a young couple celebrating a significant milestone. 

David fidgeted with the centerpiece again, the nerves overpowering his discipline to sit still and wait for her to walk through the door. He inhaled deeply. The kitchen smelled like lavender, vanilla, and the last bit of hope he had left for the evening. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, messages still unread.

Hubby

Dinner will be done at 8. Can’t wait to see you. 

Everything okay?

What happened to our plans? 

No answer. 

David stared at the chair across from him. Wow. He lifted slowly, his breath quenched the tiny flame of the candle. Tired hands packed up the dinner that took two hours, five cookbook pages, and more prayers than he could count. The table stayed set. He turned the lights off behind him and sent one text. 

Hubby

Food’s in the oven

Happy anniversary was left unsaid.

“David…” 

Silence. 

Her jaw hinged and unhinged as she struggled to push the words out of her throat. She was a maestro with the pen, yet she was lost for words, and he wasn’t in the mood to sit in silence. So, he muttered, “Enjoy your session,” and hung up. 

She stared at the screen, the dim call-ended notification staring back at her tauntingly. The world around her seemed to blur—not in joy but guilt, in internal agony that had onset by her own hand. 

She didn’t grab her coat. She didn’t announce her exit professionally as she’d typically do. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she ran out into the rainy Friday night, the taps of her heels sliding against the wet concrete. Ensuring her hair stayed dry or her outfit didn’t wrinkle from the downpour was no match for the desire to get home. 

She slid in the driver’s seat, pressed start, and backed out of the studio lot so quickly she clipped the curb. Her phone buzzed in the cupholder. One message. Food’s in the oven. No “I love you.” No Happy Anniversary, Belle! It was her fault. Her eyes welled with tears. 

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself. The stump of her hand collided with the wheel over and over and over. “Stupid.”

Each minute that passed was torture. 

Every traffic light was against her—long red lights with minimal green. 

Every slow driver—a nagging reminder. You’re late. You forgot. You forgot him. 

Her hands wrung the steering wheel like a sopping wet rag. The playlist that played was one they curated together. It was full of love songs, rhythm, and blues their parents listened to during their courting stages. It was all too optimistic. She shut it off. 

Her fingers tapped nervously against the wheel. Line by line, she rehearsed a variety of things she could say: 

“I’m sorry, I love you.”

“I lost track of time, but I’ll make it up to you.”

“We’ve still got a few hours left…”

“I love you more than my job…”

But did she? Did she? If she had, she’d be with him now. 

-

When she entered, their home was eerily quiet. The lights were off, and the dining room had been long abandoned, but remnants of his cologne mixed with the aroma of freshly cut vegetables and her favorite crusted chicken. She turned on the light. 

Just as he said, her plate was in the oven. Wrapped carefully with aluminum foil, just as her grandmother would do when sending her back to school after a weekend home from college. She sniffled. On the counter was a box. Her nail broke the tape seal, and she sighed heavily once the contents were revealed. It was a cake. A tiny baby blue cake with a white “1” in the middle. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Dear God, what had she done?

She didn’t hear him come in. A nearby door creaked as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen of their townhome. He was half dressed—tailored pants with a wife beater so crisp it must’ve been straight out of the package. Sybelle twisted her lips. Maintaining eye contact with him was like looking at the sun for too long—impossible. 

“Didn’t hear you come in,” she said lowly, her index finger circling the edge of the black box that held the cake. 

“Didn’t think you’d be back.” Ouch. It was deserved, but the blow still stung like a uppercut from Mike Tyson. Sybelle’s tongue massaged her front two teeth as she pondered what words would be good enough, but there were none. 

“Did you eat?” He asked, sliding past her. She shook her head. Her foolishness had ruined her appetite. “Sit.” She’d done enough damage for one evening, so rebellion took a backseat for the evening. Sybelle sat awkwardly in the chair as David moved around the kitchen with quiet confidence and frustration he fought hard to disguise as fatigue. She knew him well. His jaw ticked, his hands gripped the fork so hard she thought he’d turn into Bruce Banner and break it in half, and his breaths were heavy and shallow. Yet, he made sure her plate was full of her favorite food items—crusted parmesan chicken seasoned only how he could, a variety of vegetables charred just how she liked, and a hearty scoop of garlic mashed potatoes with a pool of butter in the middle. 

On any other day, her face would’ve been buried in her plate, but now, she balanced a gallop of mashed potatoes on the tip of her fork while the scraping of David’s against his plate filled her ears. Everything was perfect. The food was warm. The plate was fresh. But it tasted like guilt. 

The silence around them was too loud—the fork scraping against the floor, the dishwasher humming behind them, and the chair squealing as David readjusted his posture. He said not a word, and it was agonizing.

She sighed heavily and dropped the fork against her plate, ignoring the potatoes flying on the napkin beside her. “I didn’t forget. I didn’t mean to forget. I know it makes no sense, but…”

He didn’t meet her eyes. He nodded a few times. Whether he was listening or acknowledging she spoke, she didn’t know. She couldn’t identify the emotion. Anger would’ve been easier, but it was heavier. Something that said, you forgot. She continued, “I just kept thinking, ‘One more note, one more line, one more take,’ and I just lost track of time.” 

David released a disgruntled breath and leaned against the chair. She was regretful—evident from her tear-stained cheeks, smeared lipgloss from palming her face, and hoarse voice from crying. “I spent 20 minutes lighting those tiny ass candles. Thought maybe you were parking, maybe you forgot your purse in the car. Your jacket got caught in the door. I kept fidgeting with the centerpiece, which I knew you would think was too much.”

“I’d never tell you that,” she frowned. 

David smiled sadly. “You didn’t have the chance to. I’ve never felt so stupid in my life, Sybelle.”

Sybelle winced like a wounded animal. “David—“

“I know you love your job, Sybelle,” he continued. “You’re chasing your dreams, and I’m proud of you, but damn, can I be one of them?”

If he wanted to pour salt into an open wound, he’d done it, and he’d done it well. Another punch straight to the sternum. Knockout. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. 

David’s hand fell against the table, the clap from his ring against the table resounding for her atmosphere. He stood up, slow and sure, and walked toward the counter. He swooped the cake in his hands and placed it between them. He put a fork before her and peeled back the container lid. 

“Happy anniversary,” he said quietly, ignoring how his eyes welled with tears. 

The words hung in the air like steam off a fresh plate.

Sybelle reached for the cake box, her hands trembling.

Two forks. One table.

And for now, that was enough to start over.

-

Tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @youreadthatright

[agelessphotography]

Activists march along Whitehall, London, while holding placards during the George Floyd demonstration, David Cliff, 31 May 2020

[saturnville]

Let's Stay Together | David Cliff (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Pairing: David Cliff (The High Note) x Black Fem OC (Sybelle Selene Jackson) Summary: Sybelle is determined to make up Warnings: Angst, fluff, suggestive language. WC: 2050 Reference: Loosely based on Let's Stay Together by Al Green AN: Because @youreadthatright asked about David and Sybelle...part 3. I hope it doesn't break your heart, friend. Please let me know your thoughts! Remember: likes are appreciated, but reblogs, asks, and comments are encouraged!

"Hi," she said, breath catching in her throat. "My name is Sybelle Jackson-Cliff. Yes, hello! Um, you made a cake for my husband recently--David? I wanted to know your turnaround time—I need one in about two weeks...thank you, kindly!"

She hung up with a loud sigh. 

She felt awful. The disappointment lingered in the air, heavy and stale. Some weeks had passed since the bust, she called their wedding anniversary. When people asked her how it was, she plastered a smile on her face and claimed it was 'everything a girl could've asked for.' They couldn't know she didn't ask for her husband's tear-filled eyes and disappointed tone to suffocate her until she closed her eyes.

He claimed they were fine, but things didn't feel fine. He was present, but distant. He responded when she spoke, but there wasn't anything behind his eyes. No excitement. No flare. No...David. He stayed on his side of the bed at night, resisting the urge to turn and wrap her in his arms. They ate together in silence, save for utensils scraping against thrifted china. He hadn't touched her much, either. Sure, a kiss before he left for the day, but she'd yet to be reminded of what it was like to be pressed into the mattress and chest to chest with the man she called her lover and friend. 

Sybelle wasn't the type to bring others into her relationship, but she couldn't resist wailing like a child to her best friend once David had gone to sleep that evening. 

"I'm the worst wife ever! Like...he did all this and I was..." Her words could hardly be made out over her sobs and heaving breaths. "I messed up so bad; what if he decides he doesn't want to be with me anymore?" 

Her friend, the trusted Kayla Marie, sighed deeply on the other line. "I don't think it'll go that far. But, this is a wake-up call, B. You cannot marry someone and still be in an unhealthy relationship with your job."

Sybelle sniffled. "I don't want to choose."

"You don't need to choose--David has made that clear. But, he shouldn't be second behind the stuo. Let him know you're trying. Intentionally trying. Do it because you mean it and because you value him and your marriage."

It hit her like a ton of bricks. It wasn't what she wanted to hear, but what she needed to hear. How could she become one with a man and treat him like he was number two, three, four, five, and six? She couldn't blame him for his distance, but she didn't like it. She despised it, truthfully. He'd forgive her, eventually. Hell or high water, they'd be okay, she was determined. 

It started simple. He'd been going on and on about a new microphone for a while, but was stuck on which one to choose. She'd understood how he may have assumed his comment had gone over her head from lack of response, but he hadn't known that she'd been in communication with some of the best music technicians, engineers, and instrument productions companies to find the one to suit his needs the best for their home studio,

It was meant to be a Christmas gift, something she hid under their bed and forgot about until eating turkey and drinking hot cider transitioned to eating ham and drinking hot chocolate. She determined now would be the perfect occasion. 

When he was out for the day, she called a series of technicians to install the microphone in their in-home studio. It was quick process, thankfully, as he'd returned just 30 minutes shy of their departure. 

He hadn't noticed at first. But when a shiny logo, unlike the one he was used to seeing, caught his eye, he was intrigued. David's fingers traced over the microphone softly, like it was the finest piece of china he was afraid to break. His eyebrows furrowed. "Slim, you been in here?" He called loud enough for her to hear over the clamoring noise she made just a few feet away in the living area. 

"Slim...?" He said, unsure.

"Wasn't me," she replied. "Had some folks come by."

"This...this is new?" he asked.

The sound of her heels against the laminate floor had his head turning toward the door. She was half dressed--nothing but a black bra, black slacks, and her favorite stilettos. In her hand was a blazer. He exhaled slowly. 

"You're the singer.  You got a new mic. Hope you like it. I've got the dinner soon. Do you want anything?"

David, gobsmacked by her appearance like he'd never seen her before, and by the new microphone that she gifted (though she tried to act like she didn't). It wasn't what he'd expected for a Tuesday afternoon. He swallowed thickly and shook his head, glancing over at his new music equipment. 

"No, no. I'm okay. Enjoy the dinner." 

He turned to press a kiss on her cheek, oblivious to the way her smile faltered just slightly when he intentionally missed her lips,oblivious to how her smile wavered when he chose her cheek instead. She stood straighter and nodded. This was only day one. She still had more time...she hoped. 

-

David sat at the dining room table, soothing sounds of jazz filling the atmosphere. His fingers moved swiftly across his laptop keyboard as he finished scheduling studio time for the next morning. His eyes cut toward the electronic clock on the stove. 5:05. The handle of their front door jingled. His eyebrow raised. "Slim, is that you?"

The click-clack of expensive heels against laminate answered for her. She huffed lowly and peeled her sunglasses off her face when she came into view. Breathtaking as ever, he noted. She donned straight leg pants that did wonders for her figure, a white tank top, a pink blazer, and tan heels. She smiled shyly. "Hi."

She dropped her keys and phone in the small bowl on the side table beside the couch. "Gonna shower. Anything you want for dinner?" 

David's eyebrows furrowed, and he stammered, confounded. She walked through the door at 5:05, which meant she left the studio at 4:45 PM, before the workday officially ended. Her phone joined her keys in the designated bowl. He noticed. And now, she was showering and ready to make dinner.

David blinked, mouth agape, as he tried to piece together what he was witnessing. Had his prayers been answered? He reminded himself to mark his prayer as complete before he went to sleep. 

"No," he called after her, voice hoarse. "I'm good."

She didn't respond, but the soft thud of the bathroom door closing was enough. A few moments later, he heard the water running. He sat back, brows still knitted, and glanced toward the bowl again. 

Her phone lay in the bowl. Abandoned. Silent. A part of her he often had to compete with. But it was there. Along with her keys. Like she wanted to be here. To be present, not just at home. That alone told him more than any apology could. 

His eyes returned to his laptop, the blinking cursor on the unsent email now an afterthought. He didn't want to get his hopes up. He couldn't afford to. But he couldn't ignore the strange feeling pulling at his chest. Hope. Hesitation. Confusion, for sure. He shook his head. 

"How was your day?" Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. David cleared his throat and sat up. His eyes followed her as she moved gracefully around the kitchen. Her work attire had been traded in for one of his shirts and her college sweatpants. Her dark hair was clipped back, and her makeup had been washed away. Sybelle, the woman you are. 

"It was good," he said carefully. Sybelle hummed and leaned against the counter, her eyes trained on his despite her phone buzzing in the bowl. His eyes cut toward it, then back to her. She remained unmoving. "Not gonna get that?" 

She shook her head and shrugged. "I told them I was leaving at 4:45. They can leave a voicemail. Decide what you want?” She turned on her heels and started toward the fridge, rummaging through the neatly organized shelves, racking her brain for recipes. “I can make sausage and peppers…”

She rattled off a list that seemed never-ending, but he couldn’t focus. 

“Sybelle.”

She paused. “Yes?” 

David tried not to sound suspicious and accusatory when he asked, “What is this about?” 

Sybelle shrugged a shoulder and rummaged through the drawers for a can opener. “I was putting everyone else above you. It wasn’t fair, and it’s not right.” Oh. His heart fluttered. “Sausage and peppers or something else? Work with me here.” 

David smiled slightly and nodded. “That works.” 

They ate dinner together that night. Nestled side-by-side as they murmured about the highs and the lows of their days. For once, undistracted and undeterred. 

-

David stared at the closed studio door. A note was taped to it in her unmistakable cursive: "Dress nice. Trust me. Love you."

He spent the drive home racking his brain, searching for explanations on what she could have up her sleeve. Things had changed recently. Lately, he felt like a priority. The number one on her list. Yet, he struggled to embrace it. 

Sure, she could do all these things now. And when things got rough, when work got busy, when the going got tough, he'd slide down the totem pole and be back at square one where he began. 

But when he opened the door and was ushered into the ambiance of the candle-lit dining room, a dining table lined with a full-course spread, with a small heart-shaped cake in the middle, all his hesitation and suspicion went away with the wind. "What is this?" 

Sybelle smiled shyly and shrugged. She exhaled shakily and said, "I saw the way you looked at me across the table—like I was a stranger. I hated that. And...our first anniversary was supposed to be grand and magical just like you planned, but..."

Pause. 

Sybelle twiddled her thumbs nervously, then pitched the side of her light blue sundress."I messed up. I can't take it back. I can't turn back the clock, even though I've tried. I can’t undo that night. But maybe… you’ll let me try again?” Her voice slid an octave as her confidence dwindled and her statement turned into a question. 

She stilled under his gaze, unable to read his expression. His lips were pressed in a line. His eyes darted between the table and her. His hands clenched and unclenched like he was fighting an internal battle. And her anxiety was through the roof. It was her last chance, she felt. He'd put up with so much for so long; she couldn't be angry at him if he decided to throw in the towel. 

He didn't. 

Instead, he beckoned her over with the nod of his head that made her weak in the knees when they crossed paths in the studio two-and-a-half years prior. Sybelle stood in front of him. She raised her head slightly, damning her lack of heels for their lack of eye-level contact. 

The corner of his lips raised, and he raised his hand to trace her chin. She leaned into his touch. Sybelle had done many things. Some of which he didn't like, others of which he adored. She had to fight tooth and nail to make a name for herself in the industry, and some of those tendencies bled into their relationship. And her heart. Her big, beautiful heart softened somewhat to recreate what he thought was lost. 

"I appreciate you, Slim," David said lowly. "Can I show you how much I appreciate you, baby?" She whimpered and nodded. He bent down to press a kiss against her cheek, which marked the beginning of a trail of marks being left on her neck, collarbone, and chest. She'd complain about it tomorrow. All she could do was bask in her husband's hands around her thighs as he hoisted her into his arms and marched up the steps. 

Well, she thought. At least she wasn't the one who forgot about the dinner this time. 

-

Tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @youreadthatright

[saturnville]

Superstar (A Playback Interlude) | David Cliff

Pairing: David Cliff (The High Note) x Black Fem OC (Sybelle Selene Jackson) Summary: A wife yearns deeply for her husband in a way she'd never done before. Warnings: Painful yearning. WC: 943 AN: Love the High Note. Love Kelvin's face. Love Weruche's face. Voila. This is one of my new favorite pieces. I truly hope you enjoyed. Please let me know your thoughts! Remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged!

Tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku

Quiet. It was disturbingly quiet. The type of silence that was so disruptive that it would hinder her sleep. The kind that made her hyperaware of his absence. No heavy footsteps to detect what room he walked out of, and the next he entered. 

The bedroom felt hollow. Empty. The bed was too big, the windows were too small, and the atmosphere was like a gloomy February morning where hovering nimbus clouds signified an impending doom of their home being attacked by heavy droplets of rain. Her body shifted as if making space for him on the king-sized mattress that seemed to swallow her whole. 

A strong and unwavering frown settled upon her lips. Her long arms stretched across the bed as she ran her fingertips over the crinkles and wrinkles of the white cotton, rough and empty beneath her touch. With a soft grunt, she fell backward and turned her head to the right, her nose buried in his pillow. She inhaled deeply, relishing the last traces of his faded cologne. 

It was husky and warm, like him. The perfect balance of musk and sweetness made her eyes roll every time the delicious scent passed her nose. She exhaled sharply, trying to return to center after orbiting the universe with her lover who had skyrocketed to another galaxy. 

His voice, low and full of kindness, replayed in her mind like a broken record. Her body shuddered as she felt the ghost of his lips against the shell of her ear, his tongue tracing the inner lobe as he whispered “I love you” as they made love into the early hours of the morning. 

She missed him. The weight of her yearning sat deep in her chest—unrelenting. She didn’t think she was capable of feeling it. She didn't know her heart was wired to produce such a deep desire to be at one with someone else.

Her eyelids fluttered as she fought to keep the growing tears tucked behind an eyeliner-clad waterline.

Everywhere she turned, he was there—the journal on the nightstand, an intention gift from him. It was wrapped in a beautiful satin bow, with her initials pressed into the leather in strong gold lettering. SSJC. A new era deserves a fresh start, baby, he told her when she looked at him with glassy eyes, questioning what the gift was for. So intentional, he was, having incorporated a pack of stainless steel pens in gold to match. A songwriter needs the right tools, and these felt like you. Her fingertip traced the notebook, flipping it open to see the small note he left on the inside. Write without fear, beloved.

Her fingers twisted her—his—shirt. She brought the collar to her nose and inhaled. She fell asleep in it without thinking, swaddled in the presence of him. Music played softly in the background, but with every riff and cry of the guitar string, it was him—the soft hum of his voice and rumble of his tenor. 

Her body remembered him; his warmth pressed into her back as he pressed her into the mattress. The slow, lazy way he’d brush his lips along her shoulder to wake her up in the morning before pulling her closer. 

Again, her hands clawed at the bed to grab cold sheets. He wasn’t here. The loneliness was palpable, suffocating. She felt like she was stuck in an elevator with inoperable doors. Stuck by herself with no one around. 

She wanted to call. She needed to hear his voice, even if it was just for a moment. But if she did, she might break. Go into a frenzy of packing a bag and hopping on the earliest red eye she could catch. But she knew she shouldn’t. It was his moment. He deserved to experience it fully. She’d be at home waiting. At home. Waiting. 

The dam burst. Tears rushed down her face like a waterfall. Frustration filled her body like a disease—frustration for becoming so used to being in his presence that becoming independent of him was an overwhelming experience. A longing so deep that it threatened to pull her under. Pull her deep into an abyss she was willing to drown in. Drown in him, she’d do it, she indeed would. 

She sang under her breath, an old song. Their song. The same way he used to hum when he thought she wasn’t listening. The same hum that lulled her to sleep during the longest of nights and most treacherous days. The same hum that captured her attention all that time ago in the studio. The same hum that stilled her mind and silenced the storm inside of her soul. 

She grabbed her phone, hands shaking, thumbs hovering over his content. She didn’t press call. Her thumbs rushed to type I miss you. She stared at it. Deleted it. Rewrote it. Deleted it again. Smaestro with a pen, an expert at her craft—yet, words had escaped her like a bandit feeling the scene. 

Only one message seemed fitting. His name. David. 

When he responded immediately—“I know, baby. I miss you too.”—she felt the first bit of air return to her lungs after having been breathless for what seemed to be a lifetime. 

She aggressively wiped her tears away, almost angry with herself for feeling his absence so profoundly. But, wasn’t that love? The kind that made you ache, even when you knew they’d come back? Her husband, lover, and friend wouldn’t return for six weeks. Her heart yearned to be with him again. 

He sent another message. Smile, Sybelle. I’ll be home soon. I love you forever, baby.

[saturnville]

Care | David Cliff

Pairing: David Cliff (The High Note) x Black Fem OC (Sybelle Selene Jackson) Summary: David will always go the extra mile to ensure Sybelle is cared for. Warnings: Suggestive content. WC: 2529 Reference: Care by Sonder AN: Because @youreadthatright asked about David and Sybelle. I genuinely hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know your thoughts! Remember: likes are appreciated, but reblogs, asks, and comments are encouraged!

-

After the day she had, she fully understood why her mother befriended a bottle of wine and a cigarette now and then after a shift that turned tumultuous in minutes. Frustration greeted her with a kiss, while exhaustion welcomed her with a hug. All tell-tale signs to release the gas and pump the brake—a message that wouldn’t be visible even if it were tattooed on her eyelids. 

Hyper independence and stubbornness worked together like a well-oiled machine. As long as the work got done, nothing else mattered. The music mattered; the music always mattered. 

The house was quiet, but her head spun like an object on a swivel. Her phone rang nonstop, and her laptop cried from being poked and prodded with calls and emails. She tried her best to keep her head above the sea of calls that demanded her attention, but she couldn’t catch her breath. She was drowning, but that damned pride of her tugged her back, unsure of letting go. 

She hardly registered her husband’s presence over the brain-rotting sound of a privileged artist ranting on the other side of the receiver. Sybelle dropped her head into her hands and sighed deeply, trying her best to regain control over the situation. Hours seemed to pass before the call ended, and Sybelle tossed her phone on the desk with a frustrated sigh. It wasn’t long before another name came on the screen, and her ear-blitzing ringtone ricocheted off the green accent wall in their shared office. 

He saw the tension in her posture. How her shoulders rolled over and how her spine curled. Something weighed on her heavily to the point of physically distorting her comfort. He didn’t like it. 

Sybelle’s phone was covered by a hand that wasn’t hers as she tried to reach for it, desperate to get the call out of the way. Her eyes cut toward him, filled with an emotion neither of them could name. Her hand darted to snatch the phone from him, but one stern look had her retreating to her seat with her hand at her side. “Redirect the calls. I’ll take care of it. Just…no calls for 48 hours, alright? I appreciate it.” Sybelle’s lips parted as she prepared to protest. “You’re done for the day, Sybelle.”

Her protests didn't fall on deaf ears; he chose not to engage verbally. When she attempted to pull her phone from his fingers, he slid it into the pocket of his sweatpants. This was not the most secure location, he realized, as she'd grown accustomed to exploring what was beneath the loose fabric and had no issue with doing so. However, her body stilled when he crouched down, fingers grazing her ankle. 

One foot at a time, his hand cupped the bottom of her outrageously elevated stilettos. The softest sigh replaced all her fussing and fighting as she wiggled her pedicured toes. His eyes lifted to soak in her current state. Her eyelids were low, her shoulders had dropped just an inch, and she slumped back against the cushion of her favorite chair. "I don't want you touching that phone tonight, Belle." His firm statement pulled her out of her state of relaxation. 

"D, I have to--ooh, that feels good," she moaned softly as his thumbs pressed against the tender part of her foot. She inhaled deeply and sighed. "I've got to work. The project..." The rest of her sentence blended with Leon Thomas's soft melodies. 

“…isn’t going anywhere,” David finished. “You’ve been working too hard. Let me take care of you tonight. We can order your favorite takeout, eat, watch a movie, I’ll eat you during the movie, then we go to sleep and start all over in the morning.” He winked at her quickly, and Sybelle laughed out loud at his attempt to coerce her into relaxation. 

His efforts were greatly appreciated. In a world where she never felt like she could slow down because breaks didn’t exist for Black women, her husband served as a steady reminder that she could slow down and let someone take care of her. And with him, she didn’t have to beg. It was something he wanted to do. Provide comfort. 

As her laughter faded, she smiled softly. Her eyes caught his, wide and full of love for her. How could he not oblige his request? And better yet, for her well-being, why fight it? She sank further in the chair and relished in the reduction of sore feet as her husband catered to her intentionally. “Okay, baby,” she said after some time. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Whatever you say.”

Leon’s voice morphed into that of Brent Faiyaz before she realized. She found herself humming along to the lyrics under her breath. She was in a daze in Lalaland until David’s fingers of magic stopped working against her flesh. One eye popped open, and she saw him standing on his feet. A pout formed on her lips as she asked, “That felt good; why’d you stop?” 

David laughed. “My thumbs hurt, girl. And that bath won’t stay hot forever. Get upstairs. I’m about to order this food.” He left no room for objection. Sybelle placed her hand in his awaiting palm, a little voice in the back of her mind nagging about the time she could be spending finishing a track, but she saw how much effort he put into creating a calm environment for her. She’d feel even worse than she did if she disrupted it. 

Sybelle let him undress her when they reached their bathroom. One by one, he peeled each layer off her body, his lips brushing against every place they could touch. She shuddered as they found their way to her hip, nipping and sucking as his fingers hooked around her black underwear, tugging them down. She stepped out of them, her body on full display. David inhaled deeply—a goodness in human form. 

“Will you join me?” Sybelle asked, twisting her rings around her finger. She saw the wheels turning in his head. It was her moment, he thought, to relax and unwind without distraction. However, if she wanted him, who was he to reject her wish? David agreed with a nod, peeling the long-sleeve shirt off his body. 

They settled together in the tub, her back against his chest. Her hands waded in the water, and she played with the deflating bubbles. She brought some to her lips and blew them, smiling as they dispersed in the air. A comfortable silence surrounded them. David was usually an excellent conversationalist but refused to bring up work, so silence was the best option. The longer they sat in it, the more she relaxed; that was the goal. 

His touch was gentle, soothing against her shoulders. Sybelle’s lips parted to welcome the prettiest sigh that quickened his heart. “Mm…” Instead of clamoring about work and busy schedules, they planned their next getaway. 

“I would like to go to Athens. Sparta,” Sybelle started. “Maybe even trek up Mount Olympus to see the ruins, yeah?” If she had not followed her heart and chosen music, she would’ve stuck with the safe choice of becoming a history teacher. It was a love that never dwindled. David nodded twice, taking a mental inventory of her most recent desire. 

His lips parted to respond, but his phone’s notification pulled his attention away from her. He leaned over the edge of the tub—driver will arrive soon. ETA: 25 minutes. David pecked her cheek and continued to caress her wet skin. “M’sure we can make that happen. Food is gonna be here soon—“ His intention to leave her to soak her tense body by herself while he prepared to greet the delivery driver was halted when she turned in his arms. 

David’s jaw fell to make room for a shuddered sigh. Sybelle was beautiful, always had been, but here, now, with her rich skin covered in bubbles that slid off her shoulders and down the valley of her breasts while her eyelids sat low, was a sight to behold. She waded closer, settling in his lap. “We’ve got time…” 

His eyebrow raised. “Oh?” At first, he had to pry work from her cold fingers. Now, she reveled in it like rose petals on a hotel bed. It offered a benefit for both of them—she got to unwind and he got to assist her—two birds with one stone. 

Sybelle smiled small, wrapping her sudsy arms around his neck. Slowly, she brought her face closer to his. She could see every non-existent pore on his skin and count the hairs on his chin. Her lips brushed against his as her hips rocked back and forth. David’s resolve began to crumble. His mouth opened to release a low groan. “Yeah,” she breathed against his lips. “Ten minutes was never a challenge before, right?” 

The phone was long forgotten, along with the delivery order just minutes away. It was rare for him to completely let go, not worrying about life's looming responsibilities and demands. It was uncommon for her to take off multiple hats to stay in the moment. It would not be very responsible of him to return to the world when he had the empress of his universe pressed against him in a sensual hug,

Therefore, there was minimal room for rebuttal, especially when silky walls entrapped him in a vice grip he never wanted to escape. Her soft whimpers were in harmony with the rhythm of the warm water sloshing against the tub walls. David’s head lulled backward against the porcelain tub, and his hands gripped her hips, thumbs pressing into her slick skin.  “Yeah, yeah. Ten minutes…just like that, baby…mm.”

-

He clothed her, sliding her favorite nightgown over her body with ease, but not before ensuring his lips followed every place the fabric touched. He then rubbed her down in that vanilla and shea butter body whip she adored. This led to another rendezvous, which forced David to text the delivery driver to leave the package at the door, and a generous tip would be reflected in his time. 

Sybelle, drunk off her husband's affection but still coherent enough to recognize the hunger that twisted in her stomach, fought hard to open her mouth and say: “Baby, I love you, but I’m hungry.” The eyebrow raise and a light smirk she received in response let her know she walked into his following statement: “I am, too.” What a double entendre. She giggled and pressed her hands against his chest, trying to flee from the war of kisses he launched against her face and neck. His tongue traced the spot behind her ear, and she shuddered, backing away. 

With a pointed finger, she commanded, “Food now, playtime later.” Sybelle kissed his pouted lips twice and slid out of his reach. “Quicker you eat, the quicker you get to take this off, and we can go aga—“ 

David smacked his lips and moved past her with an urgency she hadn’t seen since she’d been home. With a playful tone, he said, “Move, girl. You takin’ too long, I’m hungry.” Sybelle gasped out a laugh and shoved his shoulder playfully, watching as he raced downstairs to scarf down his meal like a child eager to finish dinner so they’d get dessert. But she was his dessert. 

The dessert he’d have to wait to savor because, in purse David fashion, he made a mess. It was intentional, she noted. The spoon was centimeters away from her lips and pecked her cheek, a long streak of pepper sauce dripping down her face. Her jaw fell agape, and David shrugged, “Sorry, B.” What started as an innocent night between lovers ended with a kitchen covered in food as they retreated to versions of their childhood selves. 

“You are impossible,” Sybelle laughed as she brought a paper towel to her face to remove remnants of their shared meal. Her eyes danced around the kitchen. Microwave covered in sauce, counters littered with rice, and the floor wet with water. On any other day, she would have lost her mind. While she knew cleaning would be a two-man task that could’ve been avoided, she had to admit: “But, that’s the first time I’ve laughed like that in a while.” 

David grinned like he’d beaten Joe Burrow and claimed the Heisman for himself. He took a damp paper towel over her forehead to remove dirt and debris. “That was the goal. I just wanted you to relax, baby. Though…it’s gon’ have to be after we get to this.” He waved his hand toward the mess they created in tandem. 

Sybelle nodded with an amused expression on her face. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Well, quicker you clean, quicker we can go ups—“

His eyes lit up like stars, and a playful smirk toyed on his lips. “You know,” David cut her off, moving to grab the paper towel off the holder and the bleach spray from under the kitchen sink. “I don’t know what’s up with you and this lack of urgency, but we got things to do, B. I’m tryna take you down, girl!”

His wife threw her hands up in mock offense and dropped the used paper towel into the trashcan. “Coming, coming!”

-

Another moment of intimacy between man and wife, an additional shower that almost turned into another love session until Sybelle begged him to give her body a break (though she wanted it just as much as he did), and new pajamas later, they lay in their king-sized bed. The second Black cinema movie of the night played on the television ahead. While she tried to keep her eyes focused on the screen ahead, her eyelids grew heavy, and sleep loomed over Sybelle like a cloud. 

"Go to sleep," she heard David say gently, his hand caressing her hip. He was wide awake, his eyes trained on the television, yet by the sound of her breathing, he knew it wouldn't be long before her body shut down for the evening. 

A series of sighs escaped her lips as her body melted into the sheets. The flickering light from the television cast dancing shadows across the room that would’ve distracted her any other day. Still, in the current moment, Sybelle’s focus was slipping, her mind floating toward the beauty and tranquility of a food and love-induced sleep.

David’s hand lingered on her, fingertips tracing slow patterns across her skin. His warmth remained, his presence constant like the sun's rising and setting. “You good?” he whispered, his voice low, though he knew the answer. 

Sybelle smiled, the weight of the day and the tenderness of the night catching up to her. “Yeah,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. “I’m good.”

With that, she shut her eyes completely, the quiet pulse of their shared breath filling the space between them. The world outside faded completely—his primary goal was accomplished. As the movie played in the background, neither noticed when the credits rolled. They had long since turned in for the night, their souls entwined, finding peace in each other's presence. 

-

Tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @youreadthatright

[saturnville]

the world of kelvin harrison jr.

all pieces related to kelvin harrison jr. and his respective characters.

patron de la scene. coming soon. inspired by chevalier (2023).

ember and hush, kelvin harrison jr.

one way, kelvin harrison jr.

love calls, kelvin harrison jr.

for me, baby, kelvin harrison jr.

superstar (a Playback interlude), david cliff

care, david cliff

soon as I get home, david cliff

drenched in you, kelvin harrison jr.

truth or temptation, kelvin harrison jr.

keep them on, kelvin harrison jr.

*. * · divider created by @rookthornesartistry *. * ·

[saturnville]

David & Sybelle coded