description - the coffee shop by your house, everything is all the same, except for the new face with a smile so pretty it pierced your heart.
warning(s) - fluff, flirting(?), food mention
word count - 1.3k
rules | marvel m.list | taglist
YOU STAND IN LINE, checking through your phone as the person behind you mutters under her breath, contemplating what to get. “Next in line!” Looking up, you walk over to the left, a smile on your face as you see a familiar worker. “Hey love, what can I get you today?” She asks happily, you clear your throat, telling her your usual order. She nods, getting ready for you to pay, only for the receipt printer to not have any paper.
“Shoot, give me a sec.” The worker tells you, and you nod as you watch her move over to one of her co-workers.
Looking around, the woman behind you now stands beside you, still struggling to figure out what she wants as one of the workers goes over the menu with her. Turning her head to you, you two make eye contact, and you immediately look back at the cashier, now waiting impatiently.
Clearing her throat, you glance back at her, gulping. Her eyes are still on you, licking her lips a little, your eyes move down to her fingers, some with rings on them.
“Here we go.” You blink a couple of times, looking back at the worker in front of you. Seeing her place the paper in the printer now, you two watch as your receipt comes out, once done, she hands it to you. “Thanks.” You whisper, she nods, and calls up the next person in line.
Standing to the side, you look around the shop, more chairs and rounded tables with people sitting. Some chatting, others studying or having their lunch break, it’s gotten busier over the years, considering people have posted the shop on social media for more traction. Yet, the many books, new and old donated to the shop and names on the black chalkboard, some that have been on it since the opening of the shop gave you that nostalgic feeling.
The coldness from outside comes in repeatedly through the constant walking in and out. The coat racks were covered while you kept yours on, knowing it would be useless to take it off.
The AC in the shop somewhat sucked, however, it was a good day, a perfect day even.
The toasty air made the coffee smell stronger with food cooking and baking in the back while it kept your face warm and your nose from running. Glancing at your phone, you begin to check through your socials, only to be stopped shortly.
Peering up to see her, a smirk on her face now as her dark brown eyes admire you. “Hey, sorry.” She begins, you nod, unsure what to say. Closing your phone, you place it in your pocket. “Sorry?” You mutter, crossing your arms, looking over to make sure your name did not get called.
The woman nods, itching her forehead, and she smiles. “For the staring, that’s what I mean.” She chuckles, noticing your blank expression.
You laugh afterward and nod, “Oh, that? You’re good.” You shrug, your eyes avert to her clothes, then to her shoes. “Do you come here often?” She asks, her accent slipping out more. You nod, now looking at her, she stands to the right side of you.
“Yeah, what about you? New here, I’m guessing.” You ask, checking the number on your receipt. She laughs awkwardly, her right hand moves to the back of her neck as she rubs it. “That obvious?” You nod and laugh with her. “Oh, I thought I was doing good.” She laughs a bit harder, her accent more prominent.
She clears her throat, “I’m Shuri,” stretching her hand out, you glance at it then take it, telling her your name.
She smiles, your heart beats a little faster. Letting your hand go from hers, you sigh, rubbing your left hand against your coat, feeling it become sweaty.
“So, what did you get anyway?” You ask, Shuri looks at the menu on the screen, pointing at number five, the same thing you get. One soufflé pancake and two sides of your choice with a drink.
You giggle and look at her, “That’s my usual.” You say, Shuri raises a brow and looks at you. “With that, I’m beginning to believe the hype.” You two laugh and seconds after your numbers get called. Walking over to the counters, you two grab your bags and drinks, thanking the workers before walking away.
You move closer to Shuri, lightly nudging her elbow with yours. “I was wondering if you would like to sit with me? If that’s okay with you?” You let out the nervousness growing in you.
Pretending to think, she nods, “Yeah, where?” You point to the middle of the room, three empty white chairs, and a round table painted in sage green pressed against the wall with a large window with the business name painted over it in light pink. “Right there.” You glance at her, and she nods and follows you.
You two sit down, a sigh coming out from your mouth and hers. Opening your bag, you pull out a plastic tray with a plastic lid covering it with your food in it. You two open the food, and you begin eating slowly, paying attention to Shuri.
Cutting into her pancake, she inspects it before eating. Humming and closes her eyes while the warm and fluffy texture melts on her tongue.
You give her a closed-lip smile as she opens her eyes and nods. You giggle, then cut into your pancake. “Worth the hype?” You let out excitedly. “Worth the hype.” She confirms.
You two stay quiet for a while, enjoying the food and drinks. The music that played lightly in the background kept the awkwardness between you gone, and you leaned into your chair just like Shuri, feeling more comfortable around her slowly.
“I think I might have to be around you more.” She laughs, her eyes widen, realizing she said that out loud.
You tilt your head, taking a sip of your drink. “I would be down for that, there are other places around the area I would show you…if you’re interested.” You shrug, Shuri gulps, her eyes move down to your lips, watching you lick them, then to your hands. Closing hers as she faintly thinks of how yours felt against hers.
“Yeah, how about tomorrow?” She questions, biting into her pancake. You think for a second then nod, “tomorrow’s good.” You murmur, trying your best to hold in your smile.
“Can I get your number?” You question moments later. Shuri stops eating, glancing up at you before picking her phone up and unlocking it. Handing it to you, you place your number in her contacts, “just so I can tell you where we’re going.” You mutter, you both look at each other, knowing there’s more to that than you state.
Once you are done, she looks over at the number, trying to remember it a little before you pass your phone to her to do the same thing.
“Thanks.” You whisper as you get your phone back, staring at her number and contact name. “I’m excited for what you have planned.” She smirks, you look up and hum, “trust, where we're going, you will.” You reply.
Shuri hums and nods, you two go back to eating, you laugh at her quick jokes, the sounds of the door opening and closing repeatedly go quiet for you and the conversations around you two.
You rest your chin on your knuckle, your other fingers tap on the table as you listen to her talk about different things she’s experienced over the years. Slightly daydreaming about what it would be like to experience something like that with her.
Slowly, your knee and hers pressed against each other. None of you apologize for the action, while you two eat and talk the hour away.
Warnings: SMUT, SMUT, SMUTTTTT, anal sex, cunnilingus, f!ngering, Dom!Shuri, Vibranium strap is backkkk, slight CNC undertones, language, mentions of needles in descriptive detail, Shuri coaxing the reader into using IV's for sex, idk it's my dirtiest work yet.
A/n: It's good to be back ;) Requests are open.
Rain poured from the sky as you tossed in bed, reminiscing on the escapades of the night. Shuri lay beside you, arm draped over your waist lazily, a sharp contrast to the fervor that overtook her just hours before. Memories flooded your brain as your body ached, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep doing this. The idea of having to put out as much as you had been for her created a sensation of dread and timid excitement.
The night before had been one of the most intense since she designed her new strap. Before, the straps she used vibrated, pulsed, and twisted though despite this, they had limits. They couldn’t expel actual fluid, there was no risk…
Until…
Four days inside the lab, studying you, sampling from your body and hers, shuri created the newest variation. It expelled sperm-like fluid inside of you, by taking Shuri’s own arousal and mixing it with other chemicals that created a dangerously delicious cocktail of risk and reward.
The substance itself was identical to sperm itself, though you couldn’t get pregnant from it.
The night began like any other, you came in from a mission, sweaty, ruined, and exhausted. Shuri went straight to her lab as you made a bowl of yogurt and honey. You ate it over the sink, trying to forget the kick you did wrong and the ignored message on the comms.
“It’s ready.” Shuri said, emerging from the lab to find you hunched over.
Those words alone sent chills down your spine. Every time shuri perfected a new design, you had to try it out immediately.
Oh?” You said, setting the bowl in the sink.
“Finally, I get to cum inside my beautiful wife” she said, matter-of-factly
“Is this going to be like last time?” You questioned
Last time referred to a time when Shuri gave you an IV drip because she wanted you perfectly hydrated so that you could produce the best orgasms for her
“It’ll be more than last time because we’re going until it runs out. And it doesn’t run out for at least, eight hours” she replied, adjusting the strap beneath her pants.
“So two bags?” You said
Shuri let out a smirk, before turning on her heel.
“I’ll have my assistants prep you” she said before leaving.
You hated the idea of needing an IV to perform. It started one night, where Shuri was more intense than usual and you took longer to recover.
“It’ll make your orgasms feel better.” Shuri offered. You knew she would never give you something that would hurt you intentionally.
“Okay” you agreed. You never could say no to Shuri.
The first time you took the IV, you felt strange. You were wetter, creamier, and much, MUCH more energetic. It helped you perform in the multi-hour-long sessions Shuri was known for. She adored seeing you so wrecked for her, and she adored seeing you agree to anything for her even more.
Though the process of getting an IV was one you were never fond of. A prick of a needle and the warmth of the foreign saline was something that took adjusting, and even then, it still wasn’t welcomed with open arms.
Shuri delighted in seeing you follow her advice. She loves knowing that she contributes to your performance, output, and stamina in more ways than one. She would never admit it, but she loves watching you prepare for the sessions, from the way your face contorts when the needle pierces your arm, to the way the bags empty within the hour, she loves it all.
The familiar sensation of a strong pinch overtook your body as you were given the intravenous fluid. A soft gasp escaped from your lips while Shuri stood brooding in the background, eyes dark with desire and something much more primal.
After you were done, Shuri was careful to take you by the hand and lead you into your shared quarters. Her hands found the hem of your favorite shirt as her lips found yours.
“You won’t be needing this,” Shuri mumbled against your lips before a ripping sound perforated your ears. Your eyes flew down only to find the remnants of a top once adored, on the floor.
You gasped in retaliation before Shuri’s hand landed a harsh smack against your ass.
“I’ll buy you one-thousand more if you prefer, Usana”. she mumbled.
You knew she would. It was just the principle of the action that took you off guard.
Her lips trailed down your collarbone, leaving a trail of hickeys and bruises in their wake. Moans escaping as she continued her ravenous path to your sex.
Her hands tore your rose-adorned panties like tissue paper, leaving you breathless and exposed.
Her lips found your dripping holes, her tongue sliding between your folds in a cruel act of domination.
“So wet already. The fluids must have took” she deduced.
Her lips formed a tight seal around your clit while her tongue danced patterns on your labia. Stars permiating your vision as your head drew back.
“Sh-Shuri…” you trailed, too breathless to understand the words coming from your mouth.
Her suction became stronger as your legs gave out from under you:
“cum for me, sthandwa” she mumbled
You did as you were told. A wave of intense pleasure washed over you as Shuri held you up.
Shuri got up, leaving you stumbling and dazed, before walking over to the bed. She pulled her pants down to reveal her latest lab project…
Nine inches of night-black, vibranium flesh filled your gaze as she stroked it like her own limb. Inside, a small vial of your shared DNA that resembled her semen became evident.
Her gaze met yours, hers hungry and primal, and yours submissive and starved.
Shuri raised two of her long fingers in a “come here” motion and you followed. You always follow her.
“You know what to do” she teased, gripping your head like second nature.
“Yes, my Queen” you obliged, opening your jaw and preparing to take her.
Shuri programmed the straps to give her the feeling she would have if she were actually receiving the stimulation. It was implemented after she decided she wanted to derive pleasure physically from what she did to you.
Your lips parted in an “o” shape to take her glistening tip, licking it and toying with it in a desperate attempt at some level of control. Shuri, though at first pleased, gripped your hair with a strong tug that made you decend faster than you could take. Ropes of spit coated her shaft as you continuously moved back and forth, lewd sounds filling the room as Shuri’s head fully tilted back. Her breath became ragged as you picked up the pace, bobbing up and down until your throat and eyes burned. Her hand moved to your throat to feel herself through you and feel your vocal chords making such dirty noises. Her own voice betrayed her as a string of profanities erupted.
You continued bobbing up and down, desperatley trying to clean the spit before Shuri’s hips started snapping into your neck.
“take it like the good little slut you are” she breathed
You could only moan as her hips continued their vicious attack on your throat, leaving it raw as her hips finally began to stutter.
“oh- fuuuccckkk” she breathed, a smooth liquid filling your throat as tears streaked their way down your face.
“mmmmfmm” you managed, still garbled by the massive cock in your throat.
“shit” she breathed, looking at you through lidded eyes as she pulled you off of her. Ropes of semen and spit connecting you two before being harshly broken.
“Look at you, so perfect and wrecked” she breathed, admiring her work like a sculptor admires a sculpture.
She picked you up and tossed you on the bed on your stomach. Your bare ass exposed for her as she began to palm it. Her mouth watered at the sight of your dripping holes, knowing only she could do this to you.
“mmmmm” she muttered before gliding her tongue over your puckered asshole. The sensitive skin recoiling at the sudden contact. Her hands found your creamy pussy, soaked from her previous assault.
“Oh no” you breathed, trying to push away feebly from overstimulation.
Shuri caught your hand and said:
“you stop when I tell you to stop”
Her tongue sunk further into your asshole as her fingers found your soaked hole. Your vision blurred as she inserted her tongue and two of her fingers into both of the most sensitive places on your body.
Shuri moaned as her tongue bobbed in and out of your sensitive holes, waves echoing across your body repeatedly after each anal orgasm. Her fingers were just as frenetic, keeping your body on a constant cycle of orgasms. You had almost adjusted before she curved her fingers into your sensitive spot, leaving you breathless as cream began to pour from your holes into her mouth and fingers.
“so good” she muttered, lost in your very essence.
After a while of her vicious attacks, she flipped you onto your back before palming her cock. Eyes a dark, primal shade of brown, they only took on when killing an enemy or breeding her wife(you).
She grabbed your throat before thrusting inside of you, burying herself at the hilt.
“Umanzi kakhulu kum” she groaned. Her hand squeezing the sensitive bud of your right nipple as her teeth found your left.
“very wet for me”
You let out a loud moan as every part of your body lay assaulted. Her enormous size stretching you like never before gave you the confidence to scream louder.
Shuri pulled out of you before slamming right back in, your vision blurring and your eyes watering. She continued her deranged thrusts as your moans and groans synced, creating a melody of pleasure and sexual deviency.
“yonke eyam” she breathed as her thrusts became more ragged. Her hand finding your neck and her other squeezing your thigh.
“all mine”
Pools of cream flowed from you both, waves of pleasure striking you both in tandem. It wasn’t long before you both reached your climax, floods of liquid erupting from yu both.
“Shuri,” you breathed, already wanting to tap out.
“C’mon Usana, just one more time” she breathed. Hips snapping against your deliciously exhausted sex.
Moans escaped your lips as she coaxed another orgasm out of you. Shuri never backed down when she was like this.
“So good for me” she sighed biting her lip
Another wave of pleasure washed over you as shuri pushed herself to her hilt inside of you. Fresh Ropes of creamy white cum erupt, covering the ones she left two positions ago. Her hands instinctively grabbed your thigh and your throat as a deep, guttural groan echoed from her mouth.
“Fuck” she groaned afterwards, watching the mess she made like Jackson Pollock watched his art being displayed.
Your body lay bare, defiled, and coated with the essence of your love. Bruises and sperm littered every square inch of your body.
Shuri got up and went to the bathroom, slipping on a fresh T-shirt and black basketball shorts before walking back over to you with a warm cloth. You instinctively recoiled, mentally preparing for her to take you again.
“Just a warm cloth. Come here,” she said, pulling apart your thighs with two of her long fingers.
She slid the cloth up your messy slit. Her hand instinctively rubbing the areas that she bruised mercilessly.
“You did good. The strap works well” she said like she was talking about the weather
You nodded, still exhausted in every sense of the word.
“You’re quiet. Did I fuck your brain, too?” she teased with a smirk
“Mmmm you always do” you said sleepily
Shuri let out a small chuckle as she grabbed you bridal style and carried you to another room, laying you down and sliding next to you, her hand layed lazily around your waist.
Kwn - Back of the Club gives me Shuri. Wakanda’s night life has got to be it. Only black people, no problems, and vibranium, they’re having a time. And Shuri has self restraint as reliable as a rubber band 😭 They can’t go back to the castle? lab? idk what its called, so the back of the club and a cigarette is all she’s got. Plus the newfound gay freedom she must have in some sense has to be explored. My wish for Shuri is peace and to get laid. 😂💋
I Want You
Shuri Udaku x Black!Fem!Reader
MORE
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Wakanda’s nightlife doesn’t need clout, it is the moment. Shuri came to disappear into the lights for one night—nothing more. But when she sees you? Yeah. Nah. She’s not walking out untouched.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 3.1k
ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: club tension, queer awakening, sneaky rendezvous, slow burn turned fast heat, post-royalty problems
ᴠɪʙᴇ: Glitter on your collarbone. Bass in your chest. Her hands on your waist. Just a little taste of freedom she wasn’t supposed to want this bad.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT. explicit language, sexual content (fingering, grinding, public play), mentions of queer repression, smoking, tension so thick M’Baku could cut it with a blade
I feel her before I see her.
It’s in the air shift—the kind that makes your skin tighten, the hairs on your arms lift. Wakanda’s nightlife is a thing of legend: glowing streets, gold-threaded silks, bass so deep it could rattle bone. But tonight, it’s her that hums beneath the surface. Not the music. Not the crowd. Just Shuri.
I see her near the DJ booth, chin high, posture tight like she’s bracing for war—but wearing that war in a cropped vest and low-slung pants that don’t belong to any royal decree. Her arms are bare.
So are her eyes. Sharp and soft all at once, scanning the room like she dares someone to name her title.
She finds me. And rolls her eyes. I grin, leaning back against the bar like I didn’t just catch the wind knocked out of me. “Queen,” I mouth.
She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t nod. But her lips twitch. It’s enough.
I don’t go to her. Not yet. Instead, I dance. The floor moves like water, and I let it carry me. Body rolling slow, arms grazing strangers, sweat turning to shimmer under the lights. I want her to watch. And I know she is. Because when I finally drift closer—pretending I don’t notice how the circle parts to let me through—her gaze is molten.
“You’re outside,” I murmur, close enough to kiss but I don’t.
“Only for a moment,” she says. Her voice is low. Careful. Like she’s scared of spilling.
“I missed you.”
Her eyes flick over me like she doesn’t believe that. “You didn’t act like it.”
I shrug. “You had a country to save. I wasn’t about to compete with national security.”
That gets a breath out of her. Not quite a laugh, but something human. Something cracking.
We dance. Slowly at first. Close, but not too close. She moves like someone who’s been away from her body too long. Calculated steps. Intentional distance.
I don’t push. I let her settle. Let her feel me—hips loose, neck tilted, rhythm already pulsing through my spine.
But then I graze her wrist. Just barely. And she exhales like a fault line. Her hands find my waist before her mind does. I feel it. That snap.
Shuri was never shy. But this is different. It’s hunger masquerading as curiosity. Her fingers grip like she’s forgotten what softness feels like.
Like she’s starved for it. And when she pulls me flush, when our chests meet and she exhales against my collarbone like it’s sacred—It’s over.
She doesn’t speak. Just moves with me. We melt into shadow, into sweat, into music thick enough to drown in. Our foreheads touch. Her breath is hot against my lips but she still won’t kiss me. Not yet. Like it’ll mean too much.
“You smoke now?” I ask, noticing the slender silver case peeking from her waistband.
“Not often,” she says. “Just… when I need to remember I’m not a god.”
“Come on.”
I take her hand. She lets me.
Outside, the air bites cool against damp skin. We find the alley behind the club—tucked between stone walls and low vines, gold-lit from behind but dim in front. It smells like sweat and dust and possibility.
She leans against the wall like it’s the only thing holding her up.
“Give me one,” I say.
She raises a brow. “You don’t smoke.”
“I’m mourning something too.”
Her jaw clenches. Then she hands me the cigarette, lights it for me. Her fingers brush my lips as she holds the flame steady. I inhale, exhale. Pass it back.
“I’m sorry I left you,” she says suddenly. Quiet. Unflinching. “I didn’t know how to be anything but… the crown.”
I nod. “You didn’t have to explain. I would’ve stayed anyway.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why I left.”
I look at her, really look. And there it is—grief sitting behind her eyes like an old friend. But so is want. Raw. Heavy. Unhidden.
I step in, tilting my head just enough to force her gaze to mine.“You need to be touched,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches. “And I know how to touch royalty.”
She lets out a small laugh, almost a scoff. But I see her hands. They’re shaking. Not from fear. From restraint. That tight coil she’s had to live with for months—maybe years—just to survive. But here, now? There’s no council. No war. No lab.
Just the night. The beat still throbbing through the walls. And me. “Nikupende.” she says under her breath. Voice broken open.
My lips part. “What does that mean?” She finally looks at me like she’s drowning.
“I want you.”
She’s looking at me like she wants to crawl inside my chest.
Like the beat from the club is still in her, pulsing through every nerve. Her body’s taut, jaw clenched, but her hands are back on my hips, and this time—she’s not letting go.
“I want you,” she says again, this time steadier. Firmer. But I don’t move. Not yet.
“You sure?”
She frowns. “Yes.”
I tilt my head. “No, I mean—are you sure? You just came back from leading a war. I know you’re tired. I know you haven’t… touched anybody in a while. I’m not tryna take advantage of that.”
Her face softens just a fraction. Then flattens again into amused irritation. “You think I don’t know what I want?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I think you’re full of grief. I think you’re used to people needing you, not wanting you. And I think you’re about two seconds from kissing me to shut me up.”
Her eye twitches. Then she kisses me. It’s hard. Hot. Immediate. But when we break, I’m still not done.
“You don’t owe me anything, Shuri.”
She groans. “S’thandwa sami. Please.”
My eyes widen. “Did you just call me—”
“Yes.” She drags her mouth along my jaw, then my ear. “And you’ll hear it again if you stop overthinking.”
“But—”
She grabs my face. Kisses me again, softer this time. Then murmurs against my lips, “I want to feel something that isn’t duty.”
That’s all I need.
The alley’s too public. So we don’t go far—just into the private lounge behind the building, past the guards who don’t ask questions, into the space meant for royals and visiting dignitaries. It smells like sandalwood and citrus, and the couches are too soft for anything appropriate.
She drops onto one and pulls me with her, long legs spreading as I straddle her thighs. We don’t rush. I cup her jaw, running my thumb along her cheek like she’s breakable. She closes her eyes.
“I got you,” I whisper. “I swear I got you.”
When our mouths meet again, it’s slow. Our tongues move like we’ve got all night—wet and patient, letting each other taste what we missed. Her hands settle on my back, under my shirt, warm and sure now. Not shaking. Just pulling me closer.
My fingers ghost along her sides. Her breath catches.
“Still good?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”
I lean back. “You can say no at any time.”
She actually laughs. “If I didn’t want this, you’d already be gone.”
She spreads her fingers across my chest, like she’s memorizing me. Like she’s grateful. I let her. Let her touch. Let her relearn the world through skin instead of blood.
Her lips find my collarbone. Then the center of my chest. Each kiss is a question and a thank you rolled into one.
“I’ve never done this… like this,” she murmurs.
“Like what?”
“Where it feels like I might cry and cum at the same time.”
I grin. “Then I’m doing it right.”
She moans—low and breathy—as I guide her hand between my thighs.
“Feel how warm I am for you?” I whisper. Her breath stutters.
“You still want this?” She doesn’t answer with words.
Kkeeping my forehead pressed to hers. “Go slow, baby. You don’t have to be strong right now.”
“I don’t want to be,” she admits. “Not with you.”
She notices the dress when I straddle her again—short, sleek, sinful. Black like night. Like secrets. The hem rides up just enough to tease the tops of my thighs, and when I shift, she feels everything.
Her breath catches. “You’re not wearing anything under this.”
“Didn’t plan on needing them,” I whisper.
She lets out a low groan, head falling back against the velvet cushion like she’s praying for strength. Her hands grip my waist and slide down, under the dress, fingertips dragging over skin that’s already burning.
“Do you always come to see me like this?” she asks, voice hoarse.
“Only when I think you might need to forget you’re queen for a minute.”
Her eyes flick up, dark and focused. “And what does that make you? My subject?”
I smile. “Your peace.”
Something shifts in her face. That one hit too close to the truth.
She doesn’t say anything else. Just tilts her head and kisses the inside of my thigh—slow and deliberate. Then again. Higher this time.
Until I’m gasping softly, gripping her shoulders like she might disappear if I don’t hold tight enough.
“You’re already trembling,” she murmurs.
“Because you’re the one touching me.”
Another kiss, this one just beneath the swell of me. Hot breath skating over wet skin. My hips twitch.
She looks up. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Her tongue finally licks a slow line up my center and I shudder. Her hands slide around to grip my thighs, keeping me wide, grounded, spread just for her. There’s nothing messy about it. Not yet. Just lips and tongue and reverence.
Like she’s tasting something holy.
“Mm,” she hums softly against me. “S’thandwa sami. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
I bite my lip. “You eat like you been starved.”
“I have been.”
Another. This one firmer. My back arches.
Her mouth moves with aching precision—like she’s learning me, memorizing me, savoring every moan I give her like it’s the only sound she wants to hear.
She’s slow, intentional, patient with her pressure. And when she locks her lips around my clit, she groans like I belong to her.
Like she’s anchoring herself in the way I taste. I push her head gently, thighs trembling around her ears. “Fuck baby…”
“Shhh,” she murmurs against me. “Let me.”
I fall back, eyes fluttering, dress bunched around my waist, and her mouth still devoted. She holds my thighs open like a job. Like her life depends on it.
It does. Just a little. Because with every flick of her tongue, every hum, every praise she whispers into me like a prayer, I feel her unraveling. The tension bleeding out of her, replaced with heat. With want. With need.
“You feel so good,” she moans. “You’re so soft. So warm. You’re mine tonight.”
I cry out. My hips grind down. She growls. Then I’m close. Closer than I should be. But it’s her voice—deep, honeyed, reverent—that pushes me over.
“That’s it, baby. Let go. I’ve got you. I need to have you.”
I do. Shuddering. Fingers curled in her hair, legs locking around her head as I fall apart against her mouth.
She stays there. Doesn’t let up. Doesn’t stop kissing me even as I come down—soft licks, gentle suckles, tiny praises between breaths.
“You’re incredible,” she says, voice wrecked. “You’re—” She kisses the inside of my thigh. “More than I should ever touch.” Another kiss. “But I’m going to keep touching you.”
I hum, breathless. “Then keep going.”
She looks up at me with wet lips, flushed cheeks, and something dangerous in her eyes.
“Don’t tell me that,” she says. “I’ll make you come again.”
I smile lazily, pulling her up by the collar.
“I’d love that.”
She’s still panting when I pull her up from between my thighs. Lips slick. Eyes hooded. My dress is still hiked up around my waist, but I don’t care. I let her sit back on the couch, catching her breath like she didn’t just try to taste her way into my soul.
But it’s my turn now.
She doesn’t even have time to speak before I swing my leg around, straddling her again. I press soft kisses to her neck, her jaw, just behind her ear. Her hands rest heavy on my thighs, but she doesn’t guide me. Not yet. She lets me move.
“You good?” I whisper.
She nods, eyes fluttering. “Better than good.”
I grin. “Still gonna ask.”
She opens her mouth to sass me, probably. But I shut it with a kiss. Deep. Slow. I taste myself on her tongue and moan into it. She groans, fingers digging into my hips.
When I pull back, I whisper, “Lay down for me.”
Her eyes darken. “You sure?”
“You just made me come on your face,” I say with a soft smirk. “I’m very sure.”
She chuckles, but there’s heat there—surprise, too. Like she’s not used to being handled. Not like this.
I guide her down, slow. Kiss her the whole way. Hands on her ribs, then her sides, then her waistband. I don’t rush. I drag her pants down like I’m unwrapping something rare. Something forbidden.
She lets me. Lets me kneel between her legs, lets me push her thighs apart, lets me kiss the inside of her knee, her inner thigh, the curve of her hipbone.
I look up. “You’re beautiful like this.”
Her jaw tightens. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I do.”
Her breath catches. Her hips twitch under my hands.
I kiss her again—lower this time. “You need this, don’t you?” She nods, barely.
“Say it.”
“I need it,” she whispers.
“Who you need?”
“You.”
“Good.”
Then I dive in. No teasing now. No light licks or shy kisses. I eat like I’m trying to make her forget. Like her pussy’s the last meal I’ll ever get. I suck on her clit like I own it. Sloppy, messy, loud.
My tongue slides everywhere—inside her, around her, circling like I’m drawing constellations between her legs. She gasps—back arching, hands flying to my hair. “Fuck!”
That’s right. Fuck.
She tries to stay quiet. Royal. Controlled. But I don’t let her. I moan against her. Suck harder. Grip her thighs and pull her closer like I’m drowning in her and loving it.
“Shit—baby, wait,” she pants. “You—you…”
I hum against her. “Mmm?”
“Fuck”
I chuckle. Keep going. Faster now. Sloppier. My face is buried so deep I’m not even coming up for air. Her slick is everywhere. All over my chin, my nose, my cheeks. And I love it.
She’s shaking. Legs trembling.
“You gone come for me?” I murmur against her clit, flicking my tongue just the way she needs.
“Yes—yes, yes, yes!”
Her back arches off the couch. Her thighs clamp around my head. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not when she’s like this—voice cracking, body twitching, mouth open in something between a sob and a moan.
“Shit—don’t stop!”
She falls apart. Hard. Wet. Loud. My name stumbles out of her mouth like she can’t hold it in anymore. I keep licking through it, swallowing everything she gives me, moaning into her like I want her to feel me from the inside out.
When she finally relaxes, boneless and dazed, I press one more kiss to her clit—gentle now. Then her thigh. Then her stomach as I crawl back up.
Her chest is heaving. Face flushed. Eyes glassy.
“Still good?” I whisper.
She nods slowly, then pulls me into a kiss that says everything. Her tongue tastes like herself now. Like she wants more. Like she might not ever let me go.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” she breathes.
I smile against her mouth. “That’s the plan.”
She’s still breathing heavy when I tuck a kiss beneath her ear. Her body’s relaxed under me, but I can feel the tension curling back in—not stress, not grief, just the heat of need. Still humming through her bloodstream like she ain’t even halfway satisfied.
I stroke her side. “You okay?”
She nods slowly, then turns her face toward mine. Her eyes are lazy, warm, and hungry.
“Not here.”
I blink. “Huh?”
“I want to take you home.”
It’s not even a question. It’s barely a whisper. But it hits like a full-body chill.
I smile. “Yeah?”
She nods. “This couch too small. These walls too public. And you…” Her voice drops. “You make me greedy.”
“You sure you’re ready for that?”
She exhales a laugh. “You just sucked the strength out my legs and kissed me like we were married. I’m already in too deep.”
I grin, cheeks warm. “Say less.”
I help her up—she wobbles a bit, grabs my waist for balance, and mutters something sharp in Xhosa that makes me laugh.
“See? Weak in the knees.”
“Shut up,” she mumbles. “Wait ‘til I get you horizontal. I’m reclaiming the throne.”
“Oh, I’m scared.”
“You should be.”
We don’t waste time. The guards are still outside, but she waves them off with a sharp flick of her hand. One glance at her swollen lips, at the way I’m clinging to her arm in this little black dress, and they know better than to ask questions.
The hover transport is quiet. Smooth. She keeps one hand on my thigh the whole ride—thumb stroking soft circles like she’s grounding herself, like she needs to touch me to stay upright. Her other hand eventually slides up, fingers weaving with mine.
“You okay?” I whisper, squeezing her palm.
She nods once, eyes locked on mine. “For the first time in a long time.”
The palace glows under the moonlight—slick and elegant, but cold in the way royal things always are. Until we walk in, and she leads me past the halls and empty corridors to her private wing. Her room smells like sage and sandalwood.
The bed’s massive. The lights adjust to her mood the second the doors close. That’s when I see it.
Her shoulders drop. Not in defeat. In release. She’s safe now. And she brought me into it.
I step in front of her, reaching up to tug her shirt over her head. She lifts her arms wordlessly. Then kisses me slow. Deep. No rush. Just home.
“Shuri,” I whisper between breaths, “you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure,” she says, thumb brushing my bottom lip. “I’m tired of holding back. Tonight, I want to feel everything. With you.”
My heart thumps. “Then let me make you feel it again.”
Her mouth finds mine once more. We fall into bed, tangle ourselves into the sheets, and this time, we don’t need to be quiet.
In the morning, the crown will still be hers. But tonight she’s just mine. I plan to keep it that way.
note: hiiii! posting at 4am because i'm awake. i just wanted to write something christmas! (ignore the fact that christmas was like 4 days ago hehe) it’s still december so it counts! shouts out to everyone who celebrates christmas, it's my favorite holiday and i had an amazing time with my family and my baby! hope yous guys enjoy! mwah mwahh <333
A dark SUV hummed down the quiet suburban street, passing houses decked out in blinking Christmas lights. Inside, Shuri sat stiffly, her long legs awkwardly folded in the backseat. She stared out the tinted window, her face blank, though the garish decorations outside tugged at her patience. Beside her, you scrolled through your phone, completely unaware of the war Shuri was waging against her annoyance.
“So,” you began, breaking the silence and glancing at Shuri, “since this is your first Christmas with my family, let me give you a little heads-up about what to expect.”
Shuri arched an eyebrow but didn’t pull her gaze from the blinking lights. “Please. Enlighten me. I wouldn’t want to embarrass the royal family of Wakanda by mishandling your… peculiar customs.”
You smirked. “Right. Well, first, there’s Auntie Regina. We love her, the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, but…”
“But?” Shuri prompted, still not looking at you.
“But she has no concept of boundaries or personal space. She’ll embrace you like she raised you and ask you a hundred invasive questions about our sex life before dessert.”
“Wonderful,” Shuri deadpanned. “I'm looking forward to all of that.”
You grinned. “Oh, and there’s my grandmother, Big Mama. She’s… rude.”
“How rude?”
“Think of someone who’ll tell you your outfit is ugly and then say, ‘But you’re pretty anyway, baby.’ She’s old, so she gets away with it, and because none of us really wanna argue with her.”
Shuri’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as she finally turned to glance at you. “I’ll keep that in mind. What else?”
“My Uncle Ray,” you continued, “will inevitably corner you and start talking about how vibranium is the key to liberating us and leading us back to the motherland.”
Shuri turned fully to face you, her expression incredulous. “You’re joking.”
“’Fraid not. He’s big into Hotep Twitter, unfortunately.”
Shuri let out a low groan, leaning back in her seat. “Fantastic. A man who will explain my own culture to me. I cannot wait.”
“Oh don’t pout, baby. You’ll be fine. I grew up around them, and look how well I turned out!” You shot her a cheesy smile, clearly enjoying her discomfort.
“Yeah, the jury is still out on that one.”
You tossed her a warning look. “Shut up. Besides, my parents and sister are pretty normal, all things considered, but they might ask you if Wakanda celebrates Christmas.”
“We don’t,” Shuri said flatly.
“I know that. You know that. But they’ll ask. Just smile and nod. Oh, and then there’s a tradition we do every year, cookie karaoke.”
Shuri blinked. “What in Bast’s name is cookie karaoke?”
You beamed, your eyes lighting up in a way that made Shuri’s irritation dampen, though she’d never admit it. That's how she knew she was in love with you, no one else could make her tolerate such nonsense.
“We bake cookies, decorate them, and sing Christmas carols,” You explained.
Shuri tilted her head, unimpressed. “You voluntarily make yourselves look ridiculous for sugar and noise?”
“Yup! Doesn’t it sound soo fun?”
“Right…,” Shuri muttered, shaking her head.
“And let’s not forget the Family Christmas Dance-Off,” You added.
“Oh no.” Shuri mumbled.
“Every year, someone picks a random Christmas song, and we all take turns making up dances to it. Last year, my mom won with her rendition of ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’”
Shuri’s jaw tightened as she tried—and failed—not to laugh. “And yet, somehow, Wakanda is called primitive.”
You smirked. “All of this too much for you, Princess?”
Shuri gave you a pointed look. “Not at all. I happen to thrive in chaos.”
“Good, because my sister already warned Big Mama that I’m bringing a ‘real-life princess’ to dinner, so expect a lot of questions about why you don’t have a tiara.”
Shuri sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “Why must I be punished in this way?”
You leaned in, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Because you agreed to date me.”
“If only I knew back then what dating you would entail.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Princess. Do you want that present with your name on it to go to my nephew?”
Shuri gave you a look. “You wouldn’t dare be mean to me on Cwismas.” She mocked.
“Try me,” you shot back, just as the driver pulled into the driveway of a cheerfully lit house, where a giant inflatable Santa Claus waved from the lawn.
Shuri glanced at the display, her mouth already opening for a quip, but you cut her off. “Save it,” you warned, pinching her side playfully. “And not a word about the nativity scene on the mantle.”
“Ah yes, your beloved baby Jesus, born on Christmas Day. I suppose I should just keep all of my thoughts about Christianity and organized religion to myself too then, huh?”
“If you know what’s good for you…”
Shuri sighed, stepping out of the car and straightening her coat. “For the record,” she muttered, “I’m only doing this because I love you.”
She walked around to your side, opening your door with an exaggerated air of chivalry.
“Love you too, Princess,” you said, taking her hand as you stepped out.
Shuri thanked the driver in Xhosa before the two of you trudged through the snow and up the driveway, bags in tow. As you reached the front steps of the brightly lit house, Shuri paused, taking in the overwhelming spectacle of decorations. The lawn was a circus of inflatable reindeer, twinkling lights, and an oversized Santa that loomed ominously over it all, as if mocking her.
It was… unsettling, to say the least.
“So, is the tradition to make your home visible from space?” Shuri questioned, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m tempted to send T’Challa satellite images just to see if he can spot this… thing.” She gestured to the display.
You rolled your eyes. “Play nice, remember? And I’ll have you know, I was the one who picked Snowy out when I was three. He’s one of the few important men in my life—I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you.”
Shuri couldn’t muster a response, so she just chuckled softly, muttering something to herself in her native language.
Before you could even reach the door, it swung open, and a high-pitched voice squealed, “My baby is home! She’s home!”
The Princess took a deep breath, the frosty air grounding her as she prepared herself. This is going to be a long night.
•••
“Hi Auntie Regina! It’s good to be home, I missed you!” you called out, stepping into her warm embrace.
Shuri hung back as your family swarmed you, hugging and exclaiming over you with a fervor she could barely comprehend. But the relief of being overlooked didn’t last long.
“You must be Shuri!” Auntie Regina declared, her eyes lighting up as she set her sights on the Princess. “Ahh, I was so excited to set my eyes on you! All them pictures she sent us of you, I just knew you’d be finer in person. And I was right!”
Before Shuri could react, she was pulled into a suffocating hug. Auntie Regina kissed both her cheeks with an enthusiasm that left Shuri momentarily stunned.
“Uh… thank you, Auntie,” Shuri said, her voice slightly strained.
“And she’s polite too! You could learn a thing or two from her, Harold,” Auntie Regina called over her shoulder to a man who Shuri assumed was her husband. His unimpressed grunt made Shuri fight back a laugh.
Her eyes darted to you, silently pleading for help, and you were at her side in seconds. “Auntie, give her some space, please,” you urged gently.
The house was warm and loud, the clinking of dishes mingling with the chatter of your family. As Shuri made her way through a sea of introductions, she finally found a familiar face in your older sister Tayla. The two exchanged a hug, and Shuri sighed quietly in relief.
“Big step,” Tayla teased. “Meeting the family on Christmas. Very brave.”
Shuri chuckled. “Bravery comes naturally when you’re in love. And when you’ve faced worse threats than cookie karaoke.”
“Fair point. But I fear you might be overestimating your patience here, friend.”
Shuri’s grin faltered, and Tayla laughed hysterically. “Stick close. It’s gonna be a ride.”
Big Mama was the last to greet her, her face etched into a permanent scowl as she squinted critically at Shuri.
“You’re too skinny to be a princess, but I guess that’s what they’re doing these days. At least you’re pretty.”
“Ndiyavuya ukukwazi,” Shuri said automatically, her nerves edging her voice into her native tongue.
Big Mama’s eyes narrowed. “What you say to me, child?”
Before Shuri could explain, you stepped in, your tone calming but firm. “She said ‘nice to meet you’, Big Mama. Ndiyavuya ukukwazi means nice to meet you in Xhosa. Shuri speaks Xhosa.”
“Well, how I’m posed to know that, girl? I don’t speak no Koshi, I speak English,” Big Mama replied dismissively.
“Who’s ready to eat?!” your mother interrupted, clearly eager to diffuse the situation. “I hope you like ham, Princess. If not, we have chicken. If you don’t eat meat at all, well…”
Shuri laughed dryly, though her discomfort was plain. “Please, call me Shuri. And it’s fine, I’m more than okay with both.”
“Oh good!”
“Wouldn’t want the pig you roasted in Jesus’ name to go to waste,” Shuri muttered under her breath. She knew you’d heard her by the way your hand squeezed hers, a silent warning as you guided her to the dining table.
Dinner was an ordeal. Your father, clearly unsure of how to address her, finally worked up the nerve. “So, Shuri… What’s Christmas like in Wakanda?”
Shuri’s smile was tight. “We don’t celebrate Christmas in Wakanda,” she said politely.
“Really? No Christmas trees? No carols?”
“Unfortunately, no. No trees, no carols, no man in a red suit watching everyone like some omnipresent security drone,” Shuri replied, her tone edging toward sarcasm. “But we do have annual festivals to honor Bast. It’s a bit more… dignified.”
You kicked her lightly under the table, giving her a pointed look. Shuri shot you a smug glance in return.
“Well, that’s interesting,” your mom said quickly, attempting to smooth over the awkward moment.
Uncle Ray, however, had other plans. “What kind of uneducated question is that, brother-in-law? You should know better,” he began, turning to Shuri with an air of self-importance. “See, he lacks the intellectual capacity to understand what we already know, Princess. He don’t know we celebrating the white man’s holiday. We don’t do this at home in Wakanda.”
Shuri bit the inside of her cheek to suppress an eye roll.
“I have this podcast,” Uncle Ray continued, “where I discuss the connection between my ancestors and Wakandan royalty, and I would do anything to have you on as a guest. What do you say? Can I pick your brain?”
You sighed beside her, answering before she could. “She’s not doing your podcast, Uncle Ray.”
“I’m afraid she’s right,” Shuri added smoothly. “My schedule is regrettably full. However, I wouldn’t mind you sending me a link to your next episode. I’m beyond curious to find out how you believe vibranium metallurgy made its way into your DNA.”
The sarcasm in her voice was lost on Uncle Ray, who nodded enthusiastically. “Oh for sure, Princess! For sure!”
Shuri didn’t have time to dwell on the absurdity because you kicked her shin again. She yelped, all eyes turning to her. “So! What time is cookie karaoke?” she blurted out, and to her surprise, the table went along with the change in subject.
“Soon as I get the gingerbreads out the oven, sweet pea! Wanna make sure they're nice and hot for you Princess.” Auntie Regina called, winking at Shuri.
You rolled your eyes at the interaction, shaking your head, while Tayla smirked knowingly across the table. Shuri leaned toward you. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes,” the entire table replied in unison, and Shuri couldn’t help but laugh.
•••
Despite her initial reluctance, Shuri found herself enjoying your family’s quirky traditions more than she expected. Though she staunchly refused to sing during cookie karaoke, she threw herself into building and decorating gingerbread houses with your nephew and little cousins. Her natural knack for leadership—and engineering—soon captivated the kids.
“Building a gingerbread house is just like constructing a real one, but much tastier,” she declared, carefully aligning a graham cracker wall with royal icing. The children watched her in awe as she explained. “You need a solid foundation. That’s where physics comes in.”
“What’s physics?” your nephew asked, wide-eyed.
Shuri smiled, “Physics is science. It’s what keeps everything balanced. Without it, these gingerbread houses would collapse faster than your Uncle Ray’s podcast audience.” She muttered the last part low enough for only the kids to hear, prompting a chorus of giggles.
Across the room, she caught your eye, warmth spreading through her as you matched her smile.
The dance-off was next—and predictably chaotic. The theme song this year was Jingle Bell Rock, and Shuri, appointed DJ, cackled as your dad attempted a moonwalk. The winner, however, was your brother-in-law, whose interpretive dance moved everyone to tears. Apparently, he had been rehearsing since June, determined to tell a "story" with his moves.
Though Shuri loved every absurd second, what she cherished most was seeing your joy—your laughter, your never-fading smile. It made the chaos worthwhile. She could get used to the sight, these feelings—all of it—forever.
As the night wore on, your mom wrangled the younger kids toward bed. “Santa won’t come until you’re asleep,” she reminded them, ignoring their groans of protest. Your nephew rubbed his sleepy eyes, whining,
“But Grammyyyy!”
“Don’t ‘but Grammy’ me,” she replied, shooing them downstairs to the spare room.
You approached Shuri, your grin soft and teasing. “You ready to head up?”
She looped her arm around your waist, her gaze locked on yours. “Lead the way, Mtuwam.”
Just as the two of you began to slip away, Auntie Regina popped up beside you, her grin mischievous. “Uh oh! Mistletoe!” she sang, pointing above your heads.
You both looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway. Shuri shot you an incredulous look. “Do you people plan this?”
Before she could ramble about the parasitic nature of mistletoe, you cupped her face, smirking. “Just kiss me before Auntie Regina has an aneurysm.”
Shuri chuckled, her annoyance fading as she pulled you in for a soft, lingering kiss. When she finally released you, Auntie Regina squealed, “Merry Christmas, you two!” and engulfed you both in a rib-crushing hug before retreating to her room.
•••
Later, as you changed into your Christmas pajamas, Shuri sat on the edge of the bed, watching with an exaggerated pout.
“Can’t believe you’re teasing me like this,” she muttered. “You’re wearing those pants, and I’m supposed to behave?”
You laughed, crawling into bed beside her. “Relax.”
“Impossible,” she grumbled, though her pout melted when she noticed you eyeing the bedside clock.
“You have somewhere to be?” she asked, suspicious.
“No.” You replied. “Just waiting.”
Moments later, you leapt up. “It’s time!”
“For what?” Shuri asked, bewildered.
“For your present!”
She groaned, “Is the present in your pants?”
You rolled your eyes, tugging on her arm, “No.”
“Then tell Santa I don't want it.” She grumbled, trailing after you as you led her downstairs. The house was quiet now, bathed in the warm glow of the Christmas tree. You reached under the branches, retrieving a gold-wrapped box.
Turning to Shuri, you handed it to her with a soft smile. “Merry Christmas, Princess.”
Shuri opened the box to reveal a sleek vibranium disc engraved with a star map. Her fingers traced the constellations—familiar ones, marking the sky over Wakanda on the day she was born.
“Mtuwam…,” she whispered, her voice softer than usual. “How did you—?”
“I figured you have everything, so I wanted to give you something personal,” you said shyly. “Something that reminds you how much you mean to me.”
Shuri set the gift down carefully before leaning in, her lips brushing yours. “I adore it. I adore you, Ntomb’am. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her.
“I have a present for you, too,” Shuri announced, her tone mischievous.
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it?”
“My mouth,” she quipped, grabbing your hand and tugging you upstairs.
You laughed as she backed you against the hallway wall, peppering kisses along your neck. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, I always seem to get what I want.”
•••
The next morning, the family gathered around the tree to unwrap presents. Shuri fidgeted with the small box in her pocket, nervous yet determined.
“Tt, these are from Shuri!” your nephew yelled, handing you two beautifully wrapped packages.
“Shuri…,” you said, touched.
Inside the first box was a minimalist cuff bracelet made of brushed vibranium. She watched as you ran your fingers across the letters written there, no doubt translating the words in your head with ease.
“My heart is yours too, my love.” You looked over at her.
The second box revealed a pair of delicate panther-head stud earrings, shimmering as they caught the light. “Shuri…”
“When you wear them,” Shuri explained, “they sync to your heartbeat, listening so they may always protect you.”
Overwhelmed, you crawled across the sea of wrapping paper to throw your arms around her. “I love you. I love them.”
The family erupted into “awws,” startling Shuri, who had momentarily forgotten they were there.
Then, Shuri stood, dropping to one knee. “Mtuwam,” she began, her voice steady but heartfelt. “I didn’t understand this holiday or its traditions, but being here with you has opened my eyes. You’ve made me see the beauty in things I never thought I’d appreciate. And I want to spend the rest of my life seeing the world through your eyes. Will you marry me?”
“Are you serious?”
Shuri smirked. “Deadly.”
The room went silent. Shuri opened the box to reveal a custom ring: a round violet diamond set in a sleek vibranium band. Your jaw dropped, tears spilling as you struggled to speak.
“You better say yes before I do.” Auntie Regina blurted out.
“Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” you exclaimed, pulling her to her feet and kissing her deeply. The room exploded into cheers, Auntie Regina shouting, “Best Christmas ever!”
Shuri smirked as she watched the chaos. “As a gift to everyone,” she announced, “I’d like to invite you all to Wakanda.”
More cheers erupted, with Uncle Ray hollering, “Hell yeah! We going home, family!”
Later, curled beside Shuri on the couch, you admired the bracelet and earrings she’d given you. “A trip to Wakanda? Did you just make that up?”
She grinned. “Absolutely. But look how happy they are.”
You laughed, leaning against her shoulder. And for the first time, Shuri allowed herself to admit that she liked Christmas, all because of the joy it brought you.
And perhaps, just perhaps, she was already planning how to surprise you at the next Wakandan festival.
Summary: When a rising musician and Wakanda’s brilliant princess cross paths, sparks fly—but distance, duty, and misunderstanding threaten to keep them apart. Will they figure out exactly what they want?
Word Count: 4.8K
Warnings: Miscommunication, mentions of the mistreatment of Peter Parker (aka everyone forgetting him in N* W** H***), no smut? idk if that's a warning.
12AM, Havana, Cuba
The plane lands with a jolt that pulls you out of a shallow doze, Havana sunlight spilling in through the oval window before the engines have even begun to wind down. You should be buzzing—new city, new venue, a chance to make an impression in a place you’ve never played before—but your first thought is of her.
By the time you’ve stepped into the terminal and your phone is out of airplane mode, you’re already calling. The line clicks and there’s the faint background hum you know too well: lab equipment, faint beeps, a low whir like the heartbeat of Wakanda’s technology.
“Happy birthday, Princess,” you say, smiling into the phone even though she can’t see it.
“Mm,” Shuri murmurs, and it’s not the kind of sound that makes you feel warm. “You’ve landed?”
“Just now. And you—what are you doing in your lab?” You lean against a wall while the crowd swells past you, bags rolling and voices bouncing off tiled floors.
“I have things to finish,” she says, and the clipped edge is subtle but it stings. “It’s fine.”
“It’s your birthday, love. Shouldn’t you be out? Or at least not working?”
“I didn’t feel like going anywhere,” she says simply.
Your chest tightens. You picture her at one of her stations, alone, the cool light of the holograms casting soft blue shadows across her face. You swallow, then switch into a brighter tone. “Okay, Griot, light a candle for her. The fancy kind. She deserves it.”
There’s a faint flicker through the line, and you can hear Shuri huff a small laugh despite herself.
“Now blow it out for me,” you say. “Make a wish. Something good. Maybe about me.”
Her laugh fades quickly, replaced by a silence that you try not to read into. “Wish made,” she says quietly.
“Good. Now… try to take the day off, hm? Go sit in the gardens. Play with Riri’s hoverboard. Eat something ridiculous. Relax. You deserve it.”
There’s a pause, long enough that you think she’s going to protest. Instead, she says, “Have a good show tonight.” The click of the phone call ending reverberates through the room.
7AM, London, England
Your phone buzzes against the nightstand, far too insistent for this early in the morning. You squint at the screen—Shuri—and despite the heaviness in your eyes, you swipe to answer.
“’Lo?” Your voice is a husky mess, and you flop onto your back, dragging the covers with you.
“Sorry for calling so early,” she says, and even through the sleep-fog you can hear it: the excitement fizzing in her voice. “But I made a breakthrough. The design I’ve been working on for weeks—it finally works.”
That slices right through your exhaustion. “Wait, really? Shuri, that’s amazing!” You push yourself upright, rubbing your face, already grinning. “Tell me everything.”
She does, rapid-fire—details about a stabilising element you barely understand, her words tumbling over each other like she’s afraid they’ll escape her head if she doesn’t get them out fast enough. You nod along, smiling, even as you shuffle into the bathroom to brush your teeth.
By the time you’re lacing your boots, the grey London morning is staring back at you through the window. The trees outside sway hard in the wind, the kind that sneaks into your bones, so you bundle yourself into a scarf and coat before stepping out to hunt for coffee.
“You should go,” she says after a while, softer now. “I know you were up late last night performing.”
“I’ll be fine,” you murmur, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pull your scarf tighter.
There’s a beat of silence, then—
“I love you.”
You freeze mid-step, warmth blooming up your neck despite the cold. It’s new, the way she says it, and it’s unguarded in a way that makes your heart flutter.
You bite back a smile. “Sod off.”
Her laugh is a low, rich thing that you carry with you down the street. “You’re cute,” she teases, and you hang up before she can hear the way you’re smiling like an idiot.
The wind bites at your cheeks as you queue for coffee, but your fingers are already typing before you’ve even ordered:
i love you too.
5PM, A Coruña, Spain
The golden hour light spills over La Coruña like it’s been painted just for you—streets glowing, sea breeze curling through the open-air restaurant, your friends laughing loud enough to turn heads. The table is crowded with plates of seafood, sweating glasses, and the kind of holiday chaos you’d normally sink into without thinking.
But your mind is elsewhere.
You swirl the condensation on your drink with your thumb, nodding absently as someone tells a story you’ve already lost track of. All you can picture is her—head bent over a desk in the palace, her brow furrowed in concentration, the low blue glow of Wakanda’s tech lighting her face. She hasn’t called in days. Weeks, maybe. And it’s not that you’re angry—how could you be? She’s doing what she has to do. You just… wish you were there. Not to fix anything, not to pull her away, but just to exist beside her while she bears it all.
“Come on,” one of your friends says, nudging your arm, “there’s a guy at the bar who’s been staring at you for twenty minutes.”
You smile politely and shake your head. “Not tonight.”
“Alright, what about that girl from earlier? She was totally into you.”
You wave them off again. It’s easier than explaining the truth—that your heart is already spoken for, and not in any way they’d expect. It’s yours to keep quiet, to protect from the noise of other people’s opinions.
Hours later, the night winds down into the clumsy shuffle home. You’re flushed from too much wine and the lingering salt air, shoes dangling from your fingers. The apartment is quiet when you slip inside, and it’s only then—half-drunk, half-lonely—that you pull out your phone.
miss you.
You hit send before you can overthink it, collapsing onto the bed with your coat still on. The room tilts faintly when you close your eyes.
There’s no reply from her. You don’t expect one—not when you know how deep she gets when she’s working. But a moment later, a voice note appears in response. Griot's robotic voice is soft through your phone’s speaker.
“She misses you too.”
You would never admit that you fell asleep and woke up with a smile plastered on your face.
2AM, Bogotá, Colombia
The roar of the crowd is still in your ears when you step out of the stadium into the warm Colombian night, adrenaline fading into a bone-deep exhaustion. Your throat is raw, hair sticking to your temples, sweat dripping down your skin, but you can still feel the buzz of the music in your chest.
You forgo getting unready in the dressing room, anxious to get back to your hotel and into the shower before bed, so you fall into step behind your new security. She's tall, poised, unreadable most of the time. She's only been on the team for a month, a recommendation from your old security guard, Larry, who retired to Ireland after a long, illustrious career. So far, Anita has proved to be a very competent security guard.
As she holds the door open for you, she says in a low, certain voice, "Her Royal Highness wishes to speak with you when we reach the hotel."
That pulls a smile out of you despite the tiredness sinking into your skin. "Yeah? Alright." The thought of her voice, her laugh, makes the thought of getting back even more enticing.
Except the second the car starts moving, the exhaustion swallows you whole. The city lights blur in the window, and before you know it, your head tips back against the seat, eyes sliding shut.
Somewhere far away, you can hear Anita's voice, speaking to someone too far into the abyss for you tell who they are: “She’s asleep.”
You are almost certain that Shuri's voice fills the car after a pause, but you chalk it up to wishful thinking.
Leave it. I will talk to her in the morning.
Morning comes late for you, sunlight slipping past the curtains in thin stripes. The first thing you do—before coffee, before even sitting up—is check your phone.
Nothing.
You try calling. Once. Twice. No answer.
You sigh, before grabbing your night bag. Onwards and upwards, as they say.
11PM, San Salvador, El Salvador
The ocean is ink-dark under the San Salvador night, waves folding in on themselves in a rhythm you could almost mistake for breathing. You lean against the balcony railing, salty air curling into your hair, the hum of distant music from the city behind you.
The first raindrops are light—cool specks against your arms—when your phone starts to ring. Shuri.
“Hey, love,” you say, smiling into the darkness.
Her voice is warm, but not quite as soft as you’re used to. You trade a few words—how your show went, what the weather’s like there, a couple of jokes that get small laughs from her. But there’s something in the pauses. A weight in the way she exhales before answering.
You can hear it—the faint clink of tools, the low hum of the lab—and you imagine her pacing between stations, mind half in your conversation and half somewhere else entirely.
“You sound tired,” you say gently.
“I’m fine,” she replies quickly, too quickly.
You tell yourself she’s just busy, that you’re imagining the way her tone feels distant, like she’s already stepping away even while still on the line. It’s just me, you think. Just my brain making something out of nothing.
The rain thickens, dripping from your hair, your fingertips. You wrap your free arm around yourself, grounding your voice in lightness. “I should let you get back to it. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
She hums something that could be agreement, could be goodbye, but she hangs up before you can decipher it. You place your phone back into your pocket, now soaked by midnight rain, and stare out at the blurred line where the sea meets the night sky, and convince yourself that everything’s fine.
It has to be.
1AM, Los Angeles, California
Eight Months Ago...
The club is drenched in neon and bass. The air smells of perfume and smoke, of something sweet you can’t name. You’re leaning against the bar, half-lost in the crowd, when she appears, dressed all in dark clothing, leather hugging her in all the right places, and the sunglasses hide her eyes, but somehow you can still feel the intensity of her gaze.
She’s tall, impossibly tall, but what really catches your attention are the sneakers—sleek, stylish, somehow effortlessly perfect—and you’re instantly jealous. The way she carries herself, weight shifted slightly to one hip, one hand tucked in a pocket, makes it clear she owns the room without even trying. In the dim light, the coils piled on top of her head catch hints of the neon, and you can’t help but stare, mesmerized.
You're not subtle. She notices your staring and smirks. Your face heats up as you turn around, mortified, looking for anyone you might know that could rescue you from yourself.
A voice startles you out of your spiralling: "Can I buy you a drink?"
Your mouth goes dry as she tilts her head, smirking in a way that makes the world feel smaller somehow. You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corner of your lip. “Nah… I’m good. Prefer to smoke instead.”
Her laugh is soft, knowing, and it lingers in your chest longer than it should. “Fair. Want to get out of here?”
Shuri’s hand rests lightly on the small of your back as she guides you to her car. The city lights streak past, warm against the night, and you can’t stop talking—about the music, the absurdity of the club, some joke someone made, anything that bubbles up from your adrenaline.
She glances at you through the rearview mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips, but doesn’t interrupt. Her plan was simple: drive you back, maybe take this somewhere more… private. But the way your words tumble over each other, your eyes sparkling in the low light, it catches her off guard.
By the time you reach her hotel, you’re rambling about some ridiculous tangent on music and travel and the best snacks for late-night munchies. She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re… kind of ridiculous,” she says, but there’s warmth there, the kind that softens the world around her.
And just like that, the tension she’d intended to build dissolves. She sits down on the edge of the bed, and you flop beside her, still talking, still laughing. Every time you pause, she leans closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face, the kind of small gestures that make your chest tighten.
Hours pass without notice. You talk about dreams and fears, music and science, the things you’d never tell anyone else. Every word, every laugh, every quiet moment builds a bridge between you two that feels effortless and infinite.
Eventually, your voice softens, sentences trailing off. Shuri reaches out, her fingers tangling with yours. You shift, instinctively, until your legs and arms are intertwined, warm bodies pressed together.
Sleep comes slowly, comfortably, like it’s always been waiting for this exact moment. And when you wake, it’s still night outside, but the quiet contentment of having her next to you feels enough—more than enough.
The sunlight is bright through the curtains, and you’re already awake, tangled up in blankets and limbs, humming softly to yourself. You glance at Shuri, still half-asleep, hair messy and jaw relaxed, and decide she needs to move.
“Come on,” you say, shaking her shoulder gently. “We’re going hiking. Now.”
She groans, burying her face in the pillow. “Hiking? At this hour?”
“Yes. It’s perfect morning-hiking weather,” you insist, tugging her toward the bathroom so she can get ready. She resists for a moment, but the stubborn little smile creeping onto her face gives away that she won’t actually argue too long.
By the time you reach the trail, the crisp air hits her, and she takes a deep breath, squinting at the view. You’re bouncing ahead, pointing out trees, rocks, and the ridiculous shapes of clouds. She watches you—your energy, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you talk—and a strange, warm realization settles in her chest.
You pause at a ridge, looking out over the valley below, and she’s silent for a moment, trying to pin down what exactly she’s feeling. Then it clicks: this—this crazy, unpredictable, utterly charming person dragging her out of bed and making her climb a hill at dawn—this is exactly the kind of thing that makes her heart race without warning.
She smiles at you, and it’s different from before. Softer, slower, more aware. She’s infatuated, and there’s no way around it.
“Why are you smiling like that?” you ask, catching the glance.
“Nothing,” she says quickly, though her voice betrays her. “Just… enjoying the view.”
You raise an eyebrow, teasing, but you don’t press it. You just keep walking, hand brushing against hers, and the world feels impossibly wide and impossibly small at the same time.
9PM, Malasena, Spain
The party in Maláseña is electric—laughter bouncing off the walls, champagne corks popping, and congratulations flying in every direction. People are genuinely thrilled for you, cheering about your nominations, taking photos, and filling the room with energy. But no matter how good it feels, there’s a hollow spot in your chest, the one that only Shuri can fill.
By the time you make it back to your hotel, your feet are aching, your hair a little tousled, and your smile tired. You open the door to your room and pause—room service is waiting, but not just any meal. It’s yours, exactly as you like it, and your phone buzzes almost immediately.
It’s Shuri. She’s on video call, grinning, sitting in her lab somewhere in Wakanda. And there she is, plate in front of her, identical to yours.
“Thought you might like some company,” she says softly.
You laugh, your exhaustion melting into warmth. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Of course I did,” she says, shrugging, trying to play it casual, but you catch the glint in her eye. “I figured we could eat together… sort of.”
So that’s what you do. You sit on your bed, fork in hand, and she mirrors you on her side of the screen. You smile and dig in.
4PM, New York City, USA
—finally—you’re back in your apartment. The city hums outside, indifferent, while you kick off your shoes and collapse onto the couch. Six months of constant travel have left you tired, wired, and slightly on edge.
Scrolling through your phone doesn’t help. The internet is full of comments about you being “single,” speculation on your love life—or lack thereof—and you feel that familiar tightness in your chest. You sigh, tossing your phone onto the coffee table, and decide you need a distraction.
The grocery store feels like a lifeline. You grab your jacket, pull on sneakers, and step into the bustling streets. The walk there is brisk, wind tugging at your hair, and the familiar rhythm of the city—honking taxis, chatter from cafes, the scent of roasted nuts from a street cart—starts to ground you.
The bag in your hand swings lightly as you walk back to your apartment, the sun dipping low over the city streets. You’re half lost in your thoughts—what to make for dinner, how nice it feels to finally be home—when you notice someone leaning against the wall outside your building.
He’s… kind of unassuming, but there’s something quietly interesting about him. Brown hair a little messy, hoodie zipped up too high, hands shoved in his pockets. He notices you looking and straightens up, blinking as if caught off guard.
“Uh… hey,” he says, voice a little hesitant.
“Hey,” you reply with a small, warm smile. “I live in the building. You new here?”
He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie. “Yeah… been here a couple weeks. Just… keeping to myself mostly.”
There’s something endearing about the way he keeps glancing away, like he’s unsure whether to trust your friendliness. You decide to push your social exhaustion aside and extend a little kindness.
“Well, I’m about to make dinner,” you say casually, shrugging the grocery bag higher on your shoulder. “If you want, you could… um… come over? I don’t bite. I make a decent pasta.”
His eyes widen slightly, surprise and a little hope flickering across his face. “Really? You’d… let me?”
“Sure,” you say, grinning. “Consider it an invitation. No pressure. Just… company, maybe.”
He laughs softly, a little awkward but genuine, and nods. “Yeah… I’d like that. Thanks.”
He insists on carrying the rest of the groceries, muttering that it’s no problem, and you let him, secretly amused by how eager he seems. By the time you get into the apartment, the kitchen is alive with the clatter of pots, the scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil, and the faint hum of the city outside.
You hand him a cutting board and a knife, and he follows your instructions with a careful, almost shy attentiveness. There’s something comforting in the simplicity of it—chopping vegetables, stirring sauce, teasing each other over minor kitchen mishaps. For a while, the weight of travel, internet drama, and even missing Shuri drifts away.
Then your phone buzzes on the counter. It’s Shuri. You pick up immediately, excitement and warmth blooming, ready to hear her voice. Peter slips out the door as Shuri's face pops, quietly whispering about the 'bathroom' and 'privacy'.
“Hey,” you say, smiling at the sound of her name.
“Hello?” There’s a strange edge to her tone, quiet but sharp. “Who’s with you?”
Your heart stutters. “Uh… no one? Just… Peter—my neighbor? He’s helping me with dinner because I have too many groceries.”
There’s a pause on the line, tense and heavy. “Dinner?” she asks slowly. “You… you’re cooking with someone else? On your own? Alone?”
You frown. "Umm, yes? Peter's new in the building and he seems sweet. And lonely." You add as an afterthought, under your breath.
Her voice wavers, a mix of frustration and hurt. “I… I just… I can’t believe you would…”
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Shuri, listen. You’re the only one I care about. I miss you. I’d never—never—cheat on you. I promise. I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight, that’s all.”
There’s silence on the line, longer this time. You hear her breathe, tense and uneven.
“I… I don’t think this is working,” she says finally, her voice tight but quiet. “I… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough, like I’m losing you to everything else around you.”
Your chest tightens. You open your mouth, but the words won’t come. You carry a bowl of salad to the table as Peter reappears, but he wisely doesn't say anything about the few tears that have slipped down the side of your face.
11PM, Managua, Nicaragua
The arena is buzzing with energy, but you can barely hear it over the drum of your own heartbeat. It’s been three weeks since you last spoke to Shuri—three weeks of silence, of texts unanswered, calls ignored, both of you stuck in this stubborn stalemate. You’ve tried to focus on the music, on the tour, but the ache in your chest is persistent, gnawing at the edges of every song.
You glance at your setlist, hand trembling slightly as you approach the last song of the night. It’s a love song, one you’ve written in moments you weren’t even sure she’d hear, moments when you were convinced the world had stopped listening except for the two of you.
Taking a deep breath, you strum the first chords of your guitar, letting the notes ring through the arena. Then, leaning into the mic, you speak with quiet clarity:
“Shuri, Sthawanda, this one’s for you.”
A hush falls over the crowd for a moment, then the arena explodes with voices joining in, singing the words you’ve poured your heart into. Your fingers move across the strings, weaving every ounce of longing, every ounce of frustration, every ounce of love into the melody.
Far away, in Wakanda, Shuri pauses from her work, her fingers stilling over a set of blueprints. The sound reaches her through a live stream, and her chest tightens. She watches you, glowing under the stage lights, and something inside her shifts.
She sees it all—the dedication, the way the audience mirrors your voice, the sincerity etched into every note. And she feels it: a sharp, sinking guilt that she hasn’t heard you out, that she assumed the worst of you without a single reason.
“I should have listened… I should have trusted you…”
You finish the last note, and the arena erupts. The lights in the crowd are blinding but you can't see them through blurry eyes.
5PM, Guatemala City, Guatemala
You’re in your hotel room in Guatemala, the quiet hum of the city outside mingling with the faint scent of your cinnamon candle. It’s the last show of the tour, your first tour, and even though excitement buzzes through your veins, there’s a tight knot in your chest. You still haven’t heard from Shuri. Not a call, not a text. Not a word.
You try to push it out of your mind, focusing instead on the small rituals that always get you into performance mode. You turn on your reggae playlist, letting the warm, rolling beats seep into your bones. You sway a little, letting the music loosen the tension in your shoulders.
The door opens, and your bodyguard steps in, holding something so large it nearly brushes the ceiling. Your eyebrows knit in surprise.
“Uh… what’s that?” you ask.
The Dora member—ever stoic—sets it down gently. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch: a massive bouquet of roses, rich reds and soft pinks tangled with delicate greenery, almost too perfect to be real.
You reach for the small note tucked among the petals. Your fingers tremble slightly as you read the familiar handwriting:
"Good luck, my love. I miss you and I'm sorry.
Love, S.U."
The world seems to pause for a moment. You know before you even read the initials. Shuri. Your chest lifts, the tightness easing as a smile spreads across your face, bright and wide—the first genuine smile in weeks.
“I’ve missed you too,” you murmur softly, pressing your hand to your heart.
You glance back at the roses, then at the candle flickering on the table, and take a deep breath. The weight of the past weeks seems to lift just a little. Tonight, you’ll perform with everything you’ve got—and for the first time in weeks, your thoughts of Shuri feel like warmth, not ache.
You turn up the music, let it fill the room, and start moving, dancing lightly as you get ready. The stage awaits, and this time, you feel her there with you, in spirit and in love, guiding your steps, just as she always has.
6PM, Berlin, Germany
The evening air in Berlin is crisp, carrying the faint scent of roasting chestnuts as you and Peter sit around a small fire in the courtyard of the hostel. The sky is painted in deep shades of indigo, the city lights flickering in the distance. You lean back in your chair, letting the warmth of the flames seep into your chilled bones.
Peter holds a chestnut on a stick over the fire, turning it carefully. “So… how’s Shuri?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter than before.
You freeze mid-laugh, chestnut halfway to your mouth. “Wait… you know Shuri?”
He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah… I used to know her. Internship a few years back. I… I messed up. Made a couple of really big mistakes, and it kind of… ruined things for me. With her, with the project… with myself.”
The words hang in the air, heavier than the smoke curling up from the fire. You set down your chestnut, leaning forward slightly. “Peter… Shuri’s the forgiving type. She’s sharp, yeah, but she also sees people for who they really are. You can’t hold yourself to the worst version of your past forever.”
He lets out a humorless chuckle, but you catch a flicker of hope in his eyes. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” you reply firmly. “And if she’s ever been part of your life, I promise you—she hasn’t stopped caring entirely. That’s just who she is.”
Peter nods slowly, staring into the fire. For the first time that evening, he seems lighter, like maybe he’s finally letting himself believe that redemption—and maybe even friendship—is possible.
You reach over and hand him another chestnut. “Here. Eat. Berlin air’s cold enough to freeze your regrets if you don’t keep moving.”
He smiles, small but genuine, and for a moment the world feels warm again, even if only from the fire and the crackling hope between the two of you.
4AM, Birnin Zana, Wakanda
The Wakandan night is quiet when you touch down, the humid air carrying a faint scent of the nearby forests. Your heart beats a little faster as the car takes you through the quiet streets toward the palace. You’re nervous—this is the first time you’re seeing Shuri since the fight, since the argument that left everything unsaid and heavy between you.
When you enter the lab, the glow from the screens and the hum of equipment are familiar, comforting. And there she is—Shuri, completely absorbed in her work, her hair slightly tousled, glasses perched on her nose. She looks up, and her eyes widen, then fill with disbelief and joy.
“You…” she starts, voice catching. “You’re here?!”
Before you can even answer, she’s across the room, pulling you into a tight hug. Her arms squeeze around you as if she’s trying to make up for all the lost time. Warm tears drip down your face, and she presses her cheek to yours.
"I love you. I love you. I love you so much.” she whispers, her voice trembling. She whispers the words over and over again, peppering kisses into your hairline.
She pulls back to gaze into your eyes, “You don’t have to say it back yet, okay? You don’t have to—because I don’t deserve it.”
Her words hang in the air, but you’re not about to let her carry all of that weight alone. You tilt her face toward you, press your lips to hers in a soft but insistent kiss, silencing her frantic confessions. She responds in kind, parting her lips to deepen the kiss, pulling you into her lap as she drops into her chair.
Breathless, you pull back just enough to whisper into her ear, your breath warm against her skin.
Contains: Sexual content, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, explicit language, angst, and fluff (If you squint).
A/n: Now listen, this was originally an 'anon fic' for #outtapocketday (iykyk) that turned into an actual 'anon fic' series. So, that explains the play-by-play you may experience while reading parts 1-4 because it was more on the 'imagine this' spectrum. I combined the first 4 chapters for an easier read and added around the original text for a little atmosphere. The other parts after are where I actually started taking it more seriously lol. Bear with me, but I really hope y'all like this series!
Synopsis (Somewhat): Imagine you and Tish haven’t seen each other in a while since her new girlfriend has been around. You became really close over the last couple of years after producing a film together. There was always a lot of sexual tension between you two, but you never acted upon it because you didn’t wanna ruin your friendship. Will you two give in, or will those thoughts of happiness only remain a dream?
Warning: lots of TENSION. Dirty talk. Shuri has no filter. Very timid, but nasty main character. Mention of pornography. Smut. Strap on sex. StrapxShuri.
Gently spell checked, there may be spelling or grammar errors.
——————-
She found herself clenching her legs and covering her mouth as the vibration of her favorite toy shocked her entire being. She moaned into her hand while looking over at her phone that was propped up. The lewd video lit up a small area in her dark room, the light reflecting back on her pleasure filled face.
But…the video wasn’t necessarily what she was thinking about. Of course, it’s right in her face, so she obviously could not hide her arousal towards it, but the thing that truly set her on fire was the caption.
She had been following a Twitter account that included all things lesbian. For the past few weeks she had been using her light pink rose to reach an orgasm; a direct result of her constantly viewing the Twitter page.
She could feel her orgasm creeping up on her as she moaned into a nearby pillow. As she went on, she couldn’t help thinking about whoever was behind this account fucking her. “I’m cumming…” she whimpered into her pillowed as she orgasmed.
While coming down, she laid there for about a minute before picking her phone up and scrolling to the top of the Twitter page. She felt embarrassed by the fact that she had came to Twitter porn, but she couldn’t stop her self from clicking the inbox button.
Before she could even think, she started to type up a message that conveyed her feelings.
“I’m new to Twitter, and I came across your page…and I just wanted to tell you that everything you’ve posted has effected me…I feel embarrassed that I’m even dm’ing you…”
She felt like she was going insane when she pressed the send button. She immediately regretted her decision and slammed the phone down on her bed. “I can’t believe I fucking did that…” She laid there in silence for some time before her phone buzzed.
Once she flipped it over, she was very surprised by the notification.
“Embarrassed..? Why is that?”
They fucking replied.
“They fucking replied…” She said as she stared at the notification on her phone. She gulped as the heat that was once at her core traveled to her face.
“I don’t mean any harm…but it’s just find it so morally wrong…it’s so sexual and graphic…”
She sent out that message, and it took a little bit longer for the reply to come in. “…was I being rude..?” She asked herself.
What she didn’t know is that the woman on the other end was laughing.
“I promise you, my page is just a small fraction of how sexual and graphic my mind is.”
“There’s more..?”
“So much more.”
“Can you show me..?”
She timid female stared at her screen for a couple of seconds, awaiting a response. She bit her bottom lip and sighed to herself. “Fuck…that was so stupid.”
“Call me.”
She gasped when she saw that message. She do don’t even know this person and she was already going to call them.
The line rung a couple of times before a simple “Hello?” was said.
“I didn’t expect you to sound like that.” The woman on the other side of the phone had a very relaxing voice.
“I didn’t know you were gonna sound the way you sound either. Where are you from..?” She asks.
“None of your concern. What’s your name?” The woman was firm.
“Athena.”
“…Athena…beautiful.” The woman said. Athena smiled behind her phone and chuckled lightly to herself.
“What’s your name?” Athena asks.
“…” The woman fell silent at this question. “Just call me Ri.”
Ri. As in short for Shuri. The queen of Wakanda couldn’t reveal her identity to a complete stranger online…just yet.
“…This may be a weird thing to ask…but can I see your face..?” Athena asked. She was prepared to be in the face of immediate rejection upon her request, but instead she was met with “Do you have Skype?”
“Yes! My username is Athenarooz”
After about 30 seconds, Athena was met with a call request.
She quickly sat up and looked in the mirror next to her bed before setting her phone up against a pillow. Her full face was in frame, with a tiny bit of her dark headboard showing.
Once she answered, she was met with the woman behind the account. Shuri didn’t show her whole entire face. The only part of her body that was in frame was the lower half. Athena couldn’t see her eyes or her nose. She didn’t mind though.
“Hi…” Athena gently said. Her heart shaped hair was slightly messy, and she had on simple pajamas.
Shuri thought she was adorable. She had cat like eyes, full cheeks, and a gold dainty necklace on.
Shuri smiled upon hearing her voice. Athena could see a flash of gold shine across Shuri’s bottom teeth once she smiled. “Hi.” Shuri simply said.
“So…um, I like your grills. They look really good.” Athena smiles warmly as she gazed at the other woman.
“Why thank you. I greatly appreciate it.” Shuri smirked at the compliment. “I like your pink lights…you look very pretty under them.” Athena felt her heart skip a beat before giggling to herself.
“Oh…thank you!” Athena said.
“Are they always that color, sithandwa?”
Athena could feel her pussy start to pulsate from the foreign term. “Well— no! They actually change colors.” Athena said while looking down at her sleeves.
“When do you change them?” Shuri asked.
Shuri didn’t want to make the girl feel rushed, but she knew there was a reason why she DM’d her.
“…you know…during certain times.” Athena felt so small under Shuri’s gaze, en thought she couldn’t even see her eyes.
“Like when you’re scrolling down my page…?” Shuri asked before leaning back in her seat. “Well…yes. Your page just…it makes me feel—“
“Aroused.” Shuri finished that sentence for her.
“What part makes you feel that way?” Shuri asked. At this point, Shuri was very intrigued with this girl’s sexual behavior.
“To be honest…it’s not the videos. O-of course, the girls help a lot!! But…it’s just the way you write your captions…they’re so sensual…” Athena says. She can’t help but to breathe a bit heavier while glancing at Shuri.
Shuri had never met a person who liked captions on Twitter porn more than the actual video.
“Athena?” Shuri calls out her name.
“Y-yes?” Athena’s eyes light up slightly at the mention of her name.
“What makes you climax?”
Athena felt like a waterfall had ripped through her core once she heard that question. She didn’t know how to answer that.
“…I honestly don’t know how to explain it…c-can I show you..?”
“Go ahead…” Shuri said. She watched Athena closely, waiting for any sign of sexual action.
“Um, okay! Give me one second.” Athena grabbed her ipad from her nightstand and quickly went to Shuri’s account. She scrolled for a bit before she recognized a video that repeatedly got her off.
“There’s this one video that I’ve watched a couple of times…” Athena showed the video to Shuri, turning her iPad to face her camera, letting Shuri watch.
“Hmm, it’s from my page.” Shuri said with a slight smirk.
“Yeah…how did you find this video..?” Athena asked.
“Quite honestly, I truly just browse. I get aroused quite often and when I do, I find more videos to put on my Twitter.” Shuri said.
“Have you ever done any of the things in the videos..?” Athena asked. She could feel her heart beating out of her chest at the thought of the other woman doing those things to her.
“…” Shuri was silent, once again. “Yes…why do you ask?”
Athena knew that what she was about to ask could go completely right, or terribly wrong.
“Do you see yourself doing those things to me..?”
Shuri paused at this. She could 100 percent see herself giving Athena immense pleasure, but she had to be careful because of who she is.
“Absolutely…but, I’m not in a position to do so.” Shuri replied.
“Why is that?” Athena asked.
“I’m not just a regular person…”
This statement struck fear into Athena.
“…w-who are you..?” Athena asked.
“If I tell you…it will change the trajectory of your entire life.” Shuri said. Her voice was laced with caution, not wanting Athena to make such a big decision.
“I don’t mind.” Athena said.
Shuri had to contemplate for a moment. She knew this will affect the both of them…but she was so fucking horny. She couldn’t make any rational decisions at the moment.
Shuri takes her computer screen and angles it upward, showing her full face to Athena. Upon seeing her, Athena tilted her head.
“…” Athena simply just gazed at her. The initial shock was there, but after a couple of seconds she just…shrugged.
“Shuri…queen of Wakanda…but, I don’t see how this matters…” Athena says with a slight giggle.
Shuri’s eyes widened at Athena’s claim. “You don’t think it matters??” Shuri questioned, feeling baffled by the other woman.
“We’re both horny…and honestly…I don’t really care about who you are.” Athena says before biting the inside of her lip.
Shuri’s body seemed to relax once that was said. “Bast…I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you…” she chuckles.
As time went on, Athena’s desire coursed through her body.
“Shuri…do you wanna fuck me?” Athena asked with a tiny smirk.
Shuri smirked and shook her head, chuckling to herself in disbelief. “I’ll be at your place in 15 minutes.” She said beofre the call ended.
Athena stared at the screen for a couple of seconds before running to the shower. She quickly freshened up before getting dressed.
Her pink baby tee complimented her pink spandex shorts. Her hair was in a claw clip, that also being pink. She had on some white fluffy slides, with her toes being painted a light pink color. She looked at herself in the mirror, contemplating whether or not she was underdressed.
“Hmm…” she looked at the clock next to her mirror and smiled lightly. “It’s 2am…who cares.” She reassured herself.
She grabbed her phone and went downstairs. Athena lived in-front of a large field, where she would go for jogs, or simply just journal at. She looked outside and saw a small aircraft parked in the field.
She couldn’t hear it land, so she suspected that it had to be Shuri.
The doorbell rang, and Athena could feel her heart go insane. She took a deep breath before walking over to the door and opening it, being met with Shuri looking at her through some Prada sunglasses.
“Hi.” Athena said. She quickly scanned Shuri’s figure, and saw that she was dressed casually as well. She had on some black sweatpants, and a black t-shirt.
“Hi.” Shuri said, smirking lightly at the girl. She’s adorable… Shuri thought to herself. She put her hand out, offering it to Athena.
Athena softly took her hand, and walked with her back to the aircraft. “I hope you don’t think I’m creepy or anything…I promise you I’m not going to hurt you.” Shuri said once they stepped inside. Athena smiled timidly and nodded, looking up at the other woman.
“No…oddly enough I didn’t think that…” Athena said with a slight chuckle.
Shuri stared softly at the other woman, taking off her sunglasses. She slowly walked to Athena, running her thumb across Athena’s bottom lip.
“You’re so pretty…intombi entle.” Shuri said. Athena could feel a her nipples immediately harden from the foreign language, and Shuri could see them.
She glanced down at Athena’s chest, seeing them press up against her cute pink shirt. “Are you excited?” Shuri asks, slipping her thumb in Athena’s mouth. Athena looked up at Shuri and nodded, her eyes being filled with desire.
“I can tell…” Shuri trailed off as she lifted up the other woman’s shirt, letting her full breast become exposed. Shuri let go of Athena, taking a seat in the aircraft. “Let me see you…” She leaned back in her chair, before sliding her own shirt off, having nothing but her gold panther necklace on. “Show me…” Shuri demanded softly.
Athena stood infront of Shuri and took her shirt off, and then her shorts. “You don’t have anything on under that…” Shuri said to her. She smirked at Athena before calling her over with just a hand gesture. Shuri spread her legs and let Athena straddle her.
Athena’s nude body was pressed up against Shuri, as she could feel her underwear become soaked. Shuri could feel Athena’s desire, all thanks to her heightened senses.
“I just want you to know…this is just sex.” Shuri said while gazing into Athena’s eyes.
Athena giggled while leaning into Shuri. She could feel the other woman’s hands travel to her backside, squeezing it firmly. “You did have to say that…you could’ve just fucked me.” Athens says.
What Shuri and Athena didn’t know is that their relationship was not going to just be sex.
Shuri immediately captured Athena’s lips in a passionate kiss. The kiss was hot, passionate, and sloppy. The two woman were incredibly aroused, and they didn’t hold anything back.
“Fuck…” Shuri pulled away from the kiss and hissed as she continued to grope and smack the other woman’s ass. “I didn’t know you had all this…” Shuri chuckled before kissing along Athena’s jawline. “Oh please…it’s nothing.” Athena dismisses her remark, biting her lip from Shuri’s touch.
Shuri’s kisses halted. She looked up at Athena, her gold grill showing from the low exposure lighting in the aircraft. She raised her eyebrow, smirking lightly.
“It’s nothing???”
————————————
“Holy shit!!” Athena moaned out. By this time, Shuri had bent Athena over. Her fingers were digging into Athena’s hips as she snapped her hips into a thrust. The black and silver strap glistened in the light as she continued to fuck Athena.
“Let me tell you…It’s not nothing. Your ass looks so good from back here..” Shuri said before throwing her head back, hissing and moaning at the feeling of Athena squeezing her. “I can feel you usana. I can feel you squeezing the shit out of me. You like this?” Shuri moaned out. Athena couldn’t answer. She was too busy shoving her face into the bed that was located at the back of the air craft. “S-so good…” Athena whimpered out.
Shuri couldn’t believe the words that were coming out her mouth. All of her lewd thoughts that she would hide just came spilling out. It was almost like Athena’s body drew them out of her. She was hooked.
“Shit Athena!” Shuri said before pulling her strap out quickly and grabbing her phone. “I want to record you…I wanna watch this back over and over again…will you let me..?” Shuri asked while kissing down her back.
Athena looked back at Shuri with a euphoric expression. “Do it…” Athena answered. Before she could turn back around, Shuri had started to record, the flash from the phone highlighting the pleasurable experience.
Shuri inserted her fingers, pumping them slowly, while her thumb rubbed the other woman’s clit. “S-Shuri—“ Athena moaned while her legs began to shake.
“You close..?” Shuri asked while looking directly at Athena. “Y-yes…” Athena whimpered while making eye contact with her. “What are you gonna do..? Hmm?” Shuri asks, her pace speeding up. “I-I’m gonna cum..” Athena whispered. “Let me see it…” Shuri said with a slight smirk. Athena came undone on Shuri’s fingers. She couldn’t even let out a moan, the feeling was so euphoric.
“O-oh my fucking god!!” Athena whimpered out. “That was beautiful Athena…” Shuri said before putting her phone away, feeling incredibly aroused still. Shuri gently laid Athena down on the bed, grabbing her chin, and planting a gentle kiss on her lips. “I’m gonna make you cum again…okay??” Shuri said while her lips brushed against Athena’s.
Athena could soon feel Shuri’s length stroke into her. Tears of pleasure fell from her eyes as she let out soft moans, Shuri’s name falling from her lips. She looked up at her and marveled at her appearance.
Shuri’s gold chain glistened up against her skin, her bare upper body being on full display as her thrust became quicker.
On the other hand, Shuri couldn’t take her eyes off Athena. Even when her body wanted to close them, she couldn’t. She was entranced by the look of pleasure that was displayed on the other woman’s face. Her thrusts quickened as she could feel Athena squeeze her once more. “Come on baby…I know you want too…” Shuri moaned out, encouraging Athena.
“F-fuck! You’re gonna make me cum again…” Athena moaned out while her eyes rolled back slightly. “Give it to me…” Shuri said. Her thick Wakndan accent had Athena cumming in seconds.
“Shit, you look so pretty…I’m gonna cum from just looking at you—“ Shuri said before moaning loudly. She orgasm washed over her like a thunder storm and had her Whimpering.
Both woman were left breathing heavily before Shuri pulled out and laid beside Athena.
There was about two minutes of just silence.
Athena and Shuri were just gazing at each other. The both of them felt a buzz, leaving them feeling euphoric.
“That was…amazing..” Shuri said, hooking her arm around Athena’s back, pulling her closer. By this time, Shuri had discarded her strap, leaving their two completely hide bodies cuddled into one another. “…it really was…” Athena said before falling into a deep slumber.
—————————
When Athena woke up, she was back in her own bed. She looked around, feeling slightly disappointed when she couldn’t find Shuri. She understood that it was just sex, but deep down, she was wishing for more.
She laid back in her bed, sighing to herself. “I guess she was being serious…this really was just sex.” Athena says to herself. Her thoughts were interrupted by a Skype call notification from…Shuri. Her eyes widened in slight shock as she checked her appearance and answered quickly.
“Hello, sthandwa…” Shuri said. Her tone was warm and she had a look of adoration on her face.
“Hi Shuri…” Athena said, rubbing her arm shyly.
Both of the woman found it insane how sexual they are some hours ago, and how they are so much different in each others presence now.
note: haven’t written in a while, but I’m back now! I am slowly but surely going to get through requests, so please be patient with me ˙ᵕ˙
18+ | minors do not interact
➴ feel free to send me more thots
I set up my canvas in front of me and aligned my paintbrushes in the way I liked before lighting the spliff I had rolled earlier. I’ve been trying to get motivation, but I haven't had the easiest time finding inspiration around me since my Mother passed away due to cancer. Saying that my mom was my best friend is an understatement. At times it felt like she was all I had. I don’t have any siblings, and my Dad, I try my best not to think of him anymore. I remember crying to Riri once she returned. She hadn’t responded to my calls or messages when she got involved with the Wakandans. I understood why, but I will never forget the loneliness I felt when I couldn’t turn to my childhood best friend. If there is anyone who I can count on, it is Riri. When Riri returned, she rarely left my side. It’s the reason why we share an apartment now. We live close enough to MIT, so she doesn’t have to commute far, and my art gained a lot of following, so I opened a gallery in Massachusetts. She made money from hustling students and doing their school projects. While my gallery and custom canvases have allowed me to work and afford anywhere, I please. I took a big hit of the spliff before going on my phone to order a pizza since Riri was still at MIT working on her midterms. There was no point in waiting up for her to cook. I turned up my speakers to drown out the white noise with neo-soul, thought it would suit the vibe I’m on as I smoke and paint. I turned back towards my empty canvas, fiddling with my brush. It’s been a month, and I still couldn’t get the image of the Wakandan Princess Riri described.
I already have plenty of sketches of what I thought the Princess would look like in her panther suit, but I don’t think I’ve successfully captured the vulnerable side Riri spoke of yet. I lightly sketched an outline of her face in the top corner for reference before I decided on a pose and background. I chose the streets of Chicago to drape the backdrop, the neighbourhood I grew up in. I was centring the female Black Panther surrounded by the faceless members of the hood. I got lost in my art, utilizing my childhood memories to fill out the spaces on the canvas until I was left with the area the panther would occupy. I fiddled with my pencil as I tried to envision the stoic expression she would have.
The knock at the door pulled me away from my work. I was surprised that the pizza arrived so quickly. Tony’s Pizzeria was rarely on time, but it’s the only pizza I liked and worth the wait. I grabbed the twenty-dollar bill left on the kitchen counter and unlocked the front door to find none other than Princess Shuri. I couldn’t hide the shock written all over my face. I jolted backwards away from the door, unsure how to react.
“I’m starting to think American girls don’t like me very much. Riri had a similar reaction when I first visited her at her dorm,” she laughed.
I stood straight, still shocked that she stood before me in the flesh. Princess Shuri brushed past me to enter my apartment and closed the door to the apartment behind her. The Princess was introduced to the mess I’d made while working on my canvas. My drop cloth covered the hardwood floors, my paint supplies were strewn around my wooden stool, and my big green plants were pushed to the edges of the living room. In the distance, I could zero in on my bonnet on top of the couch. That made me spring into action, trying to tidy up the loft. She probably thinks I’m a mess! I was sure that I looked frantic as I did this.
“I’m sorry, I wasn't expecting company. Riri is supposed to come home later in the evening from her exams if that’s why you’re here.” I still held the spliff in my hand and subconsciously took another pull due to the onset of the stress of having the Princess in my apartment. I regretted doing it as soon as I blew out the smoke. “Shit, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” I aggressively fanned the smoke away. But the Princess wasn’t paying attention to me. Instead, her eyes were trained on the canvas I was working on—focused on the spot where I sketched a rough draft of her face. I felt my heart beat out of my chest from embarrassment. Could anything else go wrong?
“I was just doodling and passing the time,” I tensed in anticipation of what she will say next.
“I don’t think you got my jawline right,” she said after giving it the last few glances. I analyzed her facial features and looked back to the canvas. She was right. The Princess’s jawline was now sharper and more defined. Gone was the roundness from the old photos I saw of her in the media. As I walked towards her, I pursed my lips in response and put out the spliff in the ashtray beside my art supplies.
“You should know I’m an artist and sensitive about my shit,” I joked.
“The one and only Erykah Badu,” she smiled in acknowledgement.
“I’m surprised you know the reference.”
Princess Shuri rolled her eyes at me as a way to say, “Duh.” I didn’t know much about her outside of what Riri and the tabloids had told me, which hasn’t been much. The Princess removed her blazer to make herself comfortable and revealed her toned arms in a muscle tank. I tried my best not to gawk as I watched her grab the wooden stool and place it on the opposite side of the canvas.
“Let me be your live muse, might as well get acquainted while we wait for Riri,” she smiled.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to keep me company,” I replied.
“But I want to, and pass me that joint while you’re up” Princess Shuri nodded towards the ashtray holding my spliff.
“Wait, Princess Shuri, are you even allowed to smoke?” I asked incredulously.
“Call me Shuri, and I will be coronated as Queen soon. So technically, I can do whatever I want now.”
“Okay… Shuri” It felt odd calling her by her first name. It made me feel like we were common acquaintances instead of strangers worlds apart. I passed Shuri the spliff, and she leaned in closer to me, tilting her head up to make eye contact with me to make it easier for me to light it. I quickly retreated to my easel to shift it over and prepped my colours to begin working. I watched as she inhaled and exhaled the smoke with ease as if she’s done it a million times. But, there was more to her than meets the eye.
“What made you get into painting?” Shuri asked. Her eyes observed the numerous half-finished projects and paintings on the wall. I’ve genuinely turned our apartment into a more personal studio.
“Uhm, my art helps me process my emotions and trauma. Each canvas is a journal entry for me. When I lost my Dad, I became depressed and introverted. It was my Mother who introduced me to art through different vessels in my life. She wanted me to have an outlet where I could express myself, something to soothe my soul, as she would say.” I blinked back my tears from the memories of her, the loss still fresh in my heart.
“She sounds like a lovely woman.”
“She was,” I whispered.
I briefly peeked at Shuri and saw her analyzing me. Her eyes were sad but filled with tenderness, “I’m sorry for your loss,” Shuri said.
“Me too,” I replied.
“I guess we have more in common than we think” Shuri sighed and pulled another drag of smoke into her lungs.
It was silent between us afterwards, only the music saving us from the tension in the room. I continued to perfect her jawline, adding a darker shade to add dimension. Shuri kept shifting her head, and it was beginning to make it challenging to get a good view of her features. Finally, I set down my brush in frustration.
“You keep moving, and it’s driving me crazy. I need you to keep facing forward toward me with your head slightly tilted to the right,” I huffed.
“Like this?” Shuri began posing in numerous ways jokingly, clearly feeling the effects of the weed. I couldn’t help but giggle a bit at her goofiness. I walked towards her and gently grabbed her chin to adjust her accordingly. I stood in between her parted legs to do this. Shuri’s eyes were low and slightly red. She looked at me lustfully and slowly licked her lips. My stomach erupted with butterflies, and my nerves peaked.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
“What? Can’t I admire you? It’s only fair after you’ve been doing the same. I want to see why Riri sings such high praises of you.” Her gaze lowered to rake over my body hungrily. Shuri inhaled the last bit of the spliff and stood before me. Holding my chin, she blows the smoke in my mouth, lips grazing mine. I was thoroughly in a daze from my high and having her so close to me. The taste of smoke and her skin drove me crazy, craving more. She bent down and peppered small kisses as she made a trail to my neck, tracing her tongue along my neck and sending shivers down my spine. Shuri smelled sweet, like vanilla and had a hint of something else. I felt the pool of arousal in my panties as she teased me with her hands, groping and massaging my ass. I lightly pushed her off me to meet her eyes, my head spinning from how fast we were moving.
“What are we doing? we shouldn’t do this,” I stated.
Princess Shuri answered my question with her own, “You don’t want me to make you feel good?”
I paused at the forwardness of her question. If we continue, surely there wouldn’t be no turning back. But I didn’t want to stop now. I went on my toes to kiss her lips once more, slipping my tongue inside to deepen the kiss. Our tongues moved against the other. I pushed my body closer, rubbing my breast against hers. Shuri lifted me to press my core against hers and guided us to the couch. I straddled her as she ground herself against me. Shuri moaned in my mouth and bit my bottom lip. Her hands were firm on my hips as she moved me against her to keep pace with her movements. Shuri’s mouth left no place untouched. She left marks on my neck down to my breast. She was sucking and swirling her tongue as she did so.
“Shuri, please, I want you,” I moaned.
“How do you want me, princess?” she cooed.
“I want you to fuck me,” I admitted. She pushed me down onto my back so I was lying on the couch. Shuri toyed with the brim of my sweatpants, making her way down to my already soaked panties.
“You feel so good,” she mumbled against my neck and rubbed my clit in circular motions. Her fingers were slick with my juices. I rolled my waist to feel every stroke and closed my eyes to focus harder on how Shuri made me feel. I found myself getting lost in it until we heard the ringing of my apartment intercom.
“Fuck, that’s probably the pizza I ordered,” I groaned in frustration at the inconvenience of their timing.
“That’s alright. I’ll go get it,” Shuri offered.
“I don’t want you to stop and leave” I couldn’t hide the pout that formed on my face from the disappointment I felt.
“Who said we had to stop?” she asked.
Shuri plucked two Kimoyo beads from her bracket and slipped them onto the folds of my panties.“Be a good girl for me, and don’t cum until I come back.” I was confused about what she was referring to until I felt the active vibrations coming from the beads. I sat up in shock from the new wave of pleasure, my mouth slightly parted as I let out a soft breath. Shuri smirked in response and got up to retrieve her blazer.
“Don’t move,” she said sternly before turning her back and leaving me alone in my apartment. A small whimper left my mouth, and my thoughts were no longer coherent. I needed her to fuck me and relieve me from my aching desires.
I began panting desperately, trying to control my breathing to prevent the orgasm that was building within me. What were minutes felt like hours. The Kimoyo beads stroked my folds and clit in a painfully slow vibrating motion. I tried to find a position that would allow me to gain relief. However, the beads increased their vibration and speed whenever I tried to adjust them. Caressing my pussy with the utmost precision. Shuri knew what she was doing when she created these. I clenched my thighs together, but it only made things even more unbearable. Finally, the friction sent me over the edge, and I didn’t know how long I could stand. My legs started to shake uncontrollably. Yet I refused to move. I want to show the Princess I can be a good girl.
When Shuri came back, I was dangerously close to unloading, “Shuri, please, I want to cum” I cried.
Shuri enjoyed seeing her effect on me without even having to lay a finger. She slowly strolled to me after placing the food on the counter. I envisioned how I probably looked splayed open and vulnerable for her taking. My hair slightly stuck to my forehead, and my eyes rolled back in anticipation of what would come next.
“Look how wet you are for me.” her gaze was fixated on the darkened moist spot between my thighs. I was soaking through my grey pants. “I want you to beg for me,” she stated.
I pressed my lips in contemplation, unsure if my pride would allow such a thing. “Or I could just leave you like this while I help myself to your pizza,” she offered. “No, Shuri please!” She raised her eyebrows and only said, “I’m waiting.” I let out another moan as the beads did not subside or pause. My clit was overstimulated and tender to the touch.
I groaned in protest and looked into her eyes once more. “Shuri, I’m begging you. I want you to make me cum, only you, please.” I rambled in desperation for her to see how needy I was for her. I had no interest in games or toys.
“Louder.”
“Shuri, I only want you right now. I’ll do anything!”
Without hesitation, Shuri removed my clothing until I was left bare. The Kimoyo beads were drenched when we attached them back to her bracelet. Her strength and swiftness were evident throughout. Shuri watched me as she petted my entrance, playing with the sultry fluids inside my folds. Her mouth hovered over mine while she whispered, “You’re so beautiful when you beg.”
Shuri started thrusting into me, pounding her fingers in and out of me at an unmatchable pace. Shuri continued to push her long slender fingers into me, slightly curling them to hit my g-spot. The way my cunt clenched around her drove her to sweet insanity. Shuri’s eyes glazed over me, and she said, “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I first laid eyes on you.” I met her strokes with urgency making Shuri take more control over me. Her other hand fondling my breast and nipple made me cry ecstatically. Her lips returned to the side of my neck, deepening the shade of marks she had already left. I didn’t think it was possible for her to get any deeper into my gushing pussy, but she proved me wrong. At this pace, my neighbours will no doubt know what happened. My screaming moans were insolent.
“Oh yeah, keep fucking me like that. I’m so close.”
I ground my pussy against her hand, riding the swell of euphoria that came over me. It only took a few more thrusts before I arched my back and stiffened under her command. Shuri buried her face in the curve of my neck, groaning quietly. “That’s it, baby. I got you”. The tightness in my abdomen slowly declined as Shuri whispered praises against my skin. My hips faltered from exhaustion.
Once I was settled and calmed my breathing, she slid her fingers into my mouth. I licked and sucked my cum off her two fingers until all I could taste was my saliva and arousal. “let me taste you.” Shuri removed her fingers from my mouth and replaced them with her tongue. Licking the remnants from my lips.
She pulled back to smile and brushed back my curls away from my forehead. “if we don’t move now, the pizza is going to get cold,” she said.
“I don’t think I have enough energy to stand up” my legs felt weak from trembling.
“Well, you have to eat something” Shuri smirked at her double innuendo, and I almost took her up for it before my stomach growled. Perfect timing. Shuri began to laugh even harder at the sound.
“Shut up,” I smiled. For the first time in what felt like forever, a person other than Riri had been able to make me laugh.
