[ oneshots & imagines ] 🌷

not mine | nba youngboy

main character: female: azha brookson

celebrity: yb (kentrell)

fluff

a/n: bae😛

I sit, watching, as some rachet-looking hoe grinds up on Kentrell. She's wearing fishnet stockings, with damn near 5 pounds of false lash on her face. 

Lord, I just know that pussy loose.

It's an ungodly hour, and Kentrell dragged me to some shitty club. And as his personal assistant and media manager, I can't exactly say no. 

Was he gonna let me know that there were gonna be erotic dancers?

I can't say I like Kentrell. This nigga tests me. But at the same time, I love the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and I love the way he tries to nap in the studio. I love the way he pretends to not care but keeps my personal fridge in his penthouse fully stocked with my favorites.

He's not mine. I'm just his assistant.

I glance back, and a different girl is on his lap now. I would be lying through my ass if I said it didn't sting a little. He's enjoying it, a hand is resting on her waist. I suck my teeth and look away.

Goddamn, I look out of place here. I adjust my glasses and pull my bag closer to me. Compared to women who look nice as their job, I'm sure I look homeless. I glance down- yeah, no. Somebody get me out of this joint.

Shit, at least I'm not ugly. At least I don't need butterfly wings on my eyelids to make me cute.

I got warm, deep brown skin, lighter than Kentrell's, with clear skin and full lips. My edges stay fresh, my hair never frizzy, and my skin stay plump and hydrated. This bitch never ashy.

Still, compared to these other girls... damn. I see why Kentrell's greedy ass wanted to come here. And we stay here. For another whole hour. Each girl that approaches him, dances on him, touches him, makes me wanna throw up. 

I do a fine job covering my heart aching with disgust.

I look up from my phone, and his eyes meet mine. He quirks an eyebrow. Tryna go?

I make a desperate face at him. Please.

He rises, the girls around him whining. I hear them begging him to stay, and a sense of pride rushes through me. Sorry y'all, he coming back with me.

'Sorry, mamas. I know you wasn't tryna come hea' with me.' He flashes me a blinged-out smile, showing his diamond grills. I fold at the nickname and turn pink. 

'W- well, it's not like I have a choice,' I play-glare at him. 

'My bad, ma,' he cheeses, trying to win me back. 'Let's go now?'

'Whatever,' I smile, and follow him as he grabs a jacket off a seat and makes his way out.

'You need a place for tonight or nah?' Kentrell opens the car door for me. Aww.

'Nah. You had an exciting night. That's all you.' I think about the girls shamelessly grinding on him, running their dirty hands up and down his body. He rolls his eyes as if he knows what I'm thinking about. 'How many times I gotta say it? Ion give a fuck if I'm tired, or if I'm busy the next morning, or if my Balenci's on fuckin' fire. You need sum, just stay the night.'

'You sure?' I look at him, feeling warm. He wants me to stay? Am I buggin'?

'Yes, bruh,' he laughs, and a shy smile spreads across my face. 'Thanks, Trell.'