Wlw smut

Damned

Ao3 got me writing in third person,

have y'all seen the trailer for strung this is like Chloe Bailey and Anna Diop, slightly toxic black women yuri

Laila focused

Laila glanced down at her paperwork, then back up at the house. It was huge — modern and slick, all clean lines and glass. Not really her taste.

She had always preferred old gothic houses, the kind with dark wood and drafty hallways. But that didn't matter here. She was a worker, and her biggest thing was getting paid.

So she walked up to the front door, raised her hand to the bell, and paused — gulped, steadied herself — then rang it.

She shifted her weight from her toes to her heels while she waited. When the door finally opened, it was an older man with short hair, it was probably picked out, and a beard.

"Hello, Mr. Patron." She smiled.

"Call me Malcolm." He looked her over. "You're Laila?"

"Yes." She nodded. "And these are my credentials." She handed over the papers.

Malcolm glanced through them, then stepped aside. "I'll show you to the music room." He closed the door and walked off without waiting.

She followed, taking in the house around her. It was lavish — high ceilings, an upper floor partially visible from the entryway. She could only imagine how it looked up there.

Malcolm led her down a hallway and into a wide open room that felt like a second living room. A staircase at the far end, the second floor stretching out above it.

The space had a chandelier overhead and art hung along the walls like a private gallery. A large glass door opened onto the backyard, where a few kids were running around — some tiny, others almost as tall as her.

Laila smiled at that. She loved kids, even if she didn't want any.

Then her eyes landed on the grand piano at the center of the room.

It was beautiful. Wide and imposing, glossy finish, pristine condition. The kind of instrument that had clearly never been played.

"This is lovely." She ran her fingers along the frame.

"Kennedy will be in soon for her lesson — get comfortable. Snacks are in the pantry down the hall, bathroom's to your right." Malcolm pointed in both directions, then clasped his hands together. "Now, I have a meeting." And just like that, he was gone, leaving Laila alone in a house that wasn't hers.

She sat down at the piano and breathed in — wood and stillness. Then her hands found the keys, and she played. The melody came easily, unselfconsciously, and she let it carry her.

She was so deep in the music that she didn't hear the heels on the stairs. Not until there was clapping.

Laila looked up.

A woman stood on the staircase — around her age, maybe a little older. "That was stunning," she said.

Laila went quiet. The woman was genuinely the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Let out a dry, involuntary laugh. "Th— thank you," she managed.

The woman smiled and descended the last few steps slowly. "You're new?"

Laila nodded. The closer she got, the fewer words she could find.

"I'm Imani."

Laila straightened. "I'm Kennedy's piano teacher."