Insecure (Completed)

10

A/N: Soooo I hope y'all peeped the face claims in the previous post. Just a lil visual for ya, aha. I did want to say though, it's fine if that's not how you imagined the characters. At the end of the day, all characters were made up by me and they aren't actual people. Devonte is a fine ass figment of my imagination. So don't feel like you have to picture him or any of the characters a specific way! On that note, short chapter ahead 💜

Update: I took the face claims down
Devonte

When Yazmine and her girls came to my show, it felt like I hadn't seen her in a week. Shit was crazy because I had only knownt her for a few weeks, and already she was apart of my routine.

I peeped that Amari didn't come, and since Yaz ain't mention it, I didn't bring it up. After the show, there was really only one place I wanted to be, and that was in between Yazmine's brown thighs. But if she wasn't ready, she wasn't ready. I wasn't gonna force shit between us, it would happen or it wouldn't. I knew what she was doing, pushing me away like that. It was the classic sign of a hurt individual, to push people away out of fear. One day, I was gonna push back.

I knew I was breaking down her walls, and she was damn sure bulldozing mine. After the show, I made sure to carve out time for her. Until I got a call that left me feeling off balanced.

Sometimes if I begged her, Yazmine would let me watch her paint. At first she refused, saying I was a distraction. I wore her ass down, and now I was allowed in her studio. Her studio was literally just her bedroom, since there was nowhere else in the apartment she could really claim.

Yaz met me at the door, already in her painting clothes. She wore an oversized t-shirt that used to be white but was now decorated with paint splotches of all colors and baggy jeans. Her braids were up in a bun and she had a red bandanna knotted around them.

"Hey," she said hugging me.

"What's up Yazzy?" I had to lean down a little to hug her back but shit was worth it. She always smelled good, like fruity, but a grown woman type of fruity.

I followed her back to her bedroom. A nigga had been fantasizing about being in her bedroom for a minute, and I finally got my wish, but not the way I expected.

Her bedroom was nothing like any girl's bedroom I ever been in. Her bed was always unmade, the pillows scattered, and the covers thrown back. I ain't gonna lie, I always thought about messing it up a little bit more. Just pick her ass up, toss her in the bed, and fuck her. Hard, then slow. Yeah, I had done a lot of thinking about that bed.

Each wall was painted a different color, one yellow, one ocean blue, one a dusky orange, and one lavender. Where most girls had makeup brushes, she kept her paintbrushes.

There were canvases everywhere, some blank, some half painted, and some completed. She always opened the window when she painted, to air it out.

Frank Ocean's voice serenaded us from her speaker as we entered. Immediately after we walked in, I took a seat and she started in on a canvas, essentially ignoring me. Yazmine was a huge talker, but when she was painting, she was quiet. I loved to hear her talk, but I also loved the serious, focused, quiet side she sometimes had.

Right now I couldn't tell what her ass was painting. She was just filling the canvas with vibrant colors.

Frank Ocean had changed to Bryson Tiller when my phone rang. It was my brother. He never called so I knew it was important. I stepped out into the hallway to take it, shutting Yazmine's door behind me.

"What's up Andre?"

"Bruh, you know pops was up for parole a few weeks ago?"

"What?" I was so incredulous, I actually yelled. "Of course I ain't know I don't keep in touch with his ass! Bitch ass nigga." I lowered my voice.