Dacre Montgomery Oneshots.

nubian queen

A Nubian Queen is a woman that comes in a variety of shapes and sizes which can range from slim/slender to thick/curvy. Nubian Queens are also very intelligent and don't all shake their butts to rap music. Most want an education and a good well paying job.

"Can you hand me the rat tail comb, Dacre?" You were currently running (or rather trying to) your hands through your hair, it still slightly damp. Dacre was beside you, eyes focused on the thick, fluffy mass you called your hair. You honestly wouldn't trade it for anything else.

He handed you the comb, making a face.

"Why the hell is it named after a rat's tail, out of everything?" Dacre asked, leaning on his knee. You parted your hair, your arms starting to hurt.

"This part, if you couldn't tell," You removed your hands from your head, pointing at the handle of the comb, before reverting to what you were doing.

"Kinda looks like a rat's tail, I guess, so the moniker stuck." You pointed to the container of grease, Dacre handing it over.

"Thanks." You proceeded with your meticulous process, Dacre keenly watching each step.

"Could you hand me those rubber bands, sweetheart?" You asked, knocking your boyfriend out of his trance. He nodded, then paused.

"Are you almost done?" He sounded almost sad, and you almost rolled your eyes.

"Yes, if you're careful, you can put the rubber bands on my hair." You stated, Dacre grinned and stood up, moving onto the couch behind you. Truth be told, your arms were hurting like a bitch now, and you were kinda thankful he accepted your offer.

You laid back, leaning against his thigh. His hands were gentle, moving with such carefulness, you would've thought this was an shitty impostor.

"Hey!" Dacre flicked your forehead. Oops. Apparently, you had said that one out loud. You shrugged, almost hearing Dacre rolling his eyes.

"Done." You turned toward him, leaning back on your arms.

"How do I look?" You asked, expecting a snarky answer in response to your dumb question.

"You look like a Nubian goddess, a chocolate princess, an African empress-" Dacre replied with such contempt and sarcasm that your eyes almost got stuck in the back of your head when you rolled them. He started to laugh and suddenly couldn't stop.

"Dumbass, you said that with your whole chest puffed out like a peacock." You snorted, Dacre snickering, arms wrapped around his midsection.

"Who the fuck says that anyway?" Dacre asked, out of breath.

"Someone who's trying to get their ass beat." You returned, flicking his shin. Dacre was still laughing, believe it or not, tears rolling down his face.

"Damn, was it really that funny, man?" You slid onto the couch beside him, patting his shoulder.

"You made the most annoyed face I've ever seen you make, and for you, that's saying a lot." Dacre sighed, shifting as you laid your legs in his lap.

"Shut up, Mr. "Brooding-is-my-default-mood". " You muttered, turning on the T.V. You searched around Netflix until you found your favourite sci-fi show (That isn't Stranger Things).

"You do make a good point." Dacre quietly declared, arms crossed, him succumbing to his loss.

"Of course, I do, sweetheart." You pinched his cheek, watching the show.

"You could at least look at me when you talk." You could hear the pout in Dacre's voice, him sulking.

"Hush, ya big baby."

"But-"

"Hush child."