Brown Sugar & Black Leather! - black reader! x toji!
“Pretty gon’ get you noticed. Character gon’ keep you remembered.”
Summary: Detroit, 1996. Focused on finishing law school and building the life she’s always dreamed of, she has no room for distractions until she meets Toji. What begins as a chance encounter at The Blue Room slowly unfolds into a love neither of them expected.
warnings: slow burn, set in the 90s, eventual romance, mature, black fem reader, fluff, angst, eventual smut, ongoing story.
Chapter One — Detroit, Michigan 1996
There were women. And then there was me.
Twenty-four. Detroit born and raised. The first person in my family to graduate college. One semester away from finishing law school.
Every weekday, I caught the bus downtown before the sun finished waking up, a leather briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. By eight-thirty, I was answering phones at Harrison & Brooks, a Black-owned law firm tucked between a record shop and a soul food restaurant that smelled like fried catfish before noon.
I filed motions, Organized case files, Fetched coffee.
Watched Black attorneys walk into courtrooms with their heads high and their shoulders squared like they belonged there.
One day…
One of those offices would have my name on the door. That wasn’t a dream. that was the plan.
Mama didn’t raise me to wait around for somebody to rescue me.
She raised me to rescue myself. So while my homegirls were talking wedding colors and engagement rings…
i was thinking about passing the bar.
Buying Mama a brick house with a porch. Paying off these student loans before they started acting like another family member.
Love?
I wasn’t against it.
I just wasn’t chasing it.
One date wouldn’t hurt. One conversation. One page. Long as I remembered why I started.
—
Chocolate skin that held onto sunlight like it owed me something. Full lips lined in deep brown gloss—slick, deliberate, catching eyes whether I cared or not.
A sleek flipped bob, pressed smooth with the ends curled under just right, bouncing at my jaw every time I moved like it had somewhere better to be.
Gold hoops. Big enough to make a statement. Small enough to stay classy. short almond nails painted deep wine.
I walked through Detroit like I’d earned every inch of it. Because I had.
Construction workers stopped talking. Old men outside the barbershop looked up from their dominoes.
Older ladies nodded when I said, “Yes, ma’am.” Kids waved because I always waved first.
Beauty like mine never had to introduce itself. It lingered. Sat with people.
—
“wassup girl!”
Kendra’s voice came before I saw her. She leaned against the passenger side of her burgundy Grand Am, oversized denim jacket hanging off one shoulder, fresh box braids swinging as she grinned.
“You gone stand there lookin’ expensive all day or you gettin’ in?”
I laughed.
“You late.”
“Girl, I’m Black. I’m right on time.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“And I meant it yesterday too.” I slid into the passenger seat.
The radio hummed low until she turned it up. Anita Baker floated through the speakers.
“Mmm.” Kendra smiled.
“This my song.”
“I know. You play it every chance you get.”
“‘Cause it’s good.”
“It’s every day.”
“And?”
I shook my head.
“You hardheaded.”
“You love me.”
“I tolerate you kendra.”
“Liar.” We both laughed.
—
Traffic crawled down Jefferson. Summer had settled over Detroit like a warm blanket, thick enough to make the pavement shimmer.
Kendra drummed her fingers against the steering wheel.
“So…”
I already knew that tone.
“No.”
“I ain’t even ask nothin’ yet.”
“You about to.”
She sucked her teeth. “Girl, you know me too well.”
“I do.”
She looked over. “When the last time you went on a date?”
I looked out the window. “Don’t know.”
“When the last time somebody took you out?”
“…”
“When the last time somebody kissed you?” I sighed.
“Kendra.”
“No, for real.” She lowered the music.
“You twenty-four.”
“I know how old I am.”
“You cute.”
“I know.”
“Cute?” She barked out a laugh. “‘Cute’ is what folks call they niece at Easter. Girl, you fine.”
“I know I’m fine.”
“So act like it.”
“I got other things on my mind.”
“Like?”
“The LSAT .”
“Mhm.”
“My career.”
“Mhm.”
“Buying Mama a house.”
“Mhm.”
“My loans.” She groaned dramatically.
“See? That’s your problem.”
“What?”
“You always worried ’bout tomorrow.”
“Ain’t somebody gotta be?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled. “But tomorrow gone come whether you stress or not.”
I looked down at my hands. deep wine nails. Fresh gloss.
Mama’s words echoing somewhere in the back of my mind. Don’t let nobody else’s dream become bigger than yours. Maybe that’s why I kept men at arm’s length.
Not because I didn’t believe in love. Because I’d watched too many brilliant Black women disappear inside somebody else’s plans.
That… would never be me. Or at least…that’s what I kept telling myself.
