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msbigredmachine · 4 months

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Santa Daddy - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

All the Tribal Chief wants for Christmas is you.

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x OC

Word Count: 3.7k words

A/N: Sorry I brought this in so late, I got sick. Better late than never though! Enjoy!

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It was Christmas morning. Your face was a picture of utmost focus as you wiped away the hair stuck to your forehead. It was a mini madness in your open layout kitchen, but at least it was your controlled chaos. In a few hours' time, a select mix of friends, co-workers and family members would converge at your place for a Christmas sleepover for the ages, to mark your first holidays as Roman Reigns' fiancée.

What a crazy eighteen months it has been for you. If anyone told you that within that timeframe, you would escape from your abusive boyfriend, move states, find a new job and a new place to live, you would have laughed in their face.

And Lord knows how you'd have reacted if they added that you'd be dating a professional wrestler in that same timeframe. And not just any wrestler, but the marquee name, the number one guy in WWE. But here you were. In the house you lived in together. Diamond ring on your finger. Prepping dinner and being quite giddy about it too. It had been a long time since you were giddy about anything, but that changed after you said yes to a coffee date with Roman a lifetime ago, it felt like now.

The honey-glazed chicken, roasted potatoes and gravy were ready, as were the salads and greens. Your centerpiece was undoubtedly the smoky Nigerian jollof rice you couldn't wait for everyone to taste. The chocolate was fragrant as it melted in the pot and the sweet crème caramel was setting nicely. You really wanted everything to go smoothly today. Dinner first, after which everyone would gather in the den for gift swaps, karaoke, play some raunchy adult games, then go to bed whenever they liked before leaving in the morning for their drives home. It was the perfect itinerary and you planned to make sure it was.

You were whisking the chocolate sauce on the stove when the shuffling of a familiar pair of size fifteens invaded your ears. Your heart pounded a little harder anfd your brown eyes lit up as he walked into the kitchen, drinking him in with your heart-shaped mouth curving into a smile. It was incredible how he gave off the exact same aura and energy as his grand entrances to the ring with just entering a small room. It was intimidating in the sexiest way.

"I see someone found one of their gifts." Your voice was soft and sweet - a tone you used only for him - with the gentle tinge of a tease. Your man looked so good in his red Christmas-themed pajama set that matched yours, which he complemented with a Santa hat covering the top of his head.

Roman came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your neck. "You look amazing in yours," he told you. Taking a deep breath, he welcomed your fragrance deep into his lungs. Your scent reminded him of hot chocolate on a cold winter's day and the roaring fireplace several feet away in the living room. It reminded him of home. You were home.

"Merry Christmas, my beautiful wife-to-be. I love you." His voice was a low, tender rumble in your ear, and you shivered slightly as his hands massaged your waist, his warm breath caressing the sensitive nape of your neck.

"I love you too, Daddy. Merry Christmas," you greeted back, absorbing the aura, the love and affection radiating from him like a bright light. Gosh, how did you get so lucky, winding up with this incredibly handsome, sweet, gentle giant of a man as a life partner?

"It smells so good in here, babe," Roman complimented, dipping his finger in the gravy boat for a taste. "I wish you woke me up to help out," he added sheepishly.

You shook your head immediately. "Don't worry about it. You needed your rest from all the traveling you've been doing."

"What time do the festivities start again?"

You turned off the stove to temp the chocolate down and turned to him. "Not till like, three."

"Hmm, and it's only nine-thirty now. That's a whole lotta time to ourselves," he pointed out, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively as he tugged at the waistband of your pajama pants. "I know I got a lot of presents, but Daddy wants to open this one first. Can I?" he asked with a syrupy sweet voice that promised something much more carnal.

"That depends on if you were naughty or nice this year," you replied.

The dramatic pout that came with his puppy dog eyes was so cute. "I promise I've been a good boy."

You arched a manicured brow at him. "You sure? Not even the tiniest bit bad?"

Roman puffed out his chest and grinned proudly. "I'm positive. I made my woman very happy this year. That counts as good, right?"

The glittering rock on your finger answered that question. "Definitely," you agreed.

"Exactly. By the way, look up."

You followed his pointed finger. A sprig of mistletoe dangled from the cabinet right above you. You met your fiancé's stormy stare, and your pussy purred from the mischief and lust you saw in them. You licked your lips with anticipation, knowing full well he was going to have his way with you, like he always did. Like you always wanted him to.

"C'mere." He guided your face to his own with his hand on the back of your neck. Your hands clutched his broad shoulders as your lips melded together in a soft, passionate dance. You stood in the kitchen for what felt like hours, worshiping each other's mouths, the smacking of your lips and hushed sighs mingling with the soft Christmas ballad playing through Alexa.

As you kissed, Roman couldn't help but get turned on. He let his hands slip down into the back of your pants and over your backside, molding your bare ass cheeks in his palms while you pressed yourself against him. You continued the increasingly intense makeout session, neither of you seeming to be in any hurry to stop.

"Santa Daddy thinks you've been a good girl this year," he murmured against your lips, "so good that you deserve a special present."

"Mmm, I love presents, Santa Daddy," you replied, allowing him to pick you up and place you on the countertop. He stepped into the space between your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, while your arms curled around his shoulders as you dove into the kiss. He caressed your mouth with his luscious tongue in a way that made your knees weak. Your hands and his moved in unison, pulling off each other's clothes until you were both completely nude. The second your top was off, his fingers teased your nipples, which instantly pebbled at his touch. His broad chest was hard and warm against your palms, and you scratched your nails along his ribs just to hear him hiss in a breath right before his mouth latched onto your throat. You whimpered and gripped his hair. God, his mouth and tongue felt so good on your skin. He nibbled and sucked on you while massaging your right breast, and you felt the pit of stomach heat up with the rabid need for your pussy to be filled. The moisture pooling between your thighs could probably fill a lake.

With your eyes closed as you savored the sensations, you never quite saw him take the pot of chocolate, dip the whisk in it and wave it over your nipples. The chocolate that dripped onto your skin seared with heat, but his tongue was there to quickly lick it away before the pain registered as anything more than a turn-on.

"Mmm, that's tasty," he commented.

You watched him and his lethal mouth like a hawk. "You like that, Daddy?" you inquired, resting back on your elbows.

"Oh, I do." He drizzled more chocolate over your breasts. Your mind swam as he took his time sucking each soft flesh, activating your erogenous pressure point. He then dipped his finger in the warm chocolate then made a long trail down your lower belly. He licked that away, then used two fingers to paint your entire pussy with the hot chocolate, his face a mask of concentration as he worked on his masterpiece. Your body jerked and you sucked in a breath at the fire that raged between your legs. Then his tongue was down there, splitting your soft folds apart to delve into your sweetened essence.

Yanking the Santa hat off his head, your fingers threaded through his messy ponytail, pulling his face flush against you, writhing against him and begging for more. "Unnnh, babe, that feels so good," you groaned, your brain growing fuzzy as he French-kissed your pussy, pleasure licking at you with the same devastating impact as his tongue. "Fuck, baby, I love you!"

"I know," Roman moaned back, pushing your thighs further apart. "Spread your legs, baby...wider," he instructed you, his burly arms winding around your thighs and yanking you closer to him. "Mmm, perfect. Imma eat you off this counter, girl."

And he was. With gusto. Desperate for release, you tried to squirm but he had you pinned down to the kitchen island, keeping you still. You were panting hard as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. You were almost there, just a step away from that cliff, when he nuzzled his face against your wet pussy and flicked your hard little clit with his thumb. The pressure sent you over the edge and you moaned through the orgasm, your back arching against the cool surface of the counter. Your string of moans was an aphrodisiac to Roman, and he kept up his tender licking and sucking until your legs fell from his shoulders and you gave a shuddering sigh.

"Jesus," you whispered.

Roman resembled a kid in a candy store with his beard stained with cum and chocolate, eyes bright and lust-filled. He looked up, licked his lips with a smug smile and said, "Nothing tastes as good as you, baby," he praised, and your ego swelled. He always knew the right things to say to make you feel good. Twining your fingers in his, he pulled you upright and kissed your lips, sharing your tangy sweetness with you.

"Your turn," you announced, and slid carefully off the counter, pushing him to sit on one of the stools. You moved to take the pot of chocolate, but the three mason jars filled with homemade caramel sauce caught your eye. A devious little idea popped up in your head. Grabbing one, you unscrewed the cover, licking the sauce around the rim before grabbing Roman's dick with one hand, bringing the jar up to his plum-shaped tip.

"Fuck, girl," Roman shivered, his eyes wide when you dunked his dick right inside the jar. Your eyes shone excitedly as you pulled him back out, the thick, succulent syrup dripping down his pipe and around the rim of your hand.

"Mmm, look at all this sweetness on your dick, Daddy," you moaned, bending at the waist to capture his cock between your lips, your husky sigh vibrating against his sensitive skin. Roman moaned softly as you angled your bobbing head, sliding his dick further down your throat with the same rhythm as your hand stroking him, the sensations leaving him boneless.

"Shiiiit, just like that, baby, eat up my dick like a good girl, how's it taste, huh?" he managed to ask.

"Good," you hummed, working your tongue from the tip of his dick down to the veiny underside of his shaft, causing his breathing to grow labored as his cock throbbed in your hand.

"Oh my god, your tongue, dem juicy lips," Roman clutched your hair, watching you intensely. "Keep suckin' my dick, baby, show me what that mouth do."

Wordlessly, you drew his cock deeper into your mouth with a deep breath and started sucking him with only your jaw doing all of the work. His dick was more than sizable, but was no match for your mouth. Daddy had trained you well to handle all of that fat dick with your mouth and pussy. You paused to scoop more caramel sauce with his dick like a spoon, licking off every drop off his shaft with lavish swipes of your tongue.

"Put some on my balls," Roman instructed.

He held his dick up and out of the way while you rubbed a mix of chocolate and caramel all over his balls. As you sucked on them, Roman slowly massaged his dick, occasionally slapping your face with it. The visual of your arched back mesmerized him, the deliberate twerking of your plump ass cheeks as you pleasured him short-circuited his brain. Even hotter was the sight of his balls hidden in your mouth and the sauce mixture smeared on your chin. The contrast of the dark substance on your brown skin was so fucking sexy.

"That's it, baby, that's it...shit!" The Tribal Chief's deep voice was a strangled gasp, his breaths becoming even shallower as you popped his balls out to recapture his dick. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, lost in toe-curling pleasure as you lodged him in the back of your throat, your warm mouth swallowing around the base of his shaft like a suction. It was his turn to fidget in place, his fingers digging into your scalp as ecstasy loomed ever closer. "Baby I'm gon' come," he whined.

You moaned at his warning, the vibrations shuddering around his length. Your eyes locked with his as he started to fall apart. With a loud groan, he held your head still and gasped helplessly with each spurt of his cum gushing down your throat, his hips bucking from the force of his release. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt you swallow, drinking your fill, your tongue lapping up whatever you spilled. You pulled him out and gulped air back into your lungs, then glanced back up at him with those mischievous pretty eyes, pursing your pouty lips against his blunt head and making his cock twitch in your grasp.

"How the fuck am I still hard?" he half-laughed, half-choked, earning a proud grin from you.

"I got that magic mouth, baby," you declared haughtily, twisting your hand around him in gentle soothing strokes, "And you got this magic dick. You gonna put it on me, Santa Daddy? I know you want to."

"Damn right." He got off the chair and spun you around, bending you over the kitchen table. The tabletop remained cold against your bare, chocolate-streaked skin, and you shivered in response. It was only seconds before he guided your hands to grip the edges of the table in front of you. You moaned softly as he nudged your legs wider apart, hiking your ass slightly higher to press himself up against you.

"Ay, Alexa, turn that shit off, I wanna hear my girl scream for me," he growled at the air, and you burst out laughing when the kitchen fell into an abrupt silence.

His hard dick throbbed between your ass cheeks. He ran the thick head up and down the slit of your pussy lips. When he pushed the first few inches in, you whined pitifully. Your velvety womanhood pulled him in, eking a groan from the Tribal Chief as his big hands roamed your back and ass. His thrusts were slow at first, savoring the feel of your tight, wet pussy tugging at him with each languid stroke. You responded by bucking up against him, luring him even deeper into your body. You moaned together in mutual pleasure.

"God, so tight, so wet...bomb ass pussy," he grunted, smacking your ass and squeezing on the soft juicy flesh, knowing it would make you that much wetter as he stretched you open with that good dick. Your keening moans were nothing but fuel for him; he knew you loved it when he fucked you deep and hard and a little rough, ticking all your little sexual boxes that no one but him knew about. His rhythm was steady yet heavy, keeping you on edge with deep strokes right up on your g-spot. Leaning over you, he swept your hair out of your face to kiss your cheek, a hushed moan slipping from his throat when you squirmed against him, pressing your ass closer to his hips every time he pushed into you.

With the table pressing into your belly and his body trapping you against it, you felt his dick swell inside you, girthier and harder with every thrust. Your body was so sensitized from your previous orgasm that you felt another one build in record time. You wanted your second nut so bad, and you rolled your ass against him, hoping to put enough pressure on your clit to bring it on.

"Unnh yeah, throw that sexy ass back at me," Roman grunted with another hard smack to your ass which jiggled from the impact of his big hand. Said hand then made its way into your hair, the other gripping your waist as he grinded against you and you against him. He loved it; loved you, loved the feel of your bodies moving together, your juices dripping all over his dick, loved the fact that you couldn't seem to control the noises you were making as the kitchen echoed with the erotic sound of them.

"Oh, baby, I'm fuckin' close," you whimpered through your moans.

"How close?" he asked, his lips brushing soft kisses between your shoulder blades and trailing them down your back. His warm breath and his soft beard tickled your skin, and too aroused to answer, you merely whimpered again and bounced your ass more impatiently on his dick. The tension was there in your belly, swirling around so close to explosion, and you needed it like you needed air.

Roman's grip on your hair strengthened, anchoring himself to you. "Don't move. Lemme get that pussy." He was like a Ferrari engine, accelerating with harder pummeling thrusts that filled you to the brim. He was now balanced on just the balls of his feet in an effort to drive deeper into you, pounding you out until you were leaking down your thighs and all over his dick and balls. It felt so good. Too good.

"Yes, Daddy, beat that shit up...unnhhh, my god, I'm coming," you moaned long and loud as you unraveled like flimsy wrapping paper. Stars sparked behind your eyelids as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably from its intensity.

"Mmm, there you go sweetheart, soak my dick, come all over it," he snickered proudly, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. "Was that nut good, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy, so good," you grinded out, lightheaded, your eyes glazed over and unfocused, even more so as you felt his hand spread over the back of your neck and hold you down to the countertop, his hips winding against your ass as he stayed burying his long, girthy dick in your warm, snug depths.

"Good, cuz I'm 'bout to nut too...shit, baby girl, this pussy amazing...You gon' make me put a kid in you..."

The thought of him breeding you with his seed had your pussy clenching around his cock, the suckling sensation reducing his husky taunts into yet another helpless moan. You could tell from his breathing that he was indeed close, his frenzied thrusts becoming sloppier as white-hot pleasure surged through both of your bodies in incredible waves.

"Oh shit, Y/N," Roman grunted, squeezing your hips for dear life as something snapped inside him. Slamming his dick into you one last time, he went completely rigid with a shout as he came hard for you. The warm wet spurts of cum emptying inside you caused your body to shiver against his as you milked his dick dry. His heavy weight kept you pressed into the hard marble table, both of you so limp that it didn't seem to matter that you couldn't breathe. Somehow, you managed to stand back upright, making him do the same behind you. As he wrapped you up in a hug, he was still inside you, and you tilted your head up to gently bite his bottom lip before licking at his tongue. It made him smile, and you couldn't help but smile back as he shared a long, greedy kiss with you before finally pulling out with a groan, slapping your backside one more time as he stepped away.

"Save some of that chocolate stuff for us," he said, grinning when you shot him a questioning look. "I want you to use 'em on me again later tonight."

You picked up the two sets of pajamas off the floor. "Hmm, you won't be too tired from dinner and all that?"

"Too tired to fuck you? Never, my baby girl."

"Then I'll make sure to bring a jar of each." You laughed as his Adams apple and his cock bobbed simultaneously, his imagination running wild with all the nasty things you would do to him.

"Good idea. Nah, scratch that, great idea," he corrected himself with a chuckle, lifting you into his arms bridal-style and carrying you out of the kitchen. "Right now, we both need a shower."

"Why do I got a feeling this 'shower' is gonna keep our guests waiting?"

He laughed with you and ascended the stairs. "You know me so well."

It was two p.m. by the time he was through with you. When you determined that your legs could function properly again, you dragged yourself out of his bed, changed into another set of pajamas and made your way back downstairs to put the finishing touches on the food and the rest of the house. You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when this man came up behind you and ran his hands all over your body. His dick was hard.

"Again?" you breathed, biting back a gasp when he started undoing the strings of your pants. The guests would be arriving anytime soon.

"Just one more," he groaned huskily in your ear, grabbing a jar of chocolate sauce, "I've missed you so much, baby, I need to taste you one more time..."

About half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Jey and his wife Larissa were your first guests. When the front door opened, they took one good look at you and Roman; disheveled clothing, hair out of place, the smear of sauce over your left breast and on the corner of Roman's lips, and put two and two together.

"Y'all nasty," Larissa giggled and entered the house, with Jey merely shaking his head behind her.

🎄THE END🎄

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This is definitely my final story for the year. I'm so proud of how many I was able to churn out and EXTREMELY happy and proud of how much you all like it. Thank you all, I appreciate all your support and feedback more than you'll ever know! 🥺

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gothhabiba · 4 months

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from the comments on a youtube video:

caseyvidrine3189 4 years ago Im cajun to the bone. NO worstershire sauce, no adding hot sauce and you dont mix seafood and sausage ever! Oh and no wine and I prefer to not use celery.

IslenoGutierrez 4 years ago Casey Vidrine You are way off. I'm born and raised in south Louisiana and I put a tablespoon of Worcestershire and my cousin adds a few shakes of hot sauce to his and we mix seafood with sausage every time we make a gumbo. It all depends on your area and your family. Like my grandmother said, there's as many ways to make gumbo as there are people that cook it. And she was right. Being Cajun has nothing to do with making gumbo. Gumbo existed in Louisiana before the arrival of the Acadians. (ancestors of the Cajuns). I'm a white Creole and according to the history of your surname, so are you... the name Vidrine is not Acadian, it's French creole (Louisiana-born whites of French descent) that came straight from France before the arrival of the Acadians (ancestors of the Cajuns), it was originally spelled Védrines. Take a look at your family history (you're welcome) https://www.scribd.com/doc/294701222/La-Famille-de-Vedrines-The-Vidrine-Family @XxxclusiveReviews 3 years ago Gumbo is a African dish made by southern blacks… These folks think dream of making it the correct way.. any kind of oil.. please.. hot sauce 🤔

@mandykelley4883 1 year ago @XxxclusiveReviews I don't need to "steal" your culture. I'm Native American with Cajun roots and my son is half Nigerian. Trust me I'm cultured enough. What you are trying to do is called appropriation. What we eat and know today as gumbo was made right here in America by ethnically diverse communities. What was made in West Africa was a fish stew with okra in it. And west Africans we're not the only ones throwing native resources into boiling water to eat. Please try to educate yourself on on your own cultural foods and history before accusing people of stealing your culture.

the girls are fightingggg....

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billetwoes · 5 months

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Too Serious! Billet Woes Part 3

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at fanfic. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, rudeness is not.

Word Count: 4,255

Synopsis: It has been slightly over a week, and so far so good. Everything seems to run smoothly as expected, until Tomas decided to have a serious conversation with you.

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The next morning went on as normal. Breakfast consisted of a savoury breakfast crepe consisting of truffle oil scrambled eggs, spinach, mushrooms, leeks, and red peppers with hollandaise sauce (Yay to the Vitamix!) topped with cilantro. You made some potato wedges fried in beef tallow and seasoned it lightly with a Parmesan, truffle and black garlic seasoning.

“Hmm, by the way, I wanted to ask you first,” Tomas began, washing his food down with a swig of orange juice, “A friend of mine wanted to send me an important package. Would it be alright if I gave him your address?”

You furrowed your brows, as you are apprehensive to give out personal information.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I understand,” he went on further.

You sighed and then thought of a solution.

“You can give him my business address. It’s a UPS mailbox, so I can pick it up for you when it arrives. Plus, it’s safer,” you offered.

“Great!”

You gave him the details and were told that his friend would be sending something via same-day shipping.

Once breakfast was done, you did your routine clean up and making sure that the cats were well-fed. Once you let the kitties out of the workshop, their demeanor changed rapidly to happiness and started to roam around the house. You noticed that Bijoux had been slowly yet surely warming up to Tomas and was now allowing him to pet her.

Minou was not having it; she gave a jealous yowl and swatted at Bijoux violently. She hissed then began to circle and rub her body around Tomas’ booted legs. Bijoux huffed and then left for her favourite cat tree.

“No, no! Don’t do that! There’s plenty of pets to go around,” he chuckled, picking up Minou and chastising her gently while scratching her behind the ears, “I let you sleep with me already. Give your sister a chance.”

“He’s such a good cat dad,” you mused. It was a nice to see that both the girls have taken to your guest very well. In fact, you were missing the warm lump of Minou’s body between your legs, where she typically likes to sleep.

He then set her down, while she protested pitifully. He picked up the lunch bag and headed towards the door, “Shall we?”

You are starting to like driving at this time of the morning, as there was no traffic at all! Lord Liu Kang really did think this through and was grateful for the consideration of your lifestyle. Plus, you found your energy level to gradually pick up.

After you dropped off Tomas at the muster point, you decided to treat yourself to a Starbucks before heading back home to clean up some more, spend quality time with the girls, and work on more orders. You loaded the packages in a couple of tote bags and took them to the post office before heading to work. You checked your Etsy account and were pretty pleased that you will be getting a nice pay soon.

During work, you got a notification that the package had arrived. “That was fast!” You thought, amazed. The shipping cost must be awfully high.

When work ended, you bumped into a couple of colleagues on the way out.

“Hey there, girl! How was your day?” a well-dressed slender and tall man with short, curly brown hair in his early thirties greeted you with a hug.

“Hey Andrew! It went well. Uneventful, but boring is beautiful,” you replied cheerfully, “How was yours?”

“I love it when you say, “Boring is beautiful!” a tall Nigerian lady laughed. Her name is Alisha, who is level-headed, no-nonsense, but positive and funny with great fashion to boot. The two of you have been good friends since you started working where you work.

“Right? I have no complaints; nothing bad happened, so,” you responded just as cheerfully. “Are you going to the staff get together?”

“Oh, no, I’m leaving in a week, remember?” Andrew reminded, looking sad, “I’m moving to a different city.”

“Aww, that’s right! I’ll miss you, hun!” You hugged your colleague with a sad pouty face, “We wish you all the best!”

Andrew hugged you back firmly, then Alisha hugged Andrew.

“We need to go for dinner before you go!” Alisha said, “The three of us.”

“Yes! We should do that,” Andrew agreed, “Oooh! How about Uccelino?”

Your eyes widened along with your smile, “Yes!” You exclaimed, pointing a finger, not at him but to emphasize what he said, “Love that place!”

“Sounds great! Let’s keep in touch, k?” Andrew started to walk away, “Bye, ladies!”

“For sure! See ya!”

“Take care!”

“How was your day, Alisha? How was Madison’s performance?” You asked about her 5-year-old daughter.

“Oh, you know, she loves performing. She lights up every time she gets to sing. She was so excited to be a fairy and was showing off her dress to everyone,” Alisha shared happily, “She says she can’t wait for her next performance!”

She pulled out her phone to show you a few pictures of a cute girl in a yellow organza-tulle dress with a tiara holding a wand with a large star on top; she had the biggest smile and twinkling eyes. She then showed a video of her singing “When You Wish Upon A Star”.

You can’t help but coo because this was the cutest thing that you’ve seen ever!

“Aww, she’s so precious! She’s got such a beautiful voice!” And you meant it. Some children are gifted with beautiful voices, and she sounded like a miniature Marcedes from Glee, “I hope that she goes far, because, girl, she’s got it!”

“Thank you so much,” Alisha beamed, clearly touched, “I am proud of her.”

“You should be!” You were hit with this realization that these are the kinds of moments that the Earth Realm and Outworld Protectors were protecting, and you felt guilty for taking the days that have been passing your life for granted. You respect and appreciation for them have deepened.

You and Alisha continued to chat all the way to the parking lot.

“Anyways, I gotta pick up the kids. See you tomorrow, girl!” Alisha hugged you, and you’ve always felt good interacting with her.

You hugged her back and you exchanged good-byes.

You nearly forgot to go to the USP store to pick up the parcel and accidentally sideswiped someone in reaction to turning back to head in the opposite direction. You heard a loud series of horns at you.

“HEY, BITCH! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!!!” You heard a driver shout at you.

“I’m sorry!” You waved apologetically. Red-faced, your alertness returned in a flash while feeling yourself shrinking. Taking a few deep breaths, you calmed yourself down enough to stay focused on your way to your destination.

You entered the store to open your mailbox, but it was empty, which meant that it was a larger package. You walked over to the clerk and gave your box number. The clerk went to the back and produced a box for you, which you received. You thanked the clerk and headed back to the car. Once in, you inspected the box; it was a 4”x 4”x 4” made out to “Tomas Vrbada” from the US.

You let out a “Hmm,” raising your eyebrows before stating the car. Then you noticed the time. You were 20 minutes late from picking up Tomas! You cursed under your breath but the initial shock of a near miss followed by being cussed out by an angry driver was still fresh, so you took a moment to calm down. Once you were ready, you shifted your gear to drive.

When you arrived at Lisa’s friend’s place, his name is Kyle, you drove up to the driveway where you saw Tomas and another warrior sparring. He delivered two kicks, which his partner blocked.

Upon noticing you, he stopped what he was doing, picked up his mask and lunch bag, said his goodbye to his partner and walked towards you, sweating and smiling. His grey ninja uniform made him look formidable and intimidating, and you reminded yourself that this man was capable of killing someone. However, every time he was friendly and polite in behavior, it threw you off and had cognitive dissonance. You smiled and waved sheepishly.

“Oh, my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t meant to make you wait!” You apologized profusely, looking shameful, “I had a difficult time on the road.”

“Don’t apologize! I kept myself occupied,” he said reassuringly, still slightly out of breath, “How was your day?”

“Well, other than nearly sideswiping someone, I’m alive,” you admitted sheepishly, “Totally my fault.”

“I’m sorry to hear that! Are you ok?” His expression was genuinely concerned, and it was reflected in his voice. Those eyes, though. So piercing!

You were touched by the concern he was showing and relaxed a little. “I am, thank you for the concern. I’m sorry again for being late!”

“You don’t need to apologize so much, Y/N. I’ve noticed that tendency in you.”

“I’m sorry,” *shit!* you did it again! You mentally beat you head on the steering wheel again and again.

He laughed, “But then it must be a Canadian thing, yes? So I’ve been told!”

Yet again, another save. He must have this sixth sense of you being embarrassed and verbally taking you out of it. Well, there’s a positive!

“Oh, I’ve picked up your package.” You reached to the back to get the box and handed it to him.

He received it gratefully, “Thank you for doing this for me. I wonder what he sent…” he muttered, inspecting the box and shaking it.

You kind of stared into space for god knows how long.

“Y/N…Y/N…hello?”

He waved his hand in front of your face to snap you out of your fog.

“Are we going home? I am starving and want to see what you will be cooking next!”

“Oh, right! I’m sorry!” You shut your eyes tight, and he laughed even more. Smiling stiffly, you started the car, “Let’s go.”

You were grateful that you managed to bring the both of you home safely. As soon as you entered your apartment, you made a beeline to the coat rack to hang your purse and coat, then straight to the kitchen. Using whatever’s left of the shock in your system, you channelled that into preparing your meal. You vaguely heard Tomas go into the guest bathroom and a few minutes later you heard the shower.

Food time: Pressure Test! (skip if you’re not interested)

You took out ingredients and mentally started to plan on making your meal. You first pre-heated the toaster oven to 400 F, then took out the container of tomato basil bisque that you have pre-made during the weekend out of the freezer, which you threw into a medium sized pot to boil. You were grateful for having pre-made some soups and pre-portioned main courses for lazy days and for frantic days.

Next, you tackled the ceasar salad. You took out a bag of romaine lettuce to cut up, then soak in a bowlful of water and some vinegar to sit for a few minutes. You would have made the dressing yourself, but since you were ridiculously late coming home, you had to cheat. Luckily, you had THE BEST ceasar dressing from Costco!

Next, you heated some water for pasta and you chose spagettini as the pasta of choice. The boiling comes later.

While that was happening, you went to the fridge and pulled out a package of 4 chicken breasts, which you butterflied, seasoned, layered basil and half a bag’s worth of Italian Cheese, and then rolled them up. You washed your hands thoroughly to prevent killing anyone so that you can prepared the dredging ingredients in three rectangular deep dishes. You added salt, pepper, Italian herbs, garlic and onion powders, paprika and shredded parmesan cheese. The doubly dredged stuffed chicken breasts, which were held by toothpicks were pan fried on both sides until golden brown, and then transferred to the oven to cook the rest of the way.

While that was happening, you decided that it wouldn’t hurt to handwash the dishes under barely tolerable hot water and soap, which you did in a jiffy, while also effectively washing your hands, too.

To jack up the chicken, you sauteed mince garlic and onion then threw in a can of crushed Roma tomato sauce, and seasoned to taste to which you put on top of the breaded crispy chicken at the 15 minute mark, topping it with more Italian cheese then sticking it back to cook the rest of the way for a total of 25 minutes and a little longer until the cheese is golden brown, which the latter happened. Once done, you made sure that all the toothpicks were removed, again to not kill anybody.

You lowered the temperature of the soup after it was thoroughly melted and piping hot down to a simmer and you washed the tomato sauce pan thoroughly.

For the final task, you made the Aglio e Olio Pasta as the companion pasta for your chicken. You turned up the heat to boil the pasta water and threw in the pasta once boiling. You took a clean stainless steel pan and poured the amount of olive oil required for the recipe and heated it up on medium-low, then thinly sliced 1 ½ bulb’s worth of garlic which went into the pan along with chili flakes to infuse the oil with flavors until the garlic started to turn brown. Dragging the perfectly cooked pasta pot right up against the pan you used tongs to transfer the spaghettini into the pan and added pasta water and salt as needed in between tossing the pan’s content until it was beautifully glossy. Once this was done. You threw in chopped Italian parsley and tossed some more.

You turned your attention to the lettuce, which you drained then spun in a salad spinner until they are as thoroughly dry as you can get them. You completed the ceasar salad in a large wooden bowl and topped it with store-bought croutons and wide shavings of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese.

(The end 😊 Can you guess how long this all took on a time crunch?)

By this time, you had noticed that Tomas was sitting on the dinner table, now wearing a fitted gray t-shirt and pajama pants, looking at his phone intently. He was in his own world, which made you feel relieved, because that bought you some time to make some of those herb and garlic sourdough toasts, which you forgot to make.

You quickly set the table and plated the food with the chicken beautiful with the golden-brown cheese on top on one side and the Aglio e Olio on the other, making the Italian Flag proud! Next were the bowls of soup, which you decorated with two whole basil leaves, then assembled the toasts neatly on a separate plate. You bought a bottle of cold sparkling Italian lemonade from the Italian super market, which you’ve been stocking up on.

Hooooo boy, you felt like a hot mess after all was done. You quickly went to change you clothes so that you don’t look like a hot mess before finally sitting down at the dinner table ready to eat.

“Itadakimasu!” He exclaimed happily, “Let’s eat!”

You quietly dug into your food, and you didn’t realize how starving you are until you reached your last bite in under 15 minutes. You surprisingly beat Tomas, who was halfway done, partly because he was also paying attention to his phone.

You happened to look up to ask him how his dinner was and you were startled to see him staring at you. If you’ve watched Season 4 of Love Is Blind, he had the same intense, creepy stare as Zach. His lips were curled up in a smile.

You decided to ignore the sensation of your skin crawling to ask him how his dinner was. He didn’t reply and continued to stare at you with that smile.

“What?” you asked, you shifted your eyes to one side briefly before returning to his stare, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you so serious?” Tomas asked, now grinning.

“I’m sor-what?” you spat out, stunned.

“You’re so serious,” he repeated. He pursed his lips, seemingly deep in thought, “Am I scary?”

“No, you’re not scary,” you answered slowly after your own pause.

“Then why do you look.....serious? Why are you so quiet?” he asked. You perceive there to be a slightly teasing tone in his voice, “Are you normally like this around people?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean,” you said, confused. Is he right though? In your head, you went over your interactions with him from the past week. You were civil and respectful in your interactions with him and have done your best to make sure that he was comfortable. However, you remember the first evening when he made the comment about how you were serious. In your defense, you tended to be focused when you’re working on a task.

“You’re doing it again, you have that look in your face! It’s like you’re……uh…….pondering the meaning of life!” he quipped with the same creepy expression, this time his eyes looking off momentarily to the side before returning to yours, “Like figuring out how the……….caramel got into a Caramilk Bar.”

You nearly choked on your drink. That came out of nowhere! Did you hear this right? Was he joking?

You opened and closed your mouth a few times trying to respond to him, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Tomas. I shouldn’t ha-“

“I interrupt you, sorry!” he countered, “I didn’t say that you made me uncomfortable. I said that you were serious. And to be honest……”

“Okay?” you were paying attention now. You felt terrible, as you can feel a mental lashing from your perfectionist brain beginning.

“It hurts my feelings,” he finished, expression changing to that of a pouty demeanor, like a 10-year old, “You want to know a secret? I’ve never told any one about this, not even my own brother……..The Grand Master of the great Shirai Ryu……Best Clan ever.”

He gestured for you to come closer, and you leaned forward a few inches.

He gestured even harder, “Closer! Closer! You’re too shy!”

You gave a slight incredulous scoff and leaned forward a few more inches.

“Closer!” He beckoned even harder.

You stopped just over a feet away from him, “No, this is close enough.”

“Okay, I’ll lean closer,” he bobbed his head side-to-side and leaned closer so that his face was 6 inches away from yours.

You instinctively leaned away from him. You were made to feel uncomfortable with this sudden behavior change, and you kept wary eyes on him as his piercing silver-gray eyes bore into yours.

“What is your secret?” You asked.

After a long pause and eyes still locked into yours, he said, “I’m a Cancer.”

A burst of involuntary laughter erupted from you. You leaned your elbows on the table with a thud, and burried your face into your hand, convulsing.

“This is funny to you?” Tomas asked, “I’m telling you my secret……..it is very precious to me!”

It was hard to take this seriously, and you couldn’t help but find this sudden shift of behaviour amusing.

He waited until you to calm down. “I-I’m so-sorry! I-I d-didn’t me-mean to-“

“I interrupt you again,” he cut you off, waving his hand dismissively, “As I said, it is a precious secret…very…very…..very………very precious.”

Swallowing hard, you managed to stop laughing, “Thank you for sh-sharing your secr-secret with me.” Your were finding it hard to keep a straight face, so you smiled and gestured for him to go on.

“I know I look scary on the outside………like, very…very, very, very, very, very scary. I look tough like a Russian Villain!” This he said with an over-exaggerated tough guy look pumping his fist in front of him. Then he softened his demeanor to the same pouty expression, “But I’m very soft in the inside.” He rubbed his left chest emphatically, “I’m a sensitive man. Very, very, very, very, very sensitive……….like my feelings get hurt very, very easily.”

“How have I hurt your feelings, Tomas?” you asked trying to be empathetic, a chuckle betraying you.

“You don’t talk to me,” he answered, still pouty-faced.

Despite your amusement, you were taken-aback since you’ve always responded to his questions and when he initiates conversations. To be honest, you’ve always kept to yourself and minded your own business, until you got to know someone well enough to open up to and engage in more than superficial conversations,

“I don't talk to you?" You repeated, "What do you want to talk about?”

“Ask me about………my hair,” he said, “Ask me why it is gray.”

Now that he brought it up, you seized the opportunity to satisfy the curiosity, “Is that your natural hair colour?”

He cocked his head to one side, “My mother was a moon sprite…my father was a fire lord….he is human. It’s a sad story, I’m sorry.” His face contorted as if about to cry.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m listening,” you reassured, “I want to hear it.

“My people were persecuted, so my mother put me in a basket to help me escape. It travelled down the river from my kingdom all the way to China and my hair turned from red to gray……because it was cold. My fire became smoke,” he finished now with a deadpan expression, “The end!” He finished in a sing-song voice with a cheery expression and raising his hands with upturned palms.

Reluctantly, you told him it was a good story. It sounded ridiculous to you, but knowing about the existence of magical realms and beings, you thought that there may be plausibility in his story and that he’s using humour to cope. It is also possible that he was trying to connect with people and was secretly lonely. You now felt terrible for laughing.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me, Tomas. I’ll be sure to ask more questions about you,” You reassured, “I normally don’t ask a lot of questions when I don’t know people very well, because I don’t know if a question is personal or not.”

“What personal questions?” Tomas asked, leaning in curiously, eyes wide like a child.

“Well, you know, like if someone’s married, how old someone is, or what their family life is like, or-“

“Are you married?” he asked.

You paused, “I decline to answer.”

“How old are you?”

“I’d rather not say,” you replied warily.

“Why?”

“And it’s rude to ask someone that.”

“Why?”

“Some people are sensitive about their age.”

“Why?”

You paused, “They just don’t like being asked that question.”

“Why?”

“Okay, this is getting nowhere,” you smiled awkwardly, trying to get out of the topic.

“You’re being serious again!” Tomas exclaimed, “Even your food is serious.” He gestured at his plate.

You blinked, “I’m sorry, what? My food is “serious”?”

“Your food………it’s too serious,” he picked up his fork and poked through the salad, the chicken, and the pasta, “Where are my brownies? Where are my Skittles?”

The then spooned the soup, pretending to look for something, “Where is my ice cream?”

You shrugged, “Well, I want to make sure that you eat health-“

He held a hand up to stop you, “Sorry, I interrupt you,” he said, “Now you hurt my Cancer feelings again.”

“Go on, please explain,” you gestured for him to continue.

“I like tasty food…..just not too serious…….If everything is too serious, there is no fun.”

Nodding slowly, you agreed empathetically, “You’re right.”

He slammed a hand on the table, “Of course, I’m right!”

This action made you jump, but you looked at him expectantly to continue.

“I am a human being! I have feelings,” He said, rubbing his left chest again, “…..…needs……..I want fun! Please consider my feelings.”

“You right, I’m sorry, I sh-“

“I don’t want your, “I’m sorry!” he said loudly, he slammed his hand on the table again, “I want action!”

You shut your eyes with a suppressed smile, processing the interaction. You were undoubtedly amused, but what part of this was serious? You wanted to read between the lines to find the meaning, but that was a task for later.

“How about this?” you began slowly, “Why don’t I bring you on my next Costco run after I pick you up during the weekend, then we’ll eat out. What do you think?”

“No serious?” He asked, wide-eyed.

“No serious,” you affirmed, nodding and smiling.

“Ok!” He then cracked a wide, innocent smile, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You let him finish his dinner, and proceeded to clear the table and clean up after he was done. Once your duties for the evening were done, you headed to your room and hit the shower.

He reverted back to the self that you were familiar with, like the entire strange conversation never happened. But you got a good laugh out of it.

You let the cats out. Instantly, they gravitated towards Tomas, who gladly indulged them. He also insisted in helping you, you explained that since he was a guest, he wouldn’t be doing any of that. However, interacting the kitties would always be welcomed.

Was it ever an interesting day, and it ended with you laughing your self to sleep. Little did you know, your dinners would become…interesting.

#mk1 tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada #tomas x reader #mk1 #mortal kombat #funny #comedy #mk1 smoke #smoke #mk 1 smoke x reader

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thessalian · 1 year

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Thess vs Food Stereotypes

Okay, really getting tired of this.

I didn’t want to hijack the post doing the rounds about “British kids try biscuits and gravy for the first time” and people getting judgemental about British cooking based on a few kids whose idea of ‘biscuit’ is very different than the American version and one British uni student’s aversion to spice. Thing is, though ... I live here, and I moved here from Canada (Montreal, even, which has a reputation for being as foodie as Paris but with a lot more politeness) by way of the United States. I’ve seen the stereotypes from all three countries, and when it comes to England, I’ve been everywhere from tiny hamlets to ... well, London, where I currently reside.

A lot of “traditional dishes” lack for spice here, true. However ... did y’all forget, while you were going, “American versions of recipes from other places have such flavour because poor / low class immigrants brought the recipes here”, that Britain was a fucking empire? We bitch about British colonialism all the time, and fair enough, but no one seems to have considered the huge variety of food that brought to this tiny wet little island. Even in the tiniest hamlets you’ll generally find an Indian takeaway, always family-run, always by families who came from the country from which the cuisine originated, some as recently as a generation ago. Bigger cities, and especially someplace like London? You’ll find a lot more. Hell, I live near an area that’s a blend of Afro-Caribbean, Nigerian, and Filipino, and the food you’ll find in the area reflects that. And I don’t just mean restaurants either; people who live here are clearly making that stuff at home, if the local markets are any indication. It’s the same all over, with a lot of emphasis on Indian, Pakistani, Nepalese, Filipino, and the foods of various African nations. Britain colonised these countries, and maybe the white people don’t make as much use of the spices they got by doing so as they could? But some do.

Also ... dude, they have herbs here. And they use them. Stews are full of thyme and sage and bay leaf. Sauces are a thing - mint for lamb, applesauce (not the sweet dessert kind; the kind where the tartness of the apple is maintained) for pork, fucking horseradish for beef. Root vegetables like parsnips and carrots are often roasted in a honey glaze, and never underestimate how a flavour profile changes if you change what fat you’re using for roasting a potato. (Seriously, just try roasting potatoes in goose fat.) Gravy? They have gravy; not as thick, and more generally devoted to the flavours of the juices of the roast, but they have gravy.

Britain has a different, earthier, occasionally sweeter flavour profile to a lot of its traditional dishes than other countries, yes. And there are a lot of people in this country who fear anything more than one clove of garlic, yes. However, there are Americans who fear anything that doesn’t taste of grease and mayonnaise, too (which is the stereotype, I’m afraid). So maybe can we lean less into the stereotype and, while trying unfamiliar foods, also do some research and try a variety of those unfamiliar foods instead of judging an entire country’s palate based on a couple of school kids who don’t know the American South’s version of a biscuit? Just be happy they’re loving it.

And go try some bubble and squeak sometime. Lancashire hot pot. Cornish pasty. Cullen skink. Hell, shepherd’s pie! It’s not all boiled everything, y’know.

#Thess cooks #Really ought to try cullen skink sometime

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parrotwatcher · 4 months

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What are your characters favourite food(s)?

I've already answered separately, but here are the collated answers:

The One Chosen:

Ædmund: Vegetable curry.

Helena: Always likes to try something new.

Teri: Says it’s caviar, but it’s actually pizza.

Charlie: Bacon.

Xiulan: Chocolate. Sadly, she’s dairy-intolerant.

Max: Cereal, the more sugary and unhealthy, the better.

Dahlia: Fresh fruit.

Kevin: Whatever he’s eating right now.

Lovecraft Academy:

Veera: Kaeng som (a Thai fish curry).

Fothy: Turkish delight.

Robin: Fish and chips.

Will: Will claim it’s stargazy pie, a pie with fish heads sticking out of the crust.

Jasper: Welsh cakes.

Bignell: Spotted dick. (A traditional English dish.)

Totem Force:

Kay: Likes cakes quite a bit, but is very well-disciplined about eating them.

Sammy: Bacon double cheeseburger with hot sauce and no gherkins.

Anara: Fish, as long as it’s sustainably and ethically sourced. (Never octopus or squid, though.)

Chi: Has been teaching himself to cook Nigerian cuisine; one of his favourites is suya, spicy meat skewers.

Ryu: “The fallen bodies of my enemies.” (Akira’s translation: He likes meat.)

Akira: Sugar. Anything sugary. Just as long as there’s sugar.

Phil: Claims to subsist entirely on a single bean a day…

Lani: Also sugar, but in a far more refined manner than Akira.

Mirabelle: Yellow plums.

Unearth your Gays:

Aiden: Human blood. (Although he exclusively drinks animal blood instead.)

Toby: Used to really like grilled halloumi (a hard cheese), but now has to subsist entirely on rare meat.

Lan: Used to love his grandmother’s char sui and plum sauce, but is no longer capable of eating at all.

Seth: Burgers. He doesn’t actually miss Ancient Egyptian cuisine that much.

#the one chosen #lovecraft academy #totem force #interactive fiction #romance options #unearth your gays

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moneeb0930 · 6 months

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7 NIGERIAN PEPPERSOUP SPICES

1. Calabash Nutmeg

Other names: African nutmeg

Botanical name: Monodora Myristica

Local Names: Erhe – Urhobo; Iwo – Itsekiri; Ehuru – Igbo; Ariwo – Yoruba; Gujiya dan miya – Hausa; Ukposa – Bini

Consists of: Shell and seed

Parts Used: Seed

Uses: condiment in soups, combined to make spice blends for peppersoup

2. Gbafilo

Other names: Rough-skinned/ Grey/ Guinea plum

Botanical name: Chrysobalanus icaco

Local Names: Gbafilo/ Gbafilor– Itsekiri And out of interest, in Brazil, it is known as Grageru or Abageru

Consists of: Sandpaper like shell and kernel

Parts Used: kernel

Uses: condiment in soups, combined to make spice blends for peppersoup

3. Grains of Selim

The fruits are narrow, slightly torulose, dark brown or black, about 2in. long, borne many (separate carpels) together on a stout peduncle (The Useful Plants of West Africa)

Other names: African/ Guinea/ Ethiopian Pepper

Botanical name: Xylopia Aethiopica

Local Names: Urheri – Urhobo; Unien – Bini; Atta – Ibibio/Efik; Uda – Igbo; Eeru – Yoruba

Consists of: Skin and seeds. The seeds are bitter

Parts Used: both – the skin is used more often, ground and added to soups or bruised and used whole

Uses: condiment in soups, combined to make spice blends for peppersoup, added to agbo (bitters), put in water to purify it, added to palm wine as a flavourer.

4. Uziza

Other names: Bush Pepper, Guinea cubebs, West African Black Peppers

Botanical name: Piper Guineense

Local Names: Edusa – Ibibio; Eti-nkeni – Efik; Uziza – Igbo; Iyere – Yoruba

Consists of: Dried black berries

Uses: condiment used in soups, rice, etc

5. Alligator Pepper

Other names: Grains of Paradise

Botanical name: Aframomum Melegueta

Local Names: Ehie ado – Bini; Ntuen – Efik; Ose oji/ okwa – Igbo; Oburo – Yoruba

Consists of: Skin and seeds. The seeds are aromatic and pungent, with some strains of cardamom flavour

Parts Used: the seeds are ground and added to soups, stews; also chewed with kolanuts where it produces a numbing effect

Uses: condiment in soups, combined to make spice blends for peppersoup, added to agbo (bitters), put in water to purify it, added to palm wine as a flavourer.

6. Tetrapleura Tetraptera

Other names: Prekese [Ghana]

Botanical name: Aframomum Melegueta

Local Names: Aridan – Yoruba; Edem Inang – Efik; Ighimiakhie – Bini; Usho usho – Igbo

Consists of: long winged fruit pods, two hardy, two soft and sweet edible wings.

Parts Used: soft wings are edible and used

Uses: ground for soups, roasted and ground for soups and sauces. Ground pulp is sometimes added to palm wine to flavour it.

7. Umilo, Omilo

Other names: Cocoplum [Caribbean]

Botanical name: Chrysobalanus icaco

Local Names: Omilo/ Umilo – Itsekiri

Consists of: Shell and seed/ kernel

Parts Used: Shell is broken and seed/ kernel inside is used.

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morethansalad · 1 year

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Vegan Nigerian Peppered “Goat”

#vegan #lunch #dinner #vegan goat #nigerian cuisine #west african cuisine #african cuisine #tvp #bell peppers #onion #scotch bonnet peppers #anaheim peppers #ginger #curry #thyme #pimento #soy sauce

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afrobeatsindacity · 11 months

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BURNA BOY: RISE OF THE AFRICAN GIANT

In many ways, Damini Ebunoluwa Ogulu was always made for greatness, but for the longest time he was one of only a few who believed it. As it happens with those with the strongest wills, this inner conviction of who he was meant to be would prove sufficient to propel him to his destination. With his journey to the top of Nigerian (and African) music now complete, and as he soars to achieve a similar dominance at the global level, it is important to remember that, though he has slid into his star status with all the ease of a natural, his pathway to the summit was not always a straightforward one.

After a spell spent studying in the United Kingdom, which infamously ended in an arrest, Burna Boy returned to Nigeria to pursue his dream endeavour—music. The year was 2011, and Afrobeats—the dance-ready, percussion-focused medley of indigenous sounds with foreign influences—had taken flight. It was a pivotal time in Nigerian music, as the stars who had ruled the last decade—like D’Banj and 2baba—began to wane in influence, while the acts who would take the baton for the next decade, like Wizkid, Davido and Olamide, were taking the first steps of their careers.

In this mix, too, was Burna, and with neither the support of a major label nor an external source of financing in its place, he would have to make things work by himself. As a result of this, his earliest musical efforts, however excellent they were sonically, could not make a commensurate commercial and cultural impact. But he was not entirely alone. He was aided by his manager and mother, Bose Ogulu, who had some ties to the music industry; her father, Benson Idonije, was a music journalist who had managed Fela Kuti. Together with Aristokrat Records and its in-house producer, LeriQ, Burna Boy and his small band of creatives and executives sought to make a dent in Nigeria’s music market.

His earliest forays came via mixtapes. Burn notice: The Mixtape was the first of them, released in April 2011 on the strength of a few singles like “Remember The Titans” and “Wombolombo Something” that were making local ripples at the time in the Port Harcourt scene. He followed up in November with “Burn Identity,” and for this sequel he recruited national stars like Davido and Sauce Kid. These mixtapes were part of an elaborate build up to his debut album—in place of the EP format that is the more common route today. But before its arrival, he needed a spark, a breakout single that would establish him beyond the confines of his Port Harcourt base.

That would come in 2012’s “Like To Party,” which was as true a reflection of Burna’s carefree spirit as could be accurately transcribed in music. Set to dancehall and raggae production that favoured a more tranquil side of afropop, Burna created the perfect beachside song, turning the rejection of his affections—”I been begging but you no wan gree/ Say you you know want me” into a genuine excuse to craft the memorable, wild party. Ingredients like these are never wasted in the hands of the right chef, and Burna was able to draw from his uniquely guttural-yet-soulful vocal range and create what many regard to be his proper breakout single.

Burna Boy would bring all of this to his next release, “Tonight,” this time soaking in some sultriness to set this song in sensual waters. “Said tonight will be your night/ Gotta be doing something right,” he sings, as his chorus loops a single nonsensical word until it becomes the soothing balm for a Friday night’s groove after a work-filled week. For his efforts in 2012, Burna tied for first at the Headies rookie competition, which rewarded underground stars with a chance to perform on the stage of Nigeria’s premier music awards.

His introductions now out of the way, it was time to unveil a much-awaited debut album. Succinctly titled Leaving an Impact For Eternity, it was supported by a quartet of pre-released singles, (“Like To Party”, “Run My Race”, “Tonight” and “Yawa Dey”) whose quality foreshadowed good tidings for the album—a bar that Burna and LeriQ had no problems crossing with its release. They were in complementary form, working in dancehall, hip hop, reggae and elements from Fuji into the 19 track LP (for its deluxe). LeriQ shone especially in his ability to craft pop songs without dipping into the explosive Ghanaian-tinged production that was all the rave back then, the cloth from which Wizkid fashioned the bulk of his Superstar album—ensuring Burna Boy could light up a party with every bit of his distinctiveness intact.

L.I.F.E. was a scripting of Burna Boy’s status as he simultaneously affirmed his new position as an uprising star whilst arguing that he should be so much greater. You see, this drive, nearly bordering on discontent, has been the force behind his career, and the reason why his newfound material comforts—the fame and money—in no way slowed his momentum. Worsening economic conditions in Nigeria have made a few prospective endeavours choice paths for those seeking an escape from a harsh upbringing into a much better future. Music is one of these, but Burna Boy’s hunger has always been for greater things.

This drive, like the flip side of a coin, is also his weakness. In 2014, a year after his debut album had established a place for him in the industry, cracks began to appear in his lean, mean team. The first of these would come in July, when he appeared to relieve his mother of her managerial duties via a now-deleted twitter post, in which he infamously announced it was time to "let my mother be my mother and let my manager be my manager". Bose Ogulu would come out a few days later and attempt to throw some clarity to this statement, but while that episode was still playing out, word came out that he had left Aristokrat Records, the imprint under which he had released all previous music. That turned out to have been a mutual separation following contract expiration and non-renewal, but it effectively meant he would have to record his album without his mother-manager, Aristokrat Records or LeriQ, its in-house producer.

The result was about as bad as could be expected. Burna Boy had a rough 2015, most of it self-inflicted, so that at the time of the release of On A Spaceship, he had managed to threaten the media, exchange words with fellow artists, and berate award shows, and for anyone who had missed any of his shenanigans, he made the baffling decision of taping an interview of a journalist outlining his flaws and making it his album intro. That, save for the brooding, Fela-inspired album closer, "Soke", was the most exciting point of the album, the rest of which placed somewhere between forgettable and unoriginal. In the end it was clear that On A Spaceship, and the decisions that led to it, was a big misstep for Burna.

He would then spend 2016 reversing the wrong decisions that had brought him here. He mended fences with Aristokrat Records and was once more back with LeriQ, and though he would still release future music under the self-owned Spaceship Records, he could receive A&R guidance from his former label. Less than a year after On A Spaceship, he released Redemption, an EP celebrating not just these healed rifts but his re-entry to the UK, 5 years after he had received a ban for illegal activity. Redemption was also the earliest attempt to ‘westernise’ his sound, as he and LeriQ slid even deeper into his low-tempo grooves, emerging with a grinding dancehall joint like album opener, "Pree Me".

Redemption was not the instant return to top form that he might have envisaged, as it struggled to both reaffirm his national position and establish a foreign one in only 7 songs, but he was clearly making steps in the right direction. It would take two more years of work and creativity, and a return to Bose Ogulu as manager, for them to pay off, and this happened with his next album, Outside. It was named for Burna’s desire to stretch his influence beyond Nigerian and African borders, but it excels for his abilities to tie these diasporan visions to an African identity, a hurdle that Wizkid’s Sounds From The Other Side, also sharing this world-conquering vision, could not clear. In many ways, Outside was the birth of the Burna Boy’s superstardom: it was the perfection of the self-styled Afrofusion, where samples of Fela Kuti’s “Sorrow Tears And Blood” on “Ye” sit beside EDM on the titular track which sits beside the patois-dripping, ragga-influenced “Sekkle Down” which sits beside the ethereal, chest-thumping “Heaven’s Gate.” Burna Boy, the conductor of this mix, not only makes it work, but achieves cohesion in a way only he can.

The album also housed the sleeper hit “Ye”, which, with a tinge of luck supplied by publicity brought by the homonymous Kanye West album, took off for what was his first global hit. Outside was also the first lap of a three-year, three-album spell in which he asserted himself incontrovertibly in global conversations. African Giant, which came next in 2019, was fueled by the same Afrofusion cocktail, and with the album (and the circumstances surrounding its name) he introduced the world to his grandiloquence and the talent that inspired it, before 2020’s Twice As Tall clinched for him a much-coveted Grammy and brought to a fine conclusion his intercontinental dominance arc.

With last year’s Love, Damini released in his new status as a bonafide global superstar, and then becoming his most-streamed project, Burna Boy has now all but completed what ambitions must have spurred his entry into music in the first place: A host of major awards in the bag, unforgettable performances at some of the most iconic locations in the world, a teeming fanbase more than ready to draw arms in defence of his (many) gaffes. Knowing Burna, you would still not expect him to be satisfied.

With great talent sometimes comes an outsized desire to make it known to as many people as possible, and an ever-throbbing impulse that tells you you can do even more. Burna crams all of this triumphant euphoria into his latest single, “Sittin’ On Top Of The World," and while it marks some deviation from his patented Afrofusion, we can rest assured that Burna’s plans for his next album and era will embody every bit of the excellence he has exuded at every stage of his storied career thus far.

This article was written by Afrobeats City Contributor Ezema Patrick - @ezemapatrick (Twitter)

Afrobeats City doesn’t own the right to the images - image source: Instagram - @Burnaboygram

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