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Project management consulting supports better access to resources
Project management advisory is a method of getting more than just insights and professional experience.
The right advisors will be able to provide you with actionable strategies that help you achieve your long-term business objectives and goals without compromising your short-term survival.
In addition to strategic assistance, a consulting firm will open up access to a range of resources and optimisation opportunities. These include project management training, outsourcing, spend optimisation, and swift maturity assessments.
Receiving all these advantages in one place is the key to choosing the right consultancy service for your company. Every business has different needs. In the midst of a crisis, these needs may become unclear. A project management consultant can shed light on what these could be and the best ways to ensure that they are met, despite the challenges.
Stay prepared for 2024 with project management advisory
Ensure that your business goes from strength to strength with the swift and targeted strategies that project management consulting can provide.
Start building the business landscape of the new normal today with a more resilient and flexible project management function.
Project management advisory yields many benefits to businesses in any industry Here is how investing in these services can help businesses
#Finance Partnering#Project Management#Finance services#Procurement services#Value creation#Bottom line solutions#Procurement digitalization
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From Distress to Opportunity: Building Affordable, Sustainable Housing Through the Flight2Safety Social Impact Fund

In today’s rapidly changing housing landscape, finding secure, socially responsible investment opportunities can be challenging. That’s where Flight2Safety steps in—bridging the gap between impactful investing and real-world community transformation.
The Flight2Safety Social Impact Fund, a Morningstar-vetted $25 million sustainable bond offering, is reshaping the future of affordable housing across the Midwest, South, and West Coast. By acquiring and revitalizing distressed properties—including manufactured home communities and multi-family housing units—the fund delivers both meaningful change and market-leading returns.
A Mission Rooted in Purpose
Established in 2019, Flight2Safety Realty Group LLC, led by Dr. Canaan Van Williams, has a proven track record of converting neglected properties into vibrant, livable communities. Their work has already made a difference in places like Riverdale, IL, Las Vegas, NV, and Orangeburg County, SC—delivering affordable housing options for low-income families, veterans, and individuals with disabilities.
With the launch of the Flight2Safety Social Impact Fund, the organization expands its reach with plans to develop up to 550 housing units, integrating renewable energy, water conservation, and environmentally friendly infrastructure into every project.
Invest with Purpose—and Profit
This unique fund offers preferred returns ranging from 9% to 15.5%, depending on investment tier, with a minimum investment starting at just $20,000. Whether you're seeking fixed income or high-yield opportunities, Flight2Safety aligns your financial goals with social values.
Investment Tiers Include:
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Enhanced Growth Tier – 12.5% return (7% current, 5.5% deferred) for $100,000–$499,999
High-Yield Tier – 14.5% return (9% current, 5.5% deferred) for $500,000–$999,999
Elite Impact Tier – 15.5% return (10% current, 5.5% deferred) for $1,000,000+
With over 25 years of experience and $6.35 million returned to investors, the Flight2Safety team—including financial expert Michael Zajas of BE Lending and Proactive Realty Group—combines innovation, empowerment, and integrity to deliver sustainable success.
Why Choose Flight2Safety?
Vetted by Morningstar – Added assurance and transparency
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Ready to Transform Lives—and Your Portfolio?
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Together, we can secure your financial future while shaping better, more inclusive communities.
#Social impact investing#Affordable housing#Sustainable development#Distressed real estate#Flight2Safety Fund#Green building#Community revitalization#Impact-driven investments#Eco-friendly housing#Real estate transformation#Housing equity#Urban redevelopment#ESG real estate#Low-income housing#Real estate fund#Inclusive housing#Triple bottom line#Opportunity zones#Community-focused investments#Affordable home solutions
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I got into art because of a pretty lettering book I got from my grandparents. My sister and I spent a summer at their house bonding with them so we wouldn't be cooped up all summer, and at the end we made them thank you cards and asked them if we could call them our grandparents 💕 We love our adopted (kinda) grands.



#I love how the hourglass turned out#the heavens one had a perfect top first try with a messed up bottom#the second try had a decent bottom and a messes up top#modern problems require modern solutions#i never got to lining the number your days one#pretty lettering#lettering#bible verse#bible#bible scripture#card ideas#card illustration
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Book Decoration: AKA All The Ways I Don't Use a Cricut
(this post is for people who don't want to buy an expensive cutting tool, or for those that do have an expensive cutting tool that would like to mix things up a little)
1. Print That Shit

If you're already printing your own textblocks, an easy step for titles is to print them. Above is a title printed onto an "obi" of decorative paper. I measured out where I wanted things on the finished book and laid it out in Affinity, then printed it on a full sheet & trimmed it down to wrap around the book. A more simple method is to print & glue on the label into a slight indent in the cover (to protect it). A third option is to do the spine in bookcloth, while you print on paper for the cover and then glue that paper onto the boards (this usually looks even better when it is a three-piece bradel bind).
2. Foil Quill / Heat Pens
The heat pen is one of my go-to tools, but it can be a bit touchy about materials. The most popular version is the We R Memory Keepers' Foil Quill (which is one of the most ergonomic), but other pens exist that can get you to a higher heat temp, finer lines, or more consistent foil. For example, I have a pen created by a local Japanese bookbinding studio that fares way better on leathers than the WRMK quill & with a finer tip, but it's hell to control. Best results in general are on paper or smooth bookcloth (starched linen, arrestox, colibri - even duo will work but its less solid). The fuzzier a bookcloth is, the less your foil quill wants to deal with it. This means the heat n bond method of making bookcloth does not play nice with a heat pen usually, but there are two solutions: 1) use this tutorial on paste + acrylic medium coated bookcloth instead that will get you a perfect surface for the heat pen, or 2) use the pen on paper & then glue onto the cloth. I did a video tutorial for both foil quill use and this type of homemade bookcloth for @renegadeguild Binderary in 2023.
You get the most consistent results by tracing through a printed template that is taped in place, as I do in the video above.

3. Paint That Shit

Acrylic paints will do you fine! The above is free-handed with a circle template, because I wanted that vibe. If you need straight lines that won't seep, lay them down with tape first & then paint over it first with a clear Acrylic medium, then your color. Same goes for stencils. Two more examples of painted bookcloth:


4. IT'S GOT LAYERS

By using layers of thinner boards, you can create interesting depths & contrasts on your cover. You can also make cutouts that peep through to the decorative paper behind. The most important part to this technique is the order in which each edge is wrapped. To get a good wrapped inside edge, you will split the turn in into tabs to get them to conform to a curve. You can also layer multiple colors of bookcloth without multiple layers of board, as seen below left, so long as you mind your cut edges for fraying.
5. Inlaid... anything

Mirrors! Marbled paper! I saw someone do a pretty metal bookmark once! The key is creating a little home for it to live in, which is pretty similar to the above layering method. On one layer you cut the shape, & glue that layer onto the bottom solid board before covering. You can do the top layer as an entire 1 mm board (like I did for the mirrors) or a sheet of cardstock, like I would use for inlaid paper.
6. Decorative Paper

Decorative paper is always helpful & adds to the paper hoard... & its effects can be layers with other techniques, as below. Marbles, chiyogami, momi, or prints & maps of all kinds can be great additions. Some papers may need a protective coating (such as wax or a sealer).

7. Stamps (with optional linocut)

While I've not used many more regular rubber stamps, I do know some who have, successfully! And I've used one once or twice with embossing powder (see photo 3 up, the gold anchor on the little pamphlet bind). What also works is to carve your own linocut or stamp, & then use block printing ink to ink it onto your fabric (as i did above). A bit time intensive, but it was nice how easily reproducible it was, and I liked the effect I got for this particular bind.
These methods are not exhaustive, just ones I've used, and there are of course many others. I haven't gone too into detail on any of these for the sake of length (& post photo limits) but feel free to ask about more specifics. Usually I'm using them in combination with other options.
#fanbinding#bookbinding#celestial sphere press#ficbinding#in progress review#bookbinding how to#i am not particularly anti-cricut or anything#it's just a very expensive tool#and its prevalence sometimes makes new binders think they HAVE to get one#when they absolutely do not#you can make pretty books without it
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cw brief mentions of pregnancy
hook-up culture was one of the only ways you could get your fix without commitment. it’s hard to maintain any real relationships now, especially as a full time student (and slut). but you’d always been careful, having taken contraceptives, keeping condoms on you, etc etc.
though, none of them are 100% full proof.
you stare at the pregnancy test, wide-eyed. someone bangs on the bathroom door of the gas station, urging you to hurry up. but you can’t, the implications of those two little lines keeping you stuck to the seat.
when you ask your friends, they dismiss you, saying “you’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.” and when you call your parents..
you block out the interaction from your memory.
with no financial or emotional support, you are forced to scour the internet for a solution. an abortion is too expensive, and you can’t raise this thing when you’re about to enter your junior year of college.
all hope seems lost, till you find the shadiest ad on craigslist;
Looking for Baby to adopt. Surrogate or already pregnant. Will provide care for entire pregnancy.
it seems like a scam, even more so as you open it and skim through the benefits (a roof over your head, food and water, nearly $25k to start). everything about this seems too good to be true. after all, can you really trust something you saw on craigslist?
still, your eyes find a phone number and email address at the bottom of the ad, belonging to some guy named johnny mactavish. the foreign name throws you off even more, surely a name like that isn’t located in the united states of fuck all. though, it seems like you have no other solutions.
hesitantly, your mouse hovers over the ‘reply’ button, the clicking sound ringing in your ears, settling your fate.
——
johnny knew it was futile to post an ad looking for a surrogate on craigslist, but he didn’t see any other options (or rather, he ignores them). simon and him have been retired for some time now, settling in some small state. the woods offer some sort of privacy, a silence that comforts them rather than makes them shake in their sleep.
it seemed natural that having children would be the next step after living here for so long. johnny thanks tommy for finding a pretty bird and producing a nephew since it would’ve been harder to convince simon otherwise. the riley’s don’t seem like family men, yet simon is carving a little bear to send back to manchester, congratulating tommy on the announcement of his baby girl.
it makes johnny warm, but he can’t help but feel jealous. sure, simon is everything to him, his whole world, but it’s hard to procreate when all you got is a prick and shitter.
so he set up his little offer, though he might as well be suppressed with how nearly no one has reached out to him.
johnny’s about to take down the ad, ready to talk to simon about doing things a different way, when he suddenly gets a reply.
> this isn’t a joke, right?
johnny raises a brow at this, swiveling back to the computer and typing up his response.
< would nevr joke bout smth srs
and when five minutes passed, he presumed that would be the end of this little interaction, fueling johnny’s desire to take down the post.
that is, till he gets another response.
> well, is the position still open then?
he feels his heart stop, eyes widening as he reads the phrase over and over. a certain excitement wells in his chest, and he gets back on the keyboard before he can run out the room and tell simon the good news.
——
his last reply consists of a time, date, and address.
#sgt soap#lt ghost#ghoap au#ghoap x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#cw pregnancy#call of duty#reds writes
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. ۪ ֗ “ 𝑁𝑜—𝐺𝑒𝑡 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑂𝑛𝑒 ”⋆˚🫧



PART 1 • [this fic has been split into two parts]
21k! CONTENT WARNING (MDNI) • phone s*x (mutual m*sturbation), edg*ng, unprotected s*x, p -> v s*x, b*ckshots, squ*rting, choking, c*rvix kissing, rough consensual s*x, dominating male character, possessive behavior/talk, dummification, foot f*tish, minor size k*nk, tummy bulge, heavy use of dirty talk, use of profanity, nicknames (Mami, Mama, Papa, Pa), use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black) • INSPIRED BY THIS POST • CHARACTER VISUALZ
PART 2 HERE ->
TENSION TIES HER BROWS INTO A KNOT, disturbing the usually smooth and clear surface of her skin.
The pounding at the base of her skull is like a jackhammer to concrete. Nothing even close to a minor headache from hunger or dehydration—though the two factors are likely at play here.
Another migraine, she knows.
The ailment has unfortunately been reoccurring for the last two months. No amount of pain reliever, water, or “relaxation” seems to be a solution.
A solution—the solution—would be to come up on the perfect new home for herself.
Her pupils tremble as they struggle to uphold their deadpan stare on the MacBook’s bright screen. The mild sting in her eyes doesn’t distract her anymore.
Within the last three hours since sitting up in bed, they’ve seen more numbers than her lagging brain can keep up with. Numbers that just keep climbing as the conditions and amenities of newer listings lessen.
These sellers must be out of their fucking minds.
$3,000 a month for a one-bedroom unit, with no washer and dryer?
Almost $600 in amenities—per month?
$2,500 for just a studio?
Every new and disappointing option makes that worrying voice at the back of her head louder. Because—really—she’s only got about a month and a half left of this lease, and she’s definitely not staying here.
She can’t afford to. Not even with her new job.
What started as a fun and optimistic search, has turned into one full of anxiety. As time withers away, her standards for a new apartment have been whittled down to the bare minimum.
Is it fair to say that she’s become desperate?
Whether or not she’ll even be able to find a new place before her lease is up, is unknown at this point.
Funding a new place is her only option at this point. The thought of moving back in with her father is unfathomable. She just can’t.
Minutes of her teeth worrying at her bottom lip; they finally rip through the soft, pink skin. She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she swipes her tongue over the leaking nick as she proceeds to the eleventh page of results.
These newer listings lie near the outskirts of the city, closer to the suburbs. A problem when the public transportation of her state doesn’t reach those areas, her job is in the heart of the city and—oh! She doesn’t have a car.
“Fuck.”
A defeated whine squirms from her mouth as her head falls in her hands. The heavy comforter over her legs is hot and suffocating. But, at the very least, it feels good to close her eyes for once.
Tiny beads of tears line her closed lids, pearling up along her thinning lash extensions—which are way past their time for a fill-in. And fuck, she can’t even afford to do that.
Her chest deflates as a long and slow exhale is dragged from her chest. Following suit, is a wet sniffle.
When she finally picks her bonneted head out of her hands, her blurred vision waltzes around her bedroom.
The light is off, the sunlight does all of the work; pouring in through the tall windows and spilling itself against the cool, plaster-colored wood flooring. It reaches farther in some areas than others.
For instance, it washes over her in a shower of light, yet hesitates to touch the corners of her room where clothes, shoes, and other miscellaneous bullshit are strewn about. She shuts her eyes with the reminder of her need to clean this pigsty.
Every morning for the last few weeks—when she doesn’t have work—has been like this: wake up, check listings for hours, rot in bed for another two while wallowing, then finally picking herself up out of bed to take care of her body’s needs.
It seems to be an endless cycle that she can’t rescue herself from. And she desperately wants to escape.
The sharp ping of her phone interrupts her regularly scheduled sulking. She’s surprised it hasn’t died yet. Her arm drags to reach out for the small device buried within her rumpled, old sheets. It takes some feeling around to find it.
When she brings it to her face, the dim screen alights to show off the brand new notification: a message.
Sito💢 — Mall?
His timing never really errs on the correct side of things. Another sigh, this one gentle, blows past her cracked lips.
You — Too broke and stressed.
A tiny balloon of shame bursts within her as she had pressed ‘send’ on the confession.
He won’t clown her for it, Sito’s never been one to shit on another person’s financial situation. His family’s been down at a point.
The difference between hers and his, though, is that they were able to pick themselves up out of that. Something she still faults her father for being unable to do.
Even if it were a circumstance of luck, why couldn’t they be as lucky?
Another ping steals her attention away.
Sito💢 — Don’t even tb it
Sito💢 — Yk igu
She stares at his messages, for how long, she’s not sure. Regardless, her delayed response must’ve been long enough to trigger something in him. More messaged come.
Sito💢 — Could tb it over food, I’m buying
Sito💢 — Lmk
The word “food” reminds her body that the last time it’s consumed anything was honestly too long ago to remember—and that she desperately needs to go grocery shopping.
Her stomach feebly growls.
Sito💢 — Could tb it over food, I’m buying ?
↳ 👍
•
Even with the promise of food, getting ready proved to be an arduous task. She isn’t in the highest of spirits to really dress as nicely as she usually would.
Fishing through the laundry spilling from her closet, she finds her blue Gallery Department hoodie buried under a pile of clothes.
It’s actually Sito’s. Just one of the many pieces she’d stolen from his closet during a visit over to his place.
The hoodie pools around her upper half. She’s got to tuck it under her bra so that it sits right on her. The only pair of denim shorts she can find are her choice of bottoms for the day.
Her fresh white ankle socks just barely peek out over the low tops of her Converses—a years-old birthday gift.
She ambles out of her room with her phone in one hand and her purse dangling from the other. It isn’t until she reaches the kitchen that she takes a knee to lace up her sneakers.
Just as she finishes the bow of her laces on the second foot, her phone buzzes from beside her foot on the floor. Sito’s contact name flashes across the screen with a FaceTime call. She answers, and her face shrinks as his takes up the entire screen.
His caramel skin glistens. Fresh braids line his twisting head, dark eyes straying from the camera as his focus is clearly on the road ahead of him.
“Yo.”
“Hey,” she mumbles.
He glances at her, doing a quick once-over of the screen.
“You good?”
“Not really.”
His lips press together in thought as he looks at the road ahead of him. “You gon’ be good, I’m pulling up right now. Come downstairs.”
“Alright.”
“Aight.”
The call ends just as quickly as it started. She shoves her phone into her hoodie pocket and slings her purse over her right shoulder. Quick to grab the keys to her apartment, she heads out of the door and locks it behind herself.
The elevator ride down to the lobby is really a blur. Though, her mind seems to return once she catches sight of the sleek, black Audi Q5. The smile that appears on her face is weak, but at least it’s there.
She’s quick to get to the passenger-side door, pulling it open. “Hey,” she says softly, as she hops into the seat.
The scent of his car warms her chest. So characteristically him. Yet, she can pick up on the separate scent of the cologne he’s wearing, Tom Ford’s Bitter Peach.
He makes the first move, reaching over the middle console to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Wassup.”
She leans into him, her cheek squished against the ball of his shoulder. The hug barely lasts a second. And even with his sweater on, she still feels the chill of when he pulls away.
“You smell good,” he says over the sound of her shuffling in her seat, getting situated.
“Forreal?” The crisp click of her seatbelt cuts through the air.
Looking away, he puts the car in drive, carefully pulling out of the temporary parking spot. “Yeah.”
“Funny thing is, I didn’t even spray nothing on me. I was in a rush, I forgot.” She gathers the hoodie in a pinch, lifting the thick fabric to her freckled, button nose for a quick sniff. “Mmh,” she hums, dropping it. “You’re probably smelling my old perfume on it, I didn’t wash this since the last time I wore it.”
As he’s driving, he seems to do a double-take at her.
“Hol’up—that’s my Gallery hoodie you got on?”
A small, quiet giggle floats from around the nail of her thumb as it’s pushed between the top and bottom rows of her teeth. “I was wondering when you’d notice it was gone.”
“Man, I just got that shit ‘bout … four months ago.” He glances at her one more time, closely eyeing how it shrouds her much smaller frame. “Just spraying your shit all on my clothes like it’s yours.”
“‘Cause it is.” Although quiet, there’s a sass in her tone that relieves him.
There’s a ghost of a smirk on his pink lips, so faint she doesn’t even see it. “Always playing around in my clothes … barely even notice when something’s missing.”
He isn’t lying. Next to the mall, his closet is her favorite place to shop at.
“I’ma start reporting my shit as stolen.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she mumbles, picking at her outgrown acrylics as she tries to fight back an even bigger smile. “Your mother would not appreciate you lying on my name like that.”
Outside of the car windows, the buildings zoom by. His fast driving hasn’t scared her for a long time. So long as she’s got a functioning seat belt on, she’s secure.
The lemon yellow diamonds on his bracelet glisten when the sunlight hits them; he lifts his hand to play with the curly tuft of hair at his chin.
“Yeah … you do got my folks thinking you all sweet ‘n’ shit.”
Her eye-roll is polite, despite the rude nature of such an action. “And am.”
“Mmh … nah.” He slows the car as he takes a soft turn. “They just don’t know that you really a brat.”
Her head jerks back, face twisting up with taken offense. “A brat?”
His words posit a bit of energy within her that he enjoyed. Fuck all of that fake, ‘soft-spoken,’ and mopey bullshit.
“No, the fuck I’m not.” She glares his way.
He grins. “Really? Cause you don’t listen. It’s always an argument, even if you know I’m right.”
“‘Cause you’re not.”
He swipes his tongue along the wall of his cheek. “You think you know everything, huh? You smart, ‘Mani, but you ain’t the only one.”
A scoff. “Really? ‘Cause it feels like it every time we speak.”
He huffs out a breath of laughter, not at all taking her words to heart. “I think you just like hearing yourself talk.”
“I do. Especially when I’m right.” She smiles to herself, triumphantly.
And all he does is shake his head, amused at the whole ordeal.
Just a quick temperature check, is all that was. He needed to know if her issues were beyond his fixing.
Blindly, he plucks his phone up from its spot in his lap, barely glancing at the screen to unlock it. He tosses the device to her.
“Uh!”
“You been slacking at your job, DJ.”
She kisses her teeth, picking up the phone anyway.
“And don’t play none’a that Slizzy shit. That’s all you been playing lately.”
“Fuck you, it’s good.”
‘It’s really not,’ is what he wants to say. Yet, he holds his fire when he hears the beginning of one of his favorite G Herbo songs over the car’s speakers.
He begins to bop his head along to the fast-paced beat.
“Yeah, look at you. Like a moth to a flame,” she says with a smirk.
But he doesn’t listen, only happy that he got his way.
As she scrolls through his playlist, looking for a song to queue up that’s more of her taste, a notification pops down on his screen:
Jada — Sitooo
Her eyes narrow. She doesn’t even chance taking a glimpse at him.
Pursing her lips, Cimani swipes away the message before putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb.’ And, no doubt, Sito’s got his Focus Status shared.
With a one-sided smile, she clicks on a song she actually likes, queue-be-damned.
He kisses his teeth as what is definitely a Slizzy-type beat, begins to play—MHPG Sound’s MHA.
“‘Mani.”
He glances over at her, a large smile splitting her face in half. She only giggles.
“You getting fired soon.”
She laughs harder.
However, eventually, all of that ruckus dies down. Too soon for her liking, actually.
The silence that fills the space leaves her too much room to think about her problems again—this Jada-character not being one of them. She’s a problem for a different day.
Even if Sito isn’t constantly looking her way, he still sees the way her face slowly falls in his peripheral.
That somber look returns, dragging her pretty face down while her thoughts appear like a dark cloud over her head.
Thunder’s rumbling, preparing for lightning to strike.
Money.
Her lease.
The apartment—
“You know what your problem is?”
The impending storm quiets, just long enough for her to hear him. It takes seconds longer than normal for her to digest his words.
With what seems to be a surprise attack on her character, she waits for him to continue so that she may decide whether or not to be rightfully offended.
“You be thinking too hard. All these choices and big ass decisions you try to make.”
The birth of this new conversation steals the spotlight from her other issues, shoving those thoughts to a corner in her mind.
“So, what? I should just stop thinking for myself?”
“Didn’t say all that.”
“So what are you saying, then?”
He inhales. “What I’m saying is that, you don’t need to be doing all that thinking and worrying.”
She can only laugh, more out of shock at his audacity. “Excuse me?”
“You tired of it.” He glances at her. “I could tell … should let me be the one doing all that.”
She tries to ignore the way her stomach drops at those words.
“You?” she asks, as if the mere suggestion was an insult. “Oh, please! The nigga constantly losing his wallet?”
He shrugs. “You know I’m right, ‘Mani. You don’t gotta fry me. I’m being serious.”
She kisses her teeth, turning her head to look out of the window, already over this conversation. “Sito, you’re a man. And the last time I put my life into a man’s hands, I almost ended up homeless.”
“Quit comparing me to other niggas.”
As she opens her mouth to say something, he’s already speaking again.
“Told you ‘bout that. I’m your friend, I’d never do you like that.”
It’s funny. The mention of their relationship sparks a flame of irritation in her.
Is Jada a friend?
“I just need you to relax around me. That’s all … Relax, and let me take care of shit. Promise you, you’ll like it.”
Releasing a tired sigh, Cimani decides to keep her thoughts to herself. She turns her body back towards the window, allowing the music to fill the space that their conversation once took up.
•
It’s something about going to the mall—call it the spirit of consumerism taking ahold of her.
Stepping into the cool, wide open space with sunlight pouring in from the glass ceiling, her mood shifts. She can’t lie.
The mall has always been a place of good vibes and fun experiences. Especially when it comes to Sito being there.
They’ve been going together for years, at this point. And one thing that always surprises her is how much his love for shopping matches hers.
Quickly, she learned that he’s a great shopping partner. A great plus, too is that he’s got a commendable taste in fashion. But, he doesn’t need to hear that from her.
Their first time going together, she assumed that he’d be a complainer, whining because she took too long in stores trying on every item that caught her eye. Just like everyone else she’d go with.
However, he managed to be the one to outlast her. By the eighth store, she was tired and cranky. Her feet were killing her, and although he held most of the bags, what little she had were growing heavier by the second. And he had the audacity to ask about going to another store.
“Where you tryna go first?” he asks, looking down at her.
“I don’t know.” She doesn’t spare him a glance, still holding onto that conversation from the car. “I’m not gonna buy anything.”
Sito gives her a pointed look. “Lil’ girl’, please pick a store.”
Ignoring his obvious effort at trying to get under her skin, she peers around the busy space. People of all kinds fill the mall. Some walk together while others walk alone. There’s families, friends, and couples alike.
Entering through the first floor’s main entrance, they’ve come up on the more mainstream stores. Ones that cater more to the general public.
The more expensive stores and boutiques—your name brands—are situated on the higher level, towards the back of the mall. That’s more of Sito’s spot.
However, though, one of the first floor stores catch her eyes: Windsor. Sito follows her gaze.
“Aight, c’mon then,” he says, gently taking her wrist to pull her along.
Her protest is only a silent roll of the eyes.
Upon entering the store, his hand drops hers. “Go crazy.”
With a raised brow and a twisted lip, she glares up at him. “Sito, I don’t have money to waste—”
“So don’t.”
She scowls at him.
Letting go of a stressed sigh, he’s more than ready to give up on this conversation. Because he thought it went unsaid that, “If you want something, I’ma get it.”
For a moment, she only stares. The irritation on her face fades, but it doesn’t disappear.
“Is this an apology?”
He shrugs. “If that’s how you wanna take it.”
Her bright eyes narrow before rolling yet again. She pulls away from him, heading to the first rack that earns her attention. As she walks away, he looks on with satisfaction.
•
There’s racks on either side of them, clothes strewn all over the place. Hangers are twisted and shoved into spots they don’t belong.
All courtesy of Cimani.
He can admit, his friend is a messy shopper. And while he can’t help but to notice it, she doesn’t seem to even be aware of her issue. Her focus is elsewhere.
“What do you think about this?”
To her chest, she holds up the tiniest tennis skirt Sito has ever seen in his life.
And yet, his eyebrows don’t even raise a fraction.
He’s familiar with Cimani’s taste in fashion. Skin-tight and revealing. He knows who his friend is; “the shorter, the better,” she once said.
This late in the game, he doesn’t even blink twice when her pants ride a bit too low on her hips or her shirts are too sheer for her brown nipples.
She’s pretty to look at, why would he complain?
“S’cool,” he says, eyeing it.
The skirt is a soft cream, so pale that it almost appears to be white.
She raises a brow. “That’s all?”
“It’s your style. You already know you gonna look good in it.”
“Hm.” She turns her back to him, tossing the skirt over her arm as she shuffles through the rack. All the while, she’s pressing her glossed lips together, willing them to stay in a straight line.
The pile of clothes hanging over her left arm piques his curiosity. He leans into one of the racks. “You tryna make an outfit or something?”
“I guess,” she sighs out. “I’m not finding anything cute enough, though.”
If she can find this beautiful skirt, why can’t she walk out of here with a whole new outfit?
And that’s how she spends the next twenty minutes in this store, turning it on its head to find a good enough top to go with it. Though, she doesn’t neglect to swipe up anything else that catches her eyes.
“What the fuck?” She groans. Frustration creases up her face, as she defeatedly joins the line.
“It’s other stores, Mami,” Sito gently reminds from behind her.
She only rolls her eyes. “I wanted something from here, though.”
Throwing a heavy arm around her shoulders, he pulls her body to his chest. The weight of his pull causes her to scuff her CDG Converses against the toes of his Balenciaga ASICS, but he ignores it.
“You gonna find something.”
Her heart flutters from the affection. She keeps the feeling bottled up.
Silence settles between them for some time as they slowly move up in the line. Sure, the clothes have begun to grow heavy in her arms, but she doesn’t mind it too bad.
However, the arm around her shoulders is definitely a stronger weight. And even as he scrolls through his phone, hitting up any app that catches his interest, Sito doesn’t pull his arm away.
How many times has she been in his phone? He’s not too worried.
With no choice left but to watch, her eyes scour his screen with a detached interest.
Until she looks in the upper right hand corner of the screen to see the ‘Do Not Disturb’s crescent symbol.
Her lips purse.
“So … who’s Jada?”
His thumb twitches over the screen. Against her back, his chest slowly inflates with a deep but slow breath.
“Not anyone you know.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds as she waits for a response.
He kisses his teeth. “She not nobody for you to be worried about.”
Wrong answer.
“Hope you didn’t leave her on ‘delivered.’”
There’s a subtle twist of her lips now.
“I didn’t.”
Before he can provide a better answer, she pulls away to stand on her own.
He sighs to himself. It’s so soft, it can almost be mistaken as a simple exhale.
Without a doubt, there’s more questions she wants to ask, more things she wants to say. But … she keeps quiet.
They remain parted until they finally reach the register.
“Hello, would you like to pay with cash or card?” the cashier asks while tapping away at the register. She’s a younger worker, clearly in her teens.
Cimani’s lips part to give an answer.
“Card.”
Her mouth shuts, head jerking back as she gives Sito a glare. The cashier simply nods as she begins to scan each item.
“What’s the next store?”
She doesn’t spare him a glance as she shrugs plainly. Her frank demeanor makes him press his lips together in annoyance. He stares her down.
“‘Mani.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Her upper lip curls in distaste. She doesn’t obey.
“Bro, cmon.”
This time she listens, but the frown on her face deepens. That doesn’t matter too much to him.
“Dap me up.”
With a small grin, he holds out a ringed hand. The diamonds in the jewelry glisten under the store’s warm lighting.
Cimani only gives him a stiff once-over.
“Dap me up,” he presses. The jewelry on his wrist softly clink against each other as he shakes his hand for emphasis.
“Your total is two fifty-six, eighteen,” the cashier cuts in. “You can tap whenever you’re ready.”
Sito wants to groan. Dropping his hand, he retrieves his phone from his pocket to proceed with ApplePay. Shortly after, his phone dings with the successfully completed purchase.
“You over here catching an attitude, but she ain’t the one I’m getting shit for right now.” Reaching over the counter, he grabs the large shopping bags from the cashier’s hand.
“Have a good day,” Cimani tells her with a short smile, before walking ahead of him.
He follows.
“So you do this for all your friends, then?” she asks as they leave the store.
His face twists up. “One—she’s not my friend. And two, Hell nah.”
Just as fast, he drops the disgusted look. He switches the shopping bags to the other hand, throwing his free arm back around her smaller shoulders.
“You know I only do this type’a shit for you, Mami.”
Rolling her eyes at the nickname, she begrudgingly succumbs to his affection. Her body goes lax as she eventually leans mores into his touch.
Without a mention, Sito pulls them in a specific route, effectively leading the way to another store.
“Where we going?” she asks after a while.
“This one store I seen.”
When that’s all he says, her face contorts in confusion. “That’s it? What’s the name of the store?”
“Man, I’on know. But, we ‘bout to see, chill.”
She scoffs. “So damn annoying.”
It takes less than five more minutes for them to reach the new location. And “new” it is.
“I never seen this place before,” she says as they cross the threshold.
The store takes on more of a boutique style. There’s decorations of frills, lace, and baby pink all around them. These type of clothes seem to be more of a coquette style.
“Yeah,” he says, leading her towards the back of the store. “Seen it the other day when I came to pick up something.”
A soft gasp leaves her as she places a delicate hand over her chest in offense. “You came to the mall without me? What the fuck, Sito?”
He kisses his teeth, reaching overhead to riffle through a wall-mounted rack. “Relax, just had to get my mom’s pick-up order. I was in and out.”
“So you only went to one store?”
He lifts a cropped cardigan out from behind a couple of its other duplicates. He hands it over. “Yes.”
Without a question, Cimani takes the item. She doesn’t even check the size, confident that he knows hers.
“You promise?” She gazes up at him with big eyes.
As he stares down at her dramatic pout, he’s reminded of how cherubic her face is.
Faint freckles dot the apples of her cheeks and spill over the bridge of her nose. He only really sees them when he gets this close. On the apple of her left cheek, there’s a tiny beauty mark that stands out. And her lashes—which, speaking of—
“You need a fill-in.”
Her face falls. “Fuck you.”
With a smirk, he huffs out a breath of laughter. “You made an appointment for that yet?”
Finally, she takes a good look at the cardigan he’d given her. She frowns at it. “No.”
“Don’t do that, it’s cute,” he says, referencing the cardigan. “Y’know that’s your style.”
She looks at him challengingly. “Is it?”
“It’s gonna look good on you.” He eyes the piece closely, imagining it with the skirt she just purchased. “But, tell me when you book the appointment.”
“Yeah, you would like to know. ‘Cause you just love running errands with me.” She smirks, throwing the cardigan over her arm.
“I just know you gonna ask for a ride.” He takes her bag from the previous store as she walks over to some dresses. And, of course, he follows. “No car,” he mocks.
She picks up a backless, maxi dress. “Keep being sassy and you won’t have anyone to be taking.”
“Yeah, okay.” He eyes the dress. “Don’t get that.”
Kissing her teeth, her face screws up. “Who the fuck are you to tell me what to wear?”
“A nigga that cares, that shit ugly,” he scoffs. “I’on know why you even picked that up. Y’know I’m your stylist.” His statement finishes with a soft smirk, only earning an aggressive eyeroll.
“And what if I like to dress myself, hm? What if I really liked this dress?”
He sucks his teeth, jerking his head back. “C’mon, y’know that’s not gonna fit you right. Look at the cut,” Sito gestures to the baggy fabric. “You too pretty for that.”
Rolling her eyes, Cimani puts the dress back.
“That’s not even your style. Just picking shit up to do it—“
“Anyway,” she laughs. The bubbly sound tapers off with a sigh. “I can’t really afford a fill-in right now. You know that.”
“That’s why I said to let me know when you book it, duh. Ain’t no other reason I’ma say that.”
“And when the fuck did you become a trick?”
The simple question earns a chuckle out of him as he follows her on the way over to a short rack of cropped tops.
“You think you funny,” he smiles.
“You’re laughing, aren’t you?” She pushes a hanger or two to the side, trying to find her size.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Cimani only rolls her eyes.
“Quit questioning me. I’m just tryna make sure you look good.”
•
And he wasn’t lying about that.
After leaving the second store, with Sito having bought her even more clothes, he decides to take her to his list of favorite stores: Alo, Nordstrom, Lulu Lemon, Bloomingdales, and even a couple of sneaker resale stores.
Granted, he hadn’t bought something from every store they visited, but he undoubtedly dropped about two bands on her. A little less on himself, just a small cop of some shoes he’s been eyeing for some time.
He was ready to spend more, really cash out and make his best friend feel better, but the food court called for them. And when it’s time for them to eat, that typically marks the end of their shopping trip.
The line for their choice of lunch wasn’t horrendously long—a relief when they’ve got at least five large shopping bags between them.
When they take their seats, Sito is sure to keep them at his feet, underneath the table. There is the soft crinkle of paper bags and wrappers as they chew on their selection of fries and chicken sandwiches.
As usual, Sito finishes his meal prematurely. He only rolls his bag over, mentally swearing to go back to this leftover fries later—which he never does. To clear his throat, he takes a sip of his lemonade as he eyes Cimani.
“So,” he begins, setting down his half-finished cup. “You wanna talk about it forreal or…?”
She glances up, a blank expression covering her face. “What do you mean?”
“Shit, you tell me. Something’s clearly bothering you.”
It was only a matter of time.
“And don’t try to say it’s nothing.” He points a playfully warning finger in her face.
For a second or two, she only stares at him. But, that’s all it takes for her to crack a smile. With a lazy hand, she pushes his out of her face and looks down at her food.
She doesn’t know what to say first. Her smile falters as she builds her response in her head.
“Life’s just … beating my ass.”
A soft sigh slips through parted lips. After eating and the natural wear of the day, there’s hardly any trace of her lipgloss left.
She shakes her head. “It’s about my apartment.”
His brows pull together. “What you mean?”
“Like … ugh.” Her head falls into her hands, her elbows pressed into the surface of the table. “Why is apartment searching so hard.”
The wrinkle in his brows deepens. Since when had she been planning to move?
Cimani picks her head up out of her hands. “My lease is ending in less than two months and I can’t afford to renew it. They’re asking for too much.”
“How much?”
She sighs, picking at her fries. “An extra three-hundred.” Her dark eyes flick upwards to peer into his. “I’m already struggling with my rent as is, Sito. I can’t afford this. I’m already burning through my savings trying to keep up ‘cause it took me so long to get this new job.”
Quiet, he rubs a hand down the lower half of his face, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Everything I find is too expensive, and for what these aprtments are offering, it’s not worth it,” she continues. “Everything in this city is just so fucking expensive.”
The fatigue in her voice is almost tangible.
“And what’s actually in my price range is outside the city, and those units aren’t even an option for me. They’re too far from my job to have to take public transportation every day. I don’t even have a car.”
The more she talks, the more he finds her shrinking in on herself. Her shoulders become more hunched, her voice grows shaky, and her frown deepens.
She picks at the fraying of her shorts. “I can’t risk being late to this job, Sito. I just started it, I’m still on probation.”
Her cracking voice causes a heavy feeling in his chest. His mouth twitches, threatening to fall into a frown of its own.
How can he make this better?
It only takes about ten seconds for him to formulate an idea.
“What if I let you borrow my car?”
His words seem to pluck her head up, her eyes wide and brows pulled together.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Sito, I can’t—“
“Nah, hol’on—obviously, it’s not gonna be the one I drive. Just take the Benz.”
“Sito—”
“I’m serious.”
‘Just take the Benz.’ Did he even realize how that sounded? Sometimes, Cimani feels like it slips his mind how different things are for them.
“And if I scratch it doing some dumb shit or I get in an accident, then what?”
“Then I get it fixed, ‘Mani.” The wrinkle in Sito’s brows grows deeper. “What you tripping for? You need the car, right?”
“I can’t take your car, Sito.” Reaching out, she plucks a single fry from its container and pops it into her mouth, just to keep her body moving.
Truth be told, the nature of this conversation has ruined her appetite. She chews for longer than normal.
His sigh, one of stress this time around, is quite loud. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything. But when he finally does…
“So what you gonna do about the apartment, Mami?” His voice is tendered as he tries to meet her where she’s at.
Mid-swallow, she almost chokes on her food.
The nickname; she’s used to hearing it from him—an inside joke between them that should’ve long since died when he said it by mistake to her, during a heated conversation.
Too unserious for their own good, the two friends couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter, effectively ending the argument.
Ever since, Sito found himself using it whenever he felt like being funny.
Actually, that was the case.
She’s not really sure when the change happened, but most times now, she finds him using the nickname with a sincerity that’s almost … sickening.
It actually tends to catch her off guard more often than not these days.
At the very least, she can acknowledge how she really likes when he says it. Even if, at times, she can’t handle it. Especially those times when he purposely softens his voice just to call her that.
Recentering her breathing, she looks past him.
“I dunno,” she mumbles. “Um … guess I’ll just have to keep … looking.”
It’s quiet between them for a moment. The absence of a response has her believe that he chose to accept the situation for what it is, just like she had. That he chose to drop the subject and that they can get back to their day of fun.
“If you want—and not on no weird shit, aight? I just want you to consider it … you could choose to renew the lease, and I’ll give you the difference.”
“Sito,” she exhales. “I cannot make you pay my rent—“
“It’s a good thing you not making me, then. And I’m not paying your rent, ‘Mani. I’m just giving you the rest of it. That’s all. We don’t gotta talk about it ever. I’ll just set up a payment schedule every month—”
“No, Sito, no. You’re my friend, and I love you—I love that you’re trying to help me. I appreciate you, I really do—even for today. Thank you, but I can’t make you do that. I can’t use you.”
“You not using me ‘Mani, damn.” The signs of irritation bleed onto his face, even if he hadn’t intended for it to show. “Where the fuck you getting that shit from? I just wanna make sure you good.”
“And thank you for that, Sito. Seriously, but I’m never letting a nigga get the chance to say that he’s the one paying my rent or holding my living situation over my head. No one’s ever gonna control me like that. Ever. I need to be able to do this on my own. Just respect my wishes, please? Please.“
His exhale tells her all too well that he isn’t the happiest about this.
“Aight … aight then.“
“Thank you… If you wanna help, just … help me find a new place.”
He licks his lips as he shifts in his seat. He nods. “Okay, I’ma help you.”
“Thank you.” She gives a somber smile.
It’s so weak that it trembles under the weight of trying to conceal just how hopeless she is.
Yet, the longer he looks at her, the more that smile cracks. And the cracks just keep getting bigger and bigger until the mask shatters.
A small whine leaves her as she hides her face in her hands. There’s a hiccup he doesn’t hear, but a wet sniffle comes right after. That, he definitely hears.
“‘Mani—“
“I just feel so fucking … broke and ugly.”
Her shoulders tremble as she begins to wipe at her wet face.
“Like … I’m a fucking bum!”
“Aye.” Sito reaches out for her across the table, gently pulling her hand away from her face. “You not a bum, Mami.”
“I feel like one.”
“But you not. C’mon, quit all that crying.”
She doesn’t look him in the eyes as he thumbs away her falling tears.
“I can’t even get—get my hair done … o-or do my nails,” her voice wavers.
She can’t deny that she’s painfully aware of her overgrown nails. At this point, her shorties were now considered medium length.
“My lashes are way past a fill-in, a-and now I-I look like a fucking—cartoon character with j-just three lashes on each eye—“
“Aye, c’mon now. Stop.” He rubs her collected tears between his thumb and forefinger before wiping more of them away. “You know you better than that. You just in a rough spot right now.”
Her face creases up again as another cry leaves her, more tears bubbling up at her waterline.
He pulls his hand away to grab her a clean napkin. “Here—look.”
She sniffles again. “Th-thank you,” she hiccups, taking the napkin.
“You good,” he says softly, watching her clean herself up.
Silence settles over the two of them as Cimani slowly regains her composure while Sito patiently waits for her.
“You not ugly, Cimani. You just not done up, and that’s cool. You’on need all that shit. I know how you step. Don’t gotta prove shit to no one.”
A numb sensation settles over her while she listens to his encouraging words. And she appreciates them more than she can even say.
“Just focus on getting that new place first. We gonna find something.”
The only response she can give is a nod.
Her inhale is shaky. She wipes at her face again. With a tired sigh, she places the balled up napkin down on the table.
“I don’t even wanna go home tonight,” she croaks.
“You don’t got to.”
Finally, she peers at him with glassy eyes. The frown on her lips has yet to go away.
“You wanna leave?”
She nods.
“Aight.”
•
There is no jingling of keys or the click of a lock when he opens his apartment. Instead, there’s a soft whirr when he simply taps his phone against the electronic lock.
He pushes the door open softly and shifts to the side to let her through. Cimani keeps quiet as she slips past him, entering what Sito’s dubbed as her “second home,” for the first time in a few weeks.
When he enters right after her, he flicks on the lights to his kitchen and living room, illuminating the large, open area.
After leaving her shoes at his door, she heads straight to the couch. As much as she loves his place in all of its sleek, contemporary nature, she’s too exhausted and sad to enjoy the decor tonight.
“I’ma go put the bags in the room,” he mumbles.
She nods as he’s already on the way to his bedroom. Settling back against the large, burnt orange cushions, her eyes fall closed as she exhales.
In this time by herself, her brain replays the issues that plague her life with a kind of hurried exhaustion.
She doesn’t even hear when Sito comes back out. However, when the knock of a closed cabinet door sounds, she finds him in the kitchen. With a new change of clothes, might she add.
Behind the bar-like counter, he holds the long neck of a wine bottle. Just a few inches away, there are two wine glasses, ready to be filled.
“You look like you need to drink your problems away.”
Her face softly creases with a weak smile. She doesn’t even have it in her to give a tiny laugh.
The bottle isn’t unopened. Usually, he only brings this one out when she’s over. It’s the only brand he owns that she’ll drink.
Without much thought, unscrews the top off of the bottle and pours the first glass. The drink’s deep red color flows into the crystal clear cup, which he eyes with caution.
“On the table right there, it’s my laptop. You could get it.”
Her brows pull together as she looks at him.
He glances at her, feeling those dark brown—almost black—eyes on him. “We gonna find some listings.”
He had looked back at the cup too quick to notice the way her face softened and opened up. But, maybe it’s a good thing he hadn’t seen it—she gets the feeling that he’s seen her get teary-eyed enough for the day.
By the time she retrieved his laptop, a new MacBook—at least much newer than hers—he’s already heading over to the living room with their glasses of wine.
“Password’s the same as my phone.”
She types away, unlocking the device with ease.
“Thank you,” she glimpses at him as he rests her cup on the coffee table, in a spot closest to her.
He takes his own seat in the crook of the couch’s L-shape, just a cushion or two down from where she sits at.
Cupping the bottom of his glass, Sito holds it close to his mouth as he begins use of his phone. He’s the picture of relaxation, it’s almost funny.
He’s got his glasses on—which he only wears when he really feels like being focused. Straight-leg sweats cover his tatted legs. He’s got the ankle of one resting over the knee of the other, his lifted leg forming a right angle. His raised foot wags, both feet clad in his Balenci house slides.
Truthfully, he looks like somebody’s mother. Especially with his small bonnet covering his cornrows.
“What’s your budget?”
She blinks out of her reverie. “Um … two-thousand?”
He takes a sip of his wine, attention still buried in his phone as he types away.
She decides that before he catches her staring, to focus her attention on the laptop and start searching for apartments.
•
Sade plays softly through his surround sound—he’d decided that they needed the accompaniment of music shortly into their search.
Her cup sat untouched for the better half of an hour before she started to sip on it. She’s not sure what to say about this search.
She’s grateful that Sito’s helping, beyond grateful, but a lot of what they find are listings she’s seen before. Cimani’s come to learn the available apartments of their city like the back of her hand.
And the results they’re getting, for her budget, aren’t really even good enough options. Unsafe neighborhoods, not enough space, bad reviews on landlords, units so in-need of a renovation that it was a safety hazard at this point—it’s a struggle.
Near the bottom of Sito’s cup sits the dregs of his drink. He abandoned it on the coffee table just before he reached the bottom of the cup, claiming to “lock in” on this search.
However, at this point he thinks he actually might need another glass to help him continue this search.
With a soft grunt, he slowly unfolds to reach forward for the wine bottle on the table.
“This shit killing me,” he rasps, pouring into her cup before he does his.
“Imagine I’ve been doing this for months now.”
He kisses his teeth, recapping the bottle. “Might as well live with me at this point.” The laugh that proceeds afterwards, is messy and loose.
That’s the wine talking.
“At this point,” she agrees with a giggle. “Clear out a couple drawers for me.”
Definitely the wine talking.
Cradling his cup, he falls back into the embrace of the couch. All the while, he keeps his eyes on her as a lazy smile lifts his lips.
“You know you gon’ wear all my shit anyway.”
Looking over the edge of his laptop, she finally makes eye contact with him. His gaze is stiff, unmoving, as he holds her stare over the edge of the cup while taking another sip.
His lips smack as he swallows the tart drink. “Could move in tonight if you wanted.”
She only smiles, finally gaining the strength to look back at the laptop’s screen.
“You’on think we could live together?” he pushes.
A shortened piece of laughter leaves her as the state of his lovely space, as opposed to hers, comes to mind.
“No.”
His face scrunches up. “Why?”
“I’m too messy for you, Sito.”
“Oh, so—so you aware.”
“Shut up,” she giggles again.
His smile is smooth as he pulls the sound out of her.
“But…” He sits up on the couch, even leaning forward some. “You know I’ll hire a cleaner behind you.”
The soft slur of his words makes her scoff. She almost can’t even hear it.
He kisses his teeth. “Stop playing with me, you know I’ll do it.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Aight, then. So what’s the issue?”
Pursing her lips, Cimani chances giving him another look. “I thought you hate when I take your clothes.”
The second before he answers, he stares into her eyes as he wets his lips. His own eyes are low. “You know I don’t give a fuck about that shit … be forreal.” A smile inches at her lips.
He only breaks eye contact to push a finger up under the band of his bonnet. His eyes slightly roll off as he scratches an itch.
“You know a nigga like that shit, quit acting dumb.”
She’d heard his mumbled words loud and clear. She swallows, her throat dry. It almost tempts her to take some more wine. But she knows it’ll have her saying stupid shit,
“Do you let Jada wear your stuff?”
Like that.
The smirk she wears is hollow, but only she knows that. But, she can’t deny the pang in her chest that appears when he looks offended at her words.
“Yo—don’t—“ He shakes his head, as if trying to erase his mind like an Etch-A-Sketch. “Why you even bring that up?”
She shrugs weakly, looking back at the computer. “Thought that’s what y’all were on,” she says plainly. Though, on the inside she feels like she stepped on a landmine. “Since, y’know, you said she wasn’t a friend.”
“‘Cause she’s not. How those things even connect? And—yo, stop playing on me, you know I don’t bring nobody back to my place. You crazy?” His face seems to screw up the more he thinks about what she said. “All this shit I got up in here—You the only one I let in here. You know that. Quit acting like—“
He cuts himself off with the kiss of his teeth, growing more frustrated. He scrubs a hand down the front of his head, a habit he’s never shaken, even after growing out his waves.
“Yo, quit moving like you’on know who you are and what shit is, ‘Mani. You be pissing me off with that shit, forreal.”
She stays quiet, at war with herself on whether or not it’s good that she wants to smile. On the other hand, Sito reaches forward to gulp down more of his wine.
The conversation leaves off there, both electing to continue their search in silence. And it stays that way for a long while.
This time around, as they put their all into this, both sparingly touch their cups. It was growing harder to focus with all of the drinking.
But, the silence can’t last forever. A yawn wrestles its way out of Cimani. Shortly after, the same happens for Sito.
Then, there’s another pause for silence.
“Look at what I just sent you.”
Wordlessly, she picks up her phone just as it receives a text. Without hesitance, she opens the link he’d sent her.
For $1,850 a month, it’s a newly renovated one bedroom, one bathroom unit almost twenty minutes from her current apartment. Much closer to her new job. Amenities include a rooftop lounge, a gym, and in-unit laundry. And what’s more, is that it’s conveniently located near public transportation.
“Oh my God,” she says, sitting up straighter, her eyes opening a bit wider. She slides the laptop onto the couch, beside her. “This is perfect. How did you find this?”
This is the first time she’s looked at him in almost an hour. And it brings her some relief to see the tiny grin on his lips.
Their last conversation was forgotten, it seems.
“Told you we was gonna find something.”
Looking back down at her phone, she continues to scroll through the listing, loving it more by the second.
By the looks of it, she’d have to do some minimal downsizing, but this unit would be the perfect size for her. She’s been meaning to get rid of some hoarded junk for a while now.
As she scrolls to the bottom of the page, ready to apply, reality steps in to remind her that nothing ever just works out perfectly for her.
Her smile drops upon seeing the greyed out text: In Contract.
“What? What happened?”
She peers up to see him watching her, before she looks back down at the screen.
“It’s already in contract, Sito.” She throws her head back against the couch, groaning out. “What the fuck!”
“Don’t trip, relax. See if they left a email and shoot ‘em one about the listing.”
She picks her head back up, worry all over her face. “Don’t you know what that means? They’re already in the process of renting out the space to someone.”
For the umpteenth time today, he sucks his teeth. “‘Mani, you don’t know what stage of the process they in. They could still be looking for applicants.”
“I don’t think they’re looking for anyone else, they blocked off the option to even apply.”
“Which is why you should email ‘em. They gonna see that you serious about the shit. And if they do go forward with this person, they might got another unit they could offer you just like this one. It looks like this place is new.”
He’s got a point.
“Fine,” she sighs out, resigning to his idea.
Sure enough, she finds an email address for the apartment’s leasing office.
“It’s gonna work, I promise you. That’s how I got my place,” he says as she types out her message.
“Okay, listen to this.”
As she recites her message, he listens intently, seeking out any errors for her to fix. When she finishes, she watches him with bated breath as he thinks it over.
“Mmh … it’s good. Send it.”
“Okay,” she breathes out.
Within that second, she presses the send button on the email and watches it get whisked off to the recipient.
“I hope they get back to me soon,” she pouts, lying back against the couch as she looks over at him.
“Forreal.”
They’re both tired, it’s too obvious in the way their eyes droop and their bodies sag against the couch—likely leaving large indents of where they’d been.
“Ugh, I’m over this,” she says. Feeling a bit better about this whole ordeal, she shuts his laptop and places it back on the coffee table.
As she stands to stretch, Sito remains seated, tapping away at his phone.
“Not even gon’ lie … I’m fake tired, but … not tryna go to bed right now.”
He looks up at her through his glasses, eyeing the way the muscles in her legs flex as she stands on her toes. All these years later, and the history of running competitive track back in high school was still there.
He looks up at her face, seeing that she’s already been staring at him. He’s been caught.
Oops?
“What do you wanna do?” she asks as her arms drop to her sides.
“Not gon’ lie,” he drags out the word, contemplating on saying his idea out loud. “You tryna go live with me?”
Her brows raise. “Live, Sito?”
“It’s lowkey fun, sometimes.” He shrugs.
“Sometimes.” She scoffs. “People are mean online. And you have mad followers, I’m not tryna have all those people talk about me.”
“Please,” he waves off. “You gon’ be fine. I’m not letting them niggas talk about you.”
She looks at him, pressing her lips into a thin line as she weighs her options. “I be reading your comments sometimes, I don’t want none of your thirsty-ass fans saying nothing just ‘cause they see you with a girl.”
“Fans is crazy,” his voice muffled as he rubs a hand down his face. “Not worried about that.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He sits up in an instant, feeling a burst of energy. Standing, he grabs their near-empty cups in one hand and the wine bottle in the other.
“You wanna do it or not? Don’t be boring.”
He leaves the area to enter the kitchen. Setting the bottle down on the counter, he heads over to the sink.
“Are you peer-pressuring me?” Cimani follows after him.
He scoffs. “Yes,” he says, dumping out each glass before opening the pipe to wash it all down.
“That’s terrible.”
“Didn’t hear a ‘no,’ though.”
“That’s how peer-pressure works, dummy.”
The corner of his mouth up-turns. “Then I won.”
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms.
As he sets up to go live on his phone, clearing anything from his space that can be too revealing, Cimani raids his pantry for her favorite snack—Rice Krispie Treats.
The half-empty wine bottle is used as a phone-stand, as he’s too lazy to retrieve his actual one from his office. He sits before the device, at his counter-top, among one of the many bar stools usually tucked beneath it.
“I’m ’bout to start the live. If you don’t wanna be on, let me know and I won’t put you in it.” He opens up the app TikTok. “Just let me know when you wanna pass through so I could move the camera.”
She shakes her head as she swallows a bit of her snack. “I’ll be in it.”
He peers up at her with a raised eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Mhm.”
“Aight.”
Finally, he starts the live as she watches from behind the counter.
In the first couple of minutes, about three-hundred viewers roll in. He watches the screen, leaned forward on his elbows.
“What’s up, yall. What’s up … goodnight,” he greets.
The comments roll in, greeting him back. Some playfully berate him for the time he’s choosing to go live, claiming they have to miss this one because they have work in the morning, but they just wanted to stop in and say ‘hi.’
The views reach to a steady count of over five-hundred people.
“Came on here ‘cause I was bored, ain’t gon’ lie to y’all,” he says, readjusting his bonnet.
Cimani takes the last bite of her snack, crumbling up the wrapper into a little ball in her hand.
The soft crinkling earns his attention, as it had been the only sound while he read more comments. He peers at her over the wine bottle, the two watching each other for a very still, handful of seconds.
He’s the first one to break, quietly chuckling with a fist over his mouth as she smiles, throwing her garbage into the trash can.
His focus returns to the phone.
“‘He got a bonnet on … lawd, who gon’ be the boys?’” He kisses his teeth.
Cimani laughs, careful to keep the sound hushed.
“Man, we not doing that bullshit tonight.” He sits up straighter. “I got hair, and I need a line-up, chill.” He swipes his hand over his head. “Can’t even find none of my durags.”
The sound of Sito explaining himself becomes background noise as she opens his fridge for a bottle of water. The door closes on its own with a soft shut.
As she cracks the bottle open, she notices Sito watching her.
“They asking who in the back.”
She freezes, the cool bottle to her lips.
“They could hear you moving,” he laughs.
She swallows. “Oh, sorry.”
He shakes his head. “You good. Come in the camera,” he beckons her over.
She takes her time to close the bottle before setting in down. As he watches her, pushing back his stool some to allow space, he’s got a smile on his face.
He ignores the small burst in comments, questioning who he’s calling for off-screen.
When she finally joins his side, he pulls her to stand in front of him, before the camera. Holding her by her shoulders, he keeps her steady.
“Introduce yourself.”
“Um—“ she laughs shyly. “Hi,” she waves.
The comments pour in, complimenting her and asking for her name. If there were an insult or two, none of them catch it.
“She being shy, y’all—“
“Shut up—“
“This is ‘Mani.”
“Oh my God,” she gasps, lifting a hand to her head. “Why didn’t you tell me about my hair,” she whines, trying to smooth down the flyaways of her silky bob.
He pulls back, eyes scouring her head for any imperfections he might’ve overlooked.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”
Reaching up, he smooths out the back of her head to make sure that all of her hairs fall straight.
“So why’re you fixing it?” she pouts.
“Chill … just tryna make you straight in the back.”
When it’s finally good enough for him, he returns his attention to the Live’s comments.
“Yeah, she pretty, right?”
“They’re actually nice,” she says quietly, her fingers pressed into her lips.
He hums. “Told you, you was gonna be good.”
Beneath the surface of the bar table, he toys with the fraying of her shorts against her outer thigh. The ticklish touches pull goosebumps up from her skin.
“Um, how was you guys’ day?” She giggles nervously.
Her laugh gets a soft smile out of him. Still eyeing her body, he slips the tip of his finger beneath the leg of her shorts.
“You don’t wanna come up outta these?”
The question catches her off guard, admittedly. She looks down at him, already seeing him stare up at her.
“I … don’t have any clothes over.”
Her voice is quiet, hoping the viewers don’t hear her. She isn’t the most sure of Sito’s reputation online, and she certainly wouldn’t want to ruin it.
“Just take one’a my sweats.”
His voice is noticeably louder, even clearer, than hers.
So, he just doesn’t give a fuck? Got it.
She just nods, recentering her focus back on the live.
“So … we did some shopping today,” he says from behind her. “I ain’t get nothing crazy, just a pair of shoes.” His hands rest on the countertop on either side of her, keeping her in place. “Tell ‘em what you got.”
“I don’t even remember everything I got.”
“Oh, wait, you should show ‘em.” He peers from her to the screen. “Y’all tryna see a haul?”
There are too many ’yes’s to count. And it makes her heart race.
“Sh-should I try them on?”
He shrugs, sitting back in his chair to give her space to leave. “It’s up to you.”
“Alright, um … I’m gonna get the bags.”
As she leaves, Sito monitors the comments, making sure his moderators were doing their job.
User23567907796 So r yall friends orrrr ..
User99645663265 Did I miss a chapter?????
User44666321677 Umm hard launch?🤔
User33561123230 She bad asf tho icl
With every question he answers, there’s a dejected tone in his voice.
“Did you miss a chapter?” He shakes his head. “Nah. You ain’t miss nothing … we friends.” With a finger, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “‘She bad’ … Yeah, she get fly.”
Any comment regarding his looks or trying to spit game at him is left unacknowledged.
Minutes later, Cimani returns with her bags of purchased items. To which, Sito offers up his seat. She takes it, sitting before the camera.
“Um, I got more clothes than anything,” she starts. “I got one pair of shoes but that’s it. I—“
“Show ‘em,” he says from behind, peering down at her.
She glances back at him. “Huh?”
“Show ‘em the shoes first.”
“Oh, yeah.” Bending down, she rifles through one of the bags to retrieve the box. Balancing it on her lap, she’s careful when taking out the brand new, shiny right foot to her pink Bapestas.
“We got them from a reseller shop,” she says as she shows it off to the camera.
Silently, he reaches out from behind her to assist her in correctly positioning the shoe for the viewers to see.
“Gotta make sure it’s in focus,” he says softly.
“Oh.”
Neither of them read the comments, gushing over how this is clearly her first time interacting with a large audience.
“You guys see it?” she asks.
“They see it, Mami.”
Her cheeks ache from how long she’s been able to hold a smile. But she can’t stop. Even when she tries to lose it, it’s like the muscles in her face are permanently fixed in this expression.
“Okay,” she says softly, putting the shoe away. “Um … I’m gonna do the clothes now,” she says, looking between the bags to decide which to start on first.
As she scans through each bag, she worries her bottom lip. Would they even find this interesting?
“Start with that one.”
She looks up in time to see him nodding at a large, pale pink bag. Wordlessly, she reaches in, retrieving the first item: a soft white, milk maid style dress.
“Sito actually picked this one out, for me,” she tells the viewers as she holds it up for them. “I accepted, ‘cause it’s close to my style, honestly.”
As she continues showing off her brand new items to the audience, moving through each store, Sito notes her increasing comfort.
Eventually, he even leaves the camera to let her do her own thing. It’s endearing, watching her speak to the viewers. Showing off everything he bought her. Seeing the way her eyes light up with each item, as if she hadn’t been holding them just a few hours before.
As he holds a water bottle, having gotten it from the fridge, he decides that looking at this scene before him—that he likes this. He really likes this.
He’d made the perfect decisions for her, picking out clothes that not only would she like, but would fit her well. That would compliment her.
“I’m not really sure how much all of this was, I can’t lie,” Cimani laughs, answering a frequently asked question among the Live comments.
Rounding the counter, Sito is back in front of the camera with her.
“No, y’all—Sito bought me all these.”
The admitted truth was uttered with an air of shyness. Maybe she was worried about the reaction she’d garner—rightfully so.
And yet, Sito couldn’t find it within himself to care. In fact, he actually felt a seed of pride blossom within him.
Watching the comments roll in, his nose twitches as he reads over one in particular. Her catches it just as Cimani gets up out of the chair.
User2293902682 Better watch out for these females theyll use u
His face twists into a scowl. “Nigga shut the fuck up.” He reclaims his seat before the camera. “I hate a bitchass nigga that just talks.” He kisses his teeth. “Somebody ban that nigga.”
“You’re about to get banned, if you keep cursing like that,” she jokes. “What’d they even say?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Looking over his shoulder at her, he notes the large Alo bag in her hand, looking as though she’s about to leave. “Where you going?”
“I wanted to try on the set you got me. Remember? I didn’t get to try it on in-store.”
He hums, turning back around to look at the live.
Running into his room, she hurries to pull out the grey, cotton ribbed Alo set. She’d always been between sizes. She can only hope that they bought the right size.
Slipping into the set, it feels wonderful against her skin. Her hands spread over her body, feeling over the smooth fabric. The crisp tags dangle from the bra top and leggings.
She pads over to the large mirror staged in the corner of Sito’s room. The set hugs her small frame, even bringing out the faint curve of her hips and the cuff of her small butt.
Staring at her reflection, she can do nothing but smile.
When she can finally pull herself away from the mirror and out of the room, she re-emerges with a pep in her step.
“Look!”
Sito turns around to see her in her new set.
“I’m surprised the extra-small fits! I thought I would’ve needed smaller.”
As she gets closer to him, he moves the phone just a few inches over to let the Live see.
“Y’all, look! Isn’t it cute?”
Sat back in his seat, an arm perched on the armrest of the stool, Sito’s cheek is pressed against his knuckles. As Cimani spins and poses for the viewers, he watches on as well.
Behind the lenses of his undoubtedly expensive frames, his dark eyes run up and down her body. He notes the figure-hugging material, how it makes her butt look just a little perkier.
“Yeah … it’s cute, Mami.”
The words had flowed smoothly from his lips without much of a thought.
“Yeah,” she agrees softly, looking at him with a gentle smile as she toys with the waistband of the leggings.
The longer he stares, he notices the slight twist in the seam along her butt.
“Come,” he motions over. “Lemme fix it.”
She looks over at him, doe eyes wide with confusion. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer as she enters his space, sliding in between his spread legs.
“The pants is twisted.”
His touch is soft and careful. He barely tugs at the waist band to fix it, while also pulling them up an inch higher. His hands smooth down the sides of her hips, coming to rest at their widest part.
“It’s good now?” she asks, peering down at him.
Licking his lips, he peers up at her. “Yeah.”
Seconds seem to fly by as they stare into each other’s eyes. Cimani is the first to look away, distracting herself with the Live comments.
She gasps, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh my gosh. They’re going so fast.”
Turning his head, he finally looks back at the Live. He tries to read what he can catch. And from what he can see, damn near all of the comments are about his touchiness regarding his best friend.
Yet, he still doesn’t pull his hands away.
In fact, his arms encircle her small waist, keeping her in place as he leans against her.
“I can’t even read them.” She laughs as she passes a hand over his head, feeling the curves of his cornrows beneath the bonnet’s satin.
User282884928 Yall sure yall just friends??
User9298392792I wish my boy bsf treated me to a shopping spree 🙄
User0829927881Are we interrupting🤨
User104882929Jus looked at my bestie and sighed.
She seems to catch the final comment, laughing at the joke.
“Oh,” she gasps, jumping out of his hold. “The outfit I made—with the skirt? I need to see it.”
Before he can respond, she’s running back to the room with more bags.
As she’s gone, in the mean time, Sito is putting his focus back in the live. There’s mini updates he provides to his audience, informing them on progressions of small tidbits about his life he entails in his TikTok videos.
As he’s talking to them with mild interest, Cimani finally resurfaces.
“I hate to admit it, but you were right about the cardigan.”
He turns his head to see her standing in the hallway that leads to his room. She’s halfway revealed, the lower half of her body hidden in the shadows.
He spins his chair to see her. “Lemme see?”
She steps a few inches forward. The cardigan is stylishly baggy on her, the top button left undone to show subtle cleavage. Its vibrant color pairs wonderfully with the skirt she’d found.
And speaking of said skirt; as she does a little twist, his first impression of the item is confirmed before his very eyes. If she were to bend down even an inch, her ass would be out.
Granted, she doesn’t have all that much to show off, but the skirt sits pertly on her brown cheeks, teasing at a show.
“Oh, you can’t show ‘em that,” he says, chasing his phone for it to lay flat on the counter.
His audience gets a front-row seat to his tall ceilings.
“Come.”
She ambles over to him without hesitation.
“It’s cute right?” she asks, filing back in between his legs.
“You know it is.” Thoughtlessly, he reaches out and cards his fingers between hers, gripping her hand tight. “Didn’t need me to pick it out for you.”
She laughs, the apples of her cheeks lifted to the heavens above. He’s staring at her lips, unabashedly so. There’s a haze to his eyes, he isn’t the most present right now.
How much restraint is he practicing to keep himself from spinning her around and pulling her smaller body on his lap?
Better yet, how much restraint is he practicing that he’s only now picturing just how easy it would be to have her bouncing on his dick?
It would be nothing, she’s so light. He’d be the only controlling her, doing all the work while she just takes it—all of him. Probably crying about how she can’t take it, but about how good it feels. Her cute ass cheeks dropping over his lap. How deep her arch—
“You look pretty, Mami.”
Her brown face is flushed. He can see it.
“Thanks.” She really can’t stop smiling.
“Don’t gotta thank me.” He lets go of her hand to snake his around her waist, cradling the small of her back.
Her expression barely drops for a second as she remembers the Live. “Did you end it?”
She twists to look at his phone, slightly bending to read the screen.
It’s inevitable, he catches a glimpse of her panties beneath the skirt—a pale, lilac thong that disappears between her cheeks. Yet, he sees the patch of it that covers her.
He swears, it was only a second … but that was the longest second of his life. Time must’ve slowed, because he can recall the barest details of her body. Down to the outline of her lips through the thin cotton. So small and cute in size, like a little pocket.
A burst of heat runs throughout his body.
“Hey, guys,” he hears her say.
But the Live be damned. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he releases a tired sigh. “Aight, I’m done,” he croaks.
She slips the phone in his hand. He’s the only one filling the screen now, the comments begging for more of Cimani—and asking about that “moment” they just had.
“I’m done talking to y’all niggas.”
With two quick taps of a thumb, he cuts the live off.
“Awe,” Cimani pouts. “That was fun.”
Lifting his arms above his head, he stretches, the bones in his shoulders popping and cracking as he does so. “Mmph—was getting … tired of that shit.”
“Okay, well, bed-time I guess,” she smiles.
“Yeah,” he says, looking elsewhere.
“Help me bring the rest of the bags back in the room?”
Silently, he pulls himself to stand. Together, they bring the bags into his room, positing them in the corner near the mirror.
Getting ready for bed was a smooth process. He’d given her a pair of clothes to sleep in for the night—a large black tee, a random pair of shorts, and an unused pair of boxers he’d recently bought (even though she had to roll them up at the waist to be able to wear them). They showered and brushed their teeth in separate bathrooms, meeting back up in his bed for the night.
“Why this look like my bonnet?” Cimani asks, analyzing the small, satin black bonnet he had passed her.
“It is,” he chuckles, slowly climbing into bed next to her. “You left it over there from last time.”
“Oh.”
With ease, Sito pulls the comforter up high, shielding them from the cool temperature of his room. They don’t go to bed right away, that’s never a reality for either of them.
In fact, they sit up against the soft, fluffy pillows, scrolling through any social media app that catches their attention at the time. They aren’t particularly quiet, either. Cimani plays TikToks quite loudly on her phone, while Sito does his nightly scroll through Twitter.
This grown-up form of adjacent play continues for almost half-an-hour before Sito closes his phone. Setting the device down against his chest, he turns to look at her as she laughs at yet another video.
“Yo, you booked that appointment yet?”
“Huh?” Her focus bounces back and forth between him and the phone. “What, for my lashes?”
“Yeah.” His voice is heavy with fatigue.
“No, Sito,” she stresses, as if this current conversation is an inconvenience to her nightly entertainment.
“Why?”
She sucks her teeth, rolling her eyes as she finally puts the phone down. “Do you wanna do it now?”
Lazily, he shrugs. “Better now than later.”
“Fine,” she sighs, feigning annoyance.
“Yeah, okay,” he side-eyes her. “Matter fact—book the nail appointment first.”
Switching to her Instagram, Cimani pulls up her nail tech’s page to get to her booking site, one tap at a time.
“Hurry up—“
“Don’t rush me.”
Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. Reaching over, Sito plucks the device from her grasp.
“Hey—“
“Moving too slow.”
Her upper lip screws up in distaste. Nevertheless, she saddles up to his side, watching him fill out her information for the appointment.
“How ya toes look?” He asks, side-eyeing her as his finger hovers over the ‘package’ section.
“Oh my gosh,” she whines, covering her mouth with her hand. “So bad.”
“Lemme see.”
“No!”
He sucks his teeth and gives her a pointed look. “‘Mani.”
“Okay, but don’t say anything!”
Underneath the covers, her leg shifts. She throws it over his hip. Reaching beneath the comforter, Sito blindly fishes for her small foot. Holding her soft sole in hand, he lifts her leg some and pushes down the covers just a bit to examine her toes.
There’s nothing wrong with them. Her white, gel polish is just chipped, but nothing terrible. And even with the old paint job, she still has cute feet. Nothing wrong with them at all.
“Yeah, you need ‘em done.”
“Boy, fuck you.”
“Mmh,” he hums with a one-sided grin.
The appointment is booked with ease before he passes the phone back. “Now book that lash appointment.”
As she does so, he retrieves his phone to continue his twitter scroll.
All the while, her foot remains in his hand, playing with her toes and even massaging her sole. And neither of them say anything about it, enjoying the moment too much to have mention of it mess things up.
Honestly, ‘Mani’s glad that she doesn’t have to outwardly acknowledge it. How can she even explain to him how much she enjoys his gentle touch?
Eventually, it lulls her to sleep.
Tonight is the first night in a while, that she doesn’t go to bed worried about her future.
ᥫ᭡
MIDNIGHT BLUE OR TORTOISE SHELL BROWN?
Cimani is confident in her ability to make good decisions. She isn’t indecisive, and for as long as she can remember, has never needed anyone to decide anything for her.
She’s prideful about that.
However, swiping back and forth between the two inspo-pictures she’d found from her Pinterest, her bottom lip is caught between her silver-tracked teeth.
It seems her decisiveness has abandoned her.
She wets her lips before speaking. “Sito?”
“Hm?” He hums around his plastic straw.
Stretching an arm over the console, she shows him her screen, looking him in the eyes with a light frown on her two-toned lips. A finger swipes back and forth between the two images.
“Which one?”
Thick brows pull together as his brain struggles to catch up with her rushed thinking. Still sucking down his sprite, he reaches out for the phone, putting a halt to her quick swiping.
She relinquishes her device to him. As he takes the phone, he takes his time to look at each photo.
Cimani eyes him carefully for a few seconds, then the phone, as if trying to observe them in the same way he does. Then she looks back at him.
“C’mon, which one?”
The urgency in her voice doesn’t make him choose any faster. His cheeks cave in as he only keeps drinking.
She sucks her teeth, sitting back in her car seat with folded arms.
He swallows. “Blue.” He tosses the device into her lap, turning his attention back on the parked car in front of them.
“What? What’s wrong with the brown?” She scrapes her phone up, looking back at the photo of the brown acrylics. “It’s different.”
The ice in his cup tumbles around as he rests his cup in one of the twin cup-holders.
“You asked my opinion—” He covers his mouth with a fist as a soft burp leaves him.
“I know, but—the brown’s cute!” She pouts, peering back at the blue nails.
“The blue would look better with your skin.”
He’s got a point. Sito has always thought that rich or saturated colors fit her deep brown skin so well. But, he keeps that thought to himself.
He pulls out his phone, copy-and-pasting the address she’d sent him earlier, into his Apple Maps.
She’s not so quick to respond this time, looking down at her screen with furrowed brows and a deeper frown.
“I feel like I should get the brown.“
“‘Mani—“
“No, I’m gonna get the brown! I really feel like it’ll be good.” She reaches across the console again to steal a fry from his bag of food. Before he can smack her hand away, she snatches it back. With a triumphant smile on her spit-shined lips, she pops it in her mouth.
He remains quiet, pressing his own lips together as he starts the GPS for her nail tech’s location.
It’s only about a twenty minute ride, it would’ve been shorter, but Sito had decided that it would be a good idea to get food beforehand. She found herself agreeing with his decision when they pulled into the drive-thru.
With only ten minutes left of the drive, Cimani is presenting her phone to him at a stop light, once again.
“Which one?”
He’s ready to give an honest answer, until he sees that it’s the nails, again.
He kisses his teeth. “Bro—“
“I’m not your bro. Now which?”
His eyes switch back and forth between the red light and her changing screen. “Wha—that one.” He tries to point, just as he lifts his hand, the light turns green.
“This one?” She smiles, swiping back to the brown.
He waits until she swipes back and lingers a second too long on the blue acrylics. “No—get that one.”
“Ugh!”
He sighs quietly to himself. “I don’t know why you keep asking me. Already told you which one to get…”
For a short moment, she quietly taps away at her phone. He almost thinks she’s ignoring him. “I like the tortoise shell one better.”
That’s where the conversation ends.
With a practiced perfection, Sito parallel parks into an empty spot right in front of Cimani’s nail tech’s studio.
“Thank you,” she sings, slinging her mini-purse over her slender shoulder.
“Mhm,” he says, putting the car in park. Sitting back in his seat, he pulls his phone back out.
The soft ding of her phone chimes just as the back of it flashes with light. She quickly glances at the screen as she opens the car door.
An Apple Cash from Sito, for $230.
She peers back at him over her shoulder with pursed lips.
“Get the blue,” he mumbles, still on his phone.
“Whatever.”
She steps out of the car, shutting the door behind her.
•
He doesn’t jump when the car door suddenly opens. Cimani made sure to text him five minutes before she finished, to give him a heads-up.
In fact, he’s pretty sure she was texting him throughout her entire appointment. If she wasn’t actually texting him, she was sending him Tiktoks or Reels/posts.
And if he dared to complain—not that he would—she would guilt trip him for being a bad “best friend” to her.
The last time she’d said that, as he was taking her to her gynecologist appointment, he only scoffed.
“Sitooo,” she sings, plopping into her designated seat in his Audi. “I’m back! Did you miss me?”
He side-eyes her, his gaze heading straight for her hand that clutches her phone. Wrapped around the device are perfectly shaped, long square, ombré blue acrylics.
Exactly.
“Yeah,” he says simply, turning the car back on.
“Better have.” She fixes her legging after they’d ridden up her thighs. “Where we going now?”
He scoffs. “I’m taking you home, I got shit to do.”
Her face falls. “What?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, putting the car into drive.
“So I can’t come?” She scowls.
He doesn’t even have to look over at her to see it. “‘Cause it’s some boring ass shit. M’not gonna keep you couped up in the car.”
“So? We do errands together all the time!” In a flash, a deep furrow wrinkles her brows. “Where you going that I can’t come?”
“Bro, you know you’re gonna complain if I keep you bored in here.”
She fully turns her body to face him, crossing her arms. “If you’re going to see Jada, you could just say that.”
He only exhales, focusing on the road ahead of them. And his silence washes away her anger. Cimani’s brows smoothen out as they pull apart, and her pout is back.
“Sito,” she whines. “Are you serious?”
He glances at her, seeing the sadness on her face.
Quickly putting on his turn signal, he switches lanes. “Stop bringing her up. I don’t even talk to her no more.”
“So where are you going?”
He wants to laugh, he almost does. She sounds like a kid, begging to tag along.
“I’m just going to the shop, get my shit fixed,” he gestures to his head.
She eyes his braids with a scowl, noting his outgrown hairline. “Your hair looks fine to me. Who the fuck are you fixing it up for?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up as he scoffs. “You, before you start cuttin’ my ass about needing a line-up.”
She hums before looking out of the window, seeing the familiar buildings of her neighborhood. “Yeah, you do need to fix that.”
He kisses his teeth. “See? But you just said my shit was fine.”
“I don’t care.”
He rolls his eyes. “But I gotta go take my cousin to pick up his car from the mechanic after.”
“Excuses,” she mutters.
“You being bratty.” He keeps his eyes trained on the road.
“And you’re being weird, like we don’t hang out all the time.” Finally, she turns to him. “What’s so different this time?”
“‘Cause I gotta get my cousin,” he kisses his teeth. “I’d rather it just be us, to be honest.”
Cimani keeps quiet at that. Her silence earns her a quick glance.
“I’m sorry, aight?”
No answer.
“I’ll call you tonight.”
She rolls her eyes, still yet unsatisfied with the outcome of this all. Sighing, Sito settles for her silence that comes with what’s left of their ride.
As he finally pulls up to the front of her apartment, he unlocks her door.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says quietly, grabbing her bag.
“‘Mani.”
She addresses him with a pointed look, like he’s wasting her time.
“C’mon, bro. Stop acting like that, please.”
When she exhales, her tense shoulders deflate. Her eyes fall elsewhere, unable to look him in the eyes. “Okay.”
He raises his brows, leaning towards her. “You gon’ call me tonight?”
“Yes,” she rolls her eyes.
He sits back in his seat, quite satisfied with that answer. He’s even got a small grin on his face. “Thank you.”
Even with her frustrations against him, she stretches over the console and throws an arm around his shoulders for a close hug. As always, she pushes her small face in the warm crook of his neck. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her torso, rubbing her back.
“You better not be out all night.”
He fights a shudder back as her lips fluttered against his skin with her softly spoken warning.
“Y’know I won’t.”
The deep rumble of his voice does something to her chest, it makes her feel weak.
After a couple of seconds, they finally pull apart, and before he knows it, she’s out of the car and shutting the door.
He doesn’t pull off until he sees her reach inside the building.
PART 2 HERE
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messy makeout session with tutor!Heeseung as a reward for understanding the homework and escalates to something more •^•
heeseung isn’t the one to give out tuitions, but when he saw you on the first day with that little skirt and innocent smile of yours, he knew he had to tutor you. he takes it slow initially, resting his big palm on your thigh, caressing your face when you get something right, even mumbling the solutions to guide you with his lips brushing on your ear.
so when you finally show him your homework, he doesn’t give you time to savor the rush of getting the problem right before he’s dragging your chair toward him easily, your thighs parting instinctively as he looked at you with dark eyes behind his glasses.
“you’re my smart fucking girl,” he breathes, voice deeper than before, his hand sliding up your inner thigh, “wanna be rewarded, huh? of course you do,” he chuckles, grabbing your chin like he’s got every right to touch you. and with that, his lips crashes into yours messily, his tongue prodding past your lips easily, you whimper when he bites your bottom lip, and he swallows that voice like it’s a goddamn reward for him.
he doesn’t waste much time, grabbing your hips and hauling you onto his lap with a low groan, the hardness of his cock pressing up against your soiled panties, “thought i was gonna lose my fucking mind watching you concentrate like that,” he groans into your neck, kissing down your throat, sucking bruises to mark you up, his fingers yank your panties to the side, dragging those slender digits through your folds with a filthy, wet sound that makes you shiver.
“this wet doing a math problem?” he mocks, but there’s nothing but lust in his voice and then he’s lining him up, pushing in slow, stretching you out while gripping your waist hard enough for it to bruise, whispering, “ride it, baby—show your tutor how well you really understand, yeah? that’s my good girl.”
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Bottom line is I don't give a shit if a het woman chooses to date the scummiest most abusive man that ever existed and she courted him and wont leave. It doesn't matter. That's your Sister. Who does she have if not us? WHO DOES SHE HAVE TO TURN TO, IF NOT US? If your only solution is to call her stupid and abandon her, did you really ever care about her safety? Did your "I told you so" mean more than her life? I say again, that is your Sister.
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proneboning—it’s HIS favorite position. there’s just something so very tantalizing about pinning you flush to whatever surface he can manage and completely ravishing you beneath him. and you? you love it just as much.
your pretty face pressed deeply into the sheets, leaving you to helplessly writhe and moan beneath the weight of your lover. your tiny fists fisting the sheets, bracing for every powerful, mind-numbing thrust as you feel his thick, heavy cock pounding the deepest depths within you. your shrill moans and pleasured wails becoming muffled by the duvet beneath you as you’re smothered beneath his hardy, masculine frame. you can feel his heavy weight and muscled chest boring down on your back, crushing and pinning you firmly into a mattress in such a delightful way as every one of his powerful, carnal thrusts, aided by gravity and his heft, pounds you further and further into submission—as if every singular one is bellowing MINE, MINE, MINE, from the lewd echos of your bedroom walls.
you can’t catch your breath, you can’t speak, you can’t even think. you’re reduced to a babbling mess, your weeps of sheer ecstasy matching that of your glistening, weeping cunt as it gushes around his thick shaft with every obscene clap of his pelvis PLAP, PLAP, PLAPPING against your bubbly ass.
“yeaah, that’s it.” you can barely make out his gruff voice as his lips press to the shell of your ear, his heavy pants mixing with near-feral growls as he struggles to maintain his own composure.
amidst his unforgiving pace, you feel his muscled forearm snaking around your waist, his meaty palm, and equally thick digits pressing against the fatty part of your lower belly to feel that prominent bulge that forms every time he bottoms out within you. “y’feel me in here too, princess? bullying that pretty womb of yours? haah, fuck. thaaat’s it. sing for me, angel. let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”
so you do. you cry, you shriek, you mewl—“singing” praises of his name, how big his cock is and how good his cock feels inside of you, how you can’t take it because it’s “too much," as well as contradictory pleas of him to slow down followed by depraved cries of “please, please, fuck me harder!”
that’s not good enough for him, though. c’mon, princess. use your dumb little brain. you think he can hear you when you're nose-deep in the sheets? don’t worry, he has a solution for that.
nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of a broad, bulging bicep snaking around your neck, the crease of its forearm and elbow resting tautly against your windpipe as he wrenched your head up from the sheets and began to squeeze. he balled the fist of his other hand and used his strength to pull back the latter, effectively locking you into an unforgiving headlock that made your toes curl and your heightened moans catch in your throat.
“say it again for me, pretty. y’like my fat cock fuckin’ you up? like me using you like the pretty pocket pussy you are? yeah? ngh, shit. c’mon, lighten up, princess, you’re chokin’ my dick here.”
“y-yes! yes, yes, yes! oh, f-fuck yess! m’gonna cum, hah, mpfh! m’gonna cum!!”
he raises himself onto his knees, caging your petite frame in between both of his muscular thighs as he pounds into you with more ferocity than before, like a ravenous predator claiming every ounce of his darling little prey. he was always so, so generous, most of the time. who was he to deny his little angel her precious orgasm?
“do it. c’mon, make a fuckin’ mess on my cock, you dumb slut.” he would snarl against you, his teeth and sharp canines grazing the shell of your ear.
you did so graciously; your moans mixed with babbles of useless speech along the lines of “thank you” and incoherent swears. your glassy eyes spilling with fat globs of tears that rolled down your cheeks could not register their surroundings, nor could your brain register him slamming his cock's head firmly against your squishy insides, pumping you to the brim with his virile seed that threatened to bloat your lil’ tummy.
he let you go in an instant, allowing your exhausted body to fall slack on the sheets before you, your head resting soundly on the crevice of his elbow between his bicep and forearm. he had yet to pull out of you, even after you had come down from your high, and his cock had long since ceased languidly pumping the ropes of his creamy, heavy seed deep inside of you.
“shh, i got you, angel.” he eased your twitchy frame and panting mewls with an affectionate, breathless kiss to your forehead.
“always such a good girl, f’me.”

blue lock: KAISER MICHAEL. SHOEI BAROU. nagi seishiro. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE. itoshi sae. itoshi rin. KARASU TABITO. EGO JINPACHI. otoyo eita. OLIVER AIKU. isagi yoichi. BACHIRA MEGURU. RAICHI JINGO. LORENZO DON. SHIDOU RYUSEI. jujutsu kaisen: nanami kento. GETO SUGURU. kamo choso. FUSHIGURO TOJI. OH MY FUCKING GOD TOJI. SUKUNA. SUKUNA. SUKUNA PLEASE GOD SUKUNA. GOJO SATORU. mahito. HAKARI KINJI. todo aoi. zenin naoya. genshin impact: WRIOTHESLEY. CHILDE. ALHAITHAM. kamisato ayato. ragnvindr diluc. ARATAKI ITTO. tighnari. SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER. HEIZOU. IL DOTTORE. PANTALONE. kimetsu no yaiba: SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI. UZUI TENGEN. rengoku kyojuro. RENGOKU SHINJUROOOO. IGURO OBANAI. KIBUTSUJI MUZAN. akaza. kokoshibo. DOUMA. HANTENGU CLONES. GYUTARO, tokyo revengers: mitsuya takashi. KAWATA NAHOYAAAA. SHIBA TAIJU. BAJI KEISUKE. HANEMIYA KAZUTORA. haitani rindou. HAITANI RAN. RYUGUJI KEN. sano manjiro. SANZU HARUCHIYO. akashi takeomi. imaushi wakasa. TERANO SOUTH. sano sinichiro. HANMA SHUUJI.

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#blue lock#jujutsu kaisen#genshin impact#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer#tokyo revengers#blue lock smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#genshin impact smut#kny smut#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo rev smut#nagi seishiro smut#itoshi rin smut#gojo smut#sukuna smut#toji smut#wriothesley smut#uzui smut#scaramouche smut#sanzu smut#rengoku smut#douma smut
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You Gotta Kiss The One
A/n: This isn’t my usually writing, so this is more short scenario rather than actual story, so sorry if it isn’t my best. Anyways, I was in need of some fluff for the twst men so here we are. (This came out a bit cheesy honestly) Also, unfortunately no Jamil because i went through 7 drafts for his part and hated absolutely all of them.
Pairing: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Rollo x Reader
Summary: [Fluff] In a turn of events, it seems you’ve lost your voice, and it’s up to the one you love to give out the cure, a kiss from their lips to yours.
Warnings: Cheesy Fluff, Reader wasn’t meant to be Yuu but they’re friends with Grim so, 50% Yuu.
Unfortunately, making potions with Grim never goes right. One moment, you’re carefully adding in the newt that assists in projecting a beautiful singing voice to its recipient, and in the next your head gets shoved in the concoction. When you finally emerge, your throat attempts to sound out your criticisms of Grim's recklessness. But, your lips are the only thing that moves in motion, your voice not even croaking out a word.
“Why ain’t yah talkin'?” Your hands quickly grab onto the recipe book pointing at the bold disclaimer at the bottom of the page.
If the potion is consumed before the newt is added, it will have the opposite effects.
Before you can read the rest of the text, your companion snatches the book from your hands, reading the rest of it on his own. When Grim reads out the instructions, your eyes narrow when you hear a slight chuckle escape from him when he tells you your only solutions. It’s either never talk again or...
Of course, never talking again has its pros, but, if you don’t have your voice, however will you tell… Him, about your feelings…? Of course, you could just write your confession, but that doesn’t have quite the kick words spoken from your chest do—
"Uhh... seems you gotta kiss your little crush [Name]!"
…
"What."
Before you're allowed to interject, Grim is already reaching his paw up and taking you by the hand, not even allowing you to tell Crewel about your situation. You’re quite sure if you had just told him you could’ve avoided the whole dilemma. Alas, Grim’s very eager in bathing in your embarrassment.
—————
Riddle is fuming at Grim's carelessness, it’s already bad enough that you have no magic in this faraway land, but to be subjected to a potion that doesn’t have a real cure? That’s even worse. He most definitely beheads the feline after he hears about the situation, immediately sending him onto a time-off corner, prattling on about how he should’ve been listening to the rules and acting accordingly in class.
His lecture is cut short at the sound of scribbling, his head turning to look at you furiously writing down on a piece of paper. Your lips are straight-lined as you lift the words to his face.
“Grim said the cure is a kiss.”
Oh… his mouth opens to question you more about this so-called cure, though the heart shape you form with your hands, however, is all the information he needs. It’s unfortunate that it only works if you kiss whoever it is you “love”, he could’ve gotten away with kissing you under the guise of helping if it was just anyone who could kiss you—
Who’s he kidding his face is close to turning red at such a thought. Of course the cure is something so basic, true love. Ah, no not true love, just simply a crush. Yes, a crush.
A crush that can’t be him.
He stays composed externally but internally he can’t deny he’s a little disappointed, it doesn’t matter however, he’ll help you get this kiss from your mystery student, even if it hurts a little to watch. The sound of flipping paper attracts his attention once again.
“So kiss me. Please.”
… What…? What…?! What?!
His eyes widen at the words, his mouth agape at the statement, his skin quickly flushing at the thought. You. Him. You and him. Him and you.
He’s essentially frozen in place. But, the extremely quiet sound of a broken up “okay” signals to you his permission. The feeling of soft lips being placed on his own snapped him out of his trance. He blinks a few times at your face, a smile invading your mouth.
“Thanks Riddle.”
—————
Your hands are furiously shaking Leona's shoulders, despite your relentless attempts at awakening him from his slumber, he doesn't even tell you to stop.
He didn’t even show any signal of stirring when Grim practically shouts to you about getting that kiss from him to “fix yah up”. Didn’t show any sign when you threw one of his shoes at the cat either.
He might be dead, he’s pretty still, like a corpse… Nah, he’s just being a douche.
Carefully, you drop down to his level, your face smooshed into his mattress as you look at his sleeping face. He looks a lot more peaceful in his sleep, his face is less serious and a bit more softer. He does look like a prince from a fairytale when he’s asleep, actually, maybe more of a princess with how pretty he is.
If you had your voice, you’re sure there would be hushed chuckles leaving your throat as you take out your phone. Your fingers are quick to swipe open your camera, lifting the device to Leona's face. Your joy doesn’t last long though, as when you’re just about to take a picture, the sight of Leona stares back at you on your screen, the subdued expression he previously held replaced with his usual face.
“What do you think you’re doin?”
…He’s awake! You’re quick to open the notes app, ready to explain the whole thing to him, along with indirectly confessing your feelings, unfortunately. But, he seems to think differently, as your phone is swiftly snatched from your palms and placed on his nightstand. When you reach over to grab it, his arm pulls you back down, your head buried into his chest, essentially being used as a secondary pillow for him.
“That typing’s loud, i’m tryna sleep.” … and I’m trying to get my voice back.
No matter how much you struggle, he doesn’t let you go. After a few minutes of trying to get your phone back, you give up, becoming his human-sized plushie in your defeat. Maybe he’ll be in the mood when he’s awake. So, your eyes gradually shut themself, sleep taking you over as you wrap your arms around the lion next to you.
…
“Hey, quit talking in your sleep.”
“Hmm…? Oh sorry— Wait what…?!” His palm flies of your mouth as words get muffled in his skin.
Appears you missed the Leona Kingscholar, kissing you. That’s unfortunate.
—————
“Hmm…? You need my help yes? Well then just sign here and I’ll get you that kiss you need!” Azul slips the golden contract across the table, the con man smiling as you read through the fine print.
In the corner, you notice the extremely tiny text saying how you’ll be obligated to stand by his side for the next month and do whatever tasks he needed to be done from you.
You swiftly slide the paper back to him as your head vigorously shakes a firm “No”.
“Oh? Do my terms not satisfy you? Your situation sounds very similar to our princess from the Coral Sea, having to kiss her prince for her voice back. I wonder how you’ll get that princely kiss…” he shrugs his shoulders before sighing, grabbing a stack of papers along with a pen, waving you off before looking at the sales revenue from this week. “No matter, if you don’t need my help please exit, I am a busy man—“
Your hand slams on the surface of his desk, his pupils widening at the sudden outburst. He stays silent for a moment, the glimmer of his glasses covering your view of his eyes. If you had, you would’ve seen the slightest hint of longing in him.
“A very determined soul you are… I'll change your conditions if you want your voice back so bad.” His fingers snap, the old contract disintegrating as a new one forms in his hands. “No fine print, I’ll help you get your kiss, and you work for the Monstro lounge for 2 weeks. Just 2 weeks. Is that a deal?” You squint, looking to make sure there really is no fine print. When you’re assured there really is none, you take a pen from his gloved palm, writing your signature on the line.
“It’s a deal it seems, now, tell me who it is you have affections for, and I’ll make sure you get that kiss—-“The sudden pull of his collar stops him mid-sentence, your lips connecting to his own before pulling away.
He’s extremely flustered, his cheeks blushed, his hat lopsided, eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He did agree to get you that kiss, but… he truly wasn’t expecting you to kiss him…! Of all possible candidates at the school…
“Wha… I’m… Huh…!?”
You straighten your posture before rolling your sleeves up, “So when do I start Azul?”
—————
Your eyes watch Vil meticulously crush, stir, and drop different ingredients into the cauldron, each one changing the color of the liquid inside. To be honest, you’re a little disappointed he knows a cure, you’ll have to wait another time before really confessing to him. His well manicured fingers take the ladle into his hand, carefully pouring the bright drink into a bowl, handing it to you as his eyes await for you to drink it up.
When you do, you set the bowl down, ready to speak, but no sound comes out. Your eyes stare into his, confusion set in your irises.
“I thought you had a dry throat?” Oh, you shake your head, your index finger pointing toward the cauldron and signaling poorly acted-out explosions and screams. “So it was a failed potion?” You pause for a moment before remembering what unit you were on in class. “It was that singing potion wasn’t it?” He contemplates for a moment before grabbing a small vile on the shelf, a potion the was already premade.
He pops it open, ready to pour it down your throat, but before he does, he pulls it back, quickly replacing the concoction with his extremely soft lips the taste of something good invading your taste buds, you assume it to be his chapstick. He stills for a moment, letting your lips lock and exchange touches. When he releases, he doesn’t give you the chance to interject, making you chug the drink down your throat, some of it escaping the corner of your lips, his gloved thumb wiping it off your chin.
“Vi… Vil…? Why’d you do that…?”
“How did Grim tell you to lift it?” He backs away from you, putting the empty glass in the sink.
“He said I… Had to kiss someone I liked. Why?”
“That’s what he said? Huh, I see.” He takes out his own brand of chapstick, reapplying it to his lips. You stay leant on the shelf of the rooms, watching as Vil’s silhouette moves towards the door. “No reason. Now, I have to get back to filming. Take better care of your lips, [Name].” He’s already out the door by the time you work up the courage to say anything else.
As he walks in the hallway, the leather of his gloves clench. It seems Grim did correctly tell you the cure. It doesn’t matter though, whether it was his kiss or that potion that worked, all he cared about was getting you fixed. He’s an actor, he’s keen to notice the presentations of people around him. He was sure you liked him, and even Rook fed into such a delusion. But, there was always a gnawing feeling of not being fair enough to you. So just in case, if you never really did like him, he won’t know.
He’s a good actor, but even actors can’t lie to themself. He really hopes it was his lips that cured you and not that potion.
…
The next day, when Vil finishes applying his makeup, the door to his room is knocked on, albeit very quickly. By the time he finally opens it, nobody is found, only a gift basket filled with fruits and low-grade beauty care, well low grade to him. If his suspicions about who this came from are correct, he can’t blame them for not having enough money to afford proper skin care.
When he looks in, all he sees is a card with a small smiley face and a heart. But he already knows who his secret sender truly is.
—————
Your knocking on Idias door gets harder and harder with every strike. You know he’s in there, but chances are he’s too absorbed in a game to notice your frantic hits. You’re about to hit the wood one more time before the door swings open and your fist is only an inch away from his nose.
“I… I only heard you just now…”
You’ve been out there for 10 minutes.
“You didn’t text me beforehand like usual… Is… Is there something you need…?” He steps to the side allowing you in his room, immediately having you sit on his bed before shutting the entrance. You look around a moment before handing him the note you had pre-written on your phone.
“No voice. Cure is a kiss from person I like. I like you, Idia. Please kiss me.”
It isn’t exactly the confession you wished to give him, but by the time you were typing it, you had deleted so much of the text you originally had from embarrassment, and by the time you looked up, you were already at his door… and Ortho was beaming in excitement behind you, you couldn’t possibly disappoint him by just walking away again.
He essentially shortcircuits the moment he reads the words off the screen.
He doesn’t speak, not even a panicked screech. The only sign of embarrassment he shows you is the sight of his hair turning pink.
“Wha… Wha… What…?”
You expected that, so you lifted your finger, signaling him to scroll down.
“You don’t need to like me back, just kiss me and i’ll leave.”
“No no, If we were in like… like a game… that type of game… you would have… ughhh…. You would have my… affection bar… filled— not filled maybe like 110%… up…” he struggled to get the words out he didn’t even make eye contact with you once in his speech. But, you understand what he’s trying to say to you. “Nevermind, forget it…! Just find someone… someone else… you deserve like a prince of something…”
His posture is hunched over, and he’s quick to turn away from you. You’re sure if he was closer to the wall he would curl into the corner and attempt to hide from you.
You’re pretty sure he’s about to do just that, he’s already slowly making his way to the corner. He’s only narrowly stopped when he feels you tug on his sleeve, pulling his face into your own.
His mouth was slightly open from shock, so his razor sharp teeth poked you, but even then it was still a nice feeling. When you part, he stares at you for an entire minute. His hair was already pink, but somehow it must’ve gotten even pinker.
“You… You won the game…”
“Did I…? What does that mean…?”
“Forget I said that. I’m gonna die now”
—————
It’s been at least half an hour since you’ve met up with Malleus, and he seems to not have noticed you don’t have a voice to reply. But at the same time, it’s nice listening to him ramble on and on about his Gargoyle studies—
“You have not spoken.” Your head is quick to turn, your body slightly jolting at the sight of Malleus’s face mere inches away from your own. Sometimes, you forget he doesn’t have any sense of space. This point is further proven when he moves his face away but your shoulders are still in contact. “Why is that?”
Your hand reaches down to your side attempting to take out your phone, but, it only grasps air. You look back down into your pocket, not noticing any holes for it to fall out of.
What? Did… Did I loose it or something?!
“This thing…” your head flips back to the man in front of you, his gloved fingers turning the phone with narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand, why not just talk to me? Would you rather use this phone than converse with me…?” You can spot early signs of Malleus’s emotional turmoils. It doesn’t take long for you to see the hint of disappointment in his eyes at the mere notion of you not even wanting to talk to him.
Along with that, clouds are beggining to form in the sky
You immediately shake your head at him, your fingers pointing to your throat while forming an x. Though your movements are so quick from the sheer panic of lightning striking, he doesn’t understand what you’re doing until you slow down.
“Ah, you did talk about that potion unit didn’t you.” You nod your head, ready to perform a collection of poorly acted-out charades to showcase your cure. You only got as far as the heart in your hands before he interrupts. “If I remember correctly, the fix to that is a kiss from the one who holds your affections… is it not?” The boom of thunder increases at an incredible rate, and even the pout Malleus holds on his face gets more obvious. “Have you come here to ask for my aide?” You can tell, it’s very obvious he’s trying to hide his dispiritedness beside a veneer of support. “Then… I will help a dear… friend.”
At his words, you shake your head the hardest you’ve probably ever shaken it to disagree with someone. You’re sure you must’ve swayed your brain too hard, by the time you stop you honestly feel a little dizzy.
“Ah, do you not want my help?” The lightning in the air starts fading, but in exchange, it’s like the clouds have gotten darker. “Am I, not allowed the see the object of your desire?” You wish you just had your phone out from the beginning, it would’ve made things so much easier. You bring your arm up, pointing at him.
Malleus is smart, he needs it if he will be Briar Valley’s ruler. Yet, he’s a bit dense in terms of human emotions and relationships.
“I thought you didn’t want my help…?” You’re sure if you could make any sound, pure screams of frustration would’ve left you. “I’m left in confusion as to how it is I can help you. I want to assist you Child of man but, I don’t wish to see you kiss anyone else—“Your hands immediately take him by the tie, dragging him into you as your lips practically smash together. If anyone saw you, such a scene would be quite the scandal for the heir. Minutes go by when you finally release him, and when you look up, the sky is the clearest it's been for the past month. “So it was me.” The look in his eyes is fond, it’s a warm sight.
“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner, I didn’t hide it…”
“You didn’t?”
“I confessed to you twice before this Malleus…”
—————
(This is self indulgent cuz i’m unfortunately a Rollo fan…)
Considering how far away Noble Bell is from Night Raven, you have no doubt you’d be stuck voiceless for quite awhile before you get to see Rollo again. Grim is just left to watch you sulk as your head falls in disappointment. You honestly don’t know how to tell Rollo about your situation either, you could always text him, but how do you even tell him you need to kiss him as your cure? Along with that… over text? That’s just pathetic. He’d probably shame you for being so ungraceful with your feeling towards him.
“Quit moppin’ and tell him already! I’m gettin' depressed just watchin’ ya…” with your head buried into your arms you can feel Grim practically shaking you out of your ball of shame with his tiny paws. “Come… on…! You’re not gonna get your voice back doin' nothin’!” He’s… unfortunately, completely correct.
With a soundless groan, you reach for your phone and open your contacts, drafting the text you’ll send to Rollo.
Rollo, I need to tell you something… your fingers continuing to vigorously type your paragraph.
Three knocks disperse your attention.
“[Name] are you there?” The familiar voice immediately strikes panic in your body as you accidentally throw your phone into the air, pathetically catching it as you stumble towards the door with a loud thud. On the other side, the door can be seen harshly shaking at an impact from within the room, Rollo glancing to each side of him in confusion. “Are you okay?” The lack of a reply makes worry bubble inside of him.
Before he’s given the chance to open the entrance himself, the door swings inward, allowing him to peak in through the crevice. He looks inside with initial confusion before hurriedly shuffling towards the room, the sight of your body on the floor making him even more puzzled with every passing second.
He lifts your upper body, having you sit face to face with him in such close proximity. Your eyes are dazed, looking directly into his eyes before looking around as if you didn’t even notice this was the genuine Rollo Flamme and not just a product of your imagination.
Damn you Grim… Leaving me as soon as you opened the door…
“Your room… is very disorderly [Name].” I was on the floor and you’re focused on how messy my room is? “I did tell you about how messy it was last time I was here too didn’t I?” I get it, I’m messy, so stop rubbing it in… A moment of silence passes before he quirks up an eyebrow, suspicions of his growing by the minute. “No witty comeback this time? Have you finally decided to start listening to me?” Your lack of reply Honestly worries him. Your eyes take a glance at your phone, making his tired face look over as well.
When he moves to grab it, he pauses his hand frozen in place. Your text is still displayed on your screen, as well as the current predicament you find yourself in. Realization hits you in waves as you quickly crawl over to snatch your phone from his palm. When you tried, his hand moves away in time to avoid your reach.
“It’s quite distasteful to admit such a thing through text.” I knew it… your head leans down, once more, in defeat. But, that's quickly changed when his nimble fingers take your face and lead them to his own. Honestly, it felt as if it lasted for eternity when in reality, the exchange only lasted for a couple of seconds. It was as if, Rollo finally felt the need to indulge himself in a little sin, only a little. When you finally separate, you're both left on the floor of your room, awkwardly glancing at the material.
“So… why’d you come here, Rollo? I thought after everything that happened at Fleur City you wouldn’t wanna come here again…”
“I do. I still don’t wanna be here.”
“Then why are you—“
“There’s a holiday at Noble Bell, we have a day off. I came to spend it with you.”
A/n: If anyone has like, any thoughts for the twst characters pls share them!! I may not be doing requests right now but I might write something short of you send in an ask!! Honestly, I just really enjoy when people ramble in my inbox. Also, I’m not too familar with writing Idia and Leona so i’m sorry if they weren’t written good!
#vesperwrites#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona kingsholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader#rollo flamme x reader#twst fluff#twst x yuu#twisted wonderland x yuu
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Would you agree to write being on House’s team, they’re in a relationship (not secretive but not public. Maybe Cuddy and Wilson know?) anyway, reader is sick on and off and house constantly bugs her and makes fun of her, telling her she’s weak or to go home before she infects everyone and after a few days of that reader snaps and yells at him that she’s not sick she’s pregnant. Maybe house replies “mine I hope” or something like that that makes reader even more pissed at him
Sorry for the long ramble
Petri Dish
Gregory House x Doctor Female Reader
Summary: Doctor Y/N L/N was a valued member of Doctor House's team. Only problem, she was constantly sick with an illness of her own.
TW: Illness/sickness, treatments, boss/employee relationship, inter-office relationships, age gap, rude comments, vomiting, mention of needles and sex.
Y/N and House had been seeing each other romantically for almost a year. They hadn't intended to keep it a secret, but Y/N struggled with the idea of people finding out and casting judgement. There was almost a thirteen year age difference between them and the obvious boss/employee relationship would only make things more complicated.
Cuddy and Wilson were aware, but the couple chose to keep things discreet when they were working.
Y/N was a Rheumatologist with a subspecialty in Infectious Disease, she dealt with autoimmune diseases and diseases of the joints, muscle, tendons, ligaments and skeleton. House considered her to be a valuable member of his team, but her immune system had never been very reliable.
Y/N was always sick.
She caught absolutely every illness in the book. Infections, colds, tonsillitis, flus, pneumonia, and bronchitis were only some of the illnesses that she dealt with.
It seemed like she recovered from one illness and rolled right into the next. House thought that Y/N was like the human equivalent of the clear gel in the bottom of a petri dish, growing every bacteria that touched her into a monstrous illness.
She tried her best to work through her sickness and most of the time she could, but every illness seemed to hit her harder than it hit others.
Y/N was self conscious of her susceptibility to illness, she felt like it made her job difficult and she hated letting House down.
House lived to tease her about it, but he never judged her for it. He knew that their hours often meant that his staff burned the candle at both ends.
House slowly began to cut back on Y/N's hours, allowing her to get home for at least three hours of sleep a night. He deemed it a matter of public safety, when she didn't sleep, she got sick. The team seemed to buy it, but he could tell that there was underlying suspicion.
House knew that their suspicions would continue unless he focused on the issue. His solution was to begin calling his sweet girlfriend 'petri dish.'
Y/N absolutely hated the nickname, but kept quiet because there was no way to tell him to stop without drawing attention to their relationship.
House made his way down the hallway, stepping into his conference room and shrugging off his jacket. Cameron, Foreman and Chase sat at the table as they looked through the patient files.
"Where's Y/N?" House asked.
"She's out sick," Foreman answered, eyes focused on the paperwork in front of him.
"How sick? Spilling her guts or coughing up a lung?" House asked.
"I didn't ask," Foreman stated.
House moved over to the desk, picking up the handset and dialing Y/N's number.
"House, don't call her. She's sick, leave it alone," Cameron said.
He held up a finger, waiting as the line rang before Y/N picked up the phone.
"Where are you?" House asked.
"At home... I'm sick," Y/N replied, her voice was hoarse and virtually nonexistent. He planned on going to check on her after work, but he needed to focus on his case.
"Fine. Rest up, petri dish. Don't need you infecting the community," House said, hanging up the phone.
"That was rude," Cameron said.
"No, what's rude is what we're about to do," House said, grabbing his coat and putting it back on.
...
Y/N was sitting on the couch in her pyjamas as she watched television. A small trash can full of used tissues was placed on the floor beside her, a half-empty tissue box and a bag of lozenges sat on the coffee table beside her.
Y/N looked over as someone knocked on the door, she stood up and tossed her blanket aside. She shuffled across the living room before unlocking the door and opening it.
"No... Why?" Y/N mumbled.
House, Cameron, Chase and Foreman were standing in the hallway outside her apartment. House passed his cane to Cameron, he placed one of his hands on the back of Y/N's neck while pressing his other palm to her forehead.
"What are you doing?" Y/N asked, he pulled away.
"You have a fever," He said, hands cupping her jaw as he palpated her lymph nodes.
"And swollen lymph nodes," House added. He grabbed his cane from Cameron, stepping around Y/N and moving into her apartment.
Chase, Foreman and Cameron lingered awkwardly on her doorstep. Y/N sighed and stepped out of the way, allowing them to enter her apartment.
"Put the board over there," House said, gesturing with his cane.
Chase carried the white board into her apartment and set it up in front of her television. Chase tossed the marker to House before sitting down in the armchair. Foreman leaned on the wall, crossing his arms as he watched House write out the list of symptoms.
"I got you a tea... I'm really sorry that we're barging in on you like this," Cameron said.
"Oh, she's fine. Just a mean case of the sniffles," House said.
Cameron shot him a look, "She's sick," She stated. Cameron sat down beside Y/N, setting her purse on the ground by her feet.
"She's always sick," House replied.
Cameron opened her mouth to argue before Y/N cut her off, "Thanks, Cameron," Y/N said, taking the warm beverage from her friend. Y/N sat down on the couch, dragging her blanket across her lap as she took a sip of her drink.
"Tell me what I'm looking at," Y/N said.
They went through the differential with Y/N's contributions and settled on three possibilities. Y/N was exhausted by the end of it, leaning back against the couch as she struggled to stay awake.
"Take the car and go do your tests. I'll take a cab back," House said, tossing his keys to Foreman.
"You sure?" Foreman asked.
House shrugged, "Just don't sell it to one of your homies," He said.
Foreman shot him a look before tucking the keys into his pocket, "See you at work, Y/N," He said.
"See you then," Y/N nodded, Foreman made his way out into the hallway.
Chase folded up the board, carrying it out of the apartment with a polite nod to Y/N.
Cameron stood up, "Feel better," She said.
"Will do," Y/N replied.
The door closed as Cameron stepped out, leaving House and Y/N alone in her apartment. House reached out and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, checking her temperature again.
Y/N hummed, eyes drifting shut at the cool temperature of his skin. He stepped away from her wordlessly, moving down the hallway and into her bathroom.
House returned, gently nudging Y/N as he sat down beside her. She lifted her head, looking up to find him holding out a few pills and a glass of water.
"Tylenol for the fever. Drink all the water," He said.
Y/N took the pills from his hand, placing them in her mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water. She held the glass in her hands, thumbs brushing across the condensation on the cup.
"I don't like that nickname," She admitted.
"What? Petri dish? It's a cute little pet name," He said.
"I don't like it," Y/N said.
He nodded, "I'll stop using it," House said.
"Thank you," She replied, taking another sip of her water.
"I'll make you some lunch, then you can sleep, alright?" He questioned, Y/N nodded.
House made her some soup, getting her settled in her bed with another glass of water before he returned to the hospital. If the team had any questions about why he had stayed behind, they didn't ask.
...
Y/N read through the patient file, eyes flitting over the information as she thought of possible causes. House wrote the symptoms on the board before turning to the group of doctors gathered around the table.
The differential started and ideas were thrown around quickly, added to or eliminated before they formed a plan of action.
Y/N suddenly raised a hand to her mouth as bile rose up in her throat. She stood from her chair quickly, covering her mouth with her hand as she rushed across the room.
Y/N fell to her knees in front of the trash can, barely managing to pull her hair out of her face before she got sick.
"Guessing that we're not a fan of that idea," House said.
Cameron stood up, moving over to the sink quickly and filling up a glass of cold water. She grabbed a napkin from the dispenser before moving over to her friend.
"Here," Cameron said softly, passing her the cup as she stepped behind her and pulled her hair back. Cameron clipped her hair up in a simple twist, hand settling on her back.
"Are you okay? Is there anything else I can get you?" Cameron asked, Y/N shook her head.
"I'm fine," She muttered.
House turned to Foreman and Chase, "Secondary differential. Nausea, vomiting and increased irritability," House listed.
"Spending any amount of time with you," Cameron said, anger clearly evident in her tone.
"Ouch, any other ideas?" House asked.
"Pregnancy," Chase offered softly.
"It's mine, right?" House asked, Y/N shot him an enraged look.
"Wait, did you two sleep together?" Foreman questioned.
Y/N looked down with a huff, avoiding eye contact with her coworkers.
"My god, it's true, isn't it?" Chase asked.
"Seriously? He calls you 'petri dish'," Cameron said.
"It's a pet name," House replied with a shrug.
"A pet name that I hate," Y/N muttered, the nauseous feeling returning with full force. She set the glass down on the floor as she gagged, vomiting into the trash can again.
"Wait, are you actually pregnant?" Chase asked.
Y/N sniffled, wiping her mouth before picking up the glass again. She rinsed the acidic taste from her mouth, spitting a small amount of water into the trash can.
"I don't know," Y/N mumbled.
"Any other guesses?" House asked.
"The flu," Chase offered.
"We're not helping you with this. Take care of your girlfriend while we take care of the patient," Foreman said, standing from his chair and making his way out of the room.
"I can stay if you want me to," Cameron offered.
"I'll be okay," Y/N said.
Cameron stood up, walking out of the conference room with Chase following closely behind her.
House grabbed a chair from the table, setting it down in front of Y/N and sitting down. She shifted to sit with her back leaned against the desk, her legs stretched out across the floor in front of her.
Y/N sniffled again, wiping the tears from her cheeks before settling her hands in her lap, "I asked you not to tell them," Y/N stated.
"They were bound to find out eventually," House shrugged. He reached into his blazer, pulling out a pack of gum and offering a stick to her.
"Thanks," Y/N mumbled, unwrapping the stick. She put the gum into her mouth and began chewing it, "I can't believe you told my coworkers that we're sleeping together," Y/N muttered, tossing the gum wrapper into the trash can.
"Chase and Cameron are sleeping together. This is a safe space for inter-office boning," House said.
"They're sleeping together?" Y/N asked.
"Yeah, I caught them in the janitors closet last week. Thought I should stake my claim before Foreman got any funny ideas," House said.
"I seriously doubt that there are many men lining up to date me, especially with a nickname like 'petri dish'," Y/N smiled, crossing her ankles.
House watched her for a moment, "Do you think that you're pregnant?" House asked.
Y/N shrugged, "I don't know. Haven't really thought about it," She said.
House stood up, making his way out into the hallway. He stepped over to one of the med carts, unlocking it before pulling out a vial of anti-nausea medication, a syringe and a wipe.
He drew up the medication, switching out the needle before returning to the conference room. House sat down in the chair in front of her, setting the syringe on the edge of the desk.
"Give me your arm," He said, tearing open the wipe.
Y/N shrugged off her lab coat, lifting her sleeve and allowing him to clean her skin before injecting her with the medication.
She grimaced, "Sorry," He muttered, wiping the spot and discarding the needle.
"I'll drive you home," House offered, standing up and holding out his hand to her.
Y/N took his hand, standing up from the floor and brushing the dirt from her clothes. House took her coat off the hook, holding it up for her. Y/N slipped her arms into the sleeves, allowing him to lift it up onto her shoulders.
House put his own coat on before he walked her out to his car and drove her home, escorting her up to her apartment.
Y/N slipped into the bathroom for a shower while House watched a tv show in her bed. Y/N emerged from the bathroom, clothed in a pair of pyjamas with damp hair.
"House," She called softly, he looked over at her.
Y/N made her way over to the bed, sitting on the edge beside him as she held out the plastic stick. He looked down at it, sitting up when he realized that she was holding a positive pregnancy test.
"You said you hadn't thought about it," House said.
"I lied," Y/N said with a soft smile.
"At least I don't have to worry about you being contagious," House said, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips to her's.
#gregory house#house imagine#house md#gregory house x reader#gregory house x you#gregory house imagine#greg house imagine#greg house#alison cameron#robert chase#eric foreman#house md imagine
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plus one
your roommate, steve, has a wedding to go to, but he doesn't have anyone to go with him, so you go as his date – he asks you to dance and that's when it hits you...could you be more than just a plus one? | ( 2.7k, banter, fluff, grumpy x sunshine, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )
P L U S O N E 🎵 sophisticated lady, taft jordan
It was supposed to be easy. A simple solution to an annoying problem: Steve needed a plus one to his best friend’s wedding, and his roommate, you, were definitely, 100% available. The only thing was that you were a total skeptic who didn’t believe in true love, and liked dancing even less than you liked forced small talk.
“C’mon, what d’you have to lose?”
Leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom, Steve absentmindedly picked at a loose thread along the bottom hem of his shirt. His chestnut locks tumbling over his forehead, still mussed from sleep, the tank top stretching across his chest showing off his bare shoulders and all the new moles and freckles that summer had gifted him.
You pushed a sigh through your nose, trying your best to ignore him as you swiped mascara across your lashes.
“I have my dignity,” you said flatly to his reflection in the mirror, his brown eyes turned amber in the early morning sun.
“Please,” he whined, “Listen, I’ll set you up. You know? So you can do your thing. Be your wingman–er–whatever.”
“My wingman?” you asked, brow quirked, your skepticism pushing Steve off the doorframe.
“Fine. Anti-wingman?” His eyes flickered playfully, teasing, and you turned away from the mirror to look at him in real life.
“You know I hate weddings,” you protested, lips firmed in a line.
“But there’s free food, and booze, and–” Steve’s brow furrowed in thought, “–and I’ll do your laundry and the dishes for a week.”
“You seriously don’t have anyone else to ask?”
The silence that followed told you he didn’t.
You sighed. “Two weeks.”
“Two?”
“Alright, you have fun,” you replied dismissively, turning around to lean over the bathroom sink again.
“Okay, okay–two weeks.”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his in the mirror again, his expression edging on desperate.
“Two weeks,” you echoed. “Also, you’re the worst.”
“And you’re a menace.”
“Get out of my bathroom, Steve,” you quipped, pinning your hair back. “I’m gonna be late for work.”
“You’re never late.”
Nudging his knee into the crook of yours, he made you buckle, grabbing at the lip of the counter so you wouldn’t fall.
“Shit–Steve!” you swatted at him, and he dodged it with a laugh.
“See you at five!”
Summer weddings were all the same: big, bright peonies, light, gauzy fabrics, and wood circles under everything. The ceremony was always under a flower arch, the groomsman always wore brown chelseas and grey suits, and the bride always cried halfway through her ‘handwritten’ vows.
“So sweet,” Steve whispered, elbow gently bumping into yours, and you shook your head.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that speech on Pinterest.”
“Hey.”
“What? I could’ve done better than that, and I don’t even have anyone to write them about.”
Fixing you with a look, Steve clicked his tongue just as the officiant announced the newlyweds.
“Let’s go, Robs and Nance!” he cheered, pushing a whistle between his fingers while you clapped begrudgingly next to him.
The last time you’d been to a wedding was four years ago when your brother married his now ex-wife, and everyone saw how that turned out. Still, you had the bridesmaids’ dress, but when you tried to squeeze into it, it didn’t fit anymore. Grumbling, you’d dug around in your closet for something, anything, that wouldn’t have you sweating before the ceremony had even started, until something bright caught your eye.
Shoved at the very back of your closet was a light, floor-length, skinny-strapped, peachy colored sundress that dipped down to the small of your back. It still had the tags on it, but when you tugged it over your head, the reflection looking back at you in the mirror was pleasantly unfamiliar. Someone softer, not so sharp around the edges, and with an easy confidence. Even though you didn’t recognize her, you wondered for a minute if maybe this version of you could exist.
When you’d walked out into the living room to show Steve, you couldn’t help noticing how his sunkissed cheeks had gone warm and rosy.
“Wow–er–I mean–you look really nice.”
He stumbled over his words, the lack of teasing catching you off guard, and you left the house in Steve’s BMW with a foreign kind of tension between you. Air pulled taut like it was before a thunderstorm, thick with words unsaid until you pulled up to the venue and picked up your usual charade of banter.
Just friends.
“While we let the brides have a minute to themselves, please make your way over to the reception!” the officiant announced through squealing feedback on the mic, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ll see name cards have been placed at each table – find your name and a drink, and we’ll see you soon!”
Piano notes picked up, joined by a brassy trumpet, and smooth bass guitar thrums that wove through the late-afternoon heat. A haze had settled over the wide expanse of lawn dotted with tables and chairs, dappled in the rays of sun that crept between a stretching canopy of ash and oak branches. A very classy affair in a ‘rustic’ setting that you were sure had been orchestrated by an overpaid coordinator determined to avoid a bridezilla moment.
“This is nice,” Steve hummed at your side as you queued for a drink at the bar.
“Nicer after I get a drink,” you joked back at him, and it earned you a long side-eye.
“C’mon. It’s not that bad.”
Dropping your gaze to her feet, you pushed a sigh from your lungs, picking at the new manicure on your fingers.
“Let’s have fun,” Steve murmured, bumping the toe of his boot into your espadrille. “When do we ever get to let loose for a minute? You’re always working, and I’m always being obnoxious.”
You snorted a laugh and looked up at him, “I don’t know if you’re always obnoxious.”
He grinned, “Well, then I’ll have to double my efforts. Let me get you a drink.” Sticking his arm out, you looped yours into the crook of his elbow.
When he tugged you into his side for a brief second, you found herself wrapped up in the tart scent of neroli, fresh laundry, his woodsy aftershave, and the coconut sunscreen you’d made him put on right before you got out of the car. Your gaze drifted down, noticing how he absentmindedly smoothed his fingers over the bump of your knuckles, and your cheeks warmed at the sensation, your body hyperaware of every single touch point between you. The loop of your arms, his fingers on your hand, the crisp fabric of his button-down on your bare skin, the hem of his sleeve as it stretched across his bicep.
“You in there?”
You sucked in a gasp and blinked up at Steve.
“What?”
“What would you like to drink?” he asked through a chuckle.
“Oh–uh–rosé would be great, thank you.”
Steve’s mouth tugged up at the corner as he gave you that boyish, lopsided grin. “Great,” he said, turning back to the bartender. “One rosé and one whiskey, neat, please.”
“Actually, I’m gonna go find the bathroom. Meet you back at the table?” you said through an uncharacteristically weak smile.
His brows pinched together, You okay? But nodded at you anyway. “Sounds good.”
As soon as you turned away from him, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, hands gathering up fistfuls of the long fabric of your dress. “He’s your roommate. Your super fucking annoying roommate who leaves trash all over the apartment. God–” you shook her head at yourself, “–get it together, you idiot.”
When you came out of the tiny, but ‘bougie’ bathroom trailer, the reception was fully underway. Guests milled around the lush, green lawn, drinks in hand, laughter growing by the minute as they imbibed in the waning, late-afternoon heat. An ocean breeze had decided to pick up as the sun crept further down the horizon, its rays splaying out and washing everything in gold.
Weaving your way through the crowd, you looked for Steve in the buzz of conversation and occasional exclamation of recognition – Haven’t seen you in forever! – But it was harder to see now as the strings of bistro lights looped around the property, casting shadows to dance across the lawn.
“I love your dress!” A hand reached out to touch the soft fabric of your outfit.
“Oh,” you stuttered, startled, "Yeah–thanks. Thank you.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Uh–I can’t remember. Maybe somewhere down off Melrose?”
“Well, it’s perfect. Bet your boyfriend loves it too,” the woman grinned, nodding just to her left where you finally spotted Steve talking to a man with navy suspenders and horn-rimmed glasses.
An awkward laugh caught in your throat, “He’s actually not my–”
“Vicki?? Sorry, hon. One sec–Vicki, oh my god! You look amazing!”
The woman pushed past you, completely abandoning your conversation to gather up what was apparently a long-lost friend in a giant hug.
“Nice to meet you, too,” you mumbled to yourself, walking over to Steve until you were within earshot of his conversation.
“Isn’t that your roommate, Harrington?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah it is.”
You stopped at the mention of your name, watching as Steve talked with this friend of his. Now that you could see them better, you recognized him. You couldn’t remember his name, but knew he tried to get lunch or coffee with Steve every couple of weeks.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with her hair down. Doesn’t she work in design?” the friend asked, and your cheeks flushed pink. Your hair was thick and a lot of work, of course, you never wore it down.
“She’s a producer for Valley Film, they just finished up a short for some director out of San Diego.”
“Oh shit, that’s cool.”
Unsure of how much longer you could linger that close to them without looking weird, you shifted on her feet, uncomfortable at your eavesdropping, but what Steve said next froze you in place.
“They’re starting to get some awards buzz, so she’s been super busy; everyone wants to work with her.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She’s one of the most talented producers on the West Coast. I’m really proud of her.”
I’m really proud of her.
Your eyes flicked away from the band to look at Steve to see he was looking back, the smile on his face one you hadn’t seen before. Fond, sweet, and something else.
Something warmer.
“Hey, I’m gonna grab a bite. Catch you in a bit,” Steve excused himself and moved around his friend, heading straight for the charcuterie board table – and you.
The tension that had stretched between you before reappeared; had it ever left? And as Steve walked across the lawn, you became acutely aware of him.
Steve.
Your roommate.
Your best friend.
All of his little idiosyncrasies.
The way his fingers twisted at the silver band on his thumb when he was bored, the little crinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he was really smiling, the low rumble in his chest when he knew he shouldn’t be laughing, but did anyway.
His voice and the way it sounded wrapped around her name.
“Hey, you.”
Your stomach flipped over, caught, “Hi.”
His smile softened, tinged at the edges with what was maybe the same anticipation that had reached up and grabbed hold of you.
Lifting a hand to your face, Steve tucked a flyaway behind your ear, dashing what little confidence you had left with a single touch.
“Who’s that?” you asked, anything to scramble back to ‘normal’ as he shot a glance over his shoulder.
“Eddie? Oh, we roomed together in college.”
“Right.” Eddie. “Just catching up?”
“Yeah. Talking about you, actually.”
Your pulse fluttered against your neck; so much for back to normal.
“Me?” you huffed an awkward laugh, grabbing a couple of grapes from the appetizer table and shoving them into your mouth. “You tell him you’re on the hook to do my laundry for two weeks? Sucker.”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “That’d blow my cover,” he shot you a lopsided grin. “No, Eds, I definitely didn’t bribe my plus one.”
Soft drums picked up on the other side of the room as the band started playing opening notes for a new song, and Steve glanced down at you, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Hey, would you want to dance with me–”
“–is this a date?”
Your questions blurred together, asked simultaneously, cutting both of you short, and Steve’s face flushed up to his ears.
“Steve…” you said, quieter than usual, hesitant.
You watched as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, a look on his face you’d never seen before. A muddled mixture of guilt, curiosity, and something else. Something that swam through your bloodstream, slow and warm.
“I mean, you’re my date to the wedding?” he joked weakly, but the way you were looking at him had his half-facade cracking and falling away. Loosing a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, tongue jammed into his cheek like he did when he was thinking through things. “We’ve been roommates for…”
“Two years,” you said, filling in the gap he’d left behind.
Glancing up, Steve’s eyes met yours, all brown sugar and burnt caramel in the low light.
“And friends since…?”
“Fourth grade,” you finished, lips tugging up at the corners in a small smile.
“You’re my best friend,” he confessed, voice low like a secret, his words planting themselves between your ribs like wildflowers; bright little things that brushed at your insides, hummingbird wings against your chest, pushing you to be brave.
“Mine too,” you realized, then gently teased, “Except when you leave your half-empty ramen cups on the coffee table.”
Steve huffed a guilty laugh, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, then sobered, “I was hoping maybe if you came with me it’d–I dunno–show you that we’re good together. You know. Like…more than just friends.”
More than just friends.
More than just your obnoxious roommate.
Your friend.
Your best friend.
The one who picked you up from work when your car broke down. The one who remembered how much you hated celebrating your birthday and stayed home to binge-watch old horror movies with you instead. The one who told his friends how proud he was of you. Told you you were beautiful with your hair up, and humored your jaded attitude, and pushed you to try new things. Things you learned to love, not because they were new, but because he was there.
“Good together,” you echoed softly, lifting your gaze to meet his brown eyes, warm and hazy like whiskey, long lashes fanning out across his cheeks.
“What d’you think?” he asked tentatively.
“I think I’m grumpy and you’re…you’re like sunshine,” you said through a small grin, “How’s that work?”
Steve laughed, a low, warm thing that turned your insides to goo.
“You keep my feet on the ground, and I remind you it’s okay to have a little fun sometimes,” he assessed, solving the last piece of the equation for you.
“I like fun,” you pushed, grin growing, and he gave it right back.
“You do,” he mused, tangling his fingers up with yours. “Is dancing considered fun?”
“Only at weddings.”
“Well, I don’t know if you know,” he teased, “But we’re at a wedding.”
“We are?” you played along.
“Mmhm, and there’s a dance floor right over there,” he pointed with his free hand.
“What a coincidence.”
He lifted his brows at you, Come with me? And it made you put your hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wooden platform as he stepped up to the dancefloor.
You took one of his hands and pressed it to your waist, warm and wide at the plush of your hip, and started moving you both in time with the smooth notes coming from the band.
“Not my fault if I step on your toes, by the way. I’m shit at dancing,” you confessed, voice small, a little playful, and a lot vulnerable, and it made him smile.
“Worth it.”
The soft sounds coming from the piano wrapped around you, and Steve pulled you a little closer, your head gently resting against his chest. His heartbeat thudded in your ear, warm and steady, and you smiled into his shirt, content to stay just like this.
His more-than-friend.
The grumpy to his sunshine.
His plus one.
crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington stranger things#steve stranger things#steve x you#steve fanfic#steve x reader#steve x fem#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff#steve fluff#grumpy x sunshine#steve harrington one shot
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QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 36
---
pairing chan x reader
genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,
summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.
Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.
status ongoing
taglist OPEN
previous | masterlist | next
---
Below the stage, a microphone white-knuckled in the grip of your hand, you bounce on your toes and peer up from the bottom of the lift that will eject you onto the stage.
The boys stand to either side of you, an arm's length to Changbin and then Chan on the other side. They've put you in the middle for some reason. You're not even sure who made the decision - the company, or the boys, or the network employees that buzz around you in tense anticipation, their eyes turned more towards their camera angles and the production of their show than the image of your group, the dynamics between each member.
Set lists flash through your mind at the final countdown, the start of the music - stagings and marks and lights to avoid looking directly into on your way across the stage. You know it all by heart, you promise yourself, despite the flip of your stomach at the thought of all the time and preparation so many people have put into this moment only for it all to rest on the strength of your memory. How many times will you have to do this before you can trust yourself? How many times before the nerves stop climbing up your throat every time you think about stepping out in front of a crowd, worse than they ever have in your life?
At least one more time. And the platform beneath your feet starts to rise.
The lights are blinding up on the stage, the crowd reduced to the pinpricks of lightsticks waving all the way up into the sky, as if you've stepped out into some unmapped galaxy. The music is so loud that the stage shudders under your feet in time to the baseline, but you don't have time to let it take your breath away - as a line, you are supposed to walk, and stand, and sing-
The song slips away from you in the blink of an eye, choruses following the natural flow of the verses, choreography moving your limbs before you even have to think about it. The next track slides by without an issue, and another, and the crowd roar at the opening bars of the fourth, surprising you so much that you almost miss your mark, even though all you are doing is walking from one side of the stage to the other. You wave back to them even though you know the cheer is not for you, and you're sure you see smiles and waving hands in the audience that are looking at you.
By the time you get to Miroh, your troubles have faded away.
The music is infectious without the anxiety to perform attached to it, the heady beat and the energy that drives at you from all the people around you. You're lost in the euphoria of it, your body moving not to a choregraphy that you've engraved on your bones, but along with the crowd instead. You're having fun; so much, that you're not sure you've ever actually had fun singing before. The crowd, the music, the people you share the stage with-
You turn a bar before your part, your microphone lifting to your mouth, and find Chan right behind you, close enough that you walk right into him.
You steady yourself with the hand that hits his chest, using his solid weight to push yourself back on your heels. In your surprise, your voice falters at the beginning of your part, but his microphone is already there at his mouth, anticipating the stumble, his harmony subtly covering the weakness in your own note.
He finishes it out with you, complimenting but not outstaging. His eyes never leave yours, the joy in them begging for you to see it. You don't know know how he has the breath to sing like that; your chest is too tight to really put the words out, your heart thundering over the music in your ears. The beats stretch like rubber bands, counting down until-
All at once, they snao with the sound of I.N's voice somewhere upstage. Your chest fills and your eyes turn away, caught by something to the side, or maybe just driven by the primal urge to escape. You feel kind of dizzy as you part, lost on stage, your feet wandering a few steps and then stopping to look back at him, crouching on the edge of the stage. You have to force yourself to look away again. You don't know what's gotten into you.
It doesn't matter, you decide on your way to join Seungmin in some obscure corner of the stage. It fits the song anyway, this feeling; bubbles up and spills out into an ear-splitting grin when the beat drops. I ran into this jungle and I'm okay, you sing again, and you find, in that moment, that you really believe it.
It's only when you get off stage, until you sip water and rub at the deep ache in your shoulder and let the music leech from your veins, that you realise how completely and utterly screwed you are.
---












TAGLIST
@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids
@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts
@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night
@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk
@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification
@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace
@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002
@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff
@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit
@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya
@keepswingin
#stray kids#stray kids smau#skz smau#bang chan#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#lee minho#lee know#han jisung#skz han#seo changbin#changbin#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin#kim seungmin#seungmin#I.N#yang jeongin#felix#yongbok#lee felix#roo writes#queenmaker#9th member au#skz 9th member#stray kids au#stray kids imagine
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metal arm brrr
Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
“That was an act of war James Buchanan Barnes!”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x you#marvel imagine#bucky barnes imagine#tfatws#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#clara writes
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Debunking myths in the GFFA: Luke Skywalker isn't the One True Jedi™ and doesn't "reject the Jedi teachings."
The myth:
Luke's Jedi mentors - trained to be dispassionate and mission-driven - callously tell him to let his friends die in service of a greater cause.
"In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke becomes Yoda's Padawan, and there are echoes of Anakin's training and the dilemmas he faced. Like Anakin, Luke is told he is too old to begin the training. Like Anakin, he has a vision of his loved ones suffering in captivity, and receives cold advice from Yoda, who tells him to sacrifice Han and Leia if he honors what they fight for." - Jason Fry, “Family Tradition; Rejecting the Jedi Teachings” Star Wars Insider #130, 2012
The intended narrative:
The Jedi are actually right on all points. Luke isn't ready or fully trained and he's arrogantly letting his emotions rule him and rushing into danger. By ignoring them, Luke gets himself into a spot of trouble that actually jeopardizes the lives of the very friends he tried to help, as they now need to rescue him.
“It’s pivotal that Luke doesn’t have patience. He doesn’t want to finish his training. He’s being succumbed by his emotional feelings for his friends rather than the practical feelings of “I’ve got to get this job done before I can actually save them. I can’t save them, really.” But he sort of takes the easy route, the arrogant route, the emotional but least practical route, which is to say, “I’m just going to go off and do this without thinking too much.” And the result is that he fails and doesn’t do well for Han Solo or himself.”
“Luke is making a critical mistake in his life of going after- to try to save his friends when he’s not ready. There’s a lot being taught here about patience and about waiting for the right moment to do whatever you’re going to do.”
“Luke is in the process of going into an extremely dangerous situation out of his compassion— Without the proper training, without the proper thought, without the proper foresight to figure out how he’s gonna get out of it. His impulses are right, but his methodology is wrong.”
The myth:
The Jedi want Luke to repress his feelings and kill his father, to destroy the Sith, their religious enemies. As emotionally-detached Jedi, it is inconceivable that a Sith would come back from the Dark Side, and thus wrongly believe that the only solution is to kill Vader.
"It's easy to miss that Luke disagrees sharply with his Jedi teachers about what to do. Obi-Wan and Yoda have trained Luke and push him toward a second confrontation with Vader. He is, they believe, the Jedi weapon that will destroy both Vader and the Emperor. When Luke insists there is still good in Vader, Obi-Wan retorts that "he's more machine than man-twisted and evil." When Luke says he can't kill his own father, Obi-Wan despairs, "Then the Emperor has already won." But Obi-Wan could not be more wrong. It is precisely because Luke can't kill his own father that he defeats the Sith." - Jason Fry, Star Wars Insider #130, 2012
The intended narrative:
The Jedi never tell Luke to "kill" his father. That's just a fact.
They tell him to "confront" and "face" him.
Their bottom line is that Vader and the Emperor need to be stopped.
If Luke can manage to do so without killing his father, that's great.
"In Jedi the film is really about the redemption of this fallen angel. Ben is the fitting good angel, and Vader is the bad angel who started off good. All these years Ben has been waiting for Luke to come of age so that he can become a Jedi and redeem his father. That's what Ben has been doing, but you don't know this in the first film." - Star Wars: The Annotated Screenplays, 1998
(credit to @writerbuddha for finding the above quote)
The problem is: Darth Vader has a track record of murdering loved ones who refuse to kill him. Be it his wife...
... his father/brother...
... and if you're going by Canon, his little sister.
As such, there's a very strong chance that Vader might do the same to his son as well.
“A Jedi can’t kill for the sake of killing. The mission isn’t for Luke to go out and kill his father and get rid of him. The issue is, if he confronts his father again, he may, in defending himself, have to kill him, because his father will try to kill him.” - 1981 story conference, from The Making of Return of the Jedi
Now, as the last Jedi left, the fate of the galaxy rests entirely on Luke's shoulders.
If he dies, then the galaxy and its billions of inhabitants are doomed to live in a tyrannical dictatorship forever.
“He knows a confrontation is brewing between Luke and his father. Ben hopes Luke will either save his father or kill him, because whatever extra powers Luke's got in his lineage, he is the one person that can probably fight his father and win.” - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018
There's a time for talking things through... and a time to do your duty. Above all else, a Jedi's duty is to end conflict.
Obi-Wan was once tasked with this same duty.
And while he managed to weaken Vader considerably (thus avoiding the catastrophe of a full-powered Vader being unleashed onto the galaxy)... because of his attachment, he failed to kill Vader.
Twice, if you include the Kenobi show.
(A show which, per Pablo Hidalgo, is one of George Lucas' favorite recent Star Wars projects, a tidbit that doesn't surprise me one bit considering how much the series perfectly aligns with what Lucas said about Star Wars (see here, here and here))
Point being: because Ben failed his duty, the galaxy suffered for it.
Luke is now in danger of doing the same.
If he's unable to end the conflict in a peaceful way, then Luke needs to be ready to do so in a more permanent manner. Because while Luke has qualms about killing his father, there's a very big chance that the feeling won't be mutual.
So Luke isn't rejecting his teachers' orders to kill Vader. He's saying he's unable to confront Vader altogether, because he'll be half-assing the task. In the (very likely) worst case scenario where reasoning with Vader fails, Luke is concerned he won't be able to follow-through and do what he must.
Further, there's also a worse outcome to Luke dying: Luke joining the Dark Side and becoming yet another asset of the Emperor, more dangerous than Vader himself.
It's thus essential that Luke steel himself and mask his emotions, because the Emperor is a master manipulator who'll likely attempt to corrupt Luke via the strong emotions he has for his friends.
Obi-Wan is not telling Luke to repress his emotions. On the contrary, he acknowledges that these feelings do Luke credit. But the fact remains that when your opponent can jiu-jitsu those feelings against you and your friends, you need to keep a poker face.
And judging by how close the Sith Lords come to seducing Luke to the Dark Side...
... that advice is completely on point.
The myth:
"It isn't Jedi teachings that save the galaxy, but bonds the Jedi tried to forbid - such as the love of a father for his son, and a son for his father. Emotional attachments, in other words." - Jason Fry, Star Wars Insider #130, 2012
The intended narrative:
In Return of the Jedi, Luke isn't doing anything different than what other Jedi have done.
He does his best to avoid lethal force unless he deems that it is necessary (see his fight against Jabba's hostile forces).
He sacrifices himself for the greater good and let himself be captured, in order to allow the mission to be carried out.
He tries to reason with his enemy, hoping to avoid conflict.
He spares his enemy, showing mercy.
That's all standard Jedi stuff. We've seen other Jedi do all those things, both in the films and The Clone Wars.
If that isn't enough, just look at how Lucas describes what Jedi normally do (left), versus what Luke does in Return of the Jedi (right):
See what I mean? There’s pretty much no difference.
In Lucas' narrative, Luke isn’t “better than” or “rejecting the teachings” of the Jedi who came before him. He’s following the Jedi path. And he's really good at doing so.
Because this idea that Luke "rejects the teachings" makes no sense! They're Lucas' teachings. He agrees with the Jedi, they're the mouthpieces he uses to deliver the audience his own values.
Lucas having his main character do something he'd ideologically disagree with is something that doesn't make sense.
And part of this confusion comes from a misunderstanding of the word "attachment", in Star Wars.
It doesn't mean "emotional attachments" or "feelings" or "affection." It comes from the Buddhist principle of non-attachment.
It's not about depriving yourself of relationships or affection, it's about accepting that everything comes and goes and letting go of those very things you hold on to, when the time comes.
Lucas makes a distinction in his discourse between attachment and compassion.
"The whole idea of the movie, ultimately is that you have the Light Side and the Dark Side. The Light Side is compassion, which means you care about other people. The Dark Side is you care only about yourself. And you are obsessed with yourself. Getting your pleasure and getting all your stuff. The other one, you give it to everybody. You give goodness and health to everybody else. So the issue of love... there’s a line between loving somebody compassionately and caring about them and helping them. But the other line is not to be greedy or... once you are greedy then you get fearful. You don’t want to lose what it is you have that you are getting. So you have to learn to give up everything. And ultimately for a Jedi Knight, it’s very easy to give up." - Celebration V, Main Event, 2010
In-universe, this is something Anakin knew the theory of, but never really applied all that much.
Luke on the other hand, was able to learn the lesson and apply it.
Speaking in Lucas lingo, it's not Luke's attachment that makes him spare Vader. It's his compassion. And in turn, that compassion inspires Vader to do the same.
"It really has to do with learning. Children teach you compassion. They teach you to love unconditionally. Anakin can’t be redeemed for all the pain and suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t right the wrongs, but he stops the horror. The end of the Saga is simply Anakin saying, ‘I care about this person, regardless of what it means to me. I will throw away everything that I have, everything that I have grown to love - primarily the Emperor - and throw away my life, to save this person. And I’m doing this because he has faith in me, loves me despite all the horrible things I’ve done. I broke his mother’s heart, but he still cares about me, and I can’t let that die.’" - The Making of Revenge of The Sith; page 221
Or, to put things more simply:
Attachment (selfish love), is what makes Anakin do this:
Compassion (selfless love), is what makes Luke do this:
Now, could Lucas have made his narrative more explicit, to avoid confusion? Maybe.
But I think it's also fair to point the finger at the biggest cause of these muddied waters:
Simply put, the Expanded Universe (the Star Wars books, novels and games that spun out of the films) established new lore elements that didn't necessarily align with Lucas' vision of things. Namely:
Jedi can get married, and Luke marries Mara Jade.
Jedi can begin their training as adults, and Luke takes on many apprentices that are already adults.
When considering George's minimal involvement in the development of EU stories, it's easy to see why these plot points were allowed to come through.
But when he made the Prequels, his headcanons came to light and the above plot points needed to be retconned.
George Lucas' narrative:
"Nope. You can't be a Jedi and be married."
This isn't actually coming out of left field.
When Timothy Zahn asked for Luke and Mara to be married or engaged, back in 1993, Lucasfilm initially vetoed the idea.
And over the years, Lucas and other Lucasfilm employees have made it it clear that "Luke getting married" did not align with his vision (so much so that it's a plot point in Attack of the Clones).
So the question becomes: why can't Jedi get married?
It's about commitment.
Simply put: you can't have two marriages. Eventually, your commitment to one of them will falter and you'll ruin them both. A Jedi is already married to the cause and to the Order.
If they want to get married, they have to leave the Jedi.
"One of the things [the Jedi] give up is marriage. They can still love people. But they can’t possess them. They can’t own them. They can’t demand that they do things. They have to be able to accept the fact, one, their mortality, that they are going to die. And not worry about it. That the loved ones they have, everything they love is going to die and they can’t do anything about it. I mean they can protect them as you would ordinarily protect, you know, ‘Get out of the way of that car.’ Somebody charges you with a gun, you knock the gun out, but there is an inevitability to life which is death and you have to accept that." - Celebration V, Main Event, 2010
And this is another example, really, of how Lucas' own values and past experiences shape the Jedi's teachings.
Marcia Lucas divorced George because he was constantly working on Star Wars, even when he wasn't directing it, which she said led to an emotional blockage in their marriage...

... and this leads us to the reason why George didn't double-down on the success of the Original Trilogy: he decided to take time off to raise his three kids as a single Dad.
He learned his lesson, reasoned that he wouldn't be able to be both a good, present father and a successful blockbuster film director.
When you're dealing with time-consuming commitments of this scale, you need to make a choice, or you'll end up (half-assing and thus ruining) both of them.
"Nope. Jedi get taken in as babies for a reason."
Once again, this has to do with Lucas' definition of "attachment."
"Jedi Knights get taken from their families very young. They do not grow attachments, because attachment is a path to the Dark Side. You can love people, but you can't want to possess them. They're not yours. Accept that they have a fate. Even those you love most are going to die. You can't do anything about that. Protect them with your lightsaber, but if they die they were going to die. There's nothing you can do. All you can do is accept that fact. In mythology, if you go to Hades to get them back, you're not doing it for them, you're doing it for yourself. You're doing it because you don't want to give them up. You're afraid to be without them. The key to the Dark Side is fear. You must be clean of fear, and fear of loss is the greatest fear. If you're set up for fear of loss, you will do anything to keep that loss from happening, and you're going to end up in the Dark Side. That's the basic premise of Star Wars and the Jedi, and how it works. That's why they're taken at a young age to be trained. They cannot get themselves killed trying to save their best buddy when it's a hopeless exercise." - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018
Jedi need to maintain objectivity and neutrality, in their day-to-day lives of mediating peace between planets.
And learning to "let go of your attachments when the time comes" is part of that training. But it is something that takes discipline and time, and thus the child needs to be young enough to develop this skill. Otherwise, they end up like Anakin, who always struggled to properly learn it and eventually was doomed by his greed.
This being part of Lucas narrative is also evidenced that in his earlier plans for the Sequel trilogy, he'd have Luke train children, not adults like he does in the EU.

"Luke is trying to restart the Jedi. He puts the word out, so out of 100,000 Jedi, maybe 50 or 100 are left. The Jedi have to grow again from scratch, so Luke has to find two- and three-year-olds, and train them. It’ll be 20 years before you have a new generation of Jedi." The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020
The EU's retcons of Lucas' narrative:
Now, obviously, the addition of all these rules and other elements such as midi-chlorians... it does something to the older audience. They grew up on the Original Trilogy, dreaming they could be a Jedi too if they just believed enough. Now that bubble is burst.
"Wait, if I'm a Jedi I can't get married?! And I need to be taken in as a toddler, with a certain kind of blood score?! That's bullshit!"
More importantly... it goes against about a decade's worth of established EU lore (which Lucas never factored into his storytelling)!
So what does Lucasfilm Licensing do? They go with it.
They take these "weird" rules the older audience and authors don't like, and retcon a new narrative around them to ensure both the books and the new films all stay canon within the EU own continuity.
George Lucas revealed new information about his universe in Episode II that ran counter to earlier stories of the Expanded Universe. Among the surprises: the Jedi Order is monastic, with love and marriage forbidden to its members. This would necessitate reforms to the Jedi Code over time to separate the ancient era when Nomi Sunrider was married to a Jedi, seen in the Tales of the Jedi (1993–94) comics, as well as the post-Empire era when Luke Skywalker married Mara Jade in the comic series Union (1999–2000). LucasBooks also needed to create plausible exceptions for Ki-Adi-Mundi, a Jedi Master who had multiple wives in the Prelude to Rebellion comics (1999). - Pablo Hidalgo, The Essential Reader’s Companion, 2012
When it comes to Luke specifically, the narrative becomes:
"Uh... y-yes. The old Jedi Order forbid marriage, only took in toddlers and had a blood pre-requisite... which was weird, wrong, too detached, too systemic, and part of why their Order failed! But, uh, Luke's New Jedi Order allows marriage, unlike his dogmatic predecessors, because anyone can be a Jedi guys!" Hahaha! (fuck's sake George)
But as already explained above: those new rules aren't meant to be perceived negatively. It would make no sense if they were, they're based on Lucas' own values.
You know what it does do, though?
It cements the narrative that Luke is the One True Jedi™, who rejected the dogmatic teachings to forge a new path forward.
That's not the intended narrative of the Original Trilogy, nor the six-film saga as a whole.
If you've made it this far in the post (congratulations) and are interested to read another all-encompassing post about that, you can check out the link below :)
#long post#REALLY long post#meta#luke skywalker#anakin skywalker#ben kenobi#star wars#george lucas#jedi order#yoda#jedi#empire strikes back#return of the jedi#the empire strikes back#original trilogy#tesb#ESB#ROTJ#star wars rotj#sw rotj#darth vader#sam witwer#dave filoni#attachment
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if you are still up for smut: what about alessia x reader during holiday after a long season. Alessia is still tense bc of the stress of the whole season and reader helps her let go and relax. Maybe somewhere on a beach or in a villa or a boat. And maybe usually alessia is the one in charge but its a switch this time to help her relax. Or top alessia where she gets rough with reader to get the release she needs after a long year
there’s no smut and it’s quite short but at least it’s something…
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You are not sure if she’s breathing or bracing—both require the same tension in the shoulders. Alessia, who has been four seconds from snapping since the airport lounge, sits on the edge of the sun lounger like it’s a board meeting. She has not touched the towel you scouted. You folded it. With your own hands. And then placed it directly in the centre of the chair, knowing full well she would sit on the edge and not the centre, because the centre would imply comfort and she is, apparently, opposed to being comfortable.
Her sunglasses—black, square, smug—are perched low on her nose. Her hands are clasped in her lap like she’s waiting for a jury decision. She has not taken her trainers off. On a beach. Trainers. You glance down at them. White laces tied in a precise double bow. The tongues tucked in. Lined up like soldiers. Honestly, it’s unnerving.
“You can relax, you know,” you say. Gently, kindly, annoyingly. She does not reply.
There are three gulls overhead, screaming with the sort of authority you suspect she wishes she still had. The sea looks bored. The villa behind you cost more than your first car. Alessia has been here for exactly twenty-seven hours and has not, to your knowledge, smiled once. You, on the other hand, have been playing the charming host, the soothing partner, the cooling balm. You brought the lemon water. You rubbed her shoulders. You planned the week. You even booked the boat, which—and let’s be honest—was brave. Boats do not have brakes. You are not, in the classical sense, calm.
Still, she’s the one with a tight jaw and you’re the one with the solution.
“Lie back,” you say, pretending it’s a suggestion. It is not. “Head on the towel. I won’t say it again.”
She raises one eyebrow. That’s all. The left one. But you can see the cracks forming. Her mouth twitches like it might remember how to curve. She does lie back, eventually, with a groan that is entirely performative. The sunglasses remain on. You do not comment.
The sun glances off her legs—bare now, finally, because you removed the linen bottoms yourself ten minutes earlier with an expression of saintly patience. Her thighs still carry the crease marks of the material. You want to kiss them. You don’t. Yet.
“You’ve got a choice,” you say, slowly, enunciating like you’re reading terms and conditions. “You can either continue pretending you’re not stressed, or you can let me help you.”
Her laugh—low, hoarse, resentful—escapes her mouth suddenly. “I’m not stressed.”
You snort. She pretends not to hear it.
Then—and it happens all at once—her hand moves to your wrist, firm, bossy, predictable. But your hand is already pushing it away. And this time, you press it down. Her breath falters. A flinch. A failure.
“Ah,” you say, with all the gentleness of a threat, “not today.”
She blinks. Once. Twice. She hesitates for four whole seconds—which, in Alessia terms, is a psychological event. Then she lets go. Her hand, yours, the control. All of it.
It is not quiet after that—not really. There’s the gulls, and the sea, and the very slight noise of her trying to swallow a sigh as she finally leans back. But it is calm. Or perhaps not calm, exactly—that would be generous—but honest. Raw. Real.
You do not gloat. You are far too elegant to gloat.
But you do smile.
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