You hear it before you see it, a shuffle on pavement behind you, before sudden tug at your purse strap.
“HEY!” You snarl, already bracing your heels into the sidewalk, ready to rip your arm back and let whoever-the-fuck know they picked the wrong bitch today. “GIVE ME BACK MY–”
– and then you actually blink into a wall of muscle.
A wall of muscle hugged by a black shirt tight enough to map out every little line, forearms big as a greek statues. He’s got black hair, messy like he just come out of a windstorm. A small scar splits the corner of his mouth the way commas split sentences.
The word “…bag” comes out as a breath and then, “oh.” Your brain stutters and the fight in your voice dies mid-syllable. “…Um, heyyy.”
He cocks an eyebrow, the bag handle wrapped in his fist like a leash. You’re still clinging to your purse, but now it’s less defensive and more affectionate. Your gaze flicks from his mouth to his arm, and the corners of your lips twitch into something a little too pleased for someone being robbed.
Toji’s expression scrunches a millimeter. For the first time in a while, he looks vaguely unsettled.
“Uh.” He tugs at the strap. “Lady. Let go.”
You don’t let go. In fact, you sidestep in, catch his wrist with both hands and hug his forearm like you’re clutching onto a teddy bear. The veins jump under your thumbs. Oh, he lifts. Obviously he lifts. Your survival instinct files for permanent leave. “What if I don’t want to?”
His eyes narrow. He gives a sharp tug, purse be damned, expecting your grip to loosen. But you plant your feet, cheek pressing into his flesh, a manic little gleam in your eyes that makes his brows knit together.
“…the fuck?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
You say it lightly, teasing, almost singsong, but he feels the iron behind it, and for the first time in a long while, Toji Fushiguro isn’t sure if he’s the predator here. He tries again, because what the hell is wrong with you, but your nails dig into his arm possessively.
“You rob everyone like this?” You ask sweetly, leaning in closer and fluttering your lashes up at him. “Or just the girls you think are cute?”
For once, Toji doesn’t have a smooth answer. He just stares down at you, completely thrown off his rhythm, and realises with a pit in his stomach that he’s suddenly about to be the victim in all this.
Can I request the JJK men when their girlfriend wears something super revealing to the beach?
nanami isn’t really sure what to think when you slip out of your coverup and head down to the water in looks more like dental floss than a bathing suit. he’s not the jealous type. and he can appreciate a woman’s body. i mean, you look good enough to devour. but the situation becomes borderline laughable when he realizes just how confused everyone is seeing you two together. he doesn’t blame the puzzled looks other guys give him. he might do a double take too if he saw a hot scantily clad woman loving on some office worker in a UV sun shirt and water shoes. honestly? it boosts his ego. seeing other guys trade confused looks while you wade in the tide pool together. swapping kisses in between collecting shells. he knows exactly what they’re thinking. how the fuck did the guy wearing SPF 100 score a babe like you?
toji loves the bikini the minute he sees it. until you actually get to beach and he realizes anything with a penis probably shares that same sentiment. don’t get him wrong, the tan lines you’re going to have by the end of the day have him threatening to bust through the front of his swim trunks like the kool aid man. you’re hot, but you’ve got him stressed out on his only day off. if the mental math he did was correct, there are about 40 guys praying that an extra powerful wave comes along and gives them an eyeful of that last inch of boob your micro-top barely covers. and no, toji can’t fight every man at the beach, but he can ask you to straddle his lap while he enjoys a cigarette in a shitty polyester beach chair. and he absolutely will snap the string of your bikini bottoms against your ass a couple times to make the group of guys who keep eyeing you squirm and look away.
suguru is past the point of lying his way out of why he’s pitched a circus worthy tent in his swim shorts. it’s obscene. the way your areolas are peeking out from underneath your bikini top. he almost has a heart attack when he realizes how much worse the bottom half is. your g string is so thin it’s barely visible save for the (thankfully) thick triangle of fabric covering what actually matters between your thighs. you’re killing him. like actually. his dick is so stiff his brain might actually be suffering some form of minor blood loss. he can’t focus the entire day, and he loves (and hates) every minute of it. don’t ask him to get up and take pictures with you. please. the towel he’s inconspicuously bunched over his lap is his only salvation from complete and utter humiliation.
satoru spends more time taking pictures of you than in the water. he lacks shame, has never felt embarrassment ever. if that’s what you’re wearing then he’s very down to savor what he can. he’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass between trips to the soda cooler. asking you to bend over and pose on the beach chairs, spreading your legs further apart to get a better shot of where the fabric barely covers the length of your pussy. practically 75% of the day is spent with you ass in his lap, letting him silently appreciate you while he guzzles down a 6 pack of soda, stacking the cans into a little pyramid in the sand. if you’re lucky he might take you shopping tomorrow and find you an even smaller bikini for next time.
sukuna immediately hands you a towel when you undress.
“are you serious right now?” he says, the half smirk on his face tells you he’s not mad, just overly protective.
“what?” you whine, wrapping the offending fabric over your barely-dressed lower half.
“you’re going to flash that family behind us if the wind picks up.” he laughs, ruffling your hair. “you don’t look half bad though.”
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.
Dad!Sukuna who nearly crumbles under the pressure of caring for three kids (7, 5 and 2) by himself when you leave for a girl's trip with your friends. He stays strong in front of you, kisses you goodbye and then turns to the children. As soon as your car pulls off, it's like they transform into little demons right in front of his eyes. Creepy glowing red eyes and all.
Dad!Sukuna who has to take the kids out for breakfast that morning because they refuse to eat whatever "burnt bullshit", as 7 put it, he tried to serve. The older two argue and shove each other in the booth the entire time and the baby won't stop crying. It's only been 3 hours of 120.
Dad!Sukuna who tries to complete the shopping list you left but the fucking store doesn't have the specific scent of laundry detergent you requested. It's frustrating and stupid and why are the kids still yelling?
"Stop touching me!" 5 yells directly into 7's face.
"I'm not touching you!" 7 yells right back.
"Hey!" The boys freeze and look up at their dad. "Quit. Your. Shit."
They might as well have laughed in his face as they went right back to arguing.
He drags the kids out of the store and back into the car, without laundry detergent, which he only realizes when he goes to start a load. He's not taking the kids back out. They'll just have to survive with what's already clean.
Dad!Sukuna who is just waiting for nap time. Until he realizes that 7 and 5 don't take naps anymore.
"Naps are for babies," 7 says, scrolling on his tablet. "I'm not a baby."
He groans into his hands and slumps back into the couch. "Just don't argue with your brother for a couple hours then."
"Sure."
Dad!Sukuna who has to break up six arguments and one physical altercation between 7 and 5. Are they like this for you because what the fuck? At least 2 has been chill since breakfast.
Until bath time. Then she freaks fully the fuck out. Complete with kicking, screaming, crying, and splashing bathwater absolutely everywhere.
Dad!Sukuna who feels like he can breathe again when they finally, finally go to bed. He's about to fall asleep himself when he hears footsteps in the hallway.
"Hell no," he says stepping into the hallway, a finger already pointing in the direction your child should be headed. "Go back to bed right now."
"I'm trying," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. "But some dude is blocking the door to my bedroom."
Husband!Sukuna who nearly falls to his knees when he realizes it's you and not one of your children. But the man's got an image to maintain so he stays standing.
"Why are you home?" He steps aside to let you into the room.
You pull your suitcase into the bedroom behind you, starting to unpack. "Well, um..." You fiddle with the hem of a pair of pants for a second. "I, um, got sick and decided to come home."
"What kind of sick?"
"How were the kids?"
"Don't change the subject."
"It's not contagious," you reassure, fumbling through the contents of your bag until you find what you're looking for.
Dad!Sukuna who looks like he's going to faint when you hand him the little plastic stick displaying two pink lines.
Panties, lipstick, & a goddamn neurology conference
Or: Eat your greens, Eat your girl
A/N: idk who it is that told tonycries to read my shit, whomever you are, i'll buy billions of flowers forever. this is for u pookie. i attempted to use the nickname 'ma' here, pls tell me if its good or not. its a meh from me. i never know if my toji is good or nah.
He was, however, a watch-your-girlfriend-wiggle-into-her-stockings person.
There were boobs out.
Just TITS. OUT. There. On full display. In the glow of morning sunlight and Toji’s increasingly horny stare.
Boob.
That was the first coherent thought in Toji Fushiguro’s poor caveman brain as he lay half-dead in your bed, one arm flopped over his eyes, the other hand s-l-o-w-l-y petting Chairman Meow, the roundest, rudest, bowtie-wearing tabby to ever grace the earth.
And Toji? Well, Toji was watching your ass.
Not in theory. Not fondly remembering it from last night—though that had definitely been top-tier, life-changing, earthquake-meets-crescendo-of-Mariah-Carey-bridge good.
No.
This man, this ex-assassin, this menace to society, this demon of your thighs, was watching your ass right now as you tried to fasten your garter belt while hopping on one foot.
You were bustling around the room like a sexy, chubby little hurricane, muttering to yourself about conference prep and presentation slides and “WHERE THE FUCK DID I PUT MY HAIR PIN—Toji did you touch it?” (he had not, to be clear. Chairman Meow was currently playing with it.)
Toji did not respond.
He was too busy ogling.
You were standing in front of your vanity, completely unaware of the ogling, dressed in nothing but your red satin underwear, hair half-curled, eyeliner sharp enough to kill, and one (1) glorious titty swinging as you adjusted the strap of your bra with a frustrated grunt.
He whistled. Low and very awake.
You jumped. “TOJI??”
“Damn,” he croaked, voice still molasses-thick and scratchy from sleep, “mornin’, sweetheart. You walkin’ out the house like that or do I gotta kill a man today?”
Your face went instantly pink. “OH MY GOD—no! I—Shut the hell up!”
“No bra. Just tits. Makin’ science sexy.” He gave a lazy, sinful smirk, still sprawled shirtless across your bed like he paid rent there.
You frantically threw a blouse over yourself. “I have a keynote presentation in like, three hours! I am not being slutty on purpose!”
He yawned. “Unfortunate.”
Chairman Meow let out a judgmental mrrrp and scratched at his leg like even he was tired of the horny.
Toji flicked the cat’s ear. “Sheesh, Meow-san, let a man simp in peace.”
You grumbled something about “goddamn feral men” and started lining up three potential outfits across the bed while Toji finally sat up, abs still obnoxiously visible and hair all mussed like he just got laid, which he very much did.
“I’m just admirin’ the view! It’s like wakin’ up in an art museum. A real bouncy one.”
You laughed despite yourself. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you love it,” he said, throwing one arm behind his head and letting the blanket slip just a little more. “Now c’mon, lemme help pick what’s gonna cover those babies up. I owe it to society.”
“Alright,” you huffed, hands on your soft hips. “Pick one.”
Toji blinked. “Wait you're actually letting me choose? I’m just gonna pick the sluttiest one.”
“That’s the idea,” you grinned, “but I have to be respectable-slightly-hot-doctor slutty, not will-fuck-in-the-breakroom slutty.”
He scratched his jaw. “That a challenge?”
“Focus, you menace.”
Toji got up (naked. Of course. Bastard, dick swinging and all) and started examining the choices.
Option A: tight pencil skirt, red blouse, glasses-on-chain-core.
Option B: high-waisted swing pants and a cherry halter.
Option C: black circle skirt, matching corset-style top, big ol’ belt.
All options had That Ass™ involved, obviously.
“B’s got sideboob,” he said. “But C’s got cleavage. I vote cleavage.”
“Shocking.”
He turned to the cat, who sat judging all of humanity from the pillow throne. “Yo, Chairman. Tie-breaker?”
Chairman Meow trotted up to Option C and sat on it with his entire butt.
“THE CAT HAS SPOKEN,” you declared, dramatic finger to the sky.
Toji was too busy watching your tits bounce as you danced around the room pulling on stockings. “Mmhmm,” he grunted, “You gonna walk onstage in that and get a standing ovation for both your research and your rack.”
You threw a hairbrush at him. “Innapropriate.”
He caught it, looked deeply unrepentant, and crawled back onto the bed to watch you like a wolf watching his mate gather twigs for the den or whatever.
“God,” he muttered, “gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout this ass all day. Shit ain’t fair. How’re you smart and thick and hot and nice to my murder cat?”
You smoothed your hair, ignoring the compliment stack, but your ears were turning red.
“Ma,” he said, suddenly more serious, scratching the back of his neck. “What time you get home?”
You turned to him with an eyebrow up. “Why?”
“...Might try to cook. Or I’ll get that weird vegan place you like. The one with the tofu that doesn’t taste like feet.”
Your face split into the brightest, cheesiest smile. “ARE YOU TRYING TO ROMANCE ME, FUSHIGURO?”
He shrugged, suddenly shy. “Maybe. Don’t make a fuckin’ thing outta it.”
You pounced forward, lipstick already on, and smacked the reddest kiss onto his cheek, leaving a perfect red pout mark. He blinked.
“That shit permanent?”
“Hope so.”
He tugged you by the waistband and murmured right against your lips, “Come home early. I wanna rail the Good Doctor again.”
You cackled. “Sir. I study autism in children, please don’t call me The Good Doctor—" straightening your skirt and grabbing your briefcase like the very professional adult you are, “you are the horniest bastard alive.”
He nodded. “That’s me, ma.”
“And you’re lucky I like you.”
He grinned. “Lucky you let me hit it three times last night.”
“FOUR. It was four, actually, and you almost broke my headboard—”
“You’re welcome.”
You kissed him again, this time soft and slow, and he held your waist like you were the whole world.
“See you tonight, loverboy.”
Toji watched you walk out the door—hips swaying, curls bouncing, glasses perched on your nose—and sighed, leaning back.
"Total milf."
Chairman Meow let out an unimpressed chirp.
*-*
The first thing you noticed when you walked into your apartment—after kicking off your heels and nearly chucking your presentation binder across the room—was the smell.
Food. Real food. Delicious food. FOOD THAT WASN’T MICROWAVED TOFU NUGGETS.
You sniffed the air like a rabid raccoon.
“…TOJI?!?”
From the kitchen: “Don’t panic!”
You immediately panicked.
You stumbled in to find Toji shirtless (classic), wearing an apron that said “DILF AT WORK” (concerning), hair pulled back (slight man bun Toji real), and standing over a suspiciously functional-looking stir fry.
“OH MY GOD YOU COOKED?”
“I did,” he said proudly, “and nothing is on fire.”
You blinked. “Why does it smell like real food? Did you follow a recipe??”
Toji turned to you with a dramatic chef’s bow. “I called your weird vegan place and bullied the dude into walking me through your favorite order. I made you that tofu broccoli abomination you like.”
You gasped. “YOU MEAN THE MAPO-STYLE ONE WITH THE GARLIC OIL?!?”
“I don't fuckin' know what any of that means,” he grunted, plating it, “but yeah. That one.”
You tackled him with a hug and almost knocked the pan over.
“You’re a GENIUS,” you cried. “A big, scary, sexy, GIANT-SHOULDERED genius.”
He smirked. “Kiss the chef?”
You kissed him. With tongue. You also licked his scar a little. Because gratitude.
“Go sit your hot ass down,” he said, swatting your butt as he passed. “Dinner’s served, Doctor Panty-Destroyer.”
You were halfway through your second bite of perfectly spicy tofu when you slammed your chopsticks down and exclaimed, “—and then this ASSHAT tells ME I can't quote VYGOTSKY in a CROSS-PANEL discussion?!”
Toji blinked. “Uhh. What’s a Vygotsky?”
You gestured wildly. “Oh y'know, just THE FATHER OF SOCIOCULTURAL theory!”
He nodded like that explained anything. “Sounds like a punk.”
“RIGHT?! He’s DEAD but STILL more useful than my co-chair on that board!”
“So,” he grunted back, “you win the Nobel Prize yet or what?”
You snorted. “No, but I did almost choke Dr. Kim in the elevator for calling me ‘little lady’ again.”
“Did you?”
“No, because apparently choking people is frowned upon in professional academia.”
“Bullshit.”
Toji spooned more food into your bowl. “Eat more. Yell more. Go on.”
And you were eating.
Like, actively. Deliciously because this was actually good.
“Godddd, I think this is better than orgasms right now.”
Toji raised an eyebrow. “Ma, don’t tempt me. I will make a very thorough comparison.”
“Shut up,” you said through a mouthful of noodles, “I had to explain to a whole-ass PhD panel today that my control group wasn’t trying to intentionally manipulate the data, they were just, y’know, five-year-olds.”
Toji sucked a bit of peanut sauce off his finger. “Hot.”
“No it was chaos, babe. One kid licked a USB drive. One drew a dick on my printout. One BIT my shoe.”
Toji nodded solemnly. “He’s my new favorite.”
You glared, but he gave you the smirk — the devastating one. The one that said he was gonna do something soon, and you were gonna pretend to be annoyed, but your legs would definitely be shaking after.
He kissed your forehead as he cleaned up the dishes. “You’re literally the hottest bitch I know. Fuck 'em. Not literally. Just metaphorically.”
You giggled, because he was being cute and he had tofu oil on his mouth.
“…Hey,” you whispered, tone shifting. “Thanks for cooking. Seriously.”
He shrugged. “You bust your ass helping kids, bein’ all smart and shit. You deserve a meal. And a nut.”
You choked on your rice. “TOJI—”
“I’m just sayin’,” he said casually, standing up and gathering the plates, “I made you dinner. Now I get dessert.”
You blinked. “That’s not how that works—”
“Oh no?” he smirked, cracking his neck like a horny menace. “You gonna stop me, Doctor Sits-On-My-Face?”
You shrieked.
You didn’t finish because you were suddenly being lifted. By the hips. And deposited — gently, reverently — on top of the kitchen table.
“I thought I was being punished,” you teased, half-flustered. “I left the dishwasher full, remember?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Toji murmured, voice low and dark as sin, “this is your punishment.”
And then. Then he got on his knees.
Yes. Yes, this man, your man, the one with biceps the size of your thigh and a career in high-level security detail and the vocabulary of a drunk sailor—was on the floor. Face-first. In your thighs. In the kitchen.
“Wait wait wait, babe—wait—”
He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Don’t care.”
“TOJI THE CAT’S WATCHING.”
“Then he’s learnin’ somethin’ today.”
You shrieked, smacked him, and then forgot how to speak English for a good three minutes as he went to town. Because Toji Fushiguro ate pussy like it owed him money. Or secrets. Or a promotion.
“I said I wanted dessert,” he muttered, voice low and so fucking gravely, “and you come home lookin’ like that? Wearin’ hot lipstick on your mouth like a goddamn warning sign?”
You moaned. “That’s not what lipstick is f—OH FUCK—”
His mouth was on you. On you.
Toji ate pussy like he was making up for lost time, like he was getting paid by the whimper. Tongue deep, nose bumping your clit, hands wrapped around your thighs like he was afraid you’d run (which—fair).
He groans against you, tongue working slow and filthy, fingers gripping your thick thighs like he’s trying to merge with you spiritually.
“Oh my—OH FUCK—Toji I—”
“Shhh,” he muttered, mouth full of pussy. “You said you had a long day. Let me do my job.”
His JOB. This man was treating your pussy like a full-time gig. Like it had a benefits package. He licked and sucked and groaned like he was starving, arms wrapped tight around your thighs like he was trying to anchor himself to this plane of existence.
It’s soft. It’s nasty. It’s pure devotion.
You were babbling. Full-on nonsense. Dr. Who? You didn’t know her.
“God, you taste fuckin’ amazing,” he grunted, voice muffled by your actual pussy. “This dinner’s five stars.”
“You’re—a fuckin’ menace,” you gasped, clinging to his hair.
“Bet that Vygotsky guy didn’t eat pussy like this,” he mumbled.
Slow licks. Dirty groans. Two fingers, eventually, fucking into you slow while he sucked on your clit like it was his goddamn job.
He sucked your clit like it was the last strawberry on earth, groaning against you like he meant it, fingers working you open with such filthy, soft expertise it made your brain short-circuit.
“Fuckin’ love this pussy,” he grunted, “gets wet so fuckin’ fast for me. You miss me today, sweetheart?”
You whimpered.
He looked up at you with his messy, cocky, I’m-about-to-ruin-you expression, chin shiny, eyes dark.
“Say it.”
“Missed you, holy SHIT, Toji—”
He went back in like a man possessed.
“Oh my god—oh my god—Toji—fuck—don’t stop—”
“I wasn’t fuckin’ planning to,” he growled against you, voice all muffled and drunk on it. “You gonna cum like this, baby? Gonna soak my fuckin’ face after a long-ass day at work? Hmm?”
And you did. Loud. Clutching at his hair, legs around his shoulders, brain soup.
But of course he didn’t stop. He just looked up at you, face shiny and smug, and muttered:
“Y’know, you never whine this much unless you’re stressed. I should eat you out more. Like…prescribed medicine.”
“Toji,” you panted, trying to recover, “I will scream.”
He grinned. “That’s the goal.”
And then. Round Two.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was everything else.
You were face-down, drooling into your pillow now (yes he'd carried you to the bed), skirt bunched around your waist, and Toji’s very nice dick splitting you open from behind. Hard. Deep. Cocky.
“Hot fuckin' little scientist,” he muttered, panting, “goin’ around all day makin’ presentations, givin’ lectures, and this is what you really need, huh? Just some good dick.”
You whimpered something incoherent and tried to buck back, but he slapped your ass hard.
“Ah ah, baby. I’m doin’ the work. You’re just gonna lie there and be good and take it, yeah?”
You whined. “Fucking mean—”
He leaned over you, one heavy hand on the back of your neck, the other teasing slow circles around your clit while he pounded into you, voice low and hungry.
“You don’t need nice. You need this dick.”
And woop, in half a second you were on your back, facing him.
“I hate you,” you gasped, full-body shivering, “I hate you, you’re the worst, you—fuck—like a bitch..”
“That right?” He pressed his lips right on your pulse point “Say it again. C’mon.”
He was hitting that spot like he mapped it, like it was a science. Reaching so deep and then grinding just right against your clit like he was tuning a goddamn instrument.
“Every time I fuck you,” he growled, “you squeeze me like this—like you don’t wanna let go—shit, baby, that’s it—”
You came with a shout, legs trembling, tears springing to your eyes because it felt that good.
Toji kept going. “Fuck, you’re so good for me. So fuckin' smart. So fuckin’ pretty. Takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ—”
You groaned.
“That’s what I thought.”
He slammed back into you and you damn near levitated.
“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he groaned. “Make it hard to think. Fuck all that smart shit right outta your cute little head.”
“Please do,” you whimpered.
You pulled him down, kissed him like your life depended on it, and he melted, grinding through his own orgasm with a groan so low it rattled through your spine.
*-*
You were curled up in his chest, your cheeks still flushed and warm and your body like butter, reading a lecture proposal in your emails on your phone, while Toji lounged against the headboard — reading glasses on, hair damp from a quick shower, and a very official looking contract spread across his lap.
“I love when you read things,” you mumbled against his ribs, nipping very lightly. “Makes you look like you could actually file your taxes.”
“I do file my taxes.”
You looked up from your phone. “You threaten the H&R Block guy every year until he does them for you.”
“Efficient.”
You giggled, tracing little shapes on his chest with your free hand. “What’s the job?”
“Security detail for a political consultant. Not sketchy. Pays good. Might be a couple out-of-town nights.”
You nodded. “I’ll miss you. But I’ll also hog the bed and sleep diagonally, so it balances.”
His phone buzzed. He picked it up.
A text from Megumi:
“Hi dad. We’re making slime. I got glue on my eyebrow.”
Toji smiled, that soft kind of smile, and you swore your ovaries screamed.
“Tell him I said hi!” you said.
Toji typed:
“Don’t eat the glue. The smart one says hi. Sleep by 10 or I’m kicking your ass.”
Another buzz:
“Ok. Also i saw your gun. Cool. Goodnight.”
Toji locked the screen and looked down at you, one arm wrapping tighter around your waist, you dropped the phone, groaned dramatically.
“You’re gonna make a really hot stepmom milf someday,” he said, nose brushing your temple.
I want to remind all my young and impressionable girlies (age doesn’t matter really), that sex is a big commitment.
Sex: isn’t always fun like writers describe it too be
Sex: contain bad consequences. Like STD’s, unplanned childbirths, abuse.
Boyfriends: aren’t always meant to be trusted, even if you “love him”
Boyfriends: ARE STILL BOYS. They can say whatever they want to push you in the direction to do things for them.
Reading about sex and having sex are two different things. Although I don’t care for the term virginity (social construct to make men look superior and women inferior) you must always, always, always put your self first!
I personally believe teenagers (yes, that includes 18-19) shouldn’t have sex. I’m well aware it ‘takes two to tango’ but it’s usually the women who end up with all the problems.
KEEP YOURSELF SAFE. This is something you should be very selfish about
Edit: and for anyone wondering, no I’m not saying that sex is always bad, I’m saying you need to make the judgement call on whether or not you’re having sex for yourself, or for the other person involved.
“I went there once… years ago. My ex took me on a trip there.”
Silence. Then:
“Ohhh,” Gojo hums, lips pulling into a wide grin as he adjusts his sunglasses, “Your ex took you to Kyoto? Wow. Must’ve been super romantic. Did he also buy you, like, a plastic fan and tell you about his favorite anime character?”
You blink. “Satoru—”
“No, no, I’m just wondering how that even worked,” he continues dramatically, hands flying in mockery. “Like, did you both cry over temple aesthetics together? Or did he just cry when you made him pay for dinner?”
“Satoru.”
He gasps and clutches his chest. “Was it serious? Were you gonna marry him? Did he also wear sunglasses indoors, or was that just a me thing?”
You groan and look out the car window as he starts driving.
Gojo huffs and mutters under his breath, still loud enough for you to hear. “I’d take you to fucking Paris and still get compared to discount Kyoto boy
Then louder: “Bet he couldn’t even make you laugh. With that basic-ass itinerary.”
“…Satoru.”
“I’m not mad,” he says, sulking like a kicked puppy. “I just think he’s a clown and I’m better. That’s all.”
Toji Fushiguro
You’re sitting on the couch together, talking casually, when it slips out.
“He used to cook that for me too—my ex, I mean.”
Toji stills, fork halfway to his mouth.
You glance up. “What?”
He chews once. Slowly. Sets the fork down on the plate.
Then he looks at you with that Toji Fushiguro face—calm, blank, unreadable—but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes.
“That so?” he says flatly.
“It’s just something he used to—”
“Didn’t ask what he used to do,” he cuts in. He leans back against the couch, eyeing you like he’s re-evaluating your entire life choice. “He still breathing?”
“Toji.”
He gives a single dry laugh and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Just curious. You talk about him like I’m supposed to give a shit.”
You open your mouth.
He leans closer, resting an arm on the back of the couch, voice dropping low.
“You’re in my house. In my shirt. Eating my food. Think I wanna hear about some guy who couldn’t keep you?”
The silence is thick.
“…You jealous?” you ask softly.
Toji’s gaze stays locked on you, jaw tight.
“No,” he says. “I’m pissed off. That’s different.”
Sukuna
You’re both lying in bed. The fan is whirring. Your legs are tangled under the blanket.
“He used to hate when I did that too,” you murmur without thinking, resting your cheek against Sukuna’s bare shoulder.
Sukuna blinks. His whole body stiffens.
“…The fuck did you just say?”
You look up. “Huh?”
“Who the fuck’s ‘he’??” he spits, eyes narrowing like you just cursed him out.
“My ex,” you mumble, suddenly feeling like you poked a wolf.
Sukuna scoffs, shoving the blanket off his chest. “You’re thinking about that limp-dicked shitbag while you’re in my bed? Christ, what is wrong with you?”
“Sukuna—”
He’s already on a roll. “Don’t even remember his name and you’re over here reminiscing like it was some great fuckin’ love story. I bet he couldn’t even make you cum.”
You shove his arm, blushing. “It wasn’t like that—”
“Oh, I know it wasn’t,” he snaps, curling a hand around your waist and yanking you closer, voice dropping to a hiss. “Because if it was, you wouldn’t be in my bed now, would you?”
You pout. “I wasn’t comparing—”
“Good. ‘Cause there’s no fuckin’ competition.”
Naoya Zen’in
You’re walking together through a quiet plaza when you laugh, pointing at a little restaurant tucked into the corner.
“My ex took me there once. Weird food, but kinda charming—”
Naoya stops in his tracks.
You keep walking. “Naoya?”
He catches up. Doesn’t look at you.
His voice is dry. Deadpan.
“Wow. Great. Let’s talk about your ex. That’s exactly what I wanted to do today.”
You blink. “It just popped in my head.”
He scoffs under his breath. “Of course he’d take you there. Basic-ass place for a basic-ass man.”
You try to smile. “Jealous?”
Naoya glares. “Jealous? No. I just think it’s fucking stupid to bring up someone irrelevant.”
“Wow,” you mumble, “calm down.”
“I am calm.” He speeds up his walking like he’s storming a runway. “I just don’t like talking about people who aren’t worth shit. Especially while I’m holding your damn hand.”
You jog to keep up, barely holding in your laugh.
He mutters, “If I see that guy in public, I’m tripping him. I swear to god.”
"Yeah, baby?" Gojo replies instantly, eyes flicking up with hopeful anticipation.
He’s still got that innocent glimmer in his eyes, as if he isn't the one currently cupping your breasts with both hands like they’re humanity’s last hope.
"Get your hands off my boobs."
He groans, flopping back dramatically against the pillows like a kicked a puppy.
“Why are you being so distant lately?" he whines, bottom lip jutting out in the most insufferable pout as he gives your chest a pitiful little squeeze.
"You didn’t even laugh when I did the sexy voice in the shower, and frankly, I feel unloved."
"Go to sleep." you mutter, flipping a page with surgical calm, still not gracing him with even an ounce of attention.
There’s a beat of silence. You know that kind of quiet—he’s either about to start weeping or set something on fire.
"Are you seeing someone else?"
Gojo props himself up on one elbow, the other hand still firmly on your chest. Still palming you like you’re a comfort object he refuses to part with.
You blink. "...What?"
"It is him!" he gasps, eyes widening in horror. "The guy with the beige sweater and receding hairline. I know a schemer when I see one."
You sigh through your nose. "That’s Megumi’s homeroom teacher. He’s a sweet man.”
"Oh so you think he's sweet now?" He snaps, sitting up straighter, finger jabbing the air in accusation. "That fossil has no business standing within five miles of you. I don't care how many degrees he has."
You finally lower your book just enough to stare at him. "It was a parent-teacher meeting, Satoru."
"Yeah, well, he was talking to you all slow and respectful and.... educational. What’s the bastard trying to prove?"
You go back to your book with a slow blink and no further comment.
"You are so—"
Before you can finish, he grabs the book clean out of your hands and flings it somewhere across the room.
"Hey—!"
You reach out for it instinctively, but he moves faster, already shifting his weight and rolling over you in one smooth motion. He straddles your hips, knees pressed to the outside of your thighs, his chest hovering just above yours.
One hand plants beside your head, the other trails down, gliding over your ribs, your waist— before settling low on your thigh, just beneath the hem of your shorts. His fingers splay there, staking his claim.
He’s looking down at you now, hair falling in his face, grin slow and easy like he has all night to make his point.
"You’re impossible," you mumble, glaring up at Gojo.
"Maybe this is why I piss you off so often," he says, lips brushing your jaw. "Just wanna see my pretty girl all worked up."
You try your best not to succumb to the temptation. You really do.
But his mouth finds the curve of your jaw, kisses warm and trailing as they move lazily toward your neck, each one a little more self-satisfied than the last. He hums against your skin, practically vibrating with contentment, thinking he's finally worn you down.
His fingers flex against your thigh, grip tightening just slightly as his lips trail lower—
"Gojo-sensei!"
You both freeze. Gojo's body goes still, lips hovering at your neck, hand frozen just beneath the hem of your shorts.
"I spilled juice on my shirt." Megumi's small voice echoes from the next room, painfully unimpressed and extremely inconvenient.
Gojo lets out the longest, loudest, most dramatic groan known to man, forehead falling onto your shoulder like he’s in mourning.
"...I swear that child has a sixth sense for cockblocking."
You laugh—wheeze, really—because he says it so seriously, like this is a national tragedy.
"I’ll be back," he grumbles, reluctantly hauling himself off you, the pettiness in his voice barely disguised. "But I’m taking the book hostage until further notice."
“i wanna stack these donuts… here.” your hand brushes his cock through his sweats, and he freezes, eyes widening.
“what?” he chokes out, stepping back, but his voice betrays him, a little too curious. “you’re—fuckin serious? stackin donuts on my dick?”
“im serious.” you say, grinning, grabbing a donut and twirling it on your finger, your voice sultry. “gonna stack em, eat em off…u down, or you scared?” gojo’s mouth drops. “holy shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, his shock melting into a grin.
“you’re a fucking freak, you know that?” but his voice is thick, his cock twitching in his sweats, already hard at the idea.
“alright… fuck it. let’s see how freaky you really are.” you laugh, triumphant, pushing him back until he’s leaning against the counter, your hands tugging his sweats down, freeing his cock already hard.
“oh, you’re excited.” you tease, smirking as he groans, his head tipping back, hands gripping the counter, his eyes locked on you as you kneel, grabbing a donut.
“this is… fuckin’ insane.” you wink, sliding the first donut onto his cock, careful, the sugary glaze catching the light, he hisses, the sensation odd but hot, his body tensing.
“fuck, thats—weird.” he groaned cock twitching under the donut’s weight, you add another, then a third, stacking them slow, your eyes flicking up to his.
“look at that..” you purr, your voice dripping with mischief, settling back on your knees, your hands on his thighs. “my own little treat tower.” you lean in, your tongue flicking the tip of his cock above the donuts, and he moans, low and raw, his hands flying to your hair.
“fuck, baby..m” he groans, his voice breaking, his eyes wide with arousal and awe. “you’re so fuckin’ freaky, i love it.” he’s panting, his hips twitching, clearly turned on by your boldness, your gaze locked on his as you take a slow bite of the top donut, your lips brushing his tip.
“Mmm...” you hum, chewing deliberately, your eyes never leaving his, watching him unravel. “tastes better like this.” you lick the glaze off his cock, slow and teasing, and he curses, his grip tightening in your hair, his excitement palpable.
“goddamn, you’re killin’ me.” he says hips bucking slightly as you eat the donut, your tongue swirling around him, catching every bit of sugar and precum.
“keep lookin’ at me like that—fuck, you’re too much.” you grin, swallowing, then take another bite, your lips grazing his shaft, your hands stroking his thighs.
tou finish the last donut, your lips closing around him, sucking hard, taking him deeper. “fuck, baby.” he groans, his hips bucking, his hands tugging your hair, guiding you as you bob your head, your tongue swirling, your moans vibrating against him.
“you’re—so good, gonna make me cum.”
you started sucking hard, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach, and he’s gone, cumming with a loud groan, his cock pulsing, spilling into your mouth.
“fuck..” he pants, his voice breaking, his hands still in your hair as you swallow, licking him clean.
he pulls you up, kissing you hard, tasting sugar and himself, his grin wide and dazed. “fuckin’ freak.” he says, laughing, his voice warm, pulling you against his chest.
“where’d you even get that idea?” you grinned licking your lips. "secret."
Cw- smut drabble, choking, oral, rough sex, obsessed dom Nanami
Nanami Kento loves to choke your pretty neck, his huge hand around your delicate throat. He loves to watch as his gold wedding ring presses into your skin. Your eyes rolling back in your skull, while your cunt soaks his thick, veiny cock, tight gummy walls pulsing around him, milking him.
He loves how you gasp, the ragged moans, while you're gripping his wrist, your own ring glinting under the lights as you cling tightly, gasping for a breath, only for him to squeeze tighter. You're fading, while his thumb presses your pulse point, blackness blurring the edges of your handsome husband's face.
You feel it, your orgasm coming, making your tummy tense as Nanami shoves his cock so deep, lifting one of your thighs up and rolling his hips. When his leaky reddened tip bullies its way into your walls and hits all your spots, you choke on your cries, cumming all over him, gushing arousal swirling down him.
He releases your throat right when you do, you hear that ringing in your ears as his hazel eyes assess you tenderly. He exhales and leans down, kissing along your neck while your aftershocks grip him, your whines echoing in his ears. Your cunt is dripping down his length as he eases out and back in, lips pressing the marks his hand left.
He leans up and sees tears glimmering on your cheeks, drool slid down the corner of you mouth. He is murmuring - 'darling you're a mess, let me help you' - You weakly nod, still pulsing around him. Nanami swipes your tears and drool, kissing your lips. Your hands slip down the strong muscles of his back, while he slows his thrusts.
Nanami can get feral when it comes to how badly he needs you, but he also knows he so huge and strong. Too strong. He loves to baby you after all of it, loves to pamper you in the shower, get on his knees and kiss his apologies to your cunt, whispering as you cry out - 'Kento!'
'I'm sorry pretty girl,' he'll whisper it to your cunt first. Then kiss up every bit of your body, sandy blond locks dripping as the hot spray hits him, and he caresses the bruises on your throat. They do something to him, his cock throbbing again, pressing on your tummy, and you can't help but want more.
Nanami is gentler after he loses it the first time, but make no mistakes, he's stretching you out on his cock, even as he's holding you againt the tile wall and whispering, 'so beautiful, darling I love you' he can't help but look at the marks he leaves on your body and get harder. 'l-love you, Ken- ngh!' At that, he thickens inside you as he fills you with cum, loving how your nails dig into his skin.
The shower leads to more and more aftercare and love, and the morning is no better, despite him making you pancakes and coffee, the handprint on your neck just makes him want to leave more instead. Your tummies are growling after another round, when he finally realizes you need to eat.
He's bashful and sweet as he feeds you, bite after bite, obsessed with his perfect wife to the point of insanity. Even the syrup on your lips has him lapping it off them later. Needless to say, his days off work are spent inside the house, and inside his wife.
Geto knows exactly what you need when you start to pick fights for no reason. Starting arguments over the smallest things in a fit of build up frustration. He doesn’t shout back, doesn’t even utter a word.
He just smiles.
Pulling you into his chest while you huff and push. His body rocking soothingly from side to side with his chin on your head. “Shh baby, it’s okay. Shh shh shh, i know baby, i know.”
It makes you angry how one sided the argument is. But you can’t help but sink into him as his words calm you down. Allowing him to kiss softly down your neck with an apologetic coo. “Haven’t given my girl the attention she deserves in a while. Left you all needy, hmm?”
You whimper, thighs clenching when he sits on the couch with you on his lap, the steady rising of his broad chest flush against your back.
“I’m sorry sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so much better yeah?”
You breathe out a moan when he gently pries your legs open. His fingers rubbing lightly over your clit through your dampening panties. “Look at that, been craving me so bad haven’t ya?” He sighs, leaving small marks on your skin in the wake of his kisses.
He took his time to slide off your panties, middle finger swirling in your wetness making you whine.
“Patience, i’m getting to it.”
“H-hurry up. Need you.” Your hips thrusting up into his hand desperately, letting out a little mewl when he finally prods at your entrance. “Haah.” Your lips part in a moan when he buries two of them into you, immediately curling them up to hit that spot you needed them to most.
“Faster.” You moan loudly, back arching against him in a cry when he complies. His thrusts becoming mean and hard as the pads of his fingers kiss that spongy spot inside you with no mercy. Your hands grip at his large forearms, mouth falling open in silent screams as his pace quickens even more.
Your stomach tightening and your eyes rolling back. The sweet feeling in your insides gaining intensity as it shot up to your brain, your head getting fuzzy as you shook against him. The world around you going blank with the curl of your toes.
“F-fuckkk.” Your cry came out as a high pitched babble, tears welling in your eyes as you neared your release. Geto holding you tight against him when your legs began to involuntarily shut.
“Nope, greedy girls gotta take it baby. You know ya need it so fucking take it.” His whisper was deep and husky, breath fanning over your ear as his thumb began to rub at your clit. “That’s it, good girl.”
Your noises only got louder as your legs trembled, “Fuck Sugu, ahhh. ‘M gonna— f-fuck ‘m gonna-” you let out a drawn out cry of his name as you let go.
A long clear stream spraying messily in front of you as he pulled away from your sopping hole. Using his palm to messily rub your clit as you continue to drench his thighs. “There ya go… so fucking messy.” He groans, turning your head to kiss you deeply as you shivered one last time, giving in to his lips against yours.
Geto’s hand snakes around your throat, resting delicately on your skin before pulling away. A string of salvia connecting your swollen lips. “Still wanna argue with me? Or should i take you upstairs and make you cum even harder on my cock.”
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