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covenofagatha · 1 month ago

Note

If your requests are still open could you do jealous fem! Reader x Agatha?? With there still being an age gap where reader is in her mid 20s maybe reader is her grad student or assistant? Honestly you could do whatever and I’d be thrilled. But Agatha is hit on by a colleague in front of reader at some kind of work/ school event and Agatha indulges the colleague because she sees the jealousy and Agatha is so surprised that reader takes control to show her that she’s just as much reader’s as reader is hers that Agatha lets her. Only for Agatha to return the favor so sweetly and tenderly because she’s never been so thoroughly loved and claimed before? So super hot sex with fluffy feelings at the end? If your requests are closed I totally get it! ❤️

Hope you enjoy!

A lesson in jealousy (Part 2)

Agatha notices that you get jealous when she's talking with a coworker at a Christmas party and uses it to her advantage

Word count: 2600

Warnings: oral, fingering, smut, fluff, jealousy, reader tops Agatha finally, semi-public sex

It hasn’t even been ten minutes at the History department’s Christmas party and you’re already bored out of your mind.

You had agreed to “accompany” Agatha (even though you had to pretend to be nothing more than her student) because you were trying to make a point about how you do things for her but she doesn’t do anything that you want to do.

And now you are sorely paying for it.

Since your whole relationship has to be kept under wraps, you can’t really talk to her that much so you’re forced to walk around the room, pretending like you’re interested in mingling.

You can still feel her eyes on you though. You make polite chatter with some old classmates and professors, stuff some appetizers into your mouth, and try to think of a good enough reason to go stand next to Agatha the rest of the night.

But it seems like every time you look over at her, she’s occupied in a conversation with someone else and you know she would be furious if you interrupted her because your brain is slowly turning to mush. You’re seriously considering pretending that you threw up so you can go home, but to your surprise, Agatha beckons you with her finger the next time you glance her way.

You walk as fast as you can to the corner where she’s moved to and her light touch to your arm makes you want more.

“How’s it going, baby?” She asks, amusement dripping from her tone like she knows how much you want to leave.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Pretty good, you know. Catching up with some friends, eating some food, drinking some wine. But you look like you’re having an awful time, do you want to leave yet?” You try not to sound too eager with your quip and she smirks.

“Aw, my poor pet wants to go home?”

You hate how much that turns you on but you reluctantly nod. “Can we please leave soon?” Your voice creeps an octave higher toward the end of your plea.

“Shh,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “If you can behave for ten more minutes, we can leave and I’ll give you a reward.”

Your eyebrow raises. “A reward?”

She nods slyly and your mind takes off with that, imagining all of the things she could do.

“Okay,” you breathe and she smiles triumphantly. Just as you’re about to ask for some details to tide you over, a younger (younger than Agatha, at least) woman walks over holding two drinks, hips swaying. She’s tall and slender, with dark hair and hazel eyes, and she’s an attractive lady.

“Agatha,” she says pleasantly, holding out one of the glasses. She doesn’t even look at you.

“Rio,” your girlfriend replies. She accepts the drink a few seconds later. Agatha’s eyes flick to yours and then back to the other woman.

“Don’t you look lovely tonight? Is this a new dress?” You have to bite your tongue when Rio stretches out her fingers and strokes the fabric on Agatha’s waist.

“Couldn’t wear something old to the best party of the year,” Agatha answers dryly. Rio rakes her eyes up and down her body so obviously and you scoff involuntarily.

Both women look at you, Rio like she’s seeing you for the first time. Agatha has a glint in her eyes but you can’t tell what it is.

“Rio, this is y/n. I taught her two years ago. One of my best students. Rio teaches Ecological History.”

You nod, not even pretending to be interested in the introduction. Rio also looks like she doesn’t care and she turns back to Agatha.

“Anyways, what are you doing all the way over here? Why don’t you come over to where the real party is?” Rio asks and leans in close so she can whisper something in Agatha’s ear, who laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

You dig your nails into your palms so hard that your knuckles turn white. You wait for Agatha to say something along the lines of getting ready to leave, but much to your chagrin, she doesn't.

“Oh, well I couldn’t miss that,” Agatha says, excitement in her voice. Your jaw drops as she breezes right past you with Rio, not even sparing you a second glance. You follow like you’re in a trance and watch the esteemed professors of Westview University playing cup pong. With water, of course, and they’re not drinking it.

Once the men playing currently finish, Rio pulls Agatha up to the table and they start playing against the winners from the previous game. You can almost feel your blood boiling at how touchy Rio is being, and how Agatha doesn’t seem to mind at all.

You end up staying at the party until the end, because Agatha has clearly forgotten about you and you’re sure as hell not leaving her alone with Rio, who trails after her like a lost puppy.

A lost puppy you’d like to kick.

Finally, everyone starts to leave and you awkwardly linger by the door while you wait for Agatha. The house of the party is one of the tenured professors on campus, so you could walk to your dorm, but you want to have a word with your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend, who is still talking to Rio. They’re laughing and walking over to the door, arms brushing against each other and you see red.

“Professor Harkness,” you cut in, having had enough. Agatha looks at you for the first time in almost an hour, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Can I talk to you about something?”

She raises an eyebrow knowingly and turns back to her new best friend. “I’ll see you after the break. Happy holidays,” she says to Rio, who returns the sentiment and leaves.

You finally feel like you can breathe again.

“What’s up?” Agatha asks, moving to hold the door open for you so you can step outside. And that sets you off.

“‘What’s up?’ Maybe if you had bothered to even talk to me at the party you would know. Oh, wait! That’s right. You were too busy flirting with your co-worker.”

Agatha chuckles and it only makes you more mad. You stomp off in the direction of her car in the parking lot and you get great satisfaction from hearing her increased footsteps as she tries to catch up to you.

It’s late enough that no other cars are in the lot and she parked next to some trees and there’s enough shadows to hide you from everyone.

Agatha calls your name but you ignore her, instead opting to keep walking until you’re on the other side of the car by the trees.

“What are you doing?” She huffs, winded, and she lets out a gasp when you push her against her car. Her hands come up to touch you but you slap them away.

“No touching,” you say, voice low. She looks taken-aback, but also kind of turned on.

Good.

“You know,” you ponder. “You spend a lot of time making sure I know who I belong to, but clearly not enough time remembering who you belong to.”

She raises an eyebrow and leans in close enough to where your lips are almost touching. “Well then, baby girl, why don’t you remind me?”

Your mouth is on hers the instant she finishes her sentence. Usually, she dominates the kiss but this time you don’t give her a chance to take control. Her hot tongue moves against yours and your teeth click but you lean into her even more, hands coming up to clasp her cheeks.

You feel the vibrations from her moan reverberate inside your mouth and it only stokes the fire inside of you. You trail one of your hands down so you can move inside the blazer Agatha is wearing and squeeze her breast through her skirt. You thumb at her nipple and she makes a sound that is swallowed up by you.

“Please, baby,” she whispers when you finally break apart for air. You don’t break eye contact as your hand drops lower to play with the waistband of her perfectly-tailored pants.

“You want me to fuck you right here against your car in the school parking lot?”

“Do you really think you have it in you?” She taunts and your eyes flash, fingers dipping below and into her underwear. Her knees buckle ever the slightest and you grin smugly.

“You’re so fucking wet,” you say, experimentally moving your fingers up and down her slit. She groans. “Is this for me, or for Rio?” When you say the other woman’s name, you give her clit a hard swipe and Agatha’s head falls back. “Cause it really seems like the two of you were hitting it off, so I can go give her a call and she can come and finish the job if you’d like.”

Agatha furiously shakes her head. “It’s all for you, baby.” Her hips start to grind, wanting more from you. “Please, fuck me.”

It’s not often that you can make Agatha Harkness herself beg. And it makes you really fucking turned on.

You position two fingers right at her opening and stand on your tiptoes so you can purr right in her ear: “Who do you belong to?”

“You, sweetheart, only you,” she pants and her mouth drops open as you roughly thrust into her. You scrape your teeth against her collarbone and curl your fingers just the way she likes, palm bumping her clit with every push. Small moans are falling out of her every time and the feeling of her warm, wet walls around you is absolutely euphoric.

“That’s right, Agatha,” you grunt, fucking into her even harder. You maneuver your thumb to rub at her clit so it gets more attention. She clenches on your fingers but you keep moving them quickly. “You’re mine. You’re all mine and Rio or anyone else can’t have you. You. Belong. To. Me.” You punctuate those words with particularly hard thrusts and you can feel Agatha getting closer, whether it’s from your fingers, your words, or the environment where you’re having sex.

You assume it’s a mix of all three.

“Are you going to cum for me?” You say, feeling the rhythm of her hips getting sloppier and her throbbing around you.

“Yes, baby, going to cum all for you,” she moans and wraps her arm around your neck to kiss you. You instantly kiss back, even though you told her not to touch, and she cums all over your hand, her teeth sinking into your lip at the pleasure she feels.

You slow down your pace as she comes down from her high and when she slumps against the car, you pull your fingers out entirely and hold them up to her. She gives you a wicked smirk and takes them into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down and flicking her tongue around you.

It feels like there’s a wire running straight from your fingers to your cunt. Your jaw drops and you just stare at her like she hung the moon in the sky.

She finally lets your fingers go with a wet pop and gives you a messy kiss so you can taste her too.

Agatha pulls away quickly and rests her head on yours with a laugh. “Sweetheart, if I had known that this is what happens when you get jealous, I would’ve been messing with you from the very beginning.”

“Wait, what? You were just–” You trail off, your brain scrambling to connect the dots.

She laughs. “Of course, baby. You think I was actually flirting with Rio? I saw how mad you were getting when she first came over and I wanted to see what would happen. I had no clue you’d be so hot when you’re in control.”

You’re flustered beyond words at the moment and she draws you in for a big hug.

“I’m all yours, baby. Let me show you?”

Her question confuses you a little – you’re not really sure what she’s asking – but you nod anyway. You trust her with your life. She steps away and opens the door to the backseat and motions for you to get in.

You obey and climb all the way to the other side and you’re only more bewildered when she gets in and shuts the door behind you. Before you can ask, though, she grabs your hips and angles you so that you’re leaning against the car door, one leg off the seats and the other heel resting over the top of them. You’re spread open with Agatha between you and her hands stroke your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up further each time. You feel a tug in your gut and your hips jump at her featherlight touch.

“You did so well for me, baby,” she says softly, rubbing her fingers up and down your clothed slit, pushing into your hole ever so slightly. Your underwear is so wet and you can smell it. “I completely and wholeheartedly belong to you. I’m all yours and I love you so much, sweetheart.”

She moves your underwear to the side and softly drags her tongue through your folds and your back arches off the car door. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with Agatha’s head between your legs, you couldn’t care less.

“Agatha,” you groan, grinding on her face. You’re already so close from making her cum and you know it won’t take long for you. Her tongue swirls around your clit and she gently sucks it between her lips. You keen and your hand finds its way down to her hair to hold her in place. “You feel so good.”

“You make me feel so good, baby, I’m just returning the favor,” she murmurs against your cunt and the vibrations have your head falling back against the window. “You’re so fucking perfect, make me feel so loved, you’re so hot when you’re claiming me.” It’s like she’s talking to herself and you can barely discern what she’s saying, but you get the point.

“Agatha, baby, please, gonna cum,” you chant, hips rolling faster against her mouth. You can feel the tension building up in your body in every crack and crevice. Seeing the older woman so soft like this is affecting you more than you thought it would.

“Cum for me, baby,” she says, sucking hard on your clit one last time and the dam inside you breaks and pleasure floods through you. You say her name like it’s a prayer as you cum all over her mouth. She licks you softly until you’re pulling her off her and then she kisses you deeply. “I’m yours, but you’re all mine, too,” she says matter-of-factly.

“All yours, baby. As if I could ever belong to anyone else,” you reply happily, squirming a bit at the tenderness.

She smiles genuinely and you think, not for the first time, how lucky you are that someone as perfect as her noticed you. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you, too, Aggie. So much.”

She helps you get out of the car and into the passenger seat and then takes you back to her house, never letting go of your hand the whole way there.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along

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sparklingblu · 7 months ago

Text

Inferior Activities

Lia x M Reader

"How's the salad?"

"Oh, it's great" you answer as you try not to grimace after swallowing the lettuce that taste no different from paper.

"I made few twists to the dressing, you know. A family secret" The bald man winks as he takes another bite of the potato that would have turned to coal if it have been roasted a minute more.

Studying the plates of green laid out all across the table, you make a firm decision never to become a vegan. At least not if your father in law is gonna be your chef. Lia has warned his cooking skills are terrible but you didn't expect it to be this awful. The only tolerable content of the table seems to be the so-called vegan meat and even that's starting to taste lesser and lesser like meat with each bite. No offense to all those animal loving vegans out there but they really are missing out a lot in their life. You wouldn't have lasted a day if you have to survive without meat.

Your eye flicker up to Lia, seated across, to see if she's on the same page with you on the matter. She lazily plops a broccoli into her mouth, her eyes betraying no signs of disappointment. The corner of her lips twitch in a thin smile as if to mock your suffering. She looks contented even.

In the end, you only have yourself to blame. When Lia suggestsled you visits her dad on the weekends, you agreed with a simple nod. Sure, it's your first time meeting her old man but what could go wrong? Right?

Except that everything does. As soon as you enter the house, the first thing the dude asked you was your opinion on wildlife conservation. At first you thought he was joking then you find out he's actually very serious about the matter. Weather talk would have been a good starter. Seriously, who starts a conversation like that?

Then after seeing the dishes he has prepared, you find out making conversation is the least of your worries. He's your father in law and you have respect for him and all but this dude is horrible at being a vegan. If he calls his mushroom soup which tastes more like mushroom-flavored dishwater 'a masterpiece', you might as well consider becoming a chef. Who knows? Maybe you will even get a couple michelin stars.

You are thinking of a way to escape this organic hell and the constant ear rape about how billions of animals are killed per year for human consumption when Lia finally comes to your aid.

"Dad, we are nearly done. Why don't you go make your signature smoothie? I haven't got the chance to taste it since I left for college" she suggests and the old man's eyes twinkle with maddening joy.

"Oh, of course! How could I forget that? It was your mother's favorite" his tone turns solemn at the mention of his late wife but you are too focused on the idea of finally getting some breathing room to care. "Two smoothies. Coming right up! You will absolutely love it" He winks at you again and leaves the table.

You drop your utensils and exhale in relief. "Finally. I was gonna turn into stone if I hear one more second of his animal talk"

Lia chuckles. "I get used to it after living with him for 18 years. He's actually a really sweeet guy. He just tries to focus on something else after my mom passed, I guess"

If the fact is supposed to make you feel sorry, it doesn't work. But you are not gonna tell her that. "How do you survive with this kind of food all these years?"

"It wasn't always that bad" Belle protests. "And sometimes he even cooks meat. But his skills get rusty with old age"

"Yep, I'm never becoming a vegan"

Lia pouts in annoyance. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad"

"Suits yourself"

"You just hate vegetables in general"

You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance. "Look, who's trying to follow her father's steps"

"Whatever" Lia finally gives up, pushing up her glasses from her nose. "I'm still hungry you know...."

"Maybe we can go to McDonald's or something later"

"No, daddy" Lia's voice turns low and sultry. "You know exactly what I want"

You look around in a panic to see if her dad has overheard your conversation. Thankfully, the guy's busy cutting carrots on the kitchen counter.

"Lia, I told you not to call me that in public. Especially not when your literal dad is right here" you warned, though you can't deny the fact that hearing her call you the name get your blood flowing backwards.

"Oh, come on, daddyyyyy" she pushes on, stressing the last word to make it sound even more fervorous. "I know you secretly love it"

"Look, babe. I love the name but this isn't the right place. Seriously, your dad's right there"

"So what?" Lia puts her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her palms. "Don't you enjoy a little risk?"

"Come on, babe. Not right now. I will make it up to you when you come back"

"But I want it now" Lia whines, the pout reforming on her lips. "Need to taste daddy's big cock. Need it shove down my throat"

"Lia...." you hiss, becoming aware of her tone, increasing by the second.

"Daddy pleaseee" she gives you those bambi eyes she knows you can't resist. "Let me suck your huge cock. I need you to fill up my mouth with your hot cum. I have been a good girl, haven't I? I deserve my reward" Lia runs her tongue along her top lips to punctuate her wish.

With the way her words get your asleep mamba waking up, you already know you are fighting a losing battle but you still need to be the one in charge here. "Alright, fine. But-"

"Oops. I drop my spoon" The metal hits the floor with a loud clang and Lia immediately dives down the table. It's an overused trope. You have seen it in hundreds of porn videos and you are no stranger to it. But you have never thought you would be in a similar situation and this time, the risk is very real. Her dad is not a paid actor who would pretend to be oblivious at the scene which would soon unfold.

"Is everything ok?" Lia's dad shouts from the kitchen counter, now washing.....are those eggplants?

"Yes, mister! We are gold!" You replies, hoping he would stay focused on his veggies.

You look down and find Lia already kneeled between your legs, a flicker of amusement in her eyes behind those glasses. Her lips curve into an impish smile. "Just stay still and let me do all the work, daddy" she whispers, her hands already working on your zipper. With one swift pull, she opens it up, revealing your red underwear underneath. "Oh, daddy's wearing my favorite colour today" Lia muses as she grabs your cock over the thin fabric, her thumb tracing slow circles. "Daddy, you are already so hard"

As much as you want to prolong this pornographic session, her dad is not going to be in the kitchen forever and you don't want to give him a heart attack. "Babe, enough teasing. Make it quick" you warn and her thumb rests on your head, pressing down on that sensitive spot she only knows. You let out a half-formed moan, not daring to be loud.

"You know the magic word, daddy. No need to be so formal" she presses again and you grit your teeth.

"Start sucking my cock, you slut" you calls her by her favorite nickname, which intsantly gets her engines revving.

"Yes, daddy" she release her grip, pulling down your underwear. Your rock hard cock springs out in a flash, hitting her spectacles. "Someone's eager" Lia chuckles, placing her brown locks behind her back, preparing for the main course. Her left hand close around your base, pumping it up and down in an agonizingly slow pace. She looks at your cock like it's something glorious, something she should be worshipping. But that's not so far from the truth. If this slut wants to choke on your cock, you are gonna permit it happily.

"Daddy, you are so big" Lia mutters dreamily, her free hand fondling your balls each at a time. The combination gets your mind cloudy, basking in the pleasure you nearly forget the whole point of this.

"I don't see you sucking my cock?" Lia stops her movements at your words and you nearly reget telling her to stop. But that doesn't last long because Lia instantly starts obliging to your command.

"Patience, daddy" With that, her rosy lips seal around your tip, taking you partly into the warmth of her mouth. Meanwhile, her hands grab your shaft, working in unison with each drag of her lips. The twist of her fingers along with her tongue that swirls around your slit gets you throwing your head back, letting out a graon. Then you quickly recompose not to expose yourself.

Lia doesn't seem to be bothered. Getting caught seems to be the last thing on your mind as she slurps on your head with fevorous vigour. Like it's the most delicous lollipop she has ever tasted. Her tongue gathers up any pre cum that leaks from your slit, taking it straight down to her stomach. She would takes anything your cock has to offer.

Every moment or so, you would check on her dad, making sure the guy's still busy brewing his organic potion which contents are starting to get weirder. But as long as he's busy, you don't care what he's putting into that blender. It's the best for him and you. You doubt the old man would be as merciful to you as he is to wildlife if he finds out his daughter is giving you head under his table.

But the task proves to be harder because Lia's dad would throw you ocassional glances and you have to put on this stupid grin everytime, which is not so easy with how Lia's sucking you off. Now she has taken half your cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with unfathomable suction. Her hair sways with every bob of her head, forming silky waves of hazel. All the while, she keeps her eyes on you behind those circular frames, those pools of black seems to be asking if she's doing a good job.

"God, Lia....just like that" you grip the edge of the table to compensate for not being able to rejoice in the bliss of Lia's wet hole freely. Your head darting up and down as you keep watch on her father as well as enjoy the view between your legs.

Your shaft is now ringed with red as Lia leaves tarces of her lipstick mixed with her saliva while her lips glide smoothly along your cock, making it a red wet mess. Not like you mind. She can keeps messing it up all she wants.

Her tongue action doesn't waver either, licking up any available part but escpecially under your tip to tackle your weak spot each time she takes you in. To add icing on the cake, she has her left hand wrapped around your base to pump the lengths unattended by her mouth, not leaving out any throbbing vein.

You are helpless against her attack, the only action from your side to keeps grabbing the tablecloth into an unshapely tangle. And even that's starting to fail at holding back your moans.

A loud whirring sound fills up the place as Lia's dad starts brewing all those green stuffs in the blender. He gives you a thumbs up and you smile back, shammming excitement. The sound of the blender blades reminding you of the disguisting smoothie you will soon have to drink.

However, Lia takes advantage of the noise by taking your whole length down on her throat, the loud gagging sound lost in the echoes of spinning blades. You take the chance to make any audible sound that would let you express your euphoria. A moan. Then two. Then a couple more. It no longer seems to be ending as Lia devour your cock like a hungry animal, hitting the back of her throat each time she deeothroats.

Drops of saliva litters the ground. The evidences of Lia's godly work. Gags after gags escape her mouth in rhythm with your moans. However, escape won't be suitable here with the way your cock is blocking her airway. But that isn't a problem because she would choose your dick over oxygen.

The blender keeps whirring and Lia keeps choking on your cock. Her glasses now tilted at a strange angle from the force of her movement, the temple hanging on one ear only. Currently, her vision isn't as important as the taste of your dick on her tongue.

Lia finally pulls back, trails of saliva running from your tip to her lips. A waterfall of saliva staining her white shirt. Her tongue rolled out and her temples dripping with sweat.

"Daddy....am I...good?" she pants like a bitch in heat, all her lipsticks all gone.

"Very. But you gotta finish what you start my little slut"

"Yes, daddy. Feed me your thick cum. I want it all"

"Then come and take it"

Lia dives back on your cock, immeditaely swallowing your whole length. You groans out at the burst of pleasure, her throat constricted around your shaft. Lia holds her position, her nose pressed to your pelvis for a few moment before pulling back, just to start fucking her throat on your cock again and again.

The sound of the blender stops and you hear the clink of glasses. Turning your head, you find Lia's dad pouring the green liquid into two glasses. It would only be a few minutes before he comes back.

Lia seems to realize to because her lips form an airtight seal around your head and her hands satrt pumping your shaft furiously. Using all your willpower to hold out from finishing earlier leaves no strength left to withstand Lia's final assault. Your cock starts throbbing and soon you are spilling your cum into her mouth. Some reaching her tongue, the other flowing straight down her throat. Lia's fingers keep twisting back and forth and you empty the last drops of your protein rich fluid into her welcoming hole.

You close your eyes, breathing hard. The relief is instant as much as the build up is agonizingly blissful. Lia releases your cock with a pop and lick up the remnants of cum on the tip. You are too lost in the euphporic finale you totally forget the perilous situation you are in. When you realize, it's too late.

Lia's dad is near the table, two glasses of the green smoothie in his hands. His face is a mixture of shock and distress as he stands rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on her daughter's face a few centimeters away from your spent cock. His mouth opens but before he can speak, Lia chimes in.

"Thanks for the meal daddy. But I don't think I'm going to need the smoothie. I already have dessert"

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

#itzy smut #lia smut #kpop smut #male reader

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slut4thebroken · 1 year ago

Text

Cheerleader

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | stepdad!Cillian Murphy x reader

Summary | You finally got on the cheer team and are excited to show your stepdad the uniform, but he has some concerns.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, mildly dubious consent, large age gap (unspecified), wedgie lmaoo, dry humping, grinding, groping, spanking, praise, daddy but not the kink?, technically incest??, ionno what else lol

Words | 1.5 k

Notes | I honestly don’t even know what this is… like I can’t tell if I hate it or not💀😭 Also for legal reasons… we’ll say reader is 18 and in college 👀 (just a reminder though: this is fiction. Treat it as such lol)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Hey, love, how was school?” He called out from the kitchen and you all but bounced into the room.

“I got on the cheer team!” You said excitedly.

“That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you, baby.” You could tell his tone was genuine, but he was still focused on whatever food he was preparing.

“Turn around, daddy.” You giggled and he set down the knife before turning to face you. His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock as he took in your clothes— your body. “Do you like it?” You asked, twirling around for him to see the whole thing.

“I-it’s… a little short, don’t you think?” He choked out.

“Well duh. How else would I do this?” You showed him a kick and his gaze snapped down to where the skirt rode up, exposing your matching shorts.

“You have to wear this for everything?”

“We have a long sleeved top for the winter time, but yeah.” You smiled. “What do you think?”

“C’mere, love.” You walked over and stood in front of him, waiting. He started on your waist, then dragged his hands down to your hips, his thumbs rubbing over the exposed skin of your tummy. He suddenly got down on his knees and moved his hands to just above your ankles. He snaked them up your legs, teasing you, until they reached the bottom of the skirt.

“Daddy?”

“Shh… I'm just getting a closer look, baby.” Duh. What else would he be doing? You thought with an internal chuckle. His hands moved up to your hips, over the skirt, then snaked behind you.

“Daddy!” You gasped when he squeezed your ass and pulled you closer.

“Turn around.” He ordered, moving his hands to your hips to start turning you. Once you were facing away from him, he was groping you again and you bit your lip to contain any sounds. “Bend over.” He said suddenly.

“W-what?”

“Bend over. You can lean on the counter if that’s easier.” Hesitantly, you obeyed. You leaned down and placed your hands on the counter. “Further.” With a blush of embarrassment, you lowered yourself so that your arms were crossed, resting on the counter, holding up your chin.

“This is what counts as school appropriate nowadays?” He scoffed, making your blush darken. “The skirt doesn’t cover anything.”

“T-that’s what the shorts are for.” You said quietly.

“I’d hardly call these shorts.” He was groping your ass again now, this time under the skirt. “They’re so fucking tight.” He gruffed. “I can see the outline of your pussy.” His thumb brushed over your mound, making you shoot up.

“Daddy!”

“Down.” You froze when you heard his tone, then slowly lowered yourself back down. He reached under the fabric where your ass met your thighs, then took it in a firm grip and roughly pulled up, making you gasp and grab onto the counter. His hands settled on your bare ass and you couldn't help the way you started squirming. The fabric of your shorts and underwear being pressed so tightly against you was almost painful, but it made you needy too.

“Every little immature boy at your school is going to want a piece of this.” He removed a hand, but brought it back down quickly, with a sharp smack. You jolted and gasped out a moan, caught off guard by the sudden pain. “I can’t let that happen, baby. But I‘m not gonna make you quit, not when I know how happy it makes you.” Another slap. “I’m gonna make sure you won’t let any boys come near this pussy.” Another slap, then his thumb was brushing over your mound again.

“Please,” You whined, but it cut off into a choked moan when he spanked you again, twice in quick succession. “Won’t let any boys come near it!” You tried, gripping onto the counter when he spanked you again, but he wasn’t listening. He ignored you and continued toying with your ass, sometimes squeezing it, but mostly spanking it. “It hurts, daddy.” You whimpered.

“Does it, baby?” He asked innocently, making you pout.

“Yeah…”

“You can handle a little more.” He decided, then continued until your ass felt hot and your clit was throbbing and your eyes were watering. “Such a good girl.” He mumbled, rubbing soothing hands over the burning skin, but his touch was just making it hurt more. “I’m sorry, baby. You know I hate when I have to punish you, but you need to learn.”

“I know..” You whimpered, then his hands were gone. You heard him standing up and he grabbed your hips to push you closer to the counter. “Are you done?” You asked quietly.

“Not yet, love.” You dreaded having to endure even more spanking. When you heard his belt, you stiffened. Next was his zipper, then fabric was rustling a little and he reached for your shorts again. He looped one hand through both of the leg holes, making the pressure on your clit get a little harder.

When he suddenly lifted you up, a pained cry left you as your shorts and underwear were forced deeper between your ass and even between your folds. Your feet were barely touching the ground and you reached back to try and push him away, but he just landed another slap on your ass.

“Stay still.”

“I-it hurts, daddy… I can’t.” You whimpered. In response, he adjusted his grip and lifted you up even more, making you cry out. The very tips of your shoes were barely still on the floor and the pressure on your clit was becoming more of a painful pleasure now. Emphasis on ‘painful.’

When you felt him press up against you, your breath caught in your throat. He still had his underwear on, but he was grinding his bulge on your pussy because of how high he was holding you. His free hand grabbed your hips to stabilize you as he sped up.

“Daddy…” You whined. Everything was so contradictory. Your ass was still burning, as was your clit from the prolonged wedgie, but it also felt good as he rubbed his bulge against it. You didn’t know what to think. You didn’t even know if you wanted him to stop or do more.

“I know, baby… Just a little longer.” He said quietly. Letting out a low groan, he continued humping you, his breathing getting more and more ragged. He moved the hand on your hip to help hold your shorts and underwear, then took a couple steps back. When you weren’t being supported by the counter anymore, you fell forward with a scream, your whole body weight now being held by the wedgie. You grabbed onto the counter to lift yourself up a little so your face wasn’t inches above the floor, but you couldn’t get close enough to put any weight on it.

“Daddy! Daddy— wait!” You cried out, making him moan at your struggling. His hips got more desperate, rutting against your clothed heat, making you more desperate as well.

You tried squirming, but he just lifted you even higher. Your feet kicked around as you tried hopelessly to find some footing, now being completely suspended.

“Please! It hurts!” You whined loudly, but he ignored you. “Please, daddy! I can’t take it anymore..”

“Shh… Yes you can, love. I’m almost done.” He cursed under his breath and his movements sped up even more. “Such a good fucking pussy.” He groaned under his breath.

“Who’s allowed to touch you here?” He asked, clearer now.

“You!”

“Who owns this fucking cunt?”

“Y-you..” You whimpered, hoping if you just agreed to everything that he’d give you mercy.

“That’s right, baby. Your body is only for daddy to touch, okay?” You were nodding before he could even finish.

“Yes— yes.. Please let me down now.” You rushed out. You’ve learned your lesson by now— you won’t let anyone come near you. His hips stopped, but he didn’t drop you. Instead, he stayed pressed up against your cunt, then started bouncing you up and down by your shorts and underwear, stimulating his cock like that instead. Each time you went down, a sharp cry was forced out of you. You could feel tears in your eyes again as the pain got worse and worse. He started rutting into you, but still moved you up and down, never even faltering.

“Please!” You cried. He moved you forward again so you were bent over the counter. Your feet still weren’t touching the floor, but at least some of the weight was taken off.

“Fuck—” He choked out, panting and moaning quietly. He took a step back and removed one hand, making you drop a little so that your toes were now on the floor. Then his moans were getting louder and louder until you felt heat spurting all over your ass. You whined and squirmed as your whole face heated up from humiliation. He cursed under his breath and slowly lowered you, releasing your shorts. He panted for another moment, then tugged your stretched out shorts and underwear back down, over his come. You felt completely and utterly used. But you also felt completely and utterly desperate for more.

“That’s better. Covers more of your ass now.” He said through a breath, giving you one last spank.

I fucking hate the title lol so give me ideas for a new one💀🙏🏻

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#cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

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togenabi · 1 year ago

Text

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you.

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much.

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does.

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.”

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily.

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him.

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?”

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him.

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face.

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals.

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards.

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you.

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together.

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji.

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there.

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same.

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas.

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn.

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.”

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand.

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand.

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof.

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern.

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.”

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous.

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.”

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars.

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown.

But he won’t tell you that.

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

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gothghostiie · 1 month ago

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hiiii i absolutely LOOOVVVEEEEE your bully soap i want to eat him grahhh

do you have any thoughts/hcs for bully gaz/ghost???

i dont think we can call john price (and maybe ghost too) a bully bcs its not fitting due to their ranking/age so i will just say abuse of authority

love youuuuu, hope you have a good dayyy

love u too, i hope u have an amazing day anon

cw: bullying/harassment and whatever comes with it, sexual harassment, mentions/hints of violence, dead dove do not eat, gn!reader

okay so. Gaz is a more subtle bully imo?? like where soap will go full out he doesn't. more the type to go from a distance, making you feel anxious and having a sense of fear well up in you whenever he's close - even if he never really did anything genuinely bad to you. yet. whispers to his friends, chuckles, judgy looks, the type of highscool bully that calls you over to act friendly with you, forcing an arm around your shoulder and tries to talk to you while his friends laugh at whatever answer you give. he wants to embarrass you, humiliate you in a mental aspect instead of physical. but hes definitely not above pushing you around a bit, or grabbing you a little too harshly so you stay with him. he's definitely forced his tongue down your throat too (he laughed at how fucking helpless and taken aback you were).

ghost isnt quite what youd call a bully, he's a step further even. "only i can bully them" typa thing (the boys are usually an exception). will stare you down until you get so uncomfortable you leave, just to follow you and corner you, feeling you up. either doesn't talk at all - he knows he's intimidating without words. big arms crossed as he makes you stumble against the wall, begging softly to just let you go your way, but he just states you down. puts an arm against the wall to cage you, silent judging is all you get. only when someone else comes along he roughly pushes you on your way, glaring like you just did something to him. you don't even wanna know what happens if he ever gets his hands on you long enough.

now captain price isn't a bully. he's too old for that, it's too immature for him (he just abuses his position). however, LT. Price is a different story. was bullied himself when he first joined, got so desperate to move up the food chain that he decided someone else had to suffer in favour of him. it did work, suddenly he wasn't bullied anymore, he became a bully. definitely very physical. the worst was when he was a Sergeant, he'd regularly beat people up - and then you came along. shy, quiet, loner. how could he not want to absolutely bruise your pretty skin?

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jmdbjk · 4 months ago

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Well...

I've always harped on their "chemistry" and its no exaggeration. They fit together so naturally. They are so very in tune with each other, when you are with that person and you feel like everything is right and it doesn't matter what you are doing, where you are going or if you are doing anything or nothing at all.

This episode was completely different than any of the previous episodes.

By the end of November they both knew what was going to happen and embracing the idea that they were about to "go in" and they were doing this together. They flat out said they were making memories to take with them while they served their military obligation.

Jimin and Jungkook clearly see themselves as just ordinary people living extraordinary lives, and they want to and expect to experience ordinary things.

The convenience store visit.

They ran like kids sliding on the ice, stomped in the snow, threw snowballs at each other, even though occasionally, Jimin's pragmatism burst their cozy little bubble:

Jungkook: "When it snows during our military service I think I'll recall this moment."

Jimin: "Right now, we're watching the snow from a hotel window but soon we'll have to sweep it up."

Ever the romantic, that Jimin...

Walking on the street with the general public, getting coffee, making their way to the train station... just like everyone else...

Yes, they had a crew with them, leading them and following them through the streets of Sapporo. But everything they did was ordinary.

When they are ordering food or drinks, their attempts at reading and speaking Japanese are endearing. They just dove right in. I love them. See? Don't let language be an obstacle when traveling in a foreign country!

I don't know if that's his personal little round furry money purse or if the staff used that for this trip's spending money and just handed it to him... but it was cute as fuck.

There is nothing pretentious about them. Yes they can whip out the black card to pay for expensive whisky but Jungkook took pleasure in choosing what he wanted himself, carrying his armload of 18 year old whisky to the counter and paying the $4000 for it himself at the distillery. He could have had someone else do it for him.

We saw these purchases in his refrigerator during his live on Dec. 8:

As ordinary as it was, there were still some very WTF moments that everyone has already pointed out:

That moment from the car ride on the way from the airport to the hotel at 11 o'clock at night, no seatbelts, Jimin practically sitting in Jungkook's lap and both smushed against the door. Jungkook looking like he is about to get lucky or just did.... man, I don't know what that was all about and how it stayed in this episode instead of getting edited out. I mean... there is a cut so we are not seeing the entire thing but what they left in was... ok?... I guess?

The train ride sequence (even though it was highly manipulated in post-production to wipe out all the other people)...

That culminates in this... we hope it ends up being a selca in the photobook. The moment was so sweet.

At the distillery, cosplaying their pickup lines at a bar...

Jimin's moment of clarity when he envisioned himself a girl dad and Jungkook thinking "uhhhhh... ok, Jimin, whatever you say"...

Gotta say though, Jimin envisioning himself a father at some point in the future was very sweet.

They reminisced a lot, talking about how much they and the other members have changed over the years and still remarking to each other how young they both look when back outside in the cold air, cheeks flushed from whisky and beer and a hot meal.

Their point of view regarding their looks, "they enjoy watching us gradually get raggedy and fat."

Yet, their age difference is exactly what makes them click. Jimin being older, caring, watchful, responsible in the early years, and Jungkook, so young, still socially awkward, always watching Jimin, always sticking close by him, learning how to maneuver the situations they faced in their profession. Through the years they evolved and matured personally and professionally into the men they are today.

If they had been same-agers, the outcome may not have been the same.

Again, props to the staff for everything they did to make this happen for Jimin and Jungkook. It appeared that some of the time they remained outside in the cold while Jimin and Jungkook were indoors eating or getting coffee.

This trip was their final trip before that "rite of passage" that every Korean male is obligated to fulfill. There was a poignant edge to a lot of this episode, in what they talked about, in the imagery. Jimin has always seemed to want to hang on to his "youth" and now he was about to cross that line and he knew it.

I also keep harping on the fact Jimin and Jungkook are together as we speak and I am thankful for that every day. I firmly believe they are thankful for each other, even if they are not same age friends.

Two more episodes.

#jimin #jungkook #jikook #kookmin #are you sure?#i love this thing they left for us it is so very special #i suppose we won't talk about the two days in tokyo prior to sapporo...

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lalunanymph · 6 months ago

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𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: mean!sukuna, unrequited love, child neglect, childhood trauma, flashback-heavy, language, repressed trauma, allusions to d/rug a/buse, mentions of s/moking, mentions of food, mentions of a/lcohol, explicit s/mut (sukuna x este), cuckcake-ish vibes, tension, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

He sees the invitation in his brother’s hand first thing in the morning, and wishes he hadn’t woken up in the first place.

Groggy and still drunk from the night before partying with Ino and his gang of friends, Sukuna blinks the crust from his eyes with wary bleariness.

“What do they want now?”

He groans, recognizing the L/N family seal from a single glance.

Jin, clad in a beige sweater the color of boring and a similar pair of bland slacks, shakes his head. “I don’t know ‘Kuna. But, I think your future in-laws want to get to know you better.”

His brother tosses the invitation onto the dining table, and turns to refill his coffee while humming under his breath. Despite his hesitation and dismay, Sukuna reaches for the innocuous item, turning it around his fingers to check the edges; evaluating the invitation like its a show pony up for sale.

Constellation Snow paper with Waterman ink.

The L/N’s were serious about their reputation.

A cruel smirk plays on the corners of his lips. Compared to the Naras, the L/N’s were shams in their society—new money desperately trying to climb the ladder. Your mother, Lia, was descended from department store royalty but chose to taint her blood with a middle-class business associate from Shibuya who scrappily acquired his own company at the age of twenty-five.

Your family’s history was thoroughly researched on by Hiromi even before the idea of marriage was put forth, attesting to the lawyer’s incredible foresight.

And now the snakes are waiting in the bushes to strike.

However much Sukuna wants to refuse this invite, it would not look good on the Itadoris if they dismissed a future business partner.

Jin, too, appears to have the same line of thought, sitting across from him with a slight frown. The buttery smell of coffee beans wafts in the air, coaxing him from his drunken fatigue.

“So?” his younger twin asks. “Are you going to say ‘yes’?”

Sukuna turns the card over, flips it over to his brother. Jin catches it before it goes tumbling to the ground, tossing him a scowl. He unfolds it, reads through its contents quickly.

“A getaway for a week at their private mountain lodge,” he mutters wryly. “Whatever could go wrong?”

Hearing the note of amusement in Jin’s voice, Sukuna rolls his eyes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It's so they can force us into this alliance. How else are we going to plan an escape if we’re trapped with them on a goddamn peak.”

“Is this what you see your fate as?” Jin murmurs, trying hard not to smirk. “A trap?”

“You got a better term for it?” Sukuna grouses. “You didn’t give me a chance to say ‘no’ to the whole thing. You forced my hand before I could even consent.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jin mutters, returning back to the table with a plate of toast and some butter. Sukuna tries to grab one of the brown slices, but his brother swats his hand away with a scowl that says go get your own food.

Begrudgingly, he stands to make himself a bowl of cereal before he comes to a stop.

Usually, someone would be here to take his plate, toast his bread for him, and prepare his usual fare of strawberry jam and manuka honey on the table before he could even lift a finger. Or, they would prepare the granola and milk for him on the table before he even has to ask.

“Where’s the help today?” He suddenly realizes, perturbed by their quiet absence.

In response, Jin hums. “I gave them a day off."

Sukuna looks at him like he has grown two heads, wondering what could possess such a man to debilitate his household like this. When he would become the man of the house, Sukuna wouldn't give them a day off on a whim like his weak-hearted younger brother.

“Why? What did they do to deserve it?”

His blood is boiling, about to spill over in his infamous temper tantrums when Jin sighs, stopping him in his tracks with his next words.

“It’s her Death Day anniversary today.”

Sukuna almost blurts out “Who?” when the sight of Jin's grim expression suddenly jogs his memory.

He immediately remembers and wishes he hadn’t been so blunt.

Ah.

Kaori.

The older twin shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Happy… Death Day. I guess?”

Sukuna was lucky Jin was in a decent mood and didn't sock him in the face for that insensitive comment. As her death was two years ago, the young air stewardess’ absence was still very much felt by her grieving husband until this day—a blow to his soft heart which he will never get over for as long as he lived.

“We need to respond to that invitation,” he switches the subject, cleaning up after himself. “Oh, and with kind consideration for our future companions, the L/N’s have also offered the Gojos and Naras an invite.”

Sukuna almost choked on his cereal. “T-the Naras are coming?”

Without turning to him or being ticked off by the change in his older brother’s tone, Jin nods, continuing to scrub his dishes.

“James wants to talk new business terms with Ken, and he’s interested in hearing what the guy has to offer. Also, Gojo Sr. might be bringing his best cigars. It’s unmissable.”

The older Itadori internally swore, wondering if the entire universe had just upended and gone entirely insane.

Though he was a bastard through and through, even Sukuna could admit that having his future wife and hookup slash sorta girlfriend under one roof would be a disaster waiting to happen.

You could never find out about him and Este.

“That’s… interesting.”

“You can join us if you want,” Jin adds, “Only if you can keep your partying tendencies on hold for three days.”

“Just for three days?” Sukuna smirks, and Jin finally turns around, giving a look he is all too familiar with.

Throwing his hands up, the older Itadori shrugs, trying his best to look as innocent as possible.

“You know me, Jin-Jin. I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Darling, we must hurry,” your father scolds, and you struggle to keep up with them in your tottering heels. Behind you, your mother shoos you down the tarmac, towards the humming private jet ready to depart.

“We can’t keep the Itadoris waiting!”

The maids rush with your bags, one of them carrying your fur trimmed hat in case it flutters off your head.

Once the butlers had stowed away your luggage, each of them formed a line and bowed to you and your parents as the three of you climbed up the airstairs, waving you off with polite smiles.

“I can’t believe we’re going to spend three whole days with the Itadoris,” Lia gushes as the cabin crew starts to pat down the overhead compartments, doing their final checks. She looks radiant in her mink-trimmed fur coat hanging off her shoulders, the picture of elegance with her sleek bodycon dress and sparkling golden jewelry dripping from her throat and ears.

Relaxing into the muted beige seat, you nod. “Me, too. I wonder what activities Itadori-san likes.”

In comparison to her, you're dressed in all monochrome; your stylist came in at the nick of time to take inspiration from some of his ex-girlfriends' winter fashion—settling you into a ribbed sweater dress with some stylish earmuffs and a black trench coat that feels like a million bucks under your splayed palms.

Your mother turns to your father who was trying to catch his breath, shaking out his handkerchief to pat his shining face.

“Jiro, darling. Do you think it’s brazen if we request for them to share a room together?”

Your father looks over his half-moon spectacles, tilting his head to the side. “Itadori-san and our daughter? Well, I don’t see why not.”

You blanch, but before you are able to voice your discontent, an air stewardess glides by with three flutes of champagne. Setting it down, she asks in a soft voice if you were all ready for refreshments.

Unsure how to broach the subject, you stew in your disappointment for the entire plane ride to Hokkaido, glad you chose the window seat so you could spend a little more time alone in your thoughts.

Your phone vibrates with a text, and you switch it on to find Utahime sending you a GIF of a cat waving a good luck banner.

Smiling to yourself, you respond with another cat GIF, this one sticking its face to a window with its whiskers twitching sorrowfully, and put your phone on silent for takeoff.

Iori could always make you smile, no matter how nervous you are. You kind of wish she could be here with you. Staring out at the passing scenery below, you tilt your head back, wondering what kind of carnage awaits at the base of mountainous Hokkaido.

Since striking lucky with his marriage to your mother, your father began divesting his profits into property, and the 5,000 feet lodge instantly became the highlight of his purchases.

Imposing and standing firm on fortified concrete to withstand the harsh, cold mountain air, your childhood days were spent playing in the narrow hallways, fashioned similarly to the labyrinth-like interior of Europe’s oldest castles. Your parents absolutely adored German architecture with its spiraling spires and brick red slates upon such historical monuments, and wanted to emulate the design right on the slopes of Hakodate.

It’s been years since I’ve seen the lodge.

The last time you were there, you were just shy of your sixteenth birthday.

Bright-eyed, and romantically wistful. You often imagined how pretty it would be to walk along the grand balcony as the sun performed its final best for the day; orange rays soaking your skin from head to toe as you admire nature's best while hand-in-hand with a man you love.

And now, your fantasies have a chance of turning into reality.

You wonder how Sukuna will feel when he sees the spires, the chimneys, and the cozy old brick walls that allows for the warmth of the house to seep into them despite the persistent chill.

He would be impressed—you like to think he might be a bit more polite once he sees your family is just like his. Just as powerful and grand and worthy.

Smiling secretly to yourself, you swallow down an Ambien, slip on your headphones, and settle into the comfortable seats for the start of your wildest hopes coming true.

The private car taking them up the winding road almost makes Sukuna turn green around the edges.

Jin sits beside him, a faint flush on his cheeks from the cold despite not having reached the mountain’s first base. Their mother used to always tease how he was the easiest to blush or bruise; so much different from his staunch older brother.

“The weather is lovely,” his twin muses.

Sukuna stares out the window, not bothering to hide his sulky mood. His phone is off, his last text from Este snidely insulting the L/N’s on how they only had two private hot springs in their lodge went unreplied.

He hasn’t bothered to respond to her because he’ll see her soon enough.

Fuck… this is some twisted shit. A part of him still can’t wrap his head around the fact that his situationship and future fiance would be in the same room together.

Jin hums, breaking him from his thoughts, and after a brief lull, shoots up excitedly, tapping the driver’s seat. “It’s this one! We’re here.”

Unable to match his enthusiasm, Sukuna sighs deeply and rolls his eyes. The driver stops the Jeep right in front of the lodge, and for a split second, Sukuna wonders if the Ambien he took on the private-plane ride here accidentally knocked him out long enough for them to appear in the middle of Heidelberg or some far flung place in fucking Europe.

This lodge had fucking spires, for god’s sake.

He can’t help the bubble of distaste gurgling in his chest when he sees such opulence in the middle of nowhere. Inaccessible to the base unless with a Jeep and a day’s worth of travel, one could only imagine the amount needed to keep a money drainer like this going.

They’re rubbing their wealth in our face, he sneers inwardly. What a nouveau riche thing to do.

A butler rushes out to hoist their bags, allowing Jin and him the leisure to crane their necks and take in more of the grand rooms. Wooden timber floors echo the dull thuds of their boots, high beams in the same honey color wood arching and intersecting, opening the living room into an expansive ceiling and windows that seem to touch the sky.

The interior is tasteful with accents of natural wood on the walls, a spiral staircase, and a large fireplace that’s happily belching heat across a sunken pit fitted with black corduroy sofas. A flat screen TV is on, and Sukuna almost misses a bundle moving from the end of the chair, walking right to them.

You're in a silky black dress with a sweetheart neckline, house slippers on your perfectly manicured feet. So different from the beige and bland girl he saw at the cafe that Sukuna has to hide his double take behind a sudden cough, the tips of his ears feeling a little bit warmer than before.

Jin is the one who smiles widely, bowing low. “Y/N. It’s good to see you.”

Returning his gesture, you grin. “It’s lovely to see you too, Itadori-san,” and not forgetting Sukuna, you added, “You too, Itadori-san.”

“Please, call me Jin,” the younger twin extends a note of familiarity and you receive it graciously with another smile.

From the corner of his eye, Jin glances at Sukuna, as if expecting him to drop all formalities with the woman who was soon to be his wife. But, the older twin did no such thing; nodding to you in greeting while keeping his antipathy closely tucked to his chest.

“Hello again, Y/N.”

Though his abrupt unfriendliness puts you off, you plaster on your best hostess smile, about to show the two brothers to their rooms when your mother’s shrill voice pierces through the quiet.

“Jin-san! Itadori-san!” Exuberant, she bounces down the steps, fresh from a shower and wearing a new coat of makeup after the dreary flight. “You’re both here!”

Jin takes her hand, and in a gallant gesture you never expect him to do, presses the back of it to his lips. “Lovely to see you again, Lia.”

You never thought you’d see the day when your mother stutters like a schoolgirl in love. She coughs, batting her lashes and turns to the older twin. “Itadori-san.” To him, she bows slightly, showing him deference as the older brother in this dynamic. This time, Sukuna returns her bow, knowing full well that to lord his rank over them would be disrespectful to his host.

“Lia-san. You look well.”

Beaming at the two men, your mother sinks her fingers into your shoulders. “I’m so happy you finally got to meet Y/N in person, Jin-san. Isn’t she lovely?”

Diplomatic to a fault, the younger twin nods. “She is as lovely as you are, Lia-san.”

Expectantly, she turns to Sukuna, who clears his throat, his skin suddenly crawling from all eyes on him. “The cold air does wonders for all of us,” were his words. You feel your mother’s fingers digging deeper.

Sparing the room from an awkward note, you clear your throat. “Shall we show them to their rooms, mom?” Emphasizing on the last word, you effectively break Lia’s spell, her million dollar modeling smile back on.

“Yes. Yes. Jin-san, I hope you don’t mind rooming with Gojo Satoru when he arrives. He barely sleeps, but then again, so do you. I’m afraid his father couldn’t make it due to a sudden stomach bug so he’s the only one representing the Gojos.”

Jin remains genial. “I would love to catch up with Satoru when he arrives.”

“Perfect.” She turns her smile to Sukuna, who feels every expectation surrounding him amplifying; dread pools in his stomach when the physical embodiment of lies and deception starts deepening her grin. Lia unclasps one hand from your shoulder to grip Sukuna’s bicep.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty to make a special arrangement for you, Itadori-san.”

He wonders if they’re going to put him with your father in a separate room; already the picture of the older man’s twisted words and smarmy grin come to his mind, trying to force his hand to hurry up and marry you.

But, what Lia says is much worse than his imagination could conjure. Her hand on his arm burns hot and prickles his skin past the cashmere sleeve.

“I’ve put a room together just for you and my daughter, of course.”

Jin swears he’s never had to drag Sukuna out from a room fast enough.

His brother seethes, hands clenching open and close while he tries to find a quiet enough spot so the older twin doesn’t explode into a raging temper tantrum.

“‘Kuna, it’s okay,” he consoles, but Sukuna doesn’t want to hear it.

“How dare they think they can do this!” His jaw tenses, veins popping from his neck. The kitchen is empty, though for it to be free of errant eyes and ears, Jin can’t be sure.

“Hey, come on—don’t lose it here now,” Jin begs.

The older twin’s volatile temper is hard to predict and even harder to cool down once he reaches that peak of no return. To think it would be triggered by a simple room assignment would be comical if Jin has had a few beers, but this just solidifies to him how acutely Sukuna truly resents you.

It takes Jin aback. You’re such a sweet person; a kind soul. Why would his brother react in such a way to you was a mystery to the younger man. He doesn't have time to prod further. Voices ring down the hallway, and Jin recognizes Adam Nara’s jolly baritone, following Gojo Sr.’s cheerful greeting to your father.

The other players have entered the game. Jin couldn't afford to lose face now.

He grabs his brother by the shoulders and shakes him a little.

“Listen, shit face. Our enemies and alliances are just beyond this door. If you love ka-san and oto-san—” Scratch that. Sukuna cares for no one but himself. Jin shakes his head. “If you care about the money and getting your inheritance, I need you to pull yourself together. Just for this evening. Got it?”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, and Jin’s no longer the nice, younger brother he has to be in front of others. He transforms into Itadori Jin, de facto Chairman of Itadori Holdings, his shoulders squared and mouth set in a firm line. Purely meaning business.

If he wasn’t in such a rage, Sukuna would find the change impressive; he’s almost quivering in his boots.

“You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to play nice, you hear me?” There’s a threat hidden behind his calm words—the edge of a sharp knife wrapped in between soft sheets. “You will be polite to Y/N, treat her parents with respect and you will be married by the end of this month, am I clear?”

It stung. It bruises his ego to have Jin control his life.

But, didn’t you give up the crown when you decided to leave the family and make it on your own? A small, bitter voice in the back of his head quips.

He’s quick to shoot it down, though a lingering sense of loathing balloons in his chest. It’s humiliation and resignation all in one. Sukuna pauses for a second, letting Jin stew in his anger, before slowly nodding.

His younger brother exhales, and releases his death grip from his twin’s shoulders.

“Good. If you’re antsy about the room situation, you can always tell Lia you want to protect her daughter’s virtue. It’ll be a decent enough reason and score you brownie points with the family.”

Jin’s words which were meant to soothe and comfort him, strikes a chord, flipping the switch in his mind. Excitement bubbles right in the pit of his stomach.

If I can’t change my fate in this arrangement, maybe I can influence it.

“No,” he says coolly, taking his brother aback. “I’ll do it.” Jin stares at him as if someone had just swooped in and switched his twin with a different man.

Is he planning something insidious? Though the Itadori Chairman has his suspicions, he can’t outright call his brother out on it—not when Sukuna is making the effort to appease and honor the deal.

“Okay,” Jin says slowly, though the note of hesitation and distrust is palpable.

Sukuna maintains his innocent facade with a blank mask, the markings on his face starker under the orange light.

Jin represses a shudder, trying not to let the memory of that day come up again.

The voices outside grow louder, and he can scarcely ignore them.

Duty’s calling and he has to answer.

“Alright,” he murmurs into the quiet. “Let’s go outside to meet them.” Before Sukuna can leave, Jin grasps his shoulder, forcing him to round back and look at him.

Wearing a look awfully similar to Wasuke, Jin wags his finger.

“Remember, ‘Kuna. No fucking funny business.”

He stops, rolls his eyes and plants a crooked smile in place. It’s the smile that could win any girl over into his bed for the night no matter her relationship status; reassures the most fidgety investor that their returns would be safe with him.

“You have nothing to worry about, Jin. No funny business—I promise.”

Itadori Wasuke wasn’t just a father—he was the blueprint to Jin’s lifepath.

Ever since he could walk and talk, Jin loved following his dad around—tottering into meetings, plopping himself onto the older man’s lap and grabbing the papers on his desk to drool over them.

Despite his status as a ruthless businessman and one of the shrewdest minds in transportation, Wasuke loved nothing more than to indulge his boys with time, wisdom, and guidance. He would never push his youngest away—always with a firm hand and a soothing voice to lead him in the right direction.

Rainy days were Jin’s favorite. His father usually sat himself in the parlor with a cigarette and the latest paper, relaxing after a day filled with nothing but meetings.

The memory of him clambering on the couch next to him, curls of nicotine smoke filling the air, was such a vivid one Jin still thinks he can smell the tobacco on his skin.

“What’re you doing here?” His father’s faded pink hair, a rarity in this world which he passed to his two sons, shone like silk under the amber lighting, those red-brown eyes dancing with mirth at the sight of his golden child.

Jin fiddles with his fingers, suddenly aware of the secret he was holding and how much it could ruin his father’s mood. But, he had no choice. He had to tell his dad before the maids could beat him to it and get his nii-san into more trouble than he already was in.

“Um… it’s ‘K-Kuna, oto-san.”

At the mention of his oldest, Wasuke snaps the paper close, the fine lines around his mouth deepening.

“What happened to him? Did he do something wrong again?”

Blaming Sukuna was a default in the Itadori home. Sometimes, Jin overhears his father lamenting to his mother past the thin doors, wondering where and how he went wrong in raising two sons who were as different as day and night.

“He… made a bet at school and…” Jin sucks in a breath.

Putting the newspaper down, Wasuke’s attention was fully on him, those vermillion eyes ablaze. “Well? What happened? Did he hurt someone?”

Flinching, Jin shakes his head. His brother may be a jerk and a rebel, but Sukuna would never hurt someone intentionally. Deep down in his heart, the youngest twin was sure of it.

“He made a bet with some boys and lost and he—” Jin exhales out the last part in one, frighteningly quick breath. “—hewentandgothisfacetattooed.”

His father blinks. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt, pushed past his elbows were stretched across his taut arms, as if he was holding himself back from slamming his fists into the table.

“Where is he?” Deceptively calm; a storm brewing in the distance.

Jin naively hoped his father would put things right again—talk some sense into Sukuna to get those tattoos removed from his face and arms.

They were the Itadoris, a respectful house.

How was his nii-san supposed to lead a company when he didn’t look professional at all? And not to mention, they were both fifteen—they were too young to think about permanent inks and bets.

Wasuke seems to echo his youngest son’s thoughts, sinking back into the plush, leather sofa and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Jin can tell his father is going through a range of emotions—the blood rushes to his face, leaves his cheeks red, puce, and then sickeningly green around the edges.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

“Thank you for telling me, Jin,” his father finally manages to compose himself enough to pat his head. “You can go back to bed now. I’ll speak to Sukuna when he comes back home.”

Stiffly, the youngest twin stands, bowing once to his dad. He wishes the old man a goodnight and trudges back to bed, unaware of a woman lurking in the corner who slinks into the room, having heard everything that transpired between her husband and son.

“—what did he do now?”

A resounding crash shakes the walls, and Jin freezes, darting behind a potted plant to listen in.

His mother’s shrieks filter past the flimsy wood; their argument front and center for the whole house to hear.

Jin hears snatches of the altercation, his heart plummeting right to his stomach.

“—your son!” His father roars.

“You mean, our son!” his mother yells back. There’s another crash, and Jin covers his ears, shaking his head from side to side.

Make it stop, please. Make it stop.

The guilt eats him alive, especially when he hears what his father says next.

“Fifteen years I’ve been tolerating that boy, but it has to end here. He can’t keep misbehaving as if the world owes him everything at his feet. If this keeps up—” Wasuke swears, and a heavy object crashes into the wall. His mother shrieks. “—I’ll make Jin my heir!”

At the mention of his name, the young boy freezes, not daring to even breathe.

His father can't make him the heir. It would break his older brother's heart.

“You can’t!” she sobs. “It’s against the natural rule of things! Sukuna is set to inherit the fortune. You can’t change the order of our world, Wasuke!”

His father laughs, a terrifying, full belly roar which makes the ground shake and his chest cave in.

“I can and I will. You watch me, woman. The will is mine and mine alone to execute. If you keep this up—protecting that stupid boy when he doesn't deserve it, I will send him to the military and keep him there until he finally grows a spine and some common sense, you hear?! I can have him killed in battle—”

Kasumi screams again, and this time, it claws straight through Jin’s soul; a wounded animal sound of a mother terrified for her young.

“Dear, please. He’s only a boy. Only a child. You can’t expect the world of him. He is your blood and flesh—”

“Someone this idiotic and foolish will never be my son and I will never claim him!”

From the corner of his eye, Jin spots movement by the stairs. His brother, backpack slung across his shoulder, skin around his face and arms mottled and red from the tattoos, pauses at the top step.

“He has done nothing but bring shame to the Itadori name!”

Wasuke bellows, his next words rattling the roof and breaking every heart within the vicinity; most of all, his oldest son’s who had innocently stumbled into the middle of the fray without any warning.

“I wouldn’t care if he lived or died! I have Jin and he’s the better choice.” A loaded exhale—a reloading of more emotionally charged bullets.

“You and that bastard can fucking rot to death for all I care."

Sukuna rubs a hand down his face, feeling the steam clinging onto his pores.

The onsen was quiet tonight, everyone in the house either up in the parlor drinking, smoking, or by the sunken sofa fireplace, exchanging gossip about another up-and-coming family or an investment scheme gone wrong.

He’s never been one to belong in a world like this, so Sukuna had taken his leave early after dinner with the excuse that he was feeling a headache coming along. The maids had already hauled his suitcase up to the suite he would be sharing with you, and thankfully, you were locked in a conversation with Gojo Satoru, the only other person around his, Jin’s, Este’s, and your age on this trip to notice he had gone missing.

While his brother plays along with the whims of the upper echelon, Sukuna prefers to submerge his tired body in the mineral-dense waters.

Though the woman he was fucking was here, too, Sukuna had reservedly given her a one-sided hug when Este walked in, green eyes sparkling and looking like the picture of allure in her ermine coat and slinky black dress. Throughout dinner, she kept on glancing at him, and he tried to pretend like her eyes didn’t bore holes into the side of his head; that her accusatory glare didn’t feel hot on the back of his neck when he was forced to sit beside you during dessert, striking up an awkward conversation.

For your part, you had no idea the woman whose bed he warms is in the same room as you, and Sukuna likes to keep it that way. There will be hell to pay if word of this gets out.

Footsteps resound, prickling his ears. Through the steam and fog of this glass room, he makes out a familiar figure walking right towards him, clad in just a towel.

“Sukuna-san.”

Este stands, long brown hair shimmering like a coat of silky chocolate down her back, the rise of her collarbones already flushing red from the steam. There’s a look in her eyes that spells trouble when she slinks closer towards him.

Acutely aware of his nakedness, Sukuna does nothing but a cock a brow in her direction.

“Getting bolder now, I see.”

But, he doesn’t stop her from sinking one foot into the natural hewn pool, her towel melting off her body and falling in a heap behind her.

He unabashedly drinks in her curves; the mole on her left breast he loves to bite down on, those puckered nipples tightening from the humidity. The planes of her abs defined from years of pilates led right to a smattering of dark hair near her pubic bone, and he caught the slightest glance of that little hole he loves when she parts her legs, sitting comfortably against the rock across from him.

Rolling her neck from side to side, Este sighs deeply.

“What a bore this is. I honestly thought mom would let me smoke here, but she says she doesn’t want to give the Gojo’s a wrong idea.” Her full lips twist into a sneer. “You’re not looking any better.”

He scoffs, splashing her with the warm water. Este shrieks, giving him a murderous glare.

Outside, a light snowfall starts to descend, tiny flakes lingering on the transparent dome. It’s ethereal and romantic, though the woman in front of him ruins his view.

You stand by the door, unsure if you should step in when you see Sukuna and another gorgeous woman in the onsen. They’re both bickering, and Sukuna stops when he notices you about to turn and leave.

“Hey. Join us.”

His low baritone is crisp. Commanding.

You can’t turn away, not when he’s already noticed you.

Plastering on a fake smile, you shake your head, trying to beat a hasty retreat. “M-my bad, Itadori-san. Nara-san. I thought the onsen was empty—”

Este, daughter of James Nara and one of the richest trust fund babies in Japan, snorts. She’s beautiful, but something about her sharp features and those plump lips makes a shiver run down your spine. It’s as if she’s a bloodhound, trying to sniff out your weakness. She bares her too white teeth and you’re reminded of a Great White seconds away from snapping a fish’s spine in half.

“Nonsense. This is your house, Y/N-san. You should join us. We want to know everything about you.”

The back of your neck prickles, and it’s not from the heat.

Sludges of white gather atop the dome, trickling down to the packed ground like you were stuck inside a live snow globe. Your smile tightens around the edges and you clutch the towel in a numb grip, mind blanking out on an excuse.

These onsens were your private escape from the real world, and you rarely took a dip naked in front of your own family, let alone a pair of strangers.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, growing annoyed at your floundering and hesitation. “Look. Either you join us, or you leave us to continue our conversation. We were in the middle of something.”

Cheeks flushing warmly, you felt the chill deepening in your soul. Your smile never broke, but you darted your eyes away from his indifferent expression, corners of your lips quivering.

Snapping your mouth shut, you nod. “I… I’ll leave you two alone, then.”

The minute you leave the room, Este turns to him. “Ouch. That was kinda harsh.”

Sukuna snorts, and with the knowledge of you not returning into the room now that he had humiliated you, he brazenly draws Este to his lap, nuzzling his face into her neck.

She purrs, looking like the cat who got the cream when she straddles his lap, letting him feast his hungry eyes over her perfect body. The tip of her acrylic traces down the tattoo near his jaw, and that diabolical smile of hers deepens.

“That was your fiance, Ryomen. You should be nicer to her.”

He makes a sound of disagreement in the back of his throat, moving his cool lips from the hollow of her neck to the rise of her breasts. Licking and sucking at her nipples, he alternates, biting down on the flesh, blowing on those buds to watch them harden into stiff, pink peaks. Her soft moans carry together with the steam rising to the top of the glass ceiling; those verdant eyes rolling back into her head from the shivers he was wracking in her body.

“Stop talking about her,” he murmurs, lifting her up slightly by the hips and sliding his already throbbing cock deep into her twitching heat. She winces, stabs her nails into his shoulders from the sudden stretch. “I need to fuck you.”

She ticks her hips forward, a little slutty show just for him. Sukuna can tell the idea of fucking him with you under the same roof is driving her wild.

“m’not on the pill today,” she whispers into the hot shell of his ear, running her tongue over the delicate ridges. Sukuna’s fingers are bruising her hips, rutting deep into her. He likes how she takes him without complaint or prep—the perfect hole to be used and abused.

He’s thrusting into a spot inside of her that’s too deep to reach, snaking his hand around her throat and squeezing down hard.

“Don’t care,” he breathes heavily, vermillion eyes hooded; harsh tattoos lining his face jumping out from under the low light. “Just pop something after.”

He’s evil and tantalizing—the devil she readily gives her body to whenever he snaps his fingers.

Este nods, leaning back to brace her hands against his strong thighs, eager to please him.

“Yes, Sir.”

It was once said that the greatest artists in this world found contentment within their own solitude where their wildest inspirations could come to life with no judgment from the public eye.

Though you could not compare to Van Gogh or Monet, you had to admit that there was a shred of truth to those words.

Mountain air fills your lungs, and you span your gaze towards the horizon as your eyes can see. The easel you requested the butlers to prepare was your standing guard, the blank canvas leaning on it your enemy to parry with.

Like a writer hunched over their incomplete manuscript, your art block was equally as vicious. The lines and colors eluded you, and you could not focus a single thought on what was to be the final outcome.

You could paint the view, but it was overdone and frankly, expected.

Maybe you could dig deep into the stinging pain in your chest you felt the night before and scoop it up, smear it across the blank whiteness, and stain it with your embarrassment and indignation.

Sighing deeply, you lean back on the stool, setting your paintbrush down and rubbing the back of your neck.

“Art block can be a bitch, huh?”

You whirl around to find a tall man with a mop of white hair approaching you with his hands in his bathrobe pockets, wearing a charming, lopsided smile.

“Gojo-san,” you immediately straighten and he waves your formalities away.

“Satoru,” he says and looks you up and down. “You left last night. After dessert. Smart.”

Letting out a gust of breath you didn’t know you were holding, you tilt your head to the side in confusion. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, just your parents pulling us into the parlor for some charades,” he chuckles at the recollection, and this close, you can’t help but notice even his eyelashes are the color of powdery white snow. “It’s been a while since I went on a family getaway. I’m not much of a homey son, you see. I rarely spend time with family and would much rather be handling business.”

“Ha,” you snort, and then, slap a hand over your mouth as if to cover for your mistake.

Though word in your world runs rampant, no news came faster (even to a wallflower like you) of how rebellious and unorthodox the Gojo family’s only son was.

Satoru’s bright eyes, the color of a melted icy river in the middle of summer, seems to twinkle at your slip-up.

“Did I say something amusing?”

You quickly shake your head, though your warm cheeks betray you. “N-no, Gojo-s—Satoru.”

Cursing your careless mouth and actions, you take this moment to turn back to your canvas, picking up your paintbrush and pretending to concentrate on your next stroke.

Undeterred by your lack of forthcoming conversation, you feel him approaching you from the back, coming to stand over your shoulder.

“You know, if you wanted to lie, you could’ve done so by telling me how I absolutely do not deserve the Gojo Chairman position.” Those eyes sparkle with barely concealed mirth. “Or, don’t you agree with what everyone else is saying?”

Gaping, you turn to him. “Wh—Satoru, that’s a cruel thing for me to say to someone I barely know!”

That amused grin never left his sightly lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how well-moisturized they were. Not even a dry fleck of skin on them, despite the atrociously cold weather.

As if noticing your train of thought, Gojo smiles and changes the subject. “It’s awfully cold out here. Why are you painting in the middle of such freezing weather?”

The words tumble past your defenses before you could rein them in, yet another slip up from your distracted morning. “I find the cold air to be refreshing. It helps to clear my mind.”

Gojo stands there, back straight, and for a single moment, you can imagine him in the middle of a boardroom, scrutinizing a subordinate and catching them in the middle of a flimsy lie.

But, you were not his employee, and Satoru was a welcomed guest under your roof. He could not overstep his boundaries.

“I see.”

It seems he has something he wants to say but can’t put forth; the minute struggle in those cerulean blue eyes gives away a deeper meaning. The vulnerable connection that trembles between both your held gazes dissipates like fine mist—never there in the first place—and he’s back to being his usual cryptic, teasing self.

“I shall leave you alone then, Miss Y/N. Ah, my apologies.” He smacks his forehead, correcting his mistake instantly.

“Wrong name. I hope you have a wonderful painting session… Mrs. Itadori to-be.”

That night, you return to the huge double rooms to find your fiance out cold.

His broad back turned towards the wall, arm dangling from the edge of the huge, ornate sofa your mother personally sourced from Istanbul. You try and fail to hide your surprise, wondering what he’s done to venture into your part of the room.

The memories twist and turn, rising like black smoke from the ashes of your dismay and stinging disappointment at how petty Sukuna could be.

“You’re sleeping on the sofa,” he mumbles, “I don’t do well with company in my bed.”

You’re about to argue, when he takes the room, slamming the door closed and clicking it shut. At least the maids had left out some pillows and a blanket on the sofa for you both to divide and claim… but if Sukuna didn’t want you near him, shouldn’t he be a gentleman and take the couch instead?

There’s no soothing the prickling shame you feel when you realize your fiance has given you the cold shoulder in a space that belongs to your family. Belonged to you. Is this how he will treat me for the entire marriage? You approach the door, about to bang on it with your fists when you hear the first stirrings of a snore.

Faltering, you bite your lower lip. To risk waking Sukuna up and infuriating him further which would ruin the entire arrangement your family was trying to secure for you… or to bite your tongue for a night and hope he would be more forgiving come morning?

You sighed, plodding over to the sofa, still in your dress which Okura-san sourced straight from an underground Chinese designer—the same talent Sukuna’s last ex-girlfriend, Sora Hyuk, was fond of. Thumbing the hem, you feel like tearing it off and throwing it into the fireplace, your cheeks warm with embarrassment and resentment.

If only your parents could see you now.

The truth was, you could tell them what Sukuna had done—how he had embarrassed you so openly and without hesitation right in the heart of your vacation home. But, knowing your parents and how diligent they were with moving up the ladder, your complaints would be nothing but fodder for them to sneer at when they were both alone.

A daughter is nothing but a bartering chip. That is what your mother had once told you.

And that is why, despite how coldly Sukuna had locked you out of the shared room, you took comfort in the antechamber where no one, not even the maids, could come in without your permission.

Good thing the fire is burning, you thought, as you kicked off your slippers and sank into the soft couch, trying to drift off into an uneasy sleep. I'll count that as a small blessing for today.

Blinking back the painful reminder, you’re about to roughly shake him off the sofa, marching towards him with your expression scrunched up in anger.

Grabbing his shoulder, you give it a push, and he barely moves.

“Oi,” you huff. “Wake up. You’re in my spot.”

Another push. Sukuna doesn’t even groan.

Suddenly, a chilling sensation seizes over you. Without wasting time, you flip him onto his back, bracing yourself on the edge of the wide sofa.

Sukuna’s eyes are rolled back into his head, the whites of them shining under the warm, orange light of the chandelier above. You scream and try to shake him, smacking his shoulder to rouse him back from unconsciousness. When he doesn’t move, you grab the first thing you see—a cup of tea you were halfway drinking in the morning, long cold and still with the tea bag attached—and throw it right into his face.

Immediately, his eyes snap back, pupils smaller than pinpricks as he roughly grasps you, dragging you under his bigger build.

Flecks of black tea fall into your face, almost dripping into your wide open mouth, frozen in a mid-shriek.

“What the fuck did you do?” He snarls, and without warning, the tea bag clinging for its dear life on top of his head slides off his pink locks and plops right onto your cheek.

Sukuna grabs it and brings it closer to his face, sneering at the small brown-soaked sachet and tossing it over his shoulder with his scarily fast reflexes.

“You weren’t responding,” you stutter, pointing one trembling finger to his eyes. “And your eyes were rolled back. I—I thought you were having a seizure.”

“I wasn’t.” His nostrils flare, and those piercing red-brown eyes feel like they could dig right into your soul; scooping up your second-hand embarrassment and smearing it all over your shell-shocked face. “You had no fucking right to pull such a stunt on me—who the fuck do you think you are?”

It’s the most he’s ever spoke to you, and it riles you up how defensive he’s being—like you were some nuisance of a toddler purposely destroying his expensive things and not someone who was trying to save his fucking life.

Who did this man take you for?

You open your mouth, but he beats you to the punch.

“Don’t ever touch me without my permission. Do you understand me?”

You snap your mouth close, feeling the chagrin and indignation brimming behind your eyes. If he didn’t let you go right this instant, you were going to burst out in tears right in front of him—an act which would surely annoy him more rather than make him suddenly tender to your afflictions.

It’s like he doesn't even have a heart.

Thankfully, Sukuna releases your wrists and rolls off you.

“We both can’t sleep on the sofa since it’s fucking stained with tea—no thanks to you.” His expression is like someone had shoved sour powder down his throat. “I suppose… there’s the room.”

You don’t even try to hide the disbelieving confusion bleeding across your face. This man who nearly threw a fit because you had tried to resuscitate him… was buying into the idea of sharing a bed with you?

“But, I thought you didn’t want me to touch you without your permission?”

An honest inquiry. You had only wanted to remind him of the words he said to you in case he thought you hadn’t clocked it in.

However, the reaction you receive confirms everything you implicitly knew and more: Sukuna, without a doubt, hated your entire guts for reasons unknown to you.

Those vermillion eyes become glacial, freezing over any attempt at diffusing the tension in this situation you were trying your hardest to salvage.

“Who said you would be on the bed?” He gestures behind his back, towards the room you were forbidden from sleeping in despite your family name stamped on this lodge.

“The floor’s comfy,” his callous words chill you right to your soul; you think you might actually start to lose it because of how cruel he’s being to you. “You can take it, can’t you?”

Biting your bottom lip, you physically have to will the tears away—not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“Yes,” you murmur softly, turning your gaze to the floor.

You have to do this—you don't have a choice.

For the sake of this arrangement. For the sake of your father’s business.

“You can take the bed. I’ll take the floor… Itadori-san.”

After another day in the mountains, your mother thought it was a good idea to bond with you over a foot massage.

There’s a Thai massage parlor down at the base of the mountain, their herbal baths and footstone rubs rumored to cure even the worst altitude sickness. Driving past the winding mountainous edge slowly, the car ride was bumpy, jolting you with jerkish movements that make your head spin. As the Range Rover idles to a stop, the driver opens the doors, and your mother steps out, barely paying him any attention.

Meanwhile, you turn to the older driver and whisper, “Thank you,” while handing him a ¥1,000 bill. He takes it with a bright grin, tips his hat, and waits inside the humming vehicle as you both get started on your pampering session.

“Sit here, Y/N,” Lia waves you over, completely ignoring the masseuse ushering her to another seat further back.

You follow your mother obediently, taking the reclining chair next to her.

The leather creaks under your weight as you slowly slide to a comfortable position. Glancing at your mother, you’re surprised to see her eyes sparkling, and she’s close enough to grip your arm, excitedly shaking your shoulder. “So?” she demands, and you give her a confused look.

“So… what?”

“Sukuna, you dummy,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. If there was a man here, he would stop dead in his tracks, enamored by your mother’s alluring and natural sass.

Thankfully, the masseuses were all foreign women, and as they washed your feet with soap and warm water, you hesitantly updated here about your living situation with Sukuna.

“He’s nice enough,” you mumble weakly. Lia taps her milky white French tips on the chair’s arm, waiting for you to add more.

“Um.” You flounder. “He’s a heavy sleeper, too—barely moves when we sleep next to each other.”

Another lame addition. This time, her nose crinkles. If only she could be a fly on your bedroom wall, seeing how Sukuna treats you with disdain and exasperation; making you sleep on the floor while he hogs the king-sized bed all for himself.

“It sounds like you’re both barely speaking to one another,” Lia deduces, arching a perfectly groomed brow. “Is that right?”

You deflate. If there’s one person in the world who can call you out on your bullshit, it would be the woman who birthed and raised you. “Yes.” You finally admit. “I can’t seem to crack through him, mom. He’s so guarded.”

At your rising frustration, she hums and leans back, eyes falling close. You follow the same, feeling the older masseuse’s firm knuckles rubbing up and down your aching Achilles tendon.

There’s nothing filling your senses but the smell of lemongrass oil and the warmth of the heaters blowing hot air circulating around the room. Someone places a cup of tea and biscuits on your left side table, and you open your eyes; picking up the brew and enjoying the sourish sweet tang of lemongrass tea on your tongue.

“Sukuna-san is a notoriously hard man to know because of his upbringing.”

You pause, cup hovering close to your lips. Setting it down on the lacquered wood table with a crisp click, you frown.

“What do you mean, mom?”

Lia opens her eyes, staring up the ceiling as she rummages in her memories for a recollection you weren’t aware of.

“Sukuna-san’s mother—Kasumi—passed away when he was just 18. Wasuke, his father, followed her 3 years after, and they made Jin Itadori heir because Sukuna fled Tokyo and stayed in Madrid for almost a decade.”

Filled with curiosity, you furrow your brows. “Did they say why he left home in such a rush?”

“No one knows,” your mother clarifies. “But, one day, he showed up, and Jin took him back in—the prodigal brother making his return.”

“I bet it would’ve been interesting to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” you snort.

Lia gives you a look. “It wasn’t. I heard the rumors that both brothers were more than estranged—they barely spoke to each other in that decade when Sukuna was missing. But, Jin has always been a kind man, and he let his brother’s misdoings slide—just wanting him to come back home.”

You feel a begrudging sense of respect for the younger Itadori twin. “He seems more like my match than Sukuna-san.”

Your words were meant to be a joke, but it rubs Lia the wrong way. She scowls, lifting a brow. “Don’t you even dare to think of something like that, Y/N.”

Instantly chastised, you quieten. Lia continues, on a roll from your careless remark.

“Jin-san loves his wife too much—she passed away during childbirth and he treasures Yuuji more than any gold in this world. He would not spare you a second look, and so, Sukuna was chosen for you.”

“But, why?”

Frustration bedevils you, and you spew out the first question on your mind. “Why would Sukuna-san be a better match for me? We have nothing in common.”

The masseuses are pretending not to listen in to the conversation, heads bent low and focusing all their attention on melting away the stress that was mounting more and more with every passing second you spent in your mother’s presence.

Lia’s left eye twitches, a sign she’s growing more irritated by the second. “Y/N, don’t spit in fate’s face when they give you a golden egg. Sukuna-san is perfect for you because he’s not picky. He would have anyone familiar with the ways of our society… even if they call you a Wisteria Woman to your face.”

Hurt bleeds through her tone, and you’re reminded once again of how low your family standing is compared to the Itadoris. While they were a family from old transportation money back during Tokyo’s electrical motor boom, your family rode on the backs of your grandfather’s standing to give your father’s ideas a chance to win over prickly investors.

Eventually, he clawed his way through the world of politics through grit and a good dose of ass-kissing, earning a cushy spot at the top where he’s starting to see his results flourish—the first one being your marriage to a well-established house.

But, it wasn’t always a smooth journey to where your family was now.

Your mother had to endure years of other rich wives' subtle digging and whispers behind palms—calling her a “Wisteria Woman”—mocking her patience in clinging onto your father as he steadily rose to popularity; calling her a foolish woman only concerned with social status.

It was an insincere attempt at making her an object of ridicule, at best. Your grandfather’s wealth as the king of department stores before his demise could buy over any of these small family’s trust funds three times over.

“They don’t know what they’re saying, mom,” you remind her. “You’ve always stood by dad’s side because you believed in the man he could become one day. And it’s paid off—they’re the ones eating their words now.”

Lia fixes her gaze on you, her expression softening. You think she might even reach out and pat your head. But, she only gives you a single piece of advice, further solidifying that despite all your protests, your marriage to Sukuna has already been woven in the threads of fate long before you were even aware of it.

“Y/N, I want you to remember this well—no matter what these people say to your face or whisper behind your back... don’t you ever give them the satisfaction of seeing that they’re right.”

a/n. drama on the mountains alert! drama on the mountains alert!

btw feedbacks and reblogs will always be loved <3 thank you for supporting my story thus far i luv u

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my work, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms. and claim as your own

#🦢 writes #sukuna smut #sukuna angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #jjk series #jjk fic #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen x reader #jjk ryomen #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #series: hopelessly devoted

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highonmarvel · 1 year ago

Note

hi hope ur doing well. i was thinking, could u do a buckyxreader where hes paralyzed and like needs a caretaker. through some means reader ends up as the caretaker and all is well. but actually bucky was just pretending and hes not realy paralysed and he just pretended to get closer to reader and reader start expresing the idea that she might have to leave for whatever reason and buck does not like that so like he kidnaps her or something. I rlly luv ur work this is the first request iv sent

this is so good, i’m upset i didn’t think of it first. i’m so sorry for taking so long to get back to you, i really hope you enjoy, and thank you so, so much for the love. okay, here it is:

Himalayan Salt

Bucky Barnes: You’re assigned to a notoriously grumpy war vet, but he’s different with you.

content warnings here!

You nod as your supervisor goes over your final notes: James Barnes, World War II veteran, quadriplegic.

You follow her from the overcast weather into a beautiful but modest home in a fairly quiet suburb to meet the man sitting in a wheelchair in the centre of the room.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes,” your supervisor calls, tucking her clipboard under her arm as she waits for him to turn around. When he does, you’re surprised. You hadn’t seen a photo of him beforehand as this had been a pretty impromptu assignment, but you’re sure you were told he was born in 1917, yet he sits looking like he’s in forties, and aging well, at that.

“Hi, Mr Barnes!” you smile warmly at him, and he returns a friendly smile, introducing himself as Bucky and insisting you call him that.

“I just need you to fill out the last of the forms quickly,” your supervisor mutters, waving goodbye to Bucky as she leads you back out to her car.

You’re leaning against the boot of her oldish, red car, pen scratching against paper when she says, “He really likes you.”

“Hm?” you offer, raising your eyebrows but keeping your eyes focused on the form.

She leans her back against the trunk and shifts down a bit, speaking to you but looking over at your handwriting, “He’s known to be grumpy. You see the left arm? I don’t think he likes being dependent, I’ve had to swap out a lot of people.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before I took the job?” you frown, still finishing off the document, “Didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I know you’re capable, but I thought you wouldn’t want it. But listen, the organisation needs this, I don’t know if there’s anyone else we can find for him.”

You complete your signature with a satisfied smile, handing back the clipboard, “Don’t worry, I can do this.”

She nods then gets in her car and drives away, leaving you in the driveway. You stretch your arms then make your way back inside. When you enter the living room, there’s a draft you swear wasn’t here a few minutes ago. Bucky hasn’t moved, but you notice an open window. You furrow your brows as you look down at him, “Can I close that? It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Go ahead,” he nods, and you walk over, pulling the handle it, and ignoring the recent-looking fingerprint marks on the glass.

***

A few hours into your first day, you’re a little taken aback by how friendly he is; even despite your boss’ warning, you’ve never had a patient so willing to co-operate, especially not veterans — they tend to be angry they need help, or have episodes due to PTSD, but Bucky seems perfectly in his right mind and understanding of both his and your position.

“Did they tell you I was a pain in ass?” Bucky asks before opening his mouth for a spoonful of food.

You laugh as you pull the spoon back, scooping up more of the rice and curry you made to lift to his lips, “Kind of,” you admit, “Said you were grumpy, is that true?”

He smiles, “I tend to be,” he confesses, “But I can’t keep that brooding persona up around you,” he takes a spoonful.

“So that’s what it is?” you raise an eyebrow as you pile the last of the meal onto the utensil, “A persona?”

He swallows the last of it and shakes his head with a grin, “No, but I can’t not be amused around you.”

***

You have no idea why your supervisor said he was difficult, your next few weeks with Bucky are light and fun, and you feel you’re even developing a friendship. You don’t see to him at night, and he has minimal needs during the day — some days it just feels like you’re there to keep him company.

You’re doing so well, in fact, that your supervisor wants to transfer you to a veteran from Vietnam who’s apparently even worse than Bucky (by other people’s stories — to you, if he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll be nice to see), convinced you have some magic touch.

As much as you’re developing affection for Bucky, you have to put work first, and you’re compelled to leave him for the other man who clearly needs you more. Bucky seems to be doing well, you’re sure you can’t be that special, and you’re sure someone else could take care of him just as well, if not better.

“Hi, Buck,” you greet with a smile as you close the door behind you. You hear his motorised wheelchair come rolling down the corridor to greet you.

“Hi, why could you only come in at ten today?”

You usually come in at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends.

“Sorry, I had a meeting,” you sigh, setting your tote bag down as Bucky switches his chair to manual.

“A meeting?” he asks as you take hold of the handles and push him to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Mhm,” you nod as you open the fridge, rummaging around for something to make, “There’s this other guy my boss wants me to help,” you call with your head still in the cold, “A Vietnam vet, no one else in the org will take him.”

You emerge with some eggs and milk, shutting the door with your foot before placing the contents on the island, “Did you eat? I assume Carol made breakfast but I can make more.”

“Are you going to take it?” he inquires, ignoring your question, “The job.”

“I mean, maybe,” you answer, placing your hands on the counter and tilting your head as you think, “I’m not sure yet.”

“But what about me?”

“The other guy needs full-time care, I’d have to spend virtually all my days there, but if I leave, Carol can take over for me, she can go from night to day, she’s amazing, and she doesn’t complain about you, at least not as much,” you wink, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s your job, I get it,” he replies, and you can see the stoicism build up.

“Nothing’s final, yet,” you say as you walk over, “And you’re doing great either way,” you give him a kiss on the forehead, “We don’t have to talk about that, let’s just eat, I’m starving.”

He nods and attempts to smile, but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You try to make conversation as you make yourself an omelette, but you can tell he’s not in it, giving short answers and not reacting to your jokes. When you reach to grab the salt, he stops you.

“Not that one,” he says, “Use the pink salt, Himalayan, I swear it makes everything tastes better.”

You grind some onto your food and sit across from him on the island. Digging your fork into it, you see something flash across Bucky’s eyes. Your first thought is hunger, but he’d just eaten and swore he wasn’t hungry. You ignore it as you bring the fork to your mouth, savouring the taste, though it’s not necessarily a chef’s rendition.

It tastes fine, but there’s something off. At first, you think it must be the salt, but it’s not the taste that’s off; usually when you eat, you feel that warmth in your throat and then your stomach, but now, it’s like it went to your head. You press a hand to your forehead, feeling like you’re burning up. Trying to stand, you immediately sway, only not falling by gripping the counter so harshly and hastily you bend a nail. You try to look to Bucky to tell him you’re not feeling well, but he’s out of focus. In fact, he’s not there. Just as you collapse and close your eyes, you feel a tall shadow over you, but you don’t have time to figure out where it’s coming from before you fall unconscious.

***

You groggily wipe at your eyes when you finally stir before turning over to reach for your phone, at first thinking you had had a dream, but your phone’s not there, and the nightstand isn’t yours. You shoot up in panic and look down at your sheets: Bucky’s sheets. Okay, maybe Bucky rang Carol and she came and set you in bed. Your head still hurts, and everything’s a little hazy.

When the door opens, you expect to see Carol, but it’s Bucky.

“Bucky!” you gasp as you throw the sheets off of you.

He gives a lopsided grin, and for the first time you notice how tall he actually is, because he’s standing.

“Christmas miracle?” he offers.

He walks over to you and sets a glass of water on the bedside table.

“That Himalayan salt is really exotic, isn’t it?”

You don’t even have time to process exactly what he means by that, he’s still standing over you, using his arms and legs just fine, in fact, like he’s been doing it every single day forever. You should have suspected something was up; how could a paralysed man stay in such good shape? The thought briefly crossed your mind once when you ran your fingers over his muscled arm, but you brushed it off.

“Bucky! You- you—”

“Are perfectly fine, I am, and you will be too, soon, those drugs just need to wear off. I know you’re having trouble understanding, just drink some water and sleep it off a little longer.”

He leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead, but you dodge him, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Woah, there,” he chuckles as he catches you with ease, his reflexes so sharp it’s nearly unnatural, “Now I’m taking care of you.”

You’re not sure if you can’t speak because of the drugs or if it’s because you’re in shock. He gently sets you back down and your head falls against the pillow as you struggle to keep your eyes open, spots of black blocking little bits of your vision.

“I’ve been needing someone, I’ve gone through a few, but you, honey, you’re special, and I knew it from the moment I saw you. You can’t leave me, I still need you.”

✪

[taglist; @cjand10]

#dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes x y/n #dark bucky barnes x you #dark bucky x you #dark bucky #soft dark bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x y/n #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky barnes x you #soft!dark!bucky #yandere bucky barnes #request

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theangelssing · 1 year ago

Text

Good Evening

prompt: after a hard day with SAMCRO, Chibs could really use a shower, a dinner and your presence. Nothing else but a sweet evening with his s/o.

gender neutral!reader, third pov, Chibs & reader are a couple, reader is friend with Sons of Anarchy, 820 words

warnings: mention of blood, mc’s activites, nudity, smoking, drinking (wine) allusion of sexual activity, age gap, physical touch (romantic way)

a/n: small fluffy imagine with Chibs just bc I love him; don’t hesitate to send request for every character you want (:

masterlist - inbox

“Babe I’m home,” you heard Chibs’ voice across the small apartment you two shared. You got up from your bed you were sitting on and you came to meet a slightly bloody Chibs. “Not mine,” he just whispered as he saw you looking at him.

“You wanna talk ‘bout it?” you simply asked while you both were heading to the bathroom.

“Nope. Right now I want you and me in the shower,” he replied with a grin, which made you laugh.

“You never stop,” you said and he shook his head.

“Never, babe.”

Chibs kissed you, already undressing himself. You did the same, and the both of you went under the hot water. You were used to Chibs’ activities with the Sons of Anarchy. In fact, you were used to the charter’s activities. So when Chibs would returned at home all bloody after a day, you would not freaked out or complained. You would always stayed there for him if he wanted to talk, but you would never pushed him, only doing whatever the two of you wanted to enjoy your evenings.

After your shower Chibs was only wearing a towel around his hips while you were already wearing your pyjamas.

“What d’you want for dinner?” you asked him.

“Ye,” he replied, a crooked grin on his lips.

“Again? You sure you can handle that many rounds?” you were only playing with him, of course.

“Love, I migh’ be more than 15 years older than ya but I still can show ya who’s the boss here.”

He gave you a kiss and a small slap on one of your butt cheek, making you laugh.

“To be honest I’ll eat whatever’s left in the fridge and the cupboards. I think ya’ll need to run some errands tomorrow if it’s alright for ya.”

“Yeah no prob’ I’ll do it.”

You smiled softly, already busy finding what to cook. You knew Chibs could also cook, but sometimes you just like being the one cooking. While you were busy making dinner, Chibs would usually set the table and poured a glass of wine for the both of you, the smell of his smoke blending with the smell of the food.

After having put some sweat pants on, Filip returned in the kitchen, dinner almost ready. You didn’t do anything fancy, only spaghetti, but that was always great for him after a day working with the club. You put the plate before him as he was turning the tv on. You sat next to him and he gave you your glass of wine.

“What d’ya wanna watch?” Chibs asked.

“Let’s watch Pride and Prejudice!” you immediately replied.

“Again? Isn’t it like the third time in two month we watch it?”

“Yeah but I love it,” you said with big pleading eyes.

“‘kay but next time I’m the one choosin’ the movie.”

You smiled and went to put the dvd in the player.

It was your little habit. Just you two and a movie night, relaxing together. Of course Chibs loved to spend the night at the clubhouse but sometimes he was better alone with you than with the club. And sometimes he also loved having you around at the clubhouse. It all depended on his moods, yours, the day you both had. And right now, spending some time with your loved one, felt like the perfect evening.

“Aye, can’t get enough of that movie, can ye?” Filip put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as the movie just finished.

“I’m sure you love it too,” you joked.

“Kinda have too, after havin’ watch it that many times.”

Chibs laughed then kissed you and you went deeper in his embrace. You smelt his cologne mixed with the smoke and you felt at home.

He let a hand running through your hair and you stared at the paused screen in front of you. The black background was letting you see yourself in Chibs’ arms. You also could see his disturbed face and look.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” you asked, brushing his cheek with your nose.

“Too many things, babe. Don’t wanna upset ya with the club’s shit.” He kissed your forehead. “Jax’s a good president, I trust him enough.”

You nodded and kissed his cheeks. He lit a cigarette and you looked at him, only to meet his gaze on you.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothin’. Ye’re cute. What if we go to bed?” Chibs asked, a small and soft smile on his lips. You agreed and you both put an end – in your bedroom – to another crazy day.

You knew a small evening with you in his arms could make Chibs’ day better, so that’s what you did tonight. With him, you never felt the need to ask him about his day or about the club’s activities because he was the one to talk to you when he needed to.

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years ago

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Sunshine and Flowers

Logan Howlett x plus size reader

Logan has had a great many loves in his long life and he’s over it. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else yet somehow, the annoying and very much younger art teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, wormed her way into his heart.

Warnings: grumpy and sunshine, jealousy, Logan is a dick but we been knew, reader is kind of oblivious and touch starved, age-gap (reader is mid 20s and Logan is old as shit), Logan POV, bit of a slow burn, reader and Logan are Keely and Roy coded

WC: 3.8k

Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Yo Logan!” The seemingly ever present pounding in the older mutant’s temples suddenly got worse, the band around his forehead tightening as the young woman cheerfully skipped up to him without a care in the world. Her arm looped through his own, tucking herself into his side, like she always did.

“What d’ya want?” He grumbled. It was easier to just ask her outright than stay silent and her chatter away at him for an hour before she finally got to her point. Y/N beamed up at him, her e/c eyes sparkling. “Wellllll… I was wondering if you wanted to come with me on a little field trip with the kids! I was thinking of bringing them to the MET, you know because art.” She waved her right hand around as if to emphasise her point.

“No.” Logan said firmly.

“Aw please! Please Logan! Please! Please! Please!” He could practically feel his blood pressure rising as Y/N pleaded with him, pulling on his arm, acting like a complete child. Dear god, what had he done to deserve this?

With the huge throngs of students constantly being enrolled in the school, Charles had come up with the bright idea to introduce an art program to the children as a way of “expressing their creativity”. But what that actually meant was hiring a new teacher specifically for this class since no adult in the school had even an ounce of artistic talent.

And so six months ago, Y/N Y/L/N, a recent college graduate, strolled into the mansion and never left. Her gift to generate small stars gave her the remarkable ability to light her classroom in any way she wished, allowing her students the perfect lighting to create absolute masterpieces. And like her gift, she herself was a big ball of endless energy that constantly bounced around, latching onto whoever she came across, and more often than not, that person was Logan.

For some inexplicable reason, she gravitated to him, always seeking his approval, trying to get him to engage in activities with their students, among many many other things that made the older man truly resent when the final bell of the school day rang and she would float into his classroom, ranting about something or another. The only way he could get her to stop was by distracting her, usually by shoving her in the general direction of her best friend, Alex Summers.

But Havok was on a road trip with Sean and Peter for the next month, so he had been abandoned. Logan sighed as her grating voice made his sensitive ears ring, and the overpowering smell of her flowery perfume was a downright assault on his senses. “Logan, come on! It’ll be soooooo much fun! I’ll even buy you lunch after!”

While the temptation of free food was great, Logan knew it wouldn’t be worth spending the entire day with Y/N glued to his side, forcing him to do whatever she wanted. Taking a deep breath, prepared to let her down as gently as he could, given that his patience was hanging on by a thread, he would probably be more rude than he wanted to be, when he paused, really taking in the young woman.

“Is that my shirt?” He drawled, his dark eyes flicking over her plump body. She was wearing one of her typical outfits, white converse splashed with paint, shorts that very well could be called Daisy dukes, they were that short, with little flowers embroidered on them. Her chubby thighs almost entirely on view with one of his favourite red plaids on top of a black tank top instead of her usual blouse, making her sizeable cleavage pop. Y/N looked away bashfully.

“Yeah, I um found it in the movie room and it looked so warm so I took it and it’s super comfy like seriously how do you get your shirts so soft it’s really weird but they always smell like cigars so I guess that’s the downside. That’s not to say you smell bad! I’m just saying that it’s like your trademark-“

There she went again. “It’s fine kid, just wash it before you give it back.”

“What about the MET!” She called after him.

“Maybe.” He grumbled and with that he walked away, be-lining for the kitchen where he stashed his Vodka, losing her in the sea of students just getting out of class.

“Now, for today’s class, we’re going to go over some art history!” A collective groan resonated through the room but Y/N’s bright smile never faltered, it actually got bigger as she looked over her small group of students sitting around the art-filled room. “I know, I know but this stuff is important! Art plays such a big role in human evolution. Actually, the argument can be made that our ability to create art is what truly sets us apart from other animal species-“

There was no denying that Miss Y/L/N’s class was a favourite among the young mutants. Her rants not only served to brighten up their day but they also prevented her from giving out any actual work. It especially helped when most of them came from Logan’s class the period before. He was quite well known to be, well there’s no delicate way to put this, a hard ass.

So when, during this spring afternoon, with just a month left before summer break, Logan strode into the art class, his heavy boots thundering loudly against the hardwood floors, everyone was shocked. Y/N was pacing the room now, well and truly absorbed in her own thoughts, which became an impassioned speech as soon as the words formed in her mind. Logan cleared his throat as he leaned against the door jam, his jaw cleaned tightly when she didn’t answer or look at him.

The collection of children were now starting to get nervous as the seconds ticked by, Logan’s eyes getting steadily darker with anger, the muscle in his lower jaw working over under his mutton chops. They could all see his famous tempter growing and none of them wanted to be on the receiving end. “Um Miss?” A young girl spoke up, trying to break her train of thought. But nope, that couldn’t stop her.

Logan was getting fed up now. How in the hell did these kids even learn anything with the way she was carrying on? “Kid.” He growled, immediately making the entire class freeze, including the young teacher.

“Oh Logan! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She laughed nervously, pulling on the edge of her sheer pink sleeve. He noted she was wearing a dress today, it was frilly and absolutely drowning in flower print, with translucent sleeves that went all the way down to her wrists.

“Right, Wheels needs us in his office. Now.” He pressed as she opened her mouth to point out she was in the middle of a lecture. Y/N nodded then addressed the class. “All right, students. I guess you’re getting out early today. No homework!” She was quick to jog out of the room before the kids were able to leave their seats, effectively avoiding the clambering mass of them trying to practically sprint out.

Her smaller hand easily slipped into Logan’s bigger one, intertwining their fingers as her left hand came up to rest on his exposed forearm. He felt the cool of her metal rings against his skin. Unconsciously, he noted that he had never seen her wear any kind of jewellery before. “Did Charles say what he wanted?” Her eyes caught his brown ones, falling into step with the older mutant through the quiet halls. Logan just shrugged, fishing a half used cigar from his breast pocket and sticking the thoroughly chewed end in his mouth, a sharp canine slicing into it.

“Hmm.” She hummed, her gaze shifting down to her feet, trusting Logan to guide them to the headmaster’s office. “Do you think it’s a mission?”

“He doesn’t send you on missions.” Logan said firmly.

“Yeah I know but it could be! Stranger things have happened.”

“Like what?” He humoured her.

“How about Peter actually scoring a date~” She teased, making the Wolverine’s lip turn up briefly in a smile then dropped again into a frown before she could see.

“You do have a point.” He conceded. They rounded the last corner and came to a stop outside the solid door of Charles’ office. Logan went to knock, a muffled ‘please come in’ sounded before his permanently bruised knuckles could meet the stained wood.

Charles sat behind his grand desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he looked over a mountain of paperwork that gave Y/N a headache just from looking at it. She pulled her hand from Logan’s and bounced over to one of the two chairs in front of the headmaster, immediately making herself comfortable.

Clasping her hands on her lap with her back up straight, Y/N focused on the older mutant as he took off his reading glasses and laid them on what looked to be his grade book. Logan himself leaned against the doorjamb, much like he did in the young woman’s classroom, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest.

Charles sighed deeply as he looked at his teachers. “There really is no way to say this delicately so I suppose I’ll just say it: Erik’s come home.” Logan’s entire body seized with an emotion akin to fear.

“Fuck.” He snarled. But Y/N had an entirely different reaction. Her face visibly lit up but not with excitement but instead with the joy of someone who didn’t have to lie anymore. Charles raised an eyebrow at the young woman, prompting her to explain herself.

“He slept in my room last night, there was no other free space.” She said casually as if she hadn’t just dropped the bomb that she spent the night with a dangerous mutant who hadn’t hesitated to kill before. “Don’t worry! I was being safe. He slept on my couch.”

“Like that makes this whole thing any better.” Logan muttered under his breath but only Charles heard him. The telepath gave him a strange but knowing look before turning back to the young art teacher.

Her smile wavered only for a moment before returning with full force. “He was super nice to me! He even picked out my jewellery today.” She flashed her hands towards the headmaster, showing off the various silver rings that adorned her fingers. Logan huffed at her naivety but Charles had an entirely different reaction. He took her hands into his own, delicately tracing the metal with a soft touch.

“Erik did a good job, they look wonderful. But Y/N, I still want you to be wary. Erik can be very volatile and unpredictable and his abilities far outmatch your own. Just be careful.” She gave a firm nod. “Although, I believe you could do him some kind of good to be around someone who finds him tolerable.” Charles gave a not so subtle glance toward the Wolverine who scoffed and rolled his eyes.

An awkward and tense silence fell over the trio. Y/N cleared her throat, tugging on the hem of her dress which lay only an inch above her knees. “Is that all you wanted to tell us?”

“Well, I do need to speak to you about this art trip you have planned. Logan, you’re welcome to stay, you might find this information useful.”

“Fuck no, I have better things to do with my time.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. She visibly flinched at his words and her smile became so fake it made him ache. Charles’s own expression fell as he sat back in his high-back chair.

“Then if you’ll please excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” He said sternly, quite obviously not pleased with Logan’s rudeness. “Close the door on your way out.”

As the door swung shut behind him, Logan caught the smallest whimper escaping her lips and the muffled words of his old friend consoling her.

The manor was almost dead silent as Logan emerged from the cave that was his room. There were no sounds of footsteps (save for his own), or screaming or chatter, there wasn’t even the ever present clatter of utensils from the kitchen.

Curiously, he wandered through the empty halls, occasionally glancing into the empty rooms he passed. Just as his dark brows began to furrow with concern, Ororo turned the corner, nose buried in a book. “Hey Storm.” Her dark eyes met his own.

“Logan?” She replied with a curious head tilt before returning to her book. Logan huffed through his nose.

“Where is everyone?” She gave him a strange look and glanced over her shoulder as if the answer to his question was just behind her. The young mutant snapped her book shut.

“At the MET? You know the big field trip that Y/N organised. I thought you were going with them. She has been talking about it for weeks.” Logan’s frown deepened. That was today? Storm seemed to pause as she took in his stormy expression. “Oh, I guess you forgot. No wonder she was so upset when they left. I guess it’s a good thing Erik went with her then.”

Just then, noise exploded through the halls once more as dozens of feet stomped on the expensive hardwood. Ororo sighed heavily through her nose, upset at not being able to have a little more quiet to finish off her chapter. But Logan remained frozen in place, his veins filled with icy terror. “Repeat that last part?”

She glanced at him with a devastating side eye. “Evidently, Erik saw how upset she was this morning when you didn’t get on the bus so he decided to go with her to take care of the kids.” She shrugged and tucked the leather-bound volume under her arm. “She looked like she was going to cry before he stepped up.”

Poison curled in his gut but he quickly stamped it down. Just then, kids and teens stampeded around the corner, hyped up on what Logan guessed to be sugar and excitement. And right smack dab in the middle was Magneto, his head thrown back in laughter, the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders rippling with the movement. His right arm was bent allowing for the soft hand of the younger woman to rest on his forearm. Y/N was smiling shyly at him, not used to the undivided attention he was giving her.

As they passed him, Logan caught her eye. She barely even gave him a glance but he saw the sadness deep within those e/cs and he knew it was because of him. She quickly looked away, drawing her gaze back to the dangerous mutant who was speaking once more, his laughter fading. But Logan couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roaring in his ears.

He watched them until they disappeared into one of the many living rooms of the manor. “At least he got her smiling again.” He barely registered Ororo’s words before she too left him.

This went on for weeks. It seemed that everywhere he turned, Logan would see the unlikely pair together. Whether that be baking in the middle of the night, reading quietly in the library, working on lesson plans, he even saw them training together!

He watched them from afar as they grew closer and her pull away from himself until one day he was walking out of his classroom after a long day. “Wait up!” Unconsciously, Logan slowed his pace , a smile crawling upon his face. He expected the familiar weight of her touch against his arm, the smell of her floral perfume and the bright sound of her laughter but when a blur raced by him, his heart dropped.

Y/N flung herself at Erik who was just a few paces in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug too tight to be just friendly. He caught her easily, his arms winding around her thick waist and tugged her closer.

Logan forced himself to turn away, missing the sad look she cast him, heartbreak clear in her eyes.

The end-of-school party was alive with laughter and music. Lights floated over the small dance floor that had been assembled in the gardens. Professors mingled on the wooden stage, swaying to the smooth acoustic guitar Kurt was strumming. But Logan’s attention was trapped on the centre of the crowd where a small circle of space had been formed and trying as hard as he might, he couldn’t look away.

Y/N twirled in time with the music, her eyes shut as she let it wash over her. Her skin glowed in the golden sunset, the sweat along her brow sparkled like glitter as she moved. Pale green tulle embroidered with dozens of sunflowers floated around her, her dress fluttering in the light breeze. She was absolutely breath-taking. No weight rested on her shoulders nor anxiety in her face. She was serene, she was like a goddess in human form, dancing and delighting with mere mortals.

How badly he wanted to stride across the gardens and take her into his arms, to feel her curves beneath his palms as they moved together. Logan shook himself from those thoughts and took another sip of whiskey. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat but that was nothing compared to the burning rage in his stomach as another man approached her.

Erik, dressed in a matching dark green suit, caught her mid-twirl, his left hand holding her hips in place as he captured her left hand in his right. She fell easily into step with him, her once fluid movements becoming a slow waltz.

Logan was so consumed in his anger that he hadn’t noticed another person walking to his side until they were right next to him.

“Why are you so worked up about this? You’ve made it very clear that you can barely even tolerate her.” Logan’s scowl deepened, his eyes growing even darker with rage as Hank spoke to him. “I mean even I’ve heard about the things you’ve said to her and I barely leave the lab.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Beast.” He didn’t bother to hide the way he was glaring at the pair. Almost as if in slow motion, Erik pressed his lips to her ear, speaking in a whisper so quiet, even Logan’s powerful hearing couldn’t pick it up. She pulled away from him for just a moment and hope bloomed in his chest. But it quickly died as she nodded in response.

Erik took her hand, their fingers intertwining as he led her away. Logan slammed his now empty glass down on the temporary bar behind him and stormed off towards the couple. The music faded away as he ran.

Her laugh carried on the breeze, the skirt of her dress fluttering behind her. Logan ran faster, now regretting the tight suit pants and button-up he donned for the evening as they got steadily further and further away.

Without thinking, he made a sharp left, launching himself over the perfectly pruned flower beds Charles loved so much and tore through the gardens. Then suddenly, she was within sight. One heeled foot was over the threshold but he still had a chance.

With a final burst of speed he grabbed Y/N’s wrist before she could enter the manor, forcing her to let go of the other man. “Don’t go with him. Please.”

“Logan, what are you doing?”

“I can’t let you go with him. Y/N, I-“ He swallowed harshly, his grip tightening ever-so-slightly. Y/N looked over her shoulder to the other mutant only to find him gone. “Fuck why can’t I just say it.”

Her body was fully turned to him now. “Say what?”

Taking in a deep breath, he looked into her eyes. “I love you.” The slap came out of nowhere, knocking the breath from his lungs. Y/N’s jaw was dropped in shock as if she didn’t see it coming either even though it was her hand that now burned with the sting of meeting his unshaven cheek.

“Let me go, who-who put you up to this?” She attempted to pull away from his hold but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Y/N-“ He started but was quickly interrupted when she spoke again, tears spilling down her full cheeks and voice wavering.

“No. You can’t feel that towards me, you barely even like me. You’ve made that very clear over the past couple weeks, no the past year! You brush me off! You make me feel like an idiot! You ignored my blatantly obvious feelings for months and now you say something?!”

“You feel the same?” He asked in disbelief.

“Of course I do! That’s why I asked you to go to the MET with me. I was gonna bring you to the American wing where all the native art was because I know you love it so much and then I was going to tell you. But then you were just so awful to me when Erik got here and you forgot about the trip!” Once again, she tried to break his grip but Logan instead tugged her back and right into his broad chest.

With a massive paw, he cupped her soft jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Can you just let me explain?” Her bottom lip popped out in a pout but she didn’t object. “I have lost so much, too much. Every woman I have ever loved has died because I loved them. And you, you are so young and so beautiful and way too kind for your own good. I love you more than anyone else and I guess that scared me. I pushed you away. But I can’t do it anymore, I can’t watch you fall for someone else.”

“Goddamnit.” She growled before her arms shot out and wrapped around the back of his neck so she could yank his face down to her level, and then she kissed him.

Stars burst around them like little fireworks as he pulled her closer by the small of her back. Her hands travelled from his neck downwards so her fingers could curl into his shirt like she was terrified that this was all just some dream.

“You do anything even remotely close to that whole fiasco again and I will let Erik do whatever he wants to you.” She murmured against his lips.

“Just kiss me again, sunshine.” And she did.

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kengan-daddies · 1 year ago

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The Boy Next Door Baki Hanma X Motherly! Older Female Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

Anime : Baki: Son of Ogre Character : Baki Hanam Warning : Mention of child abuse, child neglect, possessiveness, possessive love

The Boy Next Door Baki Hanma x Motherly! Older Female Reader

The rice cooker beeped, the smell of grilled fish hummed throughout the apartment, and the ingredients for miso soup laid out on the countertop everything was already chopped and ready, and the water was just now starting to boil. The sound of the TV playing in the background was a constant noise, the male news reporter speaking about the weather and anything else that may be of importance as of late. You sighed tiredly as you dumped the vegetables for the miso soup into the boiling water, placing the lid over it so that it could cook properly. You opened the grill on the stove, seeing the fish was just starting to brown. You closed it, looking over at the rice cooker and checking the timer.

It had a good few minutes left in it, you huffed as you walked over to the dining table, pulling a chair out you sat down, propping your chin up in your palm as you rested. 'As soon as this food is done and we eat, I'm taking my tired ass to bed.' You thought as you yawned. You looked over towards the living area, seeing Baki sitting at the small table, his back to you as he sat hunched over, papers scattered over the table as he worked on his homework. He was still in his school pants, he got comfortable, taking off his school top and folding it neatly he placed it on the couch, leaving him in his muscle shirt. You smiled at the sight, happy to see him living the life of a teen.

'He deserves to live a normal life, coming home and doing homework while mom cooks and cleans.' You thought as you watched him scratch his head in confusion and irritation at whatever he was struggling with on his homework. Your smile slightly faded as your gaze trailed along his muscular arms, seeing the scars that littered his skin. 'All those scars, all those years, trying to beat his father, gain his mother's love, to gain their affection... It's so unfair, it's so wrong.' You thought, still bitter with the bitch that was his unfortunate mother. You hated her so much, just thinking about her made your blood boil.

'That stupid bitch had the audacity to tell me, not to interfere with her son's life. "I'm his mother, so it's my job to oversee him how I see fit." ... That bitch... Poor Baki, that sad look on his face as he stared at me, the poor boy felt so bad about getting me in trouble with his mother. But he had no reason to feel bad, I would've faced his mother down a million times if it meant seeing him smile.' You thought your gaze downcast at the table surface, your other hand drew lazy circles with the pad of your pointer finger, you did it for so long till the tip of your finger felt numb. A large scared hand gently weighed on top of yours, stopping your hand. You blinked in surprise at the sudden hand, looking up you saw Baki standing behind you, a small smile on his face but worry could be seen in his eyes.

"You shouldn't do that, you'll wear down your skin." He said his hands scooping yours up in between his palms as he held your hand. "Your wrist will wither earlier with age, causing arthritis." He explained as he held your hand in one palm while the other rubbed your wrist gently. "You need to take care of your hands, Mom, you only got two, and they're beautiful." He said gently, his voice soft yet firm. "They're strong with pride, they're tough with resilience, yet they're still so soft with tenderness, still beautiful with love. Take care of your hands, Mom." He said. You stared up at him, your brain processing what he said, you looked down at his hand and you placed your other hand over his, stopping the rubbing on your wrist. "What about your hands, Baki, they're covered in scars and hard before their time."

You said, your fingers rubbing over his knuckles and the scars on his hand. He smiled. "These are the hands of a warrior who fights to protect, who fights to get stronger, who fights for others... My hands are supposed to be hard so that I can help you." He said. Your eyes softened and your rubbing stopped. "The strength, yes, the scars, no... Your hands are supposed to be still delicate yet strong, that wasn't a choice you were given." You said. Your hand tightens around his. He chuckled as he leaned down, his nose nuzzling into your hair. "It may not be, but it was a choice I chose to carry." He said. It was silent for a while, the both of you just enjoying each other's company, the sounds of the TV, the rice cooker, the water boiling, the sound of sizzling... All of that was the sound of home. This is what home was supposed to sound like.

The Boy Next Door

The house was quiet, the kitchen was clean, everyone was in their beds asleep... Except for one... Baki was up in his room, sitting on the floor deep in meditation, his ears open to everything around him. The crickets outside, the buzzing of the street lamps, the fluttering of the moth's wings, the sound of your even breaths as you slept... All these noises surrounded him, calming him. He opened his eyes and he stood up, a calming aura surrounding him. He stood there, staring at a pencil on his dresser, then in the blink of an eye he threw a sharp kick, he stood there for a moment, his eyes trained on the pencil on his dresser, watching, listening... He lowered his leg he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the sound of wood splitting sounded out, and he exhaled. He opened his eyes, looking at the pencil that was cut clean in half from the lead to the eraser.

He walked over to it silently, staring down at it. 'Soon, soon I'll be strong enough to protect you mom... I'll keep you safe, I won't let him learn of you, and even if he does, I'll be more than ready to protect you.' He thought, a determined glare in his eyes, the thoughts of the demon back flashing across his mind. He broke from his thoughts when he heard your breathing change, he looked over at his room door, listening intensely at the sound of you leaving your bed and tiredly shuffling over to your bathroom. He looked out the window when he heard a tap, his eyes sharp and on the defensive, but he relaxed when he saw who it was.

'Ah, master... It's good to see you... Sadly, I can't let you in... Mom would freak.' He thought in amusement as he bowed his head in respect at the roach outside on his window. He stood up straight once he heard it take flight, he sighed tiredly as he walked over to his bed, he laid down in it, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. 'Tomorrow, I should start moving my clothes over here... I like it here better than 'home', this is an actual 'home' and not some cheap imitation. It's real... And I intend to soak it up to the fullest.' He thought. He looked over at his room door for a moment, before he rolled over on his side, his back facing the door, his body relaxing and his breathing evening out.

His door cracked open, and you looked in seeing him in bed asleep, you smiled as you walked over towards him. 'She's coming in... Why?' He thought as he lay there. You stopped by his bed, a smile on your face as you reached out to stroke his hair. 'She's stroking me?... I mean I'm not complaining, it feels really good... Damn, that's actually a really nice thing to feel... It's real relaxing... I could...' His thoughts trailed off abruptly, as the sound of light snoring took its place, you giggled softly. You just had a feeling that he was having a hard time sleeping, this seemed to prove it. 'A woman's intuition is never wrong.' You thought.

The Boy Next Door

You were in your bathroom, doing your hair, you were already dressed, makeup already on. You were deep in concentration making sure that your hair looked nice. You nearly jumped when Baki poked his head. "OOH!! You scared me." You said as you placed your hand over your heart, you stared at him in the mirror. He smiled sheepishly at your reflection. "Sorry about that." He said. You sighed as you went back to doing your hair a small smile on your face. "Good morning, Baki." You said, he smiled. "Good morning, mom." He said. He sounded so happy, just saying those few words and it made your heart flutter. You checked over your hair one last time nodding in acceptance as you turned towards the door.

He shuffled backwards as you walked out and he followed you like a curious child. You smiled sweetly as you walked down the stairs. "Did you sleep well?" You asked him as you walked towards the kitchen, he followed close behind. "Yeah, I did actually, I slept like a baby" he said in a pleased tone, he really did. It was probably the best sleep he ever gotten actually. You chuckled as you opened the fridge getting out eggs, green onions, and sausages. "That's good, I'm glad to hear that, Baki. I want you to always try and get a good night's sleep." You said, balancing all the objects in your hands as you closed the fridge with your hip. He watched you walk over to the counter as you placed everything down.

You reached up, and pulled the square-shaped frying pan down from its hook, putting it on the stove, and turning the heat up to 8. "Baki?" You asked. He perked up. "Yeah?" He questioned. "Can you get me the oil? It's over in the pantry, top shelf on the left." You said as you washed your hands, getting out knives, forks, and bowls. He nodded his head as he walked over to the door, opening it his eyes scanned the food that was inside. It was all sorts of foods, from easy prep to homemade. Seasonings and additives, condiments, and sugary coatings. His eyes soaked in everything as he looked up, seeing the oil. 'Damn, it's right where she said it was too.' He said as he reached up, his eyes widened when he realized that he nearly had to get on his toes to reach it.

'Wait, she reaches up here every day? She must get a chair or something to help her, why placed it so high though?' He thought as he pulled the bottle down. He closed the door and stepped over to you. He watched as you cracked the eggs into a large bowl, he saw 4 yolks in the bowl and you were reaching for another. "Here you go." He said holding the bottle. You looked over your shoulder and you smiled. "Yes, you can put some in the frying pan, the eye is already on." You said as you went back to cracking eggs. He walked to the stove taking the top off before he poured enough into the pan, watching as the oil slowly coated the bottom of the skillet.

'She's making breakfast for us... Should I ask her now?... I'm not sure why I'm hesitant on asking... Why am I so nervous?... I'm just gonna ask a simple question, and hopefully, she'll say yes.' He thought. He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt your hand touch his arm, gently pushing him to the side, he stepped over looking at you in question. "You wouldn't move when I asked you to, so I just decided to push on in, sorry about that." You said with a sheepish but teasing smile. He relaxed against the counter, his elbow resting on the top as he leaned into it. "Sorry, I was just thinking." He said in a soft voice. You looked over at him, the sound of sizzling loud as you poured in some of the yolk into the frying pan.

"Thinking about what?" You asked him. He seemed nervous, his other hand picking at the underside of the counter's edge. "Would it be an issue... If I moved in?" He asked tentatively. You stared at him for a moment before you looked over at the egg, you scooped your spatula under the omelet, rolling it up carefully, you left it at the end of the fryingpan as you poured in more yolk, the sizzling growing loud once more. You looked over at him, an excited gleam in your eyes. "No, Baki... It wouldn't be an issue at all. You can start the process now if you want. I'll just call in sick and you can take the day off school to complete it." You said. His eyes lit up and a bright smile graced his face. "Really!?" He said. You nodded and chuckled at his excitement. "Yes, really!! We can start as soon as we finish breakfast." You said.

The Boy Next Door

After breakfast, you and Baki got busy right away, he didn't live far so it made going to his place easy. You both went to the nearest storage unit, you bought a few nicely sized boxes, the both of you went to his place, folded the boxes, and got to work. He didn't have a lot of things, but it was enough to fill up five boxes. Two of his boxes contained his clothes, neatly folded and organized by you. One box had shirts and pants, and the other had socks and underwear. In another box, you placed all of his school supplies at the bottom and his hygienic products on top in a grocery bag. In the fourth box, you had somehow squeezed in a folded blanket, and his pillows, and even placed his shoes in a nice bag in the same box. In the fifth box, you placed all his dog's stuff in it. Dog food, bowls, leash, and bed.

He looked at all the boxes in wonder and amazement. "Wow... She was able to squeeze everything in, nice and neat... and even kept it clean and reasonable... I guess, this is what they call 'A Mother's Touch.' ... The ability to make the impossible possible." He mumbled to himself as he looked at the boxes, he looked up at you when he heard you sigh tiredly. Your back facing him as you whipped your arm over your forehead. Before you both left your home to come to his, you took off your makeup and put on a casual outfit. A large baggy shirt and some comfortable sweats. "Woo!! Finally done." You said tiredly, you looked down at the box with the dog things in it. You bent down to pick it up, but Baki's hand on your shoulder stopped you. You looked back at him in question.

"You can rest, I'll take it from here." He said. You stared at him in wonder as he gently pushed you aside, he picked up the box, placed it on another box, and then he picked those two boxes up and placed them on another box. He did that till all five boxes were stacked and then he picked them up with a little grunt. "Alright... I'm all packed." He said, a happy gleam in his eyes as he stared down at you happily. You chuckled and you shook your head putting all your weight on one leg and one hand on your hip. "You're something different Baki, you really are." You said fondly. He giggled boyishly. You turned away from him, rubbing his dog's head gently before you continued on to the doors. "Well come on then, we gotta get you settled in." You said as you slipped your shoes on, and slid the door open. He followed suit his dog not far behind. Once outside, he looked back at the place he once called home.

'For 7 years, I lived here for about 7 years... so many things happened while I lived here... both good and bad... it's been one hell of an adventure... and now, it's nothing more but a place to train at... maybe I'll turn it into a personal gym... I mean, I might as well... It'll be like a man cave in a way... Yeah, a man cave.' He thought as he stared at the building, the sound of you walking away caught his attention and he followed after you. He, his dog, and his mom all walked to their new home and life. A happy smile on his face, a pep in his step as he walked, his hair bounced and his eyes gleamed. 'When was the last time I was this happy?... When I met Kouze?... When I kissed her?... When I fight a new strong opponent?... When I win?...No... It was about 5 years ago now... when my mother died... I was sad but I was also happy... Happy that she was free from her torment, happy that he was free from her constant abuse and neglect... he felt relief for both him and for her... It sounded wrong but it also felt so right... That was the last time, I felt this happy.' He thought.

As he followed after you, your home... No... Their home could be seen ahead of them. 'Home... with a family... My dog, my mom, my own room, my own bed... it feels different now... I've always had my own, but it was my home... Now it's under someone else's roof, but it was still mine... it's so different, it's so domestic... I love it.' He thought as he followed you inside, he kicked his shoes off before he went in further, placing the boxes down on the floor. You smiled as you patted his back gently, the dog went to the couch and he flopped down with a yawn. You both looked at him for a while. "Well, glad to know you're already settled in." Baki said, you chuckled at his silliness as you walked past him and into the kitchen. "I'll fix you a snack, until then get your things settled in, the dog things can go on the balcony." You said pulling down a plate and a cup. He nodded his head as he picked up the first box, and he placed it next to the balcony door.

'I'll get his stuff settled in once I'm done with my own things.' He thought as he picked up the other four boxes before he walked upstairs with them.

The Boy Next Door

Baki flopped back on his back, his hair falling back from his face and forehead, a relaxed and pleased look on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. His room was finally officially his room... He's slept in this room many times throughout his younger teen years, finding refuge in your home, his make-believe life with you. Many times he's passed up on his training to spend many days with you. You were his ideal mother, his ideal home... You were his escape from reality. He'd leave his training behind for some time, never coming to his assigned weight training his mother gave him, never going home to that half-ass excuse of a home that his mother gave him. He'd seemingly vanish for days then he'd just reappear like nothing, expecting a lashing from his mother but he'd never care. He'd skip out on training, he'd miss out on getting stronger, just to be with you.

Just to get your affection, your hugs, your kisses, your comfort, your love. Everything he wanted his mother to give him, you would spoil him with. He grew reliant on you, he'd run to come see you after a training session, and he'd hug you, his head buried in your breasts, listening to your heartbeat, your arms wrapped around him tightly, fingers combing this hair gently. He'd lay there for hours in your arms, even falling asleep sometimes, he'd wake up on the couch, the smell of food wafting into his nose, seeing you in the kitchen, cooking up a meal for you both. You'd just happen to look around, seeing him up on the couch and you flash him your beautiful smile. 'I love that smile... It's so full of love, understanding, and acceptance. I love that smile, so much.' He thought, inhaling through his nostrils as he closed his eyes, relaxing on the mattress. 'I don't think... I'd never fall out of love with that woman... The woman who took the place and love of my birth mother... I love her so much.' He thought his eyes opening, a possessive gleam in his eyes.

"I love my mother... And I won't let anything happen to her... I'd kill anyone who'd even try and separate us... No matter who they are." He said.

#baki son of ogre #baki the grappler #baki #baki hanma #baki x reader #baki x y/n #baki son ogre x y/n #baki son of ogre x reader #baki son of ogre baki #baki the grappler baki #baki hanma baki

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

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Hi! I'm not sure if you've expanded on this but could you explain Malleus' mental age? I fully believe that he's still quite young because of a few of Lilia's lines, but i hear other things from other people as well.

Mmm... I don't think the answer to this is very clear-cut? I think, if asked this question off the bat, I would that that I also lean more toward the "Malleus is mentally young" because he acts in very immature and oblivious ways that are characteristic of a middle or high school student. For example, he is very egocentric (+ fails to consider other points of view) and doesn't think ahead about the consequences of his actions. He just does whatever is natural and most convenient for himself, and his Dorm Uniform vignettes are a perfect encapsulation of this behavior that we see repeated many times over in the main story (books 5, 6, 7), events (Glorious Masquerade, Endless Halloween Night, Vargas Camp, etc.), and other vignettes (his birthday ones, Lab Wear, etc.). We additionally see that he has attachment issues and has trouble when faced with change, something that usually arises in one's teen years. There's also the fact that Lilia tells us that dragon fae are still considered children at age 300 and adolescents at 500, and Malleus is 178 years old (which is way below those values). This implies that the mental capacity of fae works on different scales based on their life expectancy, which varies from species to species.

Based on in-game dialogue, it also seems to be that fae physically develop slower than humans. For example, human toddlers start to walk at around 12-15 months, but Malleus states that it regularly takes a fae 30 years to achieve the same milestone and that he was an “early bloomer” that started to walk at 20 years old. Normally, mental development lines up with physical development, so this would imply that even at 178 years old, Malleus may still be regarded as a child in terms of his thinking, attitudes, and behaviors.

Buuut, as I've said earlier, the answer isn't really that simple and gets muddled by a ton of other factors which are hard to isolate from Malleus's maturity. For one, how do we know that he isn't mentally and emotionally stunted because of his isolated upbringing and training to become a king someday? How do we know it's not his privilege and limited life experiences that explain why Malleus seems to be behind his peers in some aspects? For another, he certainly doesn't speak like a normal high school student, nor does he act like one in some cases. Sometimes he demonstrates wisdom that can only come with the age or mentality of a far older person, like when he imparts wisdom onto his fellow students (book 3, Riddle's Suitor Suit vignettes, etc.). Lilia is also so old compared to Malleus that him "babying" the prince isn't saying much, considering that Lilia considers pretty much everyone else in the cast children or mere babies next to him.

It should also be noted that the development cycle of humans and fae are not exact. For example, while you could probably cleanly line up 12-15 months for humans and 30 years for fae just to learn the skill of walking, their dietary needs differ even when they are roughly the same age. A human infant can only talk mushy foods after milk, but dragon fae babies can already eat seafood and meat on the bone, implying that dragon fae’s teeth come in much faster than that of a human baby. This is a point against the idea that humans and fae age similarly and have similar developmental benchmarks.

So... It seems to be that Malleus is immature (and thus falling in line with the developmental expectations of your average dragon fae), but that immaturity is tempered by him being raised in an environment that demands that he take on more responsibilities. At the same time, growing up with a focus on his future and being granted few opportunities to step outside of his usual environment also means that Malleus has a very limited worldview that keeps him from growing to some extent. I think, overall, I'd still consider him pretty young mentally--but again, just consider that a VERY generalized statement.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Lilia Vanrouge #book 7 spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question

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capuccinodoll · 3 months ago

Text

The Storm

Before the sun hits (chapter four)

Summary: you enjoy Joel's company and a few questions slip from your lips. Careful, a storm is approaching.

DECEMBER 20TH

Your parents left the house just after noon, a departure that felt a little dramatic to you. But, according to your mother, they had planned an entire day of romantic outings.

“You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?” she asked that morning, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, her voice soft with that familiar, motherly concern.

“No, of course not,” you replied, though your tone wasn’t entirely convincing. “We’ll be fine.”

“Got any plans?” your father chimed in, lowering himself into the seat beside you. He adjusted his reading glasses, squinting slightly as if the act of asking required more focus.

Your mom’s elbows rested on the table as she tilted her head, considering. A glimmer of excitement crossed her face, her fingers brushing her cheek absently, as if she had just been asked for advice on something very important.

“I’m not sure yet,” you started, your words trailing off as Joel entered the kitchen. You caught his slow, deliberate movements in your peripheral vision—his presence a subtle ripple in the otherwise mundane morning. He made his way to the coffee pot, and you tried to keep your focus on the conversation, but the quiet sound of coffee streaming into his cup had you distracted. “Mom’s usually the planner. Any ideas?”

Joel settled into the chair opposite you, moving with a certain ease that somehow made everything feel more complicated. You hadn’t seen him since last night—or, well, just a few hours ago. And that fact hung between you like something unsaid, unprocessed.

For a brief moment, you dared to glance his way, trying to detect something in his eyes, some subtle acknowledgment of what had transpired—or maybe of what you thought had transpired. But Joel remained composed, calm. As if nothing had changed.

Your eyes flicked down to his hand, which clutched the white porcelain mug, and without warning, the memory of your dream came rushing back. His hands on you, tracing your skin, pulling you close...

“If I were you,” your mother’s voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, saving you from the spiral, “I’d start with lunch at The Crow. The food is amazing there. I think they even won some award a few years back for the best steak in the region.” She cast a quick glance at Joel, who gave a small, silent nod in agreement. “There’s plenty to do, too. The Sun Gallery’s hosting a used book sale, with live music after six. Or you could catch a movie—shows start around four. You could grab lunch and decide afterward. Maybe see one of those movies you love so much, sweetie.”

“Maybe we could go to Café Ophelia?” you asked, directing the question at Joel this time, feeling a bit bolder, hoping for his attention in a way that wasn’t so passive.

He looked up at you, straightening slightly, his gaze locking with yours. There was a gravity in his eyes, something that seemed to vibrate just under the surface, like he was letting you in on a secret no one else could hear.

“Whatever you want,” he answered, his voice carrying that familiar, unhurried calm.

A smile spread across your lips as you nodded, the small victory leaving you warm inside. You held his gaze a beat too long, feeling a flicker of something risky in the exchange, especially with your parents sitting right there.

“Just try not to stay out too late,” your father added, practical as ever. “They’re forecasting a big storm around nine, and with all the snow that’s piled up, I’m not sure how safe the roads will be.”

Your index finger traced the outline of your lips, gently smudging the lipstick. Retro Frost—the shade you wore more often than not. You’d been standing there, half-heartedly getting ready to go into town for what felt like ages, though you were still in your pajamas. Snoopy pants and all. The cold from the hardwood floor was creeping up through your bare feet, but it wasn’t enough to motivate you to find your slippers. Or maybe it was just that you couldn’t remember where you left them.

It didn’t take much effort to decide what to wear once you’d finally started moving. The chill in the air, the heavy gray clouds promising rain, all guided you to your usual cold-weather uniform. Black opaque tights that stretched smoothly up your legs, the black corduroy skirt that always made you feel a little more put-together, and knee-high boots for warmth. You added a white T-shirt under a thick burgundy wool sweater, the color deep and almost festive. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of yourself in the mirror. Sure, it was a little Christmassy.

As you tugged at your hair, taming a few unruly strands, a soft chuckle escaped you. It was ridiculous how much you were thinking about today. Spending the entire day alone with Joel wasn’t something you’d prepared for, not mentally at least. You’d barely had a handful of real conversations with him so far; a bit of your life drama, interspersed with a wet dream, but who was counting? Still, today felt like an opportunity. Maybe to get to know him better. Though, deep down, you wondered how many questions he’d even be willing to answer.

You left your room, closing the door quietly behind you. Almost without thinking, your eyes flickered toward his door. It was shut, of course. Locked, probably. Was he still in there, or already waiting for you downstairs? A wave of curiosity washed over you. What did his room look like? Was it as messy as yours? Had he unpacked at all, or were his clothes still in a suitcase? Was his bed made, or a complete disaster?

A cough from downstairs snapped you out of your thoughts. Without further hesitation, you hurried toward the staircase, eager to start the day and shake off your lingering nerves.

When you reached the living room, you saw Joel already there, sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out and his focus fixed on his phone. He looked relaxed, his back leaning comfortably against the cushions as his thumb scrolled through a message. The ease in his posture made your stomach flutter.

Trying not to make any noise, you pretended to be just as casual. But before you could speak, Joel asked, without looking up, “You ready?”

“Yep,” you answered, plopping down next to him, watching him closely out of the corner of your eye. He was dressed in black—black sweater, black pants, black boots. The whole outfit contrasted sharply with the streaks of gray in his hair, adding to that quiet, brooding look he seemed to wear so effortlessly.

“What you looking at?” Joel asked, his voice breaking into your thoughts. His tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a playful edge to it. Your gaze had lingered a little too long on his hands—those large hands that occasionally fumbled with the keys on his phone.

“Just admiring your texting skills,” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Nosy,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“So I’ve been told.”

Joel turned his head, his eyes sweeping over you briefly before landing on your face. There was something in the way he looked at you, a warmth that made your chest tighten, though it wasn’t quite as intense as the night before. This felt... softer, somehow. More innocent, maybe.

You shifted, trying to shake off the feeling. “I’m starving,” you announced, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Can we go eat now?”

“Sure,” Joel said, pushing himself up from the couch.

He stood and extended his hand toward you, and without hesitation, you took it. His palm was warm, his fingers wrapping around yours with a firmness that felt secure, almost reassuring. He pulled you up with an ease that brought you just a little closer than necessary. For a second, your body hovered near his, your chest brushing against his arm. But Joel didn’t pull you in further; he simply let go, stepping back. You blushed, grateful he hadn’t made it awkward, but there was a flicker of something between you in that moment—just enough to leave you wondering.

Once outside, you noticed the snow from the day before had mostly been cleared, the pavement dark and wet from the early-morning melt. Joel closed the door behind you, and you caught sight of a sleek black car parked at the curb. It wasn’t the one your parents had rented when they came into town earlier that week.

“I picked it up this morning,” Joel said, as if reading your mind.

“I like it,” you replied, eyeing the car. “It suits you and your outfit.”

He smiled, looking down at his outfit as he buttoned up his dark brown jacket. Then, without a word, he walked over to the passenger door and opened it for you.

“Hop in.”

You slid into the seat, watching as Joel rounded the front of the car and got in beside you. He started the engine, then turned toward you with a slight frown.

“Seatbelt,” he reminded you. His gaze didn’t leave yours until the telltale click of the buckle snapped into place.

The drive into town was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Joel hummed along to a song on the radio, his voice low and absentminded. You watched the snowy landscape roll by, occasionally stealing glances at him. There was something steady and calming about the way he drove, the way he simply existed in the space beside you. It made you feel more at ease than you’d expected.

In a few short minutes, you arrived at The Crow. The place wasn’t crowded, which prompted Joel to release a small sigh of relief. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere wrapped around you as you stepped inside—exposed brick walls, warm lighting, and large windows that let in the soft glow of the winter day. It felt inviting, intimate.

Joel led you to a table near the back, by a window that overlooked a small interior garden dusted with snow. You were about to say something when the waitress appeared.

“Welcome to The Crown,” she greeted with a bright smile, placing two menus in front of you. “I’m Tara, and I’ll be your server today. Take your time, and I’ll be back to get your order.”

Joel nodded his thanks, and you smiled, taking the menu in your hands. As you scanned the options, your eyes landed on ravioli bolognese. A safe, predictable choice—but it sounded perfect.

Maybe today, you thought, wouldn’t be as complicated as you’d imagined.

The food arrived faster than expected. Your plate of pasta sat before you, steam curling upward, while Joel had a massive steak à la fiorentina, accompanied by an array of colorful vegetables. For a moment, neither of you said anything, letting the silence fill the space. That same warm tranquility from the car followed you into the restaurant, like a moment suspended in time before whatever conversation might follow.

You picked up your glass of wine, promising yourself it would just be one. A small nudge to relax. Joel had a glass, too, though he hadn’t touched it yet. You took a sip, feeling the slight warmth trickle down your throat. After a moment, you broke the silence.

“How’s the steak?” you asked, curious, though your voice was light, casual, as if you were asking about something as simple as the weather.

Joel wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin before answering. “The award’s justified,” he said, his tone almost indifferent, but there was a faint gleam in his eyes.

You smiled, taking another sip. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not exactly a steak expert. I’ll trust your judgment on this one.”

He gave a small nod, the corners of his lips lifting in what could barely be called a smile before it vanished just as quickly. Then, without a word, he sliced off a piece of the steak and held his fork out to you, the gesture both unexpected and strangely intimate.

“Try it,” he said, his voice carrying an unmistakable weight. He wasn’t asking—it was more like a quiet command, like he fully expected you to comply.

For a second, you hesitated, your eyes flicking between his and the bite of steak hovering in front of you. Then, without thinking too much, you leaned in, opening your lips slightly, and took the piece from the fork. The moment your teeth closed around it, savoring it on your tongue, you felt a spark of something—something deeper than just a taste test. Joel was watching you, his gaze steady, and you wondered if he felt it too. Or maybe it was just your overactive imagination again, turning a simple gesture into something more.

The meat melted in your mouth almost instantly, tender and rich with flavor. A low, involuntary moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and your cheeks burned as you realized he had definitely heard it. You met his eyes again, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of something in the way he looked at you—amusement, maybe? Curiosity? It was impossible to tell, but it made your pulse quicken.

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“You're absolutely right,” you replied after swallowing, nodding your head slightly. “Tender as butter.”

Joel smiled as he looked down at his plate. He poked a vegetable with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. And you looked at him as if there was something obscene about that everyday action, as if the fork was the only link between your mouth and his. How absurd, you thought, but there you were, trapped in that idea.

You were losing your mind.

His jaw moved slowly, his muscles tensing with each chew, and it was at that moment that you realized you had been watching him too long. Your hands, which had been still in your lap, seemed useless. You inhaled, straightening your posture, and picked up your fork again, trying to return to the normalcy you had before that moment.

“Did you sleep well?” you blurted out, the question breaking the silence. “I mean, you were in the kitchen last night, and it was late.”

Joel arched an eyebrow, his eyes lighting up with something that looked like amusement. That spark in his gaze made you feel uncomfortably exposed, as if he'd understood something more in your question than you'd said. You bit your lip, giving him back a nervous smile.

“I didn't get much sleep,” he replied with a matter-of-factness that made you doubt whether he had really picked up on your nerves. “I'm a light sleeper,” he added, pausing in a way that almost seemed intentional before dropping his next words. “And you talk in your sleep.”

A chill ran down your spine, and your smile, which had been relaxed a second before, disappeared instantly. The look he gave you was firm, and you couldn't hold it. You lowered your eyes to your plate, feeling your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. You prayed they weren't as red as you imagined, but you knew they probably matched the red of your sweater perfectly. What a Christmas scene: you, looking just like another ornament.

He heard you last night, dreaming, vulnerable inside a dream starring him. Joel fucking Miller. But he didn't know that, or didn't know it until moments later when you confessed it to him... practically.

Oh, fuck. The heaviness in his gaze, that flicker of something almost teasing but restrained, made you suspect he was holding back more than he let on. It was subtle, but there—a quiet tension beneath the surface of his casual demeanor, as if he was savoring a private joke.

The conversation in the kitchen resurfaced, sending a wave of embarrassment through you. The memory of it felt like a slow burn, and you were sure it showed on your face. Joel must have picked up on it immediately, because he let out a soft, knowing chuckle, his eyes dipping down to his plate as he cut into his food. The small smile he wore stayed firmly in place, teasingly aware of your discomfort.

"Light sleeper?" you asked quickly, trying to steer the focus off yourself. "Last night after dinner, you were out cold on the couch. I could barely wake you up. So, I’m not sure what you’re talking about now."

He laughed again, low and easy, clearly catching on to your deflection. But the shift in his expression was swift—his amusement faded into something more composed, arms folding across his chest as he leaned back into his chair. The movement widened the space between you physically, but his gaze stayed fixed, unwavering, like he was watching you from behind an invisible line.

“That was the wine, sweetheart," he said, a touch of humor still lingering in his voice. "It knocked me out on the couch, but bed kept me wide awake.”

Your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help the small tilt of curiosity that slipped into your next question. “Does that happen often?"

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Bed keeping you awake,” you answered, trying to sound casual, though your voice came out a little too curious, a little too probing. “Does that happen a lot?”

"Sometimes," he replied, shrugging like it was nothing, his tone light and dismissive, but his eyes hadn’t softened. They were still trained on you, watching your every reaction.

He returned the question before you could overthink your next move. “What about you?”

"What about me?" you asked, caught off guard.

“Are you always that noisy when you sleep?”

Your breath caught, and you blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. Heat crept up your neck, spreading quickly as the meaning behind his words settled into place. He wasn’t asking about restless tossing and turning. He meant last night. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, the memory of your dream flooding back in vivid detail, and you could barely meet his eyes.

A laugh, half disbelieving and half amused, escaped your mouth before you could stop it. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table, eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and playfulness as you watched him. Embarrassment had ebbed away for now, replaced with something lighter, more daring.

Joel sat there, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes—they were focused, attentive, making you feel seen in a way that was both unsettling and thrilling. He wasn’t saying much, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make you feel as if you were under some kind of quiet, deliberate scrutiny. For a moment, you wondered what it would take to flip the script—to put him in this uneasy position.

“So alert, Joel” you said, your voice teasing, a smile slowly stretching across your lips. “Your hearing must be pretty sharp to hear me from your room, or were you... closer than I thought?”

His expression flickered, the faintest hint of disbelief crossing his features before he leaned in, his elbows landing softly on the table, mirroring your posture. The space between you narrowed, his face only inches from yours, the shift in proximity making your pulse quicken.

“I have a pretty sharp hearing,” he said, his voice low and steady.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? At your age? That’s... impressive.”

A laugh escaped him, rough but genuine, as he shook his head slightly, pulling back just enough to break the tension, though the smile still hovered on his lips. He reached for his glass of wine, fingers grazing the stem with casual ease. His movements were deliberate, unhurried.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow the glass to his mouth. You watched the way his throat moved as he took a sip, the dark red liquid disappearing, and for some reason, the simple act felt more intimate than it should have. Something tightened in your chest, a fleeting ache you couldn’t quite place.

When he set the glass down, his eyes met yours again, sharper now, as though he hadn’t missed the way you were looking at him.

“Careful,” he warned softly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of amusement. “You’ve got the whole day ahead of you to mess with me. Might want to pace yourself.”

"Or what?” you asked, the words slipping out with more defiance than you’d intended. You held his gaze, challenging, playful.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Joel picked up his fork, spearing a piece of food with a deliberate, unhurried motion, his eyes never leaving yours. He raised it to his mouth, chewed slowly, almost methodically, as if making you wait for his response was all part of the game. The silence stretched out, and you found yourself studying him, the way his jaw moved, the way the flicker of impatience and amusement danced behind his eyes. It was subtle, but it was there.

For a moment, you thought he might let the question hang indefinitely, like he was daring you to fill the silence first. But then he swallowed, his gaze still locked on yours, and leaned forward slightly. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, low, with that same steady confidence that always made you feel a little unsteady in your seat.

“Eat your food,” he said, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You exhaled, almost a laugh but not quite, and looked down at your plate, pretending to focus on the food in front of you. But your mind was still caught up in the moment, in the way he’d looked at you, in the way his words had felt like a subtle shift in the conversation, like a hand gently but firmly guiding you back to safer territory.

You picked up your fork, though your appetite had shifted entirely. This wasn’t about the food, and you both knew it.

By the time four o'clock rolled around, you'd already been in the bookstore for over an hour. The two of you hadn’t exchanged many words, content to be absorbed in your own worlds. Joel had been quietly browsing the thriller and drama sections, his long fingers brushing against the spines of novels. He didn’t rush you, not even once, while you meandered through the aisles, pausing to open a book here and there, sometimes lifting it to your nose to inhale the scent of old paper. It was a comforting ritual, one you indulged in every chance you got. You noticed Joel eventually settling into a worn leather armchair in the corner, a book in hand—something by Henry James, if you weren’t mistaken.

You liked this about him—his patience, the way he seemed completely at ease in the quiet spaces you loved. Most people you knew couldn’t stand it. Ally would tap out after half an hour, dropping not-so-subtle hints that she was ready to leave. And Liam, your ex, would follow you through the aisles with an exaggerated sigh every now and then, making it abundantly clear he was bored. But Joel wasn’t like that. He didn’t fidget or check his watch; he didn’t show any signs of boredom. In fact, he looked perfectly content, as if this was just another way to pass time together.

You found yourself in the classics section, running your finger along the line of well-worn spines. You were searching for a specific edition, one you’d been hunting for a while. As your fingers trailed over the covers, you became aware of Joel standing behind you, his quiet presence a comforting shadow.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, his voice low, his breath grazing your ear as he leaned in slightly.

“Persuasion,” you murmured, still scanning the shelf. “There’s this edition I’ve been trying to find. I used to have it, but... well, I don’t anymore.”

“Wich one?”

“The Pulp Edition one,” you said, your tone softening as you remembered. “It’s a bit old. My grandma gave it to me. She made little notes in the margins, and she’d tell me to write my own, like we were having a conversation through the book.”

You could feel Joel smile, though you weren’t looking at him. It was the kind of smile that seeped into his voice when he spoke again.

“That’s nice. What happened to it?”

“I lent it to Liam,” you replied, the words coming out before you could stop them. Your shoulders tensed, the familiar sting of frustration prickling at you. “I’ve asked for it back so many times.”

Joel’s expression shifted, the casual warmth in his gaze sharpening. “Liam,” he repeated, his voice taking on an edge. “Your asshole ex?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, finally turning to face him. His frown was deep, the intensity in his eyes pinning you in place.

“He won’t give it back?”

“I’ve asked,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “But after the breakup... talking to him feels unbearable.”

“That's understandable,” he replied, giving you a sympathetic look. His soft tone of voice and closeness made your skin crawl. “I can break his legs for you,” he added, breaking the softness and making you let out a small laugh that got caught between him and the books.

“Sure you can,” you affirmed, grinning. "I'd love to see that."

His lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes remained fixed on you, steady, thoughtful. The gray flecks in his beard caught the soft bookstore light, and for a moment, you found yourself staring, more than you should have, at the fine details of his face.

You exhaled, pulling yourself back to the present. “Well, I think I’m done here,” you said, a slight sigh escaping you. “Can we go for coffee now?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, amused. “Don't need to ask.”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain, but Joel wasn’t done. “Why do you always ask?” he pressed, leaning in just a little, as if he already had some idea of where this was going.

“It’s just... habit, I guess,” you said, shrugging, though the weight of the truth behind those words hung between you.

His eyes narrowed, his frown deepening. “Did you have to ask him every time you wanted to do something?” His voice had taken on a sharper tone, the kind that made you feel exposed.

“No... well, not always,” you stammered, feeling the words tangle awkwardly. “It’s just that, a lot of the time, he was busy, or...”

“Stop,” Joel interrupted, his face hardening with an anger you hadn’t expected. “Don’t waste another word on that idiot. We’re getting coffee. Let’s go.”

There was a finality to his voice, one that left no room for argument. His protectiveness wrapped around you, unexpectedly warm, as he stood and held out his hand. And without a second thought, you took it.

You watched Joel as he studied the menu, the options at Café Ophelia holding his attention. You weren't worried about being caught staring; strangely, it felt like a moment where it didn't matter if you were obvious. His brown eyes shone, catching the glimmer of the string lights that adorned the café, moving slowly from one option to the next, a hint of hesitation in each pass.

You had already made up your mind about your order, having scoped it out the day before. The waitress had mentioned that the chocolate cake was their best, and as a self-proclaimed chocolate enthusiast, you felt obliged to try it, paired with a simple latte. Not at all complicated—at least not in your taste for desserts.

“I’ll have an espresso,” Joel told the waitress, scratching his chin as if he was still weighing his options. “And the coffee cake—is it good?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely."

Joel returned her smile, handing back the menu, then turned his attention fully to you as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Sweet tooth?” he asked.

“Quite a bit. You?”

He pressed his lips together and gave a slight shake of his head. “Not really.”

“I get it then. Black coffee in the mornings and steak for lunch. Just so you know, I’m analyzing you, Joel Miller,” you teased.

Joel chuckled, a broad grin spreading across his face, revealing his teeth. The sight of it made you smile wider too. “And what did I do to deserve such scrutiny?”

“Exactly nothing,” you replied, playfully forcing your expression into something serious. “Don’t you think it’s unfair that you know things about me, but I barely know anything about you?”

He shrugged. “You know some things about me.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“You know I like black coffee in the mornings and steak for lunch.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh. “That’s not enough, Joel.”

“I’m not all that interesting, sweetheart.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Joel sighed, leaning forward, resting his hands on the table, fingers interlocked. His expression turned a little more sincere. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

The openness of the question caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. You could ask him so many things—how could you choose just one?

“Let’s start fair and square,” you began, a plan forming in your mind. You hesitated, watching him closely, but he remained unphased. You decided to take the risk. “You know about my sorry romantic situation,” you continued, trying to sound casual. “I think you owe me some details too, don’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow, pretending not to follow. “I’m not sure I understand. Be more specific.”

You sighed dramatically, catching the way Joel’s mouth twisted into a half-smile, like he knew you were struggling. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Joel,” you said, sitting up straighter, a new tactic in mind. “Have you been keeping up with your medical check-ups? You know, things like prostate exams are important for men your age. They say they’re uncomfortable, but—”

He leaned in, cutting you off with a low laugh. “Oh, come on,” he muttered. His amusement spilled out into a grin.

“You said to be specific!”

His eyes danced as he looked you up and down, and you felt warmth spread through you, unsettling in its suddenness.

“Alright, then. Just ask what you really want to know,” he said, as if he could see straight through your game.

"How's your cholesterol level?"

"Brat."

You bit your lip, feeling a flutter when you noticed his gaze follow the motion. The vulnerability of the moment slipped in before you could stop it.

“Well,” you finally said, caving under the weight of those brown eyes. “Is there someone special in your life, Joel?”

He studied you carefully, his head tilting slightly, a subtle nod following. Your heart dipped just a little at the gesture, but then he added, “Take a guess.”

You squinted, unsure. “Yes?” you ventured, not really confident in the answer.

A man like Joel Miller, who looks like Joel Miller, and is like Joel Miller...could his bed be empty? No, definitely not empty. He was too attractive for your comfort, I mean, other women probably thought the same thing. Adult women, more adult than you, with stable jobs, houses and mortgages. Surely Joel would want security in his life, someone stable, someone like him. With her shit together. You didn't fall into that category, you were the opposite: an unemployed twenty-something with a broken heart, with no settled place to live.

The thought crossed your mind in a second, and you couldn't help but feel a hollowness in your chest as you considered it.

“Yes,” you affirmed at once, Joel staring at you with an indecipherable stance.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, throwing you off a bit. Now you weren't so sure.

“I don’t know,” you answered, keeping your tone light. “Just a feeling.”

He watched you closely, as if searching for a hint of hidden intent, but you offered nothing. After a beat, his expression softened. “Don’t overthink it. There’s no one.”

A relief suddenly washed over you, and you hated yourself a little for it.

“No?”

“No.”

“Why?” the question came out a little too curiously for your taste, but so what.

“That's life."

"Well, lucky you, Joel. At least this way, you don’t have to deal with idiots like...”

“What did we say?” he interrupted, reminding you with a teasing tilt of his head.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, feeling a familiar warmth creeping up. Joel’s smile widened.

“I know, i know. Anyway, don't tell me what to do.”

"Or what?," he challenged, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you from beneath his lashes. That look, with his intense eyes and the playful smirk, made your breath catch.

God, he was handsome.

“Try it, Joel. You don’t scare me.”

He seemed to fight a smile, but then wiped it away, keeping his expression serious.

“Never said I wanted to scare you,” he murmured, voice low enough that it made the air between you feel different.

The sky was alive with thunder, the deep rumble rolling over the quaint streets of Canmore as you and Joel walked along the damp sidewalk. Heavy gray clouds stretched across the horizon, and the air was filled with the earthy scent of petrichor, hinting at the rain that would soon pour down. The weather had turned against your plans—your father's forecast had been wrong, and now it seemed the storm was catching up with you. Despite the impending downpour, Joel walked at an unhurried pace, his gaze lingering on the sky, while you itched to move faster.

“Can we go faster?” you asked, your voice barely concealing your urgency. Joel glanced over, still taking his time, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

“Are you afraid of thunder?” he asked, his tone light.

“No, I just want to go home,” you said, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably. He let out a small, knowing snort.

“The car’s just half a block away.”

You glanced at him, hoping the relief wasn’t too obvious in your expression, but from the way his lips quirked, you knew he noticed. He could tell you were lying; your arm was wrapped tightly around his, your fingers squeezing each time the sky cracked open with another roll of thunder.

It was six o’clock, the evening darkening as the storm clouds swallowed up the remaining daylight. You and Joel had spent the last stretch of the afternoon at the café, sipping lukewarm drinks and talking about everything and nothing. He’d answered nearly all of your small curiosities, but none of those were the ones that lingered in the back of your mind.

Joel reached the car first, pulling open the passenger door and waiting for you to get in. You slipped into the seat quickly, the sound of the rain already beginning to tap against the windshield. Once inside, your heart started to settle, the fear loosening its grip. Joel moved around to the driver’s side, settling into his seat with a calmness that made you fidget.

You glanced at your phone; still no messages from your parents. You’d texted earlier but hadn’t pushed for a reply. They were probably having a great time somewhere, lost in their own little world, maybe sharing a laugh while the storm kept them indoors.

The drive back felt endless, traffic clogged with tourists rushing to escape the rain. Raindrops blurred the view outside, smearing the outlines of pine trees and mountain slopes. Joel maneuvered through the slow crawl of cars with steady hands, the kind that made you trust him even as you grew restless.

When you finally pulled up in front of the cabin, you exhaled in relief, the tension in your shoulders easing. Joel shot you a bemused look as he stepped out with the keys.

“Relax,” he said, his voice carrying over the rain. “Don’t you have storms in New York?”

“We do,” you muttered, following him up the porch steps. “But in New York, I’m not driving up steep mountain roads in a rainstorm.”

Joel just snorted and unlocked the door, gesturing for you to go in first. You hurried past him, brushing your hand against his in your haste. The touch was brief, barely more than a graze, but it left a warm tingle that lingered.

Inside, the cabin was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the storm raging outside. You made a beeline for the couch, sinking into it with a shiver, finally aware of the chill that had seeped through your jacket.

Outside, the rain hammered against the roof, each clap of thunder reverberating through the walls. You switched on the TV, letting the steady drone of a cooking show drown out the noise from outside. The chef on screen was chopping herbs, and the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board was strangely soothing.

You could hear Joel moving through the cabin, his footsteps muffled on the hardwood floors as he went into the kitchen, then upstairs. You imagined him changing out of his damp clothes, swapping them for something more comfortable. The thought made you consider doing the same—maybe trade your boots for slippers, if you could find them buried somewhere in your suitcase.

After a fifteen minutes, Joel reappeared, settling down on the couch beside you, dressed in a black T-shirt and soft gray pants, damp hair from a shower. He seemed even more at ease now, the fabric stretching over his shoulders as he leaned back.

“I just spoke to your dad,” he said, his voice pulling you away from the television. “He and your mom are stuck in town. They’ll stay in a hotel tonight and come back when the storm clears.”

For a moment, you felt a pang of irritation that your dad had called Joel first instead of you. But that quickly faded, replaced by the realization of what it meant: you and Joel alone in the cabin, the storm shutting out the rest of the world. You tried not to dwell on that, nodding as you turned your attention back to the flickering screen.

You wondered if Joel could sense the shift in your mood, if he could hear the way your pulse quickened in the silence between thunderclaps. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t glance over with that perceptive look he sometimes gave you. It seemed, for now, he hadn’t caught on—or maybe, he was just letting it be.

Apparently, is sharp hearing wasn't working.

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