#Chicken Curry Cut

[zorabianfoods]

Check out How to Cook Kongunadu Chicken Curry & More about its existence

Kongunadu chicken curry captures the essence of the region’s culinary expertise. Buy chicken online to get fresh chicken delivered to your address. This Tamil Nadu chicken curry has rich flavours and the taste of aromatic spices. Enjoy a taste of the Kongu tradition with this delightful chicken curry.

Use these Ingredients for this recipe:

Zorabian Pre-Cut Chicken Skinless — 1 Packet (500 grams)

Shallots (Small Onions) — 15–20, peeled

Tomatoes — 2, finely chopped

Green Chillies — 4–5, slit

Ginger-Garlic Paste — 1 tablespoon

Curry Leaves — A handful

Turmeric Powder — 1/2 teaspoon

Red Chili Powder — 1 tablespoon

Coriander Powder — 1 tablespoon

Garam Masala — 1/2 teaspoon

Cumin Seeds — 1/2 teaspoon

Mustard Seeds — 1/2 teaspoon

Fenugreek Seeds — 1/4 teaspoon

Coconut Oil — 2 tablespoons

Fresh Coriander Leaves — For garnish

Salt — To taste

For instructions to make this dish, click here to check out our complete Kongunadu chicken curry recipe blog

[hardcollectionzombie]

Premium chicken curry cut, tender, juicy, and free from preservatives, hormones, and antibiotics, offers a hassle-free and ready-to-cook option to relish the fullest flavours. Whether you're craving aromatic curries or flavourful dishes, these skinless fresh chicken curry cuts are expertly prepared for your convenience. Experience the convenience of ordering chicken curry cut online and elevate your culinary creations with these high-quality cuts.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

I need you to understand that this curry is the first meal I've actually cooked in WEEKS that wasn't just oven ready or microwavable, and I'm eating this like I've never had food before

[gucciyae]

Palimar

Hard feet against cold earthen floors. The smell of jaggery-sweetened vorn being stirred slowly in a dimly lit kitchen. Crows swoop down to claim the leftovers of last night’s kori-rotti. A cool breeze from the west sets a gentle tempo for the dancing wildgrass. I march forward. 

Opa begins his seemingly endless chant, “Left, left, left-right-left. Left, left, left-right-left.”  Our straightened legs lead the way, arms swinging in unison. Summers at Palimar usually followed the same rhythm.

Located in the Udupi district of Karnataka, visits to my ancestral home have become my favourite summer tradition. As the years went on and the family grew larger, so did the sound of crackling firewood heating our baths for the evening, the pat-pat-pat of marching feet against rough concrete, and the roaring laughter of my cousins running through the hallways.

Our visits begin early in the morning, bellies filled with a helping of dosa and chai, we make our way onboard an express bus. If we get lucky, all three of us cousins would sit in the same row. Alas, the Sunday crowd warrants a narrow seat by the bus driver, one that my cousin sister–  Anushka and I squeeze ourselves into.

Each stop is marked by the bus conductor's shouted reminders, followed by an organized chaos of travellers moving in and out of the metal box on wheels. After all these years, Anushka, Aarav and I have learned to sleep through the blaring bus horns, which explains our shock and excitement upon reaching the Padubidri bus stand so soon.

It doesn't take too long for Oma to hail an auto rickshaw, directing the driver with such practiced ease, she rivals a modern day GPS. To an ordinary traveller, the entirety of Palimar might seem to be composed of the same visual elements; local shrubbery, roads that twist and turn into infinity, and the occasional clay house. However, to those of us who pay attention to her little details, the ancestral house leads us onward by the sweet smell of young coconut growing on trees, and the sound of the crashing waves of her backwaters.

The auto rickshaw stops a few paces away from a one story house, cracked maroon and blue paint coats the clay walls, unruly weeds run wild throughout her front yard, and the concrete pavement has turned algal. By the time my grandparents moved away, we were left with no farm animals to herd. However, this does not stop Anushka from her annual attempts to domesticate the stray dogs of Palimar.

We continue towards the house, our bodies coated in a thin layer of sweat from the summer heat, and set down our plastic bags filled with water bottles and steel tumblers. 

“Mom, did you carry a bottle of Thums Up?” Aarav drones, dragging out each syllable in a childish lilt. Before his mother has a chance to answer, Oma returns to the verandah holding young coconuts, ushering us to pick some more from the base of the surrounding coconut trees. And so begins a competition of speed, strength, and differentiation among me and my cousins.

Covered in sticks, mud, and the occasional beetle, the three of us scurry back to the concrete pavement, careful not to drop our hard-earned treasures. 

Now, here comes my favourite part of the summer tradition, hacking open of the coconuts. Opa walks out to the verandah bearing a koiti, and reaches for the pile of coconuts laid on the ground. We all hold our breaths as Opa makes the first strike, exhaling as a thick piece of husk is chopped off. I've always been in awe of his precision, lean hands grip the coconut with the same firmness as his voice. The steel tumblers that were packed in plastic bags are now being passed around, and my father pours out the translucent fluid into each vessel.

As a kid, I found the lactonic notes from young coconut water quite repulsive. I cannot tell you when it was exactly, but as our visits to Palimar grew less frequent, my longing for the cold and nourishing elixir grew fonder. A stroll along Padubidri beach takes me back to my summers of the 2010s, though, my memories have started to blur together— dark smoke flowing out of the chimney before our evening baths, the chicken coop and the incessant clucking of its residents, my plastic swing attached to the bedroom door frame, and Aunty Kalyani along with her cow– which she milked every evening during her visits.

Twilight draws in, a symphony of riverside cicadas makes itself known to us, and the husks of tender coconut have piled up to my height. A heaviness sets into our limbs as we move to pack away the used tumblers, and the air carries the aroma of coconut oil used to prepare the neighbour’s supper. Reluctantly, Opa makes his way down from the verandah, leading us back to the bus stand. All is quiet, for everyone is musing the very same idea– another afternoon at the Palimar house.

I wait another year.

[secundus-cinaedus]

kind of want to make curry tonight but i only have 1 chicken thigh and 2 tendies. not too weird to have a mixed light and dark meat curry right?

[evandore]

omgggg wait i just peeled my potatos i feel so hashtag accomplished...it took me a while to figure out how to use a peeler cause i was only ever allowed to use a knife when i was younger -_-

[thekarikadaiin]

Exploring the Best Chicken Curry Cut with Skin and Fresh Meat in Chennai from Kari Kadai

In the heart of Chennai, where culinary traditions meet modern convenience, one name stands out for meat lovers: Kari Kadai. Known for its quality and exceptional service, Kari Kadai is the go-to destination for those seeking the freshest and finest cuts of meat. Whether you're planning a family dinner or an extravagant feast, Kari Kadai offers an impressive range of products that cater to every need, including the sought-after Chicken curry cut with skin and the convenience of Mutton online delivery Chennai.

Why Choose Kari Kadai for Fresh Meat in Chennai?

Finding fresh meat in Chennai can be a challenge with the bustling markets and varying quality standards. However, Kari Kadai has revolutionized this experience by offering premium quality meat that is both fresh and hygienically processed. Each cut is meticulously prepared to ensure that you receive only the best. Their commitment to quality has made them a household name, and their customer-centric approach ensures that your meat shopping experience is seamless and satisfying.

The Delight of Chicken Curry Cut with Skin

For those who love traditional Indian curries, the chicken curry cut with skin is a must-try. This particular cut enhances the flavor and texture of your dishes, allowing the spices to infuse deeply into the meat. At Kari Kadai, the chicken curry cut with skin is prepared with precision, ensuring that each piece is perfect for your culinary needs. Whether you're making a spicy Chettinad chicken curry or a creamy butter chicken, this cut adds a richness that elevates your dish to new heights.

Convenience with Mutton Online Delivery Chennai

In today's fast-paced world, convenience is key. Kari Kadai understands this, which is why they offer mutton online delivery Chennai. Gone are the days of standing in long queues at the butcher's shop or compromising on quality. With Kari Kadai’s online delivery service, you can order the best quality mutton from the comfort of your home and have it delivered straight to your doorstep. The mutton is sourced from trusted farms, ensuring that you get fresh, tender, and flavorful meat every time.

A Commitment to Quality and Hygiene

Kari Kadai’s reputation for providing fresh meat in Chennai is built on a foundation of quality and hygiene. They follow stringent processes to ensure that every product is handled with the utmost care. From the selection of animals to the packaging and delivery, every step is monitored to maintain the highest standards. This commitment not only guarantees freshness but also provides peace of mind, knowing that you are consuming safe and nutritious meat.

Making Every Meal Special

Whether it's the robust flavor of chicken curry cut with skin or the convenience of mutton online delivery Chennai, Kari Kadai ensures that every meal is special. Their extensive range of products caters to diverse culinary preferences, allowing you to explore and experiment with different recipes. With Kari Kadai, you not only get the best fresh meat in Chennai but also a partner in your culinary journey.

Read Also

In conclusion, Kari Kadai stands out as a premier provider of high-quality meat in Chennai. Their dedication to excellence, combined with the convenience of online delivery and exceptional customer service, makes them the preferred choice for meat lovers. Experience the difference with Kari Kadai and elevate your meals with the finest chicken curry cut with skin and mutton online delivery Chennai has to offer.

[rattkinng]

STEW!!!!!

[dovand]

A foreword: I agree with the sentiment of this post and I don't mean to come across as though I don't. There is nothing wrong with having sensory issues, and there is nothing to feel bad about. It is not my intention to come across as rude or dismissive here. However:

I feel like it should be noted that while it is not morally wrong to eat without much variety, it Can be Not Good for your health.

There are different ways to eat just about everything: grilling instead of steaming, putting something in a stew, mixing it in with something else you like, chopping it up really finely, putting it in a curry, etc etc.

A lot of the common safe foods are things like chicken fingers, bread, rice, pasta—things that are processed in such a way they have little variation. This is fine! Sometimes variation is overwhelming, and you just need to eat something. Eating anything is better than eating nothing. However you're probably not going to get all the iron or calcium or vitamin C and so on from these foods.

It's okay if you eat the same thing every day for the rest of your life. That's literally fine, there's nothing morally wrong with that. I'm just a bit worried that some people might use this mindset as a way to excuse not getting a well-rounded supply of vitamins & minerals. There are some serious health issues stemming from poor nutrition. (There are also some annoying health issues, e.g. if you're not getting enough fibre. (But annoying health issues can and do have knock-on effects later!))

The good thing is that there's no "right way" to get your Nutrience. You can put spinach in your brownies, you can have fruit with your dinner—so long as you're getting the variety you need. The rules of what is Supposed to go with which meal and when it should be eaten are meaningless social constructs. Eat when you're hungry, and eat what you enjoy and makes you feel full and energised.

However, going back on what I've just said a little bit (because mealtimes are routines, and we do love our routines): If it helps, and is possible, I strongly suggest figuring out some sort of meal plan. Even if it's not calendar-based (ie "today I will eat X for breakfast, Y for lunch, and Z for dinner, and tomorrow I will do something different"), a printout by the fridge/pantry laying out the different options for each mealtime (and snacks!) can be super helpful in taking away some of the mental load that comes with deciding what to eat.

Do remember though: Eating anything is better than eating nothing. If you don't have the spoons to handle variety, that's okay—just eat Something.

As OP said: It's not wrong to have sensory issues. There is nothing wrong with you. You're just existing, and your brain is like that, and that's OK. There is nothing to feel bad about.

Yours truly, a Neurodivergent person with nutrient deficiencies :)

Reminder: It's alright if you're a "picky" eater. It's alright if you only eat a few specific foods. It's alright if you don't try new foods. It's alright. You should never feel bad about sensory issues. I love you /p

[dollettiee]

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝓗𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

୧ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨ . . . your husband, romantic yandere! hwang jun—ho comes late to find you sleeping on the couch after tirelessly doing your housewife chores ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

୧ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑/𝐒 ୨ . . . husband! hwang jun—ho x housewife! chubby reader, unnamed/oc baby

୧ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ୨ . . . mdni. yandere, romantic yandere, soft yandere, chubby reader, petnames (yeobo, baby) could be seen as non—squid game au, fluff, bit angst, brief mentions of insecurities.

୧ 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ୨ . . . almost teared up while writing this :<< requested by two people and one of them is @ilikebigredbus28 and anon !!!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 felt like it was stuck on a loop, a familiar rhythm you‘d grown used to. wake up, feed your son, tackle the laundry, put him down for a nap, and then wait for your husband, hwang jun─ho, to return home from work. it was the same, day in and day out.

tonight was no different. your two─years─old son lay sprawled in his crib, his small body snuggled into the blankets. his soft snores filled the room, his tiny fingers clutching his favorite plushie. you patted his round little belly gently, humming a soothing tune, and smiled as his eyelids fluttered shut.

he looked so much like jun─ho, it was almost eerie. the sharp cut of his eyes, the curve of his lips, even the shape of his nose. the resemblance was undeniable, like someone had taken your husband and shrunk him down into a chubby, toddler-sized version.

the dim glow of your bedside lamp cast a warm light over the room, illuminating your son‘s cherubic cheeks and soft, pouty lips. the starry designs you and jun─ho had painstakingly painted on the walls glimmered faintly, a quiet reminder of the nights you spent together building this nursery. jun—ho hadn‘t let you lift a single finger, his hands always on your back or belly, his worry about your health almost suffocating.

you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your son‘s plump cheek. he let out a sleepy sigh, his little fingers twitching in response. “goodnight, yeobo,” you whispered, the familiar term of endearment rolling off your tongue like a melody.

as you straightened up, your phone lit up in your hand. the lockscreen was a photo of you, jun—ho, and your son from your trip to london. he had insisted on taking it, his arm wrapped firmly around your plushy waist, pulling you close as if the gap between you wasn‘t already nonexistent.

the clock read 10:45 p.m.

you sighed ── your gaze flicking to the empty space where your husband should‘ve been. he‘s late again. he always came home eventually, no matter how late, but the waiting still gnawed at you.

you made your way downstairs, the weight of your day clinging to you like a heavy blanket. the curry chicken you‘d made earlier sat on the stove, waiting to be reheated. as you busied yourself tidying the living room, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.

your full cheeks, softened jawline, and rounded shoulders greeted you. you tugged at the hem of your oversized sweater, feeling its comforting stretch over your curves. you’d always been soft—your hips wide, your arms pillowy, your belly plush—and while you tried not to let it bother you, the lingering looks from others sometimes made your chest tighten. but jun—ho had always loved every inch of you, his hands lingering just a little longer on your waist, his fingers tracing the swell of your thighs whenever you were close.

an hour passed, and you were on the brink of sleep, the television murmuring quietly in the background. your body sank into the couch, the day‘s exhaustion weighing down your eyelids.

you didn‘t even hear the door open, but the familiar touch of a hand on your shoulder stirred you. your eyes fluttered open, meeting the intense gaze of jun—ho as he knelt before you. his uniform was slightly rumpled, his tie undone, and his dark eyes were sharp, scanning your face with a quiet intensity that made your heart stutter.

“yeobo,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “why didn‘t you go to bed?”

“i was waiting for you,” you admitted, your voice groggy. “the curry— i forgot to reheat it—”

before you could rise, his hands found your wrists, his grip firm but careful. “shh. don‘t worry about that. i already ate.”

his thumb brushed over the soft skin of your palm as his gaze dipped to your rounded cheeks, a small smile tugging at his lips. “you‘re working too hard, baby. look at you ── you‘re exhausted.”

“i‘m fine,” you tried to argue, but the way his hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, silenced you.

“no,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something darker, something unyielding. “you‘re not fine. you‘re tired because you‘re always doing everything for us. for me. you shouldn‘t have to.”

his words made your throat tighten, guilt bubbling to the surface. “but you work so hard too. i just want to make things easier for you—”

his other hand moved to your waist, his fingers curling into the plush fabric of your sweater as if anchoring himself to you. “it‘s not your job to make things easier for me. you‘re already giving me everything. all i want is you.”

“but i do sincerely apologize for not being . . a good father, or husband, and not being able to be here with you guys.”

the intensity in his voice made your chest ache, and you reached up to cup his face, your fingers brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. “jun—ho— baby, don‘t blame yourself. you‘re an amazing husband. an amazing father. we‘re lucky to have you.”

his eyes softened, but the tension in his shoulders didn‘t ease. instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “you don‘t know how much you mean to me. you don‘t know how much i need you.”

the words lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken depth that sent a shiver down your spine. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him until you were flush with his chest, his hands gripping you as if he was afraid to let go.

as he carried you upstairs, cradling you in his arms like you weighed nothing, his lips brushed against your temple. “you‘re everything to me,” he whispered, the words a soft promise. “i‘ll never let anyone take you away from me.”

you fell asleep that night wrapped in his warmth, his arms like an unyielding shield around you, his presence both comforting and just a little too much.

© all rights reserved ! headers/layouts does not belongs to me ! don‘t copy, plagiarize or modify my works. all works are taken in a form of fiction, do not condone any problematic behavior. ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

[peachsukii]

✮ content. had a depressive episode yesterday and just whipped this up to feel better. a little selfshipy but is suitable for anyone 💕

“C’mere already,” Katsuki calls from his bed, arms outstretched as he lays on his back. “I’m not gonna ask again.”

You comply, stalking over from the doorway and crawling across the sheets into his embrace, face snug against his chest. He sighs into your hair, planting a few soft kisses onto the top of your head.

“Ya look like you needed some love, peach.”

It’s almost scary how well Katsuki can read your emotions. You hadn’t even told him that you were feeling down, he just knew by your mannerisms.

“How’d you know?” You ask sheepishly. You’d gotten to his apartment a few hours ago…how’d he read you so quickly? Well, it could have been that you showed up in sweatpants and his hoodie - your go-to comfort, low energy outfit.

“I just do. S'like a sixth sense.”

“That’s for ghosts, dummy,” you giggle while idly fiddling with the material of his shirt.

You can practically hear the grin in his reply. “Got ya ‘ta laugh, didn’t it?” He gives you a light squeeze and kisses your forehead.

How can two people be so connected? It often left you wondering how you’ve gotten so lucky to have someone like Katsuki around, let alone adore and love you with his entire being.

“Any dinner requests?” He asks, shaking you out of your train of thought. “Y’gotta be hungry, I haven’t seen ya eat all day.”

You pull back from his embrace and pinch his cheek, bringing your lips to his for a gentle kiss. “Oh, is Chef Bakugo taking requests now?”

“Not if you’re gonna heckle me about it. And it’s Chef Dynamight, get it right!” he retorts with a huff.

“Whatever you were gonna make, I’m fine with.”

Katsuki sits up, releasing you from his hold and scoots to the edge of the bed. He motions for you to follow him.

Once the two of you are in the kitchen, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you over to an empty section of the countertop. Effortlessly, he picks you up and sits you on the marble. Katsuki shimmies between your legs, one hand on each thigh as he graces you with a sweet smile - a rare sight.

“Ya don’t gotta do anythin’, sweets. Your job is to look pretty while I cook for you, ‘kay?” He gives you a quick peck on the lips and pats your thighs before turning toward the cabinet to grab his cutting board and spices.

For the next hour, you silently watch Katsuki prep dinner for the two of you. He’s decided to make a chicken curry, one of your favorites, all from scratch. He’s got the sauce simmering on the stove while cutting up the vegetables and potatoes. You’ve tucked your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees as you watch him in his element, bouncing between tasks without breaking his concentration. Before Katsuki tosses the peppers he’s cut into the pot, he pops a small piece into his mouth and offers you one as well. You take it from him without hesitation - he loves to have you taste test and sample anything involving his cooking, even if it’s just a simple bell pepper.

After another 15 minutes passes, the ding! of the rice maker signals that everything is ready to eat. You slide off the counter and skip over to grab plates when Katsuki scoops you up by the waist from behind, bunching the hoodie up your midsection.

“Oh no ya don’t! Sit your stubborn ass down an’ let me get it.”

You sigh in defeat, closing the cabinet as he whisks you out of the kitchen and plops you onto the couch in the living room. Within a few minutes, Katsuki reappears with two full plates of curry. He sets them both on the coffee table and turns to grab the blanket off the back of the couch, unfolding it to drape over your legs.

He does a double take around the room while grabbing the TV remote. “Need anythin’ else, baby?”

You shake your head, responding with a soft “no.”

Katsuki joins you under the blanket and hands you your plate from the table. He settles in next to you, turning on a mindless reality show before kicking his feet up on the table and leaning into you - blissfully sinking into the cushions.

“This shit is so fuckin’ stupid, but it’s fun to hear the wild commentary you do,” Katsuki quips with a laugh. “Like how the fuck do these people even breathe on their own?”

“Beats me, and yet they’re richer than we’ll ever be,” you joke, digging into your curry with a satisfying hum.

Katsuki kisses you on the cheek before returning to his curry, fascinated with the stupidity of the reality show. He knows you’re thankful, never expecting a verbal ‘thank you’ in times like these. Your smile and laugh, along with the return of the twinkle in your eyes, was enough for him.

💥 tags; @slayfics ✨

[hardcollectionzombie]

Indulge in the irresistible charm of Chicken Dum Biryani, a cherished culinary gem where fragrant basmati rice and succulent chicken unite, creating a symphony of aromatic spices and flavours that will transport your taste buds to culinary bliss.

[fireya-x]

family dinner

AO3 Link (for the full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

John asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, to save himself from annoying questions from his family. Turns out, you're actually who he really wants.

[9k+ words]

cw: smut, piv sex, cowgirl, handjobs, come eating

Embossed golden script on cream white card paper - it was an invitation to his grandmothers' birthday party, alright. A subtle attempt at elegance from a woman who thought tea and a tin of biscuits solved most problems. John sighed.

He already knew the drill; his mother, every aunt and uncle, cousins and second cousins twice removed would be there, armed to the teeth with baby pictures and probing questions to make him wish he’d stayed in another country in some godforsaken warzone.

The phone ringing cut through John’s meager dinner of takeout curry, one of his favorites, when he was back in his flat for a short time leave. He picked it up and answered before checking, as he usually did, expecting it to be Laswell – but that voice wasn't Kate.

“Jonathan, my dear boy, did you receive the invitation?” His grandmother’s voice was a robust cackle for her age, a force of nature that kept her so fit at ninety.

“Just held it in my hands seconds ago, Nan.” 

“Ninety years young, can you believe it?”

“Never a dull moment,” he answered, picking at the takeaway container lid.

She laughed lightly, then cleared her throat. “Listen, dear. The caterer is extra fussy. Your opinion is special to me, you know that. It’s not like I get to plan this every day”

Here it comes.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m asking you what you want, John. I have everything else planned.” Of course she did. 

“It’s your birthday, Nan. I’ll eat anything,” he sighed. “Toffee pudding can’t be missing from any birthday, though.”

“Of course, that’s a must! Especially with you visiting! You’ve always loved it as a little boy. Now tell me, is your girl more a partial to fish or chicken?”

The fork clattered onto the styrofoam. John almost choked.

“You’ll be bringing someone, aren’t you?”

He should have said no. He should have clarified, for the thousandth time, that his occupation left no room for romantic walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Maintaining relationships wasn’t something John did, especially when his job included more explosions than birthday candles on her birthday cake. And apparently, eliminating terrorists and global threats was not a suitable substitute for great-grandchildren.

But there was something in her voice. Hope? Excitement to finally see her grandson with a woman at his side? It was her 90th birthday, after all. Who knew how long John would have her still? Seeing him happy was the greatest gift he could give her, and he knew that.

John sighed. “Yes, I will bring someone.”

That she didn't squeal was unexpected, but he knew his mother was right there with her, listening to everything.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? Try Tinder, maybe? How hard could it be to find a woman who’d go on a date with him? But John hated every single aspect of using his phone for anything other than texting and calling — and he gave up when the app asked him too many questions about himself.

That’s when he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He remembered that beautiful, chatty neighbor of his. You'd watched his flat and watered his plants a few times when he was deployed. You’d only met briefly, but given John’s sparsely decorated way of living, he wasn’t worried you would steal anything. But his grandmother's plants were something holy to him, and you kept them alive, and that made you a trustworthy person in his book.

And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd stolen a glance at you here and there, always hidden in a hoodie or a way-too-big raincoat that obscured your figure, and something about it intrigued him.

Before his brain could even process what his feet were doing, he stumbled to the front door and opened it, revealing you, arms full of groceries, struggling to get the key into the door.

“Need help with that?” A low, grumbling voice startled you, and you almost dropped the bag full of fruits and veggies.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

John chuckled, then took the bag from you as if it was something he'd casually do all the time. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, putting the key in the lock. You took the bag from him and wanted to escape this awkward situation with your way-too-good-looking neighbor as fast as possible. But before you could close the door, he intervened.

“Hey, uh, I have a question.” John’s hand ran through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrayed his usual confidence.

“Yes?”

“I – I kinda promised my grandma that I’d bring a girlfriend to her 90th birthday party, and, well –”

“You don’t have one?” The question came out sounding more shocked than you intended. You were certain he had women lining up for him.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t.” His gaze dropped to the floor for a fleeting moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the admission. You tilted your head, looking at him expectantly.

“So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? What’s in it for me?”

“Free fancy food?” He smiled crookedly, and you were done for. How could you say no to that smile? The same smile that had been haunting your thoughts ever since he’d given you his keys to his apartment? Your heart was pounding.

“It’s a date,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink it. The relief that flooded his eyes made something inside you flutter.

“Thank you, I owe you one. Six p.m. on Friday, alright?”

“What should I wear?”

John wasn’t prepared for that question. And he didn’t mean to check you out – but he did. His eyes wandered from your boots, over your hips, up to your breasts – where his gaze lingered a second too long— and then to your face.

“It’s a garden dinner. I’m sure you’ll look nice in anything,” he said, the words feeling ridiculously inadequate the moment they left his lips.

“Very helpful, thanks.” He braced himself for a sarcastic retort, but you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’ll figure it out. Have a nice evening.”

You retreated to your apartment, leaning back against the closed door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was still pounding. Did John, your neighbor, ask you out? The same John who seemed so unapproachable, wrapped in that aura of intensity he always wore, who disappeared for weeks on end to go on “business trips” and returned with a deep shadow under those blue eyes? 

What did he even do when he disappeared? You'd never asked. Even when he'd given you his keys so you could look after his flat while he was gone, there was nothing that gave away what exactly he did or where he went.

The small conversations you’d shared had always been just that— small nothings, polite exchanges with your friendly neighbor. Still, those infrequent encounters always sent your stomach into a nervous frenzy. 

You rummaged through your closet, trying to find something that screamed “I'm a cool, collected woman who casually dates mysteriously handsome men ” without looking like you’d overdone it. A garden party could literally mean anything, especially since you knew nothing about his family. Were you supposed to pick a nice, flowing dress or stick with casual jeans and a shirt? You had no idea.

You stopped your mind from spiralling further. It wasn’t a real date. It was a fake date . 

What were you thinking, agreeing to this? You were doubting your own sanity — but then you remembered the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled, the warmth that radiated from him when he’d helped you with your groceries – saying “no” to him wasn’t even an option. There was something about him that drew you in, a gravitational pull you couldn’t resist, even if it meant playing pretend.

The sundress you wore – he couldn’t even pinpoint the colour, something soft and warm, summery, like the sky just before dusk – hugged your curves in all the right ways, the delicate straps showcasing the elegant line of your neck and collarbone. His gaze traced the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric, the way the skirt flowed over your hips, his mind already picturing how it would look bunched up around your waist when –

Fuck.

A wave of heat - he knew it so well, yet hadn’t felt it in what seemed like forever - crashed over him, settled deep in his gut, tightening his muscles, making his cock twitch.

He shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his pants suddenly felt about two sizes too small.

He’d usually never been one for flowery dresses and delicate gold jewellery like the earrings that decorated your ears. They clashed with the brutal reality of his world. But on you, it was devastating. You were an innocent, oblivious creature walking straight into his hardened, cynical world without even knowing it. And somehow, against all logic and years of self-preservation, he wanted to corrupt every part of you.

His gaze snapped to the flesh of your delicate thighs that left little to his imagination, those toned legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you closer and –

Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip.

He forced himself to look away, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he’d pull a muscle.

This was his neighbour. You , who’d watered his plants, borrowed his toolbox, offered a smile whenever you met in the hallway. The one who’d agreed to this incredibly stupid idea. You were doing him a favour, for God’s sake.

“Ready?” He shoved the word out harsher than he’d intended, the sound completely alien to even his own ears. But before you could answer, he shut his door and ushered you towards the exit. He needed air. He’d preferred an ice bath, preferably yesterday.

You didn’t mind adapting to roles and play pretend at all, but as soon as you arrived at the estate, your confidence got humbled. The house was huge, and the driveway alone was already filled with floral arrangements and all sorts of birthday wishes – an enormous ninety made out of entirely blush pink roses and lavender decorated the front yard.

The garden party was in full swing already when you two arrived. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and chatter, clinking glasses and the distant beat of a live band. John seemed oddly out of place in between the flowers and the brightly dressed guests, like a lone wolf who had been dragged to a tea party.

But as soon as you stepped further into the event, the warm air surrounding you, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus, the smiling faces all around you, your anxiety about the whole thing lessened. 

“Don’t worry too much," John's arm brushed against yours as you navigated through the clusters of guests. He reached out to grab two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “The worst they could do is show you my childhood photos.”

He offered you a drink, and you took it from him, smiling. “Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” You earned yourself a deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest and did decidedly inappropriate things to your equilibrium.

When John took your free hand into his like it was the most normal thing in the world, you felt like this was going to be the easiest task. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget you were living a lie.

Until dinner.

The seating arrangements were strategically orchestrated, it seemed, to maximize family bonding - or torture, you hadn’t decided which. You found yourself sitting between John, radiating a mix of polite restraint and his usual natural intensity that set your pulse racing, and a woman with the same kind eyes as him.

“This is my mother, Eleanor,” John had introduced her earlier, her smile so warm and welcoming you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be playing a role. She seemed almost too impressed when you'd introduced yourself, as if she couldn't quite believe he was telling the truth about having a girlfriend. 

You'd prove them wrong, not for their sake, but for your own growing satisfaction at seeing John surprised.

You were no stranger to the barrage of questions about your single status and lack of a partner from your own family, so you knew how tiresome it could get. You braced yourself for a similar interrogation.

Across the table, John's grandma beamed at you with a delight that melted your heart. You understood then what this was all about for him — fulfilling his grandmother's wish to see him happy, settled.

On impulse, you reached out to grab John’s hand beside yours, your fingers threading through his, offering him a reassuring smile, pretending to bring out your best I-am-so-in-love look you could muster. 

He seemed taken aback, his entire body stiffening for a split second as if your touch were an electric shock. But then he recovered quickly, his fingers tightening around yours with a gentle pressure that sent goosebumps dancing up your arm. He raised your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles that lingered a heartbeat too long.

Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze fixated on the curve of his lips, the way his beard scraped against your skin. Your stomach did a somersault, your senses flooded with a rush of longing that was as unexpected as it was undeniably thrilling.

“So,” John's aunt leaned across the table, her voice a bit too loud, as if intended to break the spell you’d fallen under. “What do you do?”

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your gaze reluctantly leaving John’s hand and focusing on the plate of food a server had just placed before you. Shepherd's pie. But not just any shepherd’s pie. This looked like a culinary masterpiece compared to the frozen meals you were used to eating all the time.

“I work in healthcare,” you answered, your mouth already watering at the sight of the culinary heaven before you. “I’m an ER nurse.”

“Oh, wow,” his grandma chirped from across the table, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest. Her comment, however, was quickly drowned out by his aunt's next, slightly more probing, question.

“I'm amazed you two met with such busy schedules. To be fair,” she added with a sly smile directed at John, “I'm shocked Jonathan managed to find someone at all with his occupation .”

Your fork, laden with a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned mince, froze halfway to your mouth. Your earlier questions about the nature of John’s job came rushing back. What exactly did he do? You knew he was often away for extended periods, you even kept his plants from dying a slow death from time to time, but his reasons had always been vague. “Business trips,” he’d called them, with a shrug and that infuriatingly handsome smile.

“Right,” you managed, forcing a light laugh as you carefully set your fork back down, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “We make it work. We talk a lot on the phone."

“You do?” His mother, ever the perceptive one, turned to John, her brows raised in what you could only describe as disbelief. “How come you always tell us you can’t contact us?”

John cleared his throat and his hand reached for his beer, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. “Kate makes some exceptions,” he explained, his gaze fixed on the drink.

Kate? Your mind scrambled for context, your internal “John’s-Life” file coming up short. “Kate” let him make exceptions? Who was Kate, and more importantly, what kind of job required someone to ask permission to make personal phone calls? And why did you feel jealous - you had absolutely no business to feel this way. 

“Who’s Kate?” You asked, reaching for your champagne flute, unable to hide the accusatory edge creeping into your voice.

“My boss . Sort of.” The golden liquid got caught halfway in your throat. First name basis with his boss? His family knew his boss? So many questions came up, and you were slowly starting to panic. You were supposed to be a believable girlfriend, but you were scared the mask was slipping away by the second. 

“Oh, right, Kate. Sorry, darling. You know how my weeks have been lately. It's a wonder I can remember my own name half the time.”

“She must be happy for you, too,” his mother commented, delicately spearing a piece of fish with a precision that made you suspect years of etiquette training lay beneath her impeccably polite facade. “Finding someone special, I mean. Might even spare her some of your, shall we say, moods .” She glanced at John, her eyebrows arched as if she was sharing a private joke with the entire table, except you.

Moods? You’d always found John to be quiet, reserved, perhaps a tad intimidating at times, but never moody. 

You glanced at John, who was pointedly studying his plate, the faintest hint of a flush creeping up his neck. You wouldn't have thought the man capable of embarrassment. It made him seem unexpectedly human, and somehow even more attractive.

You were about to ask for clarification when Nan seized the conversational reins. “So, darlings,” she asked, her gaze moving back and forth between you and John, her smile widening expectantly, “How long have you two known each other?”

“I think six months?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips.

At the exact same moment, John declared, “Almost a year now,” his voice deep and steady, completely contradicting your rushed estimation.

You froze. The silence that descended upon the table was deafening. 

“Has it already been that long?” you exclaimed quickly, forcing a bright smile and injecting as much wonder and mock surprise into your voice as you could muster. You prayed that your sudden rush of amnesia would be enough to distract them from the giant, elephant-sized hole you’d just blown in your story. You reached over to slightly squeeze his hand. “I suppose time flies when you’re in love.”

You snuck a peek at John, expecting to see panic, maybe even annoyance, but what you found in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He was watching you intensely. And that smile playing at the corner of his lips? It made something dangerous and delicious twist low in your belly.

“I believe that,” John’s grandma chimed in, her voice warm with the wisdom of nine decades lived. “You two are very lovely together.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement. “She’s good for you, Jonathan. Maybe having someone special to come home to will make those long missions away a little easier.”

"Speaking of which, how’s that new posting treating you, lad? Heard it’s a bit of a hot zone, eh?” John's uncle boomed across the table.

“It has its challenges,” John replied, taking a long sip of his beer as if to fortify himself for the inevitable round of inquiries. “But it’s good to be back in the field.”

You frowned. Field? Posting? What kind of job involved working in a “field”? And what exactly made it a “hot zone?” You felt more and more confused by the conversation, it was as if they spoke an entirely different language, a language riddled with code words and shared experiences you weren’t privy to.

“That I believe,” his uncle answered, also reaching for his beer as if to toast to a shared understanding. “Bet your rank will get you far, though.”

You felt John tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours, not letting go. His family's casual acceptance of his frequent — and apparently lengthy — disappearances made you increasingly curious. You knew by now he often travelled for work, but something about the way they spoke, the underlying thread of concern laced with pride, hinted at a world you were only just starting to glimpse.

“I imagine those long stretches apart must be difficult, darling,” John's aunt commented, her gaze fixed on you with a sympathy that only deepened your bewilderment. “But I’m sure you’re used to it by now, working in a hospital and all. Those long shifts must be a challenge, too.”

You smiled, still confused about what was going on—but you also saw an opportunity. It was time to take control of the narrative, to steer this conversation into a territory you could navigate — even if it meant bending the truth further than it had already been twisted.

“Speaking of long stretches,” you interjected, shooting John a look that was equal parts challenge and playful invitation. You’d gone from wanting to bolt to wanting to play this game, see how far you could push him, how convincingly you could both lie. “Remember that road trip we took last fall? The one where we got hopelessly lost in the Scottish Highlands and ended up sleeping in the car?”

As you spoke, you noticed that everyone else at the table had dived into their food, the initial round of introductions and polite inquiries fading into a comfortable murmur of conversation. Nan beamed at you both, her fork hovering over a generous slice of shepherd’s pie, her eyes twinkling with the quiet pleasure of seeing her grandson – even a pretend version of him – happy.

Beside you, John stiffened, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and what you could only interpret as wary amusement. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like velvet draped over steel. “Scotland. Beautiful, isn’t it, love?”

“Beautiful?” you countered, tilting your head and letting out a soft laugh that you were fairly certain sounded far more genuine than it should have. You couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking, the way he effortlessly picked up on your cue and played along. “Those winding Highland roads. They were more treacherous than romantic, if I’m being honest. I was certain you were going to drive us straight off a cliff at least a dozen times.”

His smile widened, revealing a flash of teeth that made something deep inside you melt a little. “I assure you, love, my driving is impeccable. You were simply distracted.” His gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long.

A delicious warmth flooded your cheeks. “Distracted? I seem to recall you being the one with wandering eyes," you countered, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you met his gaze head-on. You weren’t sure if the heightened awareness you felt buzzing between you was a product of the lies you were weaving or something more.

“That’s because you are quite the sight to behold, love,” he said, his voice husky, the words brushing against your senses like a caress.

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to process his words, their unexpected sincerity throwing you off balance. Had he just complemented you?

“You are—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on your chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. You held your breath, waiting, as the air thrummed with a sudden, unexpected intimacy.

“Breathtaking.”

What was he doing? you thought, your heart pounding. Was he still playing the part, or was there something more simmering beneath the surface? And why did the possibility excite you?

The air thickened, the sound of his family’s conversation fading into the background as the world seemed to shrink, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. You weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or lean across the table and kiss him senseless.

Just as you felt yourself leaning into that dangerous impulse, Eleanor cleared her throat delicately.

You both startled, like students caught whispering in the back of the classroom. John's cheeks, you noticed with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, were flushed a faint shade of pink. Even a man like John wasn't immune to a mother's watchful gaze.

“Those rolls are delicious, dear,” Eleanor commented, and turned to you, her tone light but her eyes sharp with amusement. “Why don't you have one?” 

You reached for a roll, suddenly starving, the earlier tension dissolving into a relieved chuckle as you caught John's eyes. He winked at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. You winked back, feeling a warmth spread through you caused by the man sitting beside you, a man who, despite your best efforts to resist, was quickly becoming more than just a convenient prop in this game of play pretend.

You'd managed to escape the clutches of the dinner table without completely blowing your cover, even when, at some points, you weren’t so sure how nobody saw right through you. But then came the real challenge — mingling. The party had moved inside the house, and you were separated from John. 

You silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this whole fabricated scenario. What if you told completely different stories to his relatives? What if someone asked you about his work, for God’s sake?

Glasses of port in hand, John’s extended family seemed very determined to catch up on months’ worth of news in one evening. You did your best to smile politely at every occasion, your inner monologue continuously reminding you to simply not say anything stupid.

Suddenly, a very chipper and well-dressed woman intruded on your personal space, waving her phone in front of your face. “You must be John’s girl!” she exclaimed, and before you could even answer, she swiped through numerous photos. “Look at her – isn't she adorable!”

You leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with the child in the photos while subtly taking a step back, her perfume a bit overwhelming. “Absolutely adorable,” you agreed, putting on a wide grin, and the woman beamed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what children you and John will bring into this world. Aren’t they the greatest thing?”

Children? Your smile faltered. You opened your mouth to respond, to stammer out some vague response about “one step at a time”, but before you could even get a word out, the woman had moved on, already excitedly showing off her offspring to the next unsuspecting relative. 

Note to self: Avoid eye contact with anyone holding a baby photo, you thought, your internal panic rising. This whole “fake girlfriend” thing was rapidly becoming a high-stakes obstacle course, and you weren’t sure you were agile enough to navigate it without falling flat on your face.

You were trying to reach John, a plate of sticky toffee pudding on your plate, wanting to show off that you were going to try his favorite dessert – when a booming voice cut through the chatter, catching your attention. “There he is!” A tall, older man with curly hair approached John and shook his hand with a force that could crush granite. “That last mission you pulled off? Absolute textbook. A captain leading his own task force? The old man would be bloody proud.”

John’s posture stiffened ever so slightly. “Cheers, uncle,” he responded, raising his glass, his gaze darting towards you for the briefest of moments.

Mission? Captain? Task force?

The people around you, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued chatting, casually dropping words like “deployment,” “classified,” “weapons,” and all other sorts of military jargon as if they were discussing the weather.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

All those late-night departures, when you heard heavy footsteps echo through your shared hallway; the vague explanations about “work trips” when you met him outside your apartment; those calls he received at odd hours, his voice tight, his tone clipped, echoing through your shared walls; those calls that always seemed to coincide with a breaking news report or some global crisis. John, your sweet, infuriatingly attractive, seemingly normal neighbor – was leading a deadly task force.

Not that it was any of your business what he did. He owed you nothing.

Then why did this feel like such a blow? That he didn’t tell you beforehand, throwing you into the midst of his family who were clearly all about that life, and leaving you in the dark, making a complete idiot of yourself?

You had been looking forward to trying the famous dessert all evening, but suddenly, your appetite completely vanished. The plate that you held suddenly felt as appealing as cold porridge.

“Everything alright, love?” John approached, noticing the shift in your mood.

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Peachy,” you replied. “Just, fascinating, hearing everyone’s stories.” You stabbed the pudding with your spoon, not sure where the feelings of anger came from.

You shoved the plate into his chest, forcing him to take it from you. “I just need some air.” You turned and made your way towards his Nan’s beautiful rose garden.

He’d lied to you.

Well, maybe not lied, exactly. Maybe it was the sudden awareness of the danger that shadowed his every move, who he really was, who he was compared to you.

You had every right to feel foolish, to even agree to such a stupid idea. But betrayal? You had no idea where it came from, it seemed like an overreach for a situation that had been, from the beginning, just a constructed lie.

Stepping out into the cool of the garden, you breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of flowers seemed to calm your racing mind a little, a welcome contrast to all the voices you just escaped. You found your way to a small bench underneath an old oak tree, sinking onto the cool wood, straightening your dress doing so.

You didn’t hear John approach, but then again, stealth was probably part of his many talents. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, stopping right next to you, an arm leaning on the backrest of the bench.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by all these emotions you were feeling. “Well, the food is excellent, your grandma is adorable, and I haven’t witnessed any international incidents first-hand - yet. So that’s a win, I guess?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, a welcome contrast to the tension that had been knotting your stomach ever since you’d pieced together the things about his life. You’d grown accustomed to that sound, to the way it rumbled deep in his chest, unexpectedly gentle for a man who, apparently, spent his days navigating a world far removed from yours.

He shifted slightly, settling beside you on the bench. You felt the heat radiating off him in the cool air of the evening, an awareness that lingered even though he wasn’t touching you.

“Look,” he began, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, a gesture that was strangely endearing on a man who usually was so confident. “My life –” He gestured vaguely towards the party, the house. The unspoken explanation – “ my life is a full-blown, military-grade soap opera ” – hung in the air between you.

“You know,” you interrupted him, turning to face him. “A little heads-up about what you do would have been nice. Especially that it’s such an important thing in your family.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to throw you into that without a warning. I guess because it’s so normal to me, I just completely forgot about it.”

“I’m a nurse, I don’t really specialize in disarming bombs or whatever it is your uncles like to do for fun.”

He laughed then, a full, hearty laugh, that made your heart flutter faster in your chest.

“It’s not funny.” You said, looking away. “And I know I have absolutely no right to feel – ” you struggled to find the right word. 

“To feel –?” he prompted, leaning a little closer.

“Disappointed,” you breathed. “It’s silly, I just felt like I was left out of inside jokes during dinner. I tried so hard to not let this lie slip, but it could have been so much easier if I had known.” You took a deep breath. “So, while I was keeping your plants alive," you added, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, "You were out there doing what exactly? Neutralizing threats? Saving the world? I missed that chapter in the ‘Good Neighbor Handbook.’”

You couldn’t help the edge that crept into your voice. At first, it had just been a fun little game, a chance to play dress-up and enjoy delicious food. But now, now it felt different. You were, suddenly, uncomfortably aware of just how much you didn’t know about the man sitting beside you. 

The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. John stared at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You probably think I am a complete idiot,” you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, a jumble of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. “I'm sorry, I'm being absolutely dramatic –”

The words died on your lips as his hands shot out, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that was both possessive and unexpectedly tender. His gaze held yours captive, those blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. And then, without a word, without warning, his mouth crashed down on yours.

His lips were hard, demanding, hungry, devouring yours as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, unyielding dance. 

It was primal, raw, untamed. It was the kind of kiss that stripped away the pretence, obliterated the boundaries, and left you gasping for air, your mind reeling, your body aching for something you couldn’t name but craved with every fibre of your being.

Time seemed to stand still — the garden, the party, the lie — it all faded away. There was only the feel of his lips on yours, the light scrape of his beard against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves.

Eventually, he pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the night air. His hands lingered, resting on your face, slightly tracing the lines of your jawline. His gaze was wild, eyes dark and burning into you with an intensity that made you want to melt into a puddle.

You stared back, your mind racing. This was the moment the lines blurred. There had been something there — you felt it. It was more than pretend, more than just playing a game. Desire. Interest. Even though you felt like you no longer knew this man at all, you wanted to get to know him all over again. Taste him, touch him — you blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.

“Would you prefer to leave?” John's hand, still warm from its possessive grip on your face, gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture both intimate and oddly reassuring.

You shook your head. “It’s your grandma's birthday. You can’t just leave because I feel uncomfortable.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of the party for one night,” he murmured, a quick smile flashing across his face. “I’m going to let her know you aren’t feeling too well. Alright?”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your cheek, then, with a low rumble, he whispered in your ear, “Wait here.”

In front of both your apartment doors, the silence was an awkwardly long stretch. It felt like you were both trying to understand what had just happened, unsure where to begin.

“So, um,” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you found strangely endearing. “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded and smiled, “Of course. It was nice to get the dust off this dress again.”

He leaned towards you slowly, and your breath hitched. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you again – would he? Was what happened in the garden just an impulsive decision?

But he hesitated, the moment frozen, and there was something indecisive happening between you. But you didn’t mean to push, neither did he.

He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Good night,” he said, his words careful, as if he were holding back from saying something else.

“Good night,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. The small hope that you'd taste him one more time evaporated.

You turned, your hand reaching for your door, keys almost to the lock, when strong hands grabbed you, spinning you around in a dizzying motion. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours again — silencing all those unspoken doubts and hesitations.

This was real. You felt it; your heart screamed it; the way his mouth was devouring yours, displaying a hunger and desire that shouted it from the rooftops.

Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth as he backed you against your apartment door, his body moulding against yours as if he was starving for the feel of you. You were breathless, lost in the heat of his touch, the way his hands roamed your back and finally settled on the curve of your ass.

You realized then that you had always dreamed of kissing this man, silently, secretly, whenever his eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long right there in the hallway. You’d always dismissed those fantasies as wishful thinking, but clearly, he’d been wanting the same.

You heard a click as the lock on your door was turned, and you felt as his hand fumbled with the doorknob behind your back – all while his lips were still on yours, occasionally wandering to kiss your jaw and giving you an opportunity to breathe. He cursed under his breath, and before you even processed what was happening, he shouldered the door open and pushed both of you back into the darkness of your apartment.

The familiar space of your home was suddenly transformed, and John's touch was the compass guiding you. He didn't release you, keeping you close to his body as if you might slip away. With a smooth movement, he shoved the door shut, tossing your keys somewhere onto the floor.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you up flush against him, the gasp that escaped your lips quickly swallowed by his next kiss. He carried you, your legs wrapped around his waist, until he reached your couch, where he gently laid you down, his body hovering over yours, his eyes devouring you, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

The sofa dipped as he planted his knees left and right next to your legs, and he leaned to hover over you. You were both breathing hard, the only sound in the silent room. The only light illuminating you was the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window above.

“Is this still pretend?” you managed to whisper, your voice a shaky breath.

His eyes locked onto yours, the slight smirk on his face sending a thrill to your core. His hands moved to your hips, deliberately grinding them against his groin. You gasped as you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you, hyperaware of the thin fabric separating your most intimate parts.

“Fuck, no,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He moved his hips again, his hands slowly but intentionally pushing up your dress.

Your skin felt like it was on fire; your head was spinning. 

One of his hands moved up to the line of your dress, and with a rumble in his throat, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry gaze.

His pupils dilated, his eyes dark and intense, as he stared at you like a starving man presented with a banquet. You'd never been so incredibly turned on, no man had ever made you feel this way— John’s simple gesture of delicately tracing the skin around your nipples made you moan so loudly you immediately threw a hand over your mouth, slightly embarrassed.

“No, let me hear it all. You sing so beautifully, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently moving yours away, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and unexpected tenderness.

"John,” you breathed, your voice a shaky sigh.

“This bloody dress,” he groaned. “Wanted to rip it off you the second I saw you standing at my door.” His voice was raw, unfiltered – gone was the nice, gentle neighbor; this was the Captain coming through, the darker, more commanding side of him that should have scared you, but only served to intensify the desire swirling inside you. You wanted to know all about the man he left behind as soon as he stepped into this building.

“Every fuckin' time I saw you in the hallway, those quick hellos were never enough,” he confessed, one hand tightening on your hip, the other slowly trailing down your skin beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that made you lose your mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His words were so honest, it caught you off guard completely. It must have shown on your face right then, because he smiled in return. “Never thought I’d stand a chance," he admitted. "You always seemed out of reach.”

You frowned. “Out of reach?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Figured I’d never stand a chance against the queue of blokes lining up at your door.”

“John, what? A queue, for me?” You laughed, your disbelief genuine, gesturing towards yourself.

He sighed, sitting up, his fingers playing with the lace trim of your panties as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’re beautiful, and tonight, I learned it’s inside and out. You're you, and that's fuckin’ wonderful."

You shook your head in disbelief. His words made your entire body tremble.  He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you. And it felt extraordinary.

He watched you intently, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored your own. “I kept thinking about what you were hiding underneath those baggy clothes,” he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, his fingers slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He felt you shy away from him a little, a smirk on his face stole your breath, as he pushed your legs apart with his calloused hands. “Like I said, so beautiful.” He whispered, his voice so rough with what you could only describe as lust. It made you shiver.

“You know,” you whispered, “The funny thing is, I thought exactly the same.”

“What do you mean?” You watched as he slowly ran a hand along your thighs. A ragged breath escaped your lungs, and you struggled to continue speaking.

“You’re incredible – there’s no way you didn’t have someone to –”

“To what?” he asked, suddenly stopping his movements, his gaze intense. “Willing to take a chance on a bloke who doesn’t know a thing about flowers or romantic dinners? Who spends more time on planes than in his own flat? Whose idea of a good time involves dodging bullets and disarming explosives?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

He was being so completely honest with you, so vulnerable, it sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was seeing you – the real you, hidden beneath the baggy clothes and carefully constructed walls – and for the first time that night, you were truly seeing him . John, who looked like he could bench-press a small car, who radiated an aura of danger as naturally as he breathed. 

He wasn’t some playboy who brought women home every other night, like you’d assumed. He could have any woman he wanted – and yet, here he was, his gaze tracing every inch of your naked body.

He liked you. He’d thought about you.

It felt surreal.

“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Asking you, I mean. Thinking I could never have you, and now –”

You held your breath, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Now what?” you whispered.

“You’re mine.” He growled, and before your brain could even process what happened, his mouth was on your clit, kissing and sucking like he finally got to taste that delicious meal he was promised. 

“Oh god–!” you moaned, your hands instinctively gripping his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. He moaned, and the vibration of it against your skin made your legs twitch uncontrollably.

John’s touch was relentless, his tongue swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you that were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. You arched against him, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more of the delicious friction that was driving you to the edge of madness.

He seemed to sense your desperation, the way your body was begging for something more. He pulled back, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you. His hand replaced his tongue, fingers gently caressing your sensitive clit. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“John,” you breathed, you were speaking without any control over it.

“What do you need, love?” he asked, his voice thick with lust, his hand never ceasing its tormenting, exquisite torture against your aching core.

“I – I need –” You couldn't form the words. Your mind was blank, and your body was trembling with need that eclipsed all rational thought.

He seemed to understand, his gaze softening, a knowing smile curving his lips. He rose slightly, his hands moving towards the belt buckle, groaning as he released himself from the confines of his trousers.

He stepped out of his pants, the sound of fabric hitting the floor echoing in the sudden silence. His shirt followed shortly after, and you were captivated. His body was hard, sculpted muscle, his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers, proof of the desire you'd awakened within him.

You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly peeled off his boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached down, fisting himself, and your breath hitched at the sight.

“Still think you’re not attractive to me, love? Look what you’re doing to me,” he let his thumb slowly run over the head of his length, spreading the drop of pre-come that formed there, and he must have known it was teasing you, driving you mad. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded.

You opened your mouth to speak, to voice the desire that was burning through you with the force of a supernova, but the words caught in your throat. All you could manage was a whimper as your fingers were digging into the cushions, hips arching upwards, instinctively seeking out friction you craved.

You felt like if you couldn't have him, you might die.

“Uh-uh.” His hand reached forward to grab the soft flesh of your tits, one after the other, and his thumb brushed a teasing circle around your nipples, the pressure increasing just enough to make you gasp. "I said, tell me what you want.”

“You,” you confessed, the words torn from your very soul. “For God's sake, I fucking need you.”

John's gaze intensified, his eyes dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He loomed over you like a predator about to claim his prey. With a growl, he leaned down, pressing his mouth on yours, and you could feel his erection pressing between your folds.

One of his hands shot out, cupping the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you captive. 

“You’re going to get everything you need, love,” he breathed, and followed by his promise, he entered you in a deliberately slow movement, almost torturous. He moaned, so raw and primal, it made you clench around him, and your entire body ignited as he filled you completely. His size, his heat, the intensity of the sensation – it sent your senses into overdrive, causing you to dig your nails into his back.

“Ohhh fuck,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, lost in a world of sensation he'd created with his touch.

He paused, holding himself perfectly still within you, savoring the feel of your body clenching around him and the soft moans escaping your lips.

You whimpered, arching your hips up instinctively, desperate for more, aching for him to erase every thought, every doubt, every worry, with the overwhelming pleasure that throbbed between you.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and then he moved. Slowly at first, deliberately drawing out the sensation, his hips rocking against yours, each thrust a slow, agonizingly delicious torture that had you clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving trails of fire on his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice tight with need as he buried himself deeper. “You're so fucking tight – so fucking wet.”

But even in the haze of pleasure, a primal instinct took over. He needed more. He rolled you both over, shifting his weight so that you were straddling his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your core aligned perfectly with his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers working quickly, impatiently, to free you from the loosely hanging fabric.

“Now,” his hands found your hips, guiding you closer, his thumbs stroking the sensitive flesh. “Ride me, love.”

You looked down at him, at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a surge of confidence, of pure, unadulterated lust, washed over you. You began to move, supporting your weight against him by running your hands through the light fur that dusted his chest. 

His hands dug deeper into your skin as you increased the pace, moving faster, harder, riding his cock wildly, completely lost in the pleasure.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you. He watched you, his gaze never leaving your face, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as if he were hanging onto your every move.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Like that, love. Ride me hard.”

His words were a primal command, a challenge that sent a thrill through you, making you even bolder, even more daring. You leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lip, drawing a groan from him that resonated deep in your core.

He tasted of salt and desire, the scent of his arousal filling your senses, making you wild. His hands were guiding your movements, matching your intensity, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge of release.

With each thrust, you felt the coil of pleasure tighten inside you, building towards a crescendo that threatened to shatter you both. You moved faster, harder, your body driven by an instinct as old as time itself. His touch was a brand, marking you as his, and the possessive hunger in his eyes as you rode him, almost send you over the edge alone.

He was groaning now, his words a jumble of incoherent pleas and praises, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggled to maintain control. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs and arms bunching beneath your touch, and you knew the storm was about to break.

“Don’t stop,” his voice was raw with need, his gaze burning into you as if he wanted to sear this moment into his soul. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter."

And with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you did.

A shudder ripped through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath away. Your walls clenched around him, a thousand tiny sparks of sensation exploding behind your eyelids. Your name tumbled from his lips, a breathless groan, as he held you tighter. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth as he captured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over you, leaving you trembling, weak, utterly undone.

After you came down from your high, you watched him intently as he was also struggling on the edge of release. Driven by need and desire, you slowly let his cock slip out of you. He made a sound that sounded animalistic, a groan, low and deep in his chest, an expression of frustration. Your hand moved instantly, your fingers finding his length, circling him, stroking him with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. Your fingertips traced a feather-light path up the underside of his shaft, lingering at the sensitive ridge just below the head before gliding back down to the base, your thumb brushing teasingly against the swollen vein that pulsed with his arousal.

His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed, a ragged breath escaping his lips as you continued to tease him, your touch the only cure for his aching need. You watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath your hand, the raw power he embodied even at that moment of vulnerability.

“I can't –” His fingers dug into the cushions, his body tensing as if fighting against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

You smiled. The power thrumming between you was intoxicating, addictive. “Can’t what, John?” you whispered, leaning in, your lips trailing a teasing path along the hard planes of his stomach. “Can’t hold back anymore?”

His answer was a strangled groan. His body went rigid, and the wave of pleasure that followed was written all over his face. His hand shot out, not to stop you, but to grip your wrist. His fingers tightened around it, his control started slipping, shattering, as his release washed over him.

You whispered small praises, and watched, fascinated, as his release spurted over your hand in hot, pulsing bursts. His hips were stuttering, his cock, hard, thick in your grasp, throbbed, and the remnants of his release felt warm against your skin. He was completely at your mercy.

You’d never felt this bold, this empowered, this reckless. Before you could overthink it, you raised your hand to your mouth and licked his come off of your fingers.

Your wish to taste him, it couldn’t get any more him than this. Salt, sweat, and something so uniquely his. It made your walls clench around nothing, sending a new wave of excitement through you.

John’s gaze snapped to yours, his eyes wide, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring in their depths as he watched you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and reached out, his hand resting on your neck, his thumb slowly stroking along your pulse. “You’re something else, you know that, love?”

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. The sudden awareness of your actions, the intimacy of the moment, sent a wave of shyness washing over you. “I, uh,” you trailed off, averting your gaze, unable to meet the intensity burning in his eyes. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to hide.

John’s hand shifted, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don't shy away from me now, sweetheart,” he murmured and softly ran his thumbs over your lips. “Not after that.”

“That was –” You struggled to find the words, your thoughts were a mess. “I've never –”

“Never?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, the scent of him filling your senses, making you dizzy.

“Never been that bold,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to his lips, their fullness suddenly a source of endless fascination. “Or wanted someone so intensely.”

A dark smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with triumph and something that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Good,” he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Because you're mine now, love. And I'm not about to let you forget it.”

And then, before you could protest – not that you had any intention of doing so – his lips crashed down on yours. It wasn’t gentle. This kiss was a possession, a claiming, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. His hand shot out to grab your neck, holding you close to him.

This really wasn't pretend anymore.

[ontologicalmoki]

easy pan chicken! (soft, edible, tasty, not at all rubbery or chewy, you’ll wow your guests but also just like. Have some chicken, which is a cheap and easy and delicious protein)

this works best with about as much raw chicken as you can fit in the bottom of the pan you’re using. I really do cram it in there. If you’re only cooking for yourself, you can use a small pan, or just have leftovers, or just only put one piece of chicken in there, but I find it’s easier to burn it or make it too dry that way.

Also I like using boneless skinless thighs best, but it does work with any cut of chicken, bones or no bones. You can dice it before you start, stirring instead of flipping when you get there, but I find it easier to dice afterwards.

(your pan should be cast iron or enamelled or non stick. If you’re using one that isn’t, you will basically need to turn the chicken into a soup base to keep your pan from being a nightmare to wash.)

once you have obtained suitable chicken and a pan to put it in!:

Heat the pan over medium heat and put in enough butter to cover the bottom of the pan. Wait till the butter melts.

over the melted butter, put a layer of salt. You’re unlikely to do too much, meat needs a lot of salt.

add the chicken. You want it to sizzle when you put it in, but it’ll turn out fine if it doesn’t.

to each piece of chicken add a splash of vinegar. I like rice wine vinegar, but literally any works. So does vodka.

layer of seasoning. My favorite is a bottle of pre mixed “garlic butter and white wine” seasoning, but anything works. Chicken is not picky. Options include:

Paprika and garlic powder

Italian seasoning and garlic powder

tarragon, coriander, and garlic powder (noticing a theme here?)

curry powder

just garlic powder

garlic powder and parsley

whatever you feel like today

then put a lid on it. If you don’t have any lids that approximate your pan, a sheet of tinfoil works. Heck a plate works. Just cover the chickies loosely. then forget about them until they start to brown on the bottom. This takes like 5-10 min depending on how much chicken is in there and how thick your pan is. You’ll be able to smell it before it burns irreparably (it’s artistically blackened, thank you very much) and it’s fine if it fails to actually brown, so don’t worry too much about this step. Just leave the lid on for a little while while you do other stuff (boil noodles, make veggies, stuff like that.)

Flip the chickens over. Add butter or vinegar if the pan is for some reason completely dry, but this should not happen. Turn the heat down if it does. Cover it back up.

when you come back to it, again 5-10 minutes later, check if it’s done. Do this by cutting into the two biggest pieces and making sure the inside is white like cooked chicken and not at all pink like raw chicken. No pink is allowed. This is not burgers. Put the lid back on if there’s any thing that looks raw. If you’re paranoid about this and unsure, you can just like. Dice the chicken up in the pan. Or use a thermometer I guess.

your chicken is edible! If there’s seasoning stuck to the pan add a tablespoon of water or lemon juice or wine if you’re feeling fancy (do not use rice wine it caramelises. Which actually tastes ok) while it’s still hot and scrape the seasoning up. You can then mix it back into the chicken. This chicken can be served like this, or you can dice it up, or you can turn the heat down a little, cook it a little longer, and then shred it with a fork for shredded chicken.

tldr!:

medium heat

In order:

butter

salt

chicken

Splash vinegar

seasoning (whatever)

cover it

cool till brown, flip, cook till done.

voila, you can pan fry chicken! I have never yet made it inedible doing it this way, you really won’t mess it up.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

another req.... lando with desi reader struggling with spice, he is trying to keep a brave face because theyre with family... but is suffering so bad lmaooooo while reader is relaxed lol.. and then lan doesnt hear the end of it obviously because thats our ghora pakora

gora pakora ୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ

·˚ ༘ ln x desi!reader 𓌉◯𓇋

·˚ ༘ fluff 𓌉◯𓇋

masterlist ☾☼

the dining room buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clang of serving spoons as platters of rich, aromatic food were passed around. lando sat stiffly at the long dining table, flanked by you on one side and your cousins on the other. the desi family hospitality was in full swing, with heaping servings of butter chicken, biryani, naan, and more spread out like a feast for royalty.

lando was no prince, but tonight he was treated like one. a fact that would have been delightful if he weren't trying to survive the heat level of the food.

"so, lando, how's it going?" one of the uncles asked with a hearty laugh as he watched him load his plate.

lando smiled tightly. "great! love the food, smells amazing.

and it did smell amazing. the problem was, his first bite had already set his mouth ablaze. his tongue felt like it was tangoing with fire. but he couldn't back out now. not when everyone was watching.

he glanced to you, sitting calm and composed, spooning extra spicy curry onto your plate like it was nothing.

"how are you doing this?" he whispered, his voice little louder than the laughter and chatter.

you looked up, puzzled. "doing what?"

"this." he pointed delicately to your plate, then drank some water. "it's like you're immune."

you arched an eyebrow, smiling in resistance. "lan, this is mild."

his eyes went wide. "mild?!" He had whispered the words, but they sounded like he'd yelled them across the family. some of the family members gave him some inquisitive glances, so he tried to cover that by laughing and shoving a huge chunk of naan into his mouth to swallow the flames. that didn't work.

one of your aunts spotted the discomfort. "lando beta, is the food okay?"

he nodded furiously, swallowing down what felt like molten lava. "oh, absolutely. delicious! best i've ever had."

you nudged him, barely concealing your laugh. "you don't have to lie, you know."

"yes, i do," he hissed through gritted teeth. "they'll never let me live it down."

by the third course, his brave face began to crack. his forehead was glistening with sweat, his cheeks were flushed, and he was on his fourth glass of water. meanwhile, you leaned over with an innocent smile and whispered, "you okay there, gora pakora?"

the nickname nearly made him choke. he gave you a half-hearted glare. "i am never going to hear the end of this, am I?

you had the audacity to smirk, patting his hand. "nope."

after dinner, lando excused himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. his reflection told the story: red cheeks, sweat-dampened curls, and an expression that fairly shrieked, "what did I just survive?"

they reached the living room, where family gathered for chai and desserts. mango kulfi brightened up his face. he hoped his battered palate needed some soothing.

you made a place for yourself at the table; your cousin shifted over with an open grin to him.

"so, lando," the cousin started, "heard you race. pretty sure you were racing that curry tonight.

the room erupted in laughter, and lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “oh, come on. cut me some slack.”

your dad chimed in, holding his tea with a twinkle in his eye. “you’ve got to build up your spice tolerance, beta. start slow, work your way up. like training for a race.”

lando lifted his head, trying for a playful glare. "i'll have you know, i'm very good under pressure. just not this kind of pressure."

"you'll get there," your mom said kindly, passing him a plate of sweets. "here, have some gulab jamun. no spice, promise."

he took a bite and sighed in relief as the sugary syrup melted in his mouth. "finally, something safe."

you leaned closer, grinning. “you’re such a drama queen. it wasn’t that bad.”

he raised an eyebrow. “not that bad? my tongue’s considering retirement.”

by the time everyone left, the family had officially adopted Lando as their favorite comedic punching bag. As lando and you walked to the car, the cool night air providing much-needed relief, he let out a long sigh.

"i could not have taken it sitting down," he said, turning to look at her. "I would have died before that."

"oh god, that was the spiciest meal i've ever had in my life,"

"what about the quadrant hot wings video?" you teased. "besides, your little drama was cute."

he turned and stopped on the sidewalk, staring at you. "cute? cute? i nearly fought my life over there!"

you let out a giggle, grabbing his hand to pull him towards the car. "alright, mere gore pakore, let's go before you start crying again."

he groaned, shaking his head as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “alright, gora pakora’s getting his revenge next week. you’re trying british cuisine.”

you laughed. “deal. good luck finding something with flavor.”

his mock-offended gasp was drowned out by your laughter as thw two of you drove off, the night filled with the sound of your banter—and his not-so-subtle vow to conquer spice one day.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

i hope you like it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 4: chicken curry

contents: gojo satoru x reader, tw!ptsd, mental health issues, swearing, mild angst/comfort, hesitant fluff, no one is good at feelings, 2 idiots summary: gojo shows up unannounced during one of your solo missions. in a battle of egos, you pick a fight when you mistake his worry for bravado. 

wc: 4.1 k

something in gojo’s stomach drops, barriers breaking, white anger over taking his thoughts.  “fine, fucking fine! next time babe, I’ll just stand by and watch you get slaughtered- ”  “you should have left me to die then, save yourself the trouble! Looks like you regret your decision.” You counter deathly calm, not sparing him a second glance before slamming the door in his face. 

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

you had to start running faster. the growing pounding of your heart led the rhythm of your quick steps. your lungs started to feel the strain as you dodged yet another attack, adrenaline carrying you. you grinned, blood pumping through your veins, there was a guilty and growing part of you loved the chase.  perhaps it was because you felt the most alive when you were running for your life. you felt the wind in your hair - it was colder than usual for this time of year, your breath making clouds from your rapid exhale. the rustling of the trees stilled as they turned into ash beside you, a reminder of your mortality.

in the brief yaga provided instructed you to locate and eliminate a second grade curse in Hiroshima. there were multiple reports of disembodied giggling near the primary school and mysterious cuts that appeared on children near the forest but when reports escalated to missing children is when you were assigned. on the third day you quickly found that it was stemming from the abandoned orphanage near by. the mission was straightforward, a walk in the park -  until multiple lower level curses decided to join all the fun. 

now you were running through the forest the low sun chasing you, trying to lead all the curses away from the town. You scoffed sensing at least 20 weaker curses within the area, converging together.

where did they did they all come from? 

shit. you dodged another blast that formed a deep crater in the ground to the left of you, you slightly stumble at your sloppy the landing.  sensing something close, you take another curse just in time before choosing to make a run for it rather than fight them all at once. You’d rather avoid a battle of attrition - you had to save your cursed energy for the second grade still lurking around  - you needed to be careful. 

the trees looked familiar, branches snapping easily, just like the necks of the children screamed and screamed when -  you tsked, as you felt a searing hot pain on back of your right bicep. 

you sighed heavily. how annoying. this really wasn’t the time.  it was the first flashback from Shirakawa that you had in a long while. you frowned, you thought you were doing better. for a while you worried if you were losing it, and this recent set back confirms that you may have.

you felt the blood trickle down your forearm, while you jumped to dodge yet another attack, perching in the trees to see where they were all coming from. concentrating your energy, you send a blast from behind you, effectively taking care of the 2 curses tailing you at once. gazing through the bush, you can see at least 10 curses converging in the distance.

fuck. this was getting bad. you had to move it before-

your breath stalls, the air shifts.  you feel it before you see it, cursed energy surging… this was definitely more than a second grade - this was at least a first grade. huh. It wouldn’t be the first time that the brief was slightly off, but it seemed like this was happening more and more lately.

quickly jumping to the ground, you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up - it must be close. turning, you see it: a creature with multiple gangly long limbs, its  body covered in long, dark black hair. rising 16 feet behind the trees, attached to it’s thin neck was an upside down humanoid head, in place of its eyes and mouth were black holes filled with multiples rows of sharp teeth. the lower level curses wind around the black mass of hair, swarming with renewed energy. you dont want to think about what happened at the orphanage to create this monster.

once it spots you, it jerks its legs uncoordinatedly, running on it’s 6 legs as it stalks towards you with surprising speed. 

fuck the strategy. if it wants to play, let’s play. a chaotic grin dances its way to your face. you love a challenge. 

you begin to run towards the curse, it charges towards you in return the cold air filled with it’s echoing giggles with the voices of hundreds of children. 

you remembered the children, you saw them in your nightmares as their heads rolled off their bodies, their screams for help right before - stop. stop. you had to concentrate what was left of your cursed energy before - 

abruptly you sense an unmistakeable force, his cursed energy. your jaw tenses in annoyance, it was unmistakable.

why was he here? you didn’t need his help. 

you felt another sharp pain on your left calf as a smaller curses slices into you. Shit.

you needed to focus, breathing heavily now you jolt to avoid the multiple curses trailing you as you blast a curse away – there were just way too many of them. in the chaos you take your eyes off the of the long limbed monster, dodging a gangly limb at the last second, cringing as you feel the coarse hair on your skin.  

“OYYY! BABE. MOVE!” you hear in the distance. your eyes widen, you turn your head just in time to see a ball of blue tumbling quickly towards you. swearing at his recklessness, you sprint as fast as you could through the trees just in time before the ball of energy lights up the darkening sky, overwhelming the shaggy haired curse and obliterating the remaining smaller curses. just like gojo, the blue energy leaves only destruction in its path - the silence after the chaos deafening.

breathing heavily, a grating voice brings you back to reality.

“heh, I knew I’d find you. suguru owes me 1000 yen.” gojo appears from behind the trees, dark glasses shielding his bright eyes, his stark white hair almost glowing in evening sky. “did ya miss me?”

your temper soars. you were almost shaking with the bitter anger that filled up your stomach, shame anchoring your rage. 

“why are you here, gojo?” you have yet to turn around and face him, you're afraid that if you do you're going to kill him.

“what I can’t see my favourite  - what?” at his cocky tone falters when he notices your shaking clenched fists.

“are you fucking kidding me right now?” you spit out, hands crossed across your chest acting as a lock to prevent your raging emotions from escaping. you stomp past him as the veil above you disappears.

“.. what’s wrong? hey!” 

he trails after you in the halls, calling your name. 

“–look, it’s fine! at the end of the day, the curse is gon-“

you slam the door to your room, leaving gojo standing at the threshold.

pacing around your room, finding some pajamas before practically ripping off your uniform. you were done for the day but more importantly, you were done with him.

how dare he? did he think that you were weak? incapable? useless? worthless? 

you scoff, pulling up your shorts. he had no right to make decisions for you - he was so fucking inconsiderate, selfish and so, so infuriating. you shove the oversized tshirt over your head, muttering profanities about the white haired menace.

his incessant knocking on your door was adding to your rising blood pressure. “heyyyy! hey! cmon, don’t be difficult. let’s talk about this!” he calls your name multiple times, each time his tone getting progressively less and less playful.

gojo whines your name from behind the closed door. “…are you going to make me wait here all night? At least get your wounds fixed by shoko!” 

of course you were. he could rot there for all you care, it’s what he deserved. 

“You can’t keep running forever, babe!” 

you hear his persistent knocks, echoing the beat of your heart.  

“look if you don’t open the door, i’m going to blue it open in three, two, on-“ 

It’s so like him to force your hand.

you rip open the door, hot tempered and ready to tear into him. standing in front of you, his foot was tapping, gojo’s patience wearing thin.  

“what? gonna try and blue me again tonight?” you spit out, resentment dripping from your voice. you would have rather been caught in the crossfire than rely on him. 

He scoffs. His hands frustratingly fluffing his already messy hair. when you looked into his eyes, the blue was stormy electric, his presence oozing with frustration. 

he scoffs. "please, I knew where you were. you were being reckless. If i hadn’t showed up-“

“I was being reckless?” you step towards him, temper showing. “How would you know, you didn’t even let me try! i didn’t need your fucking help! and then you – you show up –unannounced –  to my mission, and –“ you turn your back to him clenching your fists. You were showing too much - you had to control yourself.  You didn’t want him to see you like this. you had to reign in the storm that brewed within you, the same one that you saw currently in his eyes.

“yaga said you were missing for 4 hours. if I hadn’t shown up you could’ve gotten yourself fucking killed, ba –“ he adds taking a step closer to you. you whip your face towards him, meeting him half way , your face right up against his, noses almost touching. The tension is thick, his condescending tone stomping on what little control you had.

“don’t you fucking dare call me babe.” you whisper, dangerously challenging the strongest. “youre so full of yourself that you can’t even see what you’ve done wrong.”

his eyes dart to your lips, and back up to your furious face, his cheeks blushing for millisecond before his eyebrows further slant down to match his lips. 

he spits out your name with malice, a warning, his cursed energy being to swirl dangerously. his eyes narrow, 

“just swallow your fucking pride and say thank you for your help, gojo and move on -“

he’s so close that you feel his frustration, you feel the tenseness in his muscles, the tightness in his jaw, the thinness of his lips

“thank you?” laugh humourlessly, your bruised ego poisoning your rational mind. “you know what your problem is?” You tense your jaw. “you always think you know better.” Your eyes narrow, “you just don’t fucking care as long as you’re right do you?”

“what the hell are you talking about– why would I still be here if I didn’t care!?”

“you don’t - do you fucking pity me? Is that it, gojo? you think that im so weak that I can’t take out some stupid curse by myself? that I can’t even win against my own mind?” you take a step back, turning away from him, insecurity consuming you. you rope your arms around yourself, unable to hold back your finely controlled feelings back from him.  “you think I want to hear the screaming of people i failed to save? How I see them dying?” you couldn’t look at him. you want to beat at his chest, make him understand what he’s done, but you were too embarrassed that he not only destroyed the curse in Hiroshima but your pride and ego as well. You hated how he made you feel this way, how you he made you lose control in his presence.

“what?! that’s not –I didn’t know-  “ his eyes flashing. 

you had enough. he was too much. he was always too much.

“I don’t need help. I don’t need your pity. And I sure as hell don’t need you.”

something in gojo’s stomach drops, barriers breaking, white anger over taking his thoughts. 

“fine, fucking fine! next time babe, i’ll just stand by and watch you get slaughtered- ” 

“you should have left me to die then, save yourself the trouble! looks like you regret your decision.” you counter deathly calm, not sparing him a second glance before slamming the door in his face. 

through the closed door you hear him sigh heavily before his retreating footsteps signal his leave. 

you watched the shadows move across your wall, how long has it been now? 

tossing and turning, you dramatically sigh: you couldn’t sleep. giving up, you decided to grab your phone to check the time: 2:17 AM.

sighing you rub your face with your hand, you grab your phone and irritatingly shift the covers off of you. you feel your stomach rumble. maybe if you ate something you’d be able to get some sleep. as your socked feet stomp across your dark room, your mind wanders, would you have been able to take down that curse if he hadn’t shown up?  afraid of your answer, you wrench open your door, you stumble at the mass of sanrio plasters, disinfectant and gauze left at the foot of your door. 

you blink owlishly. ah. gojo.

your gaze softens slightly, before irritation returns at the echo of his scalding words. grabbing the medical supplies you put them on your desk before shutting the door once more. 

heading to the kitchen, you turned on the lights idly.

opening the fridge, you sigh. moving over geto's neatly labelled kimchi fried rice and shoko's half empty strawberry milk, you take out some chicken, potatoes, carrots and onions.  you could've gotten yourself killed, he said.

grabbing a pot you sear the chicken, ensuring that there was even browning before adding the prepared vegetables. 

you were reckless, he said. that was the first time you’ve seen gojo so irritated at you. his eyes looked so different, no playful glint complimenting blue, no bounce in his step, no humour in his tone. 

reckless, my ass.

you roughly add some water to the pot before adding the curry cubes. 

why did he have look at you like that when he showed up anyway? 

closing the lid you wait for it to simmer as you take out some leftover rice from the fridge, moving it to a dish to heat in the microwave. you tapped your fingers on the countertops, mind still restless.

suddenly the kitchen door swings open. wide eyes meeting tired blue. gojo looks unusually worn and tired, his back slightly hunched over. a stand still, a pregnant pause, eyes meeting unsure of how to start a conversation. it's awkward. he opens his mouth before the beeping of the microwave interrupts him. 

“i’ll.. i’ll go,” he says in a low voice. through his hardened expression you can detect that his eyes void of irritation, fatigue replacing it. he sheepishly fluffs the back of his hair, your eyes spot his loose tshirt riding up uncovering his toned abdomen. 

gojo turns his body to leave, but your feet lead you to him. out of your own accord you find that your arm quickly reaches for him. you grab the back his bicep to stop him in his tracks.

“..was it you? the uh.. medical supplies?”

“..yeah.” be gulps, unsure if he should prepare for another fight. he cant help but notice how sweet you look - messy hair, comfortable clothing, a soft frown painted on your face. you were usually so controlled, seeing you this way felt almost forbidden. a secret that he wanted to keep for himself.

“.. thanks.” a quiet thought.

eyebrow raised, he turns back toward you, “I knew it…” he mutters, a playful grin slowly appearing on his face - the first bright smile to melt the ice away. 

“i knew you liked me! don’t worry babe, we can be best friends, I know you've been silently begging for-“ 

your eye twitches. you quickly drop your hold on him, slow hands moving up to his pale neck to strangle him, your expression unwavering. gojo senses your rising cursed energy before yelping your name, “it’s a joke - I swear I’m joking!”  you turned around, hands morphing into closed fists. closing your eyes, you massaging your temple before stirring the simmering curry. 

“.. hey.. uh- whatcha makin?” he asks, hesitantly moving closer to you.

“… what?” he’s relieved find no aggression in your eyes.

“i’m making chicken curry. Uh.. sit,” you say “if you want,” you add hastily. 

reaching to grab another bowl for him, you hear gojo take a seat at the kitchen table. watching you curiously, he drums his fingers on the kitchen table, an unsteady rhythm. feeling warm at his gaze, you split the warmed up rice and spoon out the simmering curry into the two bowls. handing him chopsticks and spoon, you set down his bowl of food in front of him as he says his thanks. a peace offering, one that you don’t realize that he’s been wanting the minute you slammed your door. 

the meal is silent, hung in limbo, two large egos taking up the space. you savour the way the curry tastes, mild and satisfying but with an underlying sweetness to it, lurking in the background waiting to be appreciated. you watch gojo’s satisfaction as he spoons the rich curry into his mouth, you notice his knee bouncing up and down. 

was he nervous? 

he clears his throat. “...another one of your mom’s?” he asks conversationally.

“yeah. the first one she was really proud of.” you spoon some curry into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

“yeah it’s really good. was it your favourite?”

“not my favourite but.. it reminds me of her. she kept remaking the recipe until she got it right, she always said something tasted like it was missing…” 

“eh, really? what was it?”

“nothing, everything was there. it was like.. a miscommunication with the person who gave her the recipe over the phone. mom got the measurements wrong.“

concentrating on eating, you look up at gojo to see him already staring back at you. 

“i was.. you need to focus, you’re going to get hurt.”

you sigh irritatedly. “gojo, just leave if you’re gonna be-“ you shoot him a look, curling defensively inwards.

his tired eyes widen in surprise, he feels you retreating, slipping like water through his fingers. “no, no, no- just listen...”

something in his tone begs you to listen, curiosity getting the better of you. you hesitate, unsure of his intentions.

“i just knew that you couldn’t sleep.. I didn’t know it was - and I didn’t want.. I mean like - last time you came back injured…and you….” his ears tinging pink. words spilling out clumsily, venturing into unknown territory.

wait was he.. was he worried? is that why he showed up - you slightly blush with realization. you sigh, what a waste of energy. he shouldn’t worry about you, you weren’t worth worrying over when you knew he had so much on his plate already.

“i’m working on it. I was doing just fine.” you say irritatedly, walls crumbling at his words.

“yeah, but y’know one day you won’t be.” he says as he takes off his dark glasses rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“that doesn’t mean you can show up to my missions.” 

“I won’t anymore, if you dont want me to…” he retorts in a chipped tone.

“…you don’t have to worry about me.”

he rolls his eyes in response. “i don’t have to but I do. i want to.” you wither under his gaze, you felt too warm, the air thick with something other than the scent of curry.

“you can run all you want, but i can always find you.” he says with a shrug and an air of finality. “… and, one day you might seriously need help, babe” he slides his glasses back on his face.

“… i need to learn from my mistakes even if that means I get hurt.” You say softly to yourself. you wanted to improve, if you were stronger they wouldn’t have -

you swallow roughly.

“there are ways to learn that don’t involve pain, yknow?” he says, with a mouthful as he scrapes the bottom of his dish with his spoon.  blue eyes challenging yours as his dark glasses slide down his slender nose. 

you hum thoughtfully, mulling over his words.

a long finger pokes your cheek irritatingly. “where’d you go babe? OooooooOoOoOh gonna cry, huh? I know, I know it’s our first fight, it’s hard - I almost cried too.” he clutches his chest dramatically while poking your cheek.

why was he always so close? 

“god, you’re insufferable.” You slap his hand away with a scowl, while he grins fully. you’re surprised that you’re happy to see it again. 

he snickers as he promptly gets up to put your empty dishes in the sink. you sigh, getting up to tidy up the counters. gojo starts humming the digimon theme song to himself but when he notices a ghost of a smirk on your face it prompts his humming to progressively grow louder and louder until he’s enthusiastically singing. a new comforting warmth spreads across gojo’s chest at your smile, he wonders if he could make you smile everyday. only when he starts doing an interpretive dance to accompany his singing is when you move to you smack his chest.

  “shhhh! You might wake the others up! It’s like almost 4 AM!” You hiss, unable to contain your laughter when he tries to get you to dance with him blocking your attempts to put away the left over vegetables into the fridge. gojo easily side steps your slaps to move behind you to finish clearing up the table. you turn around in time to see gojo quickly placing your phone back down. you narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

sensing your questioning gaze he quickly skips toward you. “pfff you just act like a meanie but deep, deep down I know you love me!” he says wiggling his eyebrows.

“uh huh. sure, keep dreaming, gojo,” not looking at him, concentrating on tidying up the kitchen.

halting your cleaning, gojo sneaks up behind you swing his arm around your shoulder, squeezing you slightly. your cheeks flush at the feeling of his firm arm around you, the softness in his tshirt against your face, his smells like a mixture of the ramune candy he always eats in class and the fresh scent of his laundry.

“y’know babe, i don’t want you dead.. that was a shitty thing of you to say.” the words spill out, voice low and soft, something that he didn’t know how to express falling out clumsily.

you hum in acknowledgement. unconsciously you lean into his touch, the familiar warmth radiating off him comforting you. your apology evident in the way you react to his touch, gojo grins fully.

“mhm… thanks for the curry, babe,” he says softly in your ear, too intimately. you turn to meet his gaze, there was something there that you couldn’t discern.

heh, probably his body thanking you for giving him vegetables for the first time this week. you smirk.

“see? told ya - you love me” he playfully whispers. you blink, smirk disappearing instantly.

this fucking asshole.

you roughly shove him off you, earning a laugh from the white haired menace. breaking whatever …. that was.  huh. weird.

he ruffles your hair affectionately as you hiss his name in annoyance. flashing you another grin as gojo practically sings good night to you as he waltzing out of the kitchen. you glare at his retreating figure.

feeling lighter, you turn off the lights in the kitchen walking down the dark halls to room, closing the door gently. you move to sit at your desk to disinfect your shallow wounds, absentmindedly choosing a cinnamoroll bandaid to put on your right bicep.

clearing up, you hear your phone vibrating with in a string of messages.  you grimace.

 oh god that’s what he was doing. 

💙🎀 MY BB SATORU 🎀💙

physically recoiling at his contact name, you fight the urge to throw your phone across the room. you called him neither of those things. you quickly move to change it. 

gojo:  b <3 i know u can handle urself  just msg me when u r safe next time or if u need me just lmk lol (4:11am)

you roll your eyes. typing in a response before deleting it, instead replying with:

you: k (4:16am) 

you yawn as you make your way into your cold bed, undoing the half made covers, grabbing one of your pillows to fully sink into comfort. your eyebrows raise at gojo’s quick response, your phone singing.

gojo: ૮(╥﹏╥)ა.  ur so mean 2 me b  (4:16am) thought we were  finally bffs  dw we have loads of time 2 get closer tmr (4:17am) (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ gud nite <3 <3  (4:18am)

turning to feel for Bun Bun laying on the other side of the bed, you sigh contently as you feel his plush body. you place your phone on the night stand table beside you as you shut your eyes. an insistent vibration causes you to groan, disturbing your growing drowsiness.

gojo: heyyyy  (4:20am) hey don’t ignore me? lol  say gudnite!!11! b omg  say gud (4:21am) nite  omg stopppp !! ૮(╥﹏╥)ა (4:22am) mfw b hates me  (4:23am)

scoffing you lazily type out a response since he was begging you for one. Bun Bun's plush pink arm against your cheek, mimicking gojo's earlier actions.

you: omfg go to bed gojo

gojo: (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) SAY IT  B CMONNN SAY IT IM GONNA CRY IF U SONT (4:21am) ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ (4:22am)

biting your lip to prevent the grin you threatened to escape, an amused smile makes its way onto your tired face. he was ridiculous.

you: nite  (4:24am)

gojo: (◡ ‿ ◡ .) ♡ gud enuf 4 me  nite <3 <3  (4:25am)

hugging Bun Bun, you silence your phone as you settle in comfortably, blankets settling finally. the last thing you think about before drifting to sleep is the way he felt when he had his arm around you. you huff softly, what an idiot.

a/n: i totally see gojo as someone who does not give a fuck and will triple text you. omg this chapter was difficult to write, but i hope y'all enjoy it -- head image credit: Isekai Shokudo dividers from: @/adornedwithlight