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angry-geese · 5 months

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The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says.

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die.

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says.

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious?

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say.

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say.

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.��

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #not osha compliant #jjk #my writing

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mimi-0007 · 3 months

Text

FATHER & SON: James Earl Jones with his Father Robert Earl Jones on Stage in the 1962 Production "Moon on a Rainbow Shawl."

Robert Earl Jones (February 3, 1910 – September 7, 2006), sometimes credited as Earl Jones, was an American actor and professional boxer. One of the first prominent Black film stars, Jones was a living link with the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 1930s, having worked with Langston Hughes early in his career.

Jones was best known for his leading roles in films such as Lying Lips (1939) and later in his career for supporting roles in films such as The Sting (1973), Trading Places (1983), The Cotton Club (1984), and Witness (1985).

Jones was born in northwestern Mississippi; the specific location is unclear as some sources indicate Senatobia, while others suggest nearby Coldwater. He left school at an early age to work as a sharecropper to help his family. He later became a prizefighter. Under the name "Battling Bill Stovall", he was a sparring partner of Joe Louis.

Jones became interested in theater after he moved to Chicago, as one of the thousands leaving the South in the Great Migration. He moved on to New York by the 1930s. He worked with young people in the Works Progress Administration, the largest New Deal agency, through which he met Langston Hughes, a young poet and playwright. Hughes cast him in his 1938 play, Don't You Want to Be Free?.

Jones also entered the film business, appearing in more than twenty films. His film career started with the leading role of a detective in the 1939 race film Lying Lips, written and directed by Oscar Micheaux, and Jones made his next screen appearance in Micheaux's The Notorious Elinor Lee (1940). Jones acted mostly in crime movies and dramas after that, with such highlights as Wild River (1960) and One Potato, Two Potato (1964). In the Oscar-winning 1973 film The Sting, he played Luther Coleman, an aging grifter whose con is requited with murder leading to the eponymous "sting". In the later 20th century, Jones appeared in several other noted films: Trading Places (1983) and Witness (1985).

Toward the end of his life, Jones was noted for his stage portrayal of Creon in The Gospel at Colonus (1988), a black musical version of the Oedipus legend. He also appeared in episodes of the long-running TV shows Lou Grant and Kojak. One of his last stage roles was in a 1991 Broadway production of Mule Bone by Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston, another important writer of the Harlem Renaissance. His last film was Rain Without Thunder (1993).

Although blacklisted by the House Un-American Activities Committee in the 1950s due to involvement with leftist groups, Jones was ultimately honored with a lifetime achievement award by the U.S. National Black Theatre Festival.

Jones was married three times. As a young man, he married Ruth Connolly (died 1986) in 1929; they had a son, James Earl Jones. Jones and Connolly separated before James was born in 1931, and the couple divorced in 1933. Jones did not come to know his son until the mid-1950s. He adopted a second son, Matthew Earl Jones. Jones died on September 7, 2006, in Englewood, New Jersey, from natural causes at age 96.

THEATRE

1945 The Hasty Heart (Blossom) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1945 Strange Fruit (Henry) McIntosh NY theater production

1948 Volpone (Commendatori) City Center

1948 Set My People Free (Ned Bennett) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1949 Caesar and Cleopatra (Nubian Slave) National Theatre, Broadway

1952 Fancy Meeting You Again (Second Nubian) Royale Theatre, Broadway

1956 Mister Johnson (Moma) Martin Beck Theater, Broadway

1962 Infidel Caesar (Soldier) Music Box Theater, Broadway

1962 The Moon Besieged (Shields Green) Lyceum Theatre, Broadway

1962 Moon on a Rainbow Shawl (Charlie Adams) East 11th Street Theatre, New York

1968 More Stately Mansions (Cato) Broadhurst Theatre, Broadway

1975 All God's Chillun Got Wings (Street Person) Circle in the Square Theatre, Broadway

1975 Death of a Salesman (Charley)

1977 Unexpected Guests (Man) Little Theatre, Broadway

1988 The Gospel at Colonus (Creon) Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, Broadway

1991 Mule Bone (Willie Lewis) Ethel Barrymore Theatre, Broadway

FILMS

1939 Lying Lips (Detective Wenzer )

1940 The Notorious Elinor Lee (Benny Blue)

1959 Odds Against Tomorrow (Club Employee uncredited)

1960 Wild River (Sam Johnson uncredited)

1960 The Secret of the Purple Reef (Tobias)

1964 Terror in the City (Farmer)

1964 One Potato, Two Potato (William Richards)

1968 Hang 'Em High

1971 Mississippi Summer (Performer)

1973 The Sting (Luther Coleman)

1974 Cockfighter (Buford)

1977 Proof of the Man (Wilshire Hayward )

1982 Cold River (The Trapper)

1983 Trading Places (Attendant)

1983 Sleepaway Camp (Ben)

1984 The Cotton Club (Stage Door Joe)

1984 Billions for Boris (Grandaddy)

1985 Witness (Custodian)

1988 Starlight: A Musical Movie (Joe)

1990 Maniac Cop 2 (Harry)

1993 Rain Without Thunder (Old Lawyer)

TELEVISION

1964 The Defenders (Joe Dean) Episode: The Brother Killers

1976 Kojak (Judge) Episode: Where to Go if you Have Nowhere to Go?

1977 The Displaced Person (Astor) Television movie

1978 Lou Grant (Earl Humphrey) Episode: Renewal

1979 Jennifer's Journey (Reuven )Television movie

1980 Oye Ollie (Performer) Television series

1981 The Sophisticated Gents (Big Ralph Joplin) 3 episodes

1982 One Life to Live

1985 Great Performances (Creon) Episode: The Gospel at Colonus

1990 True Blue (Performer) Episode: Blue Monday

#james earl jones #black tumblr #black literature #black community #black excellence #blackexcellence365 #actor #robert earl jones #stage actor

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cottonlemonade · 3 months

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How You Met

word count: 927 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post time-skip Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: youths

____________________________________________

Kita pulled out his phone to take the obligatory picture of the first cherry blossoms of the year, angling the camera against the light of a street lamp for effect and ducking his shoulders against a brisk breeze that rocked the branches back and forth as if grabbed by an invisible hand. Pink petals fluttered through the air like snow and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, listening intently to faint sounds of the city in the distance. When he opened his eyes again he spotted you and his heart gave a little jolt.

The first time he had seen you was around mid February when Atsumu and his then new girlfriend just started dating and were making good use of the friendly neighborhood taxi service. (Atsumu’s reckless driving had led to yet another suspension of his license so after promising Kita to help him out at the farm on his days off for a month, Kita agreed to drive him twice a week.)

One night, as he was picking up the lust-driven delinquent, his phone buzzed with a notification about a flash sale happening at a nearby boba store he liked. Seeing as he had already spent 20 minutes in the car, fruitlessly waiting for the new couple to wrap things up upstairs, he decided to take the short walk to quickly collect the promised deal and that’s when he saw you - your cute full cheeks cuddled into a thick scarf and puffy coat collar, waiting in line along with another dozen or so people. Once the boba and free snacks were retrieved, he and you met eyes for a moment. You tilted your head ever so slightly and gave a small curious smile before bowing and leaving.

After that you had run into each other every so often at that little park, sometimes over another sale at a food store of some kind, sometimes just because you were both taking a stroll in the crisp night air (one of you more voluntarily than the other) and over the following few weeks he realized he didn't seem to mind driving his former teammate all over town anymore - even going as far as to suggest additional visits to his girlfriend or to grab dinner at a restaurant in that neighborhood. Atsumu, while suspiciously squinting at him from the passenger seat every time, didn’t say anything.

Tonight it looked like you were coming from grocery shopping, readjusting a bag weighing heavy in your hand while trying to keep your purse from slipping off your shoulder. Your steps slowed for a second when you saw him standing there, his phone still in hand, blatantly staring at you and you smiled, giving the small wave that passed between you two as a routine greeting by now.

He swallowed and made his way towards you, ready to offer help carrying the bag when a lot of things happened very quickly. A group of teens dashed by on their bikes, not bothering to alert you of their presence, driving past so narrowly you were pushed from left to right, stumbling a little. He shouted after the boys to apologize but they just laughed and drove on. Kita turned around to you who looked shocked but unharmed and began to walk again when a last straggler from the group came racing along the pathway and knocked you to the ground, calling for his friends to wait.

Kita jogged over and knelt at your side.

“Are you alright?”, he asked, hesitating for a second, before grabbing your elbow, carefully pulling you to your feet. Your hands and knees were scraped, your bag torn. You nodded and he helped you to a nearby bench to sit down before swiftly gathering the scattered groceries, some beyond saving as the boys had driven over them, like splattered grapes and a split carton of milk.

“Thank you very much.”, you said and tried to shake strands of hair out of your face, unable to use your shivering hands.

Without thinking he raised his own to brush it back for you, his mouth feeling very dry when your eyes met.

After an impossibly long moment he cleared his throat and told you to stay put while he would head to the pharmacy around the corner and before you could stop him, he was on his way. You looked down at your ripped jeans - now more ripped and dirtied by the fall - and grimaced.

When he returned he knelt in front of you again, tearing open the bag of disinfectant wipes and after checking with you that he wasn't overstepping, began cleaning your knees and hands, reassuring you and careful he didn't touch you more than necessary, put plasters on the now cleaned cuts.

“Thank you.”, you said again and took the arm he had offered you to get up.

He held out a new bag he had gotten from the pharmacy in which he had stacked the few unscathed groceries and you accepted it with a bow.

You both stood there for a while, neither really knowing what to do next.

"Sorry for all the trouble.", you said finally and he looked at you, kneading your fingers, looking anywhere but at him and he saw a distinct blush creeping into your cheeks. You were even prettier up close.

"Don’t worry about it.", he said simply when his brain started to work again. A pleasant shiver trickled down your spine at his calm soft voice.

"Could I… invite you for some coffee tomorrow? As a Thank You."

____________________________________________

a/n: I wanted this to feel like the most cliched romance anime/kdrama meet cute imaginable.

#kita x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #kita x reader #haikyuu x reader #chubby reader #kita fluff #kita shinsuke #haikyuu kita #hq kita #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader

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yuurei20 · 3 months

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hi there!! idk if you've answered this before, but did the 5 student overblots happen over the span of 5 months ? one happening each month ? idk if im misremembering but I was sure that in book 6 that was mentioned, yet I can't find the chapter it's in. im assuming since the twst school year starts in september, riddle was the first, with vil being the last OB before book 6 sometime in january, but im not 100% sure

Hello hello! Thank you for this question!

I am not sure if we can pinpoint that overblots have been happening at a pace of exactly once a month, but as you say in Book 6 we learn from Idia that there have been five overblots "in less than six months," which he says on the same day as he overblots himself!

The Main Story will occasionally drop hints about the timeline: we know that the start of the school year is in September, and Cater mentions mentoring new students in Book 1 (in reference to the prefect, Grim, Ace and Deuce), so it does seem like Book 1 takes place in September!

We also know that the Interdorm Spelldrive Tournament of Book 2 is in October and Book 3 begins with the final exams of the year.

Book 4 begins on the last day of the fall semester and ends with Ace and Deuce wishing the prefect Happy New year, as they are reuniting for the first time post-winter vacation.

The VDC is held in mid-February, and the students are kidnapped by Charon "a few days later!"

An exact, official timeline may not have yet been released anywhere (that I have been able to find), but based on these clues we might be able to guess the following:

September: Riddle Overblot

October: Leona Overblot

November: Azul Overblot

December: Jamil Overblot

February: Vil and Idia Overblot

Malleus is a little more vague! There is a comment from Lilia and the prefect about it being spring at the beginning of Book 7, and we know that the Interscholastic Spelldrive Tournament is in May!

If the tournament has not yet happened, the timing of Malleus' overblot is presumably sometime between mid-to-late-February and May. If it is also still pre-spring-break, perhaps it was sometime in March? But this is all conjecture! :>

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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f1byjessie · 4 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part seven.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mancity, oscarpiastri, and 431,912 others

tagged: mancity

yourusername february has come too soon… thank you to these wonderful lads for all they’ve done for me in the short time i’ve gotten to work with them. i’ve been a manchester city girlie my whole life, and getting to see the time and effort all of these men have devoted to this team and this sport ensures i’ll stay a manchester city girlie for the rest of it. but it’s lights out and away we go, and it’s time i get myself back into some papaya 🧡

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mancity Training won’t be the same without you!

↳ yourusername can’t say i’ll miss all the times i was nearly clocked in the head by a ball, but i’ll definitely miss all the happy smiles 🩵

↳ mancity And we’ll miss yours! 🩵

jackgrealish you better not forget about us

↳ yourusername as if i ever could!! i’ll even wear sky blue in the paddock on match days if i have to 🫢

↳ mclaren 😨

↳ jackgrealish real talk though, it was wonderful working with you. you’re an incredibly skilled photographer and having you around was loads of fun. we’ll miss you lots, but we’ll be cheering you on with the mclaren lads

↳ yourusername you’re gonna make me cry grealo 😭

erling.haaland we will miss you!

mclaren Can’t wait to have you back in the garage with us Y/N! We’ve been missing you around here 🧡

↳ yourusername can’t wait to be back! i’ve missed you dearly mclaren admin

↳ mclaren Our love has grown stronger with the distance 😌

↳ yourusername that it has 😉

kevindebruyne great time working with you! best of luck with your future endeavors 😁👍

oscarpiastri you look better in orange anyways

↳ yourusername since when were you a fashion expert??

↳ oscarpiastri it’s better if i don’t say… 😔

philfoden you gotta come have one last celebration with us before you go!

↳ yourusername if i did that, i’m pretty sure i’d be too hungover to make it to my other job

↳ philfoden maybe that’s the plan 👀👀 if you can’t get there then you’re stuck with us

chloekelly come work with the girlies next time babes! we’re jealous the boys hogged you all for themselves 😜

comments on this post have been limited

INSTAGRAM.

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, and 217,172 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourusername

mclaren the muses and the artist

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yourusername i had no idea this was being taken…

↳ mclaren We felt the need to share your beauty with the world! 😁

↳ yourusername you just wanted to show me off and prove i’m back with mclaren

↳ mclaren And if we did? 😁

oscarpiastri when the photographer becomes the photographed

user THE LADS AND LADY ARE BACK

user y/n is my favourite part of f1 actually sorry mclaren 🫣🫣🫣

↳ user i think the admin understands with the way they flirt in the comments lmao

user 🧡🧡 MCLAREN 2024 WORLD SUPREMACY 🧡🧡

user i’ve been following y/n’s stint over with the football club and i’ve been so jealous waiting for her to come back to mclaren!! her photos are on a whole different level of skill and i can’t wait to see oscar and lando’s smiling faces in her style again!!

user awww i’m kinda sad she left man city, i really liked her work and it was like a crossover of my two favourite sports teams ☹️

↳ user me too, but if she worked during the off season with them then she might do it again next year or during the summer

↳ user i think the 24/25 premier league season starts up again in mid august, but the f1 summer off season is supposed to end in late august so i don’t think that would really give her enough time to start a gig

↳ user that’s a shame

↳ user not necessarily! footballers do get a bit of a break to take vacations and recover mentally and physically during the summer, but a lot of them are back at their clubs a good chunk of time before the new season starts. assuming man city makes it to the finals in the champions league, their last confirmed scheduled match will be on june 1st, and the 24/25 premier league season starts on august 17th, which means they’ll probably be back at etihad in late july/early august if not sooner

↳ user at the very least, i hope her time with man city has gotten more people interested in f1 🙌

↳ user i’m not too sure… when she started dating ward apparently there was lots of backlash from city fans so who knows what the overall perception of her is over there

↳ user still shocked about that, i had kinda thought her and lando were together since they seem so close 🤔🤔

user mclaren admin please post more y/n behind the scenes bc she doesn’t post herself enough and we always love to see her 🙏🙏🙏

↳ user REAL

landonorris looking good! 😁🧡

↳ user what a bland comment…

↳ user bro gives us radio silence for weeks and THIS is what he comes back with..?

↳ user trouble in paradise methinks 🧐

user haven’t seen any of the garrett ward stans causing a stir in these comments which either means war is over or the mclaren admin isn’t taking any shit and is deleting them, in which case good on you mclaren admin for defending your wonderful official unofficial gf 😩😩

↳ user mclaren admin is better at protecting their official unofficial gf than garrett ward is at protecting is actual official gf 🤨

There’s a certain sense of rightness that comes from being back amidst the McLaren staff dressed in the bright papaya orange. Manchester City had been a fun adventure, and you hadn’t been lying when you told the team you’d miss working with them, but Formula One is where you belong and that had become more and more apparent as the last days of January came to an end.

The last couple of weeks had been nice. The boys had thrown you a small party on your last day, with a cake that they all spent a good hour running off afterwards. Jack had made you promise to keep in touch, and you planned on holding true to that and keeping him updated with selfies from each of the Grand Prix locations at the very least.

The dates with Garrett had worked as planned, his agent was already claiming that just you two being spotted together more than once was doing wonders for his reputation, and Garrett had been treating you civilly since then. You still resented him for how exactly he’d forced you into this situation, but you’ve managed to find a middle ground of at least appreciating what the arrangement can also do for you.

As for Lando, you hadn’t yet gotten any confirmation about how things were going with your plan. Apart from refusing to meet your eye all day and resolutely staring either into the camera or anywhere that wasn’t you, he’d been professional.

Things felt like they did back in 2019━ back when you were convinced he was just an arrogant, pretentious, self-righteous prick with a complex. You’re torn between hating every moment of it and feeling wickedly vindicated by forcing him to acknowledge the consequences of his own actions.

At the very least, however, you have Oscar.

You’d gotten to know him relatively well in 2023, not to the same extent that you knew Lando of course, but Oscar had filled a brother-shaped hole in your heart that you hadn’t even known was there. His teasing was shy at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to act that way with you, but the ribbing you’d given back had been assurance enough and he’d been a steady presence at your side ever since, cracking jokes at your expense.

There’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you that you both act as an escape. It was never acknowledged, it kind of just came to be as you both got to know one another, but you’re to Oscar what Oscar is to you━ the person you can go to when you need to pretend your more serious problems don’t exist and when you don’t really want anyone asking questions.

That’s why it surprises you when Oscar asks, “What’s going on between you and Lando?”

There’s nobody else in the car park, the sky is dark and most of the staff have already gone home or━ in the case of a few engineers━ won’t be leaving until the sun is rising tomorrow morning. The silence makes Oscar’s voice sound a bit louder, a bit harsher, a bit more like being doused in cold water.

It’s easy enough to ignore the reality of the problems between you and Lando when you hide behind your frustration. It’s even easier when Lando is so frustratingly good at pissing you off and keeping you in a haze of annoyance that perpetuates your justification of letting the tension linger. It’s hard to miss the closeness when you’re too busy being angry at him.

But the quiet emptiness of the world around you now gives you nothing to hide behind and nowhere to run━ not from Oscar’s scary perception, which has never before been locked on to you.

“Not really sure what you mean,” you answer after a moment. “Me and Lando are fine.”

It sounds as fake as it is.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Because whatever that tension was today was totally ‘fine.’”

The only real downside to having Oscar fill the brotherly role in your life is that he can be just as annoying as one.

You heave a sigh and shrug, “I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

“Try starting from the beginning.”

You’re at your car now, with your keys in your hand. It would be easy to get in, drive away, and ignore it all. That’s what you and Oscar use each other for anyway━ it’s your dynamic. If you really told him to drop it, you know he would. A single word would make it all go away and you could show up tomorrow morning still pretending like nothing’s different.

But the only other person who knows about everything with Garrett is Jack, and you don’t have him anymore.

So you do. You start from the beginning.

“I’m not actually dating Garrett Ward,” you say. If Oscar’s shocked at the revelation, he doesn’t show it. His face is calm and blank, and it reassures you to continue. “He needed someone to be his pretend girlfriend so he could fix his reputation, and he blackmailed me into agreeing by threatening to make up rumors that would ruin my career.”

You lean against the side of your car, fiddling with your keys. “Right after it happened, I kept trying to reach Lando. Nobody else knew and I was alone and afraid━ I didn’t know what to do but I thought that he, as my best friend, would at least be able to help me calm down and rationalize. But he never answered me.”

Oscar hums.

“When he did finally call━” you bite down on your lip when you feel tears burn at the back of your eyes, “━he berated me the entire time and asked how dumb I had to be to date Garrett of all people. Then, he proceeded to tell me exactly what people online had to say about me and my choices. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain what was going on.”

You heave out a sigh and tip your head back until you’re staring up at the never-ending expanse of the night sky. The clouds from earlier are still there, blocking out the stars and leaving it all an abyss of black.

“He still hasn’t apologized,” you mutter, sniffling. “He hasn’t said a word to me since then.”

Oscar’s quiet for another moment. He’s got his hands shoved into his pockets, and his eyes are focused on where he’s kicking the toe of his shoe down against the pavement. The tap, tap, tap is all there is for a moment, and then he hums again.

“Lando can be a real twat sometimes.”

You burst into laughter, startled. You give Oscar an incredulous look, and he shrugs.

“I mean,” he starts again, “he’s a good dude, but sometimes he can just be stupid. He does something dumb and even though he knows he’s wrong, he doesn’t know what to do about it or how to make it better, so he doesn’t do anything and just hopes that it’ll fix itself on its own.”

You nod. “That sounds pretty accurate.”

Oscar lets himself rest beside you, pulling his hands from his pockets so he can cross his arms. “I’m not saying you need to let this go, but talk to him, yeah? He was able to dodge your calls and texts, but you’re here now and he can’t dodge a face to face conversation for forever.”

“I was gonna try and really sell things with Garrett to rub it in his face,” you admit.

It makes Oscar laugh, and then you’re both laughing and it feels good to have this again.

“You know,” you breathe out when you eventually fade back into silence. “I think I’m in love with him.”

“Garrett?”

“No. Lando.”

Oscar hums.

“I think one of the reasons his whole spiel pissed me off so much is that I’ve been pining after him for years now, pushing it down so that I don’t ruin things or make it awkward━ trying to get over him,” you rub at your eyes, pressing as if it’ll erase the memory of what Lando’s grin looks like and how warm it makes you feel when you’re the one who puts it there. "But then he goes and does things like this and it frustrates me but it also gives me hope that maybe he feels the same way, because why would he get so upset about this if he didn’t?”

“I think you should really talk with him,” is all Oscar says, before pushing off from your car and walking away.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght @bellezaycafe @whentheautumnleavesfall @mess-is-my-aesthetic @ssprayberrythings @landosgirlxoxo @lifelessfan @81ja @wcnorris @a-disturbing-self-reflection (CLOSED).

━━ a/n: i have mixed opinions on how this part came out. it's a bit filler-y, but trying to include anything more would make this singular part longer than i want it to be. but it's also very late (early?) at the moment and i've been staring at this for hours trying to get it done up as fast as i can, so perhaps that's why. anyway, i hope you enjoy!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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avalil18 · 4 months

Text

I love you, I promise

———————————————————————

Summary: you decide to check in on your child bestie after surgery but little did you know what you would overhear.

Warnings: fluff

Pairing: Joe burrow x reader

It was mid February and there was still a crisp feel in the air on a cloudy day in Cincinnati. You had just woken up in your big comfortable bed that you spend to much time in binge watching your favorite show Gilmore girls. It was around 9am when you got a text from someone. You rolled over and reached for your phone on your nightstand. You open your phone and see a message from your childhood best friend Joe.

Joe- hey! What are you doing today?

You smiled and knew he has been bored out of his mind these past couple months because he has been in bed recovering from his ACL injury back in November.

You- hi! Well I just woke up and now I’m texting you! How are you feeling?

Joe- I feel alright my body kinda aches but I’m so bored just laying here. My parents keep coming into my room to check on me every second of the day and I was wondering if you could come over because I honestly need them to lay off and I miss my best friend!😊

You laughed knowing very well that Joe kept getting a little annoyed by his parents coming in knowing he would be fine every time.

You- lol! They are just trying to take care of their son who still needs help getting up and moving. And I would be happy to come over! Be there in an hour!

Just as you were about to put your phone away to get ready Joe texted back.

Joe- yay! See ya in a few

You smiled and got up to get ready! You brush your teeth and do your skincare then You put on your Lululemon leggings and black bengals crewneck that Joe gave you as a free gift from the bengals. You curled your hair because you had a bad bed head from your luscious waves that are starting to turn out straight because how long your hair is. You then slip on your Air Force sneakers that are a little dirty and grab your big grey goyard bag that you decided to treat your self with by buying it because of your promotion. You work at Kettering Health Center as a nurse and love it! You sometimes get to head over to Paycore stadium to help the bengals before summer training starts just to make sure they are putting good stuff into their body and keeping healthy. The Bengals paired up with Kettering health a while ago and it has been a fun experience and you are always happy to see Joe at work whenever you stop by. You sometimes like to treat yourself because working in a hospital can’t always be easy and it’s nice to reward yourself sometimes.

You lock your apartment door and head to your garage. Once you open your car door you place your bag on the passenger seat and turn the car on. You only live about 15 minutes from Joe so it’s not a long drive. Once on the road you turn on your favorite playlist filled with Taylor swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Noah Kahan! You start drumming your fingers to the beat of the songs on your steering wheel and before you know it you are at joes! He lives in a beautiful private neighborhood filled with big houses and a little country club. Joes house is pretty big maybe too big for one person but if Joe likes it you like it.

You step inside the big house and take off your shoes and start heading down the big hallway and stairs. Once you walk into the kitchen you are greeted by robin and jimmy who are joes amazing parents who you always adore and they have always adored you and they have always thought of you as a daughter. Robin sees you and says “Y/N”!

“Hi!I’m so happy to see you” you say after Hugging robin then going over to jimmy to say hi. “So how have you been?”jimmy and robin both ask. “I have been good, just very busy with work. I have tried to stop by but you know been busy!” You say kinda sad you haven’t stopped by a lot to take care of Joe and talk. “It’s ok y/n! Joe understands and we do to but we are so proud of you with your career truly!” Robin says making your heart filled with Joy and makes you smile. “Thank you robin!” You say and robin puts her hand on your arm and rubs your arm lovingly. “Joe is up stairs if you want to go up!” Jimmy says and you say yes and start walking up the big beautiful stairs. Once you reach Joe’s door you give a light knock to make sure Joe knows someone is there. He then says “Come in!” You walk through the door with a big smile on your face and you drop your bag and run up to his bed to where he was laying but you make sure to be careful and not hurt him anymore then he is. You squeal as you hug him and dig your head into the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around his torso. “There she is!” Joe says with a big smile on his face. You laugh and look up at him. He has a little stubble growing on his face because he has been a little too weak from surgery to get up and shave. You look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes and you swear you died right there and then. “How have you been?” Joe says excited to hear everything you have to tell him. “I’ve been good!You know busy but good!” You say. “Good! I’m so happy you are here!” Joe says and slight blush forms on his face with the smile you radiate after talking which you didn’t notice.

After talking for about quite literally the whole day and watching SpongeBob and watching football then eating dinner in bed with Joe because he didn’t feel good enough today to get up. It’s already 8:30pm and you are starting to get tried. Joe quickly notices your tired eyes and says “come here” he pats chest signaling for you to lay your head on his chest. You roll over onto your left side and you put your head onto his chest and your right arm over his stomach. “Go to sleep” Joe says in a quiet tone. You smile and say goodnight as Joe grabs the clicker to turn off the tv. He then pulls over the throw blanket and puts it on top of both of you. You snuggle into it and joe smiles knowing you are comfortable. He then says “goodnight y/n.” And turns off his bedside light and then it goes dark.

After a while you hear the door creak open into the room. You see a figure standing there but you are too tired to say hello so you just lay there trying to make up who it is. You then hear a voice. “Joe are you asleep?” Robin says. You now feel safe knowing it’s not some rando breaking in. Joe then says in a tired voice “no”. “Well I just want to say I love you and have a good night” robin says.“Thanks mom, goodnight.”Joe says. “And Joe take good care of her like I know you will. I know you love her and to afraid to ruin your friendship but I see the way she looks at you and you should tell her, don’t be scared.” Robin says. You can’t believe what she just said. Joe loves you and more than just in a friend way! You keep your eyes closed and still pretend to be asleep. “I will I promise. I love her more than life.” Joe then says. OMG! You couldn’t believe what just came out of joes mouth. You then hear the door close and you knew robin was gone. Then you feel Joe start to play with your hair and he then says “I love you so much you have no idea y/n.”

—————————-

Authors note: AHHHH!! My first story and ig first post! I hope for whoever sees this likes it. And if so I will keep writing! I am still figuring all of this stuff out so just keep that in mind!🤭🫶

#joe burrow

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kanmom51 · 2 months

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I think I read somewhere in a blog that Jikook were broken up for some time in late 2019 to early 2020, so ON era and BS, but then reading another post the person said during the bts of black swan Jikook were flirting and JM was trying to get back together. But it’s contradictory because how can both be true? I admit that during the ON video shoot they seemed to not engage much, but that’s it. During their promotions in February they seemed to engage very little too, during car pool karaoke and the Grammys etc. But I would take that to mean they were trying to be professional (which after the backlash of cancel jikook in late 2019 they might have been told to do?). Same as in August 2019 when the person said there was also tension, but was there? From what I saw of the same time period all that happened was JM went on a few trips, not sure why that would mean they were in a bad place, especially when we got footsiegate in bv4. They were fine before JMs trips, fine when the boys were planning bv4, fine on JKs birthday and JK saying he spent time with JM and Hobi in the 1st episode of BV4 and even in his mini video to Jk before his flight home JM saying he’d seen JK only a few days ago?

It all reads to me like a K drama and I don’t agree that their relationship is like that, yes they fight and have moments of tension and sometimes we can see that in their interactions, but to break up? Would they? What I mean to say is if people view Jikooks relationship like that and live and thrive off the drama what’s the basis to say they are even a couple because all that reads toxic af and that’s not at all what comes across as the real them.

What do you think?

Hey love, again.

😄

So, just posted your previous ask to see that you yourself kind of answered your own ask here.

Basically you reached your own conclusions and pretty much think the same as I do, and as I tried to express in my reply to your previous ask.

Anyway, I agree.

Their relationship is not a soap opera lie relationship. It's a healthy long term relationship. Loving, long lasting and stable.

Yes to ups and downs, just like any healthy long term relationship. But definitely not the level of drama that people love to give it. Perhaps it being a little too stable and boring is what makes people have that need to 'liven' it up a little with tales of betrayals and breakups and so forth, all to make it more 'interesting', more to talk about, right?

#jikook #kookmin #minkook #jungkook #jimin #jk #jm

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oreramar · 2 months

Text

Florist Talk: a flower shop calendar

So I talked about the average day in a flower shop. Now it's time to talk about the average year (usual disclaimer: US-centric, small town sort of knowledge is to be found here. Adjust as needed for a different setting, whether real or fictional; these notes are merely meant to provide grounding or ideas for your writing).

So, Month By Month:

January

Business is basically dead for most of this month.

It's too early for springy colors but nobody wants the red and white Xmas color combo anymore. Floral limbo.

Prep for V-day begins in earnest sometime around here.

Earliest V-day orders might start coming in middle-to-end of the month. Sometimes people think ordering super early means they can get roses for cheaper. This is not the case; they will be charged the price of the roses they're gonna get, not the roses that exist a month before.

February

VALENTINE'S DAY ALL HANDS ON DECK OH GOD SOMEONE HELP US

A longer post will be dedicated to V-day itself eventually. For now, know that there's usually a lull in business immediately after the day itself.

There may be leftover roses. Nobody will want the leftover roses. If your Florbo over-ordered these supplies, they will have a difficult time shifting them. Write a fic and have them donate roses to an elderly care facility or something.

March

Kinda dead for the most part, aside from a little bit of prep toward Palm Sunday and Easter and Prom (see April)

I always make stuff for St Patrick's day but very few people want flowers for St Patrick's day so there's not much point. Maybe this could be different in a community with more people who go all in on St Paddy's.

When there are orders, this is when people start to ask for "springy" flowers.

April

If there are Christian Churches around they might want Easter Lilies ordered in for Easter, and Palm Branches for Palm Sunday.

Sometimes people will ask for flowering mum plants too, usually in white, yellow, or lavender. The wholesalers always seem to send way more lavender mums than any others, like they're trying to get rid of them.

Prom Season - technically can stretch from mid-late March through April. Depends on how many high schools are in the area. This means lots of corsages and boutonnieres. If there's a single big school that's very local then that means one very, very busy weekend spent doing nothing but assembling these things the day before and getting them picked up and paid for the day of. Might make a focused post on these one day.

Secretary's Day / Administrative Professionals' Day - late April. Technically there's a Day for this but it also covers the entire week of that day as well. Businesses and Bosses buy small flowers or maybe candy bouquets for their various Admins. Can get a little busy.

May

Teachers Appreciation Day / Week - early in May, lots of school deliveries.

Nurses Appreciation Day/Week - the next week in May, lots of hospital/clinic deliveries.

MOTHER'S DAY OH GOD OH - oh it's not quite as bad, actually. People get their Mother's Day flowers the entire week before so it's less concentrated. Still a big one.

US has Memorial Day right at the end. This means arrangements made for placing in the local cemetery. Can be busy but isn't usually too bad.

June

Dead business. So bored.

July

Dead business. So bored.

Attempt at July 4th table arrangements. Not many tend to sell.

August

Dead business. So bored.

September

School is back in session, which means that any student, teacher, or school admin staff who has a birthday or anniversary on a weekday might get sent flowers or balloons or candy bouquets or things like that, which means Flower Shop business.

Preferred floral designs shift toward "fall" and "autumny" colors and flowers somewhere between August and September.

October

Not a lot going on specifically, but business still tends to be busier than in summer. Also, despite all efforts, Halloween does not tend to involve a lot of flower orders, which is a real shame because you can do some real fun things with orange, purple, and bright green flowers, and with hot glue strands on twigs to make cobwebs, and with black painted bowl vases to resemble cauldrons...

November

US has Thanskgiving this month and some people want fancy flower and taper candle centerpieces for their tables. A responsible florist will include tags warning people not to burn those candles unattended because while the floral arrangement isn't going to be dry by any means, it is still technically flammable, especially if the candle has burned very low and for a very long time.

December

Christmas also involves fancy flower and taper candle centerpieces for tables. Also like 80% of all floral arrangements are being done in red and/or white.

And that's more or less it. Set your writing appropriately for how busy you want the Florbo to be with their flower job - if the plot demands Florbo have a lot of free time or be very very bored, look at the summer months, or the downtime of early January or late February. If you wish for them to be overwhelmingly busy, set it the week before Valentine's or Mother's day, or pick an April weekend for a local Prom and give them like forty corsages to make on a single Friday. A more moderate or variable day to day structure might be in May, or one of the Autumn months, when there's usually plenty of everyday type stuff to do plus the wild card busy days around big funerals or the like, with random dead days peppered in there.

Happy writing!

#florist talk #a flower shop's year

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msfeaths · 11 months

Text

TUTOR

warnings : none

pairing : peter parker (mcu) x reader

summary : when peter parker simply fell in love with you...

a/n : make any requests you want ! i'll be glad to do them if i can :)

The first time Peter Parker ever saw you, it was mid-february, when you juste came in and sat in the same classroom as he was. Professor Harrington introduced you as a new student, giving his speech saying people had to be nice.

Oh Peter wanted to be nice with you. But he immediately thought he would never had a chance. Of course, your hair looked so smooth, you seemed brilliant, and after a while he noticed the way this cute dimple would show up any time you smiled.. You were so pretty to his eyes, even too good to be true.

But you sat next to this other guy. Obviously you just sat at the first seat you saw, not knowing anybody. But he started talking. He was much more a talkative person as Peter ever would be, much more popular but also much more an asshole. And you noticed that quickly. Peter knew you did, because he kept observing you any time he had the chance, and he saw the way you'd back up a little when this other guy would talk to your face. The way you avoided catching his sight. You did stay in his friends group though, and that's what Peter didn't understand.

He was just thinking about it, at lunch, while Ned was telling him about this new game he cracked yesterday. "Hey, are you even listening to me right now ?" he asked, turning his head in the same direction Peter had. "Ah, I see" , Ned kept going.

Peter would sometimes - pretty often - daydream about how would it be to date you. Would you agree to spend lunch time with him and Ned ? Go to his place ? To hold his hand in public ? Or even kiss him ?

"Why don't you go and talk to her ?" asked a girl who was sitting at the same table. MJ constantly watched as Peter was almost drooling on himself just by seeing you.

"W-What ? Why would I go-" he started before getting cut off. "Come on, not to me" she answered. "You've been addicted to {Y/N} since day one". Peter frowned, denying, but he knew this could never change her mind. "MJ's got a point, dude. And maybe you have a chance with {Y/N}, who knows !?" Ned said and his friend immediately looked around to see if anyone might have heard. "Shh Ned are you crazy ?? And don't say stupid things like that.. Both of you". "Whatever", MJ replied, "But it seems like she wouldn't say no if you asked her to try a new friends group. Her's pretty lame".

Peter slowly raised an eyebrow and looked back at you, to see you walking in his direction. He was wondering, what was happening ? Were you actually going towards him ? You met his eyes and gently smiled, not really knowing how to act with him.

"Hi" you started when you reached his table. Peter looked at Ned who was way more excited to see you talking to him. He elbowed him so he could answer you. "Hum, h-hi ?" "Can we do anything for you ? Can Peter do anything for you ?" Ned immediately asked to help his friend. MJ rolled her eyes just by hearing the conversation.

"Yeah, actually" you smiled. "Mr Harrington told me to talk to you... It seems like you've been chosen to be my tutor. Im Y/N, by the way". You didn't really like asking for this - even though you did not really choose it - but Peter immediately nodded, shyly but still. "Yeah -yes of course no problem !" he replied. "Great ! Thank you. We can meet later at the library ?" you proposed. "The library is closed this week, what a shame !! Though, you should go to Peter's. The.. Temperature is great there. You know, to work..." Ned tried to keep going, making you smirk a little bit. You noticed how Peter's eyes suddenly became wide and the red colouring his cheeks. "Oh, well if you don't mind... You know what ? Just text me later today" you gave him your number under his flabbergasted eyes. He nodded and you went to class after smiling at him one last time. It is probably that exact smile that made him realise how screwed he was.

Peter did text you later that day, sending you his address and how to get there from school. You suggested to join him there at 6:00pm to what he agreed.

You arrived in front if his flat in Queens and called him so he could open, and there you were, on his dining room table, tons of books spread out next to you both. He spent a whole hour explaining all the little details that were important in every chapter that you've missed. Good for him, you were a fast learner, something that made him like you even more. He would ask you some questions to check if you were following, and you always were. That kept going until his aunt came back home. "Hey Pete, I've been trying to reach you out for an hour now and you- oh", she smiled widely, "Hello. Excuse me I didn't know you had company", she said, looking at both of you in turn. "May this is Y/N", he said, hoping she wouldn't say anything embarrassing. "Hi, I'm sorry I hope I'm not bothering. Peter is helping me with all the things I've missed at school. I'm a new student".

"No of course it's no problem ! I am always glad to meet Pete's friends. You can even stay for dinner ! Just make sure to tell your parents" she added and didn't wait for your answer before going to another room.

"You don't have to" Peter said, "Stay for dinner, I mean. N-not that I don't want you to stay, I mean you- I don't mind if you stay. At all ! It's just- ugh - if you have anything else to do, don't feel forced to stay here". You smiled at him as an answer before adding "I'd be glad to stay, I don't have any important plans".

So there you were, sitting at the small kitchen table with Peter and his aunt who had just ordered food, since the dish she started had burnt. It was simply pizzas from this place you didn't know, but Peter assured you they were the best.

"There. Start with this one, Joe's an expert at it". And indeed, you were surprised by the amazing taste of this basic pizza. Dinner kept going, and May wanted to know more about you, much to Peter's despair, even though he was interested by anything you were saying.

"From what Peter told me, you quickly made a name for yourself at school. Do you move a lot ?" she asked. "Yeah, actually. I've moved like, 12 times because of my father's job. I repeated a grade because of it" you answered with a sad smile. "Wait you're a year older ?" Peter suddenly said. "Oh no, I skipped a grade in primary school, so it's like it never changed". Peter nodded "Must be hard, I mean, moving all the time".

You looked at him quite surprised. People usually thought you were lucky because you were able to travel and meet a lot of people. Thing is, when you move that much, you don't really have time to get used to the place and make real friends. And it seemed like Peter guessed that. You liked the fact that he wasn't superficial, like a lot of people. So you smiled slightly, letting the cute dimple that he liked make its appearance "Kind of. But it feels like im gonna stick around for a while, this time". And you might didn't know, but at this exact moment, Peter never had been more thrilled.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #marvel #tom holland #tom peter parker #spiderman #love #falling in love #high school peter #peter x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you

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fedorah-the-explorah · 3 months

Note

im getting you started.

Bro, the timeline in Carmen Sandiego is super finicky, and I'm pretty sure I've spent more time thinking about this than the creators intended us to, but WHATEVER. It haunts me.

Right, so the creators said Carmen is 20 at the start of the series, but as I said: that math don't math!

Season one takes place over the course of six months:

Season 2 picks up one week after season 1, in February. We know this because they're celebrating Carnival.

For the purpose of breaking down this theory, I'm going to place Carmen's birthday as March 1st, her WOEICs counterpart's official birthday.

So. At the end of season one, which would have been mid-February, Player says something about how Carmen was found on the side of the road twenty years ago, but if her birthday was in a mere matter of weeks, couldn't you theorize that he was rounding up? Maybe she's 19 turning 20.

Or, maybe, she's 20 turning 21? No!

At the end of season 2, Shadowsan says he found her twenty years ago. This is where we take a detour to discuss infant development.

In the flashbacks, we see that baby Carmen prefers crawling-- she can toddle a little bit, but not well. Children typically begin standing between 7 and 12 months, and walking between 10 and 18 months. We also see that she babbles and coos a lot, but no words. Children tend to say their first word at around 12 months. Based on this, I'd wager that baby Carmen was around seven or eight months old. We know she's a physical prodigy, so she could potentially be even younger-- the youngest recorded baby to walk was six months old.

Placing baby at 7 months when she was kidnapped, that makes Shadowsan's "I found you twenty years ago" accurate to the month. At this point, Carmen is 20 years and 7 months old.

Season three takes place in October/November. Presumably, season three picks up right after season two, putting the end of season two in October. It spans about the same length as season one.

While the word of the creators doesn't have much bearing here-- as this post is very much a "you guys are wrong and here's why" kind of post-- one of the creators did say that they imagined Carmen as being twenty by season three. That would make it impossible for her to have been twenty during season one. Too much time has passed for that to work.

Season 4 takes place sometime around February. We know this because Devineaux asks Gray what he was doing on the train to Poitiers 18 months ago. 12 months ago would have been February (start of season 2) and six months before that is August. That's eighteen months.

Going by this, I think Carmen was yoinked just after her twenty-first.

Interestingly, if my math is mathing-- and who knows, I turned a two year degree into a three year degree because I kept failing math classes, I could be talking actual nonsense right now-- this makes Player like 17/18 by season four, and that's hilarious to me because that means his parents (tried) to make him go to school for like the last semester of his senior year. Free my boy 😭

In conclusion, Carmen is 19 at the start of season one, she and Player are three years apart, and Player's parents are some cruel mfers. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego netflix #carmen sandiego #suzie speaks #asks #help girl im scrutinizing the CS timeline for the four hundred millionth time #if i missed something lmk #but i do believe my autism game was real with this one #thank you atlas for getting me started on my bullshit #also black sheep and player looked the same age #why did they make him so much younger than her #why does she longbottom puberty whereas player gets hit with that peter pan syndrome #help me im descending into insanity #cs timeline and ages will forever confound me thank you for your understanding

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

Note

What book(s) would you say is during the month of November? Thought it would be Book 3, but I feel like that's not right

Actually 😅 of all the books in the main story, book 3 is the only one that could feasibly be set in November, though I do not believe that is explicitly confirmed.

Let's consider the relative positioning of the surrounding main story events (which are more elaborated on time-wise). Book 2 involves an inter-dorm sports tournament, which is very similar to homecoming games in the real world. Homecomings tend to occur in late September to sometime in October (which varies by the school. Then book 4 is specifically said to occur during winter break (mid to late December), which is why Yuu and Grim are left largely unsupervised on campus. That means book 3 has to happen in the time between the end of the inter-dorm tournament and before the start of winter break.

Everything else in the main story either happens way before or way after November. The prologue is set before the school year even starts, book 1 is a few days into the school year (September), book 5 starts in the new year and they take a months' worth to train for VDC so it probably happens sometime in February, book 6 happens right after book 5 and spans a few days' time, and book 7 most likely happens in early spring since this is when the third years are applying for their internships (which can take several months to process and do the relevant tests for).

In book 3, Crewel threatens remedial classes over winter break if students fail their exams. These exams are taken early on in book 3 and play a part in the book's conflict. If we compare this to the real world, this, again, largely depends on the school, but from my understanding, many schools have their finals in late November or early December. Even without estimating this detail, it's still highly likely that book 3 occurs in as early as mid to late autumn to as late as early December.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #Grim #Yuu #Divus Crewel

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

Text

The Lonely Hearts Club: Part Two

Summary: Full Story! Breaking up with Andrew Barber is hard to do. You of all people should know, considering you just tried. Now what? Read Part One.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Angst, Discussions of Break-ups, Fun with Exes, Jealousy, Andy Being a Menace, Confident Reader, Eventual Smut, Cursing, Expect Additional Future Warnings, Minors DNI

A/N: Dedicated to @atkissoflife, @that-one-anxious-mango, and @piscesmermaidprincess. This multi-part fic features a combination of requests from the likes of @writer84, @lexivass, @moejdaw, and several others. It is also, part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

___

February 15th - 12:25am - Los Angeles, CA

Wow. Just...wow.

You stare down at your phone as you wait for the bartender to bring you your check. While you had initially been prepared for Andy to be upset over your note, as well as your pretty abrupt departure, you certainly hadn't expected this.

If anything, he seemed almost...unbothered. By all of it. Granted, it was sometimes hard to gauge a person's tone via text. But you'd also been in a relationship with the man for the better part of six freaking months! At this point, one could argue that you were practically fluent in Andrew Barber and all of his fucking moods.

The guy was up to something, without a doubt. Which meant that you were now officially on high alert. Because your man - your ex - had never been the type to play fair.

Especially where you were concerned. You should've known that it was gonna take a hell of a lot more than a handwritten letter and a box of artisanal muffins to knock some sense into his stubborn ass.

"Argh! You are such a fucking ogre, Andrew!" You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Why can't you ever make things easy?"

The next time you look up it's to see the bartender returning with your credit card. She goes to hand it over, only for you to interrupt her mid-sentence.

What was her name again? You could've sworn it started with a "D".

"Sorry, I know I said I was ready to close out. But since men are stupid, I think I'm gonna need another margarita. Quite possibly two."

Delta gives you a sympathetic nod before pocketing your card once more. "You got it, sweetie. Still want sugar instead of salt?"

"Yes, please." You mumble, reminding yourself that it was okay to feel annoyed. Because you were. This was supposed to be your time, damn it. You deserved to take some space for yourself!

Even if it meant sitting alone at a hotel bar, missing the one person you loved more than anything, the day after motherfucking Valentine's Day. Cheers, bitches.

___

Two Weeks Later – Somewhere in Downtown Boston

Andrew Barber stares blankly at his computer screen, mindlessly tapping his index finger against his temple as a fresh wave of anger courses through his veins.

He’d been so good the last two weeks. So patient and understanding. He’d given you your space, just like you’d asked. Never intruding with the exception of the text he shot off that night.

Even when he’d come across your latest Instagram post from a few days ago showing off your apparent date with another man. Some pretentious looking fucker who went by Russell Cromwell. You two had looked real cozy while sharing a plate full of Birria tacos. And then you’d posed outside of the restaurant with your arms wrapped around his waist.

But the real kicker had been the last photo in the carousel. The one where you’d kissed him on the cheek – when you’d done the “knee thing” that actresses used to do in those old black and white movies you loved to watch so much.

Oh yeah. The two of you would be having a discussion about that one real soon. His wayward Baby Girl could count on that shit.

Honestly, you had no idea how hard falling back had been for him. It had been a real struggle. Because at his core, Andrew Barber was a man of action. He was well-known for his cunning and mental prowess. This was a man who had graduated at the top of his class, who had then gone on to become the youngest District Attorney in the city of Boston’s history.

And in times of crisis, he was someone you could count on to remain calm and collected while you worked towards a solution. Nothing could shake him, save for the trial and media circus that had briefly surrounded his late son.

After that particular tragedy, Andy had resigned himself to being alone. Forever. He often tried to convince himself that he preferred it that way. Andrew Barber didn’t do love. Not after what happened with his ex-wife, Laurie. He was better off living a life of no commitment.

Even if it meant a lot of lonely nights filled with a seemingly endless revolving door of meaningless one-night stands.

And then he’d met you.

Yes, you.

The woman who had somehow, against all odds, brought magic back into his life. Your laugh, your smile, your very presence – it colored his whole goddamn world. He told you that all of the time, and yet it was almost as if you didn’t believe him.

At first, he was convinced that you were too good to be true. Although he’d been quickly dispelled of that notion when you’d had the balls to walk out on him during your very first date. It’s quite possible that he’d fallen for you right then – because you were the type of woman who knew her worth.

By then, Andy had become convinced that you were a gift from the universe. The way he saw it, after everything he’d been through, he was owed you. You were the woman of his dreams – his very salvation – all wrapped up in a curvy little package. And when you ran that night, it called to the primal part of him that felt compelled to give chase.

Just like now.

But what you had yet to understand was that, once a man like Andrew Barber had deemed you his forever, there was no going back. There was no letting you go. No means of escape.

At most, he’d been granted you a temporary reprieve. You both needed time to assess the situation, survey the damage, and then calculate your next move.

And sweetness, you’d already played your hand when you’d left that little note skipped town under the pretense of taking a fucking business trip.

Fine. Now it was on him. And while you still held most of the cards, that certainly didn’t mean that Andrew Barber was walking around without an ace or two in his back pocket. And you had better believe that he was more than ready to play his own.

But first…he needed some fucking coffee. And lucky for him, he knew just where he could find the perfect cup – shot of chocolate, dash of cinnamon, hold the whip.

___

Forty Minutes Later – Monarch Media Group (20 Minutes Outside Downtown Boston)

You lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. For the life of you, you simply couldn’t seem to focus today. Or any other day for the matter.

Even though it had been almost a week since you’d returned from your trip to L.A., you still felt just as conflicted about things with Andrew Barber as you did before you’d left. And not only that, but you also found yourself feeling on edge about the entire situation.

Because after your brief text exchange the morning of February 15th, he’d left you alone. The most impatient man you’d ever encountered this side of Boston had actually found it within himself to respect your wishes.

No calls. No texts. No emails. Not even so much as a fucking smoke signal.

And while part of you was pleased with that particular development, there was no denying the fact that you missed your Big Man.

You could be woman enough to admit it. You missed the hell out the handsome, grumpy-faced district attorney who, up until recently, had been a major mainstay in your life. But after some serious soul searching and a generous amount of tequila, you’d come to the conclusion that it was important for you to get your mind right before moving forward with anything.

You owed it to yourself to figure out who you were outside of your relationship with Andy – needed it even. Because that man was a force to be reckoned with. He could be so dominant sometimes, his personality so completely all-consuming that it was easy to lose yourself in him.

To allow yourself to become so entirely eclipsed by his brilliant shadow. Which is something that could absolutely happen the moment you stopped paying attention to your own wants, and needs, and desires.

And if that ever were to happen, part of you wondered whether or not you would be able to find your way back. Honestly, you had no idea.

Because after all of this, if you chose to be with him…it would mean that you were all-in. There was no other option with him.

That beautifully stubborn man didn’t have a lower setting.

However, the last thing you’d ever expected was for Mr. Andrew “My Way or the Highway” Barber to go quietly into that good night. Well, suppose you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Because if anything he could very well be planning–

Your inner musings are interrupted by Anya, your favorite receptionist at Monarch Media Group. Granted, she was also the only receptionist at the company you’d worked for over the last several years, but that was neither here nor there.

Anya gives you a knowing look before taking a seat on the edge of your desk. “Hi, friend.” She lightly pokes your shoulder. “How ya doin?”

“I’m okay.” You blow out a breath and then decide to exit out of your Outlook. “What’s up?”

“Oh…nothing much.” You watch as your friend and coworker helps herself to a piece of chocolate sitting in a nearby dish.

“Okay.”

“I just stopped by to tell you that your coffee has arrived.” She dutifully unwraps it before popping it in her mouth.

“What?”

You hadn’t ordered any coffee. You didn’t usually even drink the stuff this late in the day. Unless…

“Yep. And just so happens, it was hand-delivered by the handsomest door-dasher I ever did see.” Anya pokes your shoulder again. “I would’ve accepted it on your behalf, but the guy insists on giving it to you himself. Probably angling for a tip if you ask me.” She throws you a conspiratorial wink for good measure.

Speak of the devil. Hello, Mr. Andrew “Check Out My Shit Timing” Barber.

“Ugh.” You bury your head in your hands to muffle your cry of frustration. “Can you please just tell him I’m not here?”

“I’m afraid I already let that cat out of the bag. But by the look on your face and the way you’re rocking back and forth like a human pinball, I take it I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No!”

“Did you and Andy like…break up…or something?” Anya pauses as she reaches for another piece of candy, her hand hovering in mid-air.

No, Anya. I always feel like jumping out the nearest window. I’m fucking squirrley like that.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You wail. “It’s just…it’s just really fucking complicated, okay?”

“Gotcha. So…about the coffee…”

“I’m going. I’m going.” You stand up in a huff, wishing you knew where you put the ponytail holder that had been on your wrist just this morning. “But if he pisses me off, I’m dumping that shit on his shoes. Hot or not. I do not care.”

“Okay, but if it comes to that can you please try to do it off company property? I’m all for you handling your business, but I’m also thinking about all the paperwork I’m gonna have to do if you accidentally injure one of the city’s hottest attorneys.”

“Fuck you.” You grumble as you stalk towards the front of the office to confront the annoying asshole who also happened to be the love of your life.

“What can I say? I’m a selfish bitch.” She chirps, blowing you a kiss.

“Your words not mine. And stay the hell out of my chocolate, you mooch!” You call out as you turn the corner, fully intending to give the Boston D.A. a piece of your mind before you politely, and very firmly, shoved him out the door.

Because if that man thought that he could just waltz right into your place of business and act like he owned everything and everyone, then he was sorely mistaken. You were going to prove to him, and whoever the hell’s job it was to oversee this whole godforsaken cosmos, that you knew how to stand your ground.

The sight of him standing right there in the lobby is easily enough to temporarily rob you of all reasonable thought. His back is to you, giving you the brief opportunity to give him a thorough once-over. His tailored white dress shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, exposing his brawny forearms. But what really draws your attention are his slate gray slacks, which only serves to highlight his perfectly sculpted backside.

He looked good. Nobody deserved to look that damned good, least of all your ex-boyfriend.

Wait. Is that – is that what he was now? Is…is that how all of this worked? Fuck!

You note the lack of tension in his broad shoulders. All things considered, he seemed pretty relaxed. But the real question was…how long could it be expected to last?

Andy picks that moment to turn around, his bright blue eyes locking with your own as an eager grin slowly spreads its way across his handsome features. You take a steadying breath and choose to ignore it.

“Andrew.” You exhale, trying your best to appear unaffected by his presence. It was a lie, of course. But if you managed to keep this unexpected interaction short and sweet, you just might be able to pull it off. “Wh–what are you doing here?”

“Hi.” He cocks his head to the side as he drinks you in, almost as if he’s amused by your disgruntled demeanor.

“Hello.” You cross your arms over your chest, wishing that you had chosen to wear a different sweater today. Andy loved you in this color, especially because of how it paired with your particular skin tone.

“Happy Wednesday, baby.”

God, he really needed to lose that stupid smile. Otherwise, how on earth were you supposed to maintain your composure?

“Sure.”

“Brought you something.” Andy holds out one of the cups of coffee he’s carrying. “Figured you might be able to use a little pick-me-up.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” You tell him with a shake of your head.

“What? Since when?” He rears back before offering up a playful pout. “We always get coffee together on Wednesdays. It’s our thing…our little afternoon delight.” This time you’re treated to a wink.

“Shh!” You hiss, bridging the distance between your bodies to slap a hand across his mouth. “Don’t say that!”

The last thing you needed was someone to overhear that and think you two used to sneak away sometimes in the afternoon to…to well…you know. Some of the people you worked with possessed very vivid imaginations.

And besides, that whole afternoon delight business had only happened once or twice. Okay, quite possibly four and a half times – and then one more after that.

Amusement sparkles in his gaze as he stares you down. And then you feel the faint flick of his tongue brush across your palm. When you don’t react he does it again, this time following it up with an exaggerated groan.

You immediately jerk your hand away as if you’ve just been burned. Knowing that things were only bound to get worse, you snatch one of the coffees before grabbing his arm and dragging him outside and into the unseasonably warm weather.

Thank goodness for small favors.

The smell of spring was definitely in the air these days, but all you can focus on is the sound of Andy’s laughter trailing behind you. Frankly, it’s enough to set your teeth on edge. Even still, he allows you to lead him down the street. At some point there’s a slight shift that results in your relinquishing his arm so that he can lace his fingers through yours.

But you'll allow it if it means that he’ll behave for as long as it takes to make it to your destination. Which just so happens to be an empty bench located at the edge of a nearby park.

To his credit, the attractive buttface at your side doesn’t say anything during your impromptu power walk, but he also doesn’t need to. Because after two long weeks without you, the man was probably venturing into serious touch-starved territory.

You knew it. And so did he. So part of you didn’t see the harm in giving him this one, small thing.

Relief fills you when you finally reach the bench. Of course Andy sits first before pulling you down with him – but thankfully not onto his lap. Although you’re positive that the thought was there.

Eventually he lets go of your hand. Unsure of what else to do, you finally take a sip of your coffee. The rich, slightly bitter flavor of chocolate and mocha bursts onto your tongue, followed immediately by a quick hint of cinnamon.

Mm. A perfect cup.

“I’ve missed you, baby girl.” Andy’s large, lightly calloused hand cups your face – the roughened pad of his thumb caressing the curve of your cheek. “It hasn’t been a very fun couple of weeks.”

“I know.” You whisper as you lean into his touch and your eyes flutter closed. Perhaps you were just as starved for affection as he was. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you miss me?” His tone is gruff, but there’s no mistaking the emotion behind his words. Or the pain in his eyes for that matter.

“I did, Andy.” So much.

“But you still left. Tried to break up with me before hopping on a plane and running off all the way to L.A. to share some chips and queso with good ol’ Rusty.” Your eyes fly open as Andy’s hand drops away. “Or did I read that wrong?”

How the fuck had he known where you where? You hadn’t included anything about your intended destination in your letter…

“I saw it on your Instagram, in case you were wondering. Was actually able to use that stupid account you set up for me after all.” His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he narrows his gaze, trying to read your expression. “Couldn’t really get much else, although I enjoyed those pics of you at the beach.”

“It was a work trip.” You remind him, suddenly feeling defensive. “And Russell is an old friend, nothing more.”

“Hm.” Andy quirks an annoyed brow. “Are we talking about the kind of friend who also accompanies you to the beach so you can show off your brand new bikini? Not that I’m complaining any about that gorgeous, sunkissed glow you’ve got going on, princess.”

His big body is certainly tense, but there’s no ignoring the feral gleam in his eyes. Almost as if he’s dying to undress you and spend the next several hours checking you for tan lines.

And he would, too. It’s not like it would be the first time.

“I went alone. Russell stayed behind for that one.” You roll your eyes at the sight of his nostrils flaring. “Jesus Christ, dude! I know you may not believe that I’m a big girl, but I am. And if I wanna go hang out at the beach by myself, then that’s exactly what I’m gonna do!”

Which was exactly what the fuck you’d done. And it had been positively marvelous.

“Fine.” He grunts, raising his palm towards the heavens. “God forgive me for having the sense to worry about my girl, especially since the last time I checked, she still couldn’t swim for shit.”

“Whatever, Andrew. This girl does whatever the hell she wants now, so you had better get used to it.” Your mouth is set in a thin, firm line while you silently dare him to disagree.

“I’m not quite sure how that’s different from any other day with you, but alright.” Andy tries to calm himself by playing with a stray curl that’s fallen free from your bun. “You’re still mine, sweetness. Even when you insist on being a brat. Or did you somehow forget that part?”

You swat at his hand instead of responding, hating that steady feeling of warmth that was currently pooling in your belly.

“Did you?”

You make a show of ignoring him in favor of enjoying what was left of your coffee.

“You know, they say that sometimes silence speaks louder than words, baby girl.” You find yourself resisting the urge to clench your thighs together at the sound of the dark chuckle that rumbles through his chest. “It’s alright, though. Guess I’ll just have to remind you again once we get past this little wall you’re trying to put up between us.”

He gifts you with a flash of his pearly white teeth. Andrew Barber was the type of man who would only let you get away with so much before he put his foot down. And you would do well to remember that.

“Pretty sure you meant to say “actions”, jackass.” Apparently he finds your acerbic wit funny as well.

“Eh, I’ve heard it both ways.” Andy shrugs before going back to toying with your curls. “But I think you should know that I’m not very happy with you, baby. And I’m trying to be patient here, but it’s kinda difficult when I can’t even get you to talk to me.”

“I was going to call you…” That wasn’t a lie. You had just been trying to drum up the mental fortitude you knew it would take to pick up the phone and actually dial his number. Sometimes, dealing with Andrew Barber could require some serious patience.

“Were you now?” He doesn’t believe you. You can hear it in his voice.

“I was.”

“Okay, then have dinner with me tonight.” He releases your curl, watching the way it bounces as it springs free.

“Andy.” You let out an exhausted sigh.

“Meet me at my place. I’ll swing by Imperial Wok and pick up a few of your favorites so we can eat. And then we can talk in a quiet, private setting without any interruptions. How does that sound, princess?”

“Wonderful.” The word slips out before you can catch it. “But I–I can’t.”

Andrew Barber’s excited smile dies on his lips the moment that phrase reaches his ears and registers in his brain. As much as you hated to admit it, being alone with this man wasn’t a very good idea right now – especially behind closed doors.

Because while you’d never seen the man in court, you’d definitely heard plenty of stories about his ruthlessness. And you knew firsthand just how persistent he could be when he was determined to get his way.

When Andy wanted something, he didn’t stop until he got it. Not only was he relentless, but he also wasn’t above using every tool at his disposal – including sex – if it meant having you back in his life. It wouldn’t matter all that much to him how it came about.

The same way he wouldn’t care if whether or not your desired reconciliation only happened because he’d lured you into his bed before fucking you back into submission.

“The fu–why the hell not?” He growls, his hand grips the arm of the wooden bench so hard his knuckles go white.

“Because I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” The pronounced tick in his jaw makes it clear that he’s beyond frustrated by your refusal.

Unfortunately, that was too damned bad! By the time this was all said and done, your handsome ogre was going to have mastered the art of having some goddamned patience. At least you hoped that would be the case…

“Both.” You offer your Big Man a small apologetic smile as you rise from your seat. “Let’s plan for sometime next week. Maybe we can shoot for Monday. I’ll, uh, send you a text or something and we can find a place to meet. But I really need to get back to work now.”

Andy stares at you for what feels like a full minute as his impressive brain works overtime to figure out his next move. And then he stands up before taking your empty cup and discarding them both in a nearby trash bin.

“Alright.” He mutters with a nod in your direction. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for your message then. Now, let’s get you back to your office.” A lump forms in your throat when he wraps a muscled arm around your shoulders as you two begin walking back the way you came.

Fuck, you really hated this shit. But if this relationship was ever going to have a chance of working, you had to continue standing your ground. Even though it hurt like hell.

“I, um...I know you said that we probably won’t be able to sit down and talk until next week. And I suppose I can understand where you’re coming from with that, but while I have you now…” He lightly coughs into his elbow.

You glance up at your hotshot attorney, trying to figure out where he was going with this so that you could potentially cut him off at the pass.

“I at least wanted to say “thank you” in person for still agreeing to help Lydia with the charity gala this Saturday. I’m sure that it wasn’t an easy decision for you, especially given how things have been between us lately. But I really do appreciate it. And, frankly, I’m sure the kids at St. Augustine’s do too.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as the reminder of this weekend’s event all-but smacks in the face. “Shit!” You hiss, pulling away from Andy as you reach your building. “It’s this Saturday? Are you sure?”

“I am.” He confirms, his eyes filled with surprise. “I just spoke with Lydia yesterday when I–”

“Fuck!” You exclaim as your hands fly to your hips, uncaring that you just interrupted whatever it was he was about to say.

In all of the chaos, you’d completely forgotten that you had agreed to help the wife of one of Andy’s colleagues with her annual charity ball. Starting by arriving at the hotel early Saturday morning to aid in the event setup, before heading up to your room to get ready for the evening's festivities.

A room that had been booked during a time when you and Andy were on much better terms.

“She did mention that she sent all of the volunteers an email a couple days ago with a list of instructions. Maybe it got buried in your inbox, baby.” He rests his hands on your biceps, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “But she is definitely expecting you and I’m afraid it’s probably too late for you to back out at this point.”

Deep down you knew he was right. And quite honestly, you wouldn’t even dream of doing something like this close to the actual date of the gala. But there was still the issue of having to share a hotel room with your ex.

Closing your eyes, you force yourself to take a deep breath. “I–I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that big of an asshole. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to share a room…” You trail off, hoping that he would at least be somewhat understanding of your current plight.

“Ahh.” You can see the moment when realization finally dawns. “Right. Almost forgot about that.”

No, he actually hadn’t. But since Andy didn’t feel as though there was any real need for you to know that, he was going to keep that particular tidbit to himself. Even he was capable of showing some restraint every now and again.

“Like I said…” You find yourself anxiously bouncing on your toes. “I don’t think –”

“I get it, sweetheart.”

Wait. He did? Just like that?

“You do?”

“I do.” His words are accompanied by a lopsided grin.

He didn’t. But then again, you didn’t need to know that either.

Andy’s hands leave your arms so that he can tenderly cup the sides of your face instead. “You just leave it all to me, baby girl. I’ll call the hotel and change the reservations.”

“You will?” You place your smaller hands overtop of his own. “You…you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Andy leans down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “And I promise to be on my best behavior Saturday night.” He gives you another kiss, which you allow. “If you want, I’ll even send over the updated confirmation info.”

“Thank you.” You murmur, wishing that you could give-in just a little more and offer up your lips for a kiss. A real one this time.

But you couldn’t afford to do that. Not even when Mr. Andrew “Give Me A Gold Star For Being Helpful” Barber was acting sweet. That would only throw everything off balance all over again.

Andy’s heated gaze drops to your mouth before he slowly pulls away. “Don’t work too hard, okay?” His husky voice sends one last tiny flutter through your belly.

“Same goes for you.” You tell him as you begin to head into the building.

“Goodbye, baby girl.”

“Goodbye, Andrew. See you Saturday.”

He waits until you’re safely inside and out of sight before turning on his heel and proceeding in the direction of his car. Oh, you’d be seeing him on Saturday alright. And he would be on his best behavior – depending on just how much patience he could muster.

You two would be sorting this shit out then, whether you liked it or not. When it was over, you’d both spend the rest of the weekend making up for lost time. And Andrew was going to do everything in his power to ensure you enjoyed every fucking second of it. Just like he planned to enjoy getting reacquainted with that delicate sweetness between those luscious thighs. But first…

He needed to go make a call.

END

*Part Three Coming Soon...*

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