#924

Her hair was pulled back neatly, curls gathered low, edges smooth and deliberate. Her features were soft and commanding all at once: full lips set in calm authority, eyes sharp with intelligence, skin glowing warmly against the cold-toned workshop.

She clapped once.

“Alright, everyone,” she said, voice even, assured. “Assembly line four please slow down. The paint needs another ten minutes. Ribbon stock needs to be redistributed, and please for the love of God no more experimental enchantments until after supper.”

A chorus of agreement followed immediately.

“Yes, Mrs. Claus.” “Right away.” “Sorry, Mrs. Claus.”

She moved through the workshop with practiced ease, pointing, adjusting, praising when it was earned. Elves leaned in to listen when she spoke. They trusted her. They followed her.

Sukuna stood at the far end of the room.

And he was utterly ruined.

His arms were crossed, posture relaxed, but his eyes, oh his eyes were locked on her like a curse he couldn’t break. Every step she took set the velvet of her skirt into motion, fabric pulling tight over the round swell of her hips before releasing again. The seam traced her shape perfectly, the beauty of her ass heavy and undeniable beneath the rich red cloth.

When she turned, the movement was slow enough to feel intentional.

His gaze followed without shame.

She bent slightly beside one of the tables, pointing at a schematic, and the dress stretched over her backside just enough to make his breath hitch. The velvet clung, emphasized, showed him exactly how full she was, how much of her there was to hold, to touch.

She straightened and turned.

Caught him staring.

One brow lifted.

Not surprised.

Not offended.

Just knowing.

A slow smile curved her mouth before she turned back to her work, hips swaying with unbothered confidence.

Sukuna exhaled through his teeth, something dark and pleased curling in his chest.

Dangerous woman.

By the time the workshop emptied, the snow outside had thickened, soft flakes tapping against the windows. Sukuna returned to the cottage, shrugging out of his coat as warmth and scent wrapped around him.

Steak.

Rich, savory, perfectly cooked garlic and herbs and butter. Home.

She stepped out of the kitchen still wearing the uniform, velvet now glowing in firelight instead of lantern glow. The shadows emphasized the beauty of her body, the fullness of her chest rising gently with each breath.

She carried two plates easily, strong arms flexing beneath the fitted sleeves.

“Sit,” she told him.

He did.

She leaned forward to place his plate in front of him, and his eyes dropped immediately, unrepentant, hungry. The fur trim brushed softly against the top of her chest, framing the deep curve there, the fabric pulled snug and supportive beneath.

His gaze lingered.

Traced.

Drank her in.

“You’re staring,” she said calmly, straightening.

“You brought temptation to my table,” he replied, voice low. “That’s on you.”

She smiled faintly and took her seat.

Dinner passed slowly, not because of conversation, but because neither of them was in a hurry. His eyes kept lifting to her boobs as she cut into her steak, the movement subtle but impossible to ignore. The uniform shifted with her body, velvet hugging, fur brushing, gold embroidery catching firelight with every breath she took.

“You wore that all day,” he said casually.

“Yes.”

“And survived the workshop.”

“Barely,” she replied dryly. “You were a distraction.”

He chuckled. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

She met his gaze across the table steady, confident, entirely aware of her effect on him.

The fire crackled.

Snow fell outside.

And Sukuna knew tonight without question that the uniform had done exactly what it was meant to do.

She hadn’t dressed to please him.

She’d dressed to claim her place beside him.

And it drove him absolutely feral.