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lowkeyerror · 2 months ago

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Key to Your Flat

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: 4.9k

Notes: Fluff, a bit of angst, pining, lots of acts of service, friends to lovers, au no powers

Summary: Wanda ends her long term relationship with Jarvis after realizing she was a lesbian. You've been her best friend since college, it's only right for you to support her in any way you can.

An: So this was supposed to be a cute little 1-2k fic loosely based on the Doja Cat snippet that says "Does a key to your flat mean girlfriend?" But it has turned into something else lol.

Masterlist | Masterlist 2

From the first day that you met her, you knew that Wanda would be one of the most successful people that you had ever encountered. There was no one more determined to make something of themselves than her. It was more than hard work; it was the way she sacrificed for the things that she wanted to accomplish in life.

You admired her.

How could you not, especially with the lack of direction you had in your own life? When you became her roommate in your sophomore year in college, you were already on your 3rd major. From engineering, to English, to culinary arts; you were all over the place. Yet you didn’t care much about it, figuring things would work out somehow.

You believed that the universe would grant you whatever fate you deserved. Until Wanda told you that was such a ridiculous notion. Who would wait for a handout from the universe when they could simply get what they wanted themselves?

She was a good influence on you. You started taking school and your future a little more seriously after that. You put a lot more stock into your culinary dreams, and they paid off. There was a beaming fulfillment in your chest when you opened your own restaurant. Something that probably wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t met Wanda.

While you can’t necessarily recall what Wanda does off of the top of your head. You know she’s got some long fancy title at some big industry company. She had taken an internship in college and because of how completely undeniable the woman was, she shot up in the ranks of the company within a 10-year period.

You were both busy people, but you never loss touch as you climbed your respective ladders of success. It was second nature for you to keep in contact with Wanda. It’s not something you thought about as much as something that you did.

Other aspects of your life often slipped through your fingers. You weren’t proud to say you’d forgotten a birthday or two or missed family plans because of work. Even your dating life suffered immensely because of your hectic lifestyle.

You never understood just how Wanda could manage to create enough balance in her life to find someone like Jarvis. He was a good man, clean cut. A little more uptight than you’d thought Wanda would go for, but a charmer, nonetheless.

You remember being skeptical when you first met him. You were the first person that he’d met from Wanda’s life. It was an accident when you ran into him on the way out of Wanda’s flat. He was about to knock when you were exiting. The red head was a little embarrassed to explain as you stared at the tall blonde man. You looked between the two before you shook his hand and sent him a decent enough smile.

She had chased after you when you left, trying to explain herself, but there was nothing to explain. You congratulated her, said you were happy she found someone. She thought you’d be upset with her, but you weren’t. How could you be upset when she was happy?

You had assumed that they had a perfect relationship. That’s how it seemed when you saw them interact with each other. His hand on her waist, her eyes shining into his. They’d seem to compliment each other like the ocean compliments the beach.

Which is why you were confused when Wanda called you in the middle of your shift at work. She hardly ever called, finding texting much more reliable. However, you picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Hey, I know you’re probably working right now but is there any way you can pick me up.”

It sounded like she had been crying.

You were taking your apron off as you spoke into the phone, “Always, just send me your location and I’ll be on my way.”

You hear the relieved sigh she lets out, “Thank you.”

You informed your staff of your departure and went to your car. Wanda sent her location, and you put it into your GPS, before driving off. She was closer than you had expected so getting to her was easy.

She was at a park in the middle of the city. The day was cloudy, and the sun was preparing to set. It was a very grey day to be outdoors.

Once you were out of your car you scanned around for your friend. You found her almost instantly. She was sitting on a bench, her head in her hands.

You’d seen her stressed before, but this felt bigger than that. Her voice on the phone made that very evident to you.

You approached her cautiously and when you got close enough you called her name, “Wanda.”

Her head shot up when she heard you. She was off the bench and in your arms before you had time to react. Her arms were tightly wound around you. It caught you off guard and all you could do was stare down at her for a moment.

Soon you were holding her back just as tight. Your hand cradled the back of her hair, finger tenderly rubbing her scalp.

“What happened?” Your voice is soft when you ask, not trying to provoke her any more than she already is.

It takes her a minute to pull away enough to answer you, but eventually she does, “Jarvis, he proposed.”

Your eyes widen, “These don’t look like happy tears.”

“I was trying to break up with him,” she lets out a deep sigh. “I called him to talk in person, and then I tell him that I think we should break up. He gets on one knee and starts talking, and I- I just…”

“Oh Wands,” you pull her back into your embrace.

You readjust so that you have one arm over her shoulder. She doesn’t protest as you lead her to your car. She climbs in the passenger seat no questions asked as you pull off.

When you arrived at your destination she finally speaks up, “What’re we doing here?”

You’re in and out of the Chinese food spot with a hefty bag of boxes in tow. When you re-enter the car with the food Wanda sends you a small smile.

“Getting takeout,” you answered quickly getting out of the car. “You sit tight.”

“Did you-”

“Of course, I got our favorite and I asked for extra sweet and sour too. I was going to drive to yours, maybe we could eat and indulge in some sitcoms or talk, whatever you want. How does that sound?”

Your eyes raked over her features. She gave you a few small nods, “Sounds better than having an existential breakdown at the park.”

“Well, I guess it’s settled then,” you chuckled a little.

You drove to her house, glancing over at her every few minutes. Her head rested on the window and her eyes were closed, but you knew she wasn’t sleeping. Wanda often closed her eyes when she was trying to ground herself. It was something you had picked up on back in college. You never knew where she went in her head, but it always seemed to help her refocus.

When you got to her flat. You handled the food and the tv, shooing Wanda away to put on some more comfortable clothes. When she came back in her sweatpants and robe the two of you ate as you watched I Dream of Jeannie.

It took about 2 episodes before she said anything to you.

“You’re not going to ask why I wanted to break up with him?”

You leaned back into the couch, “I’m curious, but it didn’t really seem like something I should be asking right now.”

She searched your eyes for something. If you had to guess, you say for security. She needed to know that start she said next was ok to tell you. In truth there was nothing she could say that would deter you from being there for her.

“I think I like women,” she said as she looked into her lap. There were more tears brewing behind her eyes, “Only women.”

There was no hesitation as you moved closer to her. Your thigh brushing against hers, prompting her to meet your gaze.

“That’s not a bad thing Wanda.”

She shakes her head, “It is especially when you have a long-term boyfriend who loves you with everything that he has. You keep wondering when you’re going to love him the way he loves you. When will you stop hating the way he touches you? When will you be able to look at him, the way he looks at you. By the time you realize it can’t be him, it will never be a him… it’s too late. He shows you a ring while you’re trying to break up with him.”

You grab her hand, “You need to be kinder to yourself. This isn’t something you chose to do Wanda. It’s not like you knew the whole time. It sounds like you’re just coming to terms with your sexuality. You did the right thing by breaking up with him.”

“But-"

She ran her free hand through her hair, “Did you think we were a good couple? Jarvis and I.”

“Let me finish. If I’m being honest, getting on one knee and proposing to someone after they tried to break up with you sounds like a manipulation tactic.”

You thought about the question briefly, “I think it looked like you were the perfect couple, but sometimes I didn’t understand it. You’re both so different, not that it was a bad thing. I just… I’ve seen you soar to unimaginable heights. I’ve seen your ambitions become your reality. I just didn’t see that in him. You’re always striving to be the best, to improve. I always thought you’d want someone to do the same with you or someone who was okay with you doing that. It just seemed like all of that went over his head.”

“He was a very traditional man. He always talked about settling down in the future, with firm roots, and kids. He talked about me retiring and letting him take care of me. It was just- not what I wanted.”

“And that’s ok, people break up all the time Wanda. It’s a normal part of life. Yes, it sucks, but it's just a breakup. Think of it as one step closer to finding your person.”

She nods slightly, “When did you get so good at this?”

You smile at her, “I’m not good at this. I’m just good with you. That's what nearly a decade of friendship does to someone.”

She didn’t say anything else. Instead, she rested her head on your shoulder and turned her attention back to the tv. You wrapped your arm around her shoulder, pulling her firmly into you.

Wanda would get through this, just like she got through everything else. You’d make sure of it, because she'd do the same for you.

In the coming months, you found yourself carving out more time for Wanda. The busy nature of your schedule died down significantly when you started to entrust the general manager of your restaurant with some more responsibility. It made your workload lighter while allowing your GM to get some more experience.

You used the new free time to support her the best way you could. Sometimes that meant bringing her lunch when she was working. Other times it was coming over after work to make sure the woman wasn’t neglecting her home. You’d go over and check if she had groceries or that she wasn’t letting the flat get too dirty. She was the kind of woman that threw herself into work when she was trying to avoid something.

You’d even gone as far as helping her set up a dating profile when she was ready to put herself back out there.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

You were once again in her flat. She stood in the kitchen, while you sat on a chair stationed at the island in the middle of the same room.

“Date women,” she was asking sincerely, but you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Well, I don’t really date, but it’s the same as any date. You’re trying to present your best self, get a good foot forward, but while maintaining an authenticity. It’s not like a job interview where only one person is doing the hiring; you both have a say in how it turns out.”

Wanda narrows her eyes, “Why don’t you date?”

You shrug, “Too busy running a very successful restaurant.”

“You’re not as busy as you used to be. Maybe you should set up a profile for yourself. I’m sure any girl would be lucky to have you.”

You shook your head, “Hard pass, but I appreciate the effort.”

“Come on, Y/nn. I know accomplishments can feel empty when you don’t have anyone to share them with,” she tried to persuade you.

“Well good thing I can share it with you then,” you countered.

She let out an irritated sigh, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You smirked, “Why do you want me to sign up so badly anyway? You think we’re going to match?”

You were only joking, yet you can’t help but notice the slight color on your friend’s cheeks.

She scoffed like you expected her to, “Grow up.”

For a moment it felt like you were back in your college dorm. The playful and flirty banter was always present between the two of you. It was easy for you to flirt with her, knowing you never really had a chance. However, now that there was even the slightest of possibility that this could escalate, it felt completely different.

“It’s alright Wanda, nothing to be ashamed of. I’m hot, successful, hardworking, and financially responsible. Hard to ignore the total package.”

She rolled her eyes, “I remember when Ms. ‘Total Package’ couldn’t even finish her college assignments without my help.”

You chuckle when you catch her eyes, “You’ve got me there. If it wasn’t for you, I have no idea where’d I be.”

“Probably still in college on your 95th major change,” she laughed at her own joke.

It was your turn to roll your eyes, “Very funny.”

With a smile plastered on her face she strolled over to sit next to you. She spun on the barstool before grabbing your arms and looking into your eyes, “I have something for you actually.”

“What is it?”

She reached into her pocket and sat a key down on the island. You looked at her, then the key, with slight confusion.

“A key?”

Wanda nodded softly, “You’re basically here all the time and I’m getting tired of opening the door for you.”

“I’m using this key to come over and cook in this beautiful kitchen, you hardly use.”

“Hey, I cook,” she defended.

You laughed, “I said hardly, didn’t I?”

When you got home that night, you felt a new weight on your shoulders. Your hand slipped into your pocket to pull out the key. You held it flat in your palm. The small piece of metal was cool against your skin. You stared at it for a long while.

It was just a key. There wasn't anything crazy about it. Your friend gave you a key to her house. Friends do that with each other. Your heart shouldn’t have been fluttering the way it was over such a simple gesture.

You closed your hand around the key trying to ground yourself. Your eyes shut, but as soon as they did her smile etched its way into your sight.

“Shit.”

It was like college all over again. You thought you had gotten over your crush on Wanda many years ago. She was straight, it was never going to happen. That was something you could deal with, something you could work through. However now, that wasn’t the case anymore. Wanda liked women, technically you had a chance.

You shouldn't be thinking like that. She needs you now, to be her friend. You were doing so well. Taking care of her had become an unconscious pattern as easy as breathing. You never thought about it too hard when she needed you. It’s like the moment she put the key in your hand, your mind finally started thinking.

Subconsciously you’d always known it. It’s why you didn't date. It was unfair to be with someone who you could never prioritize over Wanda. She was one of the few people in your life that you’d drop everything for.

Sure, you were a busy woman, but you’d never be too busy for her. Her distress over Jarvis literally made you change the way you worked, just to make sure you were there when she needed you.

“Why would I make her a dating profile?” You asked yourself as you face-planted on to your mattress.

Just as you expected Wanda’s profile was gaining some traction. There were a lot of women interested in someone like her. Soon she was going on more dates than you had been on in years. Most of them weren’t serious, she often said she wouldn’t be seeing them again.

You made a day of finding the freshest ingredients. You drove out to find markets that had authentic food from her home country. There wasn’t a lot locally, but you didn’t mind the hunt.

While you were sad that she wasn’t finding anyone suitable you were also happy for the same reason. You thought you’d attempt to cheer her up after so many bad dates by cooking one of her favorite dishes.

Once you had everything you needed you made your way over to Wanda’s. It was a hassle carrying everything up, but you managed with a little effort.

While you were still conflicted about having a key to her flat, you used it plenty of times. So just like you had done previously you let yourself into Wanda’s home.

“Oh, fuck sorry,” you said as you immediately saw Wanda straddling the lap of an older ( admittedly super attractive) woman on her living room couch.

Wanda looked like a deer in headlights. You were trying to comprehend if you were more mortified or heartbroken. No one spoke for a long while until the older woman cleared her throat.

“Right, uh I’ll just come back tomorrow or something. Enjoy your night, Wanda.”

With the groceries still in your hands, you turned around and closed the door. You only made it down a few steps before you heard someone calling after you.

“Y/n, wait!”

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath trying to mask your feelings before you turned around.

“This stuff is a little heavy Wanda; I want to get it back to the car before the bags break.”

She took a few bags from your hands, “Let me help you.”

“You don’t have to; you looked pretty busy in there. Here I was, bringing stuff to cook for you in light of all your failed dates, but it seems like you’re not doing nearly as bad as I thought,” you tried to joke with her.

“Agatha is definitely the best of the dates I've had so far.”

You had to keep yourself from wincing, “Glad to hear it.”

Wanda helped you load the stuff back into the car.

“I’m really sorry about this. If I would’ve known you were coming-"

You shook your head, “It’s fine Wanda, go back to making out with a hot older woman. They don't like to wait for too long. I’ll just text you next time instead of just barging in.”

“I gave you a key because you’re always welcome.”

You unhooked the key from your key ring and hand it back to her, “I know that, but maybe it’s best if you let me in.”

“Y/n,” she looked at you with confusion.

You smiled through the pain, “If you’re going to have women over, it’s not a good look for another woman to be coming in and out of your house whenever. We’re not related and we’re not roommates. There’s not really a reason for me to have access to you like that.”

“I don’t understand,” she looked between you and the key that was now in her hand.

“Usually, a key to your flat would mean I’m your girlfriend. Me coming over to cook for you as another woman who likes women is bad for your stock. It just doesn't feel like something that's easily explained. I would have a bunch of questions if I was in Agatha’s position, especially since you haven't gone back yet,” you got into your car.

There was a conflicted look on her face, “You’ll stop by tomorrow?”

“I’ve got work, but I'll try to stop by after,” you told her that even though you knew you wouldn't be coming back tomorrow.

“I’ll see later then?” She was searching for something as she surveyed your features.

With what little control you had left, you tried to give her what she was looking for, “Definitely. Now forget about this and go back to your date.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but with a small glance back at her flat, she walked away. You drove home.

The groceries felt eternally heavier when you were bringing them into your house. You wondered how carrying them upstairs to Wanda’s was even possible.

You hurriedly put the food away, showered, and then got in the bed. When your head hit the pillow, you let out a deep sigh. Your jaw started to tremble on its own.

You let out a bitter laugh as the tears fell down your face. You didn’t bother to wipe them away. It felt like a part of you was ripped out of your chest.

This was bound to happen eventually. Wanda would move on from Jarvis and your silly fantasy would be crushed. You felt silly crying over a woman that was never yours.

Yet another part of you was screaming at you for feeling silly. You were doing a lot for Wanda. Even if it was all just friendly, sometimes it felt like more. All the dinners, all the cuddling on the couch, all the late-night talks. She was your better half, but she wasn’t your girl. She’d never be your girl.

It was something you had to accept. You didn’t go to work the next day. You rotted in your bed, not having the energy to get up. Scrolling on your phone was the only thing you wanted to do.

Wanda had texted you a few times, but you ignored the messages. Even the thought of her just made your entire chest burn.

You finally got out of bed when you had to pee. You took the opportunity to brush your teeth as well. On the way back to the bed your doorbell started to ring. Not just once either. Whoever was at the door pressed the button over and over again. It was impossible to ignore.

So, with your bed head, red eyes, and mismatched pajamas you yanked the front door open, “Look, I don’t know what you want but could you just go away and try again tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow’s not going to work for me.”

Your head shot up and you felt face heat. Wanda was standing at your front door with her arms crossed over her chest with an eyebrow raised.

“What’re you doing here?”

Your voice had a softness to it that you reserved for the red head in front of you.

She didn’t answer your question. Instead, she let herself into your home. You closed the door behind her. You followed her to your living room. She sat on your couch while you took a seat on a chair diagonal to it.

“I thought you had work today,” she says.

“I decided not to go.”

“I’ve been texting you.”

You shrugged, “Haven’t been on my phone, sorry.”

Wanda stared at you, “I went to your restaurant looking for you.”

You were looking into your lap, “I’m sorry Wanda.”

She got up from the couch to come completely into your line of sight. She kneeled down in front of you, her hands resting on your knees.

“What’s going on with you, Y/nn?”

The concern in her voice broke you out of your trance. You tried your hardest to feign that you were alright.

“I’m fine. Since you’re here why don't you let me cook something for us?”

“This is for paprikash,” Wanda watched as you began to prepare.

You stood from the chair quickly pushing down the rest of your emotions. She watched as you walked over to the kitchen pulling out some of the ingredients you had bought the day before.

You nod, “Yeah, I got stuff for chicken paprikash, alivenci, and cholent too. The plan was to cook the paprikash and then the alivenci for dessert. I was going to set up the cholent for you before I left so you could have it fresh the next day because it’s got to cook for like 17 hours.”

“You got all of this for me?”

You answered her while chopping up the vegetables, “It was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re using Hungarian bell peppers, where did you even get those?”

You smiled a bit, “I do own a restaurant, Wanda. If there’s anything I’m an expert in, it’s food. I wanted it to be authentic as possible.”

As you began cooking you felt the weight of the situation lift off of your shoulders. Cooking had always been a stress reliever for you, and it wasn’t any different now. You could feel Wanda’s eyes on you, but you never looked away from the meal.

Only when the chicken was simmering in the pot did she attempt to grab your attention.

“After you came by yesterday, I asked Agatha to leave,” Wanda broke the silence.

You finally look at her, “Why would you do something like that?”

She simply placed a key on the counter, “I couldn't stop thinking about you giving me this key back.”

“Wanda,” you tried to stop her, but she cut you off.

“No, I need you to listen. When you put this key in my hand, it felt like you had handed me a live grenade. I didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until I went back inside, and Agatha asked me how we knew each other that it clicked. You’re my everything.”

“What are you saying?”

She hesitated, “I’m saying I’ve already found my person.”

“Wanda, you’re my best friend.”

She invaded your personal space, grabbing you gently by the wrist, “And you’re mine, but it’s more than that isn’t it? You’re the person I can rely on for anything at any time. You’re the woman that left her restaurant to put me back together when my ex left. You listened to me, you held me, you cooked for me, made sure I had groceries, and that my house was clean. Friends don't do as much as you've done for me.”

You slowly lifted your gaze to meet her’s, “I just know you appreciate acts of service.”

“Y/n if you don’t want this I’ll leave and we can pretend it never happened; but if you do want this, want me, I’m right here laying it all out for you.”

You drop your gaze again, “I cried myself to sleep last night. I thought I'd lost my chance. When I saw you on top of Agatha, something broke inside of me Wanda. Back in college I had a crush on, but I thought you were straight, so it was easy to keep it down. When you came out to me, it was like I was at square one all over again.”

Wanda shook her head, “It’s not square one because here I am telling you that I’m in love with you. Please give us a chance Y/n.”

You wished the moment was more glamorous as you kissed the woman in front of you. You hadn’t denied her yet and you never planned to. Her hands locked behind your neck while yours rested on her waist.

Your breath was shaky when the kiss ended. Neither of you moved.

“I love you too,” you pecked her lips again.

Wanda blushed, but you were more focused on the way she looked at you. Her eyes were full of nothing but tenderness.

“Would you take the key back?”

You raised your eyebrow, “Why does it feel like you’re asking me for something else?”

She feigned innocence, “I’m not. Unless you think that what you said yesterday about keys is true.”

“Remind me what I said again?”

Her fingers played with the hairs at the base of your neck, “A key to my flat means girlfriend.”

You pretended to think about it, “Girlfriend?”

She nodded, “Girlfriend.”

“I guess I’ll have to get you a key too then,” you said softly.

This time Wanda leaned in for a kiss. It was supposed to be a peck, but you both got lost in that moment. Neither willingly to part with the other just yet. Lips fitting together to create a soft lullaby of security.

You never thought you’d be lucky enough to have Wanda in this way. She was your best friend, your person, and now your girlfriend. It may have taken years, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Wanda cherished you just as much. She felt like an idiot for not realizing her feelings sooner, but she was just happy to call you, her girl.

And one day, she would be ecstatic to call you, her wife.

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #agatha harkness

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yummycastiel · 12 days ago

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yes, chef! - ryomen sukuna

pairing: reader x modern!Sukuna, f!reader x Sukuna, chef!reader x chef!Sukuna

synopsis: you get hired for an unpaid internship position at three michelin-star restaurant owned by none other than world-renowned chef, Ryomen Sukuna. you're obviously attracted to him, so now you gotta juggle that and also try to survive through your first three weeks.

content/warnings: MDNI, enemies (?) to lovers, pining, mutual pining, workplace romance, power dynamic, implied age-gap sorta, Sukuna is an asshole, swearing, workplace harassment, light smut, heavy petting, kissing, arguing, use of she, no use of y/n

word count: ~8.3k

~ ~ ~

Malevolent Shrine. That was the name of the three-Michelin star restaurant you found yourself standing outside of, neck craned back, stomach feeling queasy as you gripped onto your bag tightly. At first glance, the name was kind of off-putting, a little too sinister for such a popular spot, but it was indeed very popular, one of the best restaurants in the country with a waiting list of three months.

You opened the double doors, and stepped inside, putting one shaky foot in front of the other. It had a dark industrial interior, blackened steel, furniture made of charred wood, with crimson accent lighting lining the walls. The decor consisted of repurposed butcher hooks hung up high, art pieces of twisted cuts of meat and old-school butcher diagrams. Dark blues rock played softly in the background, adding to the dusky ambience. You’d never seen a restaurant quite like this before, used to all the fancy, fine-dining spots you frequented in culinary school when you were doing research. This was why you wanted to be here, to stand out, to do something different.

You waited at the front of house, feet shuffling nervously as employees bustled around, preparing for service, laying down napkins, polishing cutlery. All the workers fit the vibe of the place perfectly, wearing black aprons with blood-red stitching and sporting heavy combat boots. Each one of them sported piercings, tattoos of some sort, or dyed hair. You swallowed thickly as you toyed with your own piercings, inwardly hoping they’d be enough to fit in the crowd.

Someone finally noticed you, a rather important looking individual, no doubt the restaurant manager. You recognized them from your interview for the unpaid internship position a while ago, but they seemed to not recall. They had milky-white skin to match their white hair cut into a bob, a splash of dyed red hair on the back. They hurried you over with a flick of their finger.

‘’New cook right?’’ They said, eyeing you up and down with a hint of disdain. You nodded quickly as you introduced yourself. ‘’Uraume. General manager.’’ They replied, introducing themselves again, ‘’You’re early.’’

‘’My mom always said, being on time means you’re late!’’ You chirped without thinking, and you immediately wanted to slap yourself as Uraume arched an elegant brow. Awesome, embarrass yourself, why don’t you?

‘’Choso, our floor manager, will give you a quick tour, show you everything you need to know. Service is in five hours.’’ Uraume stated, ignoring your little quip. ‘’Sukuna will be around for the staff meeting, you can meet him then.’’

Ryomen Sukuna. The executive chef and owner of Malevolent Shrine. A world-renowned chef for his talents with bold and dark flavours, having won his first Michelin star the same year he opened this restaurant. He had been in the top ten best restaurants twice, in the top fifty nearly every year for ten years, named Best Chef four times by Restaurant Magazine, and a dozen other accolades won internationally. He was an artist. A god amongst chefs and restaurateurs alike, and you’d be lying if you hadn't almost pissed your pants when you got accepted as a cook after a grueling, multiple-interview process. He was the man you wanted to meet.

You nodded at Uraume, and turned to see the man who was no doubt Choso making his way over. He had dark, spiky black hair tied up in two buns, a tattoo across his nose, and dark-eyebags. He looked exhausted, but he was giving Uraume his rapt attention as they introduced you to him.

‘’Nice to meet you.’’ Choso said in a low, calm voice as the two of you shook hands, ‘’Let me give you a tour, yeah?’’ You followed him, trying to absorb as much information as you could as Choso drifted around the restaurant.

‘’I’m sure you know our concept already,’’ Choso was saying, ‘’This is the front of house.’’ You just kept nodding as you took in your surroundings. Tables with no white tablecloths, just wood and iron tables stained dark from years of meat and fire, open kitchen concept with visible flame-grilling and meat cleavers for diners to enjoy. It was intimidating to say the least, but you couldn’t ignore the spark of excitement thrumming in your veins.

‘’This is our maitre d’, Jogo.’’ Choso introduced quickly, pointing to a short man with brown hair and one eye, the other covered by a patch. You waved, and Choso swept on, taking you into the back of house. The kitchen was cold, clean, silver steel, and other cooks were already at work, busy prepping for service. Choso took you to each station, introducing you to each cook, showing you where the walk-in was, the pantry, the bar, and pretty much everything that was to be known about the restaurant. You wished you had a notepad, a dozen names and places swirling around in your head.

Choso eventually got to the end of the tour, ending off with introducing you to the Sous-Chef, Sukuna’s second in command and half-brother, Jin Itadori. He gave you a kind smile as you told him your name. He was tall, with pink hair and gentle eyes, a stark contrast to his brother who you’d only seen in magazines, newspapers, and on the internet. Jin gave you a more in-depth run-down of the kitchen and stations, and you listened with rapt attention. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do, it was fail. Not here.

‘’Tonight, you’ll be stagiaire, chef.’’ Jin explained. Bottom of the brigade hierarchy, where intern-chefs often started, with everything to prove and everything to lose, on trial to see if they’d eventually get hired. ‘’You’ll be assisting Hanami, our grillardin.’’ Hanami was a tall, stern-looking woman, with ivy-tattoos snaking up her long arms. Assisting the grillardin on your first night at Malevolent Shrine almost made your heart sink. Grilled items were Hanami’s job, and in a restaurant like this, a carnivore’s haven, it would be argued to be one that would put the most pressure on your shoulders. You squared your shoulders as Hanami gave you instructions. You could do this, you could do this.

‘’I’m surprised Uraume picked you.’’ Hanami said suddenly as the two of you worked together, making your cheeks flush. There was no malice in her tone, just a calm observation. ‘’I don’t doubt your qualifications were sufficient, chef, but they typically choose the best of the best, who also fit with the concept of the restaurant.’’ You chewed the inside of your cheek. You knew you probably stuck out like a sore thumb, but you’d be damned if you let that hold you back. You were talented, you knew it, even though every restaurant like this was a proving ground, you were ready to work your ass off to show you belonged here.

‘’Guess Uraume had some slim pickings, chef.’’ You joked nervously as you sharpened your knife. Hanami didn’t smile.

‘’No such thing in this place.’’ Hanami said simply, ‘’Don’t be nervous, or pretend you’re not. Any sign of weakness and you’ll get killed in this place, chef.’’ You knew Hanami spoke figuratively (hopefully), but it didn't stop the shiver running up your spine.

You continued working, doing a decent job of keeping up with Hanami. She was quiet, and spoke in a monotone-bored voice no matter what was happening, but she guided you along the way, showing you the ropes of her station. You appreciated it, thankful to whatever higher power was out there that you hadn’t been shoved with the typical asshole chefs that were abundant in the restaurant industry.

As the time ticked closer to service, you met the other chefs du partie. Mahito, the blue-haired saucier with scars all over his body. Dagon, the garde manger, Toji Fushiguro, another grillardin, and Suguru Geto, the poissonier. All experts in the kitchen, all well-known in the culinary world. The best of the best, and somehow you’d found yourself among them. Other line cooks milled about, taking a seat next to you as the entirety of the restaurant staff sat in the front of house, the meeting starting soon. Uraume was talking in a low voice to Choso, and Jin was busy talking on the phone frantically. You played with your fingers as you looked around, tugging at your chefs coat as you felt the nerves start to set in within you.

The room went silent when a hulking figure stepped through the front door. Ryomen Sukuna. When he walked into the room, he commanded it, and you were a bit surprised that people weren’t falling to their knees to worship him. He was tall, impossibly tall, taller than Jin, with black tattoos coiled around his muscled forearms and lining his wickedly handsome face. One deep, crimson-red eye surveyed his staff, like he was looking down on some ants, the other side of his face scarred from a cruel burn he’d gotten in a kitchen accident many years ago. His lips twisted into a scowl as he stood in front of everyone.

All you could do was gape at him, and you had to check to make sure your jaw hadn't dropped to the floor. Sukuna, in the flesh, and startlingly more sexy than you had anticipated. God, the idea of making a fool of yourself in front of him made you want to throw up. Uraume startled you out of your thoughts as they began the meeting.

‘’Okay, so we got several VIPs dining with us tonight-’’ They began, rattling off the names of celebrities and actors that made your eyes widen in shock, ‘’Unfortunately Satoru Gojo made a reservation too, so it’s very important that everything is perfect for that little twat.’’ You blinked. Satoru Gojo? He was a new, up-and-coming chef, close to winning his first Michelin star at his own restaurant to which he worked as the Executive Chef, the Six Eyes. People saw him as Sukuna’s biggest competition.

Sukuna growled, a deep sound in his chest. ‘’Who let that asshole make a reservation?’’ He asked. His voice was a rasp, heavy and grating. You wanted to hear it again. Jin gave his brother an apologetic glance.

‘’You crashed his restaurant without even bothering to make a reso, you know.’’ He said, his jovial tone the complete opposite of Sukuna’s. Sukuna just rolled his good eye and crossed his arms, muttering something below his breath. Your gaze followed his every movement, his every breath, as if you could absorb some of his greatness just by being in his orbit.

Uraume kept going; ‘’On the menu tonight, servers listen up, bone-in tomahawk rib-eyes, charred leg of lamb, pork shoulder, and whole-smoked quail, if you have any questions, ask Jin, not Sukuna.’’ Sukuna seemed uninterested in the meeting, thoughts clearly elsewhere, and as soon as Uraume was done, everything covered, everything perfect, he turned and shouldered his way into the back of house.

Service started in thirty minutes, and as you diligently prepared Hanami’s station, you felt a hand land on your shoulder. You turned to see Jin, smiling down at you, and only a couple paces away, Sukuna. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, mouth going dry as you glanced between the two brothers.

‘’This is our new chef, Ryomen.’’ Jin said, saying your name, ‘’I’m sure you know my brother?’’

Your entire life and culinary career flashed before your eyes. You wanted to make a good impression, no, you needed to make a good impression. This was it, this was your chance to show Sukuna that you belonged here, that you were the right pick for the job.

Obviously, as you lifted your hand to shake Sukuna’s, you fumbled with your knife, and it clattered to the ground. Your face burned as you scrambled to get it. Idiot, idiot, idiot! You leaned up, biting your lip as Sukuna shook your hand, his rough hands making your heart beat faster. He regarded you with an unimpressed look, a hint of disgust. Okay, ouch.

‘’Sorry, uh-’’ You mumbled, letting your hand drop to your side, ‘’I’ll clean that, um, it’s such an honor to meet you chef. A huge honor. It’s an honor for me to be here, a real privilege-’’

‘’Her? Uraume picked her for the internship?’’ Sukuna’s voice cut through your babble, and you felt your blood run cold. You felt small, tiny, the size of a gnat as Sukuna looked down at you. Was it over? Was Sukuna going to crush your dreams of getting hired here at this very moment?

‘’Come on, Ryomen,’’ Jin tried to smooth out, ‘’It’s her first day, and you know Uraume doesn’t pick people who aren’t qualified to be here.’’ You wanted to throw yourself at Jin’s feet for standing up for you, but all you could do was chew on your lip, holding back tears of embarrassment. No weakness, not in front of him, or ever. You’d long been told you were too sensitive for this world of chefs, and for the most part they were right, but you’d proved them wrong, you’d proved every mentor and classmate wrong. However now, standing under Sukuna’s judgement, you felt the cracks start to show. Get it fucking together, you told yourself.

Sukuna just grunted, giving you one last once-over before he turned and stalked to his office. Jin turned to you, patting your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

‘’Don’t take it personally. Ryomen is like that with all the new chefs, you should’ve seen Dagon on his first day.’’ Jin said, laughing, even though you found none of it very funny, ‘’You held it together pretty well, kid. Just tough tonight out and Sukuna will come to…tolerate you. He tolerates us all.’’ And with that, Jin sauntered off. You stood there alone, too scared to wipe the misty-tears in your eyes. You took a deep breath in, then out, calming your heart as best you could. If you were going to survive in this place, you were going to have to put your tough-guy face on, even though you weren’t sure if it felt like you at all.

~ ~ ~

Service at Malevolent Shrine could only be described as organized chaos. The kitchen was alive with shouting, cursing, prickly jabs, flailing arms, but the food was getting pushed out fast. Everything was cooked to perfection, under the watchful eye of Sukuna. All the chefs moved like a machine, Jin running the expo like he was born doing it, calling for hands, the servers filing in and out of the kitchen.

You kept your mouth shut, head down and hyper-focused on your station, following Hanami’s every order, reading her movements and learning as much as you could. Your attention was often ripped away, eyes flickering over to Mahito, who shot condescending insults in your direction at every hesitation in your hand. You took the verbal abuse with a yes chef and a no, I’m not going to fuck up chef, and you kept your head in the game. Once you were in the zone, you were in the zone.

Sukuna barely spared you a glance, thundering commands and inspecting every dish. You weren’t sure what you expected, definitely not Sukuna showering you with encouraging praise, but it would have been nice if he at least gave you a nod, something. You tried to count your blessings that he wasn't yelling at you or breathing down your neck with that dark-red, judgmental gaze.

Then, everything came crashing down around you, literally.

You didn’t know Mahito was behind you. He didn’t warn you, he didn’t say the obligatory behind! So when you took a step back, Hanami’s plated and ready tomahawk rib-eye’s in your hands, you only felt Mahito’s foot behind yours at the last second. You stumbled back with a yelp, dropping the plate, and it crashed to the floor with a terrific crack as the food went everywhere. You landed on your behind, the air knocked out of you, and Mahito let out a shrill cackle. Embarrassment flooded through you, hot and sick, your face flushing red as you scrambled to your feet. You were sure your heart was about to fall out of your sore ass as you mumbled out trembling apologies, your throat starting to close up. A gaggle of servers leapt in to help clean, practiced movements as they quickly and methodically gathered up the plate and the ruined food.

‘’I’m sorry chef,’’ You rasped out to Hanami, who was already re-firing a new rib-eye. You wanted the floor to open up underneath you and swallow you whole. Every eye in the kitchen was on you, the fucking intern who’d messed up, who didn’t belong. You could almost hear their whispers.

‘’The hell are you doing?’’ Sukuna snarled from the front of the kitchen. He was leaning over the table, knuckles white as he shot you a terrifying glare. ‘’Get back on the line. If you drop one more thing, you’re done.’’ You nodded enthusiastically, trembling hands grabbing your knife as you tried to focus again. You saw Mahito out of the corner of your eye, slinking back to his station. You knew he was an asshole, but sabotage? He’d tripped you, just to torture you, putting the whole kitchen back by a full minute. You risked a glance at Sukuna, who was still glaring daggers into you.

You knew Sukuna saw everything. Anything that happened in his kitchen, he knew about, so how come he wasn't yelling at Mahito too? That prick had ruined the flow, not only yours, but everyone’s. This has to be some sick joke, an elaborate plan to get you to run out of the restaurant with your tail between your legs. You choked back a sneer as you avoided Mahito’s gaze. Whatever. You knew every kitchen had a guy like him, you could take it. You’d just cry about it later.

Service finally finished, and you were completely spent. You had managed to keep it together for the most part, not dropping any more plates, but your performance wasn't exactly stellar. Sukuna had only yelled at you a couple times, pointing out your sloppy work, your slow hands. You sighed deeply, from your chest, as you closed the bathroom door behind you. You trudged to the lockers, sore fingers undoing your chef’s coat. Frustration followed you like a cloud. Your first day hadn’t gone at all like you wanted, your job even harder to do with Mahito looming over your shoulder with his sharp tongue. Momentary doubt flickered in your mind. Hanami hadn’t gotten upset with you, but you worried that she was already thinking you didn’t deserve to be here. Negative thoughts ran through your mind, and you found it hard to ground yourself in reality, when suddenly you heard voices around the corner. You froze, keeping out of sight as you heard Mahito’s voice.

‘’I’ll give it two days for the fresh meat to start bawling and just quit.’’ He snickered. You clenched your jaw. You knew he was talking about you. Toji and Jogo’s chuckles echoed in the hall.

‘’Did you see her face? Goddamn pathetic.’’ Toji taunted, and you weren't even there to taunt.

‘’Don’t know what Uraume was thinking when they picked her. She’s never gonna make it.’’

That was the last straw on the camel's back.

You tried not to run, your legs taking you out the back door, leaving your belongings behind. Leaning against the cold, brick wall of the building, you let yourself fall apart. Breaths came out in choked, tiny gasps, hot tears running down your face. You wrapped your arms around your trembling shoulders, trying to give yourself some comfort as you cried.

‘’Fucking glad you didn’t cry in there.’’ A growl came from the shadows. You yelped in shock, stumbling back and hitting your head against the wall. The dim light of a cigarette lit up Sukuna’s scarred face, shadows painting a sinister look in his eyes. Just what you fucking needed. Ryomen Sukuna getting a front-row seat to you cry like a damn child.

‘’Chef.’’ You gasped, wiping at your watery eyes. ‘’I didn’t see you there, I’m sorry.’’

Sukuna looked at you, his usual arrogant gaze gone. He looked bored, but that was better than looking angry.

‘’Mahito giving you a hard time?’’ He asked, smoke billowing from his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon. You considered your options before responding. In any normal workplace situation, you might say yes, tell your boss about how Mahito purposely tripped you, that it wasn't your fault that the kitchen was set back, it was his. Dissolve yourself of blame. But this wasn't your typical workplace.

‘’No chef.’’ Was all you said as you met his gaze. You weren’t about to go crying to Sukuna about some bully. Not today, or ever. Sukuna tilted his head up, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot. He stepped forward, into the light of the street lamp.

‘’You need to toughen up.’’ Sukuna told you, crossing his beefy arms in front of his chest. ‘’Or you’ll never make it.’’ Irritation flared up in you at his words and you bit back a sharp retort. You’d gone past the point of angry tears and were just plain pissed.

You just laughed softly, putting your hands on your hips. ‘’I think I toughed it out pretty well in there, chef.’’ You replied. You weren’t one to yell, not one to scream out insults or fight back with a sharp tongue. You didn’t need to, because it didn’t feel like you, and because you proved you were better, every single time. Sukuna’s eyes flickered over your face, analyzing you, as if he had expected you to lash out at him.

‘’You can back out now if you want.’’ He drawled, ‘’So what if you don’t fit here? You’ll fit somewhere else.’’ There it was, that condescension and arrogant tone that seemed to be automatic for him. Already counting you out. Sukuna took a step closer to you, looking down at you from his full height. It irked you a bit, how hot he was. Not only was he a prick, but he was a hot prick, and if you were someone else, and he was anyone else, you wouldn't hesitate to jump his bones.

But that wasn’t you.

‘’All due respect chef,’’ You began, squaring your shoulders, ‘’It’s been one day. I’m gonna keep going, and deal with it how I deal with it.’’ You smiled at Sukuna, hoping you could pass it off like you had your shit together. Sukuna stared at you for a moment, eyes narrowing, then he clenched his jaw. Something that looked like annoyance flashed over his face.

‘’Don’t think a girl like you knows what she’s getting yourself into.’’ Sukuna muttered. You didn’t bother asking him what he meant by that, you didn't want to know.

‘’Doesn't matter, because I’m gonna find out, chef.’’ You replied easily.

‘’We’ll see about that.’’ He said in a low, rough voice. Sukuna took a step closer to you, towering far above you. He smelled like smoke and fire, heat rolling off him in waves and you felt your skin tingle at how close he was. His eyes burned into yours, practically breathing the same air. ‘’Have a good night, chef.’’ The last word rolled off his tongue, almost teasing, and he moved past you, brushing against your shoulder as he left you standing there.

~ ~ ~

Your first week at Sukuna’s restaurant passed both quickly and agonizingly slow. You survived through every service, a couple fuck-ups here and there, but you were learning. Your skills had improved, not that you heard it from Sukuna, but a couple encouraging words from Jin and Hanami were enough to get you through the day. The most you got from the pink-haired executive chef was a nod, the occasional approving grunt, but they made you beam with pride all the same.

Mahito continued to be a major pain in the ass, doing everything he could to trip you up, to catch you off guard. The blue-haired chef didn’t let up on the insults and barbed comments, but you took it on the chin with a silent glare or a heard, chef. There wasn’t much else you could do about it. Sure, you could yell back, maybe give him a taste of his own medicine, but you were too busy trying to keep afloat you definitely couldn't manage that. You avoided most confrontation, so enduring Mahito’s endless torture was just something you had to suck up.

You knew Sukuna noticed. His crimson eyes would flit between you and Mahito, face as impassive as ever or with a hint of entertainment in his cocky grin, like he was watching a pair of chihuahuas go at it. Honestly, you were just happy that it wasn't Sukuna himself making your life a living hell. You saved your tears of frustration for the privacy of your walk to the bus stop at the end of the night, pulling yourself back together on your own with a tub of ice cream or a greasy take-out meal.

Other than that, you were starting to slightly settle into the environment of Malevolent Shrine. Hanami gave you a thumbs-up once, and Choso would sneak you some of the bar’s curated whiskey you’d been eyeing. Even Toji started to tolerate you, clapping you on the back with a huge hand, saying that you weren’t as terrible as he thought. Yeah, you were pretty damn proud of yourself.

It was Monday night, service finally over with, and mostly all the staff had left, leaving you alone in your rumpled and stained chef’s coat hunched over your notebook you carried with you everywhere in case inspiration struck. You’d been drawing food since you were young, both imagined and actual plates you’d made in high school and in culinary school. If you saw something that got the cogs in your mind turning, you whipped out your notebook, pencil at the ready as you sketched out your idea. You went in with colored pencils after, in the hopes of one day making them into reality. You mostly kept the drawings to yourself, your own little creations that you spent hours pouring over.

While you leaned over your drawing on the silver service table, you heard heavy footsteps approaching you, and looking up, you almost snapped your pencil in two as Sukuna gave you a strange look. He was in his crisp, white chef’s coat, unbuttoned to reveal a toned chest covered by a black wife-pleaser. You chewed the inside of your lip. Did he really have to look so damn good all of the time? Your stomach tightened as you tried to find words that wouldn’t embarrass you.

‘’Hey chef-’’ You began, but Sukuna raised a tattooed hand, silencing you.

‘’What are you doing?’’ He rumbled, his voice deep in his chest.

‘’Oh, uh, nothing-’’ You stammered, putting down your pencil, ‘’Sorry, am I not allowed to be here?’’ Sukuna ignored your question as he made his way over to stand behind you, looming over your shoulder, his manly smell wafting into your nose and making your heart constrict. Your hand went to cover your drawing automatically, without thinking, and Sukuna reached down, hand pushing yours to the side so he could see.

‘’You drew this.’’ He said, not so much a question but a statement. You tried to ignore how your skin burned where he had touched you. Shifting nervously in your seat, you nodded.

‘’Yes, chef.’’ You said softly, a little embarrassed, ‘’I hope it’s okay…it’s just I felt a little inspired and I like to draw out my ideas, you know?’’ Sukuna leaned against the table, still very close, and he took your notebook from your grasp without even asking. You bit your lip, panic rising in you, not because they were private, but because they were all your work, your ideas, and now one of the best chefs in the world was flipping through them. This was definitely a nightmare scenario for you. You could see it now, Sukuna would scoff, toss your notebook on the floor, snap at you and tell you they were garbage and that you should never touch a pencil or a pot again. Your heart raced in your chest, closing your eyes, waiting for the hammer to drop.

‘’They’re beautiful.’’ Sukuna rasped, and you whipped your gaze up to stare at him, mouth opening in shock. He was turning the pages with care, care you didn’t think he possessed in those huge mitts of his. Sukuna almost seemed frustrated with you, or himself, you couldn’t tell, but still…

He said your drawings were beautiful. Your heart soared, up into the sky, into the clouds as a beaming smile grew on your face.

‘’You think so?’’ You breathed, then you blinked, ‘’Uh, I mean, thank you chef.’’ Sukuna’s eyes shifted to your face, expression still unreadable. He set your notebook down, fingers tracing over your newest creation.

‘’Yeah, a bit dainty for my taste but, they look good.’’ He said grudgingly, ‘’There’s some decent ideas in there.’’ Good. Decent. Sukuna gave you crumbs but you gathered them up like gold nuggets. This was the most praise you’d received from him since, well, ever.

‘’Thank you chef, I really appreciate it!’’ You couldn't help but grin up at him, ‘’See this one? I thought of it tonight during service, so I had to draw it out as soon as possible. I know we don’t do a lot of desserts, but I was thinking of something like this-’’ You pointed at your drawing you’d been working on, ‘’Smoked chocolate torte and-’’

‘’Bourbon-blood orange bread pudding.’’ Sukuna finished for you, leaning in closer as he examined your drawing. You nodded excitedly, he’d read your mind.

‘’Yes, chef! I was about to draw some bacon-maple ice cream too, you know, thought it’d be a good pair with the pudding.’’ You explained, and Sukuna sighed.

‘’Those…sound pretty good.’’ He forced out through clenched teeth. Why did compliments leave his lips like it pained him to choke out? You had to suppress a laugh. ‘’Quit all the smiling, chef.’’ Sukuna growled, leaning back and crossing his arms. You blinked, bringing your hand up to cover your winning smile.

‘’Sorry chef, just excited.’’ You replied, your voice betraying your glee. Sukuna scratched the back of his neck. The kitchen was silent, and it was just you two. You’d never been alone with Sukuna before, and something heavy hung in the air between you. The way he was looking at you made your stomach do a flip, his eyes burning in the dim light.

Sukuna grunted. ‘’How long have you been drawing?’’ He asked finally, tilting his head, extending a hand on the table to lean on it. Your eyes flickered to his hand, noticing it was inches from yours. Was Sukuna really making conversation with you? Asking you personal questions? You had to be hallucinating.

‘’Since I was seven, I think.’’ You shared, having to break eye-contact with Sukuna lest you burst into flames, ‘’I always drew food. It was awful at first, but the more interested in cooking I became the more I practiced and I never stopped. It’s my form of journaling I guess, since I’m too impatient to write things out.’’ Sukuna chuckled, low and fucking sexy.

‘’Funny, since jotting down some ideas definitely takes less time than these damn gorgeous pieces of art.’’ He murmured, a hint of humor in his voice. Your face burned, the word gorgeous slipping from his lips sounding like sin, and you had to remind yourself he was talking about your drawings and not you. As if.

‘’Well, I think words just don’t quite capture the same as the drawings.’’ You mumbled, avoiding his gaze, ‘’Besides, I half the time I can’t even think of the proper words, so the only way to get my thoughts out is with this.’’ Your hand smoothed over your notebook, suddenly finding the pages much more interesting than Sukuna’s stare.

‘’I know what you mean.’’ He said. You felt a sudden rush of warmth as his hand reached up to grab your chin gently, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your eyes widened at the sudden contact, but before you could move, Sukuna pushed your head to the side, pointing with his free hand to the art on the wall. ‘’Those are mine. I paint sometimes too.’’

‘’You’re kidding…’’ You whispered, staring at the artwork, a picture-perfect painting of a smoking dish that looked so real you could almost smell it. ‘’You painted the art around here, chef?’’ Sukuna’s fingers tightened on your chin for a moment, thumb rubbing over your skin before he dropped his hand from your face. Butterflies erupted in your chest as you returned your gaze to his.

‘’I did.’’ Sukuna replied, cocky, but not too arrogant. You groaned, rolling your eyes playfully.

‘’Of course you’re amazing at that as well.’’ You joked, tilting your head up towards him. ‘’It’s not even fair at this point, chef.’’ It was Sukuna’s turn to roll his eyes, mouth twitching into a ghost of a smile. ‘’When did you start painting?’’

‘’My parents thought it might keep me out of trouble in middle school. Figured I could ‘harness my passion in a healthy way.’’’ He told you, ‘’Guess it ended up working out.’’

‘’Yeah, that’s putting it lightly, chef.’’ You laughed, resting your chin on your hand, ‘’Maybe you could give me some pointers.’’

‘’Think what you need pointers in is your cooking.’’ He pointed out with a raised brow, and if his eyes weren’t glittering with humor you’d feel a little embarrassed. As you and Sukuna chatted a bit more, you noticed the time. With a mumble, you excused yourself, grabbing your things to stuff into your bag, but as usual your clumsiness made you make a fool out of yourself again, colored pencils clattering to the floor.

‘’Oh shit-’’ You sighed, dropping to your knees to grab them, but you were met with a large hand reaching for them. You chanced a look up to find Sukuna’s face inches from yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheeks as he bent down to help you. You felt your fingers brush against his, the soft contact sending electricity through your veins as you found yourself trapped in his eyes. He was staring hard, frozen like a statue, and for a second, his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was reflexive, how you bit your lip under his hot gaze, and you let your eyes drift down to his lips. They looked soft, inviting, calling out your name.

The sound of another pencil rolling off the table and hitting the floor broke the heavy tension, and Sukuna blinked, rising to his feet quickly and taking a step back. His eyes flashed with annoyance as his jaw clicked, and you scrambled to your feet, mouth too dry to say anything. What the hell just happened? You quickly gathered up your things, shoving them into your bag.

‘’Have a good night, chef.’’ Was all you managed to croak out, hurrying out of the kitchen, ears burning as you fled. Sukuna didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look back.

~ ~ ~

You wouldn’t say it was awkward as you stumbled through your second week of service at Malevolent Shrine. Sure, you and Sukuna didn’t find yourselves alone for any awkwardness to happen, and your shy glances in his direction didn't help, but it wasn’t bad.

Except it was. It was bad, really, really bad, because Sukuna was sporting a chip on his shoulder and all his rage was directed at you. Service was torture, and even Mahito couldn’t find the time to step in and add his own abuse between Sukuna berating you, telling you that you were moving too slow, plates not plated perfectly enough, making you do them again, and again, and again. Sukuna zeroed in on any slip-up and went on a tirade about how you were doing a terrible job, even when you weren’t doing a terrible job. He made up things to call you out on, and even Jin had to tell him to take it easy. Dagon and Toji gave you pitying looks, and Choso would try his best to be positive, but it was still awful. You just squared your shoulders and took it, but confusion clouded your nights, making you toss and turn in your bed as you dreaded the next day.

Had you done something wrong? Had you pissed him off when you shared your drawings? Did he hate you? When he looked at you that night, the two of you on your knees and leaning in close, it didn’t look like hate. In fact, if you were encouraging your delusions, you could even assume he’d wanted to kiss you. You were an idiot. That week, you avoided Sukuna like the plague, hiding whenever he came stomping down the hall, ducking out of the restaurant as fast as you possibly could. It sucked, because you wanted to be around him, you wanted him to be close to you, to look at you again like he’d looked at you that night.

Running your hand over your face in one exhausted motion while sitting on the bus one night, you mentally kicked yourself. You were crushing on an asshole. A total, grade-A, painfully handsome asshole who hated you, and who also happened to be your boss.

It was Friday night. Service was long and gruelling and you were stationed with Mahito, of all people, no doubt Sukuna purposely putting you there to give you a last kick up the ass. As you stood there, stirring the same pot for hours because that’s what Mahito ordered you to do, you considered quitting for the first time since you’d started there. Sukuna had it out for you, Mahito too. Why put yourself through this? It wasn’t like Sukuna was going to hire you after your trial run anyway.

Then it happened. Mahito messed up. The sauce he’d prepared was too acidic. Way too acidic. You made a face as you tasted it, and Mahito gave you a glare. You knew Sukuna noticed because he was stomping over to you, but luckily for you, you’d prepared a second-batch. You shoved the handle into Sukuna’s hands, mumbling that you’d made a back-up, just in case, and if you weren’t so damn tired, you would’ve jumped for joy as Sukuna grunted out something that sounded like approval, still giving you an icy stare as he snarled at Mahito to get his shit together.

The win didn’t last long though, even though Mahito grudgingly thanked you for saving his ass, and even went so far as to be nice to you, Sukuna managed to find something to bully you about later. Your plating of the sauce was too messy, were you completely incompetent? Did you even pass culinary school?

You were alone in the locker room, hunched over with your head in your hands, trying to find the energy to pick yourself up and head home, when suddenly you heard him.

‘’You’ll get a hunchback sitting like that.’’ His rumble echoed in the room. You slowly lifted your head to look at him, just about ready to blow up. This fucking guy.

‘’Excuse me?’’ You muttered, grinding your teeth as you sat up. Sukuna regarded you, leaning against the wall, dressed in a tight, black shirt, chef pants hanging low on his narrow hips.

‘’You did fine tonight, by the way.’’ Sukuna said, ignoring your question. You felt like you were gonna pop a blood vessel. Your hands tightened into fists as you stood up, glaring up at your boss.

‘’Fine? I did fine?’’ You hissed, ‘’That’s real funny because the entire night, no, the entire week, you’ve been riding my ass even when you didn’t have a damn reason to.’’ You expected Sukuna to start going off on you, for anger to flash in his crimson eyes, but instead he just looked at you, almost cautiously.

‘’I’ve been doing a damn good job Sukuna, and you know it. Everyone knows it. I’ve kept going, excelled wherever you put me, and yet you’re still treating me like I don’t belong here, and I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get it!’’ Your voice shook with anger as you rambled on, ‘’So why the fuck are you going so hard on me, huh?’’ You didn’t even realize you’d called him by his name instead of the honorary chef, but you didn’t care. Sukuna growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. You knew you were red-faced and angry as you faced off with him, but you were surprised he wasn’t hitting back.

‘’I’m pushing you.’’ He rasped, eyes screwed shut like he had a migraine. You scoffed.

‘’Pushing me? You don’t even give me any feedback! How the hell is that pushing me?’’ You challenged, taking an angry step forward.

‘’Because you need to adapt. You need to change. You have to.’’ Sukuna replied in a low voice as his gaze settled on you. You stared, confusion bubbling up inside you.

‘’Change?’’

‘’You need to toughen up. Get meaner. Like me, like everyone else here.’’ He explained, his hands falling to his sides where they curled into fists. You rubbed your face, closing your eyes and shaking your head in frustration.

‘’That isn’t me.’’ You whispered, just loud enough for Sukuna to hear, ‘’That isn’t me and it’s not gonna be me. I’m not gonna bend and break, turn into someone I’m not just to fit in. I’ve come this far being who I am, and I’ve done a hell of a good job. I will excel as a chef being me, and you’re not gonna convince me I have to change. I’m not going to change. I won’t.’’ You gave Sukuna a hard stare as you finished your little speech, hoping you’d gotten your message across. Sukuna said nothing as he looked at you, but his jaw tightened, something simmering below the surface.

‘’You don’t understand.’’ He said in a dark voice, ‘’I need you to change.’’ You blinked, jerking back as hit words hit you like a train.

‘’Sorry?’’ You hissed, heart pounding in your chest. Sukuna groaned, and he pushed himself off the wall. He moved quickly, like he was desperate for something, and in a second he had you pushed up against the wall, both his huge arms caging you in, his head hanging over you as he scowled. His closeness made you shiver, but you were too shocked to move, to even utter a single word as you stared up at him. Sukuna’s eyes found yours, glaring down at you, angry, but his lips were parted, twisting into a plea.

‘’I need you to change because I can’t fucking handle you.’’ He uttered roughly, ‘’I can’t deal with you, who you are, how goddamn…soft, and-and kind you are, how pretty…’’ His hand came down to brush over your cheek gently, like you were made of glass, sending your heart in a spiral. Sukuna’s eyes were hazy, like he was in a dream as his eyes bore into yours with intense longing that brought the softest of sighs to your lips.

‘’I can’t handle how brilliant you are, and I hate how much I can’t handle that I want you.’’

Oh.

Sukuna’s eyes fell to your parted lips, his imposing body pressing up against your own, and you could feel the heat of him, his taut muscles feeling like a brick wall. You wanted to say something, anything, but you were scared that if you opened your mouth your voice would shake. The two of you stood there in silence for a moment, and you swore you could hear Sukuna’s heart beating in his chest. Both his hands slowly fell to cup your cheeks, sliding down to your neck, burning-hot palms making you swallow hard.

‘’Can you handle how much I want you?’’ You finally said, voice weak and soft. Sukuna blinked, then huffed out a rough, almost crazed laugh, and then he kissed you.

Sukuna’s lips seared your mouth, hot and tasting of smoke as he pressed you up against the wall. Your head was spinning, engulfed by his smell, his touch overwhelming you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting more, needing more. Sukuna’s hands fell to your hips, pulling you flush against his chest, growling into your mouth as his tongue swiped across your lips. You moaned softly, fingers tangled in his salmon-colored hair, melting into his arms as you felt his knee push up between your thighs. The kiss was hungry, tight desire coiling in your stomach and as if he could read your mind, Sukuna’s hands went to your chef’s coat, tearing off the buttons with ease.

‘’You’re so damn distracting.’’ Sukuna growled in frustration as his mouth left yours and travelled to your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, ‘’Can’t focus with you around me, fuck-’’ He swore as you rolled your hips, grinding on his knee, desperate to quell the tight longing in between your thighs. You tilted your head back as Sukuna’s teeth sank into your soft skin, nipping at you, filthy moans tumbling from his mouth, like he was getting off on just tasting your skin.

‘’Really? I couldn’t tell.’’ You whispered, breathless, barely managing to form a sentence as your hands ran over Sukuna’s muscled, tattooed arms. God, he was strong. Sukuna’s deep laugh reverberated down his chest as his lips fell back on yours. He tugged off your chef’s coat to reveal your tank top, huge hands running up your torso to cup your chest, squeezing, and you whimpered.

‘’Didn’t think such a sweet mouth could make such filthy sounds, doll.’’ He hummed, lips crashing back down to yours, forcing your mouth open as he hitched your leg around his waist, fingers gripping your thigh tightly. ‘’Shit, we shouldn’t fucking be doing this.’’

‘’Don’t care.’’ You mumbled, face flushed red.

‘’Watch it.’’ Sukuna hissed, one hand gliding up underneath your shirt, feeling your skin with calloused fingers, and you shuddered. He pulled you off the wall, and you both stumbled into his office, his mouth never leaving yours, as if he needed the taste of your lips to function. Sukuna showed no hesitation as he kicked the door shut, pulling you onto his lap, one hand wrapped around your neck, the other sliding under the waistband of your pants. ‘’You taste so fucking sweet.’’ His breaths were coming fast, panting as he bit your lip. ‘’Driving me insane, girl.’’

You giggled into the kiss, your thighs opening for him, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. ‘’Sorry chef.’’ You teased as you leaned back, breaking the kiss, and Sukuna almost pouted at the loss. A wicked grin spread across his lips, flashing his canines at you.

‘’Come back here.’’ He growled, pulling you towards him. As you kissed him, your hands blindly fumbled at his zipper, shaky but sure. His hand came down to grab yours, stilling your movements. ‘’You sure you want this?’’ He asked you, crimson eyes studying yours, ‘’Because I want it. Want it really fucking bad, doll.’’ You shivered, biting your lip as you nodded eagerly.

‘’Good girl, good fucking girl.’’ He mumbled, his hands diving under your panties, fingers reaching the wet spot between your legs and you let out a pathetic moan as you felt the warmth of his hand finally give you some release of tension. Sukuna let you unzip him, feeling how hard he was for you and you almost paled as you felt how damn big he was. Sukuna smirked, cocky as ever. ‘’See what you do to me, doll?’’

“S-Sukuna-“ you gasped out as white-hot pleasure flooded your vision, Sukuna’s fingers expertly curling into you. Sukuna grinned as he stared up at you, mouth open, eyes awe-struck.

“Yeah, that’s it baby.” He groaned, “Fuck, if I knew how much you wanted me I’d have done this sooner.”

The office was filled with the sounds of heavy moans and whimpers, but it came to a crashing halt when the sound of footsteps sounded outside. Sukuna and you froze just as you had raised your hips to sink down onto him, your heart racing as you strained your ears to hear. Sukuna growled when he heard a knock at his door, his fingers clenching tightly over the soft skin of your thighs.

‘’You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me-’’ He muttered, giving you a glance, eyes flickering over your flushed face and kiss-stung lips like it pained him to stop what he had been doing. ‘’Keep your mouth shut, hm?’’ He said quickly, voice quiet, giving your cheek a quick kiss before he helped you off his lap. You shrank away, trying desperately to not let out a groan of frustration at the loss of contact with Sukuna, your core aching as you tugged up your pants. Sukuna cracked open the door just enough to peer through and see who it was.

‘’The fuck do you want?’’ He grunted, and you could see his hand tightening on the doorframe, knuckles flexing.

‘’Wanted to see if you wanted to join us for a drink.’’ Toji’s voice carried through the entryway, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Here you were, hiding in your boss’s office, like you were a couple of teenagers getting hot and heavy in a school broom closet, seconds away from getting caught red-handed.

You could almost hear the eye-roll Sukuna gave to Toji. ‘’No thanks, now fuck off.’’

The door slammed in Toji’s face without giving him a chance to reply, and Sukuna turned back slowly, resting his back against the door as he took a deep breath. His crimson eyes found you once more, his mouth turning up into a sly smirk. You couldn't help but smile too, cheeks heating up now that the heat of the moment had been interrupted.

‘’This is your chance to walk away.’’ Sukuna said, running a hand through his hair as he watched you squirm under his hot gaze, ‘’Walk away before we make a mistake.’’ You tilted your head, gazing up at him as he took a step towards you.

‘’Doesn’t seem like you want me to walk away.’’ You teased, voice shaky as Sukuna backed you into his desk, huge hands going to your hips as he lifted you easily onto it and slotted himself between your thighs.

‘’No,’’ Sukuna whispered softly as he leaned in, kissing your neck gently, sending shivers up your spine, ‘’I don’t want you to walk away. Want you here. With me.’’ You hummed in satisfaction as your hands smoothed over the huge expanse of his back, feeling the tightening of his muscles beneath your fingers. Sukuna peppered your neck with kisses, nipping at your skin and leaving marks you were sure you’d have to cover up the next day. His fingers brushed across the bare skin of your torso, digging in once he found his hold and gripping you tightly, like he was afraid you’d run.

‘’Does this mean I’m getting hired now, chef?’’ You asked, laughing as Sukuna buried his face into the crook of your neck. Sukuna sighed.

‘’You’re fucking unbelievable.’’ He grunted, but you could feel him smiling against your neck, then after a moment, he took your face in his hands and kissed you again.

~ ~ ~

a/n: been rewatching the bear...got sukuna chef brainrot and this is the result, let me know if u like ;)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #modern au #jjk modern au #chef!Sukuna #ryomen x you #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader

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paxaz535 · 15 days ago

Text

SLOW SIMMER - ONE

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note: literally have been thinking of this idea for the longest time, finally decided to write it out

i promise i’m working on the one shots ! it’s just a lot so i like to pre write but i have like 12 drafts lolll

i’m gonna try and keep it a slow burn but idk… enjoy?

————

when azzi got the notification that paige bueckers’ manager had accepted her application for the private chef position, she froze.

she was in the middle of making dinner—steak marinated for hours, asparagus already sizzling in olive oil—when her phone lit up. she wiped her hands on a towel, glanced at the screen, and blinked once. then twice. and then she let out the softest, most shocked, “no fucking way.”

this was real.

she’d applied on a whim. not because she wasn’t serious, but because it felt out of reach. paige bueckers? that was someone who lived on a whole different planet. but now she was packing half her kitchen, wrapping knives in dish towels, sealing up spice jars, trying not to overthink the fact that she’d soon be living in dallas, texas, cooking daily meals for someone who had millions of eyes on her at all times.

azzi had been cooking since she was ten. it wasn’t optional. her mom—katie—ran the house with tight efficiency, and that meant everybody pulled their weight. azzi’s job started with breakfast duty. toast, eggs, bacon, sometimes pancakes on the weekends. by lunch, she was already experimenting. by dinner, she was her mom’s shadow.

when she turned sixteen, katie stepped back. said, “let’s see what you got.” azzi cooked dinner all by herself—chicken thighs with rosemary garlic potatoes and roasted broccoli with lemon zest. her dad and brothers, notoriously picky, cleared their plates.

katie didn’t cook for the rest of that week.

it was her dad who brought it up later. “you ever think about doing this for real?” he asked, sipping sweet tea. “culinary school. chef classes. the whole thing.”

she hadn’t—not seriously. but after that night, she did.

azzi threw herself into it. courses, internships, pop-ups, local gigs. and when she wasn’t in the kitchen, she was filming. posting online. plating food with perfect lighting. her videos blew up. her dms flooded. eventually, one of those messages came from emma. paige’s manager.

and now she was here. duffel bags on the floor. apartment keys in her hand.

—

paige didn’t think she needed a chef.

she could cook—she really could. she had a solid five meals under her belt and a decent sense of seasoning. but with her schedule, cooking just didn’t happen. everything was go-go-go. workouts in the morning, practice mid-day, meetings, press, photoshoots. by the time she got home, she was barely upright.

takeout became the routine. she’d order it on the drive, pick a show to zone out to, and eat on the couch until sleep dragged her under.

it was simple. easy. but it got old.

“i swear if i have to eat one more grain bowl,” she mumbled, tossing the plastic container into the trash.

emma, always two steps ahead, heard the complaint once and took it seriously.

“why don’t you just get someone to cook for you?”

paige frowned. “like… a maid?”

“no,” emma said, already typing. “a chef. a private one.”

paige made a face. “i don’t know. what if they’re weird about it? like—what if they’re just here to say they were in my kitchen?”

“you think too highly of yourself,” emma teased, then laughed. “kidding. kind of. listen, i’ll find someone who’s good. professional. won’t be all in your business. you’ll come home to good food and quiet.”

paige paused. “…okay. but—no men.”

“say less.”

and that was it. emma handled the rest. she sent over a few names, but azzi’s was the one that stood out. her portfolio was clean, impressive, a little artsy but grounded. her food looked good—comforting but elevated. she didn’t try too hard. she wasn’t trying to be a celebrity chef. she just loved cooking.

emma gave the green light. paige shrugged and said fine.

she didn’t know that decision would shift her whole routine.

azzi triple-checked the address to make sure she was at the right place. the last thing she needed was to knock on some stranger’s door with a suitcase in one hand and a heavy utensils bag slung over her shoulder.

once she confirmed it, she stepped out of her car and grabbed her things, pausing only to lock the door behind her. paige’s manager had told her to be there by 11:30 on the dot—no earlier, no later. azzi figured paige must’ve had something to do afterwards, and she didn’t want anyone messing with her schedule.

emma had insisted on a proper and quick introduction. just enough to make sure paige felt comfortable with the person who’d be living in her home for… who even knows how long.

azzi took a breath before heading up the short steps to the front door. she’d never done this before—being someone’s private chef. she’d worked events, done in-home dinners, but this was different. this was daily. personal. close.

she was nervous, yeah, but that made sense. and okay, maybe she was also a little intrigued. not in a full-blown crush way—but she wasn’t blind. paige bueckers was beautiful. and more than that, she was her. a champion. an all-american. number one pick. a household name.

basketball was a big deal in azzi’s house. her brothers were obsessed. her dad watched every march madness game like it was life or death. so yeah—she knew who paige was. she also knew she needed to be on her a-game.

when azzi reached the front door, she knocked three times. not too hard, not too soft. she waited, suitcase at her side, adjusting the strap of her utensil bag while she listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

a moment later, the door opened.

a woman with sharp brown eyes and a warm smile greeted her. brunette, hair clipped up effortlessly in a claw clip, dressed in a dark purple blouse and sleek black pants.

emma.

she matched azzi’s grin almost instantly—because azzi couldn’t help it. her smile always gave her away. wide, bright, those signature bunny teeth front and center.

“azzi, right?”

“yes, ma’am,” she replied, voice steady but kind. “it’s nice to meet you.”

emma stepped aside, holding the door open. “you’re right on time. come on in.”

azzi immediately stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space as she walked in. the apartment smelled like vanilla, soft and warm, with a hint of coconut. maybe even mint, if you sniffed hard enough. it was clean, minimal but lived-in. the kind of place that made you want to sit on the couch and never leave.

floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one entire wall, sunlight spilling through and pooling onto the hardwood floors. the living room was massive. a huge cream-colored sectional sat in the center, facing a mounted tv with books and candles lining the shelves below. outside the window, dallas glittered in the distance.

everything really was bigger in texas, huh.

but then her eyes landed on the kitchen.

and that was it.

her mouth parted slightly. she stepped forward without realizing. the kitchen was nearly as big as the living room—double oven, island in the center, marble counters, a full rack for spices already installed. built-in fridge. gas stove. space.

real space.

the excitement bubbled in her chest like a slow boil. her fingers twitched at her sides.

emma watched her with a quiet smirk, catching the exact moment azzi’s entire demeanor shifted. it wasn’t dramatic, but she could see it—chefs had a way of lighting up in kitchens. like they could already taste what they’d create.

“she’s all yours,” emma said lightly, her voice soft in the background.

azzi was about to respond, a small smile tugging at her lips, but she froze when she heard a second set of footsteps.

lighter, more casual.

she turned toward the hallway just as paige appeared.

the athlete walked in with a half-full water bottle in one hand and her phone in the other. her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she was wearing a gray tee tucked into black nike shorts. her eyes lifted the second she noticed someone new in the room.

azzi blinked.

paige was… taller than she looked on tv. lean but strong, presence filling the space without even trying. her skin had that natural post-shower glow, and her face was bare, soft and open, blinking slowly as she processed who was standing in her apartment.

emma stepped in, gesturing between the two of them. “paige, this is azzi. your new chef.”

azzi stood a little straighter, smile returning instinctively. “hey. it’s really nice to meet you.”

paige’s brows lifted slightly, clearly caught off guard.

but then, after a beat, she nodded. “oh. yeah. hey.”

her voice was low. smooth. still waking up, maybe.

her eyes dropped briefly to the bags at azzi’s feet, then flicked up again—curious, unreadable.

“welcome,” paige said, stepping forward just enough. “hope you don’t mind dogs.”

emma grinned. azzi’s smile widened.

“not at all,” she said. “what’s their name?”

“ace,” paige answered, tone softer this time. “he’ll probably sniff you for ten minutes straight. don’t take it personal.”

“i’ll consider it a warm welcome.”

emma watched them both, quietly satisfied. the air between them wasn’t stiff—not quite—but it held a quiet tension. the kind that could shift into comfort or chaos. too early to tell.

but she had a feeling.

“this is a really nice place,” azzi said as she set her utensil bag down gently on the ledge by the kitchen, fingers brushing over the marble like she was already claiming it.

paige smiled, small and polite. “thank you.”

azzi nodded once, her gaze drifting again to the tall cabinets and deep sink. then silence fell between them. not exactly awkward, but it had weight. like two people stuck between strangers and we’ll-get-there-eventually.

emma glanced at paige with a look. a full conversation packed into a single expression. say something. do something.

paige blinked back at her, confused. it took a second. then her eyes widened. “oh shit. my bad—let me show you your room.”

azzi let out a soft laugh, stepping back toward her bags. “you’re good. lead the way.”

paige nodded and turned, walking down the hallway barefoot, water bottle swinging in her hand. azzi followed, rolling her suitcase behind her, her bag slung across her shoulder. the hallway was long, framed with framed jerseys and a few candid pictures. she caught glimpses of a dog bed, a pile of basketball shoes by a door, a laundry basket tucked against the wall.

they stopped at the second-to-last door.

paige pushed it open, revealing a guest room that didn’t feel like an afterthought. it was clean, cozy. queen bed with gray sheets, a desk near the window, small bookshelf already stacked with random novels and one dog-eared cookbook.

“emma said you’d probably want a space to unwind when you’re not cooking,” paige said, stepping aside so azzi could enter first. “if anything’s missing, just let me know.”

azzi looked around, letting it sink in. it wasn’t flashy, but it was… intentional. thought-out. it felt like she’d be able to breathe here.

“this is perfect,” she said honestly. “thank you.”

paige gave a little nod, then leaned against the doorframe. “cool. you can settle in—no rush. i’ve got a call in like fifteen, so you probably won’t see me again until lunch.”

“got it.”

a pause. paige looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she gave a small smile and slipped out.

azzi turned back to the room once the door clicked shut.

okay.

this was real.

she dropped her suitcase by the closet, took a slow breath, and grinned to herself.

first impression? not terrible. maybe even promising.

paige walked back toward the front of the apartment, her steps easy but her mind still spinning a little. she rounded the corner and found emma exactly where she’d left her—leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a knowing smile already tugging at her lips.

“so…” emma said, eyes twinkling. “how you liking it so far?”

paige snorted, tossing her water bottle on the counter a little harder than necessary. “it hasn’t even been an hour yet, em.”

emma shrugged, unbothered. “and?”

paige sighed, but her voice softened just a touch. “she seems nice, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“i don’t know,” paige mumbled, dragging a hand through her braid. “she’s quiet. polite. she smiled a lot.”

emma raised a brow. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“no,” paige said quickly. “no. it’s just… weird having someone new in my house. give me like, a week before i form a real opinion.”

emma grinned, grabbing her purse from the barstool. “sure. a week. i’ll check in tomorrow.”

paige rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it. “you’re annoying.”

“and yet, i’m always right,” emma sang as she made her way to the door.

paige followed her halfway, leaning against the arm of the couch.

emma pulled the door open but turned back before stepping out. “for real, though… you’ll get used to her. might even like her. she’s got that… calm energy. feels like the opposite of you.”

“thank you for that,” paige deadpanned.

emma just winked. “you’re welcome.”

and with that, she disappeared, the door clicking shut behind her.

paige stood there for a second, letting the quiet settle back in. the place didn’t feel different exactly—but it didn’t feel the same either.

she glanced toward the hallway where azzi’s room was.

calm energy, huh.

we’ll see.

azzi started unpacking, slow but methodical. she always liked to settle in right away—it helped the nerves. helped make things feel real.

she slid her suitcase over to the closet and unzipped it, tugging out her neatly folded clothes. basics, mostly. tees, sweats, leggings, a few button-downs she wore for dinners or when she felt like pretending she had it all together. she started stacking them in the dresser drawers, one by one.

the closet was roomy. one side already had empty hangers waiting, which made her smile a little. she hung a few nicer pieces up, kicking her suitcase off to the side once it was empty.

she opened her utensils bag next, double-checking that nothing had shifted out of place during the flight. her knives were still in their protective rolls, each one labeled. wooden spoons, metal tongs, a small blowtorch. she had her own apron too—black with her name stitched in cursive near the chest. cheesy, but hers.

it was technically her room now. her space. she could do whatever she wanted with it. that fact settled into her slowly.

she opened the small bookshelf near the window and slid in a few of her own cookbooks—well-used, dog-eared, some with splashes of oil or sauce still dried on the pages. she kept one in her hands a second longer: flavors from home. it was her mom’s favorite. she set it in the middle.

once everything was in place, she flopped back onto the bed, arms stretched out, eyes on the ceiling.

the apartment was quiet. like the calm before something.

this was her job now. her home too.

she let the quiet settle before pushing herself up, already itching to check out the kitchen again.

her phone dinged, screen lighting up with the familiar chaos of the family group chat. she smiled before she even read it, already knowing someone was about to say something ridiculous.

mom

you made it there yet?

azzi

yes, just settled into the room she gave me

the apartment’s nice

jon

you have to take a picture with her and send it

azzi

lol not right now jon

jose

i’m happy for you sis

although i will need an autograph sooner or later

azzi

🤦🏾‍♀️

dad

good luck cooking for an athlete

you know they eat 2x as much

azzi

wait

you’re not an athlete though..

jon

ooo burn

katie

😂

tim

watch it fudd

azzi

☺️

katie

alright sweetie

be safe

try not to poison her on your first day

azzi

hahah

no promises

she let the phone fall back on the bed beside her, grin still on her face. god, she loved them.

pulling her apron from her bag, she looped it around her neck and tied it behind her back like it was second nature. she grabbed her utensil bag next, zipped it up, and slung it over her shoulder.

then, with a quiet breath and the smallest pep in her step, she left the bedroom and made her way back down the hall.

azzi strolled into the kitchen, this time without hesitation.

this was her domain now.

and lunch wasn’t going to cook itself.

the moment azzi stepped into the kitchen, everything else faded out.

the sun was still pouring in through the massive windows, casting gold over the countertops. the space was clean, untouched, like it had been waiting for her. she set her bag down gently on the island and unzipped it, pulling out her knives and lining them up like soldiers. each blade had its place. her hands moved without thought—grabbing a cutting board, washing her hands, tucking her apron tighter.

she opened the fridge and gave a soft, approving hum. it was stocked well. fresh greens, fruit, eggs, chicken, salmon, almond milk, protein powders, and of course—a drawer full of random condiments athletes swore by.

she scanned the shelves, then pulled out what she needed.

lemon. garlic. rosemary. chicken thighs.

her mind was already spinning a recipe together. something clean but flavorful. comforting, but not heavy. her go-to lemon rosemary garlic chicken over a warm quinoa salad with roasted veggies sounded like the perfect first meal.

she started with the marinade, squeezing lemon juice into a bowl, adding garlic paste, fresh chopped rosemary, a drizzle of honey, salt, and pepper. she dipped a spoon in, tasted it, nodded. good.

she tossed the chicken in the bowl, coating each piece with her hands, then set it to rest.

next: quinoa.

she rinsed it thoroughly, then got it simmering on the stove in low-sodium veggie broth—extra flavor, no extra effort. while that cooked, she chopped up bell peppers, zucchini, and red onion. her knife moved fast, a smooth rhythm against the board. she laid them out on a tray, drizzled with olive oil, hit them with sea salt, cracked pepper, a pinch of paprika, and tossed them in the oven.

by the time the chicken hit the pan, the kitchen already smelled like home. savory, citrusy, rich.

azzi didn’t realize she was smiling until she glanced at her reflection in the oven door.

she loved this.

being here. doing this.

a job that didn’t feel like one.

paige walked out of her room, barefoot, hair now down and out of the braid, no water bottle this time. just her phone.

she wasn’t thinking much—call had ended early, her brain was foggy, and all she really wanted was to lie on the couch and maybe scroll aimlessly for a while. but halfway through the hallway, she stopped.

her nose twitched.

the smell hit her all at once—warm, garlicky, a little sweet, a little sharp. something roasted. something sizzling. she blinked, her stomach reacting before her brain could even place it.

when she turned the corner into the kitchen, she froze.

azzi was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot with one hand, flipping chicken in a cast iron pan with the other. the oven was glowing behind her, and the whole kitchen looked alive now—vibrant, full, used.

paige leaned against the counter quietly. watched for a second longer than she meant to.

“i didn’t know the kitchen could smell like this,” she muttered, half to herself.

azzi turned her head slightly, smile creeping in. “yeah? good surprise or bad?”

“very good,” paige said, and her voice came out softer than she intended.

azzi went back to her chicken. “hope you’re hungry.”

“i wasn’t five minutes ago, but now i think i might eat the pan too.”

azzi laughed, short and warm. “please don’t.”

paige watched her a beat longer. the way she moved—calm, confident, completely in her element. like this was already her kitchen. like she belonged here.

it was… weirdly kind of hot.

paige cleared her throat and stood up straighter. “need help with anything?”

azzi looked over her shoulder, eyes amused. “you offering out of kindness or guilt?”

“guilt,” paige admitted.

“honest. i like that,” azzi said, flipping the last piece of chicken and turning off the heat.

paige leaned against the counter again, eyes following her. “so… what is this?”

“lemon rosemary chicken. quinoa salad with roasted veggies. easy first day lunch.”

paige blinked. “that’s easy to you?”

azzi shrugged. “yeah.”

paige whistled low. “i’ve been living like a peasant.”

azzi smirked. “not anymore.”

paige grabbed two plates without being asked, sliding them onto the island as azzi finished plating the food.

everything looked… perfect. golden seared chicken, still steaming, nestled next to fluffy quinoa mixed with bright roasted veggies—orange, green, red. there was a light drizzle of some kind of sauce on top, too, glossy and rich-looking.

“damn,” paige muttered, genuinely impressed. “i feel like i should tip you.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “not on the first day, please. i might start expecting it.”

they sat down across from each other at the bar, stools pulled in. paige didn’t wait—she grabbed her fork and took a bite of chicken first. her eyes widened just slightly. “oh shit.”

azzi raised a brow, already chewing. “good?”

paige swallowed, then pointed her fork at her. “so good. i feel like i owe you a bonus already.”

azzi gave a small, modest shrug. “i’ll let emma know.”

they ate in a comfortable kind of silence after that. no small talk. just silverware clinking, drinks being sipped, the occasional low hum of appreciation.

paige leaned back eventually, fork still in hand, plate nearly clean.

“i’m not even exaggerating—i think i might cry,” she said, hand on her chest. “this actually healed something in me.”

azzi smiled, cheeks a little pink. “then i did my job.”

“nah,” paige said, “you bodied your job.”

azzi shook her head, amused. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’ll get used to it.”

azzi leaned her elbows on the counter, her tone light. “so what now? nap? practice?”

“practice,” paige groaned. “which sucks because now i’m full and happy and don’t want to move.”

“want me to make you something for post-practice?”

paige tilted her head. “you do that too?”

“that’s kind of the job, isn’t it?”

paige didn’t say anything right away. just looked at her. really looked.

then nodded, slow and certain. “you’re gonna fit in here just fine, fudd.”

azzi smiled, biting back the way that nickname made her stomach flip.

“we’ll see.”

when paige arrived at practice, she barely made it through the doors before two voices hit her from opposite ends of the gym.

“you’re smiling way too much,” dijonai said, hands on her hips, eyebrows lifted.

“she’s glowing,” arike added, tossing a ball up and catching it lazily. “who made you breakfast this morning?”

paige tried to play it cool, adjusting her hoodie and pulling the sleeves up past her elbows. “y’all act like i don’t smile.”

“you don’t,” dijonai shot back. “not like this.”

“mhm,” arike agreed, walking over. “you got that i just ate real good and had someone clean the dishes for me energy. go ahead. spill.”

paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her mouth. “emma got me a private chef.”

dijonai’s jaw dropped. “what?”

“you got it like that now?” arike laughed.

“no—it’s not like that. i was tired of eating frozen meals and chipotle bowls every night. i just—i don’t have time to cook.”

“so you hired someone to live with you?” dijonai asked, now fully invested.

“not hired. emma hired. i just agreed,” paige clarified, then shrugged. “but yeah. she moved in this morning.”

arike raised a brow. “and you’re already smiling like that? what’s her name?”

paige hesitated, then looked down at her shoes for a split second. “…azzi.”

“azzi,” dijonai repeated, dragging out the name like she was trying to taste it. “that sounds like a problem.”

“a pretty problem,” arike added under her breath.

“she’s just a chef,” paige said, defensive but not convincing. “she made lemon rosemary chicken for lunch. and like. quinoa. and roasted veggies. it was insane.”

“mmhmm,” dijonai said, smirking. “and did she cook, or cook cook?”

“what does that even mean—”

“it means you’re not just full, you’re fed. spiritually.”

paige tried to fight the grin again but failed. “okay. maybe.”

arike bumped her shoulder. “you’re in trouble.”

“i’m not,” paige insisted, then sighed, grabbing a ball off the rack. “she’s cool. it’s chill.”

“sure,” dijonai said. “until one day she’s making you post-practice pasta and you’re in love.”

paige just laughed before shaking her head. “i just met her. who knows, she could be a serial killer.”

dijonai raised a brow. “a serial killer who sautés?”

“those are the most dangerous ones,” arike added, dribbling in place now. “you think everything’s fine, next thing you know you’re dead in a house that smells like fresh-baked focaccia.”

paige laughed, hand on her chest. “y’all are actually insane.”

“we’re just saying,” dijonai said, walking backwards toward the baseline. “if she can cook like that and she’s cute—”

“who said she was cute?” paige cut in, too quickly.

both arike and dijonai stopped in their tracks, turning slowly.

“nobody,” arike said, grinning. “you just did.”

paige blinked, lips parting slightly before she scoffed. “whatever. focus on practice, please.”

“you focus on keeping your heart intact,” dijonai teased, then jogged off toward the rest of the team.

paige stood there for a second longer, spinning the ball in her hands.

“not happening,” she mumbled to herself, but even she didn’t believe it.

azzi had her hair tied back, an apron snug around her waist, sleeves pushed up. she was in her element—music playing low on her phone, knife tapping rhythmically against the cutting board as she chopped fresh herbs. garlic and shallots were already sizzling on the stove, their aroma filling the space.

the kitchen was warm, sun dipping lower outside the massive windows. she didn’t mind the quiet—she liked this kind of solitude, where she could move how she wanted, experiment a little, taste as she went.

this time it was a creamy tomato-based pasta, something rich but not too heavy. she’d roasted cherry tomatoes earlier, slow and low with olive oil, then blended them into the sauce with basil and a hint of red pepper.

for protein, she marinated some grilled shrimp in citrus and honey—it was cooling now, ready to be reheated just before paige walked in.

azzi looked at the clock: 5:18 p.m.

emma had mentioned paige’s practices usually ended around 5:30, which meant she’d be back soon.

as she stirred the sauce, her phone lit up from where it sat on the counter.

emma

hey, just checking in. everything good so far?

azzi

all good. just cooking dinner now.

she paused before sending another one.

azzi

do you know if she has any allergies or food sensitivities? just to be safe.

emma replied almost instantly.

emma

no allergies. she hates mushrooms though lol

azzi

noted. no mushrooms in this kitchen.

azzi smiled a little to herself, sliding the pasta into a large ceramic bowl.

she wiped her hands on a towel, then leaned back against the counter, letting the music play.

if paige walked in now, dinner would already be ready.

and maybe—maybe that would say enough on its own.

azzi had a feeling she was gonna enjoy being here.

so why did she also feel like it was going to be a problem too?

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi

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noorpersona · 2 months ago

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Confessions: Osamu

The shop is quiet, bathed in the golden light of the early evening, the kind that settles over wood and stone like a warm sigh. A gentle hush lingers in the space, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional click of the camera shutter. Most of the chairs are stacked, the door flipped to its "CLOSED" sign, and the scent of vinegar and freshly cooked rice still lingers in the air. You're both still inside—Osamu behind the counter in his slightly wrinkled apron, you crouched near the front display trying to get the perfect shot of a tuna nigiri against the fading light.

You’d met in college—him, a culinary student with arms always dusted in flour or sea salt, and you, a sharp-tongued marketing major who could charm a room with a smile and tear apart a branding pitch in under a minute.

You clicked almost immediately. It started with coffee-fueled group projects, late-night ramen runs, and long, quiet study sessions where neither of you said much but never seemed to want to leave. By the time you graduated, you'd both moved back home, and when he opened up his own nigiri shop, it felt natural to call you in to help make it shine.

Osamu’s had a crush on you since your second year. He’s certain of it. The first time you snapped at him for being late and then bought him lunch anyway, he was done for. But he never said anything—not when you were swamped with internship applications, not when he got too busy building his dream from scratch. He just... kept you around. Close. Safe. Until now.

“You’re supposed to be takin’ photos,” he says, voice low and amused as he leans against the counter, watching you from across the room.

“I am,” you say around a mouthful of nigiri, holding your phone up with one hand, chopsticks in the other. “I’m multitasking.”

Osamu lifts a brow. “That your fancy marketing term for stealin’ my hard work?”

You grin, chewing contentedly. “Not stealing. Quality control.”

He huffs a laugh, arms crossed, apron a little wrinkled from the long day. You’ve been at this for hours—prepping a new campaign for the shop’s upcoming anniversary special, trying to capture the perfect lighting, the perfect angle, the perfect bite. The trouble is, the food is too good. And you’re hungry. And Osamu’s expression every time you sneak another piece is too funny not to provoke.

“Y’know,” he says, walking over to the bar where you’ve made a makeshift photography studio of cutting boards and empty plates, “I could’ve just hired a photographer.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have my good side memorized.”

He pauses behind you, and you feel his gaze on the back of your head before he leans slightly over your shoulder to glance at your camera roll.

“Half these are just you eatin’ food,” he mutters.

“Well, you can tell it's good food.”

“Yer a menace.”

You laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of the quiet shop. As you're reaching for another piece of nigiri, he eyes you from behind the counter.

“Oi,” he says, pointing a chopstick at you, “I said stop eatin’ 'em all.”

You pop the bite into your mouth with a grin. “Oh, c'mon. This is my payment for staying late and taking these photos.”

Osamu raises a brow. “Yeah, well, you can’t get the damn photos if there’s nothin’ left to shoot.”

You reach forward and pluck another piece off the plate just to spite him.

Osamu throws his head back with a groan, but the sound blends into a laugh—low and unfiltered. His arms uncross, one hand resting on the counter’s edge as he leans forward, shaking his head.

His smile cracks wide across his face, tugging at the corners of his eyes, and for a moment, he just watches you with something helplessly fond behind the amusement. His shoulders lift slightly with each breath, the kind of laugh that takes over your whole body before you even realize it. There’s no trace of the usual teasing smirk, no sarcasm—just the kind of joy that escapes when you stop trying to hide it.

“Hey—stop eatin’ all the—ugh, I love you.”

The words slip out in the middle of a breathless laugh, tangled in warmth and amusement, tumbling into the open before either of you can brace for the impact. His voice trails off at the end, like his brain only just caught up with his mouth—and then the moment hangs.

Still.

Your fingers hover above the plate, chopsticks clutched mid-air, and your smile falters as the weight of what he just said sinks in. The warmth still lingering in your chest twists into something deeper—sharper.

Both of you freeze, suspended in golden light and thick, heady silence. His laughter dies like a flame catching wind.

Your hand stops mid-air, halfway to your mouth. “...What did you say?”

Osamu straightens up like he touched a live wire. “Nothin’. I didn’t—I mean, that wasn’t—”

“No no,” you say, slowly lowering the chopsticks, your eyes narrowing with disbelief and something else—something softer. “Did you just say you love me?”

“I didn’t mean to say it like that!” he blurts, already rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just—ya were bein’ you, and I laughed, and it slipped out, but I do, I mean, I didn’t plan to just—shit—”

You cut off his rambling by stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him in a sudden, fierce hug.

Osamu goes completely still for a second, his breath shallow as his arms remain half-curled like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to hold you yet. Then you feel the tension give way as he exhales against your hair, and his arms tighten around you just slightly, enough to pull you flush against his chest.

You bury your face into the soft cotton of his shirt, the scent of soy and rice grounding you. “I love you too, you moron.”

You feel his breath stutter against your temple, and you tilt your head up just enough to see his eyes—soft, stunned, and a little dazed.

"Took you long enough," you add with a teasing smile.

He huffs a laugh, low and disbelieving, the sound rumbling through his chest. His shoulders sag, relief pouring through him in quiet waves. “You’re not just sayin’ that?” he asks, voice rough at the edges, like he still doesn’t fully believe he didn’t just hallucinate this entire thing.

You grin. “Would I lie to the man who makes me free food every week?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face before ruffling the back of your hair affectionately. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but his tone is nothing but fond.

He’s smiling, really smiling, like the kind of smile that lives in the corners of his mouth even after it fades, the kind you remember for days. His hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers curling through yours like he’s done it a thousand times in his head already. You stay like that for a moment—standing in the golden hush of the closed shop, surrounded by the scent of rice and vinegar and the lingering echo of laughter.

“You still owe me promotional photos,” he murmurs against your lips.

You pull back just enough to smile. “Only if I get to eat the props after.”

“Fine. But I’m writin’ you off as an expense.”

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

Note

When do think Malleus’s broken horn will be reflected in future events and cards? I ask this because I can’t tell at what point in the timeline the most recent events have happened, they’re likely all prior to book 7 including the upcoming event but then how do we know which overblots have occurred yet? I also wonder if the events are even canon to the main story, any thoughts on this?

Mm... hard to say? I don't even know if it would be reflected in all future events and cards since the horn injury is a pretty major spoiler for the main story. The only other character that had a significant change in design over the course of the amin story was Ortho. His College Gear became the default form he assumed for the events that came out after book 6, such as Fairy Gala: What If, White Rabbit Fest, Stage in Playful Land, Wish Lantern. However, Ortho does appear in his old Archetype Gear in Grim's Ceremonial Robes (Twst third year anniversary) groovy.

So if Ortho's College Gear is a potential main story spoiler that appears in events, shouldn't Malleus's horn injury also appear in events?? Maybe...? But I feel that seeing Ortho in his College Gear is different than seeing Malleus's horn... If you were a new player seeing Ortho in the College Gear with zero context, you would not associate it with his independence and finding his own identity. You'd just assume it's another outfit Idia made him. However, seeing Malleus with a very noticeable physical change makes people start asking questions. It ruins the twist as to how they defeat book 7's major and powerful boss, and it also may completely shift the dynamics of how he interacts with peers (since breaking the horns reduces his magical power), which isn't the case for Ortho. This makes me think that Twst won't commit to depicting Malleus with his injury in all future instances.

As for events, the fandom generally accepts that they are largely not canon to the main story timeline. Rather, they are "what ifs", "AUs", "parallel worlds", or "things that happen outside of the canon of purview of the main story's timeline.

Yana seems to imply this as well. According to a 2020 interview: “Sometimes the relationship between characters changes completely in the main storyline, which will leave me scratching my head and wondering, ‘When did that part happen?’. However, I am sure that more and more events are going to be held in the future, so I am wondering if parallel and ‘if’ worlds are going to start appearing.” (Fan translation by Yuurei-san!)

Practically speaking, there is absolutely no way they all fit in the 8 and a half months (September to mid-May) that the main story so far spans. Some events you may be able to easily slot in (like book 5 going into February and Beans Day taking place in February too), but it overall creates way too many contradictions. For example, Stage in Playful Land takes place around Halloween. However, Ortho appears in his College Gear in that event, meaning that this must be post-book 6--it has to be the Halloween when Ortho is a second year. But if that's true, then none of the third years in the event should be there because they should be off on their internships. Yuu would also be recognized much sooner in the main story if we accept that the characters' familiarity with them in the events are true. (For example, Yuu knows Malleus's identity in the events, but does not learn his name until late book 5 of the main story.) If you tried to fit everything into the same timeline, you would very quickly find plot holes like this. Events can't really mention main story things or even OBs so as to avoid spoilers there.

It should be mentioned that there are times when events are hinted at in the main story. For example, Silver and Sebek mention taking the Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles course in book 7, which implies that those events may be "canon" to the main story (but it could just as easily also just refer to the course in general and not the story event). These instances are very few and far-between though.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #Malleus Draconia #Ortho Shroud #book 6 spoilers #book 7 spoilers #Yuu #book 5 spoilers

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destinycalling1 · 5 days ago

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#internships in france #internships abroad #france culinary internships #internship program

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florida3exclamationpoints · 10 months ago

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#SORRY im mad about my stupid college again #WHY do they require so many internhip hours??????#no wait i KNOW why. bc the chef who runs the program is EVIL AND STUPID #he literally thinks he as a chef is gods gift to this earth. he thinks CHEFS are gods gift to this earth but only if they agree with him.#however. gods gift to this earth do NOT deserve breaks. ('chefs dont get breaks' is a direct quote)#he thinks all chefs should work like dogs and SUFFER. and the industry should never change #and he loves the power of being the program head. (and most students' advisor)#and he can say im preparing you to be the best!!!!! and get away with it #and he doesnt respect pastry chefs. and guess what i am hahahah #like i know the culinary industry is toxic and most chefs are jerks. but bakeries are very different from restaurants #so i thought i could handle some jerky chefs during school and get my degree and go work in a bakery #(i can handle some jerky chefs)#the problem was that a jerky chef ran the program as if you were already working in the worst restaurant environment imaginable #and he only taught like everyone wanted to be world renown chefs of 5 star parisian restaurants that take 4 years to get a reservation #(which is crazy that he thinks hes qualified to get other people to that level but ok.)#and thats great for people who want that! but some people (me) just want a cute little bakery!#also ! its advertised as a 2 year associates program #which. is true that you'll only get an associates degree out of it #but 2 years is including summer semesters. sorry i don't think thats how that works. i think thats 3 years #2 years for people who decide to do extra and take summer semesters.#and i think the only realistic way to complete the internship hours is to take an off semester and only do the internship #so you're not doing it at the same time as classes #but that adds a minimum of 1 semester and maximum 2 #or if you cram the spring and fall semesters to have summer off and do the internship during summer #summer semesters are shorter. so youd have less weeks to complete the same amount of hours #it is simply not a 2 year program for the average person!!!!!!#i was IN COLLEGE FOR 2 YEARS!!!!!! AND I ONLY TOOK 1 (ONE) PASTRY CLASS!!!!!! I SHOULD'VE BEEN ABLE TO GRADUATE!!!!!!!!!!!#and what do you MEAN you expect me to be in college for 3 years and only get an associates degree out of it. no thank you #its almost like...... an associates degree requires 2 years of schooling........ and theres too much happening in this program.......#bc the man in charge of it is power hungry and wants to control people and thinks chefs need to be beat into shape.......

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charliegyrth · 4 months ago

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Halloween Before and After

October 31, 2023

I met Mario at a Halloween house party near campus. He was Tarzan and I was a pirate. Match made in heaven.

I saw him through the crowded room. Shirtless. Bronze muscles bulging. He smiled at me first, as if I was some hot stud. As if I could possibly compare to him. I smiled back but was too afraid to approach him. (On some level, I thought it was a Halloween trick. This guy was way out of my league.)

He walked toward me, smiling wide enough to show the adorable gap in his front teeth. “I like your eye patch,” he shouted through the thumping music. That was his opening line. Cheesy, but it worked on me.

“I like your loin cloth,” I shouted back.

“Mario!” he shouted.

“Jake!”

We could barely hear each other, so he grabbed me by the wrist and guided me into the quiet backyard. It was a cold night, but Mario didn’t seem to mind. I guess his muscles insulated him.

“So. Jake. How’s your Halloween so far?”

“Uneventful.” I didn’t want to tell him that I felt deeply uncomfortable at the party, that my oversized, too-flamboyant pirate costume made me feel self-conscious, that I had no idea why a hot guy like him was talking to a non-entity like me.

“Well, it’s a big night for me. A really big night.” He smiled as if he’d just made a secret joke. “I, um… know you from sociology class. Professor Keating. I’ve always wanted to introduce myself.”

“There’s like 200 people in Keating’s class,” I said. (Slight exaggeration.)

“Exactly. Two hundred people, and you’re the only one brave enough to stand up to that tyrant.”

“Oh. That.”

He must’ve been talking about last month, when Keating had made some snide comments about the body positivity movement. He was one of those professors who got off on saying purposely controversial stuff and then shooting down any students who stood up to him. A crusader against PC culture or whatever. You know, one of those professors.

I’d grimaced at a lot of the things he said, but I’d never had the balls to say anything until he started talking nonsense about how it was good to fat-shame. How “not all bodies are beautiful.” I personally wasn’t fat. (In fact, I was noticeably underweight, and I came from a family of short, thin people.) But for some reason, his words really upset me and I pushed back. He absolutely tore into me, like he tore into anybody who disagreed with him. It was humiliating.

“Do you regret standing up to him?”

“I probably will once our grades come in,” I joked. “But no. Screw that guy.”

Mario smiled. I’d just said what he wanted to hear. “Yeah. Screw that guy.”

We shared a silent moment together. His dark eyes reflected the light from the jack-o-lanterns behind me. God, I wanted to kiss him so much. And it wasn’t because he was ridiculously good-looking. It was because… I don’t know. Because he was pulling me toward him like a magnet. Giving off this raw energy. Warmth.

I could tell that, somehow, he was as interested in me as I was in him.

“What’s your major?” he asked, switching toward the more standard getting-to-know-you phase of the conversation.

I told him about how I was studying business and taking culinary classes on the side. I talked about my internship at Lascari’s, a high-end restaurant in Scottsdale.

And in turn, he told me about his literature classes. And his time on the wrestling team. And his family’s Mexican restaurant up in Lake Havasu.

The restaurant business was the big thing we had in common. But we had a bunch of other stuff in common, too. Swimming. A passion for horror movies. Very similar political beliefs. After talking for over an hour, I felt deeply comfortable with him.

And deeply attracted, of course.

“So why is tonight such a big night for you?” I assumed he was going to talk about his deep love for Halloween. (Which… I get it. I loved Halloween, too. Despite the awkward parties.)

But then he got weirdly serious. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Tonight’s my last night in this body.”

“What?” I thought I heard him wrong.

“Let’s sit down.” He led me toward a gazebo decorated in cobwebs and plastic spiders. It was much darker inside. We sat together. “How would you describe my body, Jake?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

“Um, muscular. Tan. Very attractive. Slightly hairy. Hot?”

“Agreed,” he answered. “Not to sound conceited, but yeah. Most people think I’m hot. And I show it off. Hence the Tarzan costume. But… it’s not really the body that I want. I’m going to change it, starting tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering my question, he took my hand and placed it on his beefy pec. I could feel his heart beat underneath. Then he led my hand toward his stomach, where he let my fingers trace the deep lines between his abs. He let go of my hand and I pulled away, though I really wanted to keep touching.

I felt myself getting hard, but I still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

Finally, he got to the point: “I’m going to cover all this in fat, Jake. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to stop exercising and spend every afternoon eating until I pass out. I’ve done research into fitness, nutrition, pharmaceuticals. I have a detailed plan to gain as much fat as I can, as fast as I can. My goal is to become morbidly obese. It’s what I’ve always wanted. So tonight, I’m celebrating the end of my old life.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I knew he wasn’t joking. And I knew from his anxious smile that, despite how matter-of-fact he sounded, he was nervous to tell me all of this. I had to be careful with how I responded.

Deep down, his confession horrified me. He had a body that anyone would kill for (a body that I would kill to be with), and he wanted to destroy it. Not only was that unhealthy, but it was… a shame. I knew that gainers existed, and I’m the last person to ever kink-shame someone, but my God. Choosing to be morbidly obese, that was disgusting. This guy was nuts.

But he’d chosen me to confide in because of how I stood up for body positivity, so I couldn’t say anything negative. I couldn’t argue with how he wanted to live his life.

And more importantly, I knew that if I played my cards right, he’d take me back to his place and f*ck my brains out. This was my one chance to be with an absolute muscle god. All I had to do was say the right thing. Tomorrow, I’d wish him the best and leave him to his own weird kink, but tonight, while he was still perfect, I’d ignore his craziness and have a good time.

“It sounds like you’re very determined,” I finally said. “I know it won’t be long until you get the body you were meant to have.”

He kissed me with such hungry passion that I knew I’d told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

***

October 31, 2025

“Jake! I need help tying up my loin cloth!”

“One second, babe,” I called from the kitchen. “I’m still mixing your shakes.”

After pouring the thick liquid (a combination of condensed milk, butter, ice cream, and weight gain powder) into a thermos, I rushed back into the living room.

Mario stood in the center of the room, completely naked. He’d been getting his Tarzan costume ready for the last twenty minutes, and yet he didn’t have a single bit of clothing on. God, he depended on me for everything.

I glanced around the room. “Okay. Where’s the loin cloth?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean? I’m wearing it.”

I immediately burst out laughing. I walked toward my fiancée, hoisted up his belly, and saw the loin cloth already wrapped around his waist. His fat pad bulged out of it obscenely, the fabric stretched so tight that I could even see the tiny bulge of what was his once-massive cock. He’d outgrown the loincloth a hundred pounds ago, but it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t even visible under his hanging stomach fat.

“Real talk,” I said. “You look f*cking amazing, but there is no way you can go to the party at our restaurant dressed like that. People will just think you’re naked.”

“But I’m not,” he said. “This is the costume I always wear.”

I let go of his belly and it flopped back into place. “Did you see yourself in the mirror?”

“Yeah,” he said mischievously. “I know I’ll get arrested if I wear this in public. But…”

“You just wanted to see my reaction, huh?”

I kissed him on his chubby cheek, pressing against his wobbling thigh so he could feel how the sight of him had immediately sprung me to attention. I was bulging out of my board shorts. (I chose a surfer costume this year.) “Well, you got a reaction out of me.”

I really wanted to take him into the bedroom, but then we’d miss the party. This was Halloween, our favorite holiday, and we couldn’t waste it by staying at home. Besides, we had to make an appearance at our restaurant. People were expecting us.

I circled around to his back, where the loin cloth had turned into a barely noticeable thong between his globular cheeks. I pulled it loose, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

“Okay, the Tarzan costume’s out. You can wear a bedsheet and be Fat Caesar? How about that?”

He agreed. We really didn’t have any other choice. I handed him a shake to keep him occupied and went into the bedroom to strip our bed. The sheet was purple, but it would have to do. I grabbed a pair of sweatpants (to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions) plus a couple safety pins. I also grabbed the framed photo on our dresser. Then I returned to the living room.

By then, Mario was back on the couch. I guess he’d been standing too long. He looked at everything I had in my hands. “What’s with the picture? Is that part of the costume, too?”

I sat next to him and handed him the photo. It had been on our dresser for two years now, so of course he recognized it. But you know how it is. The longer you have a decoration, the less you notice it.

It was a photo that we’d taken on the night we first met. We were posed in front of the party house, minutes away from going back to his place. Our mutual friend Sara saw us together and insisted that she record the moment. (I tried to tell her no. At the time, I assumed that Mario was going to be a one-night stand, not the love of my life. Thank God she didn’t listen to me.)

We had our arms around each other, both smiling.

I was practically swimming in my loose pirate costume. God, I was so boney back then, before Mario let me use his home gym and taught me all the exercises that he used to do.

And Mario, of course, was Tarzan. Before he grew a muffin top. Before his pecs melted into moobs. Before his chiseled jawline sprouted a second chin.

“We looked so different back then,” Mario said, nostalgically but not sadly. “That was, what? Two hundred pounds ago?”

“A bit more,” I said, patting him on the belly. “Sorry you can’t be Tarzan again this year.”

We both had fond memories of last Halloween, when he’d recreated the look. His gut was much firmer back then, so he wore the loin cloth just fine. Tarzan with a beer belly. He got a lot of comments.

“Do you remember what you said to me that night?” Mario asked.

“I remember saying a lot of things.”

“After I told you that I wanted to get fat. I was so nervous to hear your reaction. But you said, ‘I know it won’t be long until you get the body you were meant to have.’ Those were the exact words I needed to hear. Proof that you believed in me. And that you wanted this as much as I did.”

I didn’t then, but I do now. At the time, his confession had seriously freaked me out. I thought we’d have a one-night thing and I’d exit his life forever. But it had been such a good night, and then the next morning, when he started overeating, I was surprised by how turned on I was. And when he asked me to feed him… And when his body started to soften… And when I had to help him with simple tasks… And when we incorporated food in the bedroom… And when his moobs came in… And when he demanded belly rubs... And when… And when… And when…

With every step of his gaining journey, I grew closer and closer to my big, beautiful man. And now, two years later, I can’t understand how I could’ve ever been disgusted by the idea of weight gain. He’d built a perfect body for himself, and I was so lucky to be along for the ride.

Mario placed the picture on the coffee table and finished the rest of his shake. He burped a little because he knew I found that cute.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re done with the memory lane stuff. Stand up and I’ll put on your costume.”

I slid the sweatpants up his thick, dimpled legs. He spread his arms wide, letting his upper arm fat dangle beautifully, and I wrapped him in our sheet.

“Happy Halloween, babe,” he said.

“Happy Halloween.”

The End!

You can find all my stories here.

This story was also included in my anthology ebook Fatter for the Holidays.

#gainer story #gainer stories #gainerfiction #gainerfic #gay feeder #male wg #wg fiction #weight gain fiction #weight gain story #feeder fiction #halloween #spooky season

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