#chef reader

[alastor-simp]

“𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊?” - 𝒟𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒻/𝒷𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇👩🏻‍🍳 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 1/2

✮⋆˙ Summary: Despite being a magicless student in NRC, you are extremely talented in the kitchen. Hanging out with your boyfriend, you hear his stomach grumble, allowing the first thought to come to your mind, “Want me to make something for you?”

✮⋆˙ Pairings: Riddle Roseheart x Reader, Leona Kingscholar x Reader, and Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

✮⋆˙ Genre: Fluff and Romance

✮⋆˙ Tags: Chef Reader, Cooking, Love Language, Cooking for Others, Acts of Service, Love Language: Acts of Service, Dorm Leaders x Reader, Female Chef Reader, Twisted Wonderland, Headcannons

✮⋆˙ Credit: Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

✮⋆˙ Looking For Part 2 -> X

Riddle Rosehearts🌹

🌹Riddle couldn't process what you said. You wanted to make something for him? He was pleased, but then the guilt came, He didn't want to trouble you with something like that. "Y/N!, y-you don't need to do that. I can always grab something from the cafeteria." Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand, pulling him along with you. "Nope~ I'm making you something. Now come on, show me where the kitchen is here in Heartslabyul."He went red, from shyness, not anger, as he gave in to you, telling you exactly where the dorm kitchen was, while giving your hand a soft squeeze.

🌹Having entered the kitchen, you realized it was empty, perfect, as both you and Riddle can be alone together. Pointing to the stool, you told Riddle to take a seat, as you went to get ready. Grabbing the apron and chef hat, you gave a huff of approval as you neared the sink, washing your hands. "So, have you thought of what you wanted?" Smiling up at Riddle, you awaited his answer, as he sat in a daze, until he realized you were talking to him.

🌹"Well I..." He placed his hand on his chin, giving it a thought. Leaning closer on the kitchen island, your hands held your face up, eyes sparkling, making him blush. "What are you craving? Pizza, soup, pasta, salad, cake, cookies? I can make anything you want. Ask away!" His mind was racing, unable to think of anything with you looking at him like that. His mind went to strawberry tarts, but he didn't want you to make something that required a long time to prepare, plus he wanted to eat something that gave him his nutritional needs. "Sandwich?" Riddle asked, wearing a soft smile.

🌹Without a word, you nodded your head and got to work, grabbing the essential ingredients, but adding a twist as you grabbed milk bread in the pantry, strawberries, sugar and whipping cream. Riddle watched you prep up, admiring how at ease you looked, remembering how nervous he was in the Culinary Crucible, when he was attempting to make cabbage rolls. Cooking wasn't at all like alchemy, as he originally thought, seeing how certain measurements and tools to prep were different despite them being almost similar. There was a part of him that wanted to improve his skills in the kitchen, maybe you could teach him?

🌹Riddle thoughts were interrupted as a plate was pushed in front of him. "Here you go, enjoy!" You said, with a smile, waiting for Riddle to try it. Looking at the sandwich, Riddle noticed that it wasn't a regular sandwich, seeing strawberries inside the bread, instead of meat and vegetables. "What is this?" He questioned, not knowing what it was you had prepared. "Oh, you never had a strawberry sando before? It's a fruit sandwich, so the bread is milk bread, adding a soft texture, and there is whipped cream inside along with strawberries. They are very popular in my world, plus I know how much you like strawberries, so I figured this was perfect to make for you."

🌹His mouth was shaped like a "O" as he continued to stare at you and the sandwich. Even when asked to make a sandwich, you made it in a way that suited his taste preferences? His heart couldn't stop thumping like crazy. Gauging Riddle's reaction, you worried, thinking he was upset, "Oh, do you not like it? I can't make another san-" Your words were cut off by him, "NO...no...the sandwich is perfect. Thank you, Y/N." Riddle picked it up, as he whispered "Itadakimasu" and bit into the sandwich. The delicious taste of whipped cream and the sweetness of the strawberries made Riddle hum in delight, eyes shining brightly from how amazing it was.

🌹"Hehe, judging by your reaction, I'm guessing you like it." Riddle nodded, as he continued to eat the sandwich, giving out a satisfied hum as he finished, using a napkin to clean his face. "Thank you again, my rose." His pure smile was making your heart melt, this boy was way too adorable. Walking over to him, you patted his head, making him stiffen at first, until he finally relaxed. "You're welcome Riddle. Whenever you are craving something or hungry, just ask me, okay?" Riddle leaned into the sensation, until you pulled away, making him a bit sad, but he smiled up at you. "Alright. Just make sure whatever you make me doesn't violate the 810 rules, understand?"

🌹Raising your eyebrow, you smirked at him, "Oh? And if it does, you going to throw what I made you away? How cruel" Stuttering, Riddle shook his head, recalling how he reacted with the Mont Blanc tart incident "N-no I wou-." He got cut off when you kissed his cheek, "Joking~" Calming down, Riddle looked down shyly, mumbling that he will eat whatever you make him, causing you to laugh as you kissed him again, making him flush with a mini smile on his face.

🌹What You Made For Riddle + Recipe🌹

Recipe- Strawberry Sando

Leona Kingscholar🦁

🦁Leona was napping in his room, while you were laying on the bed with him, well with him on top of you, as he nuzzled his head into your stomach, soft snores escaping him. You then hear a loud sound coming from him, recognizing that was a stomach grumble. "Hey Leona, want me to make you something to eat?" You whispered, not too soft though as you wanted him to hear you. Leona motioned his head up, one of his eyes opened, having woken up when you said that to him. "What?" He questioned you, thinking he was still dreaming. Looking down at him, you smiled, "Do you want me to make you something? I heard your stomach." You repeated what you said, making Leona smirk as he closed his eyes again, ready to go back to sleep. "I don't need herbivore food. Ruggie can bring me something anyway"

🦁He got a flick to the forehead, opening his eyes at you with a glare. "I'm not gonna make you a salad, Leona. I know you don't like vegetables. You're not gonna allow your girlfriend to cook for you?" You teased him, as you watched his ears twitch, tail moving when you said that, but he just turned, moving his body off of you, laying on the bed this time, mumbling a whatever as he went back to sleep. Smirking, you bent down to kiss his cheek, as you got up from the bed, heading out to shop for the ingredients. "Oy." You stopped, hearing Leona speak, turning to see a wallet being thrown towards you, as you caught it, looking at him confused. "Use that to buy what you need." He said, as he remained laying down on the bed. Smiling, you put the wallet in your pocket, as you headed out, closing the door behind you softly.

🦁Getting what you needed from the market a few minutes from NRC, you placed the bags on the kitchen counter, letting out a huff. Ruggie was kind enough to leave you alone in the kitchen, but not before telling you to promise him to save him some leftovers with whatever you made. Looking around, you found an apron and chef hat, putting them on as you started to wash your hands. Going to the bags, you pulled out the ground beef, onions, breadcrumbs, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup and potatoes. You chopped and sauteed the onions and then add them to the ground beef, mixing in other ingredients, then forming the meat into patty's. Getting the frying pan, you cooked the meat, covering it, as you began to work on the potatoes, peeling them.

🦁A pair of arms wrapped around your stomach, making you jump, as you felt a head land on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. Humming, you leaned your head against him, as you continued to peel the potatoes. "Hi." He said against your shoulder, making you respond back with a "Hi" as well. He continued to hold you, feeling his tail curl against your leg, make you giggle. "Leona, as much as I love you, I can't cook like this." With a grumble, he pulled away, motioning his body to sit against the chair, near the kitchen table, propping his head up with his hand, as he continued to watch you, emerald eyes gazing at you intensely.

🦁Once the meat was done, you prepared the sauce for them, while you finished boiling the potatoes, pureeing them to mash as you set them aside. Once everything was all set, you plated it well, turning around to Leona, who was surprisingly awake. Setting the plate down, you gave Leona a soft smile, "Its hamburg steak with mashed potatoes! I hope you like it." Leona look disinterested in it, but his tail and ears gave him away as they continued to move. Grabbing the fork, he took a piece of the meat off and raised it to his lips, taking a bite. You watched him intently, gauging his reaction. He remained the same, not even a crack of a smile, but he continued to eat, finishing the whole plate as well as the mashed potatoes, not expecting him to like them since they were part of the vegetables family. He licked his lips, before smirking at you, "Not bad, herbivore. I might hire you as my personal chef."

🦁Happy that he enjoyed it, you smiled, grabbing the plate as you began to wash up. "Glad you liked it. I was worried for a second since I'm not the best at making fancy dishes." Leona scrunched his eyebrows at that, "What you mean by fancy?" Moving your hands in the sink, you explained that he was a prince, especially growing up in a kingdom, he had a more variety to expensive delicious dishes, so you worried that what you made wouldn't fare well with what he's probably had before in his hometown.

🦁You felt your body being lifted up, turned around as he set you on the counter, using his body and arms to cage you, a predator corning his prey. He smirked down at you, as he leaned closer into your face, "Prince. Not a prince. It shouldn't matter. I'll eat whatever you make me, Herbivore, as long as you make it for me and me alone." Heart beating in your chest, your cheeks flushed as you gazed at Leona, as he leaned closer, enjoying your reaction. "Even a salad?" Teasing him back, you watch his expression drop, giving you a semi-glare. "Don't push it." Laughing, you grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss, which he reciprocated back, pulling you closer.

🦁The two of you continued the kissing session, until you realized that you were still in the kitchen and that you needed to clean up. "Leona, hold on, we can't do this here." You said between kisses, out of breath from how passionate he was. Leona let out a deep chuckle, as he pulled away slightly, "Why not? It's my dorm anyway." Pushing him back, you got off the counter, trying to steady yourself. "I know that, but still. Besides, I have to clean up plus I promised Ruggie I leave him something." Leona let out a soft growl, as he grabbed your chin, lifting it up to look at him. "Bringing up another man's name in front of me huh? Didn't I say for me and me only?"

🦁Unamused, you removed his hand from your chin. "Hey! He was nice enough to let me use the kitchen and he made sure no one else came in, knowing that the other students in this dorm would have grabbed what I was cooking and run away with it. The hyena boy deserves it." You went back to cleaning, as Leona let out a hmph and sat back down on his chair. "When I'm done, we can continue in your room." Tiling your head back to look at him, you gave a sultry look, which he responded with a smirk of his own.

🦁Having finished, setting a covered plate inside for Ruggie. Your body was then lifted up, swung over Leona's shoulders like a sack of potatoes as he headed towards his room. Grabbing your phone, you sent Ruggie a text that there was a plate for him in the kitchen and also not to disturb Leona and you.

🦁What You Made For Leona + Recipe🦁

Recipe- Japanese Hamburg Steak

Azul Ashengrotto🐙

🐙 In his office, Azul was writing away at his desk, finalizing some paperwork, while you were sitting on the chair across his desk, finishing your school work. He knew he was busy, so he arranged it that after class, the both of you would stay in his office in Mostro Lounge, enjoying each others company. He said it was just him being benevolent, but you knew that was a lie, since he absolutely adore you. A stomach growl was heard a few feet away from you, prompting you to look up from your work. Azul was still writing away, but his cheeks were slightly pink, embarrassed that you heard that.

🐙"Hungry? Want me to make you something?" You asked with a smile, putting your school work to the side. Azul dropped his pen, looking at you with shock, before he regained his composure, pushing his glasses up. "Angelfish, there is no need for you to cook for me. Besides, I'm not that hu-" Another growl came from his stomach, making his face go red, hiding it with his hands in embarrassment. "Well your stomach is telling me directly that your lying." Giggling, you got up from the chair, heading towards the door. You looked back at him, "What would you like?" Azul remained in the same position, before removing his hands, looking at you with a soft expression. "Something healthy please. I'm on a strict diet." Your heart ached at that, remembering the glimpses of his past that you saw during his Overblot, how bad his insecurity was. Giving him a kind smile, you nodded, as you headed out.

🐙Heading into the kitchen in the lounge, you saw that both Jade and Floyd were in there, Jade polishing some dishes while Floyd was sitting on the ground, criss-crossed, bored out of his mind. "Hey Leech bros." You waved at them, making them turn to look at you. "Heyyyyy Shrimp-channnnn~" Floyd tackled you into a hug, making you laugh. "Greetings, Prefect. What brings you into the kitchen?" You made your way over to the hanging apron, with Floyd dragging behind you, still holding on to you. "Azul was hungry so I'm making him something to eat." Jade smiled at your reasoning, as he continued to polish the dishes. "Oy Shrimpy. You making something for Azul and not for me? Meanie" Floyd whined in your ear, as he continued to squeeze you, as you made your way over to the sink, washing your hands.

🐙 "If you let me borrow the kitchen and make something for Azul, I'll cook something for the both of you after, okay?" You said, turning your head to look at Floyd while looking back at Jade. Floyd smiled, exposing all his teeth as he squeezed you again, making you go a bit blue. "Floyd. The prefect can't cook if you suffocate them" Floyd whined, but let you go, allowing you to breathe. "Thanks Jade." You thanked him as he gave you a closed eyed smile. Getting the ingredients, you got rice, pickled radish, chicken tenders, seaweed wrap and seasonings. Cooking the rice, you coated the tenders in breadcrumbs, deciding it be better to pan-fry it. Once that was done, you cooled the rice down as you began to cut the radish into thin strips. Jade and Floyd continued to watch you, finding your cooking very entertaining to them, while also admiring your skills.

🐙Once that was all set, you layered the rice, chicken, and radish on the seaweed wrap and rolled it, as you then grabbed a knife and slice them, making gimpap rolls. "Perfect!" Excited, you began to clean up, making sure to wipe the counters, and clean the tools you used. "Sugoi~ They look yummy." You heard Floyd say, as he held the plate in his hand, widening his jaw. "AHH! NO!" Yelling out, you jumped up, grabbing the plate from him. "These are Azul's. You'll get your food later." Floyd pouted, making grabby hands at the food, earning a chuckle from Jade. "Floyd. I will add mushrooms to your dish if you don't behave." Threatening him with a glare, Floyd immediately dropped his hands, yet he still pouted as he sat down on the ground.

🐙Holding the plate, you walked past the both up them, reaching one hand down to rub Floyd's head, earning a chuckle from him, his mood improving. Knocking on Azul's door, you heard an enter, as you opened the door, holding the plate up with a smile. "Your food is ready~" Singing out, you made your way over to him, placing the plate down gently on his desk. Azul observed the dish, with precision, wondering exactly what you made him, "What have you made me, Angelfish?" Azul looked at you then back at the dish. "Oh its chicken gimbap. There are many ways to make it, but I decided to do it with chicken this time. I pan-fried it instead, so it's healthier and the inside has rice and pickled radish inside, and the wrapping is seaweed paper."

🐙Azul's looked at you like you were the most amazing treasure in the world. He knew you knew about his love for fried chicken, but he didn't indulge in it often, wanting to maintain his figure. Yet, here comes you, making him a simple dish that was both healthy and included his favorite food, he could almost cry. "Are you okay, Azul?" He shook out of his trance, your question bringing him back to reality. "Y-yes. I'm fine. Itadakimasu." His fork stabbed one of the rolls as he held it to his mouth, putting the whole thing his mouth with elegance. His eyes widen, the juiciness of the chicken and the tanginess of the radish was irresistible. He was grabbing another one, and another and another, having finished the dish quickly, letting out a satisfied sigh.

🐙"Subarashii." was the only word he let out, turning to you with a kind smile. "Your cooking is astounding. I would love to try other dishes from you in the future." Reaching his arm out, he pulled you so you were sitting on his lap, his head nuzzling against your shoulder. His sweet gesture made your heart skip a beat, as you nuzzled your head against him. "I could make some new dishes for your business too, if you want. I know how passionate you are about it." Azul chuckled, moving his head to place a soft kiss on your cheek, then turning back to nuzzle your shoulder.

🐙The both of you remained in the position for a while, till a loud knock was heard. "OYYYYY SHRIMPY~ ME AND JADE ARE HUNGRY." Realizing you forgot about the twins, you slowly got up Azul's lap, letting him know that you promised the twins. He was already missing your warmth, but he knew that Floyd was quite insufferable when he was hungry, so he allowed you to go. His eyes watched you as you left, as he tilted his head back with a sigh. This man was so in love with you.

🐙What You Made For Azul + Recipe🐙

Recipe- Chicken Gimbap

🍱🥘🍜To be Continued In Part 2🍜🥘🍱

[fluffysucker]

Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

In no world were you meant to be together, but in every universe, you were meant for each other.

A/N: I present you grumpy sunshine wrapped in enemies(ish) to lovers with Beefy Boxer/Biker Bucky.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated.

Also, I tried to be as inclusive as possible. But my delusion couldn't be controlled I'm sorry.

Ngl this is for me more than anything.

Also, I'm thinking about making this its own universe and maybe write more of it. Tell me what you think

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You hated Bucky Barnes, and he hated you.

The two of you should have never crossed paths. Your worlds should have never met. But the wall separating you could only hold for so long.

The infamous boxer was a phenomenon in his field. Unbeatable and astute, Bucky Barnes held his reputation with pride. He was stronger than all and the smartest the game had. His jab was as numbing as the winter. His techniques were as calculated as a soldier's. Bucky Barnes was as hard as nails. A legend.

To keep up with the notoriety, it was rumoured that Barnes and his team were also a biker gang. It was never confirmed, but the black leather jacket he always had on, the long hair touching his shoulder or tidied in a low bun, the motorbike barked in front of the gym, and the intimidating sense lingering around him. It was never denied, either.

In the mornings, Bucky Barnes ran a successful gym with his two bestfriends, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Both played occasionally, but only Bucky was the professional, so they were more his trainers. They also trained other players and armatures. They tried to gain other normal customers, but it didn't always work. With a reputation like theirs, attracting customers wasn't easy.

It was usually the same for nights, unless they had matches. Most of their fights were held on Stark's property. He ran an empire, and boxing was the dominant centre, led by the biggest champion. And Stark lets Bucky have it his way, just like he likes. As long as Bucky keeps on bringing these huge numbers into their pockets, both are happy and content.

So it was out of the nature for Bucky to have zero interest in the new restaurant that opened up right next door to the gym. They had their regularly frequented places. The bar run by Romanoff and Belova, a couple of blocks away from Stark's property, was more than enough. He didn't even bother to throw a glance at it. Even after he knew that the owner had come by and given out menus and promised them discounts if they stopped by, there was still nothing.

Until one night. Bucky got carried away in training. He had an important match coming up. He knew his opponent barely stood a chance, but Bucky enjoyed the thriller of the game. The sweat and blood that go into it He didn't remember a time when he didn't want to do this. It was like it was programmed so deeply in his brain. He was made for this.

Everyone left, one by one. Until then, it was only him. After so many hours, he finally got tired. He threw his gloves aside and went to take a shower to remove the evidence of his hard work before going back home. As he was locking the gym's door, he heard his stomach growl, reminding him that he needed food. He was starving. Before deciding to wait and order food once he got home, the big sign caught his eye. They did indeed have a restaurant right next door. He admitted he was too tired to cook or wait for delivery. He needed food, then crashed into his bed. So maybe the closest restaurant would be useful.

Once he stepped in, he felt out of place immediately. His dark clothes and huge frame made him look like a stranger compared to the light-coloured painted walls. Some had flowers, and others had stars drawn on them. There were fairy lights in some corners. The aromatic scent was everywhere. Bucky almost winced at how bright and colourful everything felt. This was an alternative universe that he didn't belong in.

"Hi, how can I help you?" An even sweeter voice rang and caught Bucky's attention, breaking him from his trance of observing the place.

He turned around to find the prettiest girl he had ever seen standing behind the counter. Your beauty caught him off guard. He never believed someone could be so beautiful before. But here you were, standing. Taking his breath away.

He recovered very quickly and moved to stand in front of the counter. With the most loving smile, you handed him the menu. He took a look at the menu and wanted to laugh out loud. Dish names were just as cheerful as the atmosphere.

Out of habit, you started explaining and recommending stuff for him. He interrupted you, putting in his order. You didn't give it much thought but took his order happily.

You apologised for the lack of waiters, as it was almost closing time and it was only you. No answer. With his blank stare, you told him he could sit wherever he wanted. Only then did he notice the empty restaurant. It was just you and him. It was that late. So he took a seat at the nearest table.

Not taking much, you returned with his order. You placed it in front of him with a big smile on your face. You knew right away who that was the minute he walked in. James Barnes. The famous boxer who trains next door You have been praying after your small visit to them that they would be regular customers. The business was doing great. But the more, the merer. Always. Lots of people warned you about the men next door. But you didn't feel like they were as bad as people made them out to be. You were always so trusting, unless shown otherwise. So you were happy that, finally, one of them stopped by.

You moved away, letting him enjoy his food. Unable to fight your nature, you started talking to him as you continued cleaning the remaining parts of the place. No answer again. He didn't even bother to look at you. Okay. Maybe he had a rough day. Not all people are used to chatting.

Bucky was one of these people. His eyes widened as you started talking to him. People were never that friendly to him. People avoided him. Nobody tried to open up a conversation with him. He didn't know how to react. And he was too tired to try. So he practiced his other specialty. Silence. But even if he wouldn't admit it, Bucky found your voice calming. So he let you talk instead of just shutting you up.

You reduced your talking to a minimum. Only little remarks there and then to avoid complete silence. The second time, you heard his voice since he walked in and asked for the check. You brought the paper to the table he occupied, keeping your smile up and telling him that he got the 'neighbour discount' as you called it. You almost heard his scoff as you left him.

You had your back to the door, so you only turned around when you heard the door close. You didn't hear his footsteps, and most definitely, you didn't hear his goodbye, goodnight, or even thank you. Now that's rude.

You returned to the table to collect the check. But you found the review note you attached to every check empty. Not a single penmark. And that was more rude. You made sure that filling out the note only took seconds. You genuinely cared to hear people's opinions so you could be better and have the restaurant grow more.

So he didn't speak to you for more than two sentences. Didn't say thank you or goodbye. Didn't fill in the note. Okay, maybe you didn't want them as customers if they were all that rude.

It turns out they weren't that rude. However, Bucky was more rude than you thought.

A couple of days after Bucky's visit, you were surprised to see Bucky with another two men. You guessed they were Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. The trio was all well-known. You doubted if Bucky was the one to recommend the restaurant. You weren't sure if he even liked the food. And you were right. He would be caught dead if he brought up the fairy world you called a restaurant. Even when it served the tastiest food he had ever had,

It was a slow day. No intense training or excessive fight preparation The three men didn't have much to do that day. So when Steve suggested trying out the restaurant, Bucky neither objected nor showed excitement.

So when they walked in, you couldn't help the feeling of surprise along with the tiny bit of happiness, hoping it would be a nicer visit this time. After preparing their orders and sending them out, you waited for a bit before you left the kitchen to greet them. Not before making sure you looked presentable.

With the small space and their loud voices, it wasn't hard to locate them. You approached them with a big smile and positive attitude.

"I wanted to make sure you were having a good time." You followed up after introducing yourself.

"The food is amazing. This burger is to die for." Steve was the first to compliment you, with Sam nodding and agreeing.

"You have one good chef." Sam added as he took another french fry into his mouth. "Send my regards to them."

"Actually, I'm also the chef." The statement caused a shocked expression to fill in their faces. They asked for details, and you briefly told them how you were the core of the small business as the owner and main chef.

The two men were polite, and they didn't seem annoyed by your chatty personality. In fact, they interacted with you and asked questions to learn more. And all they had to say were nice compliments. Except one.

"So tell me, sweetheart, what was the inspiration for the place? Was it a fairy garden or Disney's latest cartoon?" None of you were ready for the sarcastic comment Bucky threw at you.

You didn't let your smile break in the face of his sarcasm. Nor did you give much thought to the pet name. You put on a bigger smile now, looking at him.

"A bit of both." That's one thing about you: you refused to let the world change about you. You never reciprocate rudeness with rudeness.

"I can tell." Bucky was taken back by your response. He expected you to get offended, but you didn't.

"Thank you. It was my vision all along." You replied, your smile never leaving your face.

And that started your hate relationship with Bucky Barnes.

After that day, the men became regular customers. And it wasn't just the three men. Little by little, it was most of the team. First, it was just to try the good food. Then it was because they wanted to. They wouldn't admit it, but your place was like a breath of fresh air. Something so different from what they are used to. From what they are known for. From what people expected from them. And you never judged them, treated them differently, or asked about the rumours that followed them. So it was a calm change, but much needed.

But their favourite thing was yours and Bucky's constant bickering. Or more Bucky's. Nobody understood why Bucky was doing this. You never partook in his constant attempts to make fun of you. You always had a sweet response to fire back. You truly were the living embodiment of killing them with kindness.

However, he never stopped. Every time he stepped foot in the place, you claimed it was your biggest achievement. He had something rude to say. Something to annoy you with. Something to bother you. Sarcasm and jokes spilling out of him with no end whatsoever.

The number of times you wanted to punch him or snap at him right back was increasing. But you refused to give in. To let him win. He wouldn't be the one to change you. So you kept engaging with him only with gracious things to say.

Besides, you chose to think that everyone had their own battles and demons. And for sure, Bucky looked like he had lots of them. He looked rougher than most. His job made him appear invincible, but he wasn't. Nobody was. So he may drive you mad, but he deserves the gentle treatment you offered all.

Bucky had no idea why he was doing it. Why every time he saw you, he felt the urge to tease you. It wasn't like him. But he didn't fight it back.

"How are you, Tinkerbell?"

"You should buy green carpets. It will finish off the garden aesthetic."

"Here is the princess who got lost."

"The pasta was great, Barbie."

Stuff like this flew from him all the time. And not once did you get back at him. You stayed nice and polite. Your sweet self never crumbling.

There was something in you that drove him insane. Your warm eyes. Your bright smile. Your cheerful voice. Your positive mindset. Your kind heart. Your friendly nature. Your hard work. Your delicious food. Your colourful wardrobe of dresses, skirts, tops, and cardigans. He couldn't pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was all of it.

The deepest part of him knew why he was doing this. He liked you. He liked you so much. From the moment he entered your restaurant alone, the first time And the more he knew you, the more he liked you. You were special. And you were everything he wasn't. He thought if he got closer, he would be tinting you. He would bring darkness to your shine. A moral thing preventing him from speaking his truth. even thinking about it.

So he acted like a teenager. He made fun of you. In hopes of making you hate him. He convinced himself and the others that he didn't like your sunshine personality.

Until one day

It started off like any normal day. Bucky had a match coming up. So they all had something to do. The day was going fine. Up before Peter Parker, who was usually on reception duties, ran in and said there was fire in your place,

For a second, blood ran cold in Bucky's body. He heard ringing in his ears. Were you okay? He collected himself quickly, wanting to check for himself.

He threw the gloves away, almost pushing everybody out of the way to get out. And he was the first to see the chaos in the street. A firetruck was parked, and firemen were going in and out of your restaurant along with some policemen. His eyes were searching for you frantically until he spotted you.

You had some dust on your face and your white clothes. You were checking that everyone was okay and out safely. But you couldn't hide the quivering of your lips or your shaking body.

He couldn't help himself as he ran towards you. You turned as you felt someone approaching you. Without your control, your face softened, and tears blurred your sight once you noticed who it was.

"Bucky." You whispered as a way to ground yourself from all the mess that happened and is still happening.

Following his first instincts, Bucky pulled you into his chest, wrapping your trembling form in his arms and holding you so close to him. And the dam broke.

Sobs fled from you. Tears mixed with his sweat. Your fists gripped his white tank top. Your face hidden away in his chest.

You didn't know how it happened. You had been holding up well enough during it all. You had been managing the situation the best you could. However, when Bucky got here, your mind stopped working. Your mind gave up on you, letting your emotions hit you with full force, breaking down your bastion with no guarantee you would be caught.

But you were. You were braced by strong amrs, rubbing your back, laying small kisses on your hair, and whispering words of comfort in your ears. "I'm here. I'm right here." "You're okay. You're fine."

Your sobs ceased, but your body still shook against Bucky's. Tears remained to fall freely on your face. Bucky's hold was still firm but secure around you.

You only moved away from him when a policeman approached you, informing you that you were needed at the police station.

"I'm coming with you." Bucky's stern voice left no room for negotiation. It wasn't up to debate. He wasn't leaving you.

"I'll grab my stuff in a second." He turned to the policeman standing in front of you, making sure it was okay that he joined. And he got a nod of approval in return.

He left your side, walking towards the gym. He paid no attention to his friends standing by, who were puzzled by the encounter. And true to his words, he came back in seconds, his black leather jacket on, phone in hand, and wallet in hand.

He got to you, letting his hand wrap around your shoulder. The gesture was welcomed by you as you rested your head on his chest. Something about having Bucky spread calmness in you

At the police station, Bucky found out what really happened. It wasn't just fire. It was a robbery. A bunch of armed men attacked your restaurant, demanding money from you and all the people inside. As you are trying to handle the situation without panicking more, it was discovered that one of the customers was a cop, which sent the robbers into an unexpected turn. So they took all they could from the cash register and your own things before setting the kitchen on fire to run away without being caught.

Between talking with the insurance company, the bank, and watching security footage from your restaurants and the street, you spent the rest of the day in the station.

And Bucky didn't leave your side for a second of it.

He didn't leave you until you both got out of the cap in front of your apartment. And he didn't leave until he made sure you got inside safely.

Something about you being hurt sent Bucky into a spiral. Who was heartless enough to hurt such a sweet soul as you? To look at you and not want to give you everything? Bucky would never know. All he knew was that he never wanted to see you so afraid and shaken like today. To not see your smile lighting up your face. So he would do whatever it took to make sure you were always fine.

Which was why you found him by your building the first thing in the morning.

"You have lots of places to go today. Said I would join you."

And up until you were handed the keys to your restaurant brand new after the insurance company had finished the repairs, Bucky didn't leave you. He was always there. Helping you finish papers, going to the police station to identify the robbers, and buying new stuff for the restaurants. Everything. He was there for everything.

And you had to admit. It was lovely to have him. A helping hand you needed. Physically and emotionally. Someone to share this unfortunate journey with. And Bucky didn't bother it for a bit. And you appreciated having him.

So, it only felt right for him to be your first order after the reopening.

The truth was, you never hated Bucky, no matter how much you tried. His huge form, his steel blue eyes, his signature stare, his playful smirk. They all made you feel something. He made you feel something you couldn't quite understand. But it was a pleasant something. He annoyed you so much, but you never took it too seriously. Maybe he hated you, but you didn't.

Now, you didn't need him. You were ready to carry on with your life. He didn't know how to get back to normal. He couldn't. He couldn't pretend you didn't make his heart beat faster. You made his days better. But he was so unworthy of you. And he knew you could never look at him. Maybe you hated him, but he didn't.

He tried to get back to his life. Only training and matches. Only visiting your place with the others who quickly figured out what was happening. He needed to get you out of his mind. That lasted for two days.

When Bucky was closing the gym, he heard something coming from your restaurant. With a frown, he moved to see you still inside. He looked at his watch to check the time again. It was indeed late.

"What are you doing?" He didn't bother with greetings as he entered.

"Hi, Bucky." Your cheerful voice rang through the empty place.

"What are you doing?" He repeated his question, looking at the paper in front of you.

"I'm sending out advertisements and deal offerings to different places." You answered him with a smile.

"Sweetheart, do you know what time it's?" Bucky signed as he looked at you, looking clueless.

"C'mon, let's get you home." He moved towards you, taking the papers out of your hand and putting them down without messing them.

"But I have a lot to do." You tried to protest as he gathered your stuff and helped you out.

"It will still be here in the morning." And he was having none of it.

"I need to get the business going." You added.

"You can do that in the morning, too." Bucky led you out of the restaurant in spite of your complaining.

He took the key from your hand and handed it back to you after he closed up. You expected him to move away, but he didn't.

"How are you going to get home?" He hoped you wouldn't give him the answer he had in mind.

"It's not very far. I was going to walk." And it was it.

Do you not care about your safety, or do you think you are James Bond?

Bucky had to bite his tongue and not scold you right on the spot. He knew you were stressed about the business, so he didn't want to add more.

"Great. I was going somewhere there, too. Let me walk."

"You were?" You questioned him, not believing him, but he nodded quickly.

As a matter of fact, Bucky didn't have anywhere to go other than collapsing on his bed. But over his dead body were you going to walk back home alone in this hour

"Lead the way, princess." The return of the name, but a smile on your face. He may mean it as an insult. You didn't care. It sounded good coming from him.

And the two of you walked.

And somehow, without planning, it became a routine.

Bucky would finish at the gym and come straight to the restaurant. It didn't matter whether it was late or not. He would get in and wait till you were done with the day. Then he would walk you home. Sometimes, he would help with stuff, but most times, you would make him sit down and bring him tonnes of food you prepared just for him.

"You train so hard. Don't want to burn these muscles. Eat and rest."

You weren't stupid. You knew he had nothing to do with where you were living. Yet he still chose to go out of his way, walk you home, and wait until you got in. He was taking care of you. So you wanted to take care of him too.

It felt strange to Bucky. Nobody made sure if he was eating well enough, drinking enough water, and resting enough. Nobody ever did. Everybody treated him like he was a machine. Like he He needed nothing.

Then there you were. Feeding him with delicious food. Letting him relax. Laughing at his jokes. Your hands grazing softly. It was all foreign to him, but very welcome. And he was getting attached. He knew it. How could he not?

He had the sweetest and most loving person on the planet, showing him attention and care.

Bucky counted the minutes until he could be with you. Until he could walk you home, it would be just the two of you. You did most of the talking, telling him about your day or an interesting story you heard. He would tell you briefly about his day.

He loved listening to you. Every detail you shared with him. You were the first in his life to be carefree around him other than his family. You didn't let his stiff demeanour affect your friendly one.

The extra time he spent back to his place from yours didn't bother him in the slightest. He found it reassuring that he knew for sure you were safe at home. It was all worth it.

Every single one of Bucky's friends knew what was happening from the moment he asked to postpone a match to go somewhere with you when you're repairing the restaurant. And it became so clear when he stopped hanging out at Natasha's bar after matches, claiming he was tired. But, in truth, he only wanted to be with you. And the days he knew he couldn't turn it down, especially after a grand victory, he would be glued to his phone until you texted him that you were home. Then he may start celebrating.

Bucky almost punched Steve in the face when he brought up inviting you to one of the matches, or at least to hang out with the whole team at Natasha's bar. Bucky wanted you nowhere near this world. He couldn't imagine you watching him while he was fighting. You would never look at him again. Yes, you were kind, but in the ring, he was a beast. You didn't deserve to see how bad he could be.

That's why he never acted on his feelings for you. He knew he was falling for you. He knew from the start. But you deserved better. So much better.

Your radiant nature had no place near him.

He even tried to stop seeing you, feeling guilty for ever getting close to you. But he failed miserably. You gave him something nobody did. A light in the darkness.

So he bottled it and felt grateful that you even let him be your friend. Or whatever you were.

Before a fact came crushing. You were single.

The days following matches were usually very slow. So he left earlier than usual just to come and wait for you. As long as you wanted. He had a bandage on his forehead and a compression bandage around his hand.

Sometimes you forget what his job was. Until he shows up bruised and bandaged like this. You knew he was strong enough to handle himself. He was the best in the game. But you couldn't help the twinge of your heart at the thought of him hurt.

So you prepared extra food and drinks for him. Once it was evening, you kept your best table for him. You even brought the air freshener with the scent; he commented once that he liked it. Everything to help him relax.

You kept telling yourself you were only doing this because he liked to help everyone. But you knew it was very different. He was very different.

So when he stepped in, your big smile got bigger.

You tried to come and talk with him whenever you could, but it was a busy day. He had no problem. He enjoyed watching you work. You were so dedicated and smart. He wanted you to be the most successful chef and owner in the world.

But maybe he shouldn't have been watching. He should have paid attention to anything else. So he wouldn't have seen the man who had been flirting with you since he walked in.

It was taking everything in Bucky to not get up and throw the guy away. But he heard it. Your answer to his question "Yes, I'm single." And he was reminded of the cruelty of the world. You weren't his. He shouldn't be jealous. He shouldn't have been biting the inside of his mouth when the guy tried to touch your hand as you handed him his bill.

And he most definitely shouldn't be feeling like crying and burning down the world when the guy asked you out and left his number.

Wasn't that what he wanted? For you to have better than him. To have someone who wasn't surrounded by blood and pain. Someone who wouldn't defile your glimmer That guy looked decent enough. Maybe that was your chance to find love.

However, he wanted to tear that paper to pieces. He wanted to punch the guy for asking his girl. But you weren't his girl.

Bucky was conflicted by his emotions. He didn't know what to feel or how to think. So he did the thing he was the best at. He stayed silent.

You noticed right away the change in his mood. He wasn't the most talkative person, but this silence was different. He looked like he was somewhere else. Somewhere, that wasn't so nice.

"Are you sure that you are fine?" You asked as you came to a stop in front of your building.

You only got a nod as an answer.

"You know you can tell me anything. I'm always going to be here."

Your words finally made him look at you after you left the restaurant.

"You are?" His hesitant tone made you frown.

"Of course." You answered very quickly.

"Are you going to go out with this guy?" It was quiet; you almost missed it, but you didn't.

Bucky didn't know what happened. He promised himself he wouldn't bring it up. It had nothing to do with him. But he couldn't. It fell from him.

"Do you want me to?" Your reply was something he didn't expect at all.

You couldn't say you weren't disappointed when Bucky did nothing when the guy started flirting with you. You didn't know what you wanted him to do. But you wanted him to do something.

Instinctively, Bucky moved closer to you, standing right in front of you.

"No, I don't want to."

"Tell me why I shouldn't go out with him."

The space between the two of you was almost nonexistent. You were so close to each other. His blue eyes piercing into yours. His eyes were filled with something so warm that you couldn't quite figure it out.

Bucky didn't know how to answer your question. Why didn't he want you to go out with the guy? Well, he didn't want you to go out with any guy. So he threw caution to the wind and followed his heart.

You almost tripped, but his hands on your waist steadied you. The feeling of his lips on yours was something out of the world. His lips were a bit bruised, but they were soft. It was all so good that your mind stopped working.

Bucky was about to pull away and apologise profoundly when you didn't kiss him back. As he was about to move, your hands wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him.

The kiss was gentle, and it was filled with emotions. Loving ones. It sent electricity through your bodies. It spread warmth all over you.

Your need for oxygen made you break the kiss, hands still around each other, eyes only looking at each other.

"I thought you hated me."

"Never did. Not for a second, princess."

Bucky's lips smashed against yours once again. And it was like every piece was falling into its place. The puzzle was completed. The rainbow after the rain

You were the shining star in Bucky's dark sky. He may not deserve you, but he was going to do everything in his power to get you to shine more.

Because you were made for each other.

[bluetooththereptile]

"It's raw!"

Male reader is Alfred's grandson, that he knew nothing about, Julia had a twin sister and she moved to Europe with her mother's side of family without Alfred knowing, which ended up in resulting in another branch of pennyworh family in Europe which is extensive. The grandson is basically Gordon Ramsey, but with criminal records and large restaurant franchises and TV shows, he has just opened a grand hotel and restaurant in Gotham and visits Juilla, which in return Alfred meets the young chef progeny that has a chokehold on michelin stars in just age of 21.

Though everything is dandy on the outside, the grandson is victim of domestic abuse that his wife of three years had forced him into, an older woman that seduced him before baby trapping him into hell, his family doesn't want to believe his wife is abusive, he's a man, how can a woman do something to him that makes him cry at nights? Not to mention the paparazzi and the media would eat him alive. He's here to ask help and he's desperate, he needs his family to help.

And boy doesn't it make a messy situation when Bruce and others find out that the chef is also a criminal?

[rdmasevi]

Crush à la Carte

Title: "Crush à la Carte": BTS fanfiction

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Male ( Chef )

Genre: Fluff | culture clash | slow-burn spark | Celebrity Au

Warnings: None

Summary: In a high-end Paris restaurant, an American chef catches the eye of BTS’s Jimin during a group dinner.

You’d worked in a few kitchens before—gritty line cook gigs in Boston, a short-lived stage in Rome—but nothing like this. This was L’Atelier Lumière, one of Paris’s rising stars in the fine dining scene. You, an American chef with a knack for fusion flavors and fast hands, had somehow carved out a place among the butter-smooth accents and haute cuisine traditions of the French capital.

Tonight started like any other. Finishing mise en place, yelling over the clatter of pans, adjusting plating under dim golden lights. Until the manager stuck her head into the kitchen and said something you barely caught over the din:

“VIP table. South Korean musicians. Very famous.”

You didn’t think much of it. This was Paris—celebrities drifted in and out like perfume. You returned to slicing trout with perfect symmetry, brushing beurre blanc across porcelain plates.

But then, halfway through service, someone called from the pass:

“They want to meet the chef.”

You wiped your hands and stepped out into the softly lit dining room.

And there they were. BTS.

You recognized RM immediately. The others—stylish, glowing, otherworldly—looked up as you approached. But one of them, in particular, seemed to freeze when your eyes met.

Park Jimin.

He looked… flustered. He nudged RM and whispered something frantically in Korean. You caught just the slightest tremble in his voice.

RM chuckled and gestured to you.

“This is our chef tonight. Everything’s been incredible,” he said.

Jimin looked like he was working up the courage to speak. And then, in English that was surprisingly clear but adorably hesitant, he said:

“You… are very… beautiful hands.”

You blinked. “Beautiful… hands?”

Jimin slapped both hands over his face in horror, muttering something that sounded like a prayer for the earth to swallow him whole.

RM stepped in, laughing. “He means—he thinks you cook beautifully. With… elegance. He’s just shy.”

You glanced back at Jimin. His hair was slightly tousled, his earrings sparkling under the chandeliers. He looked like he was trying not to combust.

“Well,” you said, half-laughing, “I’ve never had my hands complimented quite like that.”

“I like—” Jimin blurted, then turned to RM again, pleading for help.

“He says he likes the way you move in the kitchen. It’s very artistic.”

Your brow lifted. “He’s watching me cook?”

Jimin nodded rapidly. “Yes. Much.”

You grinned. “Tell him he’s welcome to come back any time. I’ll put on a show.”

RM translated. Jimin melted.

——

They left late that night, after dessert—Korean-inspired macarons and yuzu sorbet you’d whipped up just for them. Jimin lingered for a moment, hovering behind his group as they made their way toward the door. Then he darted back to you, flustered but determined.

He held out a tiny notepad. On it, a shaky line written in both Hangul and English:

“Can I watch you cook again?”

You took the note, heart beating faster than it should.

“I’d like that,” you said, and watched him light up like the Eiffel Tower at midnight.

My main masterlist

[jolixtreesunn]

cNEED MORE😭😭😭

hearty meals 🍳

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!chef!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: randomly got this idea so decided to do this first lolol lmk what u guys think! also this takes me back to charles cooking pasta and him saying it's still hard 😭

about: the dynamics of a really good chef and charles, who's well-known for being amazingly great at cooking.

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 1,560,394 others

charles_leclerc Sent out dinner invitations thinking only half would accept, here we are in complete attendance 😆 Kidding, it was nice to be with these people for a night!

Props to my amazing girlfriend for preparing the entire meal, from appetizers to dessert and even everyone's round two's. Sorry I'm not of more help, amour 😅

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly No one asked you to host dinner 🤨

charles_leclerc Be glad you got an invitation carlossainz55 Shouldn't have sent him one mate pierregasly I will come for you, Carlos

sainzlover i am once again going feral over 20 men who go broom broom this is so on brand of me

yourusername i'm sorry too actually

charles_leclerc Baby what yourusername i'm kidding, i love you 😘

lewishamilton Thanks for hosting, Y/N and Charles!

yourusername

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 342,103 others

yourusername cooked dinner for like 20+ hungry drivers last night 🍷 totally wiped out but i had such a good time! kudos to charles for being able to chop some parsley last night - he did a mega job :)

landonorris Sorry what were you saying I'm still in a food coma

danielriciardo Loved the food, Y/N! Glad you anticipated I'd be going for round three 😊

yourusername let me know how heidi likes the food i packed for her hahaha heidiberger LOVED it please always cook for us 🙏

carlossainz55 How hard can chopping parsley be

yourusername well it took your teammate a solid 20 minutes so you tell me 😆 charles_leclerc Please don't air out my culinary talents like this

sebastianvettel Thanks for cooking, Y/N! Loved the food a lot. You really exceeded Charles' description of your cooking, so please teach him 🙏

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, isahernaez, carlabrocker, and 209,239 others

yourusername charles and i made some of whatever this is last night 🍫

landonorris I don't believe in the "Charles and I" part

charles_leclerc That's literally the first two words? yourusername what's not to believe 😊

pierregasly Y/N come on come clean, you did that all by yourself

charles_leclerc I have flour on my face... pierregasly So? You're a mess in the kitchen, dude

sebastianvettel What exactly did Charles do?

yourusername sliced the strawberries and peeled the bananas.... landonorris LMAO KNEW IT carlossainz55 Laughing so hard this is the best day of my life

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, redbullracing, mercedesamgf1, and 674,293 others

scuderiaferrari A successful team dinner at Maranello all thanks to Chef Y/N and her team! All meals were truly exceptional and best believe everyone left well-fed and satisfied ❤️🧑‍🍳

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc My girl 🤍

yourusername thanks for the opportunity, ferrari! let me know when's the next one 🫡

arthurleclerc I hope Charles took home some of these

rarrigirl PLSSS WHAT ID GIVE TO EAT SOME OF Y/N's CREATIONS

culinaryenthusiast what can she not do omg she can bake too???

yourusername recently added to her instagram story!

charles_leclerc recently added to his instagram story!

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, scuderiaferrari, lorenzotl, and 1,842,294 others

charles_leclerc I am not the best cook so if anyone wonders what my participation is in the kitchen, nothing I just stare at the pretty chef and flirt with her every 10 minutes 😆

yourusername you sure are the best at that :]

charles_leclerc I know 😘

landonorris Is that in my kitchen....

yourusername oops landonorris You are so lucky you're my favorite chef

danielricciardo I miss Y/N's food when is the next dinner?

charles_leclerc Next year, probably pierregasly No? We're coming over on Friday

-----------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: tysm for reading <3

[torubeth]

just as you’re about to enter the kitchen, you feel a solid grip on your shoulder.

‘what job does your ass have in the kitchen at-‘ he tilts his head towards the clock ‘at 11 fucking pm?’ his eyebrows are raised, his face full of questions.

‘i’m just gonna go fix myself something to eat’ you reply.

‘i just fed you an hour ago you gremlin’ his face scrunches.

‘i know ryo and i love you for that, but i’m still hungry’ you pout.

unbelievable.

he just wants to sleep (possibly cuddle with you) so why are you ruining it for him?

and “fix yourself something to eat?” don’t make him laugh, that’s his job.

inhaling his frustration, he struts into the kitchen, and opens the fridge to pick out a few items ‘i should charge you for the things you make me do’ he glares at you as he puts on his “chef@work, do not disturb” apron.

‘but you love it when i make you do stuff for me’

that, he cannot argue with.

a few minutes pass by and the smell of whatever he’s cooking, fills the air.

‘ryo how much longer!? ‘m starving. you can even hear my stomach grumble’

he stops mid stirring as he sets down his spatula, and turns to you with a glare-

‘i don’t fucking recommend it but try cooking for once before you run your mouth. brat’ he rolls his eyes.

you giggle at this, knowing that the world may come to an end before the sukuna lets you anywhere near his kitchen.

yeah no, as long as you’re tied to him (which is forever) you’re gonna eat what only he cooks.

as hunger takes over your rational thinking, you waddle into the kitchen, your hands wrapping him from behind as you plant a kiss on his back.

‘you have amazing back muscles, has anyone ever told you that?’ you squeeze them to prove your point.

‘get your grubby hands off of me you freak! and here, eat this and get your ass to bed’ he says as he hands you a plate.

you take it to the table and settle down, ready to delve into the food.

shoving a spoonful of it into your mouth ‘mhmmm! oh my god- this tastes so good ryo!’ you look at him.

‘i bet, and chew your goddamn food properly’ he tsks, finger reaching out to wipe off the sauce at the corner of your mouth.

yeah he’s sleepy, but he’d never let you go to bed hungry.

(rblog if you find chefs hawt🍜🤘🏼)

[asuperconfusedgirl]

how I read the most toe-curling, spine-shattering, nerve-wrecking, nastiest smut ever written in this god forsaken app

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon gets the idea that he wants to buy you a house. You gave him a new life, it's the least he can do, right? And he has plenty of money, never really having had anything to spend his salary on, but he's not just swimming in cash. So he finds a fixer-upper. Something he can make special, just for you. His darling wife.

He thinks he can handle it, the work, and for a while, he can. Things like holes in the walls, ripping up old carpet, that's easy. But when the jobs get a little more intricate, like when he has to take out the old bathtub and put in a new one, he's a little lost. And when he's lost, he goes to Price. Always.

Besides the instinct to seek out Price's help, ingrained in him since his early days in the military, Simon knows the man has some more in-depth knowledge about home renovation, having done it a time or two for his own wife. The wife is gone, but craftsmanship in Price's home, the one he pays a hefty alimony to keep, remains.

So Price starts coming over to the new house, helping Simon out, showing him how to do this specific job. Together, they put in a beautiful new tub, a big one with jets, room enough for both you and Simon. Price notes that last part with a small, tight smile and a gaze that stays on his lieutenant for a beat too long.

They finish up the rest of the renovations together too, but when everything is done and the house is ready for you, Simon shows it to you by himself for the first time. He takes you from room to room, letting you know all the blood, sweat and tears that went into everything. The house is like his love for you made visceral, and he's so proud to give it to you.

Price is proud, too. He's happy that he was able to help Simon out like this, and glad to know that you'll have a solid, sturdy roof over your head, thanks in no small part to him. When he comes over for the first time, just for a drink so you and Simon can show him what you've been doing as far as decorating, he puffs out his chest a bit.

And when you get to the bathroom and he mentions how you have that nice new tub because of his handiwork, how much you must be enjoying it, how lovely you'd look lying in it, his blue eyes almost leering, there's no reaction from your husband.

Simon never learned how to be jealous. Before you, he never had anything that was just for him, something to fight for. But what he has learned, from a very young age, is to respect his superiors.

[rhyrhy]

Kiss the chef

[warnings]: chef! Abby, unserious, suggestive mentions, headcannons, wc 1k , part 2

Chef! Abby’s! first viral video was around a year ago. A simple clip of her making cacio e pepe. The video was beautifully shot, a warm coloring complementing the glossy dish. but what really got everyone’s attention?

The way her forearms tensed while she cracked fresh pepper. Veins showing themselves along her freckled skin. Comments often reading:

@ “ok but how do i get the pasta to look this good?”

@ “i have something to say but i want to go to college”

@ “ma’am, i’m trying to focus but your ARMS?????😣”

@ “looks SO good💕..and the food i guess”

Chef Abby! had always loved cooking, growing up in a kitchen with her dad, who ran The Cordova, one of downtown Washington’s finest restaurants. But she liked the no pressure vibe of TikTok—just her and her food. She decided she wouldn’t show her face much, if at all. Letting the small flex of her muscles when she kneaded dough into a floured surface be the main visual. While comments? They were only half focused on what she was making.

Naturally, her account gained traction. No face, no voice—just hands, muscles, and literal food porn. Every video felt like a Sunday afternoon in a kitchen. @buffandbasil, now sat at 2.5 million followers.

Chef Abby! tried to ignore the thirst in her comments. How could she? It was honestly a small ego boost, even if it was a bit over the top at times. Like the second pinned video on the top of her page—where all she was doing was making bread.

@ : “knead ME like that.”

@ : “both lips are smiling rn”

@: “need her to bake something in me, respectfully😇“

@: “we need to chill in the comments… *saves video*”

Chef Abby! wasn’t a huge fan of putting her face in her videos. However, the occasional face slip would happen. A quick shot of her golden hair in view or a reflection in a clean pan.

The third and final pinned video? The one sitting at a few million views and a comment section that out-ratioed it?

Her hair draped over a fitted black Henley shirt, the top button undone. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows. And when she reached up for something overhead in a cabinet? A small sliver of her torso—those abs?

Yeah. They lost it.

@ “niagara falls just relocated”

@ “MY CLOTHES, WHERE’D THEY GO!!?!”

@ “her strap drags, for sure. touches the floor.”

@^ “mind you, i would take it.😊”

@ ^^ “y’all are TOO freaked out 💀”

And trust—Chef Abby! loved it. Really. Laying in bed, straight cackling on FaceTime with her best friend Manny, sending him screenshots or full-blown screen sharing. She didn’t reply. Not really. But she absolutely posted a few videos after. No shirt, just her “Kiss the Chef” apron and vibes.

And the one time she did reply?

@: “Do you do weddings?”

@buffandbasil :“Yes, actually.”

Harmless, right? Simple. Straightforward. She had catered weddings before. Large events, alongside her father, but—

@: “As… the bride?”

She saw it exactly three minutes after posting her reply. And in those three minutes, her comment had already tripled in likes. The replies? A war zone.

@ “ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

@ “HELLO???????”

@ “bro air balled.”

@ “ok so u free next saturday or???”

She paid it no mind. Mostly. But sometimes, a few profiles caught her attention. She was human, after all. Chef Abby! had seen your likes. You didn’t know it yet.

For you? It was originally just another cringe or brain rot video being sent by your roommate, Dina. But when you clicked the video of @buffandbasil all laughter halted. Typing back—

You: “Dee, hear me out..😭”

Dina: “Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Lost the plot.”

Chef Abby! considered reciprocating the engagement but saw how many views you usually received on GRWMs and storytimes and decided on a more… exciting approach. Wanting to see if you’d bite.

No aesthetic instrumentals—this time, a voiceover. Her voice, soft, steady Tutorial style.

“So today, we’re making sourdough from scratch. You wanna make sure your starter is active, and then we’re gonna knead it—”

@: “OH SHE TALKS???”

@: “it’s all over the screen ngl 🌊”

@: “asmr videos when?”

@: “great now i have a crush on a faceless chef, thanks.”

@: “I’m ovulating rn please chill 💔💔”

But the only comment she was looking for? Yours.

@ you: “Me next🫦!”

You typed it. And went to bed. She had so many comments—she probably wouldn’t even see it.

But as the sun poured through your curtains the next morning, your stomach flipped. A notification.

Followed by @buffandbasil. 2 hours ago.

Legs swinging the blankets off, then you were sprinting down the hall, launching yourself onto Dina’s bed like a feral animal let loose.

She groaned, blindly swatting at you. “Dude, what the—”

Without another word, you shoved your phone in her face. Dina squinted, blinked a few times, then—loud, cackling.

“Dee. This isn’t a ‘hear me out’ anymore—this is a hold me back.” You said, falling next to her dramatically, smiling.

Dina wheezed, shaking her head. “Nah. You are in the sunken place now, sister.”

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - iii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." cunnilingus. analingus. spitting. piv. doggy. missionary. rough sex. size kink. breeding kink. biting. mean soap. manipulative soap. smut. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

The ocean calls the seal to return, and you finally heed the growing chill you’ve been ignoring, as well as the complaints of your nearly-empty stomach.

Starvation is not on your list of preferred ways to end your own life, so you check the fridge Johnny said he had stocked. What you find is disconcerting—hoping for snack foods, pre-packaged conveniences, you instead find a carton of eggs, hard cheeses, condiment bottles. Milk in a jug, green herb bundles, sticks of butter, and an unopened package of bacon.

The freezer is much the same. Bags of vegetables and meats like shrimp or scallops. Frozen loaves of bread. Not even a single carton of ice cream. When the pantry also yields nothing more ready to eat—no chips, no cup ramen, no cans of soup—you give up.

There’s a hierarchy of action you’re willing to take to preserve yourself, organized around a precept of energy expenditure—eating spends less than cooking, so you focus on the former and do not practice the latter anymore.

Even though most food has lost its taste by now.

So you lay down on the couch. Sulking, maybe, but it’s the only halfway satisfying thing left to you. You angle yourself toward the shelf of books it faces in place of a TV; it’s mostly romance novels. Bright pink or blue or violet or red spines facing outward, most of them already cracked and creased down through their titles.

Did Johnny stock those for you too—emptying the shelves of a thrift book store for a woman he knew would be alone—or are they just set dressing for his dream of a honeymoon getaway?

You start thinking about the cliffs by the cove.

They’re not very tall. Maybe three stories. You would feel the impact—and it might not even work. You would lay there at the bottom, in the packed sand, broken. But alive to feel every consequence of it.

You might still die, but it would be slow. Someone could find you, and save you. Probably Johnny. You might be permanently broken—worse off than when you began.

It’s not an option.

You could have just bought a gun if you stayed home. It would have been cheaper, and faster—

Anxious energy needles at your legs and prickles along the insides of your palms; you sit up, agitated. Your stomach bubbles as the acid inside slides around with nothing to eat into. You scowl at yourself and retrieve Johnny’s jacket from the floor.

It’s colder outside than before, when you leave the cottage for the third time that day for the walk to Vatersay village. You can see it from the front door of the cottage, only about a mile away, and as you get going, you find a walking trail cutting through the machair grass leading in its direction.

The sky darkens far earlier than you expect, on the way. You hadn’t thought you were far enough north for that. Absent of city lights, the Hebridean starscape peeks through gaps in the moonlit clouds overhead, winking to life as the sun retreats around the earth’s curve. You pause—even your ennui is no match for the cosmos—looking to see if you can find the arm of the Milky Way, but the autumn sky does not seem inclined to show it to you.

By the time you reach the village outskirts, warm rectangles of yellow light are already brightening the windows against a heavy blue night. You get directions to the pub from an older man walking his dog—Last Cull, it’s called. You find it with a carved wooden sign, adorned with the silhouette of a lounging seal, hanging by the door at the front, and walk in.

Johnny said that less than a hundred people populate the island; when you walk in, at least a third of them must be here, and their collective chatter, along with the sounds of drinking glasses clinking or hitting tables, and the warble of classic rock music, all rush at you at once when you open the door, carried on a wave of orangey lamplight and the smell of hops and a burst of thick, hot air.

It’s more life—more sound—than you were remotely prepared for, and you freeze in the threshold. You stand there long enough that, worse, several heads turn to look at you—

The outsider.

You duck your head, and look at the floor as you direct yourself at an empty stool at the bar. Your purse beats against your leg with every quick step, heavy with a tourist’s excess preparation, and following eyes lance you like pins through a butterfly’s wing.

A man in a beanie and mutton chops is wiping a glass dry behind the counter; he looks at you drolly when you sit down.

“W’can I get you?” he asks, surprising you with a distinctly un-Scottish accent.

You blink several times. “Um…”

The bartender is immediately unimpressed. “Liverpool, love. You drinking or eating?”

You flush. “I’m sorry—um—both?”

He nods. He does not offer a menu. “Right.”

He disappears with the same abruptness of manner behind a swinging door, leaking greenish fluorescent kitchen light around the edges and through the circular window set up in the middle.

Whatever waves you made upon your arrival already seem to have dissipated, ineffectual in the long-term; conversation in heavy Scots flows around you, relaxed and indistinct. The pub is warm with body heat, little groups of islanders pulled in close together around pints and tankards and easy conversation.

These people likely have known each other for years; seen each other grow up. Watched time etch lines across one another’s faces. You can’t really understand the words being exchanged between any of them, but the tenor is familiar. None of it is especially important to say to one another, you know—it’s the back and forth that’s the point. The sway and rock of practiced call and answer. Of knowing, when they say something, that a response will be given, even if the response is something that’s been said a thousand times before.

You run your fingers along the dented surface of the old bar. Shift in your stool. Pick at a sliver of skin coming up from one cuticle. A single drop of oil in the middle of an ocean.

The bartender returns to you from the kitchen, no food in hand. Instead, there’s a new expression on his face—a hammer aimed at your protruding nail. His eyes are narrowed; his brows are drawn together.

“You’re Soap’s tourist,” he says.

“Um,” you say, pinned under the intensity of his stare, “no?”

He rolls his eyes. “Johnny MacTavish. Everyone else calls him Soap.”

“Oh.” You cannot guess at all where this conversation might be going. “Yes?”

“He cooks for me some nights,” the bartender says. “He’s in the kitchen right now. He says dinner is on him, and he’ll bring it out soon.”

“He’s here?” you demand, jaw dropping.

“Some nights,” the man repeats. He picks his drying rag back up, and gets to work on another glass. Your association with Johnny—Soap—seems to have unlocked in him a geniality that would otherwise be inaccessible to you. “Lad was right chuffed when you rented out the croft. Hadn’t seen him that excited in ages. Wouldn’t stop talking about it for a month.”

He hasn’t offered you a drink and doesn’t seem inclined to. Still intimidated, you don’t ask.

“He told me I was his first guest,” you say, worrying at your cuticle.

“Mm-hm,” responds. Then he eyes you. “See why he was so worked up now.”

You stop your jaw from dropping for a second time, but only just—the weight of Johnny’s hand ghosts down your back, aided by his scent radiating from his jacket, released from the fibers it’s seeped into by your body heat.

“How—um, how do you know Johnny—Soap?” you ask, awkwardly.

“If he told you to call him Johnny, call him Johnny,” the man says. “Was his captain, once upon a time. Served together in the SAS. Name’s John Price.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Price,” you say.

He grunts. “John’s fine. He been behaving?”

“Um,” you say, entirely unsure how to answer that, when the kitchen door flings open.

“Bonnie!” Johnny exclaims, apron-clad, rosy-faced, and grinning wide.

He’s exchanged his heavy sweater for a lighter, cream-colored henley, sleeves rolled up his broad forearms. Combined with the cinch of the apron strings around his middle, it highlights and flatters the athletic build of his silhouette. The hem of his kilt flutters around his knees as he hurries over.

“Hi, Johnny,” you sigh.

He balances a steaming dish on one hand and carries some silverware wrapped in a napkin in the other. The plate tilts precariously as he directs himself at you, but the food survives as he slides it in onto the bar in front of you.

“Shoulda told me you were comin’ down, or I’d’ve had somethin’ better ready to make!” he scolds, though he’s clearly too pleased to mean it.

On top of a ceramic plate, the glaze spiderwebbed with cracks from age and constant use, three oblong triangles of fried fish rest atop checked wax paper, attended by a large stainless still cup of large wedge fries that you remember are referred to as “chips.” Beside that is a small cup of some white condiment you don’t recognize. Everything looks fresh from the fryer, as if Johnny could not wait one second to long to bring it to you.

“Oy, lad, how come I don’t get that kinda table service?” someone yells out behind you. “M’ I not pretty enough for you?”

A chorus of laughter answers the teasing. You hunch into yourself.

“Go back to your pint, Angus, ya weapon!” Johnny returns grandly. Then, to you, “Here, this is the best thing for it—”

John Price has already stepped far aside; you and he watch as Johnny retrieves a long-stemmed glass from a shelf, and then pulls a bottle of wine from a low fridge. He sets the glass beside your plate and uncorks the bottle—bicep quivering as he works the screw—and then, thumb in the punt, he pours out a stream of white wine one-handed.

“Tossers over there’ll call me mad but Sav Blanc with a fish an’ chips is pure class,” says Johnny. Then, to your horror, he sets his elbows on the counter in front of you. “Go on, have us a bite.”

You stare at him agog. His cheeks are flushed red, and you’re not sure it’s from the heat of the kitchen or—his gaze flicks to your mouth and back—something far less comforting. He stares back at you, grin unmoving—eyes bright and vibrant and too intense to hold contact with for long.

You look down at the meal again. The fish looks crunchy and thick with golden brown crust; the chips are sharp at the edges and dusted with salt and some sort of green seasoning. The smell is impossible to ignore—hot and floury and oily.

You take a chip and dip it tentatively into the white sauce. Johnny’s eyes dance with excitement as they follow the movement. When you take a bite, the bitter tang of tartar meets your tongue and mixes with the mild potato as you chew.

It is only just shy of hot enough to burn but—it’s good. It’s delicious. It’s the best thing, you realize, that you’ve tasted in you’re not sure how long.

You do your absolute utmost to prevent that from showing on your face.

“It’s good,” you say, and take another bite.

“Barry!” Johnny enthuses. “Now have a dram, go on.”

Rather than allow you to pick up the glass like a normal person, Soap lifts it in one large hand—knuckles and wrist peppered with dark hair—and brings the rim to your mouth. You have no choice but to take a sip as he tilts it toward you, or else end up dribbling white wine everywhere.

You must begrudgingly agree, as it passes across your tongue, that it pairs very well with what you’ve eaten.

You nod at him in lieu of another response; the corners of his eyes crinkle. He sets the glass down and slaps the counter with both palms, pushing himself away from it.

“Enjoy that an’ I’ll be back for ya in a mo,’” he says. With a bounce in his step, he disappears back into the kitchen.

John Price throws you another droll look. “You’re never getting rid of him now.”

When he turns away to address another patron, you scowl at his back.

Johnny comes in and out of the kitchen several times, as you pick at the food. Whatever his usual habits as the pub cook, it seems he’s in a magnanimous mood this evening, bringing orders to every table and chatting with anyone who catches his attention.

And a lot of people catch his attention. Island native or not, it seems that Johnny is everyone’s favorite boy—and it’s hard not to see why. He throws bright smiles at everyone who speaks to him, pats shoulders, trades good-natured Scottish ribbing with anyone who throws it his way. He’s familiar, it seems, with everyone he talks to—or he’s good at making it seem that way.

And the effect it has on everyone he talks to is obvious. Weathered faces, the kind that seem to rest at a permanent, severe frown, rise to beam as brightly as the sun after Johnny spends a minute or two checking in on them. Fond eyes follow him around the pub; the conversations at tables he visits keeps a lively tenor even after he leaves it.

You reach for your wineglass and drink deep.

“There we go!” Johnny exclaims, noticing.

He does not leave you neglected, of course—he keeps circling around, looking at your plate, and then at you, and filling your glass when you empty it. It strikes you as rather sweet until he starts availing himself of a mouthful every time—turning the glass so that his lips cover the marks yours have made on it.

When about half of your plate has been cleared, and Johnny is returning from delivering a tray of sandwiches to another table, he comes up behind you and leans in close, hands curling around your shoulders. Mouth brushing your ear.

“Dinner rush is almost done, bonnie,” he murmurs, butter-smooth and low as banked embers. “Then I’m all yours.”

A tremor runs up the nerves in your spine; you sit up straighter when he pulls away, the fine hairs on the back of your neck reaching toward him as if statically charged.

You catch John Price eyeing you again, expression blasé. You flush up to the roots of your hair and avoid looking at him again.

Eventually, the pub begins to vacate, somewhere close to ten in the evening. No city bar, this one, even on a Friday night. You finish three-quarters of the bottle of wine in between turning the fish and chips into mush and crumbs, finally pushing everything away from you as the last stragglers jingle the bell above the door.

Then it’s just John Price, pulling on a coat, Johnny doing dishes in the kitchen, and you, alone, sneakers hooked to a rung on the barstool.

John Price sticks his head through the swinging door. “We still doing Sunday, Soap? Or d’you have new plans?”

“Course doin’ Sunday!” Johnny yells. “Canny wait!”

“Alright. I’m leaving, lock up when you go.”

And with that, John Price gives you a cursory nod, and makes his exit.

Soon after, Johnny exits the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, the motions making his pectorals twitch and flex. His apron is gone, the little v of his shirt collar exposing dark, curling chest hair.

The odd pelt—you realize, from your experience this morning, that it’s a seal’s—still hangs around another plaid kilt.

Your heartbeat is hot and heavy in your ears. You stare at him, lips pressed together tightly, a tremor working its way between your shoulders.

He tilts his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. When you meet his gaze again, his smile is set at an expectant angle.

“Drive me home, Johnny,” you finally say, wine and humiliation pulsing through your veins.

He drives you home in silence, and rests his hand on your thigh the whole way there.

You don’t move it. You don’t react, either—even when his pinky flicks against the seam of your leggings, right where it lays against your pussy. He roves his spread fingers and heavy palm all across the length and breadth of your thigh, cresting down over your knee and back up again, squeezing and massaging the fat of your quad.

You don’t say anything. He does not prompt you to do so. The corner of his mouth, when you look to him at your side, catching his profile, is curled.

The silence continues when he pulls up to the cottage—even the wind is light and quiet, as you unlock the door to let the both of you in. The night sky is cobbled with clouds that pass over slowly, letting only slivers of moonlight reach the earth, so inside the croft is dark and murky.

You don’t move to switch any lights on. Nor does Johnny, following close behind you.

Out of sight, it seems your body forgets who—or what, even—is following you. He is only a presence at your back, a body taking up space, and in the darkness, with only your hindbrain to rely on, he could be anyone.

Anything.

You stop in the middle of the living room. He hovers behind you. Not quite touching—but close enough to feel the gravity of him, strong enough to pull you in.

You drop your purse on the couch, and make to shuck his jacket—his hands take hold of the shoulders, allowing you to slide out of it. The deep, even pulse of his breathing is right there at the shell of your ear.

“Bonnie,” he murmurs, husky.

“I’m,” you say, “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

A pause. Then—“Alright,” he purrs.

You escape.

In the mirror above the sink, you look yourself in the eye. What you see is nothing you haven’t seen before—pitiable, needy, pathetic—and it’s nothing you have any desire to confront now. If you think too hard about it—if you ask yourself what you should be asking—there will be no coming back from it.

He’s been dangling this in front of you this whole time. It’s no fault of yours for taking it. This once, you aren’t to blame for what happens next. This once.

You run the cold tap over a washcloth and dab cool water across your face and down your neck. It does little to regulate the heat flushing through you.

If you don’t go out there now, he might leave.

You throw the cloth into the sink basin and open the door.

And Johnny is there, standing right there in front of it, leaning casually against the opposite wall—

Completely naked.

You stop dead.

Gray moonlight falls across his body in a thin haze. The bulky, sculpted planes of it roll with dense muscle and dark hair, which is thick and curly across rounded pectorals and joins in a broad stream down his abdomen. Twisting into a nest at his groin, they cushion a long, wide cock, uncut, half-hard—

That jumps at your appearance.

He meets your eyes. They are silvery and sharp, even in the gloam. Drags his gaze down—leveling it with your tightening nipples. Then he reaches to his side and twists the doorknob to the bedroom.

It swings open. Empty bed in the doorframe.

His cock jumps again. A diamond-drop of moisture beads at the tip.

“Go on,” he murmurs.

You walk in, barely aware of your own footsteps. His bare feet cross the floor behind you, and then the door shuts again.

He does not say another word as he approaches you; you do not turn to face him. You stand as if restrained in place as large, warm hands skim the dip of your waist, slope easily down your hips and up again; he pinches the hem of your sweater and lifts. You raise your arms, lost in the fugue of your pounding heart; he brings it over your head, and tosses it to the side.

Rough hands smoothing over your bare skin, almost like sweeping away dust. He unhooks your bra with startling dexterity—fingers slide beneath the straps and loosen them down your shoulders. Hands dipping down your chest, edging under and replacing the cups around your breasts.

His thumbs press your nipples in, circle around them; you gasp, flinch back against him, and feel his cock, fully erect, nestle in the cleft of your ass. He huffs a laugh into your hair.

His hands return to your waist, and they slide down, pressed open against your sides, as Johnny goes to his knees behind you. He grasps the waistbands of both panties and leggings and—face centimeters away from the globe of one ass cheek—pulls both down in one smooth, soft sweep.

It feels like being skinned. Your heart beats a hammer in the arteries against your throat. You nearly lose your balance, tilting when you lift one foot out of your clothes, before one of Soap’s hands return to your waist to give you ballast. Holding you up like it’s nothing. He squeezes the meat of your hip tenderly, massages the give of it with the tips of his fingers, skin warm and rough against yours.

The moment you’d first caught sight of Johnny in the airport, he’d slotted cleanly into a certain taxon of manhood; one need only to examine his morphology briefly—the mohawk, the muscles, stubborn refusal to cover his knees even as winter fast approaches—to understand that his is the lifestyle of the fast-living. He leers. He gropes. He runs down what he sets his eyes on whether his prey likes it or not.

An organism with cheap pleasure on its mind, and nothing more. Johnny’s bull-focused intentions had stunk acrid and obvious the moment they’d fallen upon you—aimed, you thought unceremoniously, between your legs and nowhere else.

So why, as his hands drag up the backs of your thighs, is he touching you so tenderly? Teasing you open, rather than prising you apart. Touching you as if he’s in no hurry to do anything else.

It feels like an insult. It feels like mercy you didn’t ask for. Without thinking, without knowing you’re going to do it—you slap his hand away.

“Is this going to take all night, or are you going to get around to fucking me sometime soon?” you snap, galled.

An indrawn breath. His or yours, you’re not entirely sure.

Then he rises up, shoves a hand hard between your shoulder blades, and you topple forward onto the bed, flailing, landing face-first, as Johnny knees up behind you.

“So that’s how you want it, then,” he says. Nonchalant. “Aye, I can do that. Come here.”

You don’t have time to scramble away before rough hands grab your hips and yank them back, pulling you up onto your knees, and with no more preamble Johnny shoves his face into your naked pussy from behind. Immediately hot and star-bright; thumbs hook into your outer folds to spread you open moments before his tongue burns a stripe from clit to perineum, no slow build, no warm-up, before he starts eating you out like he’s starving.

You shriek from the sudden contact, hips jerking, but his hold is iron, and the more you resist the more he tightens his grasp, fingertips digging down near to bone. He licks at your folds, at the dips between them, as if he’s pulling swipes of you away on every taste bud, imprecise, mouthing your cleft as if he means to swallow it whole.

When you reach back with one hand to grab his hair—to hold him where he is or shove him away, you’re not sure—he releases one hip and shackles your wrist in his fingers, bending your arm at the elbow and pinning it to your lower back.

“You asked for it,” he growls against you, “and now you’re gettin’ it,” another dig of his tongue around your entrance, “so don’ fuckin’ complain.”

He pulls away and abruptly spits on your asshole before diving back in. With the thumb of the same hand around your wrist, he smears it around, dipping just inside at the same time his tongue breaches your cunt; you feel teeth press against your perineum for a breathless moment before he lets up, and then he prods your clitoris with little jabbing licks, forcing his way up under the hood that fails to protect it from his onslaught.

You have a free hand—you reach back to slap at him again. The theory of insanity proves true; one wrist joins the other, and Johnny uses his own weight to move you as he likes, arms curled over your hips, rocking your entire body against his mouth, lips smacking against you as he alternates between licking up the slick that abruptly starts welling around your entrance and sucking your labia between his teeth.

He grunts and snarls after every brief surfacing for air, every time his tongue touches you again, as if every new taste of you in his mouth is better than the last. His hands tighten into vices around your wrists as he buries in deeper, groaning, shoving his face against you so hard it thrusts your hips forward, which he greedily drags back, and then he flutters his tongue against your clit as if to punish you for his own forcefulness.

“Johnny—” you cry, “Johnny, slow down, slow down—!”

A climax swells within you before you have any time to prepare for it, a closeout curling in so fast that it hits you before you can brace. Johnny thumbs your ass again and suctions his lips closed around your clitoris, tearing a scream from your throat, ripping your orgasm even further out of you as you suddenly, violently convulse.

It jerks you in his grasp, as if whipping you, and then, as fast as it came at you, it recedes; you sag, dizzy and gulping air, but Johnny’s mouth opens around your pussy again as if nothing happened, tongue and lips losing none of their frantic voracity.

“Johnny,” you whimper, “Johnny, I came, you can stop—”

“Don’t give half a shite, am no’ done,” he snarls, accent thicker than you’ve heard it before.

Your breath shudders out of you as he runs the edges of his teeth up your folds, and then, briefly, the flat of his tongue circles your asshole, before dipping back down into the heat of your cunt. He catches your clit again in a quick succession of sucking kisses, loud and wet and pulling at it so hard that tugs at nerves all the way down your legs, spasming through your calves.

Your breath thins in your lungs, escaping you in high, reedy whines, and finally, he pulls his mouth away—only to replace it with his hand. He transfers your crossed wrists into one grasp, wedging all four fingers between the split of your cleft and shaking it vigorously, like a dog might with a small animal clamped in its jaws. He follows this with several rapid slaps against flesh that is already screaming with overstimulation—

And then the head of something hot and hard parts you, circling to find its target, and with as little preamble as he began Johnny shoves his fat, rock-hard cock into you, all the way to the base in one harsh thrust.

It shoves the air from your lungs in one go, leaves you no room to breathe in before he grabs your wrists again, like reins, pulls halfway out, and rams back in again, setting a brutal pace, his thighs slamming against the fat of your ass at a rapid staccato that shakes the old bedframe on its creaky legs.

He barely pulls out as he fucks you this way, thrusting short and hard, your face crushed against the bedsheets as he uses your arms to pull you back against him to meet every thrust. The fattest part of his cock catches your g-spot over and over, bright and hot as iron pulled from a fire, and you can’t even get enough breath in your lungs to do more than whimper every time his hips meet yours.

“This is wha’ she fuckin’ needed, hen, aye?” Johnny snarls. “Hissin’ an’ spittin’ like a stray cat, didnae know wha’s good fer it, jus’ needed a big cock in ‘er wet cunt, didnae she?”

A long, shaky moan is the only response you can give. Fast, fast and hard—he bucks against you wildly, violently, sending shockwaves up your body that jounce your breast and ripple across your blazing cheeks. Your mouth hangs open at a loose angle—if you try to close your teeth, you might accidentally bite into your tongue—

He releases your wrists, and your arms fall hard to the bedspread. Then he bends over your back, planting his hands in the spaces over your shoulders, making a cage with his his body. It changes the angle of his thrusts, lets him force his way in even deeper, kissing the head of your cervix. You climb your hands up the bedspread, claw at his wrists with your nails, but you might as well be a curl of wind trying to knock over a pillar of stone.

“You can bitch an’ whine all you wan’ at me, bonnie,” he says, a nasty thread in his tone, “but I know mean pussy just needs some pettin’ to make it nice again, don’ I, now?”

You try to struggle under him, search for some sort of purchase in the sheets beneath you, and for a moment you think he’s making space to let you; his weight retreats as you rise to all fours, but then one solid, beefy arm closes around your neck in a chokehold. He brings the both of you up, settling you over the cradle of his thighs as he sits back on his heels, clamping your back against his chest.

His free hand snakes down between your thighs, finding your clitoris again with rough, abrading calluses. A hard, grinding roll of his hips, upward and forward, pushes it up into his touch, like the crest of a wave, but gravity gives you no escape on the downwell; he pushes and pulls you as he likes, heel of his hand digging hard into the sensitive edge of your mons.

You scrabble with your hands for something to hold onto—you find the brackets of his wide thighs, wiry with dark hair, and dig your nails into hard, tensed muscle. He only laughs in your ear, speeds the rhythm of his hips, pinches your clitoris between his fingers and drags it around.

“Told ya, bonnie,” he gloats, taking the lobe briefly between his lips, “she wants it—” and he pushes his cock in deep, shaking his hips “—bad as he does.”

He reaches further inward and splits his fingers around his own girth, pressing upward—as if he intends to shove them in too, and choking for air as you are you think deliriously that they might just slip in, no resistance, aided by the wetness free-flowing now around him, dripping in long streams down the inside of your thighs.

Inescable—no matter what you do, it’s nothing to him. You thrash against him, whining through gritted teeth in frustration, but he only moves with you, anticipating every direction you might blindly throw yourself in to get away. You cry out in wordless fury, slapping whatever parts of him you can reach, but it doesn’t matter. There is no purchase for you anywhere, nothing you can use to grab back any sort of control.

He’s too big. Too strong. You finally begin to comprehend it in a way that had been impossible before. Looking at him from a few paces, Johnny is easy to take in; easy to summarize and dismiss when you can see the whole of him at once.

But now, at your back—he feels vast. Enormous. An undulating wall of a hard body flexing against you, mooring you to it, all heat and sweat and sharp, animalistic grunting as it pistons into you from behind. The hand manipulating your clit is wide enough to cover your pussy entirely; the pillar of his body doesn’t so much as shudder as you struggle, instinct overriding desire as you try to escape the lightning-streaks of pleasure he carelessly sends through you.

You are too primed from your earlier climax to possibly last, and Johnny seems to feel it—you flutter and clutch around him, the sensation almost painful, but when both your hands fly to the one between your legs he only increases the pressure.

“You gonna come again, bonnie?” he sneers into your ear. “Jus’ tiring yourself out, poor baby. Fightin’ it so hard, an’ it’s gonna happen anyway.”

It does—he starts slapping your pussy again, right above where his cock stretches you to your limit, quick and sharp, and you break with ragged scream, arms flailing out uselessly, nails finding his forearm around your throat.

“Johnny—” you cry out, “Johnny!”

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear, “steamin’ Jesus, fuck—”

Suddenly he pushes you away from him, and you flail again as you land face-first into the pillows. His cock slips out of you entirely, even as you’re still clenching around your orgasm, but you have no time to react, either to mourn it or be relieved, because Johnny grabs you by the thighs, flips you over in one motion, and drives back in again before it ends.

“Fuck, bonnie, so good, fuck, do it again—”

He throws your legs open, leaving your calves to shake in the air as he fucks you faster. You nearly fold in half under the force of his thrusts, knees hovering nearer and nearer to your ears. Each slap of his hips against yours ricochets up your body, and, with nowhere else to go, back down—you ring like a bell, shaking all the way into your marrow.

“Soap,” you whine, “Soap, it—I—I can’t—”

Suddenly he grabs your face in his hand, so tightly he squeezes your cheeks together, pushing out your lips, and he lurches forward to get in your face. Fury blazes from him.

“I told you,” he snarls, “to call me Johnny.”

It shocks you so much that freeze up, going completely blank. The dark, sharp lines of his brows arch dangerously over flashing eyes.

He shakes your face. “Say it.”

“J—” you slur, unable to shape it in your lips properly, “Johnny.”

His nostrils flare wide. Fury is replaced by triumph. “Good fucking girl.”

He slams his mouth against yours.

The first time he’s kissed you, and he gives you no chance to participate in it. He purses your lips with the pressure of his hand to meld with his, opening your jaw wide enough to thrust his tongue behind your teeth. The force of it presses your head back into the pillow. It’s an attack; it’s an onslaught. And—if the grunts and groans Johnny makes in his throat as he does what he likes with your mouth are any indication—

It’s what he’s really wanted this whole time.

Everything else, he’s enjoyed. But this—his mouth on yours, lips moving together, saliva pooling and seeping between the seams—is the prize he’s aimed for all along.

It touches something inside of you. Something tiny and ugly. A thing that you’ve wrapped up in nacreous layers of shame and guilt, lodged in your soft tissues, and tried to forget about.

It sends your arms to wrap around Johnny’s neck, fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his shoulders. You close your thighs around his waist, crossing your ankles, and roll yourself up into every meeting of his hips with yours.

He moans, higher, and drops his full weight over you. His belly meets yours; his chest crushes your breasts under his. He uses the full brunt of his weight to rut into you, crashing his hips against you, stealing the breath from your lungs—

It’s an old trick you’ve learned from small experience, inhaling when you feel the rush coming—as if climax blooms in the lungs rather than the clitoral head, and filling your alveoli gives it no place to expand. It’s useful to prolong satisfaction, to stave off the end.

Johnny does not give you opportunity try. The only thing he allows you to occupy your mouth with is his, and as hypoxia thins out your bloodstream—as you begin to struggle for air—you go rigid with your third climax beneath him.

However long it lasts, you don’t know. It freezes you in place, in time. It wrenches your head back, arching your spine, tears one long, broken cry from your throat.

“Fuck yes,” Johnny gasps, feeling you clamp down so hard around him it seems you may never release him. He moves to bury his face in your throat. “Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck—yes—”

His tempo falters, signaling the end—

Realization—“Wait!” you find some presence of mind to cry out—“a condom! We didn’t use—”

“It’s got a’go somewhere hen, an’ I’m no’ wastin’ it on yer belly,” he snarls, “just—just—yes—fuck—”

Then his teeth come down on your neck, hard, as his hips beat against yours, and then he buries himself to the root with one final, full-body thrust. He shakes his hips flush against yours as he groans long and loud, cock pulsing inside you, wet heat flooding you in jets, so full that it spills back out to drip down between you.

He pants hard into your shoulder. Your own breath labors, vision swimming.

A cloud covers the moon outside. Johnny makes no move to pull away from you—instead his arms wedge beneath you, banding around your back, and he rolls you both to your sides. You feel him kissing the sting his teeth left on your neck, as you lay there together, sweat cooling on your naked bodies.

Eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you. You have no time to arrange your expression, no idea even what you might want to present to him; whatever he sees on your face makes him smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“There’s my bonnie,” he murmurs, and the next kiss he gives you is soft and very sweet.

Your lips rise to meet his without you thinking about it.

He strokes your back very gently. Sooner than yours, his breathing evens out. Even as he softens inside of you, he keeps his hips against yours.

“Johnny,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “I know. Just a little while longer. Can you do that for me? Aye, you can, I know it.”

You should say something about spermicide. Plan B. But the look in his eyes is so soft, so content, that you put it away for later. You just hold his gaze as he looks at you like you’re everything that could ever make him happy.

He kisses you again. Soon, the heaving of your chest abates. Exhaustion pours through you in one drenching wave; you turn your head to yawn.

“Go to sleep, bonnie,” Johnny croons, pressing his fingers into the soft part of your lower back. “I’ll clean us up, aye? You just sleep.”

You don’t have the energy to fight anymore. Soon, you’re slipping away—you’re aware for long enough to feel it when he finally pulls away from you, when he runs a warm washcloth between your legs, and then when he slides back into bed beside you and pulls up the covers.

Then you’re gone.

Sometime after midnight, you half-wake.

The moon has moved far enough across the sky that its light floods the bedroom through its one window, casting everything in silver. Your eyes open slowly, blurred with sleep; Johnny is still beside you.

He’s sitting up against the headboard; eye-level with you is his waist, covered by the thin bedsheet. You draw your eyes up his body slowly—there, his navel, dark hair curling around it. There, his chest, full pectorals rising and falling slowly with calm, even breath.

When you reach his face, you find him looking down at you, corners of his mouth curled. You meet his eyes—

The moon reflects in them. Disks of shifting light in both pupils.

Some part of you, buried in your hindbrain, shouts with alarm. It’s far away, cottoned with sleep. Muffled enough by the soreness of three full-body orgasms to be ignored.

Johnny reaches out and drags the back of one finger along the wounded part of your neck. Touch feather-light.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

Vaguely, you remember that you’ve answered this question before, but that doesn’t feel consequential. Any part of you that could protest is still lost to sleep.

As is any ability to dissemble. The truth—the thing you attempted to abandon, that has followed you regardless—slips out.

“Nobody wants me,” you whisper.

So quiet you fear he won’t hear you, and ask you to repeat it.

But Johnny tilts his head. The curl of his mouth softens to something almost kind.

It doesn’t quite get there, because a gleam of satisfaction that you cannot name colors his shining gaze.

“I want you,” he murmurs.

His broad hand covers the crown of your head, and he strokes your hair. The tide of sleep comes back in, and you know nothing more.

chapter 4 early access

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who works as the head chef in a three star restaurant. Is very passionate about his cooking and baking, although he prefers cooking. Let's the confectioner handle the sweets.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates costumers or guests, who think they can outsmart him, by complaining about the 'dry steak', however he simply makes them go home. This way, him and his colleagues have less stress.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who gets criticized because of his strict rules in his restaurant by the press. However, he just wants to make sure it's enjoyable and calm. Without any guests trying to get more free food by playing a victim.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates the press.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates taking the fresh products from the delivery guy, because he's more than talkative. Always makes anyone else go than himself.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who (sometimes) hates his colleagues. Mostly Soap, because he manages to set at least two pans on fire every day and then always ends up staying late to help the cleaning ladies with their job.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who once threw a tomato at Soap for pissing him off, then said; »Be happy that wasn't my knife, you wanker!«

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who sometimes gets carried away and talks more loudly than usual, making some guests question if the work morals are actually okay or not.

»Just follow the damn orders, you carrot!« »If the costumer said 'no garlic', then it means 'no garlic'! I don't need this place to be shut down because of your stupid ass.«

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who either loves it or hates it when familys with children come in. Asks the waiter or waitress who took their orders about them, being happy if the kid is well behaved.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who loves to cook things off the kid's menu, likes to serve it himself when he knows the child/children are nice and not little gremlins.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who rants to himself whenever something upsets him in the slightest way.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who likes to think that you are his favourite coworker. Knows about your excellent degree, enjoys your food and new recipes and loves the fact that you're always on time. Others can't compare.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who likes to gossip with you on breaks over a cigeratte or a cup of tea.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who always makes sure that Velvet's desserts are perfect. It's his most loyal costumer, and the sweetest elder lady on earth.

»Of course, we'll make the most sweetest cheesecake as possible.«

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who wants to put his hands into the mixer after he heard Velvet compliment you, then following up with, »I'm surprised chef Riley hasn't fallen for you already. I'd be distracted in the kitchen if I had to work with you.« Because she is somehow managed to hit a nerve.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who tries to make you do other work, like organising the storage room and collecting the deliveries, or even cleaning out the containers outside. Just to be more focused on his work... but you're starting to hate it.

Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who makes Soap shut up with another tomato once he tries to tease Ghost about his 'crush'. Then contemplated with the thoughts of shutting the place down because of his antics.

⟨part 2⟩

a/n: got this idea while reawatching a random series from my childhood, so here you go. hope you enjoyed! (divider @vesearartistry) I'd happily take more requests for this AU, just drop it into my inbox!! Also, he reminds me of Gordon Ramsay.

←MASTERLIST

taglist

[alastor-simp]

“𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊?” - 𝒟𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒻/𝒷𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇👩🏻‍🍳 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 2/2

✮⋆˙ Summary: Despite being a magicless student in NRC, you are extremely talented in the kitchen. Hanging out with your boyfriend, you hear his stomach grumble, allowing the first thought to come to your mind, “Want me to make something for you?”

✮⋆˙ Pairings: Kalim Al-Asim x Reader, Vil Schoenheit x Reader, Idia Shroud x Reader, Malleus Draconia x Reader

✮⋆˙ Genre: Fluff + Romance

✮⋆˙ Tags: Chef Reader, Cooking, Love Language, Cooking for Others, Acts of Service, Love Language: Acts of Service, Dorm Leaders x Reader, Female Chef Reader, Twisted Wonderland, Headcannons, Female Reader, Dorm Leaders, Housewardens

✮⋆˙ Credit:Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

✮⋆˙ Part 1 is Here -> X

Kalim Al-Asim☀️

☀️Inside the Scarabia dorm, both you and Kalim were playing a new board game that was a gift from Ortho. It was a gift to you for your birthday, so you decided to bring it to Kalim, wanting to a fun time with him. Waiting for Kalim to finish his turn, there was a loud stomach grumble, stunning the both of you. Kalim, being the sunshine boy he was just laughed, continuing the game like nothing happened, grabbing some crackers next to him to nibble on.

☀️ You knew that wasn't gonna hold him, so you asked him, "Kalim, are you hungry? I can make you something." Kalim's eyes were the size of saucers when you said that, his smile stretched out super wide, "EHHH? YOU CAN COOK Y/N?" His enthusiasm always made you smile, and you responded with a nod. Getting up, you stretched a bit, before saying you would be right back. Kalim watched you with a bright smile, but then he remembered something, making him frown. "Wait." Turning around, your eyes looked back to see his sad expression, making you tilt your head. "Its just......this reminds me of the relationship me and Jamil had before, the whole master and servant thing. I don't this to be the case with me and you."

☀️Recalling Jamil's overblot, you remembered how much hatred Jamil had for Kalim, yet Kalim wanted to be friends with him, and not just master and servant. Kalim probably thought you cooking for him was going toi nsinuate that, making him panic. Going back to Kalim, you rubbed his white locks, making him stare at you with a soft expression. "Kalim, It's fine. I'm cooking for you because I want to and we're dating." Kalim relaxed at that, smile returning to his face as he leaned into your hand, loving the feeling of you patting him.

☀️You left Kalim, and headed to the kitchen, spotting Jamil in there. "Hey Jamil." Jamil turned towards you, giving you smile, "Hello Prefect, are you and Kalim enjoying the game you're playing?' Smiling, you nodded, "Yes, but Kalim got hungry so I'm gonna make him something to eat." Jamil was put-back by that, since he is usually the one that cooks for Kalim. "Would you like me to assist you?" Jamil asked, grabbing an apron that was hanging and handing it to you. Shaking your head, you told Jamil no, but he could stay and watch you if he wanted. Jamil smiled, and nodded his head, choosing to stay and observe you, not because he didn't trust you, he just wanted to see your skills.

☀️Washing your hands, you pondered what you could make for him. He loved coconut flavored things, but the first thing that came to your mind was coconut curry, but Kalim detested curry due to a traumatic experience with Jamil. Maybe a dessert? Narrowing it down, you decided to make a coconut cream pie. Getting the ingredients, you prepared the dough for the crust, and then got the shaved coconut, heavy cream, vanilla, powdered sugar and eggs. You cooked the coconut on a pan, making them toasty, and then you added the milk, coconut milk and sugar, bringing them to a soft boil. After adding vanilla and half of the toasted coconut, you poured the mixture in the crust, and left it in the fridge, letting it cool so the cream could solidify.

☀️It was gonna be a while for the pie to finish, so you decided to make the whipped cream for the topping. Once you were done with that, you grabbed the pie and topped it with the whipped cream and the remaining coconut flakes. Jamil looked at your pie, and gave you a thumbs up, approving how nice it looked. "Want to try?" You asked Jamil, ready to slice a piece for him, but he shook his head, not hungry at the moment, but appreciating the offer. You were gonna finish cleaning the dishes and counter, but Jamil offered to do it, telling you to bring the pie to Kalim, before he dies of hunger. Thanking him, you carried your dessert, heading to where Kalim was.

☀️Kalims eyes shined like rubies when he saw you approaching, excited to try what you made for him, jumping up and down for joy where he was sitting. "Here you go." Setting the dish down, you used the utensils that you brought with you, and cut a piece of the pie, setting it on a plate and handing it to him. "Arigatō gozaimasu!" Kalim said with enthusiasm, grabbing a fork and placing a piece into his mouth. He stayed in that position, frozen, yet the fork remained where it was. "Um Kalim? Are you o-," You stopped when you saw Kalim eating the pie slice with haste, leaving no crumb behind. Once he was done, he placed the plate down, throwing his hands up to reach you, pulling you into a bear hug.

☀️THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!! AND IT HAD COCONUT TOO!! MY FAVORITE!! THANK YOU Y/N!!" He continued to hug you, rocking you side to side, as you laughed, returning the hug. "Your welcome, Kalim." He moved his head back, staring at you with loving eyes as he leaned closer, pressing kisses all over your face, making you giggle.

☀️What You Made For Kalim + Recipe☀️

Recipe- Coconut Cream Pie

Vil Schoenheit💄

💄Inside Pomefiore, you and Vil were lounging in his room, where Vil was in front of his mirror applying make up, while you sat on his bed, going through your phone. Hearing a low grumble, you glanced at Vil, who remained reserved as he continued putting on his lipstick. "Vil? Are you hungry? I can make you something." Vil motioned his eyes up to look at you through the mirror, before going back to his beauty routine. "I'm alright, Sweet potato." He said that, but you know you heard his stomach growl again.

💄Shaking your head, you removed yourself from his bed, heading towards the door. "Where are you heading off to?" Vil turned his head to look at you. "I'm heading to the kitchen here in this dorm to make you something and that's final. I know you are rehearsing for your next movie project in the ballroom later. I will bring it to you there" You didn't hear what Vil had to say, as you walked through the door, closing it behind you.

💄Arriving in the kitchen, you spotted the violet apron and chef hat, motioning to grab it, as you wrapped it around you. You knew your boyfriend was stubborn, but he was THE Vil Schoenheit, the most beautiful model and actor in the entire world, so you knew about his strict beauty regimens and diet, but he deserved to break it every now and again. Washing your hands, you thought what would be the best thing to make for him, deciding to make a simple eton mess dessert for him would be best. Looking inside the fridge, you found a bowl of raspberries, Perfect, you could use these in your food creation.

💄Looking at the ingredients you had, gooseberry curd, raspberries, icing sugar, store bought meringue and cream. Adding the sugar and raspberries to pan, you cooked them for a bit to make a lovely raspberry sauce. You went on to making the whipped, whisking the icing sugar and cream until you got peaks. Once the sauce was cooled down and the whipped cream was made, you got a parfait cup, and began to layer it with the crushed meringue, gooseberry curd, raspberry sauce and whipped cream. "Perfect." Admiring your creation, you placed it in the fridge to let it chill as you cleaned up, washing the dishes and pans.

💄With the cup in your hand, you headed to the ballroom. Poking your head out through the door, you spotted Vil in all his glamour. He was still beautiful even when he was sweating. Walking inside, you walked up to Vil slowly, his back towards you, "Vil, your food is here." He jumped a bit, turning around seeing you with a smile on your face. His stern eyes were soft as he gazed at you and the beautifully decorated parfait cup in your hand. "I appreciate the gesture Sweet potato, but I'm on a strict diet, I can't consume high sugary dishes." Shaking your head, you grabbed him by the hand, motioning him to sit on one of the chairs in the ballroom. "You're here practicing your butt off for the role you took. You deserve to take a break and have a treat for the hard work you do."

💄Listening to you, Vil gave a sigh, knowing he couldn't win against you. Grabbing the spoon, he lifted a bit of the creamy fruity mixture and placed it in his mouth. His eyes widen, the flavors of the raspberry and whipped cream danced on his tongue. There was a mysterious taste that Vil couldn't place, eyeing the cup to determine what it was. "Oh its gooseberry curd. It pairs very well with the raspberry sauce," You noticed his expression and told him what it was, making him hum in delight. "It is utterly delectable." Vil said, as he continued to eat the dish, leaving nothing behind.

💄Noticing some cream on him, you grab a small napkin and help wipe it off, making Vil look at, eyes wide "There was some cream on you." Your kind eyes and smile made his heart melt, feeling truly blessed to have met someone like you in his life. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you, having you sit on his lap, making you flush. His forehead had placed itself against yours, his beautiful face right in front of yours. "I'm sorry if I had angered you before." Vil utter a soft apology, nuzzling his head against yours. "I wasn't that upset Vil. I was a bit annoyed because I wanted to make something for my amazing boyfriend and you turned me down."

💄Nuzzling back, you spoke again, "Cooking is a way for me to express my love towards you, just like how you express your love for me by complimenting me all the time and making the effort to spend time with me, even when you're very busy His eyes open at what you said, immense guilt filling his stomach as he never wanted to make it seem like he was denying affection from you. "I'm deeply sorry, sweet potato. Make me anything you desire and I will accept it with open arms."

💄Smiling, you grasped one of his hands, placing a soft kiss against it, earning a small yelp from him, which wasn't common to hear. "I will make recipes that won't break your diet plan. I'll come to you everyday with a new fruit smoothie as well, I know how much you love them." Vil chuckled at your words, finding you undeniable precious, as he squeezed his hand that you held. Bending down, his plum colored lips inched closer to yours, giving you a tender kiss that would had made you faint if you weren't sitting on his lap right now.

💄What You Made For Vil + Recipe💄

Recipe- Gooseberry Raspberry Eton Mess

Idia Shroud🎮

🎮 Idia didn't hear what you said as he had his headphones in, playing an MMORPG game. You tried again with no success, jeez he really had great noise canceling headphones. Moving closer to him on his bed, you tapped his shoulder, causing him to jump, controller nearly falling to the ground. His eyes were wide for a second until they returned to normal, as he realized it was you, the intense game making him forget you were in the room with him

🎮"W-what?! Is something wrong?" Idia removed his headphones to look at you. Saying sorry for startling him, you mentioned that you heard his stomach growl, "Do you want me to make you something to eat?" He blue-screened when you said that, his brain trying to compute it. He shook his head erratically, going back to his game, "N-N-No. I have enough HP at the moment." Ortho, who was charging in the corner of the room, had awoken, flying over to his brother, and scanning his body.

🎮"Initiating body scan........scan complete. Nee-san, it seems your stomach volume is at zero, indicating that you are hungry. Idia's fire blue locks had flashed pink, covering them up with his hood, refusing to look at both you and Ortho. Grabbing Ortho's hand, you whispered in his ear, "Ortho, take me to the dorm kitchen. I will make something for your brother." Enthusiastic, Ortho nodded his head, lifting you up, as he flew you to the dorm kitchen, leaving Idia alone in his room.

🎮 Arriving to the kitchen, Ortho put you down, as he flew over and back, handing you a chef hat and apron. Thanking him, you put it on, moving over to the sink to wash your hands. "Ortho, what does Idia prefer? Something sweet or something savory?" You asked Ortho, wondering what would be the best dish to make for your boyfriend. "Nee-chan has a bit of a sweet tooth. He mostly eats candy and energy drinks, yet I wish he would eat something else since those lack common nutrients."

🎮Grasping your chin, your brain filled with many different recipes, the one standing out from the rest, Cake pops! "I got it, lets make cake pops, with a bit of a game theme to them." Flying up with excitement, Ortho nodded his head, ready to help you. "I'll make the cake portion, can you head to Sam's shop and get some candy melts and some form of lollipop sticks for me please?" Despite the metal part covering his mouth, you could tell Ortho was smiling, giving you a salute, and flying away from the kitchen, heading to Sams.

🎮 You had enough ingredients to make a simple white cake, which didn't take long to make, which was perfect since Ortho came back with what you needed. "Thank you." You said, giving him a head pat, earning a chuckle from him. Both him and you help to crumble the cake you made, rolling them into balls, and placing them in the fridge. Melting the different candy melts, you dipped the sticks in them and then stuck them on the cake balls. Having some fun, both you and Ortho experimented with different colors, red, black, purple and blue. After the coating had harden, you and Ortho added little decorations with icing, finishing it up. Once it was done, both you and Ortho stood back and marveled at what you both made, high-fiving each other.

🎮Heading back to Idia's room, both and Ortho walked in, Idia having remained in the same spot, hunched over in his hoodie with a controller in his hands. Ortho went and poked his shoulder, spurring the same reaction when you had tapped him before, game controller dropping to the floor again. "Nee-chan, me and Y/N made cake pops for you!" Ortho said with enthusiasm, jumping up and down in excitement, causing you to chuckle at his adorableness.

🎮 Removing his headphones, Idia gazed at the the cake pops, eyes sparkling a bit, "W-WHAT?!? DID YOU MAKE THESE? THEY ARE SO POG!!" He had his gamer grin on, all of his sharp teeth exposed, as he stared at the cake pops, admiring them. "The theme for them is a from a very popular game in my world. Hope you like them." Grabbing one of them, you handed it to Idia, as you grabbed another one and handed it to Ortho, earning a thank you from him. Idia continued to stare at the little sweet, until he popped it in his mouth, as he mumbled a soft mmmm. Grabbing two more, he began to shovel them in his mouth, munching on them in glee.

🎮 Happy that he loved them, you sat on the bed, admiring how cute he was when eating. Idia noticing your staring, blue turning pink, as he grabbed a cake pop and handed it to you. "T-try one." Grabbing the stick, you took a nibble of the dessert, flavors from the icing and melted candy filling your mouth. Awkwardly, he placed one his hands on top of yours that was lying on the bed, grasping it softly, yet hid his expression with his hoodie again. "T-t-thanks for making those for me. D-don't know why you went through all that effort for a neet like me." He jumped when he felt your hand squeeze his back, yet his face remained hidden. "I did this because you're my Player 1, Idia."

🎮 Idia felt like his heart was overloading, the beating growing erratic. He glanced at your softly, seeing the tenderness in your expression, a soft smile appearing on his face. "And you're my Player 2." Tugging your hand, he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you, head placed against his shoulder. He was always so warm, arms wrapping around him, enjoying each other's comfort. Spotting Ortho watching the both of you, you smiled and motioned your head, telling him to join in. Ortho made his way over, as both you and Idia pulled him closer, making it a trio hug.

🎮 What You Made For Idia + Recipe 🎮

Recipe - Pokemon Pokeball Pops

Malleus Draconia 🐲

🐲It was club time at NRC, and you were inside the room where the Gargoyle Studies club was commencing. Malleus was crafting a gargoyle by hand, picking away at the stone, with you admiring him from across the room. You never got over how cute he was for his love of gargoyles, his eyes always sparkling like a child. A loud growl resonated in the room, making you jump in fright, wondering where that sound came from. Malleus noticed your reaction, and gave a tilt to his head, "Beastie? Are you alright?" His green eyes gazed at you with concern. "Sorry, Hornton. I just heard a loud sound from somewhere. Did the gargoyle come to life, by chance?"

🐲Malleus was taken aback, until he let out a loud chuckle, his fangs popping out through his smile. "No need to be frightened. It was only my stomach growling. My magic sadly can't make stone come to life as I would adore seeing this gargoyle awaken." His hand traced the gargoyle he was crafting, his lips still drew into a smile. Oh, that was his stomach, makes sense that it would be very loud since he was a dragon fae. "Want me to make you something to eat? You said, as you stood up from the chair, making your way over to him.

🐲His eyes gazed at you in surprise, "You possess culinary skills?" Giggling, you nodded your head, "I do, yes. I can make anything, with and without a recipe." Malleus looked at you in awe, moving closer and grabbing your shoulders, softly. "Anything? Even frozen treats?" The minute you nodded at his question, his magic had teleported the both of you, arriving inside the kitchen of Diasomnia, having left the Gargoyle Studies club room. "Wh- How did?" Still distracted at where you had arrived, you didn't notice that Malleus used his magic to make an apron and chef hat to manifest on you.

🐲"Go on Beastie." Malleus was so excited, having sat at one of the kitchen chairs, his emerald eyes filled with curiosity and delight. You only have seen him this excited whenever he talked about gargoyles, making your hear race at his enthusiasm. Giggling, you made sure the apron and hat were set, as you went to the sink and washed your hands. Popsicles seemed liked the best thing to make, and you had the perfect recipe for them. Grabbing the ingredients; milk, heavy cream, sugar, eggs and some sea salt, you sat them down on the counter, as a happy dragon continued to watch you.

🐲 Heating up the milk in a pan, you cracked the eggs, making sure to separate the yolks and the whites, beating the whites until fluffy and beating the yolks with sugar as well. After the milk was heated enough, you slowly poured it into the egg yolk bowl, mixing it, and then setting it back into the sauce pan to cook it again. Once it had become a custard, you poured it with the fluffy egg whites, mixing it, while also adding a bit of the sea salt. "What is the nature of the sea salt? Ice creams are generally more sweet than salty?" Malleus asked, a bit befuddled as he never had seen salty ice cream before. Chuckling, you told him that it will make sense once the frozen treat is done, as you set the bowl in the fridge to let it cool for a couple minutes.

🐲Once it was chilled enough, you mixed in the heavy cream, vanilla, and blue and green food coloring. Finding a popsicle mold, you poured the mixture inside, adding in a stick as well. Placing the mold in the freezer, you went back over to the counter, cleaning up the mess and setting the dishes in the sink. Ready to start washing them, you were shocked when you saw the bowls levitating by themselves, as they were being washed by an invisible force. Turning to look at Malleus, he was gazing at you with a soft smile, having used his magic to clean the dishes. Saying thanks, you walked over to where he was, sitting down on the chair across from them. "It will take a while for them to freeze."

🐲Malleus assured you that it was alright, not minding it at all that he had to wait, motioning his hand to grab yours, rubbing it softly, making you blush. After chatting for a bit, you figured they were done, heading over to the freezer to pull them out, "They're ready!" Heading over to Malleus, you placed the mold on the table, slowing pulling one out, marveling at how well it came out. Extending one out towards him, he grasped the ice cream gently, admiring the color and the sweet smell radiating off of it. Inching the popsicle closer to his mouth, he gave the frozen treat a little nibble, the sweetness of the vanilla dancing on his tongue, followed by the sea salt, enhancing the flavor.

🐲The ice cream was no more as Malleus chowed down on it, not even taking a breather, hand reaching to grab another one. "Hornton! Not so fast, you will get a brain freeze!" You said, pulling the ice cream away for a bit. He took a slight pause, and motioned his hand back, giving you an apologetic smile. "Forgive me....but they are so spectacular, I just couldn't resist. The sea salt as well makes them all the more irresistible." Chuckling, you told him that the sea salt would make sense.

🐲He grabbed another one, yet motioned it towards you, yet you held your hand up. "These are all for you." His eyes widen in shock, replaced with a sad expression, "Beastie, you went through great lengths to make them for me. You deserve to try one." A small idea popped in your head after he said that, lips drawing into a small smirk, "Okay." Getting up from your seat, you walked over to Malleus, as he looked at you with a puzzled expression. Grasping his cheek softly, you bent down, lips locking against his in a gentle kiss.

🐲He sat there stunned, as you continued to kiss him softly, leaning back to gaze at him, your tongue swiping across you lip, having enjoyed the sea-salted kiss, "Not bad." The two of you continued to stare at each other, until you felt his hands pull you closer, his forehead leaning against yours. "Beastie.....I must warn you it's not wise to tempt a dragon." Fire burned in his chartreuse eyes, his low voice making you shiver. You giggled, moving closer to kiss the top of his nose. "True...but you're my adorable dragon." He let out a deep chuckle, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, and returned to nuzzle against your forehead, "and you are my most beloved treasure."

🐲What You Made For Malleus + Recipe🐲

Recipe- Kingdom Hearts Popsicles

🍱🥘🍜END🍜🥘🍱

[fluffysucker]

There's nothing like this

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

Bucky looks at you and your relationship

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Been sitting on this one for a while now.Anyway hope you look it.

HEAVILY based on Hozier's song 'Two sweet'. Because look at me and tell this song isn't so Bucky and his princess.

Main Masterlist

It was absurd. It was unusual. It was odd. It was unconventional. It was everything but normal.

However, it made perfect sense for both of them.

He was focused. He was determined. He was in the ring. He held his hands up near his face, calculating his next steps carefully. If he played it right, the fight was his with the least effort.

And he did. Because right now, he was the legend. The icon. The unbeatable. He was James Barnes. He was, as many like to call him, the Winter Soldier.

The opposite man never stood a chance to begin with. He knew it. Everybody knew it. It's a sad day in any player's life when they are paired with Barnes.

His legacy was unequal. His reputation preceded him. His demeanor spoke loudly. His appearance made it clear. His strong body and physique. His toned muscles. His broad shoulders. His long hair. His cold stare.

Everything about him prompted fear to the hearts of all players who sought this game as a profession.

He was untouchable. He was unconquerable. He was the Winter Soldier. He was James Barnes.

Winning this fight in record time with a final blow from his left arm, which the opponent wouldn't recover from, wasn't what was abnormal about this.

The abnormality came from the girl in the pink dress and bright makeup who sat in the first row and cheered for Barnes like her life was dependent on it.

Finally, you were able to get to this place in your relationship where Bucky was okay with you watching him fight.

You thought you had lost your hearing when Bucky told you that you could come and watch for the first time. You were playfully nagging him about it like you usually did whenever he had fights coming up. You never expected him to give in and agree this time. It took you a couple of seconds to react. Only regaining composure when he offered to take it back. Over your dead body. You had been waiting for this long enough.

Bucky couldn't understand how or why someone would get this happy and excited to watch a boxing match. Especially someone like you. Someone so sweet and adorable.

Your excited squeals and up-and-down jumping in the kitchen of his apartment once he told you left him surprised in a pleasant way.

You really did love him so much that you wanted to risk being in such a place only to support him. Not that he would let anything happen to you. Never in a million years. But a person like you could never belong to places like these. And you were smart enough to know that.

But you didn't care. You had been asking for this for a long time. You meant every word you said. You wanted to support him, be there for him, and cheer for him. You wanted it.

You wanted to be a part of every aspect of Bucky's life. Because you loved everything about him.

And letting you come and watch him felt like a great victory and a big step forward. All your patience and understanding paid off.

And you continued. Letting Bucky decide whenever you could join. Let him have one of the guys pick you up and drop you off. Let him assign another one to stay with you.

It made you laugh inside. One of them would show up at your restaurant's door at the agreed-upon time and take you to the Stark property. Then, once you reached inside, another would be waiting for you to accompany you the whole time you were here. Most of the time, it was either Steve or Sam. Given that Bucky trusted them the most and you were closest to them,.

The whole thing felt very funny to you. You felt like a child being handed around from one to the other. But you were okay with it. You knew that was the only way for Bucky to let you come here. So you didn't mind. Whatever would put his mind at ease and would allow you to support your boyfriend. You were fine with it.

Bucky always made sure he planned it right. He made sure you arrived at the right time when you were able to watch his full fight from the start, but nothing before it. You were here only for him, and it should stay like this. He didn't like the idea of you seeing other messy, brutal fights. That was also why he made sure he brought you to fights that were easy. He knew he was winning. Fights that he came out of with barely a scratch.

Of course, you noticed this pattern of choices. But you didn't bring it. And you wouldn't. At least for now.

However, the most important thing for Bucky was making sure someone stayed with you at all times until you left. If Sam or Steve were unavailable to do this job for any reason, you weren't coming. It wasn't up to debate.

He knew the people who frequented Stark Property. They would eat you alive. Your lovability and tenderness would draw them to you like a deer in a wolf den. And they wouldn't be kind. And Bucky couldn't have this. If anyone said something to you, let alone tried to lay a hand on you, Bucky would burn the whole place down. No hesitation. No thoughts. Everybody would be in great danger.

Just like he was untouchable, you were too. And even more.

Knowing so, Sam and Steve took their assignments seriously. Because while both men loved you and cared for you, they were aware of Bucky's nature. It was no joke to him. God forbid he turn around mid-fight and see you sitting alone. They wouldn't hear the end of it. There were very few things the three men considered to be a threat to their long and strong friendship; this was one of them.

So today, after the referee announced him the winner, he turned to the crowd that was applauding him. His eyes immediately caught you. Standing in between Yelena and Sam in your puff-sleeved, heart-shaped neckline, filled with rose-flower pink dress, matching your shiny pinkish makeup. Your hair braided at the top and rest falling freely on your back. The necklace with his initials resting on the pit of your neck. You were cheering for him like he won the world's most prestigious prize.

Bucky was trying to fight his smile and not break character. You looked unbelievably cute. With your happy smile, bright eyes, and nonstop clapping, it was all for him. You did it for him.

Everybody was cheering for James Barnes or the Winter Soldier, while you were cheering for Bucky.

And he was so grateful.

Bucky left the ring, only throwing a wink at you on his way inside. While Bucky didn't show much affection towards you in here, everyone connected the dots.

You were the boxer's girl. And you held that with pride

Once Bucky was inside, some of the guys came out, making you all head out to the bar to continue the night there.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Wanda when you felt the familiar, strong arms wrap around your waist.

"Hey, princess." Bucky whispered in your ear as he pulled you close to his chest, laying soft kisses on your exposed neck.

You smiled at Wanda, who took this as her cue to give you two spaces. Because in here with the people he mostly trusted, Bucky wasn't shy about giving you all his attention and affection. In other words, it gets sickeningly sweet and loving.

"Hey, babe." You turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands tightened around your waist.

"You were so great in there." You said this as you gave his lips a little peck.

"You liked it?" Bucky asked as he kept giving you small kisses.

"Yes, I wanted to shout at everyone to look at how strong my boyfriend is." You were laughing as you tried to speak between his kisses.

"I think they already know." Bucky couldn't help himself when he buried his face in your neck, kissing it softly.

"Well, they need to hear it from me." You felt the vibration of his laugh on your neck.

You moved a bit so he could look at you. You wanted to say this to his face.

"I'm so proud of you." You were looking into his eyes as you said it.

The playful smile on Bucky's face turned into something genuine. The care and love you gave after the fights touched him immensely. Nobody ever treated him like that. So gently. It was puzzling how, after watching a fight like this, you still chose to love him so sweetly.

It was an active choice you kept making. He didn't understand why, but he would never complain.

He leaned forward to capture your lips and kiss you softly yet passionately. He wanted to stay like this forever.

As the night went on, you and Bucky separated, travelling to different circles of people. But that didn't mean Bucky didn't keep his eyes off you.

Which was what led to where he was now.

Bucky was sitting in one of the booths, observing you. The back booth gave him the opportunity to see everything.

You were standing with his friends. People who were so different from you yet here you were, getting along greatly with all of them. You were talking to all of them, laughing, and sharing jokes.

Bucky couldn't help the smile on his face when he saw you struggling to give Clint an opinion about the dish he made and presented to you.

But you being you. You managed to find something nice to say about the barely edible food, making Clint's smile bigger than the sky.

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The rest of you like you're the TSA.

Bucky kept watching you. He watched as you listened carefully to Peter's stories, and how you interacted and was fully invested. He watched as Pepper stole you to ask about a cake recipe for Morgan, which you happily provided.

Then he watched as you rejoined Natasha at the bar, picking up where you left off in the conversation with her.

It wasn't just the colors you wore that made you stand out. It was everything.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off you. How you listened to everyone. How you treated everyone. How swiftly you got along with everyone. How compassionate and accepting you were. How sweet you were.

And you were all his.

Bucky kept looking at you as you were walking towards him.

"I brought you another one." You said this as you put the two cups on the table. His neat whisky and your raspberry martini.

Before you could sit down, Bucky pulled you to himself, ushering for you to sit on his lap. You gladly did.

His arms came around your waist, and yours around his shoulders. Your floral scent evaded his senses. It was the opposite of his. Strong scent like the woods and black coffee.

Your pink dress clashed with his all-black outfit. You felt too bright for the dark spot he was sitting in.

Everything about the two of you didn't make any sense. Not even in the slightest. You were the polar opposite.

You were nice. He was stiff. You were friendly. He was feared. You were understanding. He was strict. You were smiley. He was sullen. You were vulnerable. He was a closed book.

You were everything he wasn't. He was everything you weren't.

There was nothing like this.

And somehow, that made you perfect.

You brought lights he had never seen in his life before. You created happiness he never thought of. You led him to feelings he didn't know existed. You gave him love, which he always claimed he was unworthy of.

You changed his life. You turned his life upside down. In the best way possible.

Bucky wished there were enough words in the world to tell you how much he loved you. Bucky wished there were enough ways he could express his gratitude for you. Bucky wished there were enough time to show you how much he cherished you.

Bucky wished that one day you would ever comprehend how your sweetness saved him. How you were everything to him

"You're too sweet for me." Bucky spoke slowly as he kissed you.

[wtfsteveharrington]

something new | luca x reader

i was awoken from a dream last night

contents: requested size kink so luca is hung!! basically pwp, slight somnophilia if you squint, unprotected sex, spanking, lots of pet names from Luca, reader receiving fingering, dirty talk, semi-submissive reader vibes, pulling out for backshots but some cum play still whoops

a/n: used a photo of will bc it fit the vibe so well 🌝 can we, as a fandom, decide a last name for this man!! only semi proof read i fear pls ignore any mistakes. also no pronouns or real reader description used.

contents: 2.7k.

the climax right before morning's first light

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Your body feels heavy as it’s pulled from a deep sleep. 

There’s warm lips on your shoulder placing soft kisses along your skin, a hand kneading at your ass while you wake up. You hum into the quiet room while burying your face into the pillow desperately not ready to wake up. “S’everything okay?” 

Luca’s chuckling against you, sliding his calloused hand up the back of your thigh while you stay lying on your stomach. He looks down at the sight of you illuminated in the moonlight from his apartment window, soaking in every inch. His hand cups under the bottom of your behind, giving it a little jiggle for his own entertainment. 

“All’s fine, my love. Didn’t mean to wake you so early.”

You turn your head towards the nightstand and it takes a few blinks for your eyes to finally focus on the dim clock. 3:30 AM. Early enough for him to get up to shower, make tea, and leave out a small note of affection on the counter for when you wake up at a much more reasonable time. He typically doesn’t wake you, opting to shimmy out of the bed but not this morning. 

There’s lips on your neck now. “Was dreaming about you and had to make sure you were real.” His hand is sliding in between your thighs now, pulling them apart. Inches away from where you’re starting to crave him. You’re whining in the pillow now while arching your hips up towards his touch. He’s grinning against your skin and rocking himself towards your side. Luca’s hard and heavy against you. “Gonna go take care of this in the bathroom. Just needed a little touch of you before I go.” 

You’re shaking your head now, trying to unpin your arm that’s trapped between the two of you so you can find the waistband of his sweats slung low on his waist. “No, no. Don’t go.” The elastic is tight against your fingers as you slip your hand into his pants, fingertips brushing along his growing length which rewards you with a moan from your boyfriend. His hand gently slaps down on the flesh of your ass before he starts to pull away. You murmur out protests as you stretch your arms out straight ahead of you, fingers curling around the edge of the bed. There’s a rush of cold air as he pulls the blanket from your frame and tosses it to the empty side of the bed. 

He’s grabbing a pillow next and tapping his fingers against your side, grinning as you take the hint and lift your hips for him. “Just lay there, Darling. Let me take care of you.” Luca makes sure you’re comfortable. Taking his time to fluff the pillow just right. Running his wide hands down your back while still lazily waking up. The bed creaks under the two of you as he moves to kneel between your spread legs. He admires your stretched out form. The curve of your ass propped up and his for the taking. You’re wearing an oversized cliche t-shirt from the last trip you took together and this old pair of underwear with a half worn off print. Not the sexiest outfit to ever grace this bedroom to say the least and yet Luca doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

His thumbs slide along the seam of your underwear that’s stretched across your cheeks, warm hands sliding up your backside to your lower back to gently work on your relaxed body. He leans forward to reach up towards your shoulders, the length of him sliding against your ass and eliciting a moan from you. Luca’s taking advantage of this position to rut himself against you, the feeling of your soft body under him working him up even more than he thought was possible. 

“Always so good for me, aren’t you?” You’re nodding against the pillow, turning your head to the side to press a kiss against the hands that are now on your shoulders. “Only yours, Luca.” He’s groaning above you and there’s warm, open mouth kisses being pressed along your spine now. 

There’s a shuffling coming from behind you as Luca makes quick work of kicking his sweatpants off. You feel the warmth of his skin directly on the inside of your thighs now as he sits back up. He’s crooking fingers in the waistband of your underwear and finally, finally pulling them down your thighs and leaving you exposed to him. They’re stuck right above your knees - Both Luca kneeling between your legs and how far spread open you are making it impossible for them to go any lower. “Are you passionate about these?”

You barely shake your head no, because again they’re old and worn and you find it endearing he even asked, before the sound of them being ripped off of you fills the room causing you to gasp out. Luca haphazardly tosses them towards the trash can in the corner and gets to work pulling his own boxes down. You’re needy. Wiggling your hips through the air in slow movements to entice him. As if he needed anymore motivation. You follow his guidance and haphazardly make work taking off your shirt, balling it up and throwing it on his now empty side of the bed.

Since Luca’s doing all the work you allow yourself to stay, essentially, half asleep. Your eyes are still heavy and hooded and your body lax against the bed. He’s delivering one more small smack to the roundest part of your ass before his fingers find their way between your thighs. Normally he’d take more time teasing you, building you up. As much as he yearns to spend the whole day tangled in you, he does have to get to work soon. For now he’s going to be quick but he plans on taking his time with you again tonight. 

There’s fingers sliding up either side of your folds, a slow languid motion to get you used to his touch before his middle fingers slips in. You’re slackjaw against the pillow, letting out a stream of breathy whimpers you can’t control. Luca knows you. Knows every inch of you. So he’s using that knowledge to get you ready for him. His pointer finger slides into you while his thumb finds your clit at the same time. You’re wet, the scissoring and dragging motions Luca’s making causing a slick sound to come from between your thighs. 

“Luca, please.” He grins down at your backside, enjoying the view of his fingers working deep inside of you. “Always so greedy, aren’t you?” You respond by rocking your hips back against his hand and clenching down against his fingers which causes him to chuckle. “Alright, alright.” His hand slides out of you and smacks down against the back of your thigh. Your left behind wetness from his fingers attracts the cold air and causes goosebumps to rise. 

You secretly like when Luca spends a little less time stretching you out then he probably should. The way your boyfriend stretches you out as he first pushes in you has become a piece of heaven. There are nights he spends as long as you’ll allow eating you out and fingering you, toying with your pussy for his own enjoyment. Leaving his chin wet with you and a darken spot on the sheets until he fucks through how sloppy he’s turned you. 

Not tonight. You’re wet, yes. But you know there’s going to be a heavenly burning feeling coming your way. The amount of care your boyfriend puts into you making you comfortable enough to open yourself in that way. Knowing he’d stop the second you asked if needed. 

The head of his cock sits heavy against your entrance and you feel yourself desperately clenching around nothing. He’s pulling you from your train of thought and your body is buzzing in anticipation. The slap of the tip of him against your clit causes your body to jerk which prompts Luca to use his free hand to grip your hip, holding you in place. “Be good, yeah? Let me get us off before I gotta go. Can’t have you wet all day waiting for me to come back home to take care of you.” Luca lines himself up with your hole, sliding just the tip of himself in which pulls a moan from both of you. 

“Baby, please.” Pride swells in Luca’s chest as you start to beg. If he hadn’t been gripping your hips then you would have rolled them back to take more of his length in you. Instead he goes slow, allowing you to adjust to his girth inch by inch. Even after dating for this long, you still weren’t used to him yet. 

There’s a bit of drool coming from the corner of your still parted lips as Luca works his length in. Your boyfriend was well endowed to say the least. A good length, something you could still take to the back of your throat but not so long you couldn’t sink all the way down it. But his girth? That was unmatched. Thick, heavy, and all yours. 

“Feel so amazing, Darling. Was dreaming about this pussy spreading around me.” Luca jerks another inch in without warning, a squelching sound coming from you as the movement causes some wetness to drip out. You can’t form a thought when he’s got you like this. Your body is still relaxed against the bed as Luca stretches you out. 

It takes a moment for him to bottom out and all your mind can focus on is just how deep he feels inside of you. The sensation causes your breath to catch, pathetically letting out whatever whimper you can muster and allowing him to use you to his heart’s content. Luca gives your hip a little squeeze as a warning he’s going to start moving, giving you a second to accept what’s to come before the first roll of his hips hits. 

You’re a mess. Groggy still, already becoming cock drunk. It’s easy to do with him. “S’full, Luc. So, so full.” Even with his brows knitted in concentration as he tries not to instantly cum at the sight of your pussy stretched around him, he’s proud to get you this way. 

But God does the sight of you already have him close. 

Stretched out around him, filled to the max you could be. You look so beautiful like that. Luca fucks through all the wetness you give him, hips building a steady rhythm easily. His eyes flash over towards the clock and something about the pressure of a time constraint is making him a bit more feral than he expected. 

His pace quickens and you’re back to being reduced to a drooling mess under him. Moaning out an incoherent string of pleas, praise, and curses. You couldn’t repeat what’s coming from your mouth even if you tried. His heavy balls slap against your clit which each thrust and Luca’s grabbing your hips with both hands now to get a better grip on you. Fingertips digging in enough that bruises will be left as he starts to fuck into with a firm pace. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy. So wet for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna be sore all day now but you don’t care. Every step’s gonna remind you how good I fuck you.” 

Your head is spinning. 

You allow yourself to be fucked by Luca, hands gripping the edge of the bed as you desperately clutch anything within reach to keep yourself grounded. He’s… Brutal. Fucking you for his own pleasure in a way. He needed to get off and get off quick before work - But arrogantly knew how good you were for him. Knew that him using you like this would get you off too. 

One of his hands gripping your hip loses his grip and there’s another smack being delivered to the fat of your ass. He groans at the sight of you bouncing, the red mark already blooming from his hand. The burning of being stretched out is fading away and being replaced by the pure pleasure of your boyfriend wrecking your body. 

His hand is sliding up from your ass to press down on the small of your back, a comforting touch compared to the brutal pace of his hips. Long forgotten is the sleepy mask of morning, Luca just chasing after pleasure for the both of you now. You purposely flutter yourself around his length, trying to pull him closer as well. 

“Can you come for me, Darling? You can do that, can’t you? Wanna feel this pretty little pussy finish before I do.” You’re squeezing yourself tighter around him now, the soft pillowcase feeling rougher as your face continues to bounce against it. The room is getting hotter by the second around you two. 

Something about the combination of circumstances has you getting close to finishing far faster than normal. You catch yourself biting down on the pillow as Luca drags his nails down the soft skin of your back, his hips not losing pace as the all too familiar sensation starts to coil up deep inside of you. 

You’re crying out at the sensation, pussy tightening around him as your orgasm rocks through your body. Toe curling, back arching, clit throbbing orgasm. You collapse even further into the bed, a mess of breathless whimpers as Luca continues to fuck through your sensitive body. God you sound lewd with how wet you ended up. 

Luca’s quick to follow after watching you come undone around him.  

He’s moaning out your name, giving a few more pumps through your wetness before quickly pulling out. Stroking his soaked length to keep the sensation and then you feel warmth splattering along your ass and back as he cums on you. He’s breathless and whiney, teasing his own overstimulated cock behind you. Thumb swiping along his tip to collect the last droplets before wiping it in-between your folds and pressing it into you. 

As much as he loved cumming in you, he wanted to make sure he had time to get you cleaned up before he had to leave but he still couldn’t leave you without anything left inside of you. 

Luca drags you to the bathroom after he gives you a moment to collect yourself. Normally he’d take his time with aftercare but sadly he’s lacking just that - time. You use the restroom while he draws the two of you a shower and take a good look at yourself in the mirror while he corrects the water temperature. Healing hickies low on your chest, your hair looking crazy from the combination of sleeping and being wrecked. He’s got twenty minutes left before he runs out of time to make his breakfast but he refuses to leave you in a pile in the bed. 

He makes quick work of washing off your over sensitive body, letting you stand there and run your fingers along his chest, his arms, whatever inch of skin you can reach. “You’re so pretty.” 

Now after what just happened in the bedroom? You’d think nothing would phase him. 

But Luca’s cheeks are going bright red at the compliment. He cups your face with his soapy hands, bringing you two together for a kiss as a silent thank you. 

Luca gets you dried off and sends you back to bed with a pat on your ass. He’s rushing to get ready for work while you lay down in a lump on the bed. Towel tight around your body and the covers long forgotten. It takes a few minutes for him to emerge from the bathroom clothed and hair gelled but he can’t help laughing at the sight of you. You feel the towel being tugged away from your body, the previously discarded blanket being tucked around you and a kiss pressed to the top of your head. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He leaves everything you need for your morning tea sitting on the counter before running out the door.

[butchabbytruther]

HELLOOOO Tumblr, I am new here.

These are my Chef Abby AU fanart I made 💗 she is gaaaay 🌈🏳️‍🌈 and heavily inspired by Carmy from The Bear

[gpcwsl]

Could you do a Leah Williamson one where reader is a chef and has restaurant establishments worldwide and just located one in England a couple months ago and the England girls are a having a camp in London and since everyone is all together for camp they want to celebrate with a fancy dinner and they start discussing restaurants and readers restaurant is put out there, but some of the girls disagree because they tried to eat there but it was always booked up, so when Leah gets home she talks to reader and gets them a table, so Leah texts the team gc and say dress fancy tomorrow night and the location of the restaurant and the gc starts blowing, but she ignores it, and when they all go to the restaurant and ask questions and Leah’s like she has connections, but come to find out that Leah is dating reader then reader sits down beside Leah and the team gets to know her a little and when they go to pay reader says it’s already taken care of.

Warnings: a kiss?

Leah Williamson x Chef!Reader

- Dress fancy -

MasterList

Leah Williamson kicked her boots off at the door, the satisfying thud against the floor signaling the end of another long day. Training had been intense, but it wasn’t the drills or tactics replaying in her mind—it was the chaotic group chat blowing up her phone during the drive home.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, scrolling through dozens of messages.

Tooney: “We should go to that new restaurant tomorrow.”

Brightness: “What’s it called? The fancy one that’s always booked?”

Backheel: “You mean Palace Place? Impossible. I’ve been trying to get a table since it opened.”

Brightness: “Same. That place is like gold dust.”

Tooney: “We need something special, though. We’re all together. Ideas?”

Leah smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she typed her response:

Captain: “Sorted. 7 PM tomorrow. Dress fancy.”

The chat exploded.

Tooney: “LEAH.”

Backheel: “How?!”

Brightness: “You didn’t even say where!”

Walshy: “She probably means Nando’s.”

Tooney: “I swear, if this is a joke…”

Leah tossed her phone on the counter, ignoring the continued barrage of messages, and walked into the living room. The soft hum of classical music filtered through the space, and the faint aroma of roasted garlic and herbs greeted her.

“Smells amazing,” she called, rounding the corner into the kitchen.

You stood by the stove, dressed casually in an apron, hair tied back, moving with the kind of effortless grace Leah never tired of watching. You glanced over your shoulder, a smile already forming.

“Hey, you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Leah walked up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. Training kills me, and you’re here cooking like it’s nothing.”

“Years of practice,” you teased, leaning back into her embrace. “How was camp?”

Leah hesitated, her lips brushing lightly against your temple. “Good. The girls want to go out tomorrow night. Celebrate being all together.”

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And let me guess, they want to go somewhere fancy?”

She grinned. “They were debating places, and your restaurant came up.”

“Did it now?” you asked, amusement coloring your tone. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t.” Leah shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t want to out myself as having an in with the chef-owner who happens to be my girlfriend.”

You laughed softly, running a hand down her arm. “So you’re here to use your connections?”

“Obviously,” Leah said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Any chance you can fit us in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “For you? Always. How many?”

“About 20.”

You blinked. “20?”

Leah winced. “Yeah… full squad.”

“Good thing I like you,” you teased, reaching for your phone to call the restaurant.

Leah sent the address to the group chat in the morning, and as expected, chaos ensued.

Tooney: “No way. THE Palace place?!”

Backheel: “Leah, I’m actually screaming.”

Daily mail: “I tried booking for my mum’s birthday and couldn’t. HOW?”

Brightness: “She must know someone.”

Tooney: “Leah Williamson: captain, legend, and apparently a magician.”

Leah ignored it all, casually walking into the training facility as if her phone wasn’t buzzing nonstop in her pocket.

The team arrived promptly at 7 PM, dressed to impress. The restaurant was stunning, its interior sleek yet inviting, with warm lighting that made everything glow. They were escorted to a private dining room where a long table awaited, set with pristine white linens, sparkling glassware, and fresh flowers.

“This is insane,” Ella muttered, taking in the surroundings.

“How did you pull this off?” Millie asked Leah, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Leah smirked, leaning back in her chair. “I told you. Connections.”

The team was halfway through the meal—an exquisite multi-course experience—when the door to the dining room opened. You walked in, your chef’s jacket pristine, a warm smile on your face.

“Good evening, ladies,” you greeted.

The table fell silent, all eyes turning to you. Leah tried to suppress a grin as you approached.

“Everything to your liking so far?” you asked, your gaze briefly meeting Leah’s.

“The food’s incredible,” Keira said. “Are you the chef?”

You nodded. “And the owner.”

Murmurs of amazement rippled through the group.

Leah cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Everyone, this is Y/n.”

“Wait…” Rachel’s eyes darted between you and Leah. “This is your connection?”

Leah shrugged, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I know people.”

“Hold on.” Ella leaned forward, pointing at Leah. “You’re dating the chef?!”

Leah’s smirk widened. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

The table erupted in laughter, teasing, and a flurry of questions directed at you.

When the bill arrived, one of the players reached for it, but the waiter quickly informed them it had already been settled.

“It’s on me,” you said with a smile, standing beside Leah. “You’re all family to Leah, which makes you family to me.”

The team groaned, joking about being spoiled, but their gratitude was evident.

As everyone filtered out of the restaurant, Leah lingered by the door with you, her hand slipping into yours.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth.

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “Anything for you.”

The team’s laughter echoed down the street, and Leah pulled you closer, her heart full as she watched her two worlds collide perfectly.