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itadoribites · 15 days ago

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Temptation Suite | Reader X

Multiple men

CHAPTER ONE — “The star”

Host Club AU

Prologue

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Summary: After a long, chaotic day of school, work, and unresolved tension with her project partner Satoru Gojo, the reader finally takes the plunge and visits The Velvet room (Club Kaisen.) What begins as a curious, slightly nervous first visit quickly spirals into something far more intimate when Gojo—her classmate and unexpectedly skilled host—personally takes her under his wing. The chemistry between them simmers past the limits of club rules, drawing her into his private mirrored suite where indulgence turns to desire. Between teasing touches, breathless edging, and Gojo’s deliciously cocky praise, she’s left unraveling in his hands—literally. By the time she’s gathering herself to leave, she stumbles into another familiar face: Choso. His cryptic suggestion that she try a one-on-one with someone else next time leaves her stunned and intrigued. One night in the club was enough to change everything… and she knows she’s coming back for more.

Contains: NSFW, oral sex (f!receiving), mirror sex, edging, spanking, light bondage (wrist holding), exhibitionism, praise kink, cocky!Gojo, dom!Gojo, private suite setting, professor/student dynamic (Nanami), double life tension, slow burn buildup, soft aftercare, other characters teased (Choso), smut-heavy chapter, Tumblr-style prose, mature content.

A/N: This one is quite long, but i swear it’s definitely worth it! Enjoy :)

Also sorry its so rushed. I felt obligated to get it out as soon as i could!

Business Ethics was never your favorite class. Not because the material was difficult, Not because you hated your professor or classmates, but because every week you were asked to look at systems, partnerships and people trusting them to make the right choice. You always ended up with the dumbest one.

It was a slow and dry Thursday morning, the kind where the fluorescents overhead lights buzzed too loudly and were too bright, your coffee tasted more like burnt cardboard than caffeine, and your classroom was as cold as a freezer.

You sat in your usual spot by the window, notebook out, pen in hand, and your group project printed, stapled, and color-coded, thanks to yourself.

You looked over to the seat next to you only to find it empty, of course.

You kept glancing at the clock on the wall, the sound of the hands ticking making your head ache. Yet you continued to watch the minutes tick down until Professor Nanami arrived. The project was due at the very start of class, and your partner, Satoru, had yet to make an appearance, but it wasn’t unusual for him to be this late.

You tried not to be annoyed ..of course you had failed.

When the door finally creaked open, the disruption didn’t even earn a glance or a turn of heads from most of your classmates. They were all accustomed to it by now.

Satoru had strolled in like he owned the room, he always did. His sunglasses were perched on his nose despite the fact that you were indoors and it was cloudy outside, no sunlight to be seen. His uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, tie crooked, hair messier than usual. He dropped into the seat beside you with all the grace of someone who’d never known real consequences.

“Morning, partner,” he said, smirking ‘n dragging the word out like it amused him.

You didn’t even look at him. “You’re late.” You mumbled in annoyance.

“Nah,” he grinned whilst rolling his eyes, he was now leaning back in his chair. “I’m just fashionably on-time.”

You scrunched your nose up to try and keep yourself from cringing. You then handed over a copy of the project without making eye contact. “You’re welcome.”

He blinked at you in confusion, taking the paper in his hand. “Huh?”

“For the project.” You stated. “The one I wasted my time staying up all night finishing because you never sent your section.”

Satoru tilted his head, smirk still in place like it was glued on. “Ohhh! ..right. I meant to do that.” He chuckled whilst giving himself a small bop on the head.

You finally turned to look at him, expression flat. “well you didn’t.”

“I had notes,” he offered, voice smooth. “Mental ones. Was gonna send them after my nap.” He said whilst tapping the side of his head.

You stared at him and scoffed at his words. “You missed two deadlines, Satoru.” He scratched the back of his neck, still infuriatingly casual. “You seem like you have it handled.”

“I had no choice but to have it handled. I knew i couldn’t rely on you.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed the papers back from him.He looked you over for a moment, then leaned in slightly. “You mad at me?” He asked whilst fake pouting. You scoffed at his childish manner. “I’m mad at the fact that I’m going to lose marks because you couldn’t be bothered to write half a page.”

“You won’t,” he said easily. “You’ll crushed it. I’m sure Professor Nanami will give us a solid A.” You gave him a long look. “You’re unbelievable.” He smiled wider, as if you had complimented him. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

Before you could respond, the door at the front of the classroom shut with a soft but final click. Professor Nanami walked in, expression as severe as ever. No-nonsense, no patience. He carried a stack of folders and set them on the desk without a word.

“Project submissions,” he said simply, he began moving down each row, collecting everyone’s papers.

You sighed deeply whilst facing forward, your jaw tight. Satoru was still relaxed, one hand had been lazily flipping open his laptop, the other already doodling in the margins of your printed copy like it was his personal sketchpad.

You elbowed him lightly, and he only smirked more.

When Professor Nanami finally reached your desk, he looked down at the folder in your hands, then at the two of you. “Joint submission?” he asked, voice as even as ever—but something in his tone felt… heavier.

“Yes,” you said stiffly then glanced at satoru.

Satoru offered a wide, breezy smile. “Teamwork makes the dream work.” You gave him a look of disgust, you didn’t even try to hold back your scoff.

The professors eyes flicked toward him. For just a second, something unreadable passed across his face. The silence that followed felt just a little too long. You glanced between them. A confused look found its way to your face.

Nanami blinked slowly. “Indeed.”

Satoru was still smiling, but his posture shifted, just a hair more upright. You felt the smallest hint of tension pass through the space between them. The professor took the folder without another word and moved on to the next student, his steps just a little sharper than before.

You tried to hold in your laughter, you then slowly turned toward satoru, who was suddenly very interested in the doodle he was working on.

“…Do you two know each other.. like outside of school?” you whispered.

His shrugged his shoulders and then glanced at the professor. “we… are just in similar circles.” He said hesitantly. You narrowed your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

He just shrugged once more.

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Class had finally come to an end. Professor Nanami dismissed everyone promptly, no drawn-out lecture, no open floor discussion—just the click of his laptop closing and a firm, “That will be all.”

Most of the students packed up in a rush. Satoru, of course, took his time. You gathered your things more slowly, fingers tapping nervously against the edge of your folder. Your project sat at the front of the room now, submitted and sealed with the sour feeling of defeat. You weren’t used to mediocrity. Especially not when you worked so damn hard to avoid it.

You looked over and saw Saroru sauntering toward the door, his bag slung over one shoulder, whistling faintly. He caught your stare, smirked, and waved without a word. It made you cringe. He was most definitely not your friend, not after this project.

You exhaled slowly, eyes drifting toward the front of the room where your professor had remained, stacking papers with precise movements, like every crease and corner mattered more than the people who wrote them.

You hesitated. Then stepped forward. “Professor Nanami?” you called, voice tentative.

He looked up. Adjusting his glasses. “Yes?”

You shifted your bag on your shoulder, taking a few more steps forward until you were near his desk. The classroom was almost empty now, and almost completely silent.

“I wanted to talk about the project,” you said carefully, biting your lip for a moment. “About me and Satorus’ submission.”

His gaze flicked up from his papers, steady and unreadable. He had given you his full attention. His hands no folded in front of him on his desk. “Yes?” He said whilst arching his brow.

“I did most of the work,” you admitted. “If not all of it..” You trailed off. Curling a piece of your hair in one hand. “My partner—Satoru—he never submitted his section. He didn’t even attempt to contribute.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. But there was the barest twitch in his jaw and a small sigh followed after. “I understand,” he said after a beat. “And I appreciate your honesty.”

You swallowed. “Is there… anything I can do to make up for it? Extra credit? An independent project? I just don’t want my grade to reflect terribly because of someone else’s apathy.” He considered your words for a long moment. The kind of silence that made you wonder if he was trying to read you—dissect your tone, your body language, your desperation.

He now began to tap his index finger against the desk. As if he were in deep thought.

“Ordinarily, I would say no. Group projects are meant to reflect collaborative effort. Choosing a partner is part of the evaluation.”

You deflated slightly. Your face trying to hold back a frown. You nodded at is words.

But then, his eyes softened—only just. “You’re one of my more consistent students,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’m not blind to your effort.” he paused for a moment. “You’re one of my best students.” He looked up at you then cleared his throat.

You looked up, surprised. He paused. Then added, “Still. I can’t offer anything extra—not this late in the semester.” He sighed deeply, Organizing the papers.

Your shoulders dropped. “Right. Of course.” Nanami glanced toward the door, then back to you. “If it’s any consolation…”

He hesitated

“…I can ensure you that you two will never be paired again.”

You tried to hide the smirk that found its way to your face.

Nanami simply adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and offered a small, tight smile. “You may be dismissed.” You turned to leave, but as you reached the door, you could’ve sworn you heard him sigh softly behind you. Not in annoyance—but in resignation.

It was the first time Professor Nanami had ever sounded… tired.

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The hours after class passed in a dull blur of espresso shots, irritated customers, and aching feet.

Your shift at the café had started at noon sharp, and by 2 p.m., your apron was already splattered with milk foam and caramel drizzle. The aroma of the cafe beginning to irritate you.

Every small inconvenience from today began to flood your mind. The morning incident with satoru, the co-worker who showed up late, the customer who stared at your chest instead of your face while ordering. By the time you clocked out, your patience was scraped down to the bone.

You barely had the energy to take off your apron before slipping out the back door and heading toward the corner café across the street. It was quieter, classier—a place Mei Mei always insisted on for your post-shift lunches.

She was already there, of course. She looked far more classy than you had. She had sat outside under the awning with her legs crossed, sunglasses on, iced matcha in hand. She looked like she belonged in a Milan fashion spread, not leaning casually in a wicker chair next to a potted fern.

“Someone looks dead,” She called out as you approached, lips quirking upward into a smirk.

You collapsed into the seat across from her and dropped your bag with a thud. “I’m dying.”

She sipped her drink. “Bad shift?”

“Nightmare shift. I think a man tried to pay for his mocha with a gift card to Subway.” You scoffed as the memory replayed inside your head.

“And he winked at me. With both eyes. At the same time.” She cringed theatrically. “That’s not a wink, that’s a stroke.”

You snorted, just a little. “Exactly.”

The waitress brought you water and a menu. You barely glanced at it. Mei Mei leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So. Any updates on Mr. Too-Pretty-To-Do-His-Own-Homework?”

You groaned and rubbed your temples in annoyance. “He didn’t even try to pretend he’d done anything. He doodled on our submission like it was a napkin.” Mei Mei arched a perfectly groomed brow. “And what about your hot professor, Nanami?”

You hesitated. “…Weird. Kind of. I told him Satoru didn’t help, and before that they both gave each other a weird look.”

You sat back. “Im just wondering if they know each other or something?”

Mei Mei hummed, as if weighing her words. “Maybe.” You gave her a suspicious look. “Do you know something?”

She shrugged, sipping on her drink now.

She began to change the subject, “since your day’s clearly going to shit, maybe now’s the time to consider my very thoughtful, entirely selfless recommendation.”

You blinked. “The host club?”

“The one and only.” She took another slow sip. “Club Kaisen.” You hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you admitted. Mei Mei perked up immediately. “Yeah?”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I’m not saying I’m going to let some guy whisper sweet nothings into my ear and turn me on or whatever. But… I don’t know. I’m tired. Burnt out. And you make it sound like a spa with dicks.”

Mei Mei laughed, tossing her head back.“I’m serious,” you muttered, even though you were smiling. “You know I dont just want a hook up, I just… I want to feel like someone actually sees me, for once. Not my uniform, or my transcript, or my due dates. Just—me.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s what I’m saying. No pressure. No expectations. Just… a night off.” You sighed. “And you’re sure they’re not creeps?” You asked, a worried look playing onto tour face.

“Professional,” Mei Mei assured, She then began to smirk. “Handsome. High-class..” She paused for a moment after trailing off. “Some of them even work regular jobs by day.”

You raised a brow. “Like?” She tapped her nail against her glass. “Your favorite ethics professor, maybe.” Your eyes widened. “Nanami?”

She smirked. You blinked. “Wait. Wait wait wait—Nanami works at Club Kaisen?”

“I didn’t say that.” She sipped innocently. “But I didn’t deny it either.” You stared at her. “That’s insane.”

“That’s Tokyo,” she replied. You took a long breath. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go.” Mei Mei clapped once, delighted. “Yes!”

“But I’m not booking anything. I just want to see what it’s like.” She shrugged. “Smart. Start slow. Scope the vibes. If you like what you see, nominate someone.”

You gave her a flat look. “That sounds too formal. “You’re going to a velvet-curtained man castle, sweetheart. Formal’s the point.” You finished your drink and stood. “You’re a menace.”

“Thank you.” As you walked away, she called after you: “Go for The Star! I heard he’s the perfect mood-lifter. Real high-energy. Likes to talk.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sounds perfect.”

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Shinjuku was different at night. Busier, brighter. A blur of neon signs, vending machines buzzing under fluorescent halos, the smell of sweet crepes and cigarette smoke mixing in the air. You weren’t dressed for anything special—just dark jeans and a soft oversized black sweater—but still, you felt exposed. Like you were carrying a secret.

The black velvet flyer burned a hole in your pocket.

It took longer than you thought to find the place you had saw yesterday. There was no grand entrance. No obvious sign. Just a side street you almost missed, tucked between a shuttered bookstore and an arcade, with a faint hint of incense drifting through the chill air.

And there it was. A red velvet door. No name. No bell. No windows.

You stared at it for a moment, nerves tangling in your chest. It had been like a bad version of butterflies.

Then, with a breath, you stepped forward and pushed it open.

The entryway was dim, it was fancy. A faint sound of jazz music played in the background. Everything smelled faintly of jasmine and warm leather. The floor was marble, dark and gleaming. A velvet rope curved between two gold stands. And behind it, at a sleek reception desk, stood a woman with sharp brown eyes, black hair and a scar across her face. She had been flipping through a small leather book.

She looked up the second you crossed the threshold. “You’re new,” she said, voice cool and soft, not overly friendly.

You swallowed. “Is it that obvious?” She smiled faintly. “I’m Utahime. Host manager. If you’re here, I assume you’re curious, interested, or very lost.”

“Definitely curious,” you replied. Utahime nodded once. “Then let me walk you through the rules.”

She stepped around the desk, clipboard in hand, and stopped in front of you.

“One,” she said, holding up a finger, “you will respect personal boundaries. Physical contact is only allowed with mutual consent. If a host feels uncomfortable, you’ll be warned once. Then removed.”

“Understood.”

“Two,” she continued, “conversations must remain respectful. Hosts aren’t your therapists, or your enemies. Keep things charming.”

You nodded again.

“Three—‘Nomination Overlap.’ Each host can entertain multiple guests in a night. If you want exclusive time, you pay the nomination fee up front.”

That made you pause. “How many people usually nominate a host?”

Utahime raised a brow. “Depends on the host.”

“…Who’s the most popular?” She didn’t answer. Just shrugged.

You hesitated, then reached for the pen on her clipboard.

She placed it firmly in your hand, then motioned to the velvet curtain behind her.

She pulled the curtain aside and gestured you through. Warm light spilled out. More low music played, something jazzy. The air was thick with perfume and expensive cologne, laughter and clinking glasses. The room opened up into a lounge glowing with chandeliers and amber lighting, plush seating in shades of crimson and black velvet, and soft chatter rolling like waves.

Before yo had time to take in the beautiful sight.

“Newbie alert!” a voice rang out, high and bright and smug.

You barely had a second to process it before a talk white-haired man appeared in front of you, grinning like he’d been expecting you all night.

He wore all black—unbuttoned shirt, slouchy slacks, long legs, too much charm packed into one lean frame. His eyes, hidden behind round sunglasses, glittered anyway. “Let me guess,” he said, leaning in just a little too close. “You’re here for me, aren’t you?”

He then grinned, wolfish. His eyes making their way up and down your figure. “You look even better outside the classroom.”

You blinked, confused for a moment. “Satoru?”

He grinned like the sun. “Knew you’d show.”

He winked. “And here I thought you were observant.” You crossed your arms, trying not to let your confusion show. “You’re a host.”

“And here I thought you’d be impressed.” He said with a small pout.

“Why would you be here?!

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he teased, eyes raking over you from behind his ridiculous glasses. “I look good, I talk pretty, and I give great… conversation.”

You scowled, trying not to feed into his delusions. He leaned in close, voice soft. “Besides, when you’re the most requested man on the roster, they let you break a few rules.”

You rolled your eyes at his words.

Satoru laughed, looping his arm through yours like you belonged to him already. “Come on. Let me show you around.” He led you through the lounge, pointing out the other hosts like exhibits at an upscale museum.

“That’s The Worshipped,” he said, motioning to a long-haired man reclining with a glass in his hand. “Suguru. He likes poetry, tattoos, and pretending he’s not the most manipulative bastard alive.”

You squinted. “Wait… that’s Suguru Geto. He’s in my Thought & Literature class.” Gojo’s smirk widened. “Oh yeah. The intellectuals hit different at night, huh?”

You turned again, catching sight of another man seated near a grand piano, face half-shadowed.

Gojo followed your gaze. “The Gentleman. Nanami. Knows how to fold a suit pocket square better than anyone.” You squinted. “No way. That’s Professor Nanami.”

“Bingo.”

“He teaches our class, business ethics!”

“Which is hilarious, considering what he does here after 6 p.m.” You nearly tripped at his words. You looked over to see satoru grinning mercilessly.

“And see that guy in the corner booth?” he whispered, tilting his head toward a man with striking green eyes “That’s The Sinner. You’d know him as Toji Fushiguro. Professor of Criminal Psychology.” You tried to hold in your laugh at the names, Some of them were just so corny.

..but your jaw just dropped. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Gojo shrugged. “Toji’s got the whole ‘gruff daddy issues’ thing going. Women love it.” You barely heard the next names.

The Devoted. Choso. Your chemistry lab partner.

The God. Sukuna. Thank God he didn’t teach. He looked.. scary.

You weren’t sure when it happened—when your heartbeat had started to trip over itself or when the space between you and Satoru had shrunk to something almost indecent. But somehow, you found yourself nestled in a plush velvet booth with him beside you, closer than he needed to be. One arm draped along the backrest, fingers ghosting dangerously close to your shoulder, like he was trying to feel your pulse through the silk of your blouse.

He handed you a drink without a word. The glass was chilled, the rim delicately wet with condensation. “Drink this,” he said, voice low and coaxing, a lazy smile on his lips. “Process later.”

You hesitated for a second, your eyes flicking between the sparkling contents of the glass and his annoyingly pretty face. Then you took a small sip. Light bubbles danced across your tongue—floral, citrus, sweet and sharp all at once. Expensive. Like everything here.

He didn’t move away, just reclined beside you like he belonged there, like this booth was his throne and you were already part of his court. “So,” he began after a quiet beat, his voice quieter now, just for you. “Want to tell me why you’re really here?”

You looked at him, eyes wide, shoulders tense. You didn’t know how to answer. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was Mei Mei’s voice in your head. Or maybe it was the feeling of standing on the edge of something new, something dangerous, something that tasted like champagne and smelled like jasmine.

Instead of giving him a reason you didn’t have, you blinked slowly and turned your face to him. “Do all of you just… live double lives?” you asked, your tone softer now, less guarded.

Gojo smiled, but it was quieter than before—like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear. “We live fantasy, baby,” he said, leaning in so the words tickled your skin. “The double life is half the thrill.”

The way he said it—low, rich, warm—sent a ripple of heat curling beneath your skin. You weren’t sure if it was the drink or his voice, or both working in tandem.

Conversation flowed after that. Too easily. He talked about how he’d ended up here, how being a host wasn’t what you thought it’d be. Less sleazy, more psychological. Emotional labor with a velvet edge. He joked and teased, but somewhere in the haze of laughter, you realized he was listening. Really listening.

His eyes stayed on you, his posture open, like you were the most interesting person in the room. And for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

Eventually, the compliments started—soft at first, then more direct. You tried to brush them off, your fingers playing with the edge of your glass, the rim kissed with sugar and Satorus lingering gaze.

“You’re different when you smile like that,” he said suddenly, voice dipped in something a little more serious. “Softer. I like it.”

You scoffed, nose scrunching, the heat in your cheeks rising. “You don’t have to butter me up, Satoru. You’re literally paid to flirt with girls.” The words came out a little too sharp, a little too honest.

But he didn’t flinch. Instead, the grin on his face deepened, slow and wolfish. He leaned in, his hand brushing your cheek—gentle, like he was testing your boundaries. Then his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your skin.

“You know…” he murmured, his voice low and syrup-sweet, “…I’ve always thought you were cute.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He didn’t stop there. His hand, previously innocent, slid down under the table. His fingers found the bare skin of your knee—warm and firm as they settled there, thumb drawing lazy, circular strokes. Casual. Possessive.

You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to where his hand rested before meeting his gaze again. Satoru looked like he was waiting for something.

You tried to deflect again, heart thudding against your ribcage. “How many times do you use that line in a night?”

He tilted his head, that damned smirk still carved into his face. “Want me to prove it to you?”

It wasn’t a tease—it was a challenge. And for a moment, everything around you—voices, music, the shimmer of candlelight—faded into background noise. All you could feel was the heat of his touch and the weight of that question.

You didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway.

Your eyes met his, lips parted just slightly as the seconds stretched between you.

And then you nodded.

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You didn’t remember walking to his room.

One moment you were breathless in the booth, his hand still heavy on your thigh—the next, you were pressed against a door of smooth lacquered black, your back hitting it with a muffled thud as Gojo’s mouth finally crashed down onto yours.

His kiss was everything you’d expected and worse—hot, wet, teasing, demanding. His tongue coaxed yours into motion, lips plush and greedy as he tugged your lower lip between his teeth and let it go with a sinful sound. He grinned into the kiss when you moaned, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and wrecked already, one hand braced against the door beside your head while the other wrapped firmly around your waist.

You barely had time to reply before he finally opened the door and guided you in.

It was unlike anything you had ever expected.

The room was drenched in low golden light. Every surface gleamed—mirrored panels on the ceiling and along the far wall reflected soft movement, fractured into shimmering duplicates. Silk sheets in obsidian black clung to a wide circular bed set in the center, plush and sprawling like something out of a decadent dream. A chaise lounge. A full-length mirror. Floor-to-ceiling curtains drawn halfway closed. Champagne still sweating on a side table.

Your eyes swept the room and came back to him. And he looked at you like he owned it. Like he owned you, too.

He stepped behind you and let his fingers slide down your arms. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. But his hands didn’t stop. “I’ve got rules,” he continued, his lips brushing your skin with every word. “No crossing the line. No fucking clients. No exceptions.”

His palms moved up, fingers curling gently under your jaw to tilt your face toward the nearest mirror. You caught a glimpse of yourself—flushed, wide-eyed—and him behind you, a tall silhouette of temptation in black slacks and a silk button-down you hadn’t realized he’d undone at the collar.

You swallowed thickly. “Then why are you—”

“Because you’re not just a client,” he interrupted, eyes locked on yours through the mirror. “You’re you. And I’ve wanted this since long before you walked through that door tonight.”

His hands slid to your waist, guiding you backward, walking you toward the bed in slow steps.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispered. “And I want you to watch.” You shivered.

He sat on the edge of the bed first, then pulled you between his legs, his hands stroking up the back of your thighs. “Strip for me,” he said softly. “Right here. In front of the mirror.”

Your breath hitched. You hesitated for half a second, but he reached up to help you pull off your sweater anyway, fingers deft and slow, teasing.

“I want to see how pretty you look when you realize how much I want you,” he said, lips grazing your sternum. “And you’re gonna see it too.”

He didn’t just watch you—he guided you through it, his voice smooth and low like honey poured slow. Praise fell from his lips with every inch of skin you revealed. “God, look at you. So fucking beautiful… I can’t believe I’ve been this close to you for so long and didn’t do something about it sooner.”

Your pants came next, and his fingers skimmed the band of your panties as he groaned softly. “You’re already wet for me. Fuck.”

He tugged you forward until you were straddling his thigh, letting you rock against it slow, lazy. “Go on,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips as you ground down. “Use me. Just like that, baby. Show me how badly you want it.”

You gasped when your clit brushed the taut curve of his leg.

He grinned up at you like he could read every thought in your head. His snowy hair was a mess, haloed in silk and moonlight, and his hands were splayed wide on your waist like he had no plans of letting go.

“You feel that?” he said, bouncing his thigh slightly under you—enough friction to make you cry out. “Yeah, you do. You’re already soaking through my leg.”

“Satoru—”

His face fell, serious now he cut you off gently, thumb tilting your chin so your dazed eyes met his in the mirror across from the bed, “grind on it.”

And so you did.

Slow at first—almost shy. You rocked forward, back, the friction maddening against the thin lace of your underwear. The muscle of his thigh flexed beneath you, and the angle was perfect—your clit catching on the same spot with each drag of your hips.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Look at you. Using my body like your personal toy. Makes me wonder who’s in charge here.”

You whimpered, already panting, and he chuckled—cocky and fond and so turned on it hurt.

“That’s it. Just like that. You want to cum just from grinding my thigh, huh? Fuck, that’s so hot.” His voice dropped lower. “Is that what you think about in class? Me under you like this?”

You nodded desperately, pace faltering, and he immediately snapped his fingers in the air.

“Keep going. Don’t stop. I didn’t say you could stop.”

Your hips resumed their pace, faster now, desperate. You could feel how wet you were—how the slick sounds of you using him echoed off the walls, mixing with your breathy whimpers.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on the mirror. “Watch the way you ride my leg. Fuck. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, legs trembling, and his hands slid up your body—thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he whispered, rocking his thigh just enough to make you jerk. “I can feel it. Your whole body’s shaking.

You sobbed, clutching at his shoulders, hips grinding frantically now, chasing the edge.

Satorus smirk deepened.

“Don’t come yet.”

You froze—your body disobeying your brain, clit pulsing, release almost breaking open—

“No, no,” he said, cupping your face, voice suddenly laced with warning. “I said don’t. You come now, and I’ll edge you until sunrise.”

You whimpered, head falling to his shoulder, but you stopped. Barely.

He kissed your temple, voice velvet-smooth. “That’s my girl.”

Then he slipped his hand between your legs, finally, and dragged his fingers over the drenched lace clinging to your cunt.

“Let’s make you beg a little harder before I let you come.”

“You did so good,” Gojo murmured against the shell of your ear, lips curled in that playful little smirk that made your thighs twitch. “But I think it’s time I give you something back for working so hard.

He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t need to.

His hands curved under your thighs and lifted you easily, laying you back on the sheets like you weighed nothing. The soft silk slid against your skin, cool and slippery, and everywhere you looked—mirrors. Mirrors on the ceiling, behind the headboard, across the far wall. All of them reflecting your flushed face, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, and him. Satoru Gojo, shirt undone, silver hair disheveled, hunger in his blue eyes like he’d waited weeks for this.

He kissed your stomach, then lower. Your panties were already ruined—sticky and soaked—and he kissed you through them, letting his breath ghost over the sensitive fabric just to watch you twitch.

“You’re a mess for me, you know that?” he muttered, mouthing the damp spot right over your clit. “All that grinding and you didn’t even cum. That’s dedication.”

You whimpered, hips lifting, trying to get him to do something—anything—more.

Gojo just laughed, low and pleased. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy so good, you’re gonna forget your own name.”

And then he pulled the ruined lace aside and dove in.

His mouth was hot and hungry, lips wrapping around your clit with sinful precision. His tongue was relentless, licking deep, slow strokes that made your toes curl. He licked like he was starving—like this was the first and last time he’d ever be allowed between your legs and he had to make it count.

Your moans echoed off the mirrored walls, wet and desperate.

“Satoru—fuck—” you gasped, your hands flying to his hair, threading into those soft white strands and tugging.

That earned you a groan. He liked that.

“Ohh, you like it sloppy?” he teased, pulling back just long enough to let you watch his tongue flick against your clit. “Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your eyes rolled back as he dragged the flat of his tongue slowly from your entrance to your clit, holding eye contact with a look of complete, smug satisfaction.

“Gonna make you cum on my tongue,” he whispered. “Gonna edge you til you’re crying for it. Think you can handle that, pretty girl?”

You nodded, voice gone, body shaking.

And so he kept going.

He teased, switching up the pressure, alternating soft flicks and hard sucks. He flattened his tongue and rolled it in tight little circles, watching every twitch of your thighs, every breathless moan, learning you like he planned to make this a nightly ritual.

Your orgasm was building again—fast. Too fast. Your hips were grinding into his mouth, chasing it. He let you. He wanted you to.

“You close?” he asked, thumb sliding in to press just above your clit while he licked beneath. “Wanna cum for me now?”

“Please—yes—” you choked out, nails digging into his scalp.

“Beg,” he growled, all playfulness suddenly gone. “Say you want it. Say you want to come on my mouth.”

“I—I want to come,” you gasped. “On your mouth. Please, Satoru—please—”

He was nestled between your legs like he fucking belonged there—elbows pinned against your thighs to hold you open, fingers digging into the softness above your knees like he dared you to cum. His face was buried in your pussy, tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that stopped just shy of tipping you over the edge.

“Satoru—” your voice was wrecked. “Please—”

“Mm-mm.” He pulled back with a wet, satisfied sound, lips shiny, breath hot against your swollen clit. He smiled up at you, cocky as ever. “Not yet.”

Your hips rolled toward him involuntarily, searching for friction, for anything, and he just laughed. “You’re so greedy,” he murmured, dragging a finger through your slick folds.

“I didn’t come,” you gasped. “You didn’t let me.”

“Oh, right,” he teased, tapping your clit once with the pad of his finger. You jolted. “That was just the pre-show.”

The mirrors across the room caught everything—the way your body writhed on his sheets, the glazed, fucked-out look on your face, the gleam of sweat beading on your collarbones. And him, between your legs, impossibly pretty and entirely too smug.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Gojo said softly, mouth hovering so close to your heat you could feel his breath when he spoke. “Say it pretty.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “I want… I want your mouth. I want to come on your tongue.”

His smile turned wicked. “Good girl.”

He dove back in—tongue flat and heavy, dragging from your entrance to your clit in one long, slow stroke that made you cry out. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. Your hand flew to his hair, gripping, tugging, and he groaned into you.

Your thighs trembled.

He started building a rhythm. Slow, then fast. Soft licks, then sudden sucks that made you jump. You were right there—so close, the coil in your belly wound tight, and—

He pulled away again.

You whimpered, hips lifting uselessly. “Satoru—what the fuck—”

He was grinning, chin slick with your arousal. “I said I’d make you cum, sweetheart,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Didn’t say when.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, I need—“

“You need my tongue?” he asked, crawling up to kiss your stomach, your ribs, your breasts. “Need me to fuck you with my mouth? Make you scream into these mirrors?”

You nodded frantically, words gone. Every nerve in your body was on fire.

He took pity on you then.

Gojo kissed down your body again, murmuring praises into your skin—“so good f’me” “such a sweet pussy” “gonna ruin you for anyone else.” He sucked on the inside of your thigh until you gasped, then finally—finally—buried his face between your legs again.

This time, he was relentless.

His tongue moved with intent, swirling over your clit while two fingers slid into you with ease. He curled them just, stroking that spot inside you like he owned it. His lips never left your clit—sucking and flicking and teasing until your back arched, your vision blurred, and you were teetering on the edge again.

“Satoru, I’m gonna—” you choked, legs shaking violently. “I can’t—”

Satoru laughed and pulled back slowly—dragging his tongue over your overstimulated clit one last time just to feel you jolt. You couldnt help but whine.

He looked utterly wrecked. Hair a mess, lips swollen, jaw slick. He wiped his chin and grinned up at you like he’d just conquered a country.

“Think that’s the hardest I’ve ever worked for a tip,” he murmured, crawling up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Let’s see how pretty you look when I fuck you from behind.”

He had you in front of the mirror before you even fully caught your breath.

Your chest was still heaving, thighs slick and shaking, and Gojo—God, Gojo—had this serene, confident look on his face, like none of this was surprising. Like he always knew you’d fall apart for him. He stood behind you now, shirt discarded, hair wild and falling into his eyes, hands skimming over your bare hips as you stared at your reflection.

You looked fucked-out. Gorgeous. Eyes heavy-lidded, lips kissed red, your skin glowing in the low amber light of his private suite.

The room was decadent—full-length mirrors lined the walls, silk sheets tangled across a massive bed. There was the faint scent of cologne and sex in the air. You swallowed as his fingers dipped lower, brushing over the swell of your ass.

“Look at you,” Gojo murmured into your ear, voice low and indulgent. His hand slid up to your chest, fingers playing lazily with one nipple while the other arm wrapped around your waist. “Already ruined and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your knees buckled slightly, but he caught you—of course he did. His grip tightened. He kept you upright as you into the mirror. Both of you.

“I want you to watch,” he whispered. “Want you to see what I see. How pretty you look with your legs spread, begging for it.”

You whimpered when his cock—hard and flushed, already leaking—pressed against your lower back. He was big, intimidating even, but the heat between your legs pulsed with need. You needed him. All of him.

Gojo reached forward to tilt your chin, making sure your eyes stayed locked on the mirror. “Think you can do that for me? Be good and watch while I fuck you?”

You nodded, mouth dry. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he teased, teeth grazing your shoulder.

“Yes, Satoru.”

He hummed in approval. “That’s my girl.”

You watched in the mirror as he guided himself between your legs—his cock thick and heavy, nudging against your entrance. But he didn’t push in. Not yet.

Instead, he reached around you again, sliding one hand between your thighs. His fingers found your clit with ease, already swollen and desperate. He started circling it lazily, deliberately slow, watching your reflection as your hips jerked and your breath hitched.

“Still sensitive?” he murmured, feigning innocence. “But you’re still so wet. Messy little thing.”

You gasped when two of his fingers pushed inside you again, curling just right. He fucked them into you slow, knuckles brushing against your inner walls with maddening precision. You were practically soaking him. Slick sounds filled the room, only half-muffled by your choked moans.

Your head dropped forward, but Gojo’s hand came up again—tilting your chin until your gaze met the mirror once more.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes front. You don’t get to look away.”

His voice made you clench, dizzy with how deeply he was in control of every inch of you.

“Watch how you fall apart on my fingers,” he purred. “See how pretty your pussy looks when she’s begging for my cock?”

Your mouth parted with a soft cry, hips canting forward instinctively. He edged you again—his fingers bringing you right to the brink, just enough to make you tremble, then cruelly pulling back.

“Satoru..—” you whinned.

He chuckled darkly, letting your slick coat his cock now as he lined himself up. “Now, now, don’t cry,” he teased. “You’ll get what you want.”

He pushed in slowly—achingly slowly—and you both groaned in unison.

Your eyes fluttered shut, but his voice came again, sharp and low in your ear: “Open. Them.”

You obeyed. And there it was. You, in the mirror, stretched around his cock. You, bent over for him, lips parted in a perfect O, eyes wide and glassy. You looked wrecked already, and he wasn’t even halfway in.

He bottomed out with a hiss. His hands gripped your hips tight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you feel so fucking good. So warm. So tight.” He drew back, slow, then thrust back in, hips smacking yours. “And all mine for the night.”

He kept it slow at first. Painfully slow. Every roll of his hips designed to make you feel every ridge, every pulse, every stretch. His eyes were locked on your reflection, watching how your body trembled, how your tits bounced with each movement, how your mouth kept falling open like you couldn’t even remember how to speak.

“Look at this,” he groaned, voice wrecked with arousal. “Look how good you take me. Look how messy you are for it.”

His hand gripped your wrists and gently brought them behind your back, securing them with the silk tie from his robe that hung up by him.

Light bondage. Just enough to make your heart pound harder.

You could barely breathe. You were teetering again, so close, your body begging for release, but you knew him now. You knew he wouldn’t make it that easy.

The air was thick—humid with sweat, lust, and the dizzy scent of sex. Silk clung to your thighs, your knees weak, trembling beneath you as Gojo gripped your hips and rolled his into yours with slow, practiced control.

He was fucking you deep—measured, rhythmic thrusts that dragged the head of his cock along that perfect, aching spot inside you. Every time he bottomed out, you could feel his hips press flush to the swell of your ass, his pelvis grinding with just enough friction to make your clit throb.

But he was holding you there—suspended in that unbearable, desperate edge. Teasing you. Keeping you locked tight in place by the silk tie binding your wrists behind your back.

“Satoru—” your voice cracked into a whimper, high and needy, your eyes fluttering up toward the mirror again. You looked ruined. Sweaty, red-cheeked, lips kiss-swollen and parted as you gasped for breath. His cock split you open in slow motion behind you—so wet, so loud, the obscene sounds of him thrusting into your drenched cunt echoed like background music to your humiliation.

But still… he wouldn’t let you fall apart.

You could feel it—all of it—building fast. That pressure curling tighter in your gut, toes curling, legs trembling.

Gojo leaned forward, mouth brushing your ear as he slowed his pace again. His cock dragged out of you just halfway before sinking back in, hard and thick and overwhelming. His fingers moved to your clit, circling soft and slow—just enough to make you burn.

“Fuck, look at you,” Gojo purred against your ear, voice thick with lust and amusement, watching your reflection like it was the most addictive thing he’d ever seen. “You seeing this? How pretty you look stuffed full of my cock?”

His hand pressed against your lower back, forcing a deeper arch, hips slamming forward to seat himself all the way inside. Your bound hands twitched behind you as you tried to brace for him, but there was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide from the stretch, the drag, the pace he was so carefully controlling.

“toru’,” you whimpered, teetering on the edge, your whole body twitching in desperation. “Please—I’m gonna—”

“Nope.” His voice dropped to a near-growl, palm moving from your back to your throat, holding you there gently—but firmly—so your chin tilted back toward the mirror. “Not yet, baby. You’ll come when I say. You wanna come on my cock like a good girl? Then you watch yourself do it.”

His fingers slid down your belly again, teasing over your clit just to make your hips jump—and then away again. No mercy.

You sobbed out a shaky breath, the coil inside you wound so tight it hurt.

“You look fucking perfect like this,” he rasped, biting gently at your shoulder. “Tied up, dripping for me, begging like a mess.”

The praise. The possessiveness in his voice. The fucking mirror.

You watched your body shudder and tremble, your tits bouncing with every thrust, lips parted in a glossy, ruined pout. Your legs quivered as you fought to stay upright. And behind you—Gojo was grinning like sin, hair a mess, cock pistoning into you with a slick grind of hips that had no intention of giving you relief yet.

“You wanna cum?” he murmured, slowing down to an unbearable roll of his hips that made your thighs twitch. “Show me how bad you need it. Rub that pretty clit for me.” He seemed to be mocking your tied up state.

You moaned, wrists straining behind you. “You— you tied me up.”

“I know.” He laughed then licked over your shoulder, breath hot. “Guess that means I’ll have to do it for you.”

And then his hand was there again—stroking circles that made your knees give out, your voice crack, your orgasm just right there.

“Satoru—fuck, please, please—” you gasped, choking on a sob. Your reflection stared back at you, red-eyed and trembling.

He cursed under his breath, hand still moving over your clit, hips picking up again in brutal, perfect rhythm. “Alright, fuck. Cum for me, baby. Right there. Let me feel you squeeze me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

And you did—with a moans muffled into his palm as it slapped over your mouth, your pussy clenching so hard around his cock you swore you saw stars. Your whole body spasmed in his hold, overwhelmed and undone.

But he didn’t stop.

“God damn—so fucking tight when you come,” he hissed against your throat, still fucking you through it. “Bet you could take another. Don’t think I’m done yet.”

Your body twitched, oversensitive—but your hips were already rolling back against him, aching for more.

He chuckled. “Still twitching, sweetheart?” Gojo cooed into your ear, fingers dragging down your spine as your body slumped forward, chest pressed to the mirrored wall, knees weak and trembling from the force of your orgasm. “Thought you were done.”

You gave a soft whimper in response, cheek pressed to the cool glass, slick and heat still dripping between your thighs. You tried to catch your breath, only for his hand to smooth over your ass, cupping it, squeezing it—before he pulled back and smacked.

The sharp sound echoed in the mirrored suite.

You gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively, shocked at the sudden sting.

“Satoru—!”

“Shh,” he whispered against your ear, licking the shell of it. “You’ve been teasing me for as long as i can remember. Letting me look at you in that little skirt in class, saying my name like you don’t know what it does to me.

His hand came down again—slap—this time on the other cheek. You flinched but moaned.

“So I think it’s only fair,” he said, voice all sweet and cruel, “that I get to tease you a little too.”

Another strike, slower this time, more deliberate. He rubbed the pink heat after, thumbs pressing into your flesh, kneading it like he was memorizing the shape of your body. “You sound so pretty when you cry for it. Want me to stop?”

You shook your head quickly, already feeling your core clench again, body betraying you completely.

“Didn’t think so.”

You could see both of you in the mirror—his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you up just enough so you had to look at yourself again. He stood behind you with that same devilish grin, white hair falling into those icy, star-bright eyes, flushed from fucking you through an orgasm and still somehow looking hungry for more.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You swallowed around a moan. “It burns.” You whinnied.

“Good.” Another smack. “Then you’ll remember me when you’re squirming in your little classroom seat tomorrow.” He let go of you. He leaned in again, brushing kisses down your shoulder as his cock throbbed still hard between your legs. But he didn’t go again—not this time. Instead, he slipped his arms around your waist and tugged you into his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

You hesitantly sat up. Your body sore, your ass in pain. Your thighs clenched.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured. “Gotta say, didn’t think I’d be breaking the rules this early in your visit. I usually wait ‘til the third appointment.”

You laughed softly, still breathless. “Guess I’m just special.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped up in silk, mirrors, and Satoru Gojo’s lazy post-fuck praise. But eventually, the time passed, and you had to leave.

He didn’t rush you. Helped you clean up, kissed your forehead with an infuriatingly soft smile, and whispered, “Don’t tell Nanamin, okay?” as he saw you to the door.

You stepped out into the hallway, adjusting your coat, cheeks still flushed and thighs trembling.

You thought you were in the clear. But as you moved past the lounge area toward the exit—

“Hey.”

You froze.

Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with a familiar pair of sleepy, dark eyes and a lazy smirk that tugged at the corner of Choso’s lips.

His tone was casual. Almost teasing.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a place like this.”

You blinked. “Oh— i forgot you work here too.” You chuckled nervously.

He nodded once, expression unreadable. “Uh— Yeah… Satoru convinced me to join.”

There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flutter again.

“Next time,” he said, “you should try a one-on-one with someone else. We all have our specialties.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already walking past, hands tucked in his coat pockets, hair loose down his back, disappearing into the velvet-dark corridor.

You exhaled slowly. This place was going to be the end of you.

But damn if you didn’t want to come back.

AHHH WOW THIS WAS SO SUPER LONG. IM SO SORRY!! BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS THINK IT WAS WORTH IT!

Tags: @marvellover98 @dairyfaerie

Lmk if you want to be tagged!

#nanami kento #geto suguru #gojo satoru #choso kamo #sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #itadoribites

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rafecamerons-national-anthem · 3 months ago

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COOKING NIGHT-DREW STARKEY

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 Drew and Y/N try to cook together, but it turns into a hilarious mess.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was supposed to be a simple, romantic evening.

Drew Starkey had the brilliant idea of skipping takeout for once and cooking dinner together with Y/N. She had jokingly complained the week before about their excessive reliance on Uber Eats, so Drew decided it was time to prove they could do something more domestic.

“Think about it,” he said that morning as they lay in bed. “Good food, great wine, and the satisfaction of making something with our own hands. It’ll be fun!”

Y/N eyed him skeptically. “Do you even know where the pots and pans are?”

“Of course I do!” he retorted, feigning offense. “They are somewhere in the kitchen.”

By late afternoon, they were in the kitchen armed with ingredients for a homemade pasta recipe Drew had found online. He had watched half a cooking tutorial on YouTube earlier and felt ready to tackle the task. Y/N, ever the realist, had a backup plan: frozen pizza in the freezer, just in case.

The first sign of trouble came early.

“Do we really need this much flour?” Y/N asked, frowning as Drew poured what looked like half the bag onto the counter.

“That’s what it said in the video!” Drew replied confidently, rolling up his sleeves.

Y/N glanced at his phone, where the recipe was still open. “Drew, it says two cups of flour. You just dumped, like, five.”

Drew paused, his hands coated in the white powder. “...Well, it’s too late now. We’ll just make extra pasta. More is better, right?”

Y/N shook her head, laughing, but didn’t argue.

Things quickly escalated.

Drew was tasked with kneading the dough, but his enthusiasm for the task sent small clouds of flour into the air. Y/N stood back, arms crossed, watching as he wrestled with the sticky, uneven lump on the counter.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Totally,” Drew said, though the dough clung to his fingers like glue. “This is exactly how Gordon Ramsay does it.”

She couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Sure it is.”

By the time they had something resembling pasta dough, the kitchen looked like a tornado had swept through. There was flour on the counters, on the floor, and somehow on Drew’s forehead.

“Okay,” Y/N said, clapping her hands together. “You handle the pasta; I’ll work on the sauce. How hard can it be?”

Turns out, making sauce wasn’t as straightforward as she thought.

Y/N chopped onions with more enthusiasm than precision, the knife slipping dangerously close to her fingers. Drew hovered nervously beside her.

“Careful! You’re not supposed to hold the knife like that.”

“Oh, and you’re the expert now?” she shot back, throwing a handful of onions into the pan.

The oil in the pan hissed and popped violently, and both of them jumped back.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Drew asked, grabbing a spatula like it was a weapon.

“I think so,” Y/N replied, though her tone was far from confident.

Meanwhile, Drew’s attempt to roll out the pasta was going poorly. The dough clung to the rolling pin, tearing apart no matter how much flour he added.

“This stupid thing won’t cooperate!” he grumbled, shaking the sticky mess.

Y/N turned just in time to see a piece of dough fly through the air and land on the kitchen light fixture.

“Oh my god, Drew!” she exclaimed, doubling over with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” he protested, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. “Okay, maybe it’s a little funny.”

By the time they finally dropped the misshapen noodles into boiling water, the sauce was bubbling ominously on the stove, and the kitchen looked like a crime scene.

When they sat down to eat, the table was set with mismatched plates and the slightly burnt garlic bread Drew had insisted on adding at the last minute.

The pasta...well, it wasn’t perfect. The noodles were uneven, some parts were overcooked, and the sauce was a little too salty. But they were laughing too hard to care.

“This might be the worst pasta I’ve ever had,” Y/N said, giggling as she twirled a lumpy noodle onto her fork.

“Hey! It’s...rustic,” Drew said defensively, though he couldn’t keep a straight face.

“Rustic is a nice way of saying terrible.”

They clinked their glasses of wine together, grinning. “To our first and possibly last attempt at cooking together,” Y/N said.

“To frozen pizza as a backup plan,” Drew added, pulling the box out of the freezer with a flourish.

As they sat on the couch later, eating perfectly crisp pizza and watching a movie, Drew glanced over at Y/N.

“Okay, maybe we’re not gourmet chefs,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t all bad, right?”

She smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Not bad at all. Definitely the most fun I’ve had ruining dinner.”

Drew chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Next time, we’ll just stick to sandwiches.”

And despite the mess, the chaos, and the slightly singed garlic bread, it was a night they’d both remember for years to come.

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drewstarkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey fic #drew starkey x reader

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sommerregenjuniluft · 1 year ago

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@rosekillermicrofic may 4 — hopeless — 1233words — cw: mildly pervy and sexual thoughts, nothing explicit though

no thoughts, just line cook! barty

A miracle.

The gods have heard Barty’s wishes and granted him this blessing.

Evan usually gets set up for dealing with the bar or counter but on rare occasions his lovely name gets jotted down in the column of servers/busboys. Today is one of those fateful occurrences which means Barty has at least 30% longer time windows of flirting his jolly ass off and burning food he’s not paying attention to curtsy of Evan’s slutty narrow hips in those damn aprons. Obscene things, those are.

Barty is currently staring at them as he blindly flips the burger patties one after the other, the stove sizzling animatedly. Barty is pretty sure he hasn’t blinked once since Evan has entered the kitchen again a minute ago to help sort dishes.

“So how’s your day been so far, Evan darling?”

“No,” comes back immediately. Not even a look thrown over his shoulder.

Barty’s grin widens. He puts more meat on the stove.

“Aw, c’mon. People been scant with tips already or what?”

Evan doesn’t reply, instead ripping off the notes from his pad and wordlessly striding over to Barty’s station, pinning them up.

Two of today’s specials, one cheesesteak and one portion of chicken for a caesar salad. And a little dick scribbled in the bottom corner.

“More people coming in than usual. Get a move on,” Evan says before briskly walking off again. Barty just so manages to get a whiff of spicy deodorant and whatever shea butter coconut extract beauty shit Evan uses for his curls before he’s gone again.

Barty sighs, looking after his pert little ass and long legs all the way until he’s around the corner. Then he readjusts his grip on the spatula and finally picks the patties off the grill, calling for Lily to collect them and assemble.

“They’re burnt,” she hisses, punching him in the arm with vigor. It hurts but Barty is too busy thinking about what type of underwear Evan might be wearing today. “Stop getting distracted by Rosier and do your damn job, chef.”

Barty hums, “What you think it’ll take to trick Evan into following me into the freezer room?”

Another hit. The same exact spot and Barty can’t help but hiss in pain this time.

Lily simply shakes her head, muttering Hopeless as she leaves.

Rush hour comes and goes.

Barty doesn’t let himself be bothered by the frenzy of it, bobbing his head to his playlist jamming over the old, staticy speakers while servers bustle around him like worker bees.

It’s meditative to him in a way and usually he sort of snaps out of it once it all calms down.

It’s when Evan asks him for leftover containers that Barty is brought back down to earth today.

The other boy is flushed in the face, slightly sweaty and hair messy with what can only be described as the final quarter of an eight hour shift look. It looks unfairly sexy on him.

The take out containers are in the cupboard over Barty’s head to his left side which he made sure to push all the way back during his break earlier.

“Yeah, they’re right here,” Barty says, nodding to the shelf.

“Grab two for me?”

Barty turns back to his meat again, teeth digging into his lower lip, grin straining his cheeks. “Nope.”

There’s nothing for a few seconds, only the background noise of the restaurant, the sizzling oil and Barty’s music.

When he turns again Evan is standing in the middle of the kitchen, rooted to the spot, blinking at Barty once. “‘No’?”

Barty hums, “Yeah, ’m pretty busy right now in case you can’t tell.” He shuffles a strip of bacon around as if to prove his point.

Evan’s eyes narrow, lips twisting into an obscene little pout, “You just have to lift your arm!”

“Sorry, no can do, Rosie baby.”

“You-” Evan huffs, “Hand me the fucking boxes, Crouch.”

“Can’t,” he replies airily, shrugging. “They’re pretty high up, too,” a hum, “I might not even be tall enough. I think you’ll have to walk your devilishly tall ass over here and grab them yourself.”

“Branleur,” Evan spits before reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His amber eyes glower dangerously at Barty and he has to suppress a deeply satisfactory hum, gut tightening and blood thrumming.

Evan yanks at the handle, opening it up to the ceiling before stretching up on his tiptoes to peer into it. He lets out a grumble, presumably at finding the containers to, in fact, be there but pushed all the way to the wall.

He’s only taller than Barty by a bit, an inch or two, maybe three, which means he’s struggling to reach the boxes too.

And it’s glorious and heavenly and so very tempting because Evan’s shirt is riding up in the back and, oh god, he has dimples there. Fuck, Evan has back dimples and they’re approximately half an armslength from Barty’s twitching fingers and it really requires visceral effort not to reach out and dig the pads of his thumbs into them. Push and maybe fold Evan right in half over the counter all together. Lick along his spine and bite into his hip bones, the smooth skin of his stomach, nibble at that one little mole right next to his navel that Barty was once fortunate enough to make acquaintance with and has since rubbed one out to more times than he could count.

When the other boy lifts back down he catches him staring, their eyes snapping to each other instantly.

“Don’t be a perv,” Evan comments, giving Barty a derogative once over and christ, no, don’t do that.

Barty laves his tongue along the corner of his own mouth, collecting spit that was threatening to drool, and uses a quick hand to adjust himself in his jeans.

Evan’s eyes follow his movement, arms crossing in front of his chest and a heavy breath punches out of Barty. He can’t help it, his mind is a powerpoint of all the different things he wants to do to Evan to make him lose this put-on condescending demeanor. Glimpses of the prettiest pair of eyes rolling back, eyebrows scrunching pitifully as Barty sinks into deliciously tight heat.

He desperately needs to get Evan alone with him. “Wanna smoke a blunt with me after closing?” he blurts.

And then Evan suddenly smiles. A downright cute little thing, all coy and syrupy sweet, poisonously candid. So viscous saccharine Barty feels it immobilize him like a glue trap and he groans in anticipation of the fatal blow Evan is about to deliver.

“Sorry, B,” he murmurs innocently, clicking his head, “no can do.”

It glides over Evan’s lips all strained and faux and with the most erotic little pitch Barty’s ears have ever heard.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his semi straining so heavily against the denim it would surely be visible without his own apron.

From one moment to the next Evan’s smile falls, having fulfilled its purpose, and he gives one last snootily look before he whirls on his heels and marches away, takeout containers in hand.

Just over to the other end of the kitchen where he bends down to grab some cutlery with which he will scrape the leftovers from the plate into the aluminum containers.

Doing so, Evan’s shirt rides up again, his ass jutting out and Barty vaguely registers the smell of burnt pork as he commits the muscle shift of Evan’s thighs and back into his memory for later.

#RAHR HE’S SO DISGUSTING I NEED EVAN TO SQUISH HIM UP AND PRESS HIM TO THE HOT GRILL LIKE ONE OF THE MEAT PATTIES!!!!!#rosekiller microfic #rosekiller #rosekiller fic #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #line cook barty agenda #<- will make more of this hopefully #they’ve been plaguing my mind for a WHILE i’m happy i finally wrote smth about them #evan rosier x barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr x evan rosier #lune’s tiny fic

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r4fe-cam3ron · 29 days ago

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♫ when you call, i’ll forgive & not fight

w; *i haven’t finished OBX — on season two*, slight ooc!jj for that reason!, mentions of arguing, r feels like jj is stringing them along, lower case intended, i also try not to use any pronouns but sometimes i do accidentally slip — be cautious! an; i want to start spreading more out for writing obx characters, so ill start with jj — slightly nervous but ill try my best 💔 also supercut reminds me of him and i don’t know why.

seeing kiara slightly angers you when she steps into the bathroom, eyes cutting over towards her before looking away quickly.

she says your name, desperate, pleading, and a small part of you is waiting to talk to her, listen to what she has to say.

but instead of doing that, you shake your head and walk past her and towards the doors that lead outside.

people are finally clearing the schools parking lot, a small breath releasing from your lips, thankful for just that. you knew you couldn’t wait another minute in the bathroom with the girl who you thought was your best friend and understood your feelings.

it’s strange how wrong you could be about someone.

the walk home isn’t to far from the school, luckily. though walking in the sweltering heat, it feels as if it was a longer walk than usual.

your sweating by the time you enter the trailer, quickly locking the door back and shutting the door behind yourself, pushing your hair back.

it’s quiet, void of any life at the moment. your mom taking extra shifts at the diner during the afternoon and then an job at the gas station during night just to make ends meet.

the lights are off, except for the ac that blasts cool air that has goosebumps pricking your skin slightly. making your way down the hallway, you’re quick to find some bikini bottoms and a top to match.

slipping on some shorts, you grab a bag from your closet and make your way into the bathroom to grab some sunscreen and a towel before making your way into the kitchen to grab anything else you may need.

laying out in the sun might help, then a long, long shower. your head peeks around the freezer when you hear the landline phone ringing. pursing your lips, you drop your bag onto the counter making your way towards the phone.

it might’ve been your mom anyway.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

wrong. jj.

“yeah, well, take the hint, maybank.” he’s saying something you don’t even hear, hanging up before anything else is said.

screw him for stringing you along.

screw kiara for allowing it to happen.

they’re only upset because they got caught. grabbing the bag from the counter, you make your way towards the front door, slipping on the flip-flops that rest near the door.

the phone ringing again makes you pause at the door, eyes drifting back to where the phone sits. shaking your head, you step outside and slam the door behind yourself.

you don’t have to listen to him or his excuses.

laying out, your eyes close as the sun bares down on your face. hopefully this will help.

—

your teeth clench together as soon as the cold water hits your burnt skin. safe to say — it did not help.

your absolutely done for, tears forming in your eyes from just the slightest bit of touch. you didn’t even mean to fall asleep while outside, you’d just been so tired.

slipping on an oversized shirt was no fun either. sucking in a breath, you finish putting on some shorts before making your way towards the kitchen again, opening the freezer and pulling out the aloe, hoping it’ll soothe it more.

there’s a knocking at your door that has you frowning, eyes drifting back and forth between your — hopeful — soothing aloe and the door.

letting out a small huff, you make your way over and open the door. you frown when you see the last person you really didn’t want to see at the moment.

“go away, jj.” before you could shut the door all the way, he’s sticking his boot into the entry way, frowning at the redness with a small quirk at the corner of his lips.

“what, did you fall asleep out here?” you stay silent and he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. he pushes the door open and slips inside.

“jj, i don’t want—”

“i just want to help you put some of this on,” he grabs the cold aloe, shaking it a bit as he leans against the counter. “then i’ll get out of your hair.”

it would be hard reaching your back. “just that then you leave,” he nods and switches his hat around, the bill of the cap behind his head now. you shut the door and make your way over. “and no talking. i don’t feel like talking right now — especially to you.”

“no talking.” he repeats with a small nod.

once you stand in front of him, he opens the cap, glancing back up as your eyes close slowly. he smiles a bit, squeezing some out before smoothing it over your blistered cheeks.

you wince, almost pulling your head back, but he’s quick to hold the back of your head with his free hand. “sorry.” he mutters.

jj maybank could not not talk to save himself.

you remain still as his fingers continue to glide over your nose, counting the freckles that had darkened under the sun.

“i need to get your back.”

opening your eyes, you stare at him quietly before sighing as you nod. making you way over towards the worn couch, you sit cross-legged while jj plops down behind you.

with the pinky that hadn’t been drenched in the cold gel, he hooks it under the hem of the oversized shirt and pulls it up, careful and avoiding any burnt skin.

your hand grips the hem, holding it. a glop of aloe drops into his hand and, very gently, gets smeared over your back.

“it’s not what you thought, you know,” ten minutes, a record for jj maybank. “kiara and i.”

you want to stay silent, and you do, but only for a moment before finally speaking. “i don’t care anymore.”

his hands drag over your shoulders and your back straightens. “but you do care. or you wouldn’t be ignoring us.”

“well, maybe i’m ignoring you both because i wanted you to figure it out yourselves,” you shrug. “you can’t just tell someone you feel the same and then make them think something is going to happen between them,”

you stand, deciding the feel of jj’s hands was too much for you. dropping the shirt, the back immediately sticking to your skin, you grab the bottle that he’d placed on the floor.

“i think you should just go.”

“you can’t keep shutting me out and expecting everything to go the way you want it too,” he stands from the couch, following behind you. your jaw clenches. “or expect me to just go along with it so you can get your way.”

“it’s the right thing—”

“i love you!” you pause and gulp slightly. “and if you think i’m going to just give in and listen to you when you tell me to leave you alone, you’re wrong,”

slowly, hesitant, you turn and glance at him. he's staring at you with soft eyes and small frown with furrowed brows. you remember the first time seeing him make that face — first grade.

“i know they say if you love someone, to…to let them go or whatever they mean,” he waves his hand dismissively in the air. “or maybe it’s…” he stops and shakes his head.

“whatever,” he mutters to himself, stepping closer. “i can’t do that. i can’t let you go. if i don’t try to let you know how much i love you, it’ll eat at me until im dead,”

“what you saw, the other night, was nothing. i was telling kiara about you and what i wanted to say and you walked in right when i said—"

“…that you…” would never let anything happen. that what he felt was probably something he’d never feel again with someone. cheeks flushing, you shake your head and let out a scoff as you drop your head bashful. “oh my god. oh my— j, i’m so sorry. i didn’t…”

letting out a huff, your eyes cut up to him to see a small smile playing at his lips. “i’m sorry. i just always thought that, maybe, there was something between…” you trail off, pursing your lips.

“between kie and me?” he tilts his head. you nod. he steps a bit closer. “you thought wrong. i love kie,” he nods.

you glance up when you notice how much closer he is. his fingers brush yours that rest on the counter. “but not in the way that i love you,” he shakes his head. “plus, she has pope chasing after her.” he smirks.

you let out a small laugh, nodding. “i’m sorry.”

“you said that already,” his hand lifts and tucks some hair behind your ear that sticks to your skin. “there’s one thing you haven’t said though that i’ve said…about five times? maybe ten. who’s counting.”

“i counted,” you smile up at him. “it was three. you like to over exaggerate. but,” his thumb brushes along your heated skin.

“i love you.”

he smiles, catching your lips with his as gently as he could. his hands cradle your face, mindful of your burn. your hands move to cradle the back of his head, threading your fingers through his dusty blonde strands.

pulling away an inch, your eyes open for a moment to look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“i love you.” you whisper against his lips.

“i love you. and your stubbornness.” before you could say anything, he’s surging forward again, connecting your lips once more.

mind melting, any comeback slips from your mind.

#𝜗𝜚 cherry’s posting #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n

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makeitmingi · 1 year ago

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The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 18]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.3K

"Hwa hwa, you know I love you the most, right?" You threw your arms around the male, hugging him with a sweetest grin that you could muster. Seonghwa raised an eyebrow as he stared at you, more like glared at you.

"Yeah right. The only time (y/n) tells Seonghwa hyung she loves him is to get out of trouble." Jongho snorted.

"Shut up, Jongho." You hissed.

"Be nice." Seonghwa hit the back of your head, making you sulk. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your waist to back hug you.

"Woo~" You squirmed. Seonghwa sighed, stroking your head. He knew that you already knew what he was going to say.

"Are you tired?" He asked.

"Not at all. It was nice and relaxing. I needed this, to keep myelf busy." You looked up at him. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho knew what you meant.

"Plus, Yunho is good company." You added. All 3 boys looked up at Yunho, who was just standing there, trying to eavesdrop and watch what was happening without being noticed. He blinked when he realised that all the stared were at him. Embarrassed that they knew he was there, he cleared his throat.

"He made sure I sat down to rest after. And you! You're interfering with my coffee drinking! Even made sweet innocent Yunho turn against me." You raised a hand to hit Seonghwa.

"I-I made her a h-hot chocolate." Yunho confirmed, a little flustered to hear you call him 'sweet' and 'innocent'.

"Good. Now let's get to work." Seonghwa said, patting your head and completely ignoring you.

"I only need to fill my pasta. I'm letting my galbi and broth simmer for as long as I can let it. My garnishes and toppings are prepared." You told them.

"I'll start on apps with you?" Jongho offered. You nodded, about to walk when you noticed Wooyoung still latched to your waist.

"Wooyoung! Let me go." You patted his back. He puckered his lips in a pout before he unwillingly let you go.

You wore your apron again and went to wash your knife. This night was slightly different. With everyone working on their own dish, there wasn't a clear sous, prep or head chef. All of you just split the shared tasks while working on your own.

"Oh, wait. Let me check on the ice cream." You put your knife down and went to churners to check the consistency of the ice cream. Once they were done, you put them in the freezer.

"What's for dessert?" Yunho asked.

"That was smoked milk and vanilla ice cream. We're serving that with red bean jelly cubes, pieces of injeolmi rice cake and an almond tuile."

"Like flavours of patbingsoo but elevated." Seonghwa informed. You nodded in confirmation.

"For Western dessert, we're doing a burnt white chocolate panna cotta with raspberry swirl meringues, a passionfruit coolis and fresh mango cubes over." Jongho added.

"That sounds really nice. But burnt white chocolate?" Yunho leaned forward on his hands.

"Well, not burnt. More caramelised. White chocolate on its own is very sweet. But cook it until it becomes brown and caramelised, the flavour is a lot better and easier to balance." Wooyoung explained. Yunho nodded in interest. You continued working on the appetisers with Jongho.

"Hweh crudo. Take the marinated fish slices and roll it up with pea shoots, scallions and shredded perilla leaf. Minari (Water dropwort) jeon." You listed.

"We need to prep gujeolpan (plate with small wraps and 9 delicacy toppings)." Jongho reminded.

"Right. Then the confit tomatoes with pickles." You checked.

"I'll do the roasted eggplant with black olive doenjang and ponzu. Almost done here." Wooyoung voiced out as he worked on his dish at his bench. The door opened, the others entering.

"We're here early to help!" San declared loudly with his arms raised. Hongjoong and Yeosang shushed him.

"You can help us with the appetisers. Get aprons and wash your hands." You said.

The 4 main kitchen crew took turns. After Seonghwa and Wooyoung stepped in to guide those that didn't know their way around the kitchen, you and Jongho could work on your mains.

"Yunho, want to help me with my pasta?" You asked. Yunho's head shot up, looking for where you were in the kitchen before leaving Mingi and his task to go to you. He smiled excitedly as he bounded over like a puppy.

"So we need to shred the meat for the pasta. This is the galbi. Take two forks and pull them apart." You demonstrated.

"I can do that! And that smells so good." He pointed to the galbi. Grabbing a tasting spoon, you let him indulge in a bite. But soon, you had others around.

"Hey!" Yunho protested as you fed San, Mingi, Yeosang and Hongjoong too.

"Alright, get back to work." He scolded them. You stayed beside Yunho, rolling out the pasta dough.

"You don't need to shred every single piece entirely. You can leave them in different size pieces." You told Yunho. He nodded with a hum, sneaking a bite before continuing.

"Stop stealing the food." You scolded him with a laugh. Yunho grinned cheekily.

"I want to do Yunho's job too." Hongjoong whined.

"No! It's my job." Yunho barked back. He liked working with you, like your personal sous chef. Yunho watched you measured the dough with a ruler and cut it. You took bites of meat that Yunho had already shredded and placed it in the middle before closing it, joining the ends together.

"Ooh, can I try?" Yunho asked with sparkling eyes. You nodded and Yunho put the forks down temporarily for you to slowly demonstrate how to fold the pasta dough.

"Not too much filling or it'll burst." You advised.

"Yeah, just like that. Press the two ends." You leaned over to see Yunho's one.

"I'll finish up here and continue that." He smiled proudly, putting it aside before finishing his previous job of shredding the meat. Once he was done, he helped you fold the pasta.

"I'm not as fast as you." He pouted.

"You just started. I would already say you're already doing a great job." You smiled.

"Thank you." Yunho blushed from your compliment. He continued to make the pasta with you. You momentarily stepped away to check the seolleongtang broth that was bubbling away on the stove, giving it a taste to make sure it was getting there.

"How is it?" Yunho asked when you stepped back into your original spot. You looked up at him and nodded, telling him how the progress of the stock has been.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, there were a few sets of eyes staring at the two of you chat in your little corner. It was like you were in your own bubble, smiling as you chatted and made the pasta together.

"That's cute." Wooyoung noted. Yeosang nodded in agreement. Hongjoong let out an affectionate chuckle.

"They're in their own world over there." San chuckled.

"They're just talking, how is that cute?" Mingi blinked, completely missing what everyone was talking about. Hongjoong patted Mingi's shoulder sympathetically.

"It's okay not to get it, Mingi ah." Hongjoong chuckled. Seonghwa stared for a second, unknowingly clenching his jaw.

"Seonghwa hyung?" Jongho called out, breaking his brain fog. The look Jongho cast him, Seonghwa knew he had been caught spiralling in his brain. He was reminding the elder that he wasn't alone in the room. Clearing his throat, Seonghwa focussed on the cutting baord in the front of him.

"We're done here. Anyone need help on anything?" You came back to the center of the kitchen where everyone was still working.

"Appetisers are almost done. Do you want to start the dessert components with me?" Seonghwa asked you in a gentle voice. You nodded your head.

"Let's get the panna cottas in the fridge to set." You both went to get the ingredients from the walk in and pantry.

"Thanks for all the help, guys. But if you need to go prepare the front for tonight. Just go ahead, we've got it handled." You said to the 5.

"We should bring in the washed plates for tonight." Yeosang said. He and San went out to bring the plates in for the kitchen crew to use to plate the food on.

"Who is working the pass tonight?" You asked.

"I can be the main. But we'll have to rotate from time to time." Wooyoung volunteered.

"Sure. Just tap out when you need someone to take over." Seonghwa and Jongho agreed. With a small crew, this was how you had to make things work. You couldn't afford to have one person just at one station the whole night.

Soon, the crew that works the front of the restaurant all were busy trying to set up for the night, leaving only a few in the ktichen to work with your kitchen crew.

"Actually, Mingi. I would love to speak with your mother about cooking eels, preparing and procuring them." You said.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to share that knowledge with you, (y/n). She loves talking about food." He chuckled.

"Maybe she can give me her eel supplier. I would love to explore it as an ingredient more. Surprisingly, I have not been that exposed to working with it." You sighed.

"My mum's the right person to go to then. I should bring you to the restaurant one day." He replied.

"I'd love that." You had a small smile on your face.

"Let's cook the staff meal first. I have feeling we might end later than we usually do and we'll be too tired to cook for ourselves then." Seonghwa suggested. You checked the clock, about to decide what to whip up quickly for everyone but San and Mingi came over, volunteering to cook.

"You guys are busy enough. We'll take over and cook something up." San smiled.

"Thanks, guys." You, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho were very grateful that they stepped up and volunteered. San and Mingi were the best cooks out of the 5 so you weren't too worried.

"Shall we make curry rice?" Mingi suggested, holding the cubes of Korean curry up.

"I know how to make that." San laughed. The two began chopping vegetables, adding whatever meat they could find.

"Is anyone using these?" San came out of the walk in with a few packs of chicken thighs and sliced pork belly in his hands. You all shook your heads.

"I'll cook the rice. You start slicing the meat." Mingi instructed and went to get the rice cooker. The 4 of you made sure to be around them in case the two needed help. But San and Mingi were confident, they didn't want to ask for help.

"Mingi, sorry. Just a few minutes. Yunho needs another tall person to help." Hongjoong poked his head into the kitchen.

"Coming." Mingi went out.

"Hi, (y/n)ie." San smiled when you moved opposite him to check on the pasta that you made with Yunho earlier. You chuckled at the casual way he called you.

"Hi, Sannie." You returned the greeting. San looked up in surprise but smiled nonetheless, his dimple popping through.

"So are you excited for your parents to come tonight?" You asked him. He nodded.

"My parents live rather far in the countryside but when they visit, it is always a treat. I hope my older sister comes too. I miss all of them." San said.

"They must be really nice."

"They are. They treat everyone like their family." He laughed. You wondered what it must be like to have such a warm, welcoming family. Maybe your family would have been like that if your mother was still around. But even then, your father was someone that never liked you and your mother to be too friendly to others.

"(y/n)." Seonghwa called you. You looked up to see Seonghwa nodding over to where he was. Shooting San a small smile, you went over to him.

"Okay?" He whispered as you stood beside him. You let out a small hum, helping him with the dessert.

After a quick dinner, the kitchen was bustling for dinner service. You knew the parents came when the boys were all greeting them loudly and excitedly in the dining room.

"Hey." Yunho came in with all the parents behind him. You all stood up, bowing respectfully. He introduced whose parents were whose and the family members. Yunho's younger brother looked like him.

"Please, don't let us bother you. Or interrupt your flow." Mrs Song chuckled, waving a hand. She knew what it was like working in the kitchen, owning her own restaurant. You all returend to your food prep tasks.

"I'm Wooyoung. That's Seonghwa hyung, Jongho and (y/n)." Wooyoung, who was the closest, introduced all of you.

"(y/n). The head." Even if you were not looking at them, you felt all eyes fall on you. Jongho nodded at you, assuring that he could handle it. You straightened up and walked over.

"Nice to meet you." You bowed to them.

"Omo. You're so pretty." All the mothers flocked to you, cooing at you affectionately. You grew flustered, unsure of what to do or how to react.

"Okay, ommas. Let's give her some space." Yunho cut in, separating them from you. The fathers merely chuckled, shaking their heads while the mothers scolded Yunho.

"How talented you are. I heard you've been in many reputable kitchens at your age." Mrs Jeong said sweetly, holding your hand.

"Ah, no... It's all just for experience. I'm thankful for all the opportunities given to me." You gave an awkward smile. Yunho cleared his throat and his mother pulled away, shooting her son a look. You bowed your head and went back to help, not wanting to leave the others on their own for long.

"Alright, we shall let them get back to work. Let's go back out." Yunho ushered all of them out of the kitchen. He let a sigh, hoping his mother didn't scare you too much.

"What happened?" Mingi asked.

"Our mothers were smothering (y/n)." Yunho rolled his eyes as the parents took their seats.

"Hyung, (y/n) and those guys are so talented. Why would they want to work for you?" Gunho asked. Yunho shot his younger brother a flat look while Mr Jeong nudged his youngest son.

"Because I am an amazing boss, okay?" Yunho scoffed.

"Mmm, sure." Yeosang coughed. Hongjoong handed out the menus to the parents for them to see what they would like to order.

"Omma, order (y/n)'s dish. I helped make it." Yunho leaned over, pointing to which dish you made on the menu. Mrs Jeong nodded with a hum.

"Hyung helped make it? I'm so not going to order it." Gunho shook his head. Mingi snickered, reaching over to hi-five him. Yunho threatened to hit them. But in the presence of other customers, he wasn't going to.

"Order coming in for the VIP tables." Wooyoung warned as he started to read off the order slips that were coming through.

"Let's go." You all began to work on the appetisers together that would be served first. Wooyoung, at the pass, would finish up with sauces and garnishes before sending the plate out to be served.

"Service." Wooyoung put the plates out for the other boys to bring out to the table.

"Let's start getting ready for mains so we can fire once they are done with apps. In case we need to float." You said to everyone.

"How is it going in here?" Yunho came into the kitchen. You were straining your seolleongtang stock, getting it ready to plate the mains later.

"How are the appetisers?" Seonghwa asked, setting up his oven smoker with the tea leaves for his duck.

"Oh, they love it. Every single dish, I had to stop them from ordering seconds before the mains. But at least they're all excited for the mains now." Yunho grinned proudly. When you were done, you helped Jongho with setting up his binchotan grill for the cod fillets. Yunho came over to you.

"Need help?"

"No, we're good here. You should go out and be with your parents. In case they need anything." You put a hand on his arm. Yunho pouted but nodded, obediently leaving the kitchen.

"We can start firing the mains." Wooyoung said, having observed the dining room from his position at the pass.

"Gunho looks like Yunho. A younger version." You chuckled as you took the pasta out of the boiling water. You missed the odd look that your friends shot you.

"Cuter?" Jongho asked, wanting to add fuel to the fire.

"Maybe." You shrugged.

"What?!" The door burst open and Yunho yelled in disbelief, making you all jump in shock. Hongjoong, who was outside, bowed in apology to the surprised customers before hurriedly pushing Yunho in the kitchen.

"Geez, Yunho! There are customers! You can't just suddenly yell like that." He scolded in a hiss before exiting to return to the dining room.

"Yunho, don't do that. You're disrupting customers and it's not safe where we're working with knives here." You frowned.

"Wait, do you seriously think Gunho is cuter than me?" Yunho planted his hand on the counter, blocking your way with his body. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho snickered.

"Does it matter? Now, I need to plate my dish." You said, walking around him to go to the plates.

"Yes, it matters to me!" Yunho threw a tantrum, stomping his food as he whined.

"(y/n)~" He whined when he realised that you were ignoring him. You plated each pasta on each plate, making sure the positions of each pasta was accurate and similar. He leaned down in front of you.

"(y/n), tell me I'm cuter than Gunho." He said. You rolled your eyes, patting his head to pacify him then walking to get the seolleongtang into a jug so you could pour it over the pasta. Yunho sulked, following you around like a puppy with separation anxiety. You poured the broth over, garnishing with two oils.

"Pass me the egg garnish." You instructed. Yunho sighed but handed the containers for you to put the garnishes over.

"Bring these out for service, will you?" You told him and went to prepare the other portions. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho called the others for service too.

"Yah. Don't just stand there. Keep moving." Mingi clicked his tongue as he carried the dishes in his hands.

"We might have a little lull time before dessets." Wooyoung said.

"(y/n). Tell me I'm better than Gunho." Yunho came in again, still pushing his agenda. You raised an eyebrow at him. He was seriously a pouty puppy.

"I don't know Gunho well enough to know if you're truly better than him. That's biased." You pointed out.

"True." San, who overheard, voiced in agreement. Yunho whipped around, glaring at San.

"Get out." He pointed at the door. San scoffed and rolled his eyes before going out. Turning back around, Yunho saw that you had slipped away. You were still doing the few orders for mains and appetisers that came in.

"Service." You handed the plates to Wooyoung. Yeosang came in to take them out to the dining room. Seonghwa and Jongho also served what they finished working on. Yunho brought them out.

"Let's take 5." Seonghwa suggested. You stepped out the back door for a breather. Yunho came back to find you missing.

"I'm just taking a breather, Yunho." You said when he stepped out of the back door.

"I know." He said, taking a seat beside you on the stoop. With his body practically brushing against yours, you didn't move away uncomfortably. You sat there in silence.

"Why were you so adament on me thinking you're better than Gunho? It doesn't matter what I think." You asked with a chuckle.

"No, it matters to me." Yunho said firmly.

"Why?"

"Because you can't like Gunho. I want to be the only one that you like." He frowned.

Series masterlist

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bk-179 · 2 months ago

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@projectmoonlightproductions dude that line you wrote, “forcing yourself to live to prove that you deserve your sentience” in relation to gingerbrave? has stuck with me for DAYS. In the best way, but still.

Gingerbrave does love living in the real world, and having friends and jellies and sunlight and snow and being surrounded by a living, breathing warren, but I feel like she wouldn’t truly be able to ENJOY or otherwise be comfortable in it for a long time because living, like almost everything else important to her so far, is a duty. It’s a duty because not only does he know that he was made to be eaten, but that she was one of a group.

For me, part of the horror of Gingerbrave’s situation is that he wasn’t (at least superficially) special. Her ENTIRE KIND was made to be prey. Her entire species is subjugated and rendered carnage for no reason other than the vices and cruelties imposed on them by a godly figure.

I feel like Gingerbrave would know on a certain level, in a certain part of his brain, that those cookies in that oven and on those plates were meant to be living, breathing kids. Kids like him. Kids that should be playing animal jam and going to school and eating slightly freezer-burnt chicken tenders and singing and laughing and running and living. What makes Gingerbrave different from all the cookies left behind on that oven tray?

I’m imagining gingerbrave, once they’re leading a “normal” life, throwing herself into everything. Trying to be the best and happiest and experience everything, with the underlying message in her brain playing “you need to live for them. They never got and never will get this; if you waste this chance in any way, you’re letting down every single one of those killed children.”

before he can get to the “living as a rebellion” mindset which is like. Infinitely more healthy in the long term, gingerbrave needs to get over the “living as a duty” thing I gave her. Btw he’s like, 12-is at this point in my personal timeline lolz. Womp womp. But uhhhh yeah!

#Kinda projected on gingerbrave a TINY bit maybe. Perhaps.#Being disabled and POC queer and trans in a US territory right now has been such a weird experience for me.#Cuz like #im generally safe. I can be all of these things and not be scared of like. Getting subjugated or discriminated against or killed #But I’m watching the mainland from the outside #I’m seeing these new policies and agendas and trump administration and everything #And I’m so scared everyday for people like me that are stuck in the states and living under this fear #Fear that you will be hated or harmed or fuck even KILLED #that you can’t play your favorite sports or dress how you like or got to school safely #Just #yeah. I’m probably being a bit dramatic #and Gingerbrave’s situation is MUCH different than this one. It’s obviously not the same #But the feeling of needing to live as queer or trans or any other group because there are people just like you who will never get to #Live as freely and unabashedly as you have the chance to #Yeah that’s kinda wha5 I’m trying to explore with gingerbrave I guess #really sorry for the tag vomit lol please just ignore this if you’re not up to it #cookie run ovenbreak #gingerbrave #crob #art #my art #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk

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queer-irritator · 9 months ago

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Drive Max Disaster | Wade Wilson x Fem!GN! Reader

Content warnings: Language, misgendering, alcohol, fluff <3 <3 Word count: 3,479

Synopsis: Reader is weighed down by the cost of living and needs to find a second job. Luckily, the Drive Max has an opening for an assistant!

a/n: Hello lovelies! I have so many ideas for Wade/Deadpool swirling around in my head, so here is one of said ideas. Of course I did not proofread. This is also my first time writing Wade so let me know your thoughts!!

You sighed in frustration, looking helplessly at your overdue bills on your laptop. Despite working 50 hour weeks, it’s somehow not enough to satisfy the greedy hands of capitalism. You needed a second job. To spare your pride from any more damage, you close the tab where your debt stares into your soul and start looking for some easy-going jobs.

To your disappointment, there were not very many options for part-time jobs. You applied to a few assistant and receptionist positions and decided to treat yourself to a freezer burnt fudge popsicle for all your hard work.

The next morning you were awoken by your phone’s ringtone. You groaned, of course someone would be calling you on your one day off. Without checking the caller ID, you answered groggily.

Your eyes shot open when you heard a man on the other line mention your application for an assistant at the local used car dealership. You sat up and put on your best professional voice and secured an interview the same day.

It wasn’t long until you were stepping out of a taxi in front of the dealership, wearing your nicest business-casual clothes and confidently walking into the building.

An older man who was balding, and what hair was left around his head was pure white, with a matching white mustache approached you.

“Welcome to Drive Max! My name is Cameron, can I get you some refreshments?”

You put on your sweetest smile, “Hi, Cameron. I’m actually here for an interview for the assistant position.”

“Oh, of course! Silly me. I’m going to fetch Peter, our manager and he’ll be conducting your interview.” The man concluded your conversation while showing you to a small office to wait in.

You waited for about 15 minutes before a man, presumably Peter, entered the room looking slightly flustered.

“Hi, sorry about the wait.” The man rambled on about how business was booming and some other bullshit to make his establishment seem like the perfect place to work.

The interview was nothing different than any other than the management seeming more flustered and desperate for help than usual. You did some negotiation with Peter and came to an agreement which included a $3,000 sign-on bonus if you did your paperwork today.

So, there you were. Sat alone in the office Peter was with you moments ago, filling out the most repetitive paperwork you’ve ever read.

A commotion from the front room tore your concentration from the papers before you. You lifted your head and could see a few figures moving around through the blinds.There was also muffled talking, but you couldn’t make out any words.

Suddenly the talking stopped and one of the figures was coming towards the room you were in. Quickly, you sat back down and acted as if you had been minding your own business the entire time. The door to the office swung open and a man with scarred skin and a very obvious toupee made direct eye contact with you.

“You’re the new assistant?” He questioned you.

“... Yes.” You cautiously answered his question.

The man moaned dramatically in relief, “Thank GOD. We have to go get burritos right now.”

You couldn’t hold back the puzzled look on your face, “Oh, uhm… I don’t think… I haven’t started working here yet.”

The man chuckled, “For 3k you do.”

You couldn’t help your jaw dropping slightly. How did this man know all of the details of your employment? Maybe he was the owner…

“Yes, sir.” You put your pen down and followed the man through to lobby.

He attempted to whisper to Peter, but he didn’t lower the volume of his voice at all, “I like this one.”

You couldn’t begin to comprehend what you had gotten yourself into.

The man, who had finally introduced himself as Wade Wilson, led you to a car and tossed some keys at you.

“I call shotgun!” he yelled, diving into the passenger seat.

You narrowly caught the keys and entered the car, starting it.

“So, where are we going?” You asked as you adjusted the mirrors and the seat to be more comfortable.

The man shrugged, “I usually just drive around until I find somewhere that sells food.”

“Okay… how about we use Google?” You proposed, taking out your phone and looking up some Mexican restaurants nearby.

While you glanced over some reviews, Wade began messing with the car radio. Eventually he landed on “Angel of the Morning” and cranked the volume as high as it could go as he began to sing along.

You looked to Wade, dumbfounded. This really must be some big wig’s son or ridiculously rich for this man to have a job, anywhere. You sighed and put the directions up on your phone and started the drive.

The blaring music was beginning to give you a headache and you’d only been driving for 2 minutes. You decided rolling down the windows would, hopefully, make the rest of the drive slightly more bearable. But you were very wrong. The moment you rolled down the passenger side window, Wade began to climb out and sit in the window, still belting out to the next song that was playing.

“Oh my fucking god.” You mumbled to yourself, flicking your eyes between the road and the man half out the window. You turned down the music and tugged on his pants, “Get back in here! You’re going to kill yourself!”

“Oh, calm down.” He said, plopping himself back in his seat, “You never heard of mutants before?”

You glanced at him, your heart racing slightly less now that he had all limbs inside the car.

“Of course I have. I just didn’t know that you were one. Besides, mutants can still die.” You felt a sense of ease as you spotted the restaurant down the road.

“Not me, baby.” He put his feet up on the dash, “100% invincible.” He had a smirk on his face and you could tell he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye to see your reaction.

“Congratulations. Unfortunately I am not immortal, and when you act like a jackass you put other people’s lives in danger.” You snapped just as you pulled into a parking spot. “Go get your fucking tacos.” “Sheesh lady… and it’s burritos, not tacos.” Wade explained as he got out of the car.

You rolled your eyes and called out to him as he walked toward the entrance, “And I’m not a lady!”

He stopped and turned around, “I’ll have you know I’m gender blind! I’m VERY inclusive.” He disappeared into the building before you could think of something to say back.

You sighed loudly and ran your hands down your face. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips as you reflected on the entire situation. This was going to be quite the part-time job.

You tried to pass the time by scrolling on your phone, but as the minutes ticked by, you were becoming slightly impatient. And you also wanted some food for yourself. You stepped out of the car, making sure to lock it, and entered the restaurant Wade went into 20 minutes ago now.

You were greeted by the sight of Wade hunched over at a bar stool, wrappers all over the counter, three empty beer bottles, one half full, and a half eaten burrito in his hand.

“Wade!” You sighed and walked up to him, “I thought you were just doing a pick up order or something.”

He looked at you as he took another swig of beer, “Pick up?? Nah, this is my lunch break.”

“Your lunch break? It’s not for work?” You asked, confused.

He shook his head, “Nope.”

You looked more closely examined the man before you and spotted a nametag that read: Wade, beginner salesman.

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. It was your first day and you disappeared with a beginner salesman for an hour… How were you going to get out of this?? “Okay, we need to go back. Before we get in more trouble.” You demanded.

“I’m not done eating yet!” he whined, arguing back like a little kid.

“Dude, I really don’t care. Either come back with me or I’m leaving you here.” You said before walking back outside and getting in the car.

Wade groaned and chugged the last of his beer and stuffed the rest of his burrito in his face and made it back to the car just as you were going to pull away. You gave him a quick glare before driving back to the dealership.

Apparently the man had some sort of conscious and spoke up just as you put the car in park and took off your seatbelt.

“I’ll let Peter know it was all my fault. We’re best buds so he can cover for me.” Wade explained and literally skipped back into work.

You sighed and began the walk of shame to the door. You decided you were just going to finish your paperwork and apologize profusely and hope you get a second chance.

But, you couldn’t help overhear Wade and Peter’s conversation on your way to the office.

“C’mon man, you know I’ve been having a hard time… With Vanessa, the Avengers.”

“I know, Wade, I know. But you can’t keep doing stuff like this. This has to be the last time, I can’t cover you if it happens again.”

“Thanks, peanut.”

You’re also pretty sure you witnessed Wade grip Peter’s ass when he hugged him after the conversation.

You kept your head down the rest of the day, working on getting all types of paperwork and files organized. It was now 6:30pm and you were gathering your things you left in the office.

“Knock knock.” Wade’s voice sounded off behind you.

You turned around and met his eyes. You had felt bad for him after overhearing that he was going through a hard time, so you gave him a smile. “Heading home?” He questioned you casually, though inside his mind he was cursing himself for being such an idiot to ask if you were heading home. Of course you were going home.

“Yup. Home sweet home.” You chuckled nervously.

“Mmh, yeah. The sweet, sweet home I share with an old blind lady.” He joked, or at least you think it was a joke.

You laughed, “At least you got someone to go home to. Some of us aren’t so lucky to have a blind lady waiting for you.”

“Well, in that case… How about I take you out for a drink?” He was still stoic-ly leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed lazily.

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you turned your head to hide your face from him.

“I dunno, I got another job to get to in the morning.” You rummaged around for an imaginary lost object.

“How about just to apologize? For being an asshole… if I’m not your type, I mean.” His eyes were glued to your ass as you stalled, bent over looking for something even Wade knew wasn’t there.

You felt your face heat up even more. You weren’t sure what it was, but there was something magnetizing about Wade. He was an annoying asshole, but you could also sense there was something deeper to him. You found a random pen under a desk and picked it up to cover for your stalling. You took a breath to compose yourself before turning around to face Wade.

You noticed his gaze had to travel from your waist up to your eyes when you turned to face him, but you decided to ignore that for now, “Okay. But just for a little. I really do have work in the morning.”

“I won’t keep you up too late.” He winked at you and then whipped out his phone to send a text. “Our ride will be here soon.”

You nodded and followed Wade outside. It was just beginning to turn from Summer to Autumn, so the nights started to get a little chilly and the sun was setting sooner.

Within a few minutes, a taxi pulled up. Wade opened the back door for you. His gesture surprised you, but you thanked him and sat down in the back of the car. Wade got in the front seat and quickly introduced you to Dophinder, a friend of his apparently.

“Headed back home tonight Mr. Pool, sir?” The taxi driver questioned.

“Oh, not tonight, Dophinder. Tonight is the night I get my groove back. We’re going to Putt Putt Palace.” Wade said confidently.

“Ohh, very nice choice, Mr. Pool!” Dophinder admired Wade’s choice of establishment and started to drive.

Once you had arrived at the mini-golf course and Dophinder had driven away after gladly taking a high-five as payment, you spoke up, “I thought this was just going to be drinks?”

“Yeah, well ‘Do you want to get drinks’ tends to go over better than ‘I’m going to dominate you at Putt Putt Palace.’”

“Ohhh, so you’re getting cocky now, huh?” You chuckled slightly.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe.” He smirked and led the way to pay for a full round of golf and picked out the red putter and ball.

“Damn, red is my favorite color. I’ll do black then.” You said, grabbing the supplies in the color you chose.

Wade gasped softly, “Red and black…”

You looked over at him, “Red and black… it’s a good color combo.”

“It is, indeed.” He smiled and also ordered two extra large margaritas that came on a necklace in one of those comically large, colorful souvenir cups.

“Oh my god.” You chuckled when Wade handed you the drink, “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?” “I would never! I’m going to win this game fair and square!” He defended himself and put the cup around his neck and walked up to the first hole and lined up his shot.

You watched Wade as he carefully calculated his swing. You gave in and also put your drink around your neck and took some sips, it was awfully convenient.

Wade hit his ball and watched it go around the course and fall perfectly into the hole.

“Fuck yeah!” He cheered and performed a small victory dance.

You rolled your eyes and playfully pushed him out of the way, “It was a lucky shot, Mr. Pool.”

You glanced at him when you used the name the taxi driver addressed him as.

Wade gave you a bit of side eye while he sipped his drink.

You pressed him further, “Why’d he call you that, anyway?” You took your first swing, making it a good amount across the course.

“It’s an old nickname. I don’t go by it anymore though.” he explained, taking glances at your ass and different parts of your body each time you were getting lined up to hit your ball, finally sinking the hole in 3 strokes.

The night went on, the sky growing darker and the conversation between the two of you growing deeper. The fact that you had skipped lunch and hadn’t had dinner yet was definitely weighing on you as the alcohol in your system took effect more quickly than usual. You made it to hole 10 out of 18 before you really started struggling.

You were swaying slightly on your feet, trying to focus and stay still long enough to make a good shot. You went to swing and missed the ball, causing you to break out into a fit of giggles.

“Oops!” You chuckled and began to line yourself up again.

Wade was very amused watching you struggle and become more undone at each hole. But he didn’t want you to fully make a fool of yourself, so he approached behind you and gently placed his hands on your shoulders to help steady you.

“Ooh, thanks.” You smiled and successfully hit your ball this time.

“Hey, how come you’re not drunk?” You looked up at him while his hands were still on your shoulder.

“‘Cause my healing factor won’t let me, beautiful. But believe me, I’ve tried.” He explained and walked over to your ball with you.

You blushed at the name he called you. He’d been doing it all night. Throwing in a “babe” or “beautiful” every so often, and it always seemed so natural, it caught you off guard every time.

He continued to help and also tease you for the next 6 holes. As the game was coming to an end, most other people had left the area by now. As usual, Wade was in his position behind you as you took your swing. As you followed your ball with your eyes, it almost felt surreal seeing it sink a hole in one.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed. “I did it!! I fucking did it!” You cheered and turned around to shove it in Wade’s face. You were blind to the fact that there was no way you could even catch up to Wade, let alone win the whole game.

Wade was rolling his eyes at your taunts, “Whatever! You’re still not gonna win!”

You chuckled and moved on to the last hole, “Show me what you got.”

You watched Wade’s face fill with concentration as he carefully calculated his next move. Your eyes couldn’t help but wonder down his body. You hadn’t noticed how muscular he was before now. His work uniform hid most of his body, but you could see his biceps flexing as he hit his golf ball.

He hadn’t hit the ball hard enough, because once it got to the middle of a metal loop in the center of the course, it lost momentum and fell out.

“Fuck!” Wade cursed at himself as he stepped aside to let you take your swing.

“It’s okay,” You moved into position at the start of the course and set your ball down, “This way I can watch you when you hit the ball again.” Your inhibited state of mind had you speaking your thoughts before you had any chance to think it through.

Wade’s nonexistent eyebrows raised slightly. Sure, he had been flirting with you and asked you on this date, but he never thought you would actually like him or find anything about him remotely attractive. Up until that moment he had convinced himself you were just trying to be nice to the painfully obviously insane burn victim at your new job.

You lifted your head from your ball to Wade, “You gonna help me or just stand there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He had been lost in his own thoughts and for once, left speechless. He moved behind you again and placed his hands on your shoulders.

You had missed the warmth of his body heat, it was almost addicting to have him so close to you. You didn’t realize you had just been mindlessly staring down at your golf ball while relishing in Wade’s presence.

Wade leaned down to lower his head next to your ear and whispered, “Don’t fuck it up, peanut.”

The feeling of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, there was no way you would be able to focus on the last round of mini golf now. You dropped your club and turned around to face Wade. The most adorable look of confusion was adamant on his face, bringing a slight smile to your lips.

Wade opened his mouth, no doubt to say something idiotic, but before he could you placed a hand on the back of his neck and helped him lean down and captured his lips in a kiss.

You were thankful for the extra courage your drink had given you. There’s no way you would be able to make a move on someone so confident and outgoing as Wade sober. Your kiss was brief, almost innocent. Just a soft meshing of two timid people.

Wade was the one to pull away from you, “What was that for?”

You shrugged, “Dunno.”

Which was true, you didn’t know why you were compelled to kiss the man who almost got you fired on your first day of work, who acted so careless and as if he only thought about himself and his own wants.

You started to lean up to kiss him again, but he stopped you.

“You don’t wanna get into this, peanut. I’m a fucking mess.” Wade looked down at you, a glimmer of hurt in his eyes.

You frowned slightly, “Well, that makes two of us.”

You waited for his response. He was glancing to his left and right every so often, like he was having an internal battle. After a few moments his eyes settled back on yours.

“Fuck it.” he mumbled just before he closed the distance between you and gave you a proper kiss.

#deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson #wade winston wilson #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #deadpool x gn reader #wade wilson x gn reader #deadpool x fem reader #wade wilson x fem reader #deadpool fanfic #deadpool fanfiction #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic

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quest-for-pluto · 1 year ago

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Sparkles

Ao’nung x Human!Female!Reader

← Prev Chapter Index

Summary: You work as maintenance at base 36, a testing facility used for unethical experiments on captured local Na’vi. One day when the base’s power supply melts down and explodes, you’re caught in the flaming crossfire. In a split second decision, you also decide to free the panicking Na’vi in his glass cell.

Aged up!Aonung to 21 and reader is 20

Chapter 2: the giant blue alien in the room

You woke up to the pleasant feeling of burning agony, like you'd just skinny dipped in molten hot lava.

"G-guhhhh—" you choked out, fingers twitching and trembling against the floor as you struggled to gain some semblance of motor control. Tears burned your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You writhed violently on your side as wave after wave of excruciating, searing pain washed over you.

Breathe, you told yourself. Just breathe through it, Y/n.

That was a lot more difficult than it sounded, especially when all you could hear was a continuous, tortured scream in your head. Your nails scraped at the cold concrete that did nothing to cool you down, trying to grasp onto something for support but only finding air between your fingers.

Never had you experienced anything so intense and all-consuming in your life. On a scale of 'Oh shit, that was a spicy cheeto' to 'Fuck I think my face is melting off', you were probably at a respectable 'I want to amputate all of my limbs and live in a freezer for the rest of my life'. Your vision dimmed and blurred as you fought to stay awake.

It was a strangled choking sound that broke you slightly out of your delirium. Your head turned slowly to see a giant blue body not too far from you, the skin on his right arm and leg raised in a pattern of angry looking blisters, but that wasn't what caught your attention. It was the frantic wheezing sounds he was making, grabbing desperately at his throat.

Somewhere in your foggy mind it occurred to you that oh yeah, that's right, his kind were not meant to breathe in your air.

Get up, Y/n, you chided yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. You need to do something.

With all of the strength you could muster, you rolled over, your vision nearly going white from the blinding pain. Slowly you staggered to your feet, pausing as a wave of nausea washed over you.

You blinked through your titling vision, eyes scanning the room for a possible solution. The only thing you could see were the supplies you had originally found, although some of them were admittedly pretty burnt now. Rebreather masks would be useless to him as well. Shit.

That left only one option. You had to figure out how to bring the native air from outside into the room.

Your eyes rose to the two, tiny windows in the room, located way higher than you could reach. You knew that every single window in base 36 was mandated to be bulletproof, so the chances of you being able to break it were thin, but—you had to try.

Staggering to your pile of supplies, you dropped to your knees, hands frantically combing through the items until they closed around the handle of the rifle you had discovered earlier. You quickly snatched a rebreather mask from the floor and secured it on your face. With a shuddering breath, you aimed the barrel at the right window, flicking off the safety and hastily pulling the trigger.

Bang.

The bullet ricocheted off of the surface, imbedding itself into the wall just over your shoulder. You inhaled sharply, turning to blink at it in shock. That was...way too close.

By now, the Na'vi had given up clawing at his throat. He laid sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and terror-filled as his chest rose and fell rapidly in short, convulsing breaths.

Damn, damn, damn. He couldn't take much more of this.

"Don't worry," you articulated the best you could, which was probably a barely understandable slur. "I won't—I won't let you die."

With renewed determination, you lifted the barrel to aim at the window again. You pulled the trigger.

Bang.

"Ah, fuck!" You cried, stumbling backwards. The bullet had grazed your burnt arm. Damn that stung like a motherfucker.

You grabbed the wound, clenching your jaw as you put pressure on it. Warm, thick blood escaped from between your fingers, trickling down your skin in rivulets.

"Okay," you breathed to yourself, supporting your injured arm with your other hand. Your whole body trembled from the pulsing pain. "You can do this, come on."

You pulled the trigger.

With a cry, you dropped the gun, clutching onto your arm in pain from the recoil.

The bullet imbedded itself in the window. You panted, watching with wide eyes as cracks began to quickly spread from the point of impact.

It shattered, pieces of glass exploding outwards and clattering onto the floor. You lowered your gaze, sighing in relief.

Your eyes flickered to the trembling form to your left. He was in terrible shape, but he hadn't passed out yet. He would survive.

You sunk carelessly to your knees, hands pressing into the floor as you struggled to catch your breath. Was it you, or was it getting suffocatingly humid in here?

Wait.

You took a deep, experimental breath, horrified to find that it didn't quite fill your lungs. Your hands quickly shot up to your mask, grasping blindly until you froze, cold realization washing over you as your thumb ran over a noticeable crack.

No, no, no. You couldn't possible be this much of an idiot.

Except you were.

You'd forgotten to properly check your own oxygen supply in your haste to make sure that the potentially homicidal alien didn't suffocate next to you. Now you were about to suffocate instead. Fantastic.

You dove back into the scattered pile of junk with desperation, your heart sinking as one by one, the rebreather masks turned up cracked or burnt. Completely unusable.

This can't be happening, you thought hysterically, a sob threatening to burst from your throat.

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, your eyelids fluttering with the effort of staying open. It was at that moment when you finally spotted it lying on the floor, maybe a dozen or so steps away.

A completely intact mask.

Your eyes widened as you staggered forward, hand reaching out desperately. You took about two steps before your vision swam dangerously, your gaze titling quickly towards the ground.

You landed harshly on the concrete, you could tell by the way your teeth clacked and the hard jolt in your wrists, but you barely felt any pain. The only thing you could feel was the burning in your lungs and the thrumming wooziness in your head that was making everything spin.

Come on, you gritted your teeth, using the last of your strength to shimmy yourself forward, your mouth gaping open in rapid, heavy pants.

Come on....

Your vision darkened at the edges as your head collapsed against the floor, your body finally giving in to violent convulsions. You panted shallowly, your fingers twitching out to reach for something—someone.

The last thing you remembered was the feeling of your body floating steadily in the air, before relief quenched the unbearable burning in your lungs. You blinked blearily, the last of your energy drained as your eyes finally slid shut.

You dreamt of the ocean. Sea mist in your hair and salt water on your lips.

****

Sunlight shone through your lids, making you groan.

Your eyelids fluttered in irritation, before finally blinking open in defeat, giving up on the hope of getting any more sleep.

You were...not in your your room. Your eyes widened as you jolted upright in shock—or, well at least you tried to. An overwhelming throbbing pain across your chest, knees, right forearm and head knocked you flat on your back again, wheezing for air.

The second thing you noticed was the mask on your face, your breath fogging up the clear surface in small puffs. Why were you wearing a mask inside the base? What was going on?

The base collapsing in the fire. Saving the blue alien. Getting knocked unconscious by the explosion. Struggling to breathe—

Your breath shuddered as you brought your left hand up to grasp at your neck at the phantom feelings of suffocation, your fingers drifting upwards to skim the tender bruise at the back of your skull. Your heart hammered frantically in your chest.

Then, if you were here, that meant...

Your head slowly craned over to the other side of the room, a gasp leaving your throat at the sight of your new roommate slumped against the wall.

Now that you were no longer in survival mode, you could truly take in his incredible stature. It was exactly like the stories you'd been told, he had to be at least ten feet tall, if not a little more. Lucky for him though, the ceilings in the storage room were just barely high enough to accommodate him at his full height.

His skin was not the same shade of blue everywhere. You noticed that it was a lighter, sky blue color nearing the center of his body like his torso and his face, and a darker, marine blue color at the extremities. There also seemed to be a distinct stripe like pattern that you were pretty sure was natural for his species. The dark, tattoo-like markings all over his body were a different story of course. The swirling shapes and symbols extended down his biceps and climbed delicately up his neck, but seemed to be the most intricate around his left temple.

Large blue eyes suddenly snapped open, catching your stare with startling intensity. You almost scrambled backwards in a jolt of fear, but caught yourself at the last second, holding carefully still.

You didn't even dare to breathe as he narrowed his eyes at you, making no move to come closer. His right arm hung limply at his side, the blistered skin probably making it very painful to move it at all. Not that you were much better off.

If you were to take a guess, you probably had second degree burns scattered in patches across the front of your body. The only thing keeping the bile in your throat from rising any further was your immobility.

After a few tense moments his gaze flickered away, growing disinterested in your little staring competition. You felt the air escape from your lungs, your tense shoulders loosening in a discreet sigh of relief. Right, you probably didn't register as much of a threat when you were sprawled across the floor like a rag doll.

You turned your gaze back towards the ceiling, staring thoughtfully at the condensation on your mask as you contemplated your situation. The rations you'd found earlier were probably salvageable, being packed safely inside thick bags meant to withstand the elements of Pandora. As for water...well, you were just happy it rained often here. You'd have to find a way to capture the water from the tiny windows much too high for you to reach, but that was a problem for later you. As for now...

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to push up to a sitting position. Your eyes watered immediately at the intense burning pain. Okay, no, your pain tolerance wasn't that high. Gritting your teeth, you tried rolling over instead, the stretch of your skin making your jaw clench so hard you were surprised a tooth didn't crack under the pressure.

You were so concentrated on the movement that you didn't feel your stomach roiling tumultuously, or the warm bile climbing up your throat until it was too late. As you pushed yourself up on a shaky arm, your eyes widened as you felt your body violently expel your last meal. You shoved off your mask in the nick of time, turning your head to the side as gunk splattered on the floor next to you in an acrid, chunky pile.

You wiped your face with your good arm, spitting out the residue in your mouth with a grimace. Gross.

The Na'vi was eyeing you in disgust, and you were pretty sure that he would've moved away if he wasn't already sitting as far as he possibly could from you. You returned your own glare. Well, if it weren't for you, he'd currently be an extra crispy dino-sized potato chip, so he shouldn't be complaining about vomit.

Readjusting your mask, you glanced carefully around the room, your gaze sharpening on a first aid kit poking out of a ration bag. Well, patching yourself up was priority number one. You were not looking to deal with an infection on top of second degree burns.

You hissed a breath through your teeth, pushing yourself up on your elbows. Your arms shook from the strain, tears welling up in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

Twenty feet felt like two miles, and by the time you'd managed to drag yourself across the floor, you were pretty sure forty-five minutes had passed. The whole time, you felt a piercing stare burning into your back. You ignored it, not having the energy for another useless stare down.

Coughing wetly, you grabbed the duffel bag with trembling fingers, pulling it closer to you. It took you a few tries to pull the zipper open, but you finally managed the motion on the fourth try, freeing the white box of medical supplies from its confines.

You undid the clasps, flipping it open carefully. Bandaids, gauze, plasters, soap, alcohol wipes, sterile gloves, tweezers, antibiotic ointment, scissors, needle and thread. Perfect.

Carefully scooting yourself to a seated position and wincing at every tiny agonizing motion, you pulled on the latex gloves with a snap. A muted snarl broke you out of your concentration, making you pause.

Your alien roommate was not a happy camper, judging by his curled upper lip that exposed his giant, bat-like fangs. Okay, that was definitely not good. Those things could probably bite your leg clean off if you weren't careful.

The rumors you heard about his species still very much freaked you out, if you were being honest.

"Hey," you said lowly, raising your gloved hands. You flinched as his snarl grew more intense, eyeing the unnatural blue color on your skin in evident distrust.

Jesus Christ, you'd really done it now, hadn't you? Why couldn't you have just acted like a normal human being with self preservation instincts and only saved yourself? Now you had to deal with...whatever the hell this headache was.

"They're gloves," you emphasized helplessly, knowing that he couldn't understand you but still trying to convey meaning through your tone. "They're harmless, see?" You brought your hands down to pat your shoulders, hiding a wince at the movement. You put on your most convincing (although slightly strained), harmless smile for extra effect. A rogue muscle jumped under your eye.

His glare didn't relent but the hard line of his scowl relaxed a little. Okay rude, what did he even think you were capable of doing in this sorry ass state? Plus, if you wanted him dead you would have just let him be.

Struggling not to roll your eyes, you pointed at one of the nastier burns on your chest, where your shirt was torn to shreds and practically fusing with the reddened, bloody skin. "I'm hurt," you exaggerated the word, widening your eyes meaningfully and frowning. "This will help me heal." You pointed at the contents of the first aid kit, before pointing back at your wound with a raised brow.

The Na'vi snorted at your slowed tone, rolling his shoulder in dismissal before occupying himself with something on a distant wall.

Annoyance surged through you, but it was brief and you let it go quickly with a sigh. Whatever, it was a good thing his suffocating attention was off of you now.

He never turned his back to you though, you noticed. Even now, you could tell he was still keeping tabs on you by the tension in his shoulders.

Well, maybe it was better that he still saw you as somewhat of a threat.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you grabbed a water bottle, soap solution and some gauze, bracing yourself for how much this was going to make you want to shit yourself. And you were pretty sure that the Na'vi would muster up the last of his strength and kill you himself if that actually happened, judging by his utter disgust and displeasure at your vomit.

Wetting a piece of gauze with water and soap, you brought it gingerly to the skin over your collarbone. Striking pain erupted at the point of contact, your jaw flexing to keep in any sounds.

Patting the gauze lower, you couldn't help but screech at the utter agony of it connecting with your open wound. Fuckity fuck fuck, that hurt like bitch on steroids.

When you blinked away the confetti in your vision, you caught the Na'vi's alarmed gaze, the space where his eyebrows should have been now furrowed and pointed ears pricked up and facing you.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you muttered under your breath, before gritting your teeth as you forced your trembling hands to press the gauze pad over the rest of your wound. It took awhile and several rolls, but now every wound was cleaned, dressed, and if needed—stitched. Your head still throbbed uncontrollably in what was most definitely a nasty concussion, but you couldn't really ice it like you wanted to. By the time you were done, the sun had already started to set in the sky.

Your stomach rumbled in protest, and you grimaced. The intense pain had made you forget that you unfortunately needed sustenance to survive.

Time to take stock of your supply.

You dug through the duffle bag on your side, pulling out MRE kits and other field rations. You also found some plastic utensils and more water bottles and filters. Some of them were weirdly misshaped though, probably warped from the heat of the explosion.

You discarded those ones to the side with a frown. What a waste.

Ripping open an MRE pack, you mourned your microwave as you took a bite of room temperature tortellini. You just hoped that those in charge of the outer ring of base 36 came to your rescue sooner rather than later.

The rapidly familiarizing feeling of a piercing stare on you caused you to look up, your gaze locking onto narrowed baby blues. But they looked more curious than distrustful, this time.

You held up your meal pack, gesturing at him. "You want some?" You shook it in his direction meaningfully. "It's good." Lie, but he didn't need to know that.

Like most other living creatures, you were 99% sure he needed to eat to stay alive. And as far as you knew, he'd eaten nothing since you were both trapped. As long as he didn't try to eat you, you didn't mind sharing your rations. There was still quite a lot left, and you were pretty hopeful sure your fellow humans would have paid you a visit before you inevitably ran out.

His eyes widened minutely at the package, and you could see the barest predatory flash in his widening pupils, before he huffed, shooting you a disgusted look.

Your raised hand lowered as you gave him a deadpanned look. What a brat. Whatever, you shrugged, taking a quick breath as you lifted your mask. More for you then.

It was not even thirty minutes later that you realized your second dilemma.

That being, you had to tinkle. Real bad.

Goddamnit, this was embarrassing. You chanced a grimacing look at your companion, who was once again busy staring at a wall, but one ear was still turned towards you. No matter how weird this situation was, you had no desire to contribute to that factor by getting naked in front of a volatile, giant blue alien.

But you were nothing if not resourceful.

Goodbye, dignity, you sighed as you began hoisting yourself behind the pile of supplies and duffel bags you'd both stacked to take cover from the fire. You felt the Na'vi's wary gaze on you as you moved, but he hadn't felt the need to come and investigate, which you counted as a blessing.

Grabbing one of the warped water bottles, you poured out the toxic liquid on the concrete, before getting into position. Closing your eyes, you tried your hardest to pretend that you weren't trapped in a room with a strange alien man less than twenty feet away from you. You pictured your small, but warm toned bathroom, your toiletries lined neatly on the counter and a painting hanging over the towel rack.

Pretty soon you felt sweet relief as your aching bladder finally emptied its contents into the bottle. Your eyes blinked open, and you quickly cleaned yourself up, grimacing in embarrassment and disgust as you screwed back on the lid to the bottle and shoved it away from sight.

Well, that was over with.

By now, the room was bathed only in moon and starlight, the walls almost taking up a luminescence you would never be privy to on earth.

Your expression soured at the thought of your home planet. You didn't typically enjoy revisiting those memories, mostly because they were tainted with constant misery. The ashy smoke in the air, the dirt on your skin, the pangs of hunger deep into the night—you didn't want to think about it. You were far, far away from that life.

Although, you weren't quite sure if your current situation was much better.

With a wince, you scooted forward, peeking curiously around your makeshift wall of privacy. The Na'vi was curled on his side, still facing you, but now—surprisingly, his eyes had drifted shut, his expression finally peaceful in slumber. You held your breath, taking a moment to admire him.

Now that you weren't actively fearing for your life, you could really appreciate the wild beauty of this planet's native humanoid species. He looked like a mythical creature from a fantasy story, aqua blue skin shining like the glimmering shallow waters on a beach under the sunlight. You blinked a couple of times in shock, resisting the urge to rub them. No—wait, he was actually glowing.

At first you had thought it was the moonlight shining on his skin, but he seemed to be generating his own variation of bioluminescence instead. A beacon of otherworldly beauty, just like the rest of Pandora.

Incredible, you thought to yourself in awe, unable to look away. Your fingers itched with the sudden urge to start sketching him.

Suddenly, a pale, opalescent eye snapped open, glaring at you furiously. You yelped, almost falling backwards on your elbows.

His lip curled to reveal a snarl, his ears pinning down flat against his head in warning and his thick tail whipping restlessly in the air. The message was clear: mind your own business before I come over there and gouge your tiny eyes out. I'll do it—

"Okay, okay," you sighed, raising your hands in surrender. "I get it, I'm leaving."

You scooted away, back into your little alcove of duffel bags and random burnt junk. Lowering yourself onto the fluffiest looking one, you sighed, squirming uncomfortably as you stared at the scorched ceiling.

It didn't take long before your blinks became heavier and more frequent, your eyelids lowering more with each one. It seemed you were more exhausted that you thought.

When your breathing finally evened out, it was to the distinct feeling of a strong, steady heartbeat thrumming beneath you.

************

Y'all, I had way too much fun writing Ao'nung's pissy attitude XD. I can't picture his aggressive side eye without cracking up. Don't worry though, he'll eventually come around ;)

MRE: Meals ready to eat. Packaged meals meant for quick, convenient consumption. Used in the military.

If you’re not in the taglist already and you’d like to be, just let me know in the comments and I’ll tag you in the next part :)

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331 notes · View notes

lycheedr3ams · 2 years ago

Note

Okay, imagine this, getting frisky with Butcher!Konig after hours, when night crew is who knows where but they don't go near the spooky deli area. MAYBE on his butcher bench or even in the freezer?

God, you don't know what this man does to me. Have a good day 😊

*heavy breathing*

NSFW below the cut, MDNI

part of the butcher!konig mini-series

TW: predator/prey dynamics, allusions to sex, clothed grinding, slight mandhandling, dominant!konig, buildup but no smut (feeling a bit lazy rn lol)

it was the end of a long shift, just a few days before christmas. the entire store had been in a frenzy from all the last-minute shoppers, making your managers run around like crazy and all the employees getting more burnt out with each passing minute. without butcher!konig's little jokes here and there, and the way he helped you whenever he could, your day would have been a lot worse.

but you were sluggish as you cleaned up the deli. even with butcher!konig to help you through the day, it had been a tough one. all your other coworkers had left for the day, and most employees were gone as well. all lights in the store were off, except for the lights in the deli and meat department. some street lights shone in through the glass windows, but that was on the other end of the store. butcher!konig was stuck there too. he was busy cleaning his work station, which was filthy with all the christmas meat he'd been chopping throughout the day.

you walked through the meat department to replace a tool you had borrowed, and found butcher!konig wiping dry his cold metal work station. he looked up when you entered. "hello, Maus," he said tiredly.

"hey," you offered him a tired smile. "i think this has been the worst shift ever." you sighed and leaned a little against his work station, looking at his arm muscles as he wiped it dry.

"ja, i might have to agree with you on that one," he said with a little dry laugh and tossed the rag he was using in a nearby bucket. you watched his every move - as you usually did - but something just felt different right now. there had been unspoken sexual tension between you two since the time he groped your breasts in the freezer and pressed his hard cock against your ass. you were much too shy and frightened at the time to do something. but butcher!konig's move that day confirmed it for you: he was attracted to you, and he wanted you.

you looked up at him as he stood next to you like a lion sizing up a mouse. his voice was slightly raspy with tiredness from the long shift, and his eyes had that bedroom look from the exhaustion.

"you have any plans after this?" he asked as his voice dropped an octave slightly. your heart fluttered in your chest for a moment before you shook your head. "nope. nothing much to do a few days before christmas, i guess."

butcher!konig chuckled softly. "ja, you're right about that." he looked at your body up and down for a moment, and you noticed the way his chest breathed a bit deeper. butcher!konig had tried to be smooth about this. he wanted to cleverly seduce you somehow. but he was inexperienced - no experience, in fact - and he just wanted you so damn badly. there probably wasn't even any need for him to seduce you with words, since the hungry look in his eyes said it all.

you blushed and looked away for a moment, very flustered with this mountain of a man undressing you with his eyes. you couldn't help but remember all the times you went home after a shift and masturbated to the thought of him just bending you over somewhere secret in the back, taking out his stress on you on the clock.

"something on your mind?" butcher!konig asked with a smirk hidden behind that leather mask of his. you snapped out of your thoughts and looked at him like a deer in the headlights. "yeah. no, i mean, just tired," you sighed to try to calm your heart rate.

butcher!konig stepped closer to you, so close that you could feel his body heat. you looked up at him, eyes wide, and he whispered as he slightly bent over you, "you're bad at lying, kleine maus."

you nearly could've died on the spot. you couldn't help the tiny noise that arose from somewhere inside you when he said that, your arousal taking the better of you. butcher!konig's eyes suddenly turned predatory when he heard your sound. it was like a lamb sticking its neck out for the wolf to sink its teeth into. butcher!konig's large hand gently made its way up to your jaw. he gently grabbed your jaw with his thumb and index finger, curling his other fingers under your chin. he lifted your face up to look at him. he leaned down closer to you.

"tell me what you need. i'll give it to you," he growled lowly. your heat throbbed immediately. no words came out, but the look in your eyes gave it away.

butcher!konig exhaled a small laugh and brushed his mask against your lips. "such a shy little thing, you are." his eyes looked so sharp and focused, like a hawk watching its prey from above. and he had you right in his grip. "i take it you've got no time to waste, right? your family is waiting for you, since it's so close to the holiday," he whispered in your ear. "if you want me, bend over on the table. if not, walk out the door and go home, and we'll never speak of this."

your heart raced in your chest at butcher!konig's offer. how could you refuse? you're sure your phone was buzzing somewhere, your family calling you to see if you were done your shift yet. but it wouldn't be unreasonable to say that you had gotten held up on your shift right before the holiday. you gulped and turned around, your ass brushing his hard length, and bent over the cold, shiny metal table. the sting of the coldness pierced your forearms and palms as you pressed them into the table, so excited yet nervous for what was to come.

you felt butcher!konig's large hands palm your ass as he grinded up against you. "i'll make this worth your while."

381 notes · View notes

writingtraumaforever · 6 months ago

Text

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 9

Notes: Shadow is but a simple boy. He needs a nap and coffee, and he’s an angel. Which frankly? Relatable. Longest chapter so far! And finally a smidge of fluff. :3

Summary: Shadow helps Sonic with a small burn, and in return, he wants answers.

Chapter Select!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

Groggy eyes slowly open, heavy still from slumber but awake nonetheless.

Ruby orbs meet the ceiling, staring at it thoughtlessly a moment before a long yawn soon interrupts that. Black and red arms stretch high above his head, reaching to ease his aching muscles.

He feels much better than before. Well-rested and not so fatigued.

Moving to sit up, Shadow takes a moment to gather himself. Rubbing his eyes with his gloved fist, he sighs heavy and processes his current situation.

Right.

Different dimension.

Impending doom.

All good things, all good things.

He drops his hands on the couch with a sigh and looks around the room. No one is there, but he isn’t naive enough to believe he’s been left alone.

And as if on cue, his ear flickers at the sound of a quiet beep from the kitchen followed by some movement and soft clanking.

He debates on simply laying back down to be unbothered, but the smell that wafts into the living room and makes his nose twitch gets his attention.

Coffee.

His stomach growls.

He could use some food, too..

After a moment of hesitance, he gives in and pushes himself up off the couch and walks towards the doorway of the kitchen..

This world’s Sonic is there, sure as hell, pouring coffee into a mug and mixing some sugar with it along with some caramel sand milk and whipped cream— ruining it, in Shadow’s opinion.

Though, it would seem this world’s Shadow must feel differently seeing as his coffee bar is littered with all sorts of add-ins and sweeteners.

Sonic hasn’t noticed Shadow’s presence quite yet, moving about the kitchen as if it’s his own. As if he’s so comfortable invading Shadow’s home.

He supposes he can’t be mad at him for it. This isn’t technically his home, so he loses nothing from this anyway.

Stirring his “coffee”, Sonic lifts it to blow on the top and then sip at it. He shivers a bit and then hums pleased to himself before turning to grab another mug and—

“Shadow!”

Sonic flinches, not having expected Shadow to be standing there watching, and managing to spill a good little portion of piping hot coffee on his gloved hand.

Sonic immediately hisses, moving fast to set the mug down on the counter and turn around to face the sink.

Shadow’s eyes watch the blue hedgehog as he quickly works his glove off, blushing ever so slightly at the sight of seeing Sonic gloveless on one hand and averting his gaze appropriately to give him some privacy.

Turning the sink on, Sonic lets his burnt hand sit under the cold water with a small wince of pain followed by a slow sigh of relief..

Shadow frowns, keeping his gaze down at Sonic’s feet before he eventually speaks, “Are.. you alright?”

“Huh?? Oh- yeah, I’m fine. Just got boiled a bit,” Sonic chuckles a bit awkwardly, sparing Shadow a glance over his shoulder and taking notice in how Shadow is looking away.

Interesting.

Sonic purses his lips a bit, a slight smile on his muzzle as he speaks, “It’s alright, Shads, you ain’t gotta look away.”

“You aren’t wearing your glove,” Shadow responds simply, “It’s Mobian tradition to wear them as a form of privacy—“

“Yes, I know that,” Sonic chuckles with a quirk of his brow at Shadow, “I don’t know if you knew this, but I am Mobian.”

Shadow blushes a bit at the way Sonic makes him feel stupid, huffing at the hedgehog’s attitude and tightening his fists at his sides, “I am choosing to look away for your sake, Hedgehog.”

Sonic turns the cold water off, moving to the refrigerator and opening the freezer door to pull out a bag of-… is that pizza rolls?? What the hell sort of junk is this Shadow putting in his body??

Placing the frozen bag on his hand, Sonic bumps it shut with his hip and turns to Shadow with a smile,

“And I appreciate that, but it ain’t necessary. I’m fine showing my hand in front of you, Shadow.”

Shadow is a bit thrown off by that, but he doesn’t comment. He never understood the reasoning behind the gloves anyway. Being raised with humans on the ARK didn’t exactly provide him with a lot of knowledge on Mobian customs. And the people on the ARK certainly weren’t walking around with gloves on all hours of the day.

Still, he adapted to the Mobian custom rather easily once on earth, growing use to putting his gloves on every morning and taking them off before bed. Use to looking away if someone’s slipped off.

Never once has the Sonic in his world seemed even remotely comfortable showing his paws to anyone, least of all Shadow.

“I see..,” Shadow responds quietly, eyes watching Sonic move back to the coffee machine and pull out a second mug.

“I made you coffee,” Sonic says with a small hum, pouring a second cup with his free hand while balancing the pizza rolls on his burnt one.

“I don’t like anything in my coffee,” Shadow mutters, shaking his head to reject Sonic’s frufru coffee.

Sonic just snorts, “Yeah, I know.” He turns to hold out the mug for Shadow, “That’s why it’s just black.”

Shadow eyes the coffee. Then Sonic a moment. Then he slowly reaches out to take the coffee in hand, “Thank you..”

Sonic just winks, “Sure thing.”

Moving to grab his own mug again, Sonic walks around Shadow to the kitchen island, taking a seat on one of the stools there and leaning against the countertop.

Shadow ponders him a moment but eventually moves to sit next to the hero.

Or— he assumes Sonic is a hero in this world. It’s hard to imagine any world where Sonic doesn’t butt his heroic antics into every situation possible.

Sitting next to Sonic now, Shadow takes a slow sip of his coffee and immediately sighs in relief. He swears he feels whatever is left of his headache immediately dissipate. His ears twitch when he hears Sonic chuckle next to him, peeking his eyes open— he hadn’t even realized he shut them— to glance at him out of his peripheral and finding an amused blue hedgehog smiling into his mug at him.

“…What?” the black hedgehog the coffee from around his mouth.

“Nothin’,” Sonic shrugs with a tilt of his head, “Just.. nice to see some Shadow things are a constant.”

Shadow hums at this, not quite smiling but his eyes seem a bit amused at this as well.

“If another version of me yet again shows up on your doorstep one day and doesn’t like coffee, murder him for me.”

Sonic snorts at that, rolling his eyes with a chuckle as he sips his own coffee, “No promises.”

Shadow smirks slightly to himself. This isn’t intolerable. Which is odd. Usually any moment with this ridiculous idiot is insufferably obnoxious. Sonic rarely holds a decent conversation without pissing Shadow off or insulting him or just being plain stupid.

This Sonic seems… calm.

If only they could trade.

They sit in a long moment of silence sipping their drinks, comfortable with the quiet and enjoying the warm beverages in their palms..

Eventually the hero breaks the silence, though.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Shadow nods.

“Less grouchy?” Sonic teases, but it’s gentle and harmless, so Shadow doesn’t take too much offense.

“Mm,” he nods a bit sheepishly, “…I apologize for the way I acted before. I could’ve chose my words better. And my tone..”

Sonic shrugs in response, rubbing his gloved finger around the rim of his mug in a fidgeting sort of way, “It’s cool. You’re kinda in a pretty stressful situation right now, so a dramatic and angry reaction here and there is sort of understandable.”

Shadow looks at the blue hedgehog a moment, a small quirk of his brow at how collected this Sonic seems in contrast to his own. How quick to forgive Shadow’s misjudgments rather than rub them in his face.

“..How’s your hand??”

Sonic rolls his eyes at that, chuckling quietly, “Hurting. But it’ll go away. I’ll put some aloe on it in a bit.”

“…May I see?”

Sonic blinks at that, looking at Shadow again with a curious little expression. Like he’s searching for something..

Whether he finds it or not is beyond the anti-hero, but Sonic eventually nods regardless and moves the thawing bag of pizza rolls off his hand.

It’s.. odd. Seeing Sonic’s bare paw in such plain sight. He doesn’t have as sharp of claws as Shadow does, he notices. They look filed and well kept. Shadow’s own are sharp and clean, ready to rip into anything that may defy him if need be. The flesh on his palm looks soft and fuzzy, while Shadow’s own are rough and scratchy like the pads of an animal.

He’s seen minimal Mobians’ bare hands before. It’s typically because they’re in need of medical attention after some sort of disaster. He’s seen Rouge’s hands a few times when her gloves were too dirty to wear any longer. Sometimes she’d stay with him on nights where he couldn’t be alone, and he’d see her bare hands holding a towel around her form after a shower or when she was sipping coffee early in the morning before getting ready.

He’s never touched one, though. He’s read books on Mobian customs, specifically ones on Hedgehogs. It’s thought to be special. Intimate..

Sonic’s hand is resting on the counter between them, Sonic’s eyes watching Shadow and Shadow’s gaze locked on Sonic’s hand.

Shadow moves his own hand now, fingertips grazing Sonic’s palm before pausing. Red orbs lock with green.

“Is that—?”

“It’s fine,” Sonic assures with an ever so patient smile, his eyes softening considerably at Shadow asking permission.

Shadow looks at him another moment to make sure he doesn’t change his mind before he nods and looks back to Sonic’s hand.

His own glove acts as a barrier between their skin, but Shadow can still feel the heat from Sonic’s flesh when he grazes fingertips along the burn. Sonic breathes through his teeth at the sting and Shadow pauses and lightens his touch some.

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’m tough.”

Shadow smirks a bit at that, glancing up to Sonic then back to his hand, “Can’t deny that..”

Sonic smiles wider at that, seeming proud of the non-insult from this grumpy Shadow.

Shadow examines the burn a few more moments before he moves his other hand and gently holds Sonic’s wrist in his. He isn’t exactly sure he should be doing this with a fake emerald in pocket considering his current situation, but he does regardless. Keeping Sonic’s hand still, he turns it to have a better look at the injury before letting his palm rest over the burn. His eyes shut, Sonic watching as a soft, golden glow emits between their hands before it dims again..

Shadow removes his hands from Sonic’s, no burn in sight.

“There,” Shadow mutters, eyes returning to Sonic’s, “better?”

“Much,” Sonic hums with a tilt of his head, lifting his hand to examine it as he turns it in the air between them. His eyes look to Shadow’s then, dropping his healed hand into his lap with a grateful gaze, “Thank you..”

Shadow simply hums in response, looking back to his coffee before lifting it to sip the last of it.

Sonic watches. Shadow can practically hear the gears in his head turning. He must have so many questions, so many concerns..

“..You keep thinking that hard, you might hurt yourself,” the agent mutters with a raised brow in Sonic’s direction.

“Har-har,” Sonic sarcastically remarks before resting his elbow on the counter and his cheek in his palm, leaning into it as he eyes Shadow, “I just-… there’s so much I want to know.. and I worry about my own Shadow—“

“Your Shadow,“ Shadow acknowledges as his head turns back to Sonic again.

“Well— my world’s Shadow—“

“That’s not what you said,” the agent pushes, not letting him talk his way out of it, “You’ve done that multiple times, actually. ’My Shadow’.”

Sonic’s hand his cheek is resting in slides around to rub the back of his neck a bit awkwardly, like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What’s so bad about that??”

“It’s just odd. Paired with the way you’ve interacted with me. How you approached me when I initially woke up here. How you look at me. How you speak of your own Shadow. How you move around this home as though it’s yours..”

Sonic looks away with a slight knit in his brow, unsure what to say to any of this or how Shadow would even take it for that matter.

“…You and your Shadow.. there’s more to you than I know, isn’t there..”

The blue hedgehog takes a deep breath before sighing it out long and slow. He chuckles a bit. Shakes his head and shrugs in resignment.

“Yeah.. you could say that.”

#UC Series #my writing #my fanfiction #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonadow #fanfiction #sonadow fanfiction #uncontrolled chaos #fluff #shadow just needed a nap okay??

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