#c:demitri

[writingail]

@fcrevrmore​

Being the Head Chef of his own restaurant had been Demitri’s dream since he could remember. The promise of being in charge, making the rules and operating as he pleased drove him through sleepless nights in culinary school, seemingly endless dinner rushes at restaurants he worked at throughout his young-adult life and the painful process of spending his life savings to open the doors. Now that his dreams were reality, Demitri didn’t mind the late-night calls to the restaurant. Even at 10 pm on his day off. 

The sound of Demitri’s closing apartment door ricocheted in the hallway. He’d just tucked away his keys when he spotted an unmistakable figure at the end of the hall, sitting in front of their apartment door. Manny. Demitri’s eyebrows furrowed as she came into view, and he searched his brain for words - any words - to break their weeks-long silence. 

“Have you tried knocking?” he called out, a joke to ease the tension.

[writingail]

It wasn't until that night that Demitri understood the rule against dating in the workplace. Sneaking into Nichole's office after hours, their lingering glances over the expo line and special meetings to discuss 'food costs' in the freezer had been fun and helped him get through seemingly endless days in front of the grill. It kept work fun and added excitement to their relationship. But Demitri should've expected it would one day come to an end.

Demitri laid his chef's bag on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary with a huff. It had been a long day, and his general manager and girlfriend had been at odds since the beginning of the week. Food costs were too high, table turnover rates were low, and complaints came flying in like they were on special for the evening. However, the issues they faced on the clock were nothing compared to the problems that lay hidden behind the surface. 

"Alright everyone, thanks for your hard work and have a couple beers for me tonight," Demitri said out loud enough for his team to hear before picking up his belongings and heading out the back door of the restaurant where he waited grudgingly for Nichole. @crystalballl​

[writingail]

open to: everyone! plot: demitri is my newest muse so this is a test for him. he’s the owner and head chef at a new causal fine dining restaurant. maybe your muse works for them, is a close friend, his sister, but really this is open to anything! 

“Taste this,” he instructed, holding out a saucy spoon to the other, eyebrows knitted together as he watched their expression unfold.

The restaurant closed over an hour ago, and despite his kitchen staff’s pleas to join them for a drink, Demitri remained behind. As a new restaurant owner, he was drunk with power, unable to stop thinking of new recipes, dishes and drinks to compliment. And often, when he didn’t answer his phone, there was only one place they could’ve been. The kitchen.

“Too much or not enough cognac?” Demitri wondered, arms crossing over his broad chest. “You need to be able to taste it without feeling like you’ve just taken a shot.” Turning back to the stove, he dipped his finger into the pan before bringing it up to his lips. “I drink too much to even taste it anymore.”

[writingail]

closed started for @exposurc​ based on source

Demitri was always baffled how the worn wood tables, the scent of freshly roasted coffee beans, and indistinct chatter of his favourite hometown coffee shop could bring back old memories. Despite nearly ten years passing and his life flipping upside down, nothing within the four walls had changed. The same sweet family owned it, they still served his favourite sandwiches and their coffee, though made with love, still tasted terrible. But he wasn’t there that afternoon for the coffee. He was there to meet with Nora. 

During the drive, Demitri reasoned there was nothing criminal about meeting with his ex-girlfriend for coffee. It was just coffee between old friends, and years had passed since they’d last seen each other. Let alone spoken to each other. But a small part of him knew his reassuring words were simply lies. Because when there was trouble in paradise and he re-evaluated his relationship, his mind often wandered what life would’ve been like if she was there instead.

Returning with two hot coffees and a plate of pastries, Demitri placed them on the wooden table and slid back into his seat. “They don’t sell strawberry danishes anymore, which I told them was a crime. They’ve pivoted to blueberry, which is, in my opinion, the far inferior berry. I even told them it was for a celebrity guest, and they didn’t budge. Sorry, guess they don’t have Instagram out here,” he teased with a smile reserved only for her.

[writingail]

@noirflavoured​ liked this post for a short starter <3

“Do they have that in a different colour? Maybe blue or purple,” Demitri asks arms crossing over his broad chest as he leans against the dressing room door, eyes watching intently. They were nearing on hour three of wandering through the mall, stopping in every store she wanted, throwing items into his arms before heading to check-out. His legs were tired, patience wearing thing and wallet certainly feeling the damage she was causing. But he was willing to do anything to get him out of the doghouse after their fight earlier that week. 

“Not that I don’t like the green. You look great.”

[writingail]

@lilacwiine​ liked this post for a short angsty starter meme status: still accepting open to: m/nb, but f if romantic

“Why can’t you just learn to let the fuck go,” Demitri groaned, callused hands dragging down his tired features. No matter how good of a day they were having, how happy they were or how much their stomachs hurt from laughing, it always came back to this. “I’m tired of having the same argument.”

[writingail]

Plot: based on your submission to this - ‘🥪- our muses make a midnight snack.’

“You put any more salt in that water, and you might as well be cookin’ pasta in the dead sea,” Demitri chuckled as he stood off to the side, watching as Nichole used his kitchen as she pleased. The GM and Chef duo didn’t usually spend time at his apartment, keeping their meetings in the restaurant or the bar across the street. However, discussing important topics such as staffing, cuts and wage raise proved difficult with so many listening ears. That was how they ended up in his kitchen just before midnight with a pot of pasta on the stove.

Demitri moved over to the fridge and pulled out a few vegetables, placing them on the table by the cutting board. His first instinct was to get to work, but this was Nichole’s time to shine and show him her skills in the kitchen. So instead, he leaned against the counter and watched the focused expression on her face. 

“My midnight snack is cereal,” he chuckled. “This is a meal.”

@everafteragain​

[writingail]

Demitri's restaurant was still so new that he nearly choked on his drink when he received an email about using the space for a wedding reception. He envisioned the first few months of business would be focused on cranking out orders, finding the right staff and building an online presence to pique interest. He thought it would start slow and pick up in popularity over time, but in a blink of an eye, they built a reliable and ever-growing customer base of foodies and bar-hoppers. The Chef was thrilled and learned to roll with the punches as they came, but this was a first and Demitri was curious about the kind of couple interested in his half-decorated space for their wedding. 

Sounds of chopping vegetables, sizzling pans and mixers filled the still-closed restaurant when he was notified of the couple's arrival, there to scout the space, menu and talk pricing. But while Demiti was quick-thinking and expertly maneuvered unexpected situations, nothing would've prepared him to see her standing in the middle of his dining room with a rock on her finger and a doting fiancé by her side. 

The Chef wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd seen her. But what he was sure of was that his formative years, the years that shaped him into the man he was today, featured her. Shaking away the thoughts, Demitri plastered on his most welcoming grin as he approached. "Hey - sorry I'm a little late. Had a tray of bacon in the oven that I couldn't leave," he said, extending a hand to her fiancé and then to her. "I'm Demitri. Welcome." @lexi-rps​