#chef!au

[goddesspharo]

An ounce of sauce covers a multitude of sins. [Top Gun: Maverick chef!AU]

[deandoesthingstome]

Culinary Class Wars finale but it's White Spoon veteran 'Captain' John Price against the young, upstart Black Spoon Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish (named for his love and heavy use of cilantro in his cooking)

Gaz and Ghost are the industry veteran judges.

[sadistmichael]

chef

rating: mature

content: tattooed!Michael, chef!Michael, anger, snide remarks, a late night visit, tasting, sexual situations, oral sex, dirty talk, multiple positions, longing, spontaneity, bodily fluids, and hooking up with a co-worker.

A/N: this came out of nowhere. thinking about the show 'the bear' and michael at the same time with @cashtnarry​ created this--a tense, angsty au that ends in sex. just trying to inspire as much michael thirst as possible. ;-)

home to all of your kinky 5sos needs

feedback is greatly appreciated

masterlist

*

Fast. It was a way to describe the air in the kitchen. Screaming orders, pushing food down the line, chopping, dicing, stirring, sliding. It could make you dizzy from the high in the air, sneaking in your nostrils like a drug derived from braising and spices. You watched the kitchen staff work like a machine from your corner, washed in half of the warm light from the dining room and the fluorescence behind the curtain.

You moved forward as your vision lingered on the center of the stove. Dinner service was a complicated dance—orchestrated by Michael. He seemed focused in the chaos of dropped pans and second degree burns on his tattooed fingers. There was a solace in his expression, barking orders out of habit. You had never seen a crack in his demeanor, no changes in how he acted for a second. He ran the restaurant like it was the only thing he could ever do, taking charge of every plate and person that went out the door. You were mesmerized by how he handled—nearly able to forget how much of an asshole he was. Seeing the remnants of a hickey on his neck seemingly made another appear. They would form in clusters or have different shades and shapes, implying that he saw a horde of different people at all times.

He never said anything about it. It was simply the aura he gave off—the pure power—sexual in the wake of his anger.

Yelling, swearing, judging. He was brutal with how he treated staff, even getting after you for seating too many people in one section. Responses varied from ignoring him to spending time formulating the perfect comeback—only for him to spit venom in return

He was so…reactive. It made you wonder what he could be like in a different context—turned down—focused on something other than the quality of his food. Your mind circled around the thought of him being gentle. Expressing his feelings. Trying to get someone to like him. It didn’t come naturally. His aggression was trademark to his character. It gave him an edge, put a purpose on the intensity of his gaze.

He would be good looking if he had kind energy to spare.

Blonde hair, a spattering of black ink all over his skin, green eyes. It was like you noticed him for the first time all over again—letting your apprehension disappear as you watched him cook. You suddenly wanted to peel back the layer of armor that he had set, eager to explore the things you couldn’t see.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

Michael looked at you, annoyed.

“Sorry, I wanted to check on the order for table 6?”

You lied. It was easier than pretending like you weren’t gawking.

“It’ll be done when it’s done. Out.”

Swiveling out of the kitchen had never been easier than in that moment. You covered your face with a menu before walking back to your post.

*

“Goodnight.”

The restaurant cleared an hour before you started silverware. It was a long night. Tips didn’t do the burn in your calves justice, and you were ready to go to bed. Most nights, it was just you and Michael finishing up. Your job was to finish tidying the dining room and Michael did the bulk of the kitchen prep for the next shift. Both of you rented apartments above the restaurant, so it made things easy. Seeing Michael after leaving was rare. Hearing him with someone else was common, even from across the hall. Never prying, you usually ignored him until the following afternoon in the restaurant.

You settled into your bed after a blur of a shower and a snack. Hearing nothing but the sound of streetlights flickering to the beat of the city outside soothed you—letting you know the day was over.

And then: a startling knock ruined it all.

Shuffling from the hallway, you sleepily opened the door before you checked who it was.

“You look like shit.”

Michael exhaled his phrase while he stood with a plate, fork, and a glass of wine.

“What the fuck do you want?”

You had very little patience for Michael’s insults, especially at 2 am. You crossed your arms before leaning on the doorframe.

“Try this. I think I just got it right.”

Michael held out a plate with a beautiful looking piece of chicken, mixed with vegetables and an annoyingly perfect sauce. You didn’t want to touch it because it looked too nice—and—he made it.

“I was sleeping.”

Michael rolled his eyes.

“Fuck your sleep. Just for a minute. I’m coming in.”

He pushed past you with you saying a word, placing the dishes on the table with a polite clatter. He walked around the edge of your small table with ease. He looked like he belonged there, gesturing for you to sit down with an impatient look on his face.

“It’s gonna get cold.”

Sighing, you approached the table, sat down, and took a bite.

It was a paradise of flavor, each part mixing together to create the perfect texture, smell, and taste at the same time. You sat with your mouth full, chewing the same bite for an unbearable amount of time. Thinking of giving Michael the satisfaction of knowing that his food is perfect made you sick.

So you didn’t.

“This is a little…much for me.”

It wasn’t a good lie. Your tastebuds were tingling, screaming for more as Michael leaned over, snatching the fork out of your hand and taking a bite.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I know this is good.”

He smelled and tasted each element, wondering if it was the wine under his breath as he looked at the dish. You bit your lip to hide the smirk that appeared on your face. Michael questioning himself quickly turned to looking at you, straining not to laugh.

“You’re bullshitting me.”

You let yourself chuckle.

“It’s amazing. I’m just giving you a hard time because you’re a jackass.”

Michael furrowed his brows at your response.

“I’m not that bad.”

Your eyes widened.

“You made a new server cry today, you yelled at me twice, and the kitchen has gotten so quiet lately because everyone is terrified of fucking up. Because of you.”

Michael’s face hardened. You saw him slip, just for a second. A waver of self-consciousness, a look of someone keeping up appearances for the sake of something that seemed more complicated than cooking.

He cracked.

And it continued when he started talking.

“I’m hard on myself and those around me because it gets results. I’m not interested in touchy feely unless it’s after hours.”

You could see the intensity in his face. His eyes were on yours, his fingers gripping the fork he brought.

“I’m not a bad person, you know. I’m not afraid of trying to do what’s right, that’s all.”

You nodded, sensing it wasn’t the time to joke.

“I understand. I’m sorry I said anything.”

You looked at the table after replying, wondering how you could avoid him at all costs while working the next day.

“You’re really cute, you know that?”

Michael confessed in a blurt, covering his mouth after he said it. It seemed imagined—until he kept going.

“Remember back in grade school when everyone would tell you that someone’s mean to you if they like you? That shit isn’t true…unless it’s me.”

Michael moved closer. He slid his chair towards you in small spurts, scraping across tile.

“Why else would I be here, when I know it’s just you…and I.”

You were trying to find anything to say.

Anything.

Yet, the next thing that crossed your lips was Michael’s tongue. He was needy, pressing his palms into your cheeks as he kissed you hard. The desperation in his touch made you warm. It made you feel like he needed you like he needed water, drinking in your kiss as if it sustained him. You leaned towards him enough angle your chair off the floor. He tasted so good that you didn’t care—barely noticing when Michael’s hands gripped your backside.

“Come here.”

He pulled you in his lap, holding you closer for unexpected kisses and fingering the waist of your shorts. His hands pried their way under your clothes—searching your skin for sensitive areas. His fingers danced up your torso with ease, pinching one of your nipples erect. His lips were in rotation from your face, neck, and chest. He slid off your shirt after you moaned into his mouth, encouraging him to do more.

“I really want to fuck you.”

You held your breath.

“What’s stopping you?”

It felt good to be reckless. To forget about the future while he was with you, pulling you into your unmade bed in lust. You were unsure how you got Michael on top of you.

But you knew you didn’t want it to stop.

You whimpered in adoration of his touch. The experiment you assumed he had was showing, thriving in the heat of the moment. He pulled off the rest of your clothes in a daze, leaving him fully clothed in opposite of your naked body. It was exciting to expose yourself to him—to give in to the thoughts you had about him that you didn’t want to admit.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Michael’s fingers lingered between your thighs. He wasn’t explicitly touching anything, grazing and teasing while he decided.

“Please.”

You were stunned by how quickly you were overtaken with desire. Watching him lean over you—touching you—giving you time to focus on how most of the tattoos on his chest showed through his white t-shirt. He leaned over the skin under your belly button, kissing it gently while whispering into your skin.

“I’m going to make you scream.”

His mouth found your nipples again, ghosting his lips over the skin while slowly crawling one hand between your legs. He started by prodding his finger into your opening, making you gasp while he spit before moving his hand. It was abrupt but hot, forcing you to focus on the sensation of him moving in and out painfully slow. You moaned into the air when he pushed deeper, adding a finger while you writhed in place.

Your arousal drove you to pull at his shirt while he worked. Seeing more of him would drive you to a place that made you even more desperate. You curved into his fingers once more before he pulled them from you, licking everything off before placing them in your mouth. You locked eyes with him while you sucked, watching him groan under his breath as you took both fingers in your mouth.

“Horny little slut,”

You could feel yourself aching with desire, despite his degradation.

“Bend over.”

Michael centered your hips in the middle of the bed. You were slightly shaken on all fours, waiting for him to do something. You could smell your own arousal mixed with his cologne. Hearing him take off his clothes had you writhing in place. Seeing anything at that point would have brought you to the edge. You wanted to give in to him—to feel him in any capacity that you could. Michael’s hands were on your backside before you could realize what was happening, his tongue hot and wet on your hole. He drew patterns on the skin there, going in and out just enough to drive you wild. He pressed his thumb in the indent between your cheeks, pushing his face into your warmth.

“Fuck me.”

You barely got it out before Michael lifted his head from your opening.

“What was that?”

You ignored him.

“Fuck me, please.”

Michael held your hips while he responded.

“Promise me you’ll be good.”

You nodded as soon as he said it, breathing hard in a state of constant arousal.

“Say it.”

Your skin erupted in goosebumps at the force in his voice.

“I’ll be good.”

Michael moved the moment you answered him. The grip of his left hand tightened as you heard his right jerking his shaft, nearly making you shake in anticipation.

He entered you with a quiet power, thrusting fully and deeply. You relished the feeling of having him inside you—wishing you could see his face. As if he heard your thought, Michael turned you over. He was still inside, bucking his hips up as he grazed a spot of pleasure. He was holding your waist, quickening his pace with a sensual energy.

You admired him in all of his glory—tattooed and glistening with sweat. He was beautiful and intimidating at the same time, locking his eyes on yours as he thrusted deeper inside of you. You could feel the curl of your peak at the back of your legs. It lingered there until it traveled to the pit of your stomach, your nails digging into Michael’s arms while you tempered it. He was going to keep his promise of getting you all the way there—knocking your headboard against the wall.

“Fucking come for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to concentrate on the pleasure you felt. Raw, hot, searing. Michael had gotten you to a place that seemed to only exist in romance novels. The heady, dizzy kind of arousal. You started to see waves in your peripheral vision and you had to give in. You cried out in ecstasy when you came—your body locking up in admiration of Michael’s shaft. He pushed himself as deep as he could inside of you before emptying his load, giving a satisfied sigh when he flopped beside you on your bed.

You were convinced that you were going to wake up to a dream that ended with the sex toy in your bedside drawer. Instead, you found Michael, almost starry eyed, admiring you from the side.

“I have to do that again.”

[hellmo]

karen: makes a nice chilli, sets aside a portion for nancy before she adds the pits of hell for the rest of the family

wheelers: perfectly fine

nancy: sweating over her mild chili

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Breathe - Chapter Six

After the biggest meeting of her career, Y/N went for a drink and met him. Dean Winchester, the handsome bartender at The Shop, who managed to say all of the right things to soften her hard shell. Was it possible that Y/N was wrong all of this time? Had she spent the better part of 2 decades focusing on her career when there was one man in a city of 18 million that could make her feel more alive than any job ever could? Will she be able to slow down long enough to let herself fall in love with a man that was never a part of the plan? After years of holding her breath, will she finally let herself breathe again?

This story is written for my beautiful and talented friend and beta @dean-winchesters-bacon​, thanks for always inspiring me and supporting my whims. Love you always.

Banner by the talented @talesmaniac89

Chapter Six

Her

Walking back into the office building felt like a walk of shame to Y/N. She gave herself a nice pep talk on the cab over, racking up a significant bill, but the last thing that she needed was to look like a fool. Especially since she already felt like one.

She wore her power heels, red with a pointed toe, and a sleek black dress and blazer. Her lips were painted a dangerous red and her hair cascaded down her shoulders in sultry curls. Her heels clicked on the marble floors, and she rode the elevator up to her floor. The secretary, Jenny, greeted her with wide eyes. “Can I get you a coffee, Y/N?”

Y/N smiled in satisfaction and gave her a nod. “The usual is fine, Jenny.”

She was back, bitches! She had a brief with Sam in twenty, but as soon as she closed her office door and settled back in her chair to finish gathering everything up for the meeting, her phone buzzed.

You’re not allergic to shellfish are you?

It was Dean, and immediately her heart was racing. She shouldn’t respond, she should leave him hanging and wanting more, she should focus on work, but yet… she found herself quickly typing before she could talk herself out of it.

No. Why?

Buzz. Good. ;)

What kind of adult man used a winking face? She stared at the text for a long time, digesting it, plucking it apart. Was she seriously doing this? Was she dating this bartender ? She should be focusing on the case and proving herself. Especially since she had everything to prove.

Buzz. I feel like I can hear your thoughts from across space. Don’t overthink it. It’s just dinner.

She felt her stomach flip, because holy fuck somehow Dean Winchester knew her after such a short time, and she genuinely didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Y/N are you ready?” Sam asked, poking his puppy dog head into her office with a big smile.

“Huh?” She looked up from her phone to catch him staring at her with a soft expression. “Right. Yes.” She closed her folders that she hadn’t looked at once, gathered everything into her arms, and stood. “Let’s get started.”

Dean

“Chef?” Cas called to Dean from the grill.

To say that Dean was distracted was an absolute understatement. He felt like a teenager, sneaking texts to Y/N. He was thinking about the menu for their date that night. The date was consuming the majority of his thoughts. Y/N was consuming the majority of his thoughts. He hadn’t expected that.

“Chef?”

Dean’s eyes flickered up from his phone to his sous chef. “Hm?”

“Your head is in the clouds,” Cas said with an amused expression. His hands were on his hips, and his eyebrow quirked up.

“Is not.” As Dean said it, he recognized how half-hearted his own voice sounded. “What did you need?”

“Tell me what's on your mind. Is it Lisa?”

Dean’s face faltered a bit. He hadn’t thought about Lis or the wedding since the moment his eyes had landed on Y/N. He shook his head adamantly. “No. Not even close.”

“Then what?”

“Start on dinner,” Dean instructed, slipping his phone into his pocket. He should really take his own advice.

“I will if you talk.”

He rolled his eyes at Cas, but smiled a bit. He didn’t want to keep it to himself. “I met someone.” He reached up and plucked a pot from the hanger and placed it on the counter.

“Like a new fish guy?”

“No,” he laughed. Was he becoming a spinster? Was it that outrageous that he could’ve met a woman?

Cas looked up from the parsley he was cutting. “Wait, you mean… you met a woman ?”

Dean grinned back at him so hard that his cheeks hurt. “Yeah and I don’t know, man. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You seem smitten.”

He snorted in response. “Well, I feel a little smitten if I’m bein’ honest.”

“When are you seeing her?”

“Tonight.” Dean turned to the fridge and pulled out tomatoes to start on his sauce. “I’m a little distracted.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s good, though. You deserve to be distracted.”

“It’s still early. I’m not sure if it’ll turn into anything, but…” He tossed a tomato and caught it. “I want to try.”

“You deserve it, Chef.”

“So formal, Cas.”

Cas grinned widely, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I respect you.”

“You’ve seen me drunk off my ass and throwing up in bed.”

“It wasn’t your brightest moment, but you did make some killer hangover brunch the next day.”

“One of my specialties.” He diced the tomato before placing the pieces into the bowl.

“And what are you making tonight?” Cas asked, gathering the parsley clippings and sprinkling them into the saucepan.”

“Still deciding.” He grinned at his friend. “But it’s the most important part of the night.”

Cas stopped and raised an eyebrow, turning to Dean. “Not the most important.”

“The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach, Cas,” he said matter of factly.

His friend leaned against the counter and shook his head. “Ah, maybe that’s why I haven’t settled down either.”

“You’d have to leave the kitchen to meet anyone,” Dean commented.

“Right back ‘atcha. Where did you meet this mystery woman anyway?”

Dean turned to his friend and grinned widely. “At the bar.”

Her

“I need to apologize again,” Sam said softly after he shut the door to the conference room.

“Let’s just move past it. We have a job to do, and I don’t want to dwell.” Y/N said, placing her papers on the table and sitting.

Sam sat next to her, his arm brushing hers. Y/N noted his position, since it made more sense for him to sit across from her. That wasn’t abnormal for her, as annoyed as it made her. She scooted away from him.

“Let’s get started.” She opened her folder.

“I just feel bad…”

“Sam,” she snapped. “I’m here to work this case, and if you can’t handle working with me then I’m not sure why you offered…”

“You deserved this.”

“I do.”

“Right, that’s why I asked… I just… you mean something to me, Y/N.” He reached for her hand and she pulled it back.

“You’re not listening to me.”

He sighed and pulled his hands back into his own space. “I am. I hear you.” He opened up his own files and slid papers to her. Within the next several hours he explained the case, their position, and they developed a plan. Y/N relaxed within the next three hours, kicking off her heels under the table. She could say a lot about Sam, but she had to admit that she was comfortable with him.

The longer they sat together the more they fell into the familiarity of their relationship. They would make a good team, she was convinced. There was bureaucracy within her firm, and if she was being honest with herself, Sam may be giving her the only chance at the big leagues. He’s opened a door for her, no matter his intentions, it was helpful for her career.

Sam stretched, his neck cracking. “We should break for lunch, I’m starving.”

“I could eat.”

“Carry out? Or do you want to go somewhere?”

“Maybe we should get delivery so we don’t lose our progress.”

“Not a bad idea,” Sam agreed with a swift nod.

Y/N stood up. “I’ll buy. Give me a second to grab my card.” She turned towards the door, and Sam grabbed her hand.

“Y/N,” Sam whispered, his thumb rubbing the inside of her wrist.

She turned her head, her eyes flickering up to his. “Hm?”

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” she said honestly, her expression softening. It was hard to hate him when he looked at her that way.

He stepped closer, closing the space between them. With his free hand he brushed a hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. His hand lingered at the side of her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. “I’m glad.”

“I freaked out.”

“It was warranted.”

“Still not my best moment.” She let out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. “I wanted to blame you, but it’s not your fault that they picked you over me.”

“You work harder than anyone here.” Sam’s breath tickled her lips, and her stomach flipped.  He was familiar. He doted on her. As she looked into his eyes, she questioned if he was in love with her. He pressed his body to hers, and she let him. He lived in her world, and he understood her in a way that most people couldn’t. So when he leaned down to capture her lips in his.

They melted together, her arms reaching around his neck to pull him closer. He was there to absorb the pain and anxiety she had been feeling about work and everything else in her life. His hands ran along her waist and down to grip her ass in his palms. He squeezed, eliciting a groan from her lips.

The blinds in the conference room were closed tightly, and no one would interrupt them. So even though it was inappropriate and that she had decided to end things, she allowed his lips to travel down the base of her neck. She whined as he nipped at her skin. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair. It was too long for a respectable lawyer, but he was holding onto his college years and the youth that came along with them. She tugged at his hair gently, and he picked her up swiftly in response before placing her on the table. His hand found the center of her chest, pressing firmly to cause her to lay back.

The room seemed to spin as he worked her skirt up her thighs, leaving fluttering kisses along the inside of her thigh. Her vision speckled from staring at the lights, and she closed her eyes. Sam moved her panties to the side and expertly slid a finger within her. She let out a ragged, wrecked breath as he flicked his tongue along her clit.

Y/N tried to focus her thoughts on relaxing, on her back against the conference table, and Sam’s hair tickling her bare skin, but her mind wandered for just a moment to him . Moss green eyes flashed in the darkness, a bright smile, the feeling of his lips against hers. Her back arched at the pressure and friction between her legs, and she trembled.

She shouldn’t go on the date. She should end things with Sam. She should focus on her career.

Her fingers gripped for something to hold onto before landing back in Sam’s hair, tugging, and causing a groan to escape his lips right into her heat, threatening to send her over the edge.

Later

The afternoon got away from Y/N, like most did, and then into the evening. After two orgasms they ordered lunch, despite Sam’s murmurs of having already eaten. She felt good about the case, and by the end of the week they’d meet with the client to go over strategies. She couldn’t afford to fuck it up. It was all too important. Sam offered to take her to a late dinner once they finally wrapped up, and she declined. She already had plans.

She went back to her apartment and showered, washing any remaining evidence of Sam’s mouth from her skin. With her towel wrapped around her, she wiped the steam from her mirror and stared at herself. “You’re single,” she reminded herself as guilt of her relationship with Sam crept up her spine. “You’re not crossing any kind of boundaries by having dinner with Dean. Plus, you’re going to end things with him. You don’t need the distraction.”

She didn’t sound particularly convincing, if she was being honest, but in that moment she had convinced herself.

The air was chilly. She picked out her favorite pair of jeans and a green cashmere sweater with brown boots. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose curls, and she wrapped a scarf around her shoulders before slipping into her coat.

Dean hadn’t texted the rest of the day, and she found herself missing the little annoyances. She hadn’t been that way since she was a teenager, and she promised herself in adulthood that she would never wait on a man or want after one. So she applied a mauve lipstick, grabbed her purse, and headed into the night toward the restaurant that she met Dean the first time.

The restaurant was low lit, and as she approached she took out her phone to text Dean, but was instead met at the door by a blue eyed man in a white chef's shirt. “You must be Y/N.”

“I am and you are?”

“Castiel. The Chef is expecting you,” he said kindly, opening the door for her. Her eyebrows shot up immediately. “Follow me.”

They walked through the entrance, and he held out a hand to her. “Can I take your coat?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” She shrugged off her coat and handed it to him. He was classically handsome, despite his messy hair.

“Your table is in the kitchen,” he explained as they walked through the empty restaurant.

“Wow, a chef’s table?”

“Best seat in the house,” Castiel said as he opened the door, the lights from the kitchen bleeding into the dining room. “I trust you can find the way from here.”

Her eyes flickered to him. “You’re not joining me?”

“You’ll be in good hands.” He offered her a warm smile and a nod.

She turned toward the kitchen and was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. She took a deep breath, remembering the wish she made on her lantern, and exhaled as she stepped through the threshold into the kitchen.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the bright lights, and she followed the sounds of cooking around the corner. She wondered why Dean hadn’t been the one to meet her at the door, but the thoughts of curiosity melted away as her eyes settled on a set of broad shoulders at the stove. “Dean?”

His head whipped around to her and the moment his eyes landed on her he grinned widely. “You made it.”

“I did.”

He wore a white button up with the first few buttons undone, and his sleeves rolled up. He was stirring something on the stove, but he paused to address her, turning a knob at the base of the stove. “Let me get you a glass of wine. Please, sit.” He ushered her to a small table tucked near the stove, and lit the candle that rested upon it. The flame caused a light to dance against the single red rose in the center of the table.

“I got us a white, because it pairs nicely with the entre, but I do have red if you prefer.”

“White is fine,” she said with a quirked eyebrow.

Dean poured her a glass and handed it to her, their fingers brushing as she took it from him. He turned away from her to tend to their dinner, and her head spun before she even took a sip from her glass.

“How was your day?”

“Dean?”

“Hm?” He turned to look back at her.

“You’re not a bartender are you?”

He grinned at her and shook his head. “Don’t tell, since apparently it’s a big secret. The Shop is mine.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the stove. “Worked my ass off for it and for some reason people keep showin’ up.”

“Dean, your food… your food is incredible. I bring clients here to woo them. I had no idea.” She stared at him in awe, before her eyes flickering down to her class. She unfairly pegged him. He wasn’t some lazy bartender, he owned one of the best restaurants in New York City. She was an absolute assohle.

“That’s nice of you to say,” he said almost bashfully.

God and he was modest, too!

If she could’ve disappeared into her wine glass she would’ve. She went there that evening planning to break things off, because he couldn’t be her equal. She was humiliated, but yet he was looking at her like she was the sunset.

“Dean I…”

He walked to her and kneeled in front of her so they could be face to face. He smiled at her warmly. “Whatever is bothering you, I want to hear it, but have some wine first. The food is almost done. I want you to have my full attention, and I can't focus on the food if I’m listening to you.”

She nodded quickly and didn’t back away when he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers softly.

He went back to the stove and started his work again. Watching Dean cook was easily the sexiest thing that Y/N had ever seen. His shirt hugged the muscles on his chest and his biceps flexed as he stirred a sauce that was simmering on the stove. She wasn’t sure if it was the smells or the sight of him that made her mouth water.

She sipped the wine and goddamnit that was delicious, too. The warmth that traveled down her throat told her that the wine was a high alcohol volume, and her muscles began to relax. He was humming something low as he stirred that was almost rocking her to sleep, so she stood and walked to him.

“Can I get you something?”

“I just…” She looked at him, this beautiful man in his element. “Can I help?”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You cook?”

She grinned back at him and shook her head. “Not even a little bit. I’ve been known to burn water.”

He laughed in response, shaking his head, his eyes crinkling at the edge. “Get over here.” He opened space for her. “You can stir.”

She took the spoon in her hand and began a spinning motion within the pot.

“It’s all in the wrist,” he said teasingly, before grabbing some spices from the rack and sprinkling them in.

“Am I doing it right?”

“Mhm and you look pretty damn good doing it.”

She felt a heat creep up her neck and her eyes flickered to him. He was looking at her like she was the only person in the world. She opened her mouth slightly, but couldn’t find the words. He slipped the spoon from her fingers and pulled it out of the pot, blowing on it to cool it. “Taste,” he instructed, holding the spoon to her lips.

She complied, letting the sauce touch her tongue. Holy Fuck. “Dean that’s…”

“Too salty?” he asked, his eyes wide.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, it's perfect.”

And you very well may be perfect, too.

---

Chapter Seven

Read on A03 Here

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[nooneshome12]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Well here it is! I know you’re normally supposed to post WiP on Wednesdays but oh well :) special thanks to @ellensyu for beta reading this for me!

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He can't take it anymore. Weeks of being humiliated washing dishes....he was a cook for Goddesses sake! So what if he screwed up once with his boss standing right in front of him? That didn't mean he was a lost cause, so when Link finally gets some alone time with his boss....well, let's just say it didn't go how he expected it to.

Chef!AU NSFW

[trillian-anders]

just a taste

work-in-progress

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, fluff, maybe a little smut if the mood strikes

description: chef!au; a series of one shots based around chef!bucky cooking for you.

note: will be updated sporadically, if you have a request for a particular dish just let me know 🥰

grilled cheese

chicken noodle soup

huevos rancheros

cinnamon rolls

sourdough

boeuf bourguinon

s’mores

cheese fries

shrimp scampi

chicken paprikash

[blossom-hwa]

If the drabble req is open, can i request Bang Chan + chef au please? Thank you very much

Chef Bang Chan? A god-tier concept? Thank you for requesting this!!

1k drabble game: send me an NCT/WAYV or SKZ member (+ an idea/title/aesthetic/etc. if you want something more specific) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

Title is a bit unimaginative, but I like the concept of Chan’s Kitchen too much to let it go oops

~

Title: Chan’s Kitchen

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

~

Chan’s Kitchen might be small, but it’s one of hole-in-the-wall hubs for people who know the town as well as you do. As the sun sets, more and more people crowd in, leaving Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix scrambling to get everyone seated. From your table in the corner, you watch the boys and the chaos fondly.

Five years you’ve lived in this town, and Chan’s Kitchen hasn’t changed one bit. Sure, it’s gotten a little more popular and more crowded over time, but the homey atmosphere is the same, and the quality of food is still to die for. Sipping at a glass of water, you sigh in content. 

“He’ll be here in five minutes!” Hyunjin whispers in your ear as he whizzes by. Smiling widely, you call out a thanks and settle in to wait a little longer. Chan’s always busy, of course.

It’s just five minutes. But a lot can happen in five minutes, especially when overly-pushy men are involved.

“Are you alone?” 

You look up from your phone, where you’re answering a work text, to see a man standing by your table. He doesn’t really look like a sleaze, but who knows? “No, my boyfriend will be here in a few minutes,” you answer.

His expression changes and you groan internally. Damn. He is a sleaze.

“You don’t need to fake a boyfriend, sweetheart.” Without your permission, he takes the seat in front of you. “I can make your night worthwhile.”

Subtly, you scoot your chair back. “Why would I lie to you about a boyfriend?” Quickly, you glance at the doorway to the kitchen. Chan, please be finished soon. “My boyfriend will be here soon, and I’d like it if you could stop harassing me and go away.”

As the guy puffs up, ready to defend his nonexistent honor, you make frantic eye contact with Felix, who holds up one finger. One minute. 

One minute has never passed more slowly in your life. 

“How have I been harassing you?” the guy snaps, drawing people’s attention. “I just wanted to keep you company and be a decent person! How -”

“Yeah, by invading my space, assuming I’m lying about my boyfriend, and refusing to go away even when I’ve already asked?” Your voice is just a venomous hiss, but it doesn’t stop the stares from coming. “I’ll ask again - go away, and stop ruining my night!”

“What -”

“Didn’t you hear her?”

Chan stands by your table in all his blond-haired, chef-attired glory, eyes narrowed at the man sitting in what was supposed to be his chair. His arms are crossed, showing off the result of hauling bags around and going to the gym. A small smirk rises on your lips. 

“Hey, Chan,” you murmur. His eyes immediately soften as they look down at you, and he smiles briefly and gently before turning his attention back to the guy, who’s still sitting there.

“Who are you?” said guy snaps belligerently.

“Oh my God.” You bury your head in your hands. “Chan’s my fucking boyfriend!”

You look up when you hear the snort. “This guy? Your boyfriend? Sweetheart, you can do so much better -”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” You shake your head in disappointment at the world. “And go, before Chan throws you out.”

“Under whose authority?”

“Mine.” Chan’s lips turn up into his customer service smile, the deadpan expression that’s always terrifying to see. “I own this restaurant, you see.”

With another pathetic scoff, the guy leaves. Chan takes the seat, his hands immediately grasping yours over the table. “Sorry about that.”

“Why are you sorry?” You smile, squeezing his hands. “He should be, not you.”

Chan’s mouth twists in a grimace. “I hate people like him.”

“So do I, but don’t let him ruin date night.” Your smile grows wider. “Didn’t you have a new dish for me to try?”

Chan immediately brightens. “Yeah! Felix is supposed to bring it right about now -”

A simmering bowl of soup settles on the table in front of you. “Enjoy.” Felix smiles before rushing away.

You look at it carefully. “It’s not like... that sweet and sour salmon thing you had me try last time, right?” 

He immediately pouts. “No! Just try it! I swear it’s delicious this time.”

“Just teasing.” You pick up your spoon, raising it in a mock toast. “To date night!” 

“To date night,” Chan agrees, pressing a kiss on your knuckles.