Often, Kuchen liked to stay in the kitchen during late hours. He spent most of his time thinking of all sorts of recipes that he could do with his chocolate or perfecting existing ones just so he could retain his pride as the top chocolatier. Sometimes, he would even set aside that time to taste test some of the chocolate sent to him by his juniors.
Tonight, he decided to give it a try after receiving a box of chocolates from a friend he made in another country. Except, this time, he couldn't help but bring company with him as he took off the lid of the box and held it up for you to choose.
"Pick one. He said that they're all different flavours so we won't get to taste the same ones." As he said this, he already picked out a heart shaped piece and popped into his mouth, closing his eyes to gauge its taste. "This one's pretty good."
You haven't picked out anything, though. So he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and shoot you a questioning glance, asking you, "not up for it tonight?"
You shook your head in response as you tried to word your thoughts. "No, it's nothing like that. I was just about to ask you if we could split each one so we can get a taste of everything but you already started eating so I guess that's off the table."
Kuchen paused. He hadn't thought of that. He let out a sigh as he put his hand behind his neck as a small smirk decorated his face when an idea came to him. "You know, the taste is still there. If you want, I could give you a taste, you little devil."
"L-Little devil? Where did that come from?" You snapped yourself out of your daze. "No, wait a minute. Your whole suggestion is ridiculous! I can't believe you…"
"What? I'm serious though." He winked, "just give me the word and I'm yours to taste.
WOOOOH, DAY FOUR LET'S GOOOOO!!! Okay, admittedly, I had the most fun writing this and I have no idea why. Maybe it's 'cause they're the food guild and I love food so much.
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Featuring: Members of the Gourmet Guild | Gastronomy
Type: Headcanons
Prompt: Each character musing over why did you pick them to be your first partner in this journey
Warning: Pre-Game Launch Character Assumptions
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As curious as he is about your rationale for choosing him, Oscar hardly puts any viable thought or effort into it.
He is, ultimately, a man of importance and with a commodity of enemies lurking at every corner. So rather than whatever intentions you may have, he’s more concerned about the kind of character you keep hidden within yourself.
After all, intent is malleable with the right stress—a better offer of money, opportunity, and the accessories in a dish. But character? Now that is something remains distinct, constant with little dynamics, the stock to the entire soup itself.
So, whenever there’s a chance, he invites you to have a meal with him.
Dining, in essence, is its very own social interaction. One can not only enjoy the food being served but also gauge just what kind of person one’s company may be by the way they dine.
Even as he keeps the conversation going on between the two of you, he always has a watchful eye in the way you sit, in how you treat the restaurant staff, the way you hold your utensils, and how you tend to the food on your plate.
He keeps his vigilance high around you for quite some time; however, once he sees how constant you are with your routine, how unlikely it is that you’ve simply been acting for the sake of malice, then he’s able to lower his guard against you and truly begins to enjoy your presence.
Without caution to be an ever-active sign at the back of his mind, he starts to see the genuineness in your words and actions. You listen attentively to his lessons about what kind of dish you’re having, the history and culture of it, and though you may have some reservations about the brutality of his criticisms, you make it a point to understand why and how come.
It makes you even more endearing to him.
Before he knows it, you’ve become a precious existence to him, enough to make him worry about his threats becoming yours as well.
When he finally asks you what made you choose him, he’ll later on blame it on the atmosphere. On an almost daily basis, the two of you have dinner together. This night, in particular, the two of you are in a restaurant with an outdoor aesthetic with magically-lit candles decorating tabletops and making your eyes glow with something ethereal and hypnotizing to him, your smiles and laughter filling him better than any meal can.
It takes almost all of the discipline inside of him for him to be able to listen to your answer, but the fine line that is his control nearly snaps when he hears the genuineness in your words and he doesn’t even have to see that the dark flush on his cheeks is less so because of the alcohol but more so because of you.
“I’m well aware that we already spend a lot of time together, but, are you free for lunch tomorrow? I placed a reservation at that restaurant you loved, and I was hoping we could try out their newest dish.”
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Kuchen doesn’t bother beating around the bush, fudging the truth, sweetening his words, whatever. He doesn’t, because he isn’t the type of person to waste his time on something that isn’t the least bit important to him.
He has the decency to pull you into a secluded corner before he tells you, in no uncertain terms, to pick somebody else because whatever it is you want, whatever it is that you need to do, he won’t be able to be of any help.
The grave twist to his features is a stark contrast to his usual easygoing one, and he can tell from your expression that he’s caught you off guard with this side of him, but you have to understand. To him, making chocolates will only ever have his full concentration, and it’s best that you know this now rather than later after so much time has been meaninglessly spent.
He gives you time after that to make your decision, confident that you’ll see his way, and he spends his days as he usually does, that tension between his shoulders loosening as time goes by.
When next you drop by the guild, he merely spares you a glance before he turns his attention back to the lady he’d been enamoring. He expects you to wait for him to finish his business with her, to tell him that he’s right, to change your mind.
You, just like how white chocolate refuses to be tempered so easily like the rest, do not do any of that. Instead, you grab him by the arm, smile apologetically at the woman, before dragging him off the the storage room to have a private conversation with him.
He knows, just by the determined furrow to your brows and in the set of your gaze and lips, that you aren’t changing your mind. And he’s right, because you tell him so.
He informs you that it’s your loss, not in an unkind tone, but you insist that you aren’t losing anything and that you aren’t asking him to prioritize whatever it is you want over his passion. You chose him, and you aren’t going to treat him like a broken toy just because he’s harder to handle than the rest.
Something about your words rings significantly inside of him, resonating with feelings and memories he’s long since buried, and it’s really the only reason for why he lets you do what you want.
He doesn’t change completely, at least not at first. He still focuses on making chocolates, still spends his time flirting with women, but whenever you inform him of a request, he takes time from his busy schedule to accompany you even if he’s all complaints and side-tracking.
It takes time for him to warm up to you, and it doesn’t help that he’s kicking and screaming for you the whole time. But he’s seen how patient you've been with him, how genuine you’ve been with your promise, that it makes it hard for him to not come to care for you.
More often than not these days, he wonders why you chose him. It leaves him a little too scatterbrained than normal, affecting even his time when making chocolates. Next thing he knows, he’s staring at a dark red box filled with all of your favorite types of chocolate, each one crafted by his hand, thinking about how much trouble he’s in now.
“Here, take this...Huh? What do you mean who it’s for? It’s for you, obviously. You’ve never tried out any of my chocolates, right? Well, now you can. But prepare yourself, because you’ll never want to eat any chocolates but mine after one bite!”
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It isn’t that Cuit is ungrateful for the opportunity, far from it in all honesty. It just…appears to be a very daunting experience.
He’s never really experienced what it had felt like to be first in anything until you came along, so, so certain in your decision to choose him of all people. You’d grinned this side of sweet when he’d accepted, and that had been enough to send his heart thumping a mile a minute because you’d looked so earnest, so proud in your choice.
For a while, it feels as if he’s walking on cloud nine and, though he still has his main job in the Gourmet Guild, he wholeheartedly devotes as much of himself as he can into your endeavors.
However, with all things that go up, they must, eventually, go down. And for him, his practically crash lands like a stray meteorite.
The weight of his responsibilities come to him gradually. Little things, really, that amount to something great and harrowing that he’s forced to take a seat after a few absentminded blunders in the kitchen.
He has his elbows resting atop his knees, his hands cradling his head, fingers sinking into his hair, as he wonders if he even deserves to be by your side.
After all, who is he to stand alongside the other meisters? Each and every one of them were masters of their own craft, while he himself is still toddling along behind somebody’s shadow and barely succeeding. How could he even think that he could support you, when he could barely do the same for himself? Why did you pick? And why did he accept?
He doesn’t notice your presence until he feels a featherlight touch to the back of his hands, breaking his train of frantic thoughts. He looks up at you, the light from the ceiling acting as a halo of some sorts against the back of your head, and he knows he must look horrible in comparison to you.
You ask him what’s wrong, worry a stark hue in your eyes, and he internally berates himself for letting you see this side of him before he tries to placate you. It doesn’t work, by the way you furrow your brows, and underneath your steel gaze, he relents and tells you his worries.
Something in your face fractures as you listen to him, eyes rounding with each confession that slips past his lips, and he looks away when he’s done, feeling both humiliated and empty because surely now—
Yet, you merely take his hands into yours, a wave fondness overshadowing your sorrow as you run your thumbs over the bandages wrapped around his fingers. When you look up at him, the look on your face is enough to make his heartache horribly. Then, after licking your lips, you tell him gently as to why he shouldn’t worry about that—for why you chose him in the first place, out of everyone.
You gather him up in your arms when you’re done, quietly embracing him and running your hands through his hair. He returns your hug after a while, fingers gripping the back of your clothes, and he allows himself to live in the moment with the knowledge that he does have a place beside you and savors it.
“...I know that I still have a long way to go, but I don’t think I’m as scared as before. And I have you to thank for that, you know? So, I want to make a promise to you. Starting today, for every day we spend together, I’ll make you smile with my food.”
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Although Riche is careful to keep his features placid in response to your choice, there’s a hurricane of conflicting emotions that he lets lose inside of him.
For the most part, he’s flattered by your choice. After all, surely it’s the way he presents himself that makes him stand out amongst the rest, makes you believe that he’s someone that you can rely on. On the other hand, he’s irritated. Not only does having to support you means more work for him atop of everything else, but it’s also not as if it’s possible for him to reject your offer.
He’s been selfish once and has brought more than enough trouble to his brothers. He’s not going to start again after he’s just gotten a handle over it.
And so, he compromises. He’s cordial with you, yes, but he also keeps a certain distance from, always at arm’s length despite your best efforts. He isn’t here to make friends with you, but to fulfill whatever duties you give him.
This all changes, though, on a day where everything seems bleaker, his regrets stinging sharply in his knuckles and his guilt a heavy curtain draped at the back of his mind. It’s on days like this where he’s sharper with his tongue than he means, gaze more pointed. It’s also the day when he snaps at you for the first time, impatience winning out over his calmness. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he clamps his lips shut, the makings of an apology glued to his mind yet incapable of being said.
When you leave, he knows he’s messed up. That this is it. He’d been given one chance to get his life together, but of course he goes and waste it.
He spends a few days in contemplation, getting his thoughts in order and preparing himself to confront you. His brothers ask him if he’s alright, but he reassures them that everything’s fine, not wanting them to take care of his business. He’s the one that had hurt you. He should at least have the decency to mend his own wrongs.
Once he has the words ready, he seeks you out. It’s awkward, having to sit with you after so long, but he is determined to see this through. The minute he knows he has your attention, he cuts straight to the point, bowing deeply to you and explaining himself, even if he has to reveal a few personal matters to you. He doesn’t expect any sort of forgiveness, but he does ask for you to not hold a grudge on the guild.
The silence that stretches on is so palpable that cutting through it would be like cutting through butter. But the moment ends when he feels you drag your chair closer to him, your feet appearing in his line of vision, and you ask him to meet your eyes so that you can explain your side to him. In the end, you forgive him. You tell him that you understand where he’s coming from—everybody has their good days and bad days, and you appreciate him putting a lot of thought into his apology.
Maybe it’s a spur of the moment or something entirely else, but he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind—do you still want him as your partner meister?
It’s clear that you’re caught off guard by his question, but the surprise on your face eventually makes way for amusement for you quirk a smile at him and tell him that nothing has changed since the day you made your decision.
Your words leave him reeling and try as he might to get an answer out of you for your reasons over choosing him, you’re cheekily quiet. This time, you don’t have to be the one to close the distance. He’s doing a mighty good job doing that on his own.
“...What’s with that look for, huh? For your information, I do know a thing or two about gardening. Most of the wine bottles here come from the grapes I raise. If I can do that, then I can certainly grow some flowers for you.”
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W A L T E R
So long as it doesn’t interfere with his job as Oscar’s taste tester, Walter doesn’t really mind being chosen to help you around.
Your company is nice to have. You don’t seem upset by his preference to be quiet most of the time, nor do you just assume that he doesn’t like having someone to talk to.
You take time out of your busy schedule to spend it with him, always looking delighted at the prospect of helping him out in the greenhouse that he can’t help but mirror your smiles with a shyer version on his own lips.
He finds your interest in the plants under his care endearing, though more often than not he always has to make sure that you aren’t touching the ones with dangerous appendages. The way that you smile sheepishly at him as you apologize only makes him even fonder of you.
He finds that his days with you not only become brighter but also pass by quicker than the ones without you. It’s during these times, when he’s tending to his plants all alone. that he dearly misses your presence beside him.
He wonders if the same applies with you—do you miss him as well? He feels silly for thinking like this, because you always come back the next day with food as if you had any reason to apologize for your absence.
What he does find amusing, however, is the horror that never fails to wash over your face whenever he plucks a leaf from one of his poisonous plants to test its quality. The first time he’d done that, you’d panicked, grabbing his hand with both of yours and encouraging him to spit it out even after he’d swallowed it. He’d explained to you how his magic had recycled the poison into something harmless, and he’d huffed out a small chuckle when you finally remembered what his job in the guild was.
In a way, he feels touched by your concern, especially with how fast you’d reacted when you’d assumed that he was in danger. It makes something inside of him feel warm, because he’s so used to protecting others and not so much the other way around. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that he has another person in his life who cares if something bad ever happens to him.
He tells you such during one afternoon and after all the plants have been tended to. Yet, the expression you give him strikes something deep inside of him, wrenching his heart this way and that, and makes him decide that he doesn’t ever want to see that kind of expression on your face ever again.
Before he can do anything to placate you, you suddenly reach up to squish his cheeks, an indignant look on your face as you tell him that you will always care about what happens to him, whether it be good or bad, big or small, because he’s important to you.
His eyes widen at your words but soften into a fond gaze. Bringing a hand up to touch the back of yours, he asks why.
And you tell him so. Your reasons for picking him in the first place, and why you’ll always pick him no matter what. The affectionate tone in your voice makes him feel warm from his cheeks down to his chest, but he listens reverently, thinking that if he was in your situation, he too would choose you.
“This is for you…It came from the bush you helped me grow. You can use the leaves for tea, or ask somebody to make it into a sweet drink…”
soooo can i request the ideal type hcs with kuchen (ymkr)? Like, what is his ideal type to relationship ?
i’m sorry if you don’t understand something 🥹
honestly? 🫥 we have to drink the delusional potion for this one my besties
Kuchen, by all means, is someone who prioritized his work before anything else. If it weren't for his bad habit of fooling around with women every now and then to unwind, he'd definitely be considered a workaholic who's married to his job. That being said, it was difficult to find out what his ideal type is when he isn't interested in committing to a relationship in the first place.
But force an answer out of him and he'll reply with something like how he wants to be with someone who won't get in the way of his work. A little vague and totally something that can drive anyone interested in a relationship with him away — it was as if he saying his work would be more important than his potential partner. He would be lying if he said that was untrue though, he holds his work and craft very close to his heart.
Perhaps after a little bit of character development, it wouldn't be too far off to say that Kuchen's taste has changed a little bit. Maybe instead of answering the question with a lazy reply, he'll answer with something more coherent; something that was put more thought into. Kuchen would like someone hardworking, someone who could support him wholeheartedly, and someone who wasn't too clingy — whatever that last part is.
He has met a lot of people in his lifetime and it's hard to say for sure that the ideal type he mentioned would be the one he would fall for in the future. Love is blind; you don't get to choose who to love. Kuchen was no exception, his ideal type was just someone he's more inclined to be with. Who knows? Maybe he'll fall in love with someone who's the complete opposite.
