#Julian Slowik Smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missjaystone · 7 months

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Summary: Chef Julian Slowik sets his sights on making you something more than his next sous chef. Pairing: Julian Slowik x Reader Word Count: 1,710

Kink Prompt: Power Play | Dom/Sub Warnings: Slight dubcon/coercion, power imbalance, dom/sub tones, hints of (and obvious) sexual harassment.

A/N: I wrote this for me. I am the one who wants to get fucked by Ralph Fiennes's character in The Menu. I am my own target audience.

Standing tall and silent to the side, Chef Julian's all-seeing eyes burned holes into the back of your head. He watched every move you made like a hawk. He made his way around the kitchen slowly, making sure everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to. You were leaning over the counter with tweezers to place the garnishes around the plate before you when you felt his presence behind you. "Good steady hand." Julian compliments coolly. "Thank you, chef." You respond without stopping or taking your eyes off the dish in front of you. It's a miracle you didn't jump when he put a hand on your hip. His hand stayed on your hip as you put the tiniest pieces of the dish into place, even going so far as to step up until he was pressing himself against you, making sure you felt his erection. A shiver ran up your spine as he leaned over you, further pressing his hardness into your backside. You didn't object at all at the contact, you'd seen what happened to the people who rejected Chef Slowik and you were determined to not end up like them. "When dinner finishes and I dismiss the others, stay in the kitchen." He orders. "Yes, chef." You say with a slight tremble in your voice. All the other chefs were too busy focusing on perfecting their own plates to pay any mind to the suggestive position Julian put you both in.

Dinner proceeded as usual, without further contact from Julian. Once everyone was fed and sent away, the rest of the staff began returning the kitchen to its spotless state, wrapping up at 2:30 in the morning. "Everyone can leave. Get some rest before tomorrow." Julian dismisses before turning his gaze to you. "Except you." Now that nobody was busy, you felt everyone's eyes on you as they filed out of the kitchen, leaving only you and Chef Slowik in the pristine kitchen. "How long have you been cooking?" He asks you. "Since I was a child, chef." You answer. "It was my duty as the oldest to take care of my siblings when my parents couldn't or wouldn't." "Do you enjoy it?" He questions. "Immensely, chef. What started as my duty became my passion. I can't do anything besides cook." You answer calmly. "That's not entirely true. You can follow orders better than the others. You can present better than them, you can work harder than them. I believe you are better than them." Julian states. "How would you like to be my new sous?" He offers. It's a miracle you manage to keep your jaw off the floor when you answer him. "That would be the opportunity of a lifetime, Chef. I'd be honored."

"I expect more from my sous than the other chefs, you know." He warns. "I expect my sous to follow my orders to a T, to go the extra mile to make sure Hawthorne runs smoothly, to do as I say without questioning or arguing with me. Do you think you can do that?" He asks, stepping up to tower over you. "Yes, Chef." You say with a nod. "Then get on your knees." His voice was atonal, devoid of any emotion, almost to the point of being robotic. He said it like it was any other order in the kitchen. There's only a split second of hesitation before you sink to your knees before him. "Do you know what I want from you?" Julian asks, tilting your chin up to meet his dark blue eyes. "You want me to prove I'll do whatever you ask of me, regardless of what it is, Chef." You answer. "Smart girl." Julian hums in approval, running his thumb along your bottom lip in a silent quest for access. Your lips parted just enough to take his thumb into your mouth before wrapping your lips around it. He watches intently as you suck on the digit, only to abruptly pull it out after a few moments. He kept a close eye on your hands as they undid his belt and zipper, fishing his rock-hard cock out without so much as a single tremble.

Julian's breathing catches slightly in his throat when you lean forward and take the head of his member into your mouth, moving slowly just like you had with his thumb before he took it away. With a steady grip on his base, you began slowly bobbing your head, taking him into your mouth little by little. His eyes fluttered shut with each. A small groan escaped Julian's lips when he felt his head hit the back of your throat. "You can do it." He hums when you gag around him, and the way he says it makes it sound like more of a general statement, a fact even, and less of an encouragement. When you didn't move fast enough for his liking, he frowned. "You will do it or you won't be in my kitchen much longer." He said more firmly. You give a slight nod and take a deep breath through your nose before taking his length into your throat. You bobbed your head and relaxed your throat, taking in more of him with each bob of your head until your nose touched his pubic bone and you gagged. Julian let out quiet noises as you worked, bobbing your head along his length with garbled noises, letting your tongue trace the vein on the underside of his cock. This continued for a few minutes before he tangled his fingers in your hair tightly and pulled you off of him.

Lust entirely darkened his eyes when he tilted your head up to look at him. "Get up and bend over the counter." He says in the same voice he'd used to send you to your knees. You wordlessly scramble to your feet and turn around, but he stops you from bending over. "Undress first." You don't trust your voice to speak for you, so you just give a nod and strip down to your underwear. A small, genuine smile crossed his features as he watched you. "Perfect." He mutters. He easily maneuvers your pliant body until you're bent over the counter. "You'll be a good sous... but an even better partner," Julian says as he runs his hand down the curve of your spine until he reaches your ass. "P-Partner?" You question, your voice faltering when he pulls your underwear down until the flimsy fabric falls slack and drops to your ankles. "That's right." He nods, stepping up behind you and teasingly running the head of his member through your wet petals.

"Do you want to know why I've picked you specifically?" Julian asks, dragging his tip through your folds until it catches on your entrance. "Why-" Your question is cut off when he leans over you, slowly pushing his member into your waiting opening. "Because you're obedient and eager to please," Julian whispers, kissing the shell of your ear softly. "I picked you because you are submissive." He states as he bottoms out. "You crave having orders to follow, being told what to do, and I'm going to be the one to give that to you." He husks as he slowly begins to thrust his hips. He talks over your moans. "You aren't just like the others, you're more special than them, more talented, more intelligent, more devout. You are better than them." He says as he thrusts into you. You gripped the edge of the counter as his thrusts quickly went from slow and easy to fast and almost punishing, each one forcing a moan out of your throat. Julian tangles his fingers in your hair and turns your head to the side enough to press his lips to yours in a heated, commanding kiss, biting your bottom lip slightly. That hand stayed tangled in your hair, holding your lips to his while the other left your ass to give your clit some rough attention. He angles his hips some until he finds your G-spot, reveling in the louder moan you let out.

"J-Julian..." You stammer breathlessly between your moans. "Not yet." He hisses as he bucks his hips into you, furiously chasing his release. The edge of the counter was beginning to painfully dig into your hips with each rough snap of his hips. The closer you get to your impending orgasm, the more your vision blurs and fills with stars. The combination of Julian's thrusts, his attention to your sensitive clit, and the way he tugged your hair was quickly bringing you closer to the edge you were determined not to fall off of just yet. Every movement of his was hellbent on seeing if you could follow his order. "See? You crave not disappointing me." He whispers smugly in your ear as he nears his climax. "Go on, pet, let go and come for me." Julian orders. It sends a chill through your body as you cave beneath him, letting go and moaning out his name as white-hot bliss overtakes every fiber of your being. Julian falls over the edge right on the tail end of your orgasm, letting out an almost primal-sounding moan as he buries himself to the hilt before filling you with his release.

His grip on you loosens when your orgasms subside. You shudder some at the feeling of his spend dripping down your thighs. Julian smirks at the reaction while tucking himself back into his pants. He grabs one of the nearby dish towels and almost gently cleans up the mess between your legs. "Tomorrow, you can move your things into my home." He states. "Y-Yes, Chef." You mumble with a nod. Julian cups your cheeks and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before planting another to your lips. "You will be phenomenal as my sous, as my partner, and as other things to come." He says with a smile. "Thank you, Chef Slowik." You say almost numbly as your mind processes everything that just happened. "Please, you can call me Julian when it's just us," He says jovially. "Thank you, Julian." You correct yourself. "Anything for you, my dear," Julian says with a smile, pressing another kiss to your lips.

I also wrote this for @bdffkierenwalker because she has been an amazing friend and always encourages me to write things that I want to write.

#The Menu #Julian Slowik #Chef Julian Slowik #Chef Slowik #Julian Slowik x Reader #Chef Slowik x Reader #Julian Slowik Smut #Chef Slowik Smut #The Menu Smut #Ralph Fiennes #Kinktober

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zutraeumen · 9 months

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Passionfruit (Julian Slowik x OFC)

Welcome, dear readers! I am not a fan of long introductions so I will keep it short for your sake. This is a self-indulgent fanfic crossover between the John Wick and The Menu fandom where I do not own any other character than my self-imported character Adele Cole. As English is not my mother language, I apologize for any grammar mistakes in advance. Spoiler warning if you aren't familiar with any of those films! Reviews are appreciated but if you don't like it, don't read it.

You can find this work on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev.

Passionfruit🍴Masterlist:

Hawthorne Island

The First Course

The Second Course

The Third Course

The Fourth Course

Palate Cleanser

The Sixth Course

The Assassin and the Chef

Final Course

#romance #john wick #the menu #julian slowik x ofc #julian slowik #chef #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #eventual comfort #eventual romance #eventual happy ending #eventual relationship #eventual smut

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zutraeumen · 10 months

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Hawthorne Island

Adele watched as the man slowly, painfully descended the staircase, his pearly white dress shirt stained with spots of crimson red. The tie dangled under his head like a noose without the black lounge jacket, his movements sluggish, so unlike him, when he lowered himself onto the steps, breath short and arms shaking from the efforts.

She had known John Wick for a long, long time. Longer than he probably remembered from their childhood in Padhorje in 1974.

But never had she seen him this done with life.

Perhaps back when Helen died, but then again, there was still something that kept the man above the water.

"When Helen died, I lost everything. Until that dog arrived on my doorstep. A final gift from my wife. In that moment, I received some semblance of hope. An opportunity to grieve unalone."

He had once confessed to her in a moment of vulnerability - rare as they had been. It was at that moment she knew he didn't see her as a threat, and that had been enough for her.

Trust among hitmen wasn't easy to come by, loyal friends were an unheard commodity, but she had hoped that he would come to see her that way one day.

There was much Jardani wasn't aware of, and she made sure to keep it that way even when they'd finally breached the mistrust. The last thing Adele wanted for him was to feel indebted to her, John had already been in enough of a pinch owing a blood marker to Santino D'Antonio.

If there was one thing Adele most regretted about her involvement with John Wick, it was that she couldn't prevent him from seeking help from that treacherous snake D'Antonio. His spineless treatment of John after he had paid his debt forced her out of the large shadow he had cast. With a $7,000,000 bounty on his head, even if he was the man you would send to kill the boogeyman, he needed help.

After being branded Excommunicado, he told her to leave his side, he wouldn't doom another to treason.

"Krovavaya Meri sleduyet za Baboy Yagoy v izgnaniye."

She had told him in Russian, she could still remember the way his eyes grew large as dinner plates. It might have been the first she had completely taken him by surprise. Nevertheless, being the man that he was, that is, a man of action and few words, he took it exactly as she said it and delved no further. Accepting her help.

They ran. They fought. They bled. They killed.

Adele Cole and John Wick.

Bloody Mary and Baba Yaga.

Two of the most renowned assassins in the field - excommunicado.

A grand tale in the making...

But like any tale, even this was nearing its end. And so it seemed like his journey would come to a close in Sacré-Coeur.

A church of all places!

If there was such a thing as a God, she imagined he would have a good laugh about it.

Adele would have had one, if her heart wasn't so occupied with hurting for her friend. Tears had evaded her for a long time but now they returned with vengeance as they trickled down her dirtied cheeks, already mourning what was to come.

Exhaustion gripped him greatly and it showed in the way he didn't even realize that Adele was making her way towards him. John showed no recognition of her presence even when she sat down right next to him and it sent another pang through her heart.

Adele did not speak to him, even when her mouth forcefully jugged down the words that tried to escape her.

Adele did nothing but sit in utter silence, waiting for him to sort himself out. She was already feeling as if she was intruding into his personal space and moment, thereof. But she was selfish too, and despite knowing better, still desired to be a part of it.

Out of the corner of her trained eye, she watched him lift his head up in the direction of the rising sun, and he looked mesmerized. But Adele only ever had her gaze set on him because missing the final moments of his life seemed unacceptable to her.

She would not have him die alone after all they had been through.

"Helen..." she heard him whisper softly, and a tearful smile etched its way onto her empathetic visage. Her humanity, at last, peaking through.

No matter how many cruelties he had enacted, no matter how many lives he had taken - it was all for his wife. To hold her memory intact. John Wick had been clinging to life through killing, but in the end, he learned how to live by dying.

Killing remained killing, and violence remained violence, no matter how justified, but for the first time in years, John had done something on his own terms. He chose this end on his own. He chose how he wished to be remembered, memorialised by his loved ones, friends, and allies.

A man of honour, of devotion, of love - a loving husband.

"Do you think she will be there?"

The last thing Adele expected of him was to steer his dark orbs to meet hers, eyes drooping in the wake of blood loss as his posture waned and he decided to rest his head on her shoulder, leaning into her as if she were the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

And indeed she was.

Unblinking in spite of the curtain of greasy, black hair, the woman held his gaze and replied gently, "She will."

There were no lies in her words, Adele had never hoped for something so much than seeing him happy and fulfilled, even if it was in a place she couldn't follow. They deserved to be together.

He closed his eyes then, breathing growing shallow, and Adele expected no more of him, resolved to one last selfish act; she slowly let a kiss land on his brow - her goodbye to a brother in arms.

"Thank you, Adele, for everything."

Thank you, Jardani, you have saved me in ways you would never know.

The ever-present tension on his face disappeared as he completely slumped over her sitting person, lax as a dying body could be while Adele carefully manoeuvred him to span across her lap for his final rest.

Her tears had dried by then, but threatened their return as she watched over him in relative silence. The usually sharp lines of his face softened, overtaken by such peacefulness she would have wanted to see more often on him.

She had lost a good friend that day, and the world had lost a good man.

And the Bloody Mary disappeared with him.

A nautical bell. Foghorns. Waves lapped the shore. Seagulls.

The rotund honk of the small boat jolted her back to the present, Adele should know better than to succumb to stray thoughts but she had been in this business long enough to rely on her instincts alone.

The soft wind tickled the untamed bangs of wavy black hair on either side of her face before she put one side behind her ear, only for it to stubbornly fall back. Grunting, Adele would have to visit a barber to thin it out as it began to obscure her vision too much for her taste.

A young couple stood alone on a dock. They were dressed elegantly for a big night out. The young woman stared off, a little bored. Her partner drummed his hand against his leg. His eyes darted around, a little panicked.

"Babe, please don't smoke it will kill your palate," Adele overheard the young man say to his girlfriend, she spied a hint of berating in his voice, but it was small. The girl in question was a pretty thing; slim figure, big eyes, delicate facial features...

"Then my palate will die happy."

A spitfire that one was. She could recognize another woman with balls. It didn't take her too long to realize by listening that those two weren't a common couple. They barely knew each other to have a serious relationship. Adele figured she must be a high-end escort for the brunette man. She had seen many of her sorts in more luxurious establishments than the docks.

A foghorn blew close by, startling the three of them. A small but gorgeously appointed boat pulled into the harbour.

Leaning back against the stone pillar a fair distance from the boarding platform, she watched as a few other guests began to file into the small boat. She couldn't recognize them by face but - was that Aurelio over there?!

Sure enough, the man looked down to the boot like Aurelio, John's acquaintance. Adele only met the man twice, they weren't close but she had a good memory of all the people she met. It took only a second glance to realize that this man wasn't Aurelio at all. Perhaps an estranged twin? It didn't matter.

The other guests on the other hand...

There was that air of arrogance about them as they strutted about. They intently took up too much space, more than they needed. This misconception of magnified importance in comparison to the other 8 billion people on the planet.

The elite. Egocentric, narcissistic...

They made Margot and Tyler stand out like a sore thumb, but at least through his running mouth, she got a vague sense of who she was dealing with. After counting the total amount of eleven guests, her employer being among them, there seemed no one else left to board the ship other than her, so it was time to join them on the deck.

Ravel's 'Une barque sur l'océan' played dreamily in the distance.

The staff greeted them with impeccable attentiveness and professionalism the guests met with shallow smiles to uphold etiquette, dismissing the quality of the service because of their preconceived notion that they were worthy of such. They all shined with smugness and vaunted their privilege of having been personally invited by the ingenious Chef Slowik to come to dine on his island - it excited them, and must have made them feel even more special than they in reality were.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please make yourselves comfortable for our 30-minute journey to Hawthorn."

There wasn't much unoccupied space left for Adele to roam without drawing attention, so she decided to keep her movement abroad the ship slow, to get as much information about the guests and their motives as possible. However, no matter how stealthily she moved it seemed she could not escape the dutiful butlers ready to serve their customers.

They offered her a glass of wine, appearing even redder against the rays of sunshine. The butler had given her a detailed, crisp explanation of the wine and its origin that Adele had already forgotten half of.

She opted to inspect it, there appeared to be no fault in colour and there was nothing she could sniff out. But the small pink flowers gave her pause. For anyone unsuspecting, this could be mistaken as a common flower meant for aesthetic purposes but to assassins, this was one of the most uncommon poisons known.

Nerium oleander.

A small meal was served to get their mouths prepared for the evening, oyster with lemon caviar.

Not something she would consider eating, so, as the waiter turned corners she dumped it into the sea - Sorry, not sorry.

At this point, Adele would take no chances because as she knew all too well, one could never be sure with unidentifiable substances like Thallium or Polonium-210. Arsenic had also been quite popular for some time until it wasn't. The dish had seemed safe to consume but with the wine poisoned, the message was sent.

Someone didn't want her to make it into the evening.

The beat in her heart increased slightly at the prospect but that was just her body tuning in for yet another dangerous mission. There was more to it than met the eye, and instead of feeling angry, Adele felt it was a somewhat ironic turn of events.

"The world can't just let us retire, isn't that right John?"

The seagulls sang their songs as the boat rode the calm waves well into the evening. The weather was beautiful, and the sun's rays offered plentiful warmth, too much to handle in her black turtleneck, leaving her no choice but to either take off the lounge coat or vacate to a more shadowy spot.

Choosing the latter, the assassin moved away to see what the other guests were up to before they reached the island.

The front of the house lined the dock, smiling, poised. The assassin followed the others out, disembarking onto trusty land. It was very ceremonial. Adele was a bit unnerved by all the pomp.

The ride was short, but the guests were as lively as ever as they skipped in pairs of two to maître d' that awaited them at the shore, asking about their reservations and then welcoming them to Hawthorne Island until it was Tyler's and Margot's turn.

"Welcome to Hawthorne, Mister Ledford and... Miss Westervelt?"

There was a beat of silence where the lady butler looked puzzled. Margot, equally puzzled, looked at Tyler who began sputtering, "Umm... sorry... yeah, no... that was, uh... it's not Miss Westerv... she had a change of plans so this Miss..."

"I am Margot, hi, nice to meet you."

Margot made a move to lock their arms at his elbow, but he continued not to take her hint and reciprocate. Really convincing act. He couldn't even recall the surname of his plus-one, how utterly embarrassing. And it showed on his face as he offered a small, insecure smile towards the maître d' whose eyes flickered conspicuously between them.

Adele could see the cogs in her head turning as if the last-second replacement posed an unexpected complication; a ripple in the still water.

With a guarded smile, the small lady butler turned her sharp eyes towards the redhead, "Margot, welcome..." she nodded acknowledging, followed by a cold smile offered more out of pleasantries than anything, "... we endeavour to make your evening as pleasant as possible. Right this way."

Adele scampered back to the end of the line, only now realizing that the boat wouldn't linger for their return. She wondered if she was the only one who noticed this. It wasn't a challenge to secretly manoeuvre through the wealthy pairs at all. Many of them couldn't hold a flicker of attention on anything else than themselves and such lack of awareness suited her just fine.

All the leftover pairs went by smoothly until it was her turn at the end, the only one without a plus-one and she was quite unsure what to expect of the exchange.

"Miss Cole?" Adele was possibly a head taller than the diminutive Asian maître d' but the woman stared her down none the same.

"Yes, Ma'am."

A flicker flashed, could have been a trick of light, through the lady butler's dark eyes. There wasn't much in her expression that would give away something the assassin could pick up on. Perfectly neutral; and professional. Nothing threatening... for now.

"Right this way, please," The woman guided her back to the small flock of their group before beginning to guide them through the island's premises, which Adele had studied meticulously beforehand.

Weapon and armour were important, yes, but careful planning and information were invaluable.

She and Wick were of one mind in this regard.

Anna Liebbrandt and her husband excused themselves but not before her client exchanged a few glances with Adele - the assassin understood. The older couple had been frequenting the establishment the most out of anyone present, so it would be silly for them to accompany the rest for a tour.

The lady butler going by the name Elsa guided them first shoreside, "Hawthorne Island comprises 12 acres of forest and pastures. We have the bounty of the sea surrounding us. Out there right now, we are harvesting scallops. You will eat them tonight."

She pointed at the lone fisherman throwing the net into the sea. The guys beside her hollered at him with handwaves, rowdy and slightly tipsy, and he answered back. Adele mentally noted that his motorboat may come useful if she needed a way to escape.

They trotted along the set pathways to the different plants and gardens, which were seamlessly incorporated into nature. There were no modern installations, everything seemed to point out that most preparations were done manually. The maître d' kept talking even when the guests showed no real interest in it, they chattered away about their affairs in clamorous voices.

That was until they reached a singular smokehouse of Nordic fashion when the finance trio got suddenly interested, "We use the meat of dairy cows only, which we age to an astonishing 152 days to relax the protein strand."

"So," Dave began, all smiles and gestures, "what happens if you serve it on the 153rd day? All hell breaks loose or...?"

What a stupid question, anyone who had ever learnt cooking would be able to answer it, but I guess to those three, it seemed all the better joke.

"Well, I suppose the bacteria would introduce itself to the consumer's bloodstream and spread into their spinal membranes after which point he or she would become incapacitated and shortly thereafter expire."

The assassin nudged her head to the side thinking it was quite an elaborate way of saying they would die.

"So yes, all hell would break loose."

The boys shared a nervous laugh about it while Madam Elsa turned to address the rest with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "Good thing we're pros, yes? Come --"

The subtle dig at them went woefully unnoticed but Adele had to hold in a scoff because the maître d' clicked heels and resumed their little tour. Next on was something that sent off the first red flags in her brain.

Madam Elsa led them into another building, one fairly bigger than the smokehouse.

Entering what looked exactly like military barracks, complete with bunk beds. Tiny shower spigots, like at a YMCA, and a row of toilets with no walls or doors, like at a prison. At the centre, the lady butler stopped to speak, "This is where we live."

"You actually live here? All of you?"

"All of us. Except Chef."

Esprit de corps. Lovely.

Julian Bloom's partner, Ted, commented with a swipe of his glasses, "Wow, it's free decor, no?"

"No, Mister Feldman, it's very much more than that. Here, we are family. Each day starts at six, with five hours of prep work. We harvest, we ferment, we slaughter, we marinate, we liquefy, we spherify, we gel."

Tyler smiled, inspired, everyone else, was less sure.

Margot murmured something that had the maître d' correcting her forcefully, and some even jumped at her raised tone. Everybody went really quiet and Elsa used that to pick up where she left off, "Dinner is typically four hours and twenty-five minutes."

That long?

"Each day ends at well past two in the morning. So yes, it's best that we all live here."

A different tech bro, the one named Soren, who decided to lounge on one of the beds offhandedly asked if they wouldn't get burned out from such ridiculous working hours but the lady butler merely looked at him, disgusted, but composed herself in time, "Burned out?"

"Yeah, sorry, sorry, like tired of doing the same thing?" Soren rephrased it, meekly.

"Chef holds himself to the highest standard and so do we. We never burn anything unless by design. Now. Who's hungry?"

It might have been subtle but Adele spied it with her trained eye. The venom leaked through the crease of her right eye, mask cracking every so slightly. There was the viper Adele suspected. The assassin fortified her guard subconsciously, looking at this bunker and its implications made her feel uneasy, her gut agreed with her.

They encountered no other soul on their way to the restaurant, but for those with attentive eyes, the chef's house could be discerned among the trees of the nearby forest. Tyler even asked if they could visit it, which the Madam swiftly turned down. If the staff had no access to the boss' lodging, then neither could the guests.

Two guards awaited them at the entrance, one opted to open the massive, sliding door with the press of a button while the other accompanied Madam Elsa and led them further in. The room was minimalist and faux rustic. A touch sad even. A museum mood where one doesn't necessarily 'enjoy' eating.

Her sharp eyes flitted across the large room, analysing: six guards (seemingly unarmed), two butlers with pitchers, Madam Elsa and a Sommelier, fourteen sous-chefs, two hallways, one exit, and large windows (bulletproof?).

The kitchen was open, visible from the dining area, and the bustling staff was hard at work. With Chef Julian Slowik nowhere to be seen.

It hosted reasonably big, round tables for two for each couple with small reservation cards on them. Anna and her husband Richard were already seated, but the man went somewhat pale out of nowhere and then switched seats with her client - hmm, strange.

Margot stayed back with her, not knowing where to sit before the maître d' showed her her seat next to Tyler.

"Feel free to observe the cooks as they innovate but please DO NOT photograph our dishes. Chef strongly feels that the beauty in his creation lies in their ephemeral nature."

Then the lady butler came back for Adele and with a guiding hand at the small of her back, led her to a smaller table abutting a wall where an older lady already presided. Adele greeted her politely before taking her seat, but got no sort of response back.

The woman across her already nursed a glass of wine and looked as forlorn as any abandoned grandmother. Another guest? Adele sighed lowly, so no small talk then. At least she had the time to look around until the other guests settled.

At her left, there was a buzzing open kitchen with focused sous-chefs working on the dishes with rapt attention to detail. They didn't even look up once to assess their customers, not even when Tyler bothered one of the cooks with his questions, he was promptly sent back to his seat afterwards with a quiet Margot in tow.

You can take the jacket off, dear.

The Bloody Mary, for one, was utterly rubbish at cooking, and had no finer tastes or demands of her meals other than to be nourishing. Her motto: if it tasted better than from a trashcan, then it was already up to her standard. Props to growing up piss-poor.

Adele turned back to her table companion when the cheery Sommelier offered her another glass of wine, "More Lambrusco, madam?

The madam nodded silently.

Not poisoned this time.

To avoid suspicion, the assassin agreed with a grateful nod, a guarded expression in place. She might actually consider taking a sip, it looked expensive to waste, but found her mood thoroughly soured as the last contained a portion of a poisonous plant in it. Well, one could play with that glass in the meantime, giving the illusion of mindful savouring.

The other guests all the while, engaged in their own bouts of conversations. Not even showing a remote interest in the ongoing preparations of their soon-to-be meal. While the assassin might benefit from observing the masters at work by writing down a thing or two, she had to sadly fall in line with the other toffs.

Maybe she could ask them questions like who put FUCKING OLEANDER into her wine!

Adele was having enough of this and the evening barely even started!

If it wasn't for Tyler and his overexcited fussing that could be heard from miles away, she would have missed entirely the crucial appearance of Chef Slowik in the kitchen, being seated with her back to the dining room made it harder to observe what happened behind her back but made it remarkably easier to fall off the radar.

Bringing the glass to her lips without drinking, she observed how the man strode in. Brooding, intense. Utterly focused as he glided from station to station swiftly, tasting. Elsa approached the Chef and spoke to him softly, without the usual edges in her carefully manufactured face. Adele couldn't hear what was said, but Slowik looked in a certain direction.

For a second she thought he was looking at Tyler, but it was Margot instead. They locked eyes. The assassin spied recognition in his eyes - no, a sadness perhaps? A longing? The chef tersely broke eye contact and resumed his tasks. The cooks around him continued to work with an almost sinister focus.

That settled it, there was something going on backstage and both of them were definitely not meant to be there - especially Margot.

It was not her first time arriving somewhere technically uninvited (definitely the last time though), she couldn't keep track of how many times she crashed into the Continental over the course of her career, covered in blood and wounds. The face of Charon behind the counter always managed to brighten up her mood in the end. He had been such a good friend.

Ugh, where was the appetizer? She was growing hungry and depressed. Deadly combo.

Ah, like being summoned by her thought, the servers marched, trays in hand with the first taste of the menu. Sitting up properly, the assassin waited for a plate to be put down in front of her only to find out the elder lady was not given one. That ruled her out as a customer.

"Here we have a compressed cucumber melon, milk snow, and charred lace. Enjoy."

What kind of bullshit is this?

#the menu #julian slowik #chef slowik #julian slowik x ofc #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #winston scott #ralph fiennes #margot mills #horror #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #eventual relationship #eventual comfort #eventual smut #enemies to lovers #romance

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zutraeumen · 10 months

Text

The Fourth Course

HE KNEW.

Her mind panicked.

BUT HOW MUCH?

Her mind reasoned.

Taking a calming breath that betrayed her rising restlessness, she looked herself dead in the eye through the pristine bathroom mirror.

The woman before her wasn't the same one who was known after a terrifying fable.

Bloody Mary was a woman of violence, tough as leather hard as steel, precise and lethal in her criminal dealings. A product of an unfortunate childhood, shaped and misguided by people who held her leash and operated in the shadiest corners of the world.

Adele Cole was the polar opposite, a small-end assassin of the High Table. A good friend to the manager of New York Continental and his concierge Charon, living in the shadow of much greater assassins.

All things sinful came into her life before she knew how to tell between right and wrong, and set her on a soulless existence. One where a person has been robbed of everything they would never know belonged to them, or anyone else for that matter.

Until her path crossed with Baba Yaga, a phantom of her previous life that served as an acute reminder of what she had lost in the first place.

Her rival, her idol, her partner, her friend - the journey of change had been long for her.

She only didn't realize how long after she had a chance to look in the mirror and see herself after 49 gruesome years...

Stop your pity party and go to work.

Good advice, she was getting senile with old age.

She retreated into the bathroom because he knew something. The fact that he knew each and every one of his guests wasn't anything remotely unusual, but the lovely tacos were a sign that he dug too deep for comfort.

Slowik was aware that she was here at Anne Liebbrandt's behest, and that Doug Varrick wouldn't have denied one of his regulars such a menial request (especially an extra bill to pay). That alone shouldn't have caused her any worry, but did he know that she was hired as a guard?

Because from that email alone, there wasn't a reason to suspect he did. But he somehow must have, otherwise, why would he want her empoisoned out of anyone else? She didn't see anyone else having oleander floating around in their wine! Why was she to die first? Would the rest follow after?

There wasn't much that speculating would reveal for her other than the fact that he had different plans in store for her than the rest - even Margot.

Either way, his resourcefulness posed a greater threat to her than she initially thought.

The Chef was not one to be underestimated, he knew more than he let on. Hell, there may be a chance he knew even more than she did, and with the sneaking suspicion that there was more to this evening than anticipated, it left her at a grave disadvantage.

So, she would continue on as she did up until this point, hoping it would give the impression that Adele was none the wiser about all of this, just as the rest continued to be. Let the Chef hold the reins of power for a little while longer, Adele would use this time to figure out a way to switch the situation in her favour, just as she had done countless times before.

It would only be a tad more difficult this time around, without a real weapon at her disposal, but nothing she couldn't handle so far.

Her eyes perked up imperceptively as they registered aggravated footsteps nearing the bathroom. The door swung open as Margot entered the bathroom, then stilled abruptly, taken aback by Adele's presence - good to know she still had a silent step - she did not let it stop her from entering the stall and seeking some privacy.

Adele had kept her gaze on her hands all the while, washing them in the sink to appear as if she had done anything else but gaze at her own reflection for the few past minutes. Margot ignored her, too encapsulated in her ire (must have been because of Tyler) as she opened the small window to let in some fresh air, the flick of a lighter almost bypassing her ears when the door opened once again.

The air suddenly became denser as Chef Slowik casually invited himself in, looking as intimidating as a drill instructor at boot camp. Adele pushed the gum under her tongue.

Dulled, light-blue eyes sought out Margot first, then carefully landed on Adele, "Miss Cole, may I ask you to give me a moment of privacy with Miss Mills?"

Never one to lose her cool, Adele levelled her dark-brown orbs at the Chef. She thought nothing could slip past her control, but the Chef saw a flicker of apprehension escape her nonetheless. She was reluctant to leave Margot alone.

Her womanly senses tingled in alarm. The bathroom was a sort of safety point for women in public. Every woman knew it was part of the code to look after another fellow woman out in the streets, after all, their strength resided within numbers. Especially if it was against men - if you weren't Adele, that is...

Just kidding... (but actually not.)

Margot's timid shuffling made her realize it might be a good time to stop her staring and offer the expectant Chef an answer before he became suspicious, "As you wish, Chef Slowik."

He thanked her with a prideful nod once she brushed past him but not before throwing the redhead a reassuring glance. Chef Slowik caught onto the unspoken words between them, and locked the door from the inside.

She'd have to trust the man's honour not to try something funny with Margot while she waited outside. Adele was prepared to jump to her rescue in case.

But of course, the rest of the staff wouldn't be satisfied with that. Already hearing Elsa's heels clicking against the floor, ready to lead her back to her seat, Adele tried to appear busy by interacting with her smartwatch and hoped for the best.

Adele considered it a success when Elsa didn't approach her, discreetly adjusting her earpiece to her smartwatch until she heard the first traces of audio, "I would like to know specifically what it was about the last course that you did not enjoy. You've barely eaten your food. Why? I need to know. Why don't you eat?"

Adele straightened against the wall, straining intently for Margot's voice as it replied after a moment, "Why do you care?"

"I take my work very seriously and you're not eating. That wounds me."

It did actually sound like it pained him. The assassin thought it strange for a world-star chef to admit something like that but if his monologues taught her anything, then it was the fact that Julian Slowik was a most peculiar individual with motives just as ambiguous. Another tense silence followed by a bit of rustling on the side.

The next time the redhead spoke it was much stronger and clearer, "I guess I am just not that hungry."

Margot sounded wary, Adele knew she wasn't the only one who could sniff out that something was going on around here. If not from their confrontation earlier, then by the time the third course happened. If only she knew what the evening held in store for her.

"I told you who I am, I am Julian Slowik and I am a chef here, now who are you?"

His voice might have passed as soft, but there was a strong demand thickly laced within. So he had no clue about Margot's strictly hidden identity, the one hidden behind her profession as a high-end escort. Though she wouldn't put it past his cunning to find out eventually.

Adele could feel Margot's distress through the locked door as she meandered from the sink to the serviettes, "I am Margot Mills."

He wasn't buying it at all, "So where are you from, Margot?"

"I am from Grand Island Nebraska. Now does that make you feel better? You want the address for Mom's trailer-park you asshole?!"

The redhead fired back boldly, almost as if the Chef offended her. He must have struck the wrong cord in Margot for her to react so clearly upset. Adele tutted at the woman regardless, she shouldn't poke a dragon. Men in such situations were dangerous, but men with fragile egos were even more so.

At any rate, until Adele had this shit here figured out, Slowik looked like a man not to be crossed lightly. For all she knew he could be a cult leader or something. And the girl was currently writing her own death warranty if she kept that tone up.

"No, not who you want me to think you are. Who are you?"

Even though her usual game wasn't working, and they both knew it, she insisted regardless, "I am Margot."

"You shouldn't be here tonight."

Thanks for the heads-up.

"Please get the fuck out of my way."

Goddamn, she was not making this easy. But after a moment, Slowik did let her pass and both women shared a silent, but brief exchange of glances. Margot was thankful that she had her back. Adele stayed back to mute her smartwatch, it had been a brilliant idea to bug Margot's dress while they were within arm's reach.

The assassin acted dismissive of the chef that followed after the redhead. Perhaps he wouldn't notice her if she stood still enough, but that wasn't the case.

"You are looking pale, Miss Cole, is everything all right?"

He was testing her, checking if the oleander was slowly doing its job, and in hindsight gave her a perfect excuse to have gone to the bathroom, "I do feel a bit queasy after the boat ride, perhaps the oyster didn't sit well with my stomach. So much in fact that it refused to let me taste any of your exquisite dishes, I hope I have not offended your cooking, Chef Slowik."

The brunette man tipped his head up slightly to appear as if he was looking down at her, even though they were technically around the same height, then subtly sneered, "It's perfectly all right. Now, if you could please return back to your seat. Perhaps the next dish will suit your delicate stomach better."

There was a joyful tilt to his voice that unnerved her more than the pure contempt he tried to hide behind a mask of professionalism.

That precarious feeling from before came back, stronger than last time. The storm was near, something was about to happen soon... very soon.

Heeding his suggestion, she moved slowly back to her seat, catching a few furtive glances, Margot's among them, until she sat down. Slowik's mother was busy gulping down the last bits of her white wine and Adele prepared for the worst.

The patrons silently watched two servers methodically unrolling a tarp across the middle of the floor and smoothing out all the wrinkles. Other servers arrived with decorative baskets and proceeded to cover it with sea fennel and edible flowers.

Ted and Lillian were already deconstructing the whole prep work, "Theatrical. But minimalist, like in the Japanese minimirasuto style."

"Mm. They were being playful, yes? With the tacos?"

To the hitman, it looked like a crime scene.

She had seen a lot of those in her career. Caused most of them actually.

The chef stood in waiting, feet planted and arms crossed behind his back, unmoving like a statue. Now that she carefully looked around, everybody, even Madam Elsa and the Sommelier stood still and out of the way.

Here it comes.

Chef stepped up, right in the centre of the rectangular tarp and clapped, but this time, nobody jumped for they were all done eating and observing the staff for a good while anyway, "I am excited. We're ready for our next course, which I think you will find-"

A chair scraped quite loudly on Adele's right as Soren swiftly rose from his seat, with Elsa already walking up to him from behind, "Excuse me. But what the hell is going on?"

Adele was expecting the man to be met with another withering glare just as Tyler had been. However, the chef's authentic, and quite sudden, enthusiasm couldn't be tampered down even by this transgression.

"Yes, if you would let me finish?" he motioned for him to sit, "Thank you."

Elsa calmly re-folds the tech bro's napkin for him. It did have a certain calming effect or maybe he was just more intimidated by the small maître d' rather than the Chef himself that he sat down.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please meet sous-chef Jeremy Louden."

A chef around thirty strode out of the kitchen and stood where Slowik had stood. He stared straight ahead, stoic. Adele's table was the only one that had a proper back-view of the scene, so she was the only one to notice what the man had in his hands crossed behind his back - a gun.

An actual, real fucking gun.

The alarm bells were blaring in full alarm now.

Her survival sense kicked in full-time just as her reflexes were all primed for any sudden movements.

"Jeremy created this next dish. It's called 'The Mess'. Originally from Sparks, Nevada, Jeremy studied at the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park. Jeremy's goal, as he wrote in a heartfelt letter, was to work for me here at Hawthorn. Isn't that right, Jeremy?

"Yes, Chef," Jeremy agreed obediently, like a soldier would to his sergeant. Like a loyal son would a father.

Adrenaline spiked as her fists clenched under the table. Would it be fight or flight?

"Jeremy is talented. He's good. He's very good. But he's not great. He'll never be great. He desperately wants my prestige, my job, my talent. He aspires to greatness, but he'll never achieve it. Correct, Jeremy?"

"Yes, Chef."

Suddenly all the pieces fell together.

The island. The barracks. The ridiculous regime. The collective mindset.

This wasn't a restaurant anymore. This was a fucking CULT.

"Like me at his age, Jeremy has forsaken everything to achieve his goals. Like mine, his life is pressure. Pressure to put out the best food in the world. And even when all goes right, and the food is perfect, and the customers are happy, and the critics are, too, there is no way to avoid the mess. The mess you make of your life, of your body, of your sanity, by giving everything you have to pleasing people you will never know."

Slowik turned directly to his cook, but Jeremy continued to stare right ahead.

Placing a concerned hand on his shoulder, the Slowik asked him softly, "Jeremy... do you like this life? This life that you dreamed about?"

"No, Chef." Jeremy's voice broke at the end, revealing how much the emotional strain the chef was pushing him through with his words.

She couldn't see the shame, despair, and then hopelessness that passed through this young man's empty eyes. Perhaps if she had seen it with her own eyes like the rest of the patrons, she would have dropped the facade and prevented what was about to happen.

But that was not how the Ruska Roma taught her.

"Mmm-hmm. And do you want my life? Not my position, nor my talent. My life."

"No, Chef."

The gun in his dominant hand trembled. And it dawned on her then, he was going to kill himself.

Chef Slowik nodded a few times, as if resigning himself to the fact that his follower was really going through with it. Then he went in front of the sous-chef to look him directly at him, eye-to-eye. He leant into the younger man carefully, pecking each cheek with tenderness, then stepping away.

White curtains were drawn to shield the kitchen but she was sure nobody even noticed as the air became charged with anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your fourth course, sous-chef Jeremy's The Mess."

Everyone held their breath, Tyler clapped excitedly.

The next moments played out fast, but for Adele it might have already been an eternity as the young man bowed and then shot himself through the head, blood splattering into the curtain and some even landed on Adele who was probably the only one who hadn't flinched from the gunshot.

The bubble was popped.

Patrons sprung from their seats, shell-shocked and horrified alike. Servers and cooks rushed out to block their way, more reassuring than threatening. Heavy angst permeated the atmosphere like a plague and things became much more serious.

The kitchen staff all looked, head bowed in mourning for a second, then returned to work. The Chef just stood among the panicking hens, grimmer than the Reaper itself, but largely unfazed.

"Please. Please. Sit. Please. Everything's fine. It's all part of the menu. It's part of the show-"

"- SHOW?!" Felicity and George shouted at him in unison.

"This is what you're paying for."

As the shocked diners were corralled back to their tables by the cooks, servers approached the tables with perfectly-folded moist washcloths so diners could wipe their faces. Other servers fanned out with plates for the menu to resume.

In the meantime, Slowik walked over to the hitman's table and Adele was almost too late to pretend to gag in her seat as Slowik cleaned the still-warm blood off his mother's cheek. The assassin avoided the chef's gaze when she resurfaced and broke into a visible tremble as Slowik shouted forcefully, "EAT!"

This was supposed to be an easy-going, lovely evening with great food and without any action whatsoever, and at the end of her career Adele was thrown into this chaos.

Seriously, the gods must have it out for her.

#romance #horror #julian slowik #the menu #chef slowik #margot mills #winston scott #eventual happy ending #eventual comfort #eventual romance #eventual smut #eventual relationship #slow burn #mutual pining #enemies to lovers #john wick chapter 4 #john wick #keanu reeves #john wick 4

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zutraeumen · 10 months

Text

The Third Course

Tall, spindly evergreens shivered in the cold darkness.

On the third time the Chef clapped, his aura and open posture seemed to be lighter than on the previous courses. A heavy feeling settled in her empty stomach, the calm before the storm.

"The next course is called 'Memory' and that what it's meant to evoke: a memory. So let me tell you a memory of mine. When I was growing up, a child in Waterloo Iowa, Tuesday was Taco night."

A chorus of shallow affirmatives came from the guests as if any of them knew what a generic taco tasted like.

"Taco Tuesday!" The Chef exclaimed lively, with a smile so forced that it even showed his teeth. It didn't look good on him. The guest kept laughing with him at his antics.

"And this," he moved happily over to Adele's table and reached for the madam again, "is my mother. As you can see she is rather drunk. This is not unusual."

That certainly explained things, but the assassin couldn't help but fear where he was taking this monologue. He certainly held the guests' amusement, but she suspected what he was about to tell them was quite the opposite. His expression lost all its previous shine and turned to its more serious variant.

"When I was seven years old, one Tuesday, my father came home, quite drunk. Really drunk. Also not unusual. My mother grew angry and screamed at him at which point he proceeded to wrap a telephone cord around her neck and pull it tight."

His mother reacted vaguely, continuing with her drinking. On what glass of wine was she already?

There was something about the way he animatedly enunciated his words with his hands that gave her chills. There was something deeply wrong with this man, he wore his trauma on his sleeve and that was in most cases, never a good sign. It made people unhinged. And there were no more dangerous people than the ones who got nothing to lose.

And she had seen the worst of humanity, of both men and women who had been through shit the common person could not even imagine.

Still, he went on without missing a single beat, without any stuttering at all, "I wept, screamed, begged him to stop. To make him stop I finally had to stab him in the thigh with kitchen scissors. You remember that mother, don't you? I suppose I should have stabbed him in the throat that evening but we're not so smart when we're young."

The diners exchange uneasy glances. Lillian turned to Ted with a reassuring look, "Don't worry, all part of the course."

Margot, however, watched the chef intently and with empathy, as if understanding his pain. Noticing, Chef locked eyes with her and said the next line directly to her, "It was as you can imagine a very memorable taco night."

The sous-chefs marched, side by side with two plates for each customer while the Chef announced the next course, "So, here you have, house-smoked breast chicken thigh al pastor and our own tortillas made with heirloom masa - one of Hawthorne's signature dishes. We change our menu constantly but Miss Bloom knows this has been a staple since day one. It's a- what you once said...?"

"... put you on the map." The food critic supplied quickly.

"Put me on the map," Chef Slowik repeated, "precisely what map would that be, I wonder?"

Not-so-subtle dig at the food critic, he must really despise that woman. If Adele were in his shoes, she would too, with a passion. Quite a contradicting feeling to feel for someone who essentially put the man on the road to fame and success, but as for most people, there wasn't much happiness to be found in the Chef at all.

"Anyways because we're always innovating and we fear irrelevance, an update to the classic, the images on the tortillas have been made using a laser engraving machine, it's the first time we've used it. We hope this taco night evokes strong memories for us all. Enjoy."

This was a lot to digest, in a metaphorical sense.

The others, of course, bought into that shit and wrote it off as mere theatrics of an artist. There was no way a celebrity such as Slowik would slip up so carelessly like that, it was simply incomprehensible for them with all the grandiosity surrounding their lives. Adele couldn't imagine living a life like that, distorted from reality.

George was even inspired to use similar tactics in his own show. Lillian and Ted were impressed by the chef's rebellious streak. And for the love of god was Tyler crying?! Again? Oh no, wait, it was just a trick of light this time. Adele sighed inwardly with relief.

Seriously, the kid was beginning to rub her the wrong way.

Not one to judge so soon, there did seem to be something inherently wrong with Tyler. She knew by now that he was a massive foodie and self-proclaimed Slowik expert but the way he went overboard was so inconsistent with everything that it stuck out.

The chewing gum had long since lost its flavour as the assassin inspected the tortillas. The images did make the cliff in her stomach expand as she saw photos of her in various moments printed on them perfectly. Each of them more alarming than the next.

The first one was of her waiting at the docks.

The second one was of her throwing the oyster away.

The third one was an email - her client - Anne Liebrandt had sent to the owner of Hawthorne (and the island in fact) Verrick Doug, requesting another special invitation to be issued for Adele to be able to accompany her to the restaurant.

He knew.

Cold realization engulfed the assassin. A retreat was in order so the assassin excused herself to the toilet. Slowik's mother offered very little response as always.

#romance #eventual smut #eventual happy ending #eventual romance #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #winston scott #the menu #julian slowik #julian slowik x ofc #horror #margot mills

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zutraeumen · 10 months

Text

The Second Course

Darkness fell. The restaurant, bay windows aglow with warm light from afar. Out here, amidst the water and trees, all was quiet save for the lonesome, distant call of a loon.

Adele was actually prepared for the next clap! of hands from the Chef, you would never catch her unprepared twice!

"Is he gonna keep doing that?"

I fear so dear Margot.

This time, he didn't even wait for his customer's attention as he began another fancy monologue, "Bread has existed in some form for over twelve thousand years. Especially amongst the poor. Flour and water, what could be simpler? Even today, grain represents 65% of all agriculture. Fruits and vegetables? Only 6%. Ancient Greek peasants dipped their stale, measly bread and wine for breakfast. And how did Jesus teach us to pray if not to beg for 'our daily bread'? It is and always has been the food of the common man. But you, my dear guests, are not the common man. So tonight... you get no bread."

Now THAT was how you politely say 'fuck you' to the rich kids.

That was a devilishly wicked move and she loved it.

"He must be joking..."

"What?"

"It's gotta be a bit... wait, are you fucking serious?"

The worst part was, they still thought it was all in jest; a prank. Oh, how wrong the Chef proved them with his next words, "In this spirit, please enjoy the unaccompanied accompaniments."

Oh, this was better entertainment than South Park.

Watching them looking incredulously at their plates and not even realizing the Chef had just made fun of them. The level of pretentiousness and obliviousness was best described in Tyler's words as 'next level'.

The plate itself and the small accompaniments resembled a painting pallet painters used for their colours, and instead of bread was a note that read: The bread you will not be eating tonight was made from a heritage wheat called red fife, crafted with our partners at the Tehachapi Grain Project, devoted to preserving heirloom grains.

Slipping a chewing gum secretly into her mouth, the amount of chatter doubled significantly at the outrageous course of events and her amusement rose to such an extent that she could almost forget that the Chef wanted to kill her.

"This is insane," Felicity let the paper fall from her hands with a shake of her head.

"Hmmm... because the shit around the total absence of the bread is like, really good."

How could someone enjoy savoury oils and emulsions on their own when they couldn't stand without bread? George could, and Tyler as well, but he insisted it was part of a greater theme nobody of them could grasp.

Strange of him to say that, it was almost as if he knew something the others didn't. But hey, this was Tyler we were talking about, he was the type who probably knew how Slowik liked his coffee in the morning.

"I mean it's a little outrageous, isn't it?"

The blonde food critic leant back against her seat, "That's fiendish really. I mean he- he's always been keenly aware of food and its history of class I mean, as have I..."

"-Sure." Somebody shoot that sycophant in the head.

"... though I will say," she picked up her glasses once again, "that this emulsion does look slightly split."

At this point, the assassin wouldn't take anything seriously from that woman. That food critic was a joke. A woman insatiable, and so full of herself she had to criticize something to appease her own ego; as the one food critic who had discovered and later re-discovered the famous Julian Slowik.

What a bitch.

Madam Elsa thought so too, because it was only seconds before she abandoned her temporary post next to one of the hearths to put a whole ass bucket of orange, 'broken' emulsion in front of her, the very same one she had complained so viciously about. She looked so positively shocked that she couldn't even do anything else but take the L and push out a strained smile.

"Um, excuse me."

Madam Elsa was beckoned by Bryce to the larger table where the finance bros sat, "Is everything to your liking, sir?"

"Um, well, actually no, thanks for asking. I mean look, the food's great and we totally get the conceptual stuff but can we please get a little bread? Some gluten-free for my friend as well?"

"No."

Shit's about to get real.

"No?" Bryce replied, surprised.

Madam Elsa dropped the friendly facade and levelled him with a gaze that very much told him she would not budge no matter how many times he asked.

At the shock of being denied twice in a row, the table shared a round of exasperated glances before Bryan found his voice again, "This is all very clever, and I didn't wanna pull this card, but you know who we are, right?"

Oldest trick in the book.

"Yes."

"You do? You know who we are?" Soren joined in, looking patronisingly at the lady butler.

The maître d' continued to speak politely, as if she was speaking to children, "I know who you are."

Soren let out an irritatingly childish noise of disbelief from his tight-lipped mouth that further proved what a man-child he truly was.

"You know we work with Doug Varrick, right?"

"No, you work for Mr Varrick." The viper struck again. Yikes.

"Exactly so you know we all play on the same team so just, slip us a little bread, please."

"We won't tell a soul lady, I promise."

Their nerve was astounding. Entitlement at its finest. There was no way in hell they were getting what they wanted.

"No."

"Did you say no?"

"I said 'no', yes."

The tension deflated as they gave up, receding in their seats with equal expressions of undignified rejection. Adele smirked in triumph, served them right! But then the lady butler whispered something into Soren's ear and the man had gone paler than a white sheet in the matter of second.

Adele would have paid money to know what Madam Elsa might have said to him.

The Chef until then, presided over the kitchen with a downright menacing gaze, surveying both staff and customers until a loud, unexpected noise popped the bubble in the restaurant.

A glass was shattered and Slowik was onto it like a panther in waiting.

"You haven't touched your food." The Chef remarked to Margot, eyes devoid of passion. Where had that subtle malice gone?

"There is no food."

Hit the nail right on the head.

"No, this is food."

And then the chatter renewed and now there was no way she could continue listening in any more than that. Looking around to see if anybody would notice, Adele watched on as they talked and boy did it seem like Margot was telling him off. Tyler visibly fidgeted in his seat, mortified that he had somehow offended his idol.

Then a truly dour expression took over Chef's taut face, He half-smiled and half-grimaced. No one talked to him like this. Then he walked away. Tyler looked sick.

Adele had said it before and she would say it again, that woman had some guts to tell that to the head chef, even when she wholeheartedly agreed. The courses were horrendously empty of proper food and filled with superficial words that soured the mood to eat altogether.

And Adele was likely to get poisoned if she ever listened to her stomach- WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING HERE?!

The Chef suddenly stopped at her own table. Alarmed, she thought he would confront Adele the same way he did with Margot but he did no such thing. The patrician with clean-shaven cheeks, and trimmed brown hair completely disregarded her presence and gently lowered his forehead onto the madam's sitting with her.

There was warmth, there was true affection in this act, but even such raw moments were over in but a fraction of a moment if one blinked too many times, and soon the Chef was back marching into the kitchen, overseeing the preparation of the next course.

"I want plating in three, my friends!"

"Yes, Chef!"

#romance #julian slowik #chef slowik #horror #ralph fiennes #winston scott #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #margot mills #the menu #eventual romance #eventual smut #eventual relationship

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