hot men with accents

The Real Master Chef

The Real Master Chef
Summary: another in the series of 3am fics which are officially a thing now. sorry.

The text message he got just before he got into his car to drive home only said “need more Cheetos”, and for a moment he considered whether he should stop and get her more or not. For the past twelve days she’d consumed her entire body weight in Cheetos. But she’d also followed the doctor’s orders and stayed at home - not that she had much of a choice with a leg that was fractured in three places. But he knew how hard it had been staying cooped up, so if consuming unhealthy amounts of unhealthy snacks was what it took to keep her resting then he was going to have to pass by the supermarket.

At least it was less annoying than her other thing during that time. He couldn’t remember on what day it was precisely, but some time early on, Patterson introduced Jane to Master Chef Australia and ever since, it had been the only thing playing. She’d gone back to season one and worked her way through all the seasons and was now almost caught up with the current season.

And sure enough, when he walked into the apartment, he heard what he was now quite familiar with. The theme song of the show played loudly as he placed the grocery bags, including he Cheetos, in the kitchen.

“Hey, how was your day?” He asked as he walked over and kissed her briefly.

“Fine,” she said, “did you get the Cheetos?”

The crankiness was part of the package as well, but he wasn’t complaining. He figured if he was stuck at home, unable to move, for three weeks,he would be even worse.

“Yup,” he replied, “right here.” He handed her a bag and sat next to her.

“So? Did you learn any interesting recipes today?” He asked casually.

“Oh, so just because I’m sitting on my butt all day and doing nothing I might as well learn how to cook? Is that what you’re saying?” She snapped at him.

“What? No, I’m just saying-”

“For the record I only watch this for entertainment,” she said, “and to make me forget how useless I am.”

“You’re not useless,” he replied gently.

She turned to him then, ready with another come back, but when she saw the genuine loving look on his face, she held her tongue. It wasn’t his fault she decided to drive her SUV into the criminal’s who was speeding away and end up with three fractures in her leg and a dislocated shoulder.

“I also watch for the really hot men,” she added teasingly, “really hot men with sexy accents who can cook.”

“Oh is that so?” he said, “what about the one you have right here at home?”

“What do I have right here at home?” she replied.

“I can cook,” he said, “pretty damn well.”

“Are you comparing yourself to that?” she said, pointing to the TV just as one of the really good looking contestants showed up on screen.

He shrugged.

“So you’re saying you’re really hot and you can cook? What about the sexy accent?” she teased.

“Well I can definitely put on an accent if that’s what you want,” he said in an almost flawless Australian accent, taking her by surprise as she stared at him in shock before letting out a laugh. “Or would you prefer something more like this,” he then added in an English accent.

“Nope, definitely prefer the first one,” she chuckled.

“This show has corrupted you,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” she said, “don’t blame my show. Just because there’s now a little competition to who owns my heart you don’t need to get so aggressive.”

“Oh is that how far it’s come? I need to go up against a tv show?” he said.

“What can I say? For the past twelve days it’s been my one constant companion, never leaving my side,” Jane said, “if you want to keep your place at the top then you need to work for it, Weller.”

“Work for it?” He asked, raising an eye brow at her.

“Yes,” she replied seriously.

“And what pray tell will that entail?”

“I think I’m gonna hold my own version of Master Chef,” she said, “you’ll have a new challenge every day.”

“I already cook every day,” he said.

“No, no,” she replied, “this will be a challenge, not just any other cook.”

“And what will make it a challenge,” he chuckled.

“Well for instance, one challenge would be me giving you a list of ingredients, and you have to cook something using only those ingredients,” she explained, “and I’ll be the judge.”

“And who am I playing against?”

“No one technically, but in a way, the show,” she said, “you’re doing this to win my heart.”

“Plus, from now on, you’re only allowed to cook shirtless,” she added.

“What? Why?” he said, “I’ve never seen your sexy Australians cook shirtless.”

“Trust me,” she said, “if I was the producer of that show, I’d make sure not a single one of them has a shirt on. Ever.”

“Wow. I never pegged you for one to objectify the opposite sex,” he said.

She shrugged, “what’re you gonna do, Weller, you got yourself a rather shallow sexist fiancé.”

“So? What do you say?” she said, “are you ready to take on the challenge? Or are you to chicken to go up against my army of sexy Australian chefs?”

“How about if I just do this?” He said as he cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her jaw, and leaning in for a slow tantalizing kiss, pulling back when it was only absolutely necessary. He opened his eyes and for a moment just watched as she kept hers closed, trying to catch her breath.

“That’s called cheating,” she whispered, completely numb from that kiss.

“No it’s not,” he argued.

“You can’t kiss the judge to try to edge out the competition,” she sighed as she opened her eyes.

“Yes,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again, a shorter kiss this time but just as breathtaking, “ I can,” he said as he pulled back slightly. Then he moved back closer, kissing her again, before he finished with, “and I will.”

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“Does that mean I win?” he asked.

“Depends,” she replied.

“Will you still cook for me?”

He chuckled and kissed her again, quickly and briefly, before he answered, “yes.”

“Shirtless?” she added, this time she was the one kissing him before he could answer.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said against her lips, both giggling as he claimed her lips again.

“This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket” AU

A/N: Lenfaz gave me this prompt, and I had a lot of fun writing it, so thank you! I decided (based on my own fantasies) that Emma’s comfort food should be chocolate ice cream.

Emma was having a bad night. Heck, she was having a bad week, and tonight’s misfortunes were just the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

Stomping through the grocery store towards the frozen foods section, she could hear the click of her heels echoing throughout the mostly empty store, contrasting sharply with the low murmur of light rock music playing. She didn’t usually find a need to grocery shop this late at night, but the only thing she wanted right now was a pint of her favorite ice cream and a bottle of wine.

It was the best remedy for a particularly rough night on the job. Her perp had not only spilled his drink on her dress - her favorite sexy red one - she had slipped on said drink as she tried to go after him and taken a nasty fall in the middle of the restaurant. Needless to say, he managed to get away, a fact that was still gnawing at her insides.

Rounding the corner of the freezer cases, she saw someone’s ass sticking out of one of the open doors. And what a shapely ass it was too, she couldn’t help but notice. He was wearing tight black jeans which curved over it, high and tight, before clinging to an equally impressive set of muscular thighs.

Smirking to herself, Emma looked down at her phone which had just chimed with a text message.  It was Ruby, responding to her earlier text about what a shit night she was having. She wanted to know if Emma was going to join up with her at the bar. Not likely. Although the promise of alcohol was tempting, she was in no mood to make small talk, not even with her friends.

Peering through the glass doors, she searched for the ice cream section, moving slowly down the aisle while she began typing out a reply on her phone. Before she knew it, she found herself standing right next to Mr. Sweetcheeks, who also happened to be shopping for ice cream at 11:30 p.m. on a Friday night.

She had just hit the send button when he stood up, revealing one of the most attractive faces she’d ever seen - dark hair and eyebrows framed sky-blue eyes, and his cut jaw was covered in the right amount of stubble. He was wearing a black leather jacket and a navy blue shirt, and damn if he didn’t look like he walked right out of a menswear catalogue (if they made catalogues with incredibly hot men with just a hint of danger in their eyes).

“Sorry, love, am I in your way?”

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