Dead Plate Oneshots My Shy Chef

Warning: Contains gender bent,taller, tough Rody and effeminate, shy Vincent

It’s 3:48 AM and I randomly got an idea so I had to write it down

The smell of rich herbs and roasted meat filled the bistro, mingling with the clatter of silverware and low chatter. *La Gueule De Saturne* was thriving tonight, as always, with its dim lighting casting warm hues across the faces of the patrons. At the center of it all stood Vincent Charbonneau, the restaurant’s quiet, enigmatic chef, with his soft, shy smile that melted hearts faster than the butter he used in his famous dishes.

Rodi watched him from across the room, her narrowed eyes following every delicate movement of his fingers as he plated yet another masterpiece. She leaned back against the bar, arms crossed, the fabric of her crisp white shirt tight over her biceps. Her long auburn hair was loosely tied into a messy ponytail, strands of it falling over her forehead and catching the dim light. Unlike Vincent, who was slender and refined in his sleek black chef’s uniform, Rodi was strong, broad-shouldered, with a build that radiated power.

Rodi’s green eyes flicked toward a group of patrons seated by the window. A couple of men in tailored suits sat there, their gazes locked onto Vincent. One of them whispered something to the other, and they both chuckled, eyes sparkling with interest as they drank in Vincent’s soft smile and the way he politely avoided their gazes.

Her stomach twisted with irritation, a growl building in her throat.

“Disgusting,” Rodi muttered under her breath, her jaw tight. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen people looking at him like that. It happened often—too often. Vincent’s quiet charm, his gentle, shy demeanor, and his striking good looks had that effect on people. But Rodi? She hated it. Hated how people ogled him like a prize, how they dared to think they stood a chance with him.

As if they could ever get close to Vincent. As if she’d let them.

Rodi straightened up, uncrossing her arms as one of the men finally mustered up the nerve to stand and approach the kitchen counter where Vincent stood. Her eyes narrowed further, her entire body tensing as she watched the man brush his suit and adjust his tie.

*Not happening.*

With a quick stride, Rodi was at the man’s side before he could reach Vincent. She slid in front of him, effectively blocking his path. The man stopped abruptly, startled, his expression shifting to one of confusion as he looked up at Rodi’s imposing figure. She towered over him, her stance rigid and commanding. He glanced down at her name tag and forced a tight smile.

“Uh, excuse me, miss,” he began, clearly uncomfortable under her glare, “I was just wondering if I could—”

“Wonder somewhere else,” Rodi growled, her voice low and dangerous. She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming, making the man take a hesitant step back. “Vincent doesn’t need you bothering him.”

The man blinked in surprise, his eyes darting nervously between Rodi and Vincent, who was now looking their way with wide, confused eyes. “I wasn’t—”

“I don’t care what you *weren’t* doing,” Rodi cut him off, her voice sharp. “You’re leaving. Now.”

The man swallowed hard, clearly realizing that Rodi wasn’t someone he wanted to mess with. He held up his hands defensively, muttering something about not wanting trouble before turning on his heel and hurrying back to his seat, his friend already laughing nervously at the encounter.

Rodi’s fists clenched at her sides, her blood still boiling. She let out a long breath through her nose, trying to steady herself. It was always like this—people trying to weasel their way into Vincent’s life, into his space, as if they had any right to. But they didn’t. No one did.

Except her.

“Rodi…” Vincent’s soft voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to find him standing just a few steps away, his pale cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He looked at her with those big, dark eyes, the ones that always made her stomach flip, no matter how many times she saw them.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

Rodi softened instantly. All the tension in her body seemed to melt away as she looked at him. God, he was beautiful. With his black hair slightly tousled and those delicate hands that created such incredible things in the kitchen, Vincent was like a piece of art. Fragile. Perfect.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice gruff but much calmer now. “Just handling some trash.”

Vincent frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “You don’t have to do that. They’re just… talking. They weren’t going to—”

“Yes, they were,” Rodi cut in, her eyes hardening again. She took a step closer to him, her protective instincts kicking in full force. “They were going to make some dumbass comment, or hit on you, or whatever, and you don’t need to put up with that.”

Vincent looked away, his cheeks turning even redder. “I can handle it…”

Rodi sighed, her expression softening as she reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm. “I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to. Not when I’m here.”

Vincent’s breath hitched slightly at the contact, his eyes flicking back up to meet hers. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stared at her, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

For a moment, they stood there in the dim light of the kitchen, the clamor of the restaurant fading into the background. Rodi’s hand remained on Vincent’s arm, her touch firm but careful, as though she was holding something precious. And to her, Vincent was precious—more than he could ever know.

Her voice dropped to a low, quiet murmur, meant only for him. “I’m not letting anyone harass you, Vincent. You know that, right?”

Vincent swallowed, his chest rising and falling a little faster. “I… I know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Rodi’s eyes softened as she looked down at him. In moments like these, when Vincent was so quiet, so vulnerable, she could feel that fierce protectiveness roaring inside her. She would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him safe. She would do whatever it took.

“Good.” She let her thumb brush against his arm gently before pulling away, reluctant but knowing she couldn’t stand there forever. “Finish up here. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Vincent nodded, biting his lip slightly as he returned to his work, though she could see the faint tremble in his fingers as he tried to steady himself. Rodi turned and made her way back to the bar, her heart still pounding in her chest.

It wasn’t just his safety she wanted to protect. It was more than that. She didn’t just want to shield him from the outside world—she wanted him to be *hers*. Completely. Rodi clenched her fists, feeling a deep, unrelenting possessiveness curl around her heart. She hated when people looked at him. Hated the idea that someone might think they had a chance with him.

Vincent was shy, delicate, and beautiful. The world would chew him up and spit him out if she didn’t keep him close. And Rodi was more than ready to stand guard.

As the night went on, Rodi remained by the bar, her eyes never leaving Vincent for too long. Every now and then, she would catch him glancing her way, his cheeks flushing pink whenever their gazes met. It made her smirk.

*Yeah, keep looking at me,* she thought, her grip tightening on the countertop. *I’m the only one you need to look at.*

And as the last of the patrons filed out of the bistro, leaving the two of them in the quiet glow of the closing hours, Rodi’s thoughts were consumed by one undeniable truth:

Vincent was hers—and she’d tear apart anyone who tried to take him away.

The bistro finally emptied, the soft murmur of voices giving way to the hum of the overhead lights. Outside, the city was quiet beneath the glow of street lamps, but inside *La Gueule De Saturne*, only Vincent and Rodi remained, surrounded by the remnants of the evening’s service.

Vincent was meticulously cleaning the countertops, his movements slow and methodical. Rodi leaned against the wall, her arms crossed as she watched him. The subtle tension that had built between them during the evening lingered, thick in the air.

He was still too shy to meet her gaze directly, but every now and then, his eyes would flicker toward her before quickly darting away. Rodi smirked slightly to herself. She could see the way his hands trembled just the tiniest bit as he wiped down the counter, how the tips of his ears were still tinged pink.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Vincent finally muttered, his voice soft but carrying a slight tremor. He didn’t look up from the counter, but the way his shoulders tensed betrayed how flustered he was.

Rodi’s smirk widened. “Yeah? Problem with that?”

Vincent didn’t answer right away. His fingers gripped the rag a little tighter, the silence stretching between them. Finally, he glanced over at her, his dark eyes wide and vulnerable, like a deer caught in headlights.

“It’s… distracting,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

Rodi pushed off the wall and took a few slow steps toward him, her boots echoing softly against the tile. She didn’t stop until she was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough that if she wanted, she could reach out and touch him.

“Good,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Maybe that’ll keep the vultures off you.”

Vincent swallowed hard, his gaze dropping back to the countertop as though he could hide his flushed cheeks. “You didn’t have to be so aggressive,” he murmured, though there was no real bite in his words. If anything, he sounded unsure—like he wasn’t even sure he meant it.

Rodi chuckled, the sound deep and rough. She took another step closer, her hand brushing lightly against his back. She felt him stiffen at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He never did.

“I *did* have to,” Rodi replied, her voice softer now, more serious. “You don’t see the way they look at you. Like they think they can have you.” She let her hand drift down his back, the heat of his body seeping through the fabric of his chef’s coat. “I’m not gonna let anyone think that.”

Vincent’s breath hitched, and for a moment, Rodi could feel his heartbeat under her fingers. His hands stilled on the counter, the rag slipping from his grasp.

“Why do you… care so much?” he whispered, barely audible.

Rodi’s eyes narrowed slightly, her jaw clenching. Why did she care? The question gnawed at her, tugging at something deep and possessive inside her chest. She didn’t just *care*—she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, being close to him. It made her blood boil, her fists itch for a fight. She didn’t just want to protect him—she wanted him *all* to herself.

“Because you’re mine,” Rodi said finally, her voice rougher than she intended. Her hand slid around to his waist, pulling him just slightly against her. “And I don’t share.”

Vincent froze at her words, his breath catching in his throat. Rodi could feel the way his body tensed under her touch, the slight tremble in his frame. He slowly turned his head, wide eyes meeting hers, his lips parted in shock.

“Yours?” he echoed, his voice trembling. “But—”

Rodi silenced him with a firm grip on his waist, pulling him flush against her chest. She wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful—she didn’t have to be. Vincent fit perfectly against her, his slender frame dwarfed by her taller, stronger build. She could feel the heat of his skin, the soft rise and fall of his breath, and it sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“Yeah, mine,” she growled, her lips brushing dangerously close to his ear. “You think I’d let anyone else get near you? After all this time?”

Vincent’s breath shuddered, his face buried in her chest, and Rodi could feel how hard his heart was pounding. His hands clutched the counter behind him for balance, as if he might lose his footing at any moment.

“I—I didn’t know…” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with something that sounded like fear—or maybe something else entirely.

Rodi’s hand tightened on his waist, and she leaned in closer, pressing her lips to his ear. “You know now,” she murmured, her voice dark and possessive.

Vincent’s knees buckled slightly, and Rodi had to catch him, pulling him fully into her arms. She smirked at how easily he folded against her, so delicate and pliant, as if he was made to be held by her.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was Vincent’s unsteady breathing and the quiet hum of the empty bistro. Rodi could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could see the flush spreading from his cheeks to his neck.

“I… didn’t think you’d feel this way,” Vincent whispered finally, his voice barely a breath.

Rodi let out a low chuckle, her lips still dangerously close to his ear. “I’ve always felt this way,” she admitted. “Since the first day I saw you.”

Vincent pulled back slightly, enough to look up at her. His dark eyes were wide, and there was something vulnerable in the way he stared at her, like he was trying to piece everything together.

“You’re… serious?” he asked, his voice small.

Rodi’s smirk faded, replaced by something deeper, more intense. She cupped his face with one large hand, her thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. “I don’t joke about things like this, Vincent,” she said softly, her voice filled with a raw honesty that even surprised her.

Vincent blinked up at her, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just stared at her, his gaze flickering with a thousand unspoken emotions.

And then, finally, he nodded, his fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer.

Rodi didn’t hesitate. She closed the gap between them, her lips crashing against his in a kiss that was far from gentle. It was possessive, fierce, claiming him in a way that left no room for doubt.

Vincent gasped against her lips, his body trembling, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he melted into her, his hands clutching desperately at her shirt as if he was afraid she might disappear.

But Rodi wasn’t going anywhere. She deepened the kiss, her hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer. He was hers now, and she wasn’t going to let him forget it.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. Vincent’s face was flushed, his lips swollen, and Rodi couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him.

“You’re mine,” she repeated, her voice low and possessive. “No one else gets to have you.”

Vincent nodded weakly, his breath still shaky. “Yours,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Rodi smiled, her chest swelling with a sense of victory, of satisfaction. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her chest and holding him tight.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.