#they want a good paella so bad..
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laura yokozawa paella song (meant to be watched with sound on)
Peace and love ✌️💕
#feeling silly. whimsical even#i doodled while listening to this song wanted it to move#i really like the little guys in this video and i wanted to try and get that energy#hoes hate my unadulterated desire to be wholeheartedly joyful and earnest#this took me like 8 hours but i did it for fun :>#im stoopid anyway bye 💕💕#splatoon#big man#shiver#frye#they want a good paella so bad..#my doods#vids
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now that i've completed all the character episodes and fought with or against all characters i can finally make a tier list with my opinion on everyone ✌
#m#tekken#i like alisa more than leo asuka and xiaoyu but i think all four + lili have a great relationship dynamic#like they could all be a group of besties who do sleepovers and kick ass togetherand get into adventures!! but alas bandai namco hates fun#katarina is SO hot but i need her personality to be shown a little bit more for her to become a fav of mine#i like miguel and bob mostly bcs of the online tekken comic but once again im asking for more content of them#also i think their opposite personalities match very well and they could be good frienemies#imagine that miguel wants to beat people up for no reason but bob keeps stopping him and he's just extra angry all the time#also. miguel showing bob spanish food. eating paella together........ bandai namco PLEASE put them together more often#i dont even need to defend that heihachi and lee are the funniest characters in the franchise you know im right#i hated lucky chloe bcs she looked like weeb bait but then i saw her episode...... genuinely super funny that she's secretly an asshole#AND extra funny that Eddy has to deal with her in t7. honestly i'd love to see eddy work for her and try he kawaii lifestyle#all the while lucky chloe is mega rude and bad mouthed in the behind the scenes#also they could have older bro and younger sis energy... or the reverse bcs we dont know how old is she. actually she should be older#wouldnt it be hilarious if she was like 35 or something#i like the characters in the orange tier mostly because of their designs#julia and lidia are both very cute! and master raven very hot#claudio kazumi leroy and hwoarang have cool designs and marshal law and the kings have funny backstories#i like kazuya when there are family shenanigans otherwise i dont care much about him#the williams' designs are very boring but i like how much they despise each other#the bears are funny too#everyone else.......... i legit dont care
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king of my heart | pt. 3
pairings: lando norris x fem!reader | pato o'ward x fem!reader
warnings: love triangle.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
------------------------------------------------------
yourusername
liked by carlosonoros, marcmarquez93, fernandoalo_oficial, and 70,692 others!
yourusername I had days full of paella, sangría, incredible places, lots of Chili energy and fast cars🏎🔥 What more could I ask for? I'm leaving Barcelona with a giant smile on my face. ¡Nos vemos pronto, España! 🇪🇸❤️
user1 i'll tell my kids this was the queen of Spain
user2 she's the queen of everything tbh
user3 yncarlos friendship is so underrated yet so cute🥹
user4 THEY'RE ADORABLE user5 yncarlos deserve more appreciation fr user6 i meeeeean they would make a really cute couple👀 user7 user6 oh girl no, they are SO sibling coded
user8 4th slide really made me hungry ngl
carlossainz55 i'm just here to say that i was the one who convinced y/n to try paella and in the end she loved it, you're welcome (unlike other people who didn't even dare to try it)
user9 now that's what i call a smooth operation yourusername you were right but just this time🙈 user10 f1 driver, smooth operator, fashion icon and food connoisseur: carlos sainz jr everybody 🙌 user11 who's "other people"??? landonorris IT'S SEAFOOD, CARLOS. I WASN'T GONNA EAT IT. y'all did it on purpose 😒 user12 OMG LANDO LKASJKEDJKG user13 so carlos, lando and y/n were out together? oh we won💅 user14 user13 YNLANDO NATION WE'RE SO BACK
user15 you drop this 👑👑👑
elbaoward the prettiest 🤍
yourusername miss youuuu💖 user16 iconic queens user17 MY FAV SISTERS IN LAW🫶 user18 now THIS is the kind of interactions i wanna see
user19 so after trying to get with lando and then with pato, she's now going after carlos? 😂😂
user20 user19 there's a thing called "friendship", in case you've never heard of it user21 she wants to be a wag so badly it's embarrassing user22 i mean it's the only way she can be relevant so🤷
user23 PRECIOSA 😍😍
user24 hope you had a great time in Spain, queen. come back soon❤️
user25 can she stop going to the races? I swear to God whenever she's around, Lando does poorly.
user26 as an indycar fan, i don't want her around either 😩 user27 SHE BRINGS BAD LUCK FR user28 and what does that have to do with her? if Lando is underperforming then that's on him lol
user29 so pretty omg 😫
user30 bestie please share your skincare routine
yourusername posted to their story!
patriciooward
liked by tkanaan, elbaoward, schecoperez, and 72,031 others!
patriciooward camera roll lately📸
user1 we really lost another one, ladies 😢
user2 girl i wanna be sad but they're so cute it's impossible😭 user3 user2 THIS IS SUCH A MOOD user4 at least we know he's in good hands 🫡
user5 CAN YOU TWO ADOPT ME?
user6 i always knew he was boyfriend material omg
user7 boyfriend of the year fr 🔥 user8 bro's in love and so am i (of them)
yourusername 4th slide is my fav cause you can see the most perfect O'ward😍 and Pato by her side
elbaoward love u babe 😻 brettkimbro elbaoward excuse me? 🤨 patriciooward yourusername EXCUSE ME yourusername i said what i said 😛 user9 i want to be their friend so bad
user10 COUPLE GOALS
user11 lando could never. yn really went for an upgrade and she didn't disappoint💅
user12 what does lando has to do with any of this?? user13 omfg girl get over it user14 she went for lando's cheaper version* user15 ynpato fans are obsessed with Lando and it shows😂
user16 i screamed with 6th slide ngl
user17 yes they're cute but CAN WE TALK ABOUT PATO ON PODIUM? THAT'S MY BOYYY🥳
user18 he deserved that so much 🥹 user19 so happy for hiiiiiiiim 🥹 user20 this weekend we got a pato podium AND ynpato moments on live tv, we really won user21 and some people say that yn brings bad luck lol user22 user21 literal clowns
arrowmclaren successful on and off track🤩
user23 admin you're so real for this user24 ADMIN IS ONE OF US
user25 MOM AND DAD ARE SO PRETTY
user26 pato's ig is about to become a yn fanpage and i'm SO here for it
user27 i mean no one can blame him tbh user28 patriciooward c'mon bestie drop more pics don't be shy
user29 in his lover era 🫶
user30 yn and pato are both SO fine🔥 they're meant to be
user31 where can I find a man who'll post me like pato posts yn?😭
user32 yn really needs to share the secret
yourusername posted to their story!
yourusername
liked by mattyp1, alex_albon, shelovesformula1, and 54, 102 others!
yourusername Always a great time, Austria 🤍
user1 QUEEN WHERE WERE YOU?
user2 it was so strange not having your stories talking about the highlights of the race🥺 hope everything is okay
user3 something about this feels so off
user4 glad to see i wasn't the only one thinking this user5 i meaaaan she posts this 3 days after the race?? something definitely happened user6 this caption feels so empty compared to the ones she usually writes user7 i mean we knew something was going on when she didn't post her usual post-race ig stories user8 she suddenly disappearing and pato deleting all her pics from his ig… yeah i'm pretty sure they broke up
user9 is everything okay? 🥺 we love you no matter what, queen!
user10 pato, elba and felix doesn't follow yn anymore omg i think i'm about to freak out😢
user11 why comment this on her post? even if something happened is none of our business. user12 GIRL I'M PANICKING
lissiemackintosh gorgeous💖
user13 why is people so dramatic? maybe yn was just tired or busy or whathever, she doesn't have to be online everyday jesus christ
user14 THANK YOU. everyone's acting like yn doesn't have a personal life outside social media user15 say it louder girl!!!! 👏👏
user16 does anyone knows if we're gonna get a vlog this week?
user17 idk yn hasn't said anything about it user18 i really doubt it tbh
user19 so pato broke up with this clout chaser? glad he's smarter than what i thought
user20 proud of my mclaren boys for getting away from this "lady" user21 user20 now we just need to keep oscar away from this bitch. user22 this is such an unnecessary comment. user23 spread your hate somewhere else, you're not welcome here.
user24 if pato and yn really broke up i'm gonna be so sad 😭
user25 i really don't get all this comments. can we actually talk about how beautiful she is???
user26 RIGHT??? she always slays with her looks user27 sis we know she's pretty but we love drama
user28 y'all wdym she and pato already broke up???😂😂😂 that didn't last long huh
user29 so funny yet so real user30 i always said pato deserved better, glad he realized it too
user31 the comments on this post are disgusting. if you don't like her then ignore her and leave her alone.
user32 people are so childish🙄 user33 user32 people are just seeing her for what she really is and it was about time lol
user34 i never thought i'd be alive to witness yn's downfall but i'm READY FOR THIS 🍿🍿
hope y'all don't hate me too much for all of this lol but i wanted drama. next part (probably) will be the last! so see u there🤍
taglist: @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @evie-119 @evans-dejong @minkyungseokie @noneofyourfbusinessworld @bernelflo @eiaaasamantha @ijustgomessitupx @honethatty12 @daemyratwst @f1fan65 @littlexscarletxwitch @sheslikeacurse @charlottejpg @lichterfee @callsignwidow @phantomxoxo @stinkyjax @rubywingsracing @willowpains @urfavsgf @biitch-with-wifi @lightdragonrayne @illicitverstappen @herebereblogs @tvdtw4ever @nataliambc
#kingofmyheart#lando norris#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x you#lando norris f1#lando norris imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fic#f1 fanfiction#pato o'ward#pato o'ward x reader#pato o'ward x y/n#pato o'ward x you#pato o'ward imagine#indycar social media au#indycar#f1#formulaone#pato o'ward fanfic#indycar fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#female!reader#f1 content creator
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𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.
𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐚 𝐨𝐮𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Moving from your native country of Spain to Manchester in England with your fiancée Leila was a lot to get your head around.
Meaning you had to leave your tattoo business in the hands of your sister which wasn’t the best for you however moving overseas would be good to have a break for a while.
This is how you met Leila. Most of the Barcelona players, female and male got their tattoos done by you. One that attended the parlour the most was Mapi León, she brought Leila along with her one day so they could both get tattoos done.
The brunette decided on an Egyptian eye under her right boob, you were quite surprised at her choice of where the tattoo was to be but you caught a glimpse of lust in her chocolate eyes when she said it.
She kept making excuses to come to your tattoo parlour when she wasn’t playing football just to see you. You soon picked her up on it and she admitted her feelings to you which you were flattered by but you did feel the same way.
After dating for three years she plucked up the courage to ask you to be her wife, you obviously said yes to.
…
“Bueno, okay, i’ll see you when you get home, te amo mucho.” You blew kisses at the camera, you phone propped up in the kitchen.
“Te amo mucho!” Leila pouted back at you before you pressed the red hang up button.
Tonight you were having a Spanish night which you had every friday, every two weeks you would invite Ona and Laia around, who played football with Leila but tonight it was just you two.
You connected your phone to your speaker, blasting the likes of Rosalía, Bad Bunny, Bizarrap etc. Dancing around the kitchen as you made Pa amb tomàquet.
Making paella was your absolute favourite, everyone loved it, even some of Leila’s english teammates that had came over one night who don’t really like seafood said it was to die for.
You had it in the large dish as Despechá began to play, it was your all time favourite song you couldn’t help but sing and dance along as you cleared up. The music was so loud you didn’t hear Leila come in, she was enjoying watching you move your hips along to the beat.
“Oh hõla bebé.” She bit her lip, making you jump.
“LEILA!” You shouted, throwing a towel at her, “Lo siento but you scare me!”
“Lo siento i was enjoying the show.” She said as you sent her a look.
“Stop it.” You rolled your eyes turning the music down slightly.
“Food smells amazing as usual.” Your fiancée complimented.
“Gracias, why don’t you go and get changed and i’ll set the table.” You suggested which she agreed.
She returned in a hoodie, shorts and socks sitting opposite you, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Let’s eat then.”
You plated up both dishes, taking a mouthful of the seafood dish, “Bebé this is incredible.”
A massive smile appeared on your face as she took a second mouthful.
Once you’d eaten, you both decided to crash into your large bed and watch a movie,“What you want to watch?” Leila asked pulling you onto her lap.
“Desperado.”
“Your favourite.” The defender hummed into your hair.
As the movie played Leila began stroking your face, tracing your freckles embedded into your skin. Her actions tended to send you to sleep, you quickly rolled over so she would stop, “Y/N why did you move.”
“Because i would’ve fell asleep else.” You replied taking your sports bra off.
“What are you doing.”
“What i’m hot.” You shrugged going back to the same position you were in before, “You copying me now?”
She laughed taking her own bra off, “Maybe.”
…
As the movie went on you noticed Leila becoming distracted, playing with your hair not paying attention to the movie. “Leila querida what are you thinking about.”
“You.” She mumbled.
You sighed, “Why is that mi amor.”
“You do everything for me i appreciate it, you cook, you clean, you work, you even moved to Manchester with me.” She said.
“Of course I try my best to look you, your going to be my wife after all.”
“I know and I can’t wait.”
“Me too querida.”
—————
Short and Sweet ❤️
#woso#woso x reader#leila ouahabi#leila ouahabi x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#manchester city women
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Here’s part 2 for this OS <3
It’s currently 3:24 am and you’re puking up the dinner you had earlier.
Again.
It’s been going on for two to three weeks already, you can’t keep any sort of food down, certain smells make you nauseous, you feel like you can hear people blinking.
It’s driving you crazy.
Unfortunately you have to deal with it by yourself, since your boyfriend and love of your life, Atsumu Miya, Setter of the MSBY Jackals is currently out of the country for an away game.
He doesn’t know about your ongoing illness, since he is busy with winning games and training, most of the time not being able to video call you, just checking in on you by texting.
You’re not stupid, you know what’s going on with you.
Atsumu and you were a little irresponsible when he was packing for traveling to Argentine.
Little meaning, no condom during sex. You do take birth control but you only started taking it about two months ago.
The blonde wanted to feel everything inside of you and you wanted to feel all of Atsumu, no barrier in between.
So you went to your gynecologist and got a prescription for birth control.
Just when you were finishing up after getting the indigested food out of you, you phone plays 'Problem’ by Natalia Kills, indicating that Atsumu is calling you.
Groaning in irritation, you accept it nonetheless.
"Hey baby! Wanted ta call in an’ ask how ya doin’."
"Hey Tsumu. 'M doing good, I was just sleeping." You lied.
"Oh sorry, ya wan’ me ta let ya go?" Atsumu asked with understanding.
"No it’s okay, tell me how Argentine is." You smile, while walking back to bed.
The Setter excitedly tells you all about Argentine, about the weather, the food, the people and the team he is currently training with.
A former famous Setter of a Japanese High School is now the Setter of the Argentinian national team and Atsumu complains to you about how overconfident annoying and cocky he is.
Sounds like someone you know.
All of sudden, you can feel your stomach getting upset again, nausea hitting you like a truck.
"Hold on Tsumu-" You manage to choke out before you toss your phone to the side, running to the bathroom.
On the other side of the world, Atsumu can hear your vomiting noises and it causes the Setter to worry deeply.
He lays in his hotel bed, waiting for you to come back.
After a few minutes, he can hear your footsteps approaching and taking your phone back into your hand.
"Sorry about that, I uhh… almost burned my food and the smell of smoke made me nauseous." You lie once again.
But Atsumu doesn’t believe any of it.
"Baby, I heard ya pukin‘ yer guts out. Ya sure yer fine? Did ya eat somethin' bad?" The Setter asks worryingly.
"It may have been the paella I made earlier Tsum. I‘ll be fine."
"Well if ya say so. Please keep me updated an‘ if there’s somethin‘ wrong, call me an' I‘ll be on the first flight home."
"Sure honey. Have fun and take care of yourself while you’re still there. Say hi to everyone for me."
"Will do baby, love ya."
Hanging up, you take a nice and warm shower, getting ready for bed once again.
You press Atsumu‘s pillow to your face, his remaining scent fills your nose.
You miss his stupid jokes, his strong arms that hold you in your sleep and his soft chocolate-brown eyes that shine love and warmth only for you.
Little did you know, Atsumu and his team return tomorrow already, instead of staying another week.
And Atsumu is keeping it a surprise, just as much as you have a surprise for him to tell when he comes back home.
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyū!!#hq x reader#hq fluff#inarizaki#atsumu miya#atsumu x you#haikyuu miya atsumu#haikyuu atsumu#atsumu miya x reader#hq atsumu#atsumu x y/n#atsumu x reader#miya atsumu#msby atsumu
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Captain Master Chef
OG Captain MacTavish x Fem Reader
18+ MDNI Sexual Themes
Captain Soap MacTavish is, contrary to popular belief, an absolutely amazing cook.
His mastery at the savory side of the culinary world is unlike anything you've ever experienced. For example, his take on Beef Wellington is bar none better than your mothers (you'll never tell her) and you'd be lying if you didn't fall head over heels in love with him the moment you took the first bite of his Haggis.
Even as he expands his cooking repertoire into more unfamiliar horizons, you're never left unsatisfied or turning up your nose to anything he manages to put on a plate.
--
"Oh my God, honey. This is delicious."
You praise with a quiet moan. Taste buds blissfully overwhelmed with the succulent flavor of rice, muscles, and saffron as the remaining accents of his newly mastered Paella dance their melody along the length of your tongue.
"Hm. Thank you, love. Quite proud of me self if I'm bein' honest."
You take another bite, eyes rolling back as the taste of the perfectly crusted and savory socarrat hits your tongue like an aromatic tsunami.
Your eyes linger on him, casting him a doey eyed stare that the Captain returns with his own distinctively confident gaze. Silence falling over you both as you take your time enjoying each other's company and savoring the masterful delicacy he so elegantly created.
Reluctantly, your eyes begin to shift. Turning towards the kitchen as you take in the absolute disaster that sits atop your granite counter tops and stove.
A quiet sigh escapes your lips, returning your gaze back to your Captain lover as he wipes his mouth with a flavor filled napkin.
"John, I love you. But goddamn, do you need to learn how to clean while you cook."
"What? It's not that bad, love."
"Not that bad? My kitchen's a disaster, John!"
Soap takes a long glance at the kitchen, surveying the damage before shifting his eyes up to the ceiling.
"Least there's no'a lobster on th'ceiling."
"Nothing will ever beat the lobster, John. That was truly a legendary experience."
"Yer mother didnae think so."
"Yeah. Because you threw the lobster at her!"
"The fuckin' thing pinched me!"
You exhaled an amused sigh, shaking your head with a smile that only he could pull to your lips.
"Thank God she had the pan in her hand, or I feel you'd have been excommunicated from any further family gatherings."
"Aye. Yer mother's got quite the swing, love. Better for me to stay on her good side, yeah?"
"I'd highly recommend so, John."
You gently scrape the last morsel into your mouth with an enamored and muffle moan. Wiping the corners of your lips as you take in one last look at the monstrosity that waits before you.
"Alright, honey. This mess isn't going to clean itself."
"No, it ain't, love. But I was cravin' a bit'a dessert before tacklin' that."
Your eyes narrow, brows knitting together while you shift your gaze over the counter tops for a sign of this hidden last course.
"What dessert? I don't see anything."
"M'lookin at it, sweetheart."
You pause. Rolling your eyes under heavy lids, you're met with the icy blue confidence within his stare that never seems to not have an amorous effect on you. Shifting in your seat to quell the ache already beginning to throb deep within your core.
"John MacTavish. You sneaky little bastard."
"Aye. I am. Now bring that sweet ass over here, lass. Yer Captain wants ta taste ya."
Your body then moved on its own accord. Easily snared into his hungry gaze and rolling timbre like a moth to a flame. The languid come hither of his fingers making your legs weak and breath quicken as you slowly sauntered over to your illustrious Captain.
The kitchen remained untouched the remainder of the night. Left in a culinary mess and disarray as Soap MacTavish feasted on your sweet nectar and filled the need to have your silken walls wrapped around his stiffened cock.
The dishes could wait. Your Captain would not. And you'd be daft if you ever denied Soap MacTavish what he wanted when you treated him so graciously to a feast that only you could provide.
Captain MacTavish Masterlist
@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @mykneeshurt @jynxmirage @writeforfandoms @simpingoverquestionablemen @thetrashpossum @haurasha @luismickydees @kkaaaagt
#Soft!Soap™️#Soap Squad™️#Captain Master Chef#the brainrot of Captain MacTavish#captain soap drabble#OG Soap#Captain MacTavish#Captain Soap MacTavish#mw2 Soap#john mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish#captain soap x you#captain soap x reader#call of duty#cod
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// spoilers for Luke SSR Spice and Synergy
this card is hilarious to me. dont get me wrong, it's a very sweet story and everything, but it's also so funny because the main conflict is "luke and rosa want to cook a dish perfectly but cant because theyre bad at cooking" and their genius solution is "wait, but they ARE good at BEING NERDS so if we treat cooking as a series of EXPERIMENTS instead then they hypothetically will be able to COOK WELL" and. they were RIGHT. luke's fuckin encyclopedia of COOKING SCIENTIFIC FOOD NOTES had me so endeared. local STEM guy needs to apply the Scientific Method to PAELLA to be able to cook it without burning anything. amazing, no notes
also, special shoutout to luke's username
SHERLUKE_POLMES.........
#anyhoo overall it was a cute card! nothing mindblowing but it was a nice way to end my weekend#tears of themis#luke pearce#xia yan#tot luke
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Rice, Rice, baby | Chapter 6
Previous chapter | Next chapter
Masterlist
“Tu café.”
“Muchas gracias, Liv.”
“De nada” I smile.
“Look at you practicing your Spanish with Pedro” Madders says, putting an arm around his teammate’s shoulders. “Have you tried to flirt with her again or have you already learnt from that mistake?”
“Que te jodan, James” Pedro says, elbowing Madders on the ribs and walking away.
“I don't speak Spanish, but I'm pretty sure he didn't say anything nice” he says, rubbing his hand where he was hit.
“He didn't, no” I chuckle. “Anyway, same as always?”
“Please. But why aren't you insulting me and rolling your eyes like you always do?”
“What?”
“When I tease you like this you usually tell me to fuck off, and today you've smiled at me. And now… Oh my God, Olivia!” Madders gasps.
“Can you please lower down your voice?” I say while getting his coffee ready. “People come here to relax, not to hear you scream.”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But Olivia… You've been with Declan, haven't you?”
“Maybe” I shrug.
“No, no maybe. You have. You are humming while making my coffee, and you even danced!”
“What?” I laugh.
“Yes! You were humming and shaking your ass, which can only mean one thing… You and Declan had sex.”
“Fuck!” I say after spilling some coffee and burning my hand, the other players who are at the cafeteria look in my direction.
“Yes, that's what you did” Maddes chuckles. “Was the rice good?”
“Liv, are you ok? Did you burn your hand?” Son says, walking towards us.
“I'm fine, Sonny. Thank you for asking” I smile, giving Madders his coffee.
“You must be careful, we can't lose our best barista.”
“You are too kind.”
“It's the truth. No one makes our coffees the way you do, Liv. You are very talented” he smiles. “But tell me, what rice were you guys talking about? Is there a new restaurant or something? You know I love my food.”
“You tell him, Liv” Madders says, sipping from his cup. If only he could burn his tongue and stop talking shit…
“It's… I…” Think, Olivia. Think! “It's just this Spanish restaurant James is always telling me to go to. They apparently make really good paella, but he calls it rice because he knows he sounds stupid when he tries to pronounce it properly.”
“Oh, I see. Did you try it? Was it good?” Son asks me.
“I didn't try it, no” I say, looking at Madders so he can get the message.
“Really?” he replies. “What a pity, Liv… Everyone says it is really good rice. But maybe next time. Because I'm sure there will be a next time.”
“Do you want a refill, Sonny?” I ask him, ignoring Madders’ comment and the stupid grin on his face.
“Oh, yes. Let me go grab my cup” he smiles, walking away completely oblivious of the conversation he's just been part of.
“Olivia! Olivia, darling!” my dad says, storming into the cafeteria and making everyone look at him and then at me. More attention, yay.
“What are you doing here, dad?”
“I've brought you a present” he says, giving me the Tottenham bag he was carrying. “Open it, darling.”
“Here?” I say.
“Of course! I want the boys to see it too. It isn't anything bad, don't give me that look” he laughs.
“C'mon, Liv. Open it” Madders says, the smile on his face telling me that he is loving the moment.
“Ok, fine” I sigh, slowly opening the bag. “A shirt?”
“Yes, a shirt. But not any shirt” my dad says, taking it out from the bag before I can do it. “It's the new shirt with your name on it, darling!” he grins. “You didn't have this one yet. And stop smiling like that, Maddison. She's been getting number 10 on her shirts since she was a baby because that's when she was born, not because of you.”
“It still is a nice coincidence” he shrugs.
“Oh, number 10! It's your birthday next week!” Son says, joining us again.
“Wait, what? Why hadn't you told me, Liv? I've been here for two years already and we are like brother and sister. I should know when your birthday is!” Madders says.
“You never asked” I shrug.
“And if she hasn't told you anything it's because Olivia isn't the biggest fan of celebrating her birthday” my dad chuckles. “But this year we are doing something very special that I think she will like.”
“Are we?” I ask.
“We are going to the Emirates to watch the Arsenal-Tottenham!”
“What?”
“I got us the best tickets, darling. We are gonna be super close to the pitch to see the boys kick those gooners in the ass. And while we do it, you can wear this” my dad smiles, showing me the shirt again. “What do you think?”
“I… I mean… I…” I mumble.
“You've left her speechless” Madders laughs. “But I know she's looking forward to that game. Aren't you, Liv?” he smirks.
“I… yeah” I reply. I'm looking forward to that game and to ripping off your head, James Maddison.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
“That was a really nice first half, wasn't it, girls? I know we haven't managed to score, but neither have they and they've had their chances” my dad says, getting up from his seat and stretching. “I'm gonna go to the bathroom and get myself another drink. Do you want anything?”
“I'm fine” my mum says.
“Darling?”
“I'm good too. Thank you, dad” I smile.
“Ok, then I'll see you in a bit. Don't flirt with any player while I'm away. Or manager. I know you fancy Arteta’s lower back” he says, looking at my mum.
“Oh, stop it” she laughs. “But he does have a good backside” she tells me once my dad is gone.
“Mum!”
“Sorry” she shrugs. “Are you enjoying the game?”
“It's ok.”
When my dad said he had gotten us really good seats, he wasn't lying. We are sitting behind Arsenal's bench, so close to the players who aren't playing that I could tickle the back of their heads if I wanted. Which may have been something I've been tempted to do to Havertz a few times.
“Just ok? Are you alright, Olivia?”
“Yeah” I shrug. Though not really. Because being so close to Arsenal's bench means having Declan close too.
He came our way a couple of times to talk with Arteta and drink water, and both times I found myself holding my breath, hoping he would not look my way and see me standing there on my Tottenham's shirt. Because for whatever the reason, I didn't tell him I was coming to the Emirates today.
“Hopefully the boys will score and make it better. Maybe James is inspired. Or that Spanish boy…” she says, lifting her eyebrows up and down.
“Mum, I already told you. I'm not interested in Pedro. I don't even find him attractive.”
“You are blind, Olivia.”
“Yeah, whatever” I say, focusing on the players who are warming up.
“Looks like they are going to do a substitution” my mum says after a few minutes in silence.
“What?”
“Look” she says, nodding towards the pitch. Jorginho is getting rid of his sweatshirt, one of Arteta's staff members talking to him. “Maybe someone is injured?”
“Maybe” I reply, looking at the players that are coming through the tunnel. I see Ramsdale, White, Saliba, Martinelli, Ødegaard… And I could keep checking the rest of the team if it wasn't because someone wearing red has stopped in front of me, not allowing me to see a single thing.
“Liv?” a male voice says.
“What… Declan?” I gasp when I look up at the person who was blocking my view.
“What are you doing here?” we say at the same time.
“Olivia, do you know him?”
“I… I…” I mumble, unable to stop looking at those blue eyes of his.
“Olivia, are you alright?” my mum asks again.
“I…”
“Rice?” my dad says behind us. Oh… my God. “What are you doing on the bench? You should be playing!”
“My back isn't in the mood for it” he chuckles.
“Wait, are you injured?” I ask him, finally remembering that I can talk and function like a normal human being. “Is it serious?”
“Nah, don't worry. They just don't want to risk it getting worse.”
“Oh…”
“That's the right call” my dad says, sitting next to me. “You are their best player, they can't lose you.”
“Thank you, sir” Declan says with a shy smile. Declan… shy? What? “It means a lot coming from a Tottenham fan like yourself.”
“Wait, do you also know each other?” my mum says with a confused look.
“What do you mean with also?”
“He knows Liv.”
“Does he?” my dad says, looking at me.
“It's from the national team, from when we've stayed at Tottenham training centre” Declan explains.
“Oh, of course!” my dad laughs. “Did she tell you that I'm a big Tottenham fan?”
“That was Madders. When he introduced us he told me about it and about your job at the club.”
“You know James” I say with a nervous laugh. “He talks a lot.”
“Anyway, I better sit down, the game is about to start” Declan says.
“Of course, of course. It was lovely chatting with you boy. Though I hope you lose” my dad smirks.
“We'll see” Declan replies with a similar smile. “Nice to see you again, Liv.”
“Yeah, you too” I say while praying for my cheeks to not start turning bright red. I know my mum would definitely notice and start asking questions.
“What a nice lad” my dad says once the game starts again.
“Uh?”
“That Declan Rice. An amazing player on the pitch and a good egg outside. Never heard a bad thing about him.”
“He is really nice, yes” I reply.
“If he didn't play for Arsenal I wouldn't mind having him as my son-in-law.”
“What?” I say, raising my voice so much that I see Declan turning around to look at me. Though thankfully he doesn't manage to completely do it, Arsenal almost scoring and distracting him.
“He is very handsome too” my mum says. “Did you see his eyes? They are beautiful.”
“But he plays for Arsenal, so he is off limits. Understood, Olivia?” my dad says, giving me his most serious look. He isn't joking about this. At all.
“Understood” I nod.
“Good” he smiles, patting my leg before focusing on the game again, something I'm unable to do.
I can only look at the back of Declan's head, my dad's words repeating over and over in my head.
He is off limits.
#declan rice#declan rice fanfic#declan rice x reader#declan rice imagine#football fanfic#football imagine
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FrUK FACE family Parent Trap AU, part 4! Part 1
Alfred and Matthew have finally realised they’re long lost twin brothers. How do you cope with that kind of bombshell? In their case: by being very, very excited. Alfred especially just wants every possible detail about Francis and Quebec and machine guns Mattie with questions. Matthew juggles answering and trying to get his share of detail from Alfred about Arthur and New York. Neither of them get any sleep that night, not that they care lol.
The next day, they agree to keep their new found secret just that for fear of the adults finding out and making things difficult. Then more talking about their dads, every time they have a free moment. Neither of them can get enough. Eventually the conversation turns to the break up. Matthew says Francis never talks about Arthur, but he’s sure he still misses him a lot. Alfred agrees the same about Arthur missing Francis. Then wonders why they ever broke up if they were so happy and still haven’t gotten over each other ten years later. Mattie doesn’t get it either. The talk turns to their dads’ love lives and it’s here that Alfred casually brings up Uncle Tony, because - being Alfred - of course he’d take that long to remember him. Matthew is aghast, especially when he hears Arthur may actually marry this Antonio. He only just found his lost dad and now he may be getting a stepdad?!
Mattie asks what Antonio is like. Alfred shrugs and tells him Tony is…fine? He’s a good guy and his paella is great! Good at soccer too, maybe even better than Arthur. Yeah, Tony is a good guy, says Alfred.
Matthew can tell there’s a “but” coming. And he’s right. Alfred, with a little prodding, says that while Tony is fun to have around, he doesn’t think Arthur loves him. Not really. He likes Tony, likes him a lot, but…
Mattie understands. He knows Francis is lonely too.
There’s quiet for the first time since the big revelation as both twins think this over. Then Matthew shyly says he wishes he could meet Arthur. Now, before everything changes when he gets married again. Alfred agrees and says he wishes he could meet Francis too. Their eyes meet. It’s not sure who has the idea first - maybe they have it together? - but either way, they know what they have to do:
“We should trade places!”
“We should go live with each other’s dads!”
“Yeah! They’d never know!”
“We’re twins! It’s perfect!”
Once they’ve decided, it takes a lot of planning. The boys have to learn everything about each other in just a few weeks. Enough to fool the person who knows and loves them best. They drill each other on names, places, friends, family history and stories, etc. That stuff isn’t so bad, but a major stumbling block is how bilingual the Bonnefoy household is. Luckily they’re not starting from nothing as Alfred does French in school and his dad has always been extra on his ass about his French grades. Even more than usual. Alfred gets why now. More drilling, this time in French grammar and vocabulary. Matthew isn’t too confident by the time they’re done but Alfred tells him to take it easy. He can pull this off! Mattie isn’t so sure, but he’s willing to try anyway. He wants to meet Arthur very badly.
The last touch and big test is tweaking their appearances and seeing if they can fool their friends and the camp staff. They practice the other’s body language and way of speaking. Then it’s mirror test time. Alfred has shorter hair and a pieced ear (the latter done 100% without his dad’s permission lol) so it’s poor Mattie who gets the impromptu makeover. Alfred Kirkland coming at you while brandishing scissors and a sewing needle is not a comforting sight, but they manage to get it done with no major incidents. (It’s fine, it’s fine! Mattie only bled for a few hours, tops). They try out the switch at breakfast, breaths held, and…!
Success. Noone challenges them. As far as anyone else is concerned, Alfred was Mattie and Mattie was Alfred. Aww yeah! Operation Switcheroo is ago! 🇺🇸 <- -> 🇨🇦 🇨🇦 <- -> 🇺🇸 🤜 🤛
Before they know it, camp is over and it’s time to go “home.” The boys bid an emotional farewell, promise to keep in touch and help the other out if needed, then part ways. Alfred takes Mattie’s passport and gets on the plane to Quebec. Matthew boards the greyhound bus heading to New York. Both are so nervous all the ways it’s agony and they can hardly sit still. Matthew almost throws up eight times. Alfred actually does throw up, then pretends he didn’t when the kind air stewardess asks if he’s okay. The journey seems to last forever, but eventually the plane touches down and the bus pulls in.
Alfred steps out onto Canadian soil and looks around for the face he’s seen only in his secret photograph. He hears a French accented voice call Mattie’s name, turns, and sees Francis for the first time. Waving and coming to meet him with a beaming smile and a big, white dog on a leash. Alfred was sure he’d be okay, that he wouldn’t cry. He was wrong, but the tears were hidden and absorbed by Francis’s kashmir sweater when he swept his son up in a hug. Alfred hugs Francis back, breathing in his scent and feeling his silky hair tickle his cheek. This is his other dad. He’s hugging his other dad!! Francis feels Alfred shaking and is concerned, asking “Matthew” in French if he’s okay. And Alfred immediately forgets every French lesson he ever learned. He might have been found out there and then if not for Mr. Kumajiro distracting Francis by barking up a storm. This little one may look like their pup, but he doesn’t smell like him! By the time Francis gets him to calm down, Alfred has recovered. He hastily dries his tears, put on a Mattie-style smile, and tells Francis in French that he’s fine. Just got a little hayfever from all the flowers at camp. Francis says they’ll get some meds on the way home. As they walk to the car, he asks if Alfred enjoyed his first time at camp? Did he make friends? Was it exciting? Alfred grins and tells him: yes, yes, and yes again. He absolutely did.
Meanwhile, Matthew arrives in the crazy bustle of New York and is barely off the bus before Arthur appears to greet him. Mattie doesn’t get a chance to think before he’s swiftly hugged, and then held by his shoulders as his dad grumbles about various things while kneeling down and checking him over for injuries. A common occurrence when Alfred returns from anywhere further away than school. Mattie stares at Arthur, lost for words. This is his other dad. His other dad just came over and hugged him. Matthew feels his mouth go dry and his eyes well up with tears and has to fake a sneezing fit so Arthur doesn’t get concerned and suspicious. The hayfever excuse works twice in one day. Then Mattie puts on his best Alfred grin and asks, loud as he dares, if they can go get some food because that trip took for-ever and he’s starving! Arthur grabs his son’s bags and says sure, he’ll cook something as soon as they get home. As they head down to the subway, Arthur asks “Alfred” if he enjoyed camp this year? Did he see his friends again? Did he stay out of trouble? Matthew says: “You bet!” “Yes!” and “Nooo comment!” Arthur tuts but can’t help the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. He pats Matthew on the shoulder and Mattie has to act extra Alfred-style bouncy to stop the tears coming again.
Five hundred miles apart, Francis and Arthur are both surprised and touched when their son reaches out to grasp their hand on the journey home. Neither twin has done that in years, protesting they were too old for baby stuff like hand holding.
The hayfever excuse gets a few more uses before the day is out, and not just from the twins
(Stay tuned for part 5! (´ε` )♡)
#hetalia#fruk#face family#hws america#hws canada#hws france#hws england#aph france#aph america#aph england#aph canada#parent trap au#my posts
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Sweet and Slow
A Sanji x reader fluff fanfic
What happens when you decide to reward Sanji's endless flirting with a kiss? It will be just a fling, he surely won't be questioning his whole lifestyle of falling deeply in love with every single woman he sees, and of course he won't try to prove to you that he wants only you. That would be silly. (and if you didn't pick up on the sarcasm that's absolutely what will be happening in this eventually but this is only part 1, the first encounter)
It is sfw fluff with making out parts and mention of alcohol
Let me know in the comments if you liked it!
And check out my masterlist for more
It's already late, but you didn't feel like going to your room after dinner. The paella Sanji has cooked up was delicious, but it didn't satisfy you. When conversations slowly ended and the others said good night, you sat down at the bar in the dining room, watching Sanji clean the kitchen.
He's humming to himself as he is putting away leftovers, cleaning plates and his kitchen supplies. From time to time, he's turning around to you and blows you a kiss, asking if you need anything.
"I need...something nice" you eventually whisper. Noticing your bad mood, he puts the dish cloth down and leans on the counter, looking into your eyes with an easy grin.
"Whatever you need, I will do anything to make you smile again“ he says in his most sincere voice. "Mhm, I don't know...", your voice trails off as you draw random patterns on the bar's wooden counter with your finger."I know just the thing" Sanji says and turns around, already beginning to mix a cocktail."I have picked up some extremely rare chocolate liqueur in Dress Rosa. With a little bit of cream, a hint of rose...", he puts a glas in front of you, sprinkled with rose petals and smelling deliciously of chocolate.
You try the drink, the sweet, heavy chocolate liqueur is perfectly contrasted by the flowery bouquet of rosewater, and there is a hint of sea salt and spices. His blue eyes are studying you intensely while he assesses the effect of his creation on you. You immediately feel a little comforted, it's amazing how Sanji can be so considerate in some moments. Your frown slowly turns into a relaxed smile.
"I m glad you like it", he says and turns around to resume his work again. You have always loved the way he is when it's just the two of you. He may not make that much of a fuss about you all day, but when you need something, he really stops and listens to you. Sometimes, like today, he even hears the things you don't say out loud. You watch his tall, slender figure wash up dishes and put away everything while you drink your rose and chocolate drink. You can already feeling it going to your head a little.
"I will just prepare something for tomorrow and than I am done for the day. Anything else you need, my lady?", he asks, leaning on the counter again.
In that moment, you decide to just take a leap of faith - you've always wondered how he would react if his advances actually worked.
"You know, there is one thing...", you say, getting up from your chair to reach over, grab the knot of his tie and pull him towards you - to give him a little kiss on the mouth.
You draw back and see his face frozen in an expression that slowly shifts from a shocked to perfect bliss. Reassured by his reaction, you lean forward again, kissing him again, deeper and longer, while your hands are wrapped around his neck, playing with the strands of his soft hair. It takes a few seconds until he reacts. At first you fear you might have been too bold after all, but soon you feel his arms tighten around you and his tongue darting out to meet yours.
You could have stayed like this a few moments longer, but he breaks away. "A- are you really sure?", he asks. "Are you not?", you ask back, irritated. "I thought I was your lady, and that you would do everything to make me happy?", you say with a pout. Which seemed to scare him, with wide eyes he assures you "Of course, it's true! Anything for you! Just tell me what you want!", he almost kneels before you to underline his promise.
You playfully pretend to be thinking really hard about your wishes while you study the parade of emotions across Sanjis face: excitement, insecurity, desire, happiness- his expressions are as easy to read as a menu. Eventually you answer by pursing your lips and closing your eyes.
"Y/n-chan, are you really, really sure you want to do this?" you hear is hoarse voice in front of you. With two fingers he lifts your chin up, prompting you to open your eyes again.
You have never seen this expression on him, at least not when he’s talking to you. Dead serious, cautious. His eyes are fixed on your face, searching for clues about what you're thinking. You need to swallow hard - this was a face he wore to battle. "If we go there, everything will change", he says ominously. Of course things will change in your dynamic, but he can never deny who he is – there will never be just one woman for him. He is surely just dramatic, so you tell him: "I know that, you silly man" hoping that he wasn’t making this more complicated in his head than it needed to be.
After what feels like an eternity you can feel his hands on your waist. In a swift movement he lifts you off the bar chair and onto the counter. He pushes your knees apart to stand closer, looking deep into your eyes before he kisses you again, softly and slowly. One hand is caressing you cheek as the other trails down your side. Once again you close your hands around his neck, and you cannot resist touching his hair again. He doesn't seem to mind. It was all sweet and soft sensations: his cautious kiss, his warmth, the smell of his perfume and the spices of the kitchen, his caressing hands - and his body pressing against yours.
He would only stop his sweet kisses to whisper even sweeter vows in your ears. "Your eyes are so beautiful...your mouth is the sweetest thing I ever tasted...I will never leave your side ever again...I will always keep you save, no matter what" - things he has probably said a thousand times to a thousand others, but it was still wonderful to have them whispered in your ears.
Eventually sleep overwhelms you and Sanji carries you to your bed. He lays you on the mattress and sits down on the edge of the bed, gazing at you with a hopeful look in his eyes. „Can I...I mean since we’re now...you know…“, he wrung his hands like a nervous school boy. „Just sleep next you? I swear I won’t do anything!“ he promises with his hand over his heart.
You invite him by holding up the beadsheet and he happily kicks off his shoes to lie down. As you close your eyes and try to get some sleep, you feel watched. You open one eye to see his face inches from yours, staring.
„Sanji!“ you say.
„What? You need something?“
„...I need you to stop staring and get to sleep!“
„Oh, I’m sorry, of course“, he says, pushing his hair over his eyes. „I swear I wont stare anymore. But you are so cute when you sleep!“
You drift off to sleep – even though he's clearly peeking from time to time.
Author's note: Yes, this is a repost of a smut story no one read with the smut part taken out and the fluff expaned, because I already started to write a second part. And sorry for not updating, I am absolutely capable of writing for some reason. I must have been blocked by the writing gods.
#one piece sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x you#sanji x reader#op sanji#blackleg sanji#sanji x y/n#op x reader#black leg sanji#sanji fanfic
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Get to know my Tav!
Nemeia Vadu - Mephistopheles Tiefling - Light Domain Cleric / Storm Sorcery Sorcerer - She/her - 27
favorite weapon: The Blood of Lathander. The Githyanki crèche was an … adventure to be sure. But Nemeia would be lying that she wasn’t excited to explore the Morninglord’s sanctuary. As a devout follower of Lathander she was drawn to the weapon as if it was calling to her.
style of combat: Dual wielding The Blood of Lathander and Phalar Aluve with Spirit Guardians surrounding her is preferred if enemies get too close. But as a cleric she is also fine hanging back and healing her friends and allies.
most prized possession: The acorn gifted to her by her beloved Wyll. He had courted her for so long and the culmination of their courtship was him asking for her hand in marriage. While she could tell that Wyll wished to give something more extravagant that was “worthy” of her, she begged Gale to cast a spell to preserve the nut for the rest of her life.
deepest desire: To know her parents. She was given up to a temple due to a deal struck between Lathander and her father. While the high priest at the temple told her that her parents didn’t make the deal lightly and were sorrowful leaving her that was all that was told to her. The rest was up for her to figure out.
guilty pleasure: ….reading smut 👀
best-kept secret: she loves puns. Dribbles the clown almost made her laugh out loud but she had to keep up appearances.
greatest strength: Her compassion. She cares for people, deeply. Even to her own detriment she is just so caring and most of the time it always helps her in the long run.
fatal flaw: Her selflessness. There have been many times where Nemeia has taken the brunt of an attack to save someone else. There was a time when she had taken a blow for Wyll in battle and, well, let’s just say afterwards she had gotten an earful… then a kiss and a serious look saying “don’t EVER do that again.”
favorite smell: Amber and Vanilla
favorite spell or cantrip: Spirit Guardians and Fireball
pet peeve: chewing loudly. She can’t explain it but just something about it irritates her to no end…
bad habit: forgets to prepare her spells in the morning. usually remembers to do it halfway through the day
hidden talent: she a surprisingly good singer and talented with a violin.
leisure activity: yoga. she’s really flexible and can twist and contort her body into different angles (much to the viewing pleasure of a certain Warlock)
favorite drink: something equivalent to sparkling grape juice
comfort food: Sun-Dappled Paella and baguettes.
favorite person: Of the companions, Wyll and Karlach! Outside of the companions, her friends from the temple she grew up at Rohdax and Minda. Rohdax trained her in the martial prowess of Paladins and Minda is another cleric, she’s much older than Nemeia but she took her under her wing when Nemeia was old enough to train.
favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): making jokes and cheek kisses (though Wyll always moves his head so he gets a kiss on the lips that always causes her to blush.)
fondest childhood memory: reading and learning from her teachers at the temple. She was a real quiet and bookish child.
✨
@blackmagickatt (you don’t have to if you don’t want to)
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Delicious Party♡Pretty Cure Characters as Mobians
🍀🐱🩷🦊🍙💙🐶🥪💛🐲🍜💜🍧🍀🐱
Cures:
Yui Nagomi/Cure Precious - Light Brown Fox/Bright Pink Fox
Kokone Fuwa/Cure Spicy - Dark Azure Labrador/Bright Blue Labrador
Ran Hanamichi/Cure Yum-Yum - Brown Asian Water Monitor/Yellow Asian Water Monitor
Amane Kasai/Gentlu/Cure Finale - Dark Purple Monkey/Silver Monkey/Blonde Monkey
She was formerly part of the Bundoru Gang as the phantom thief Gentlu until she was rescued by the Cures
Faires:
Kome-Kome II - Fox Cure Flicky (Energy Flicky)
Energy Fairy of Rice
Fairy partner of Cure Precious
When she combines forces and transforms with Yui, she enters her "rice ball form"
She is able to transform into human form at will, due to her special status
She is also able to help herself and her friends travel between other worlds, such as CooKingdom, by using the stored powers inside her jewel brooch. The same power can also be used by herself to time-travel once in her life. However, doing so can use up her stamina
Pam-Pam - Dog Cure Flicky (Energy Flicky)
Energy Fairy of Bread
Fairy partner of Cure Spicy
When she combines forces with Kokone, she enters "sandwich form"
She is able to transform into human form at will
She is able to make things more stylish with her magic
Mem-Mem - Dragon Cure Flicky (Energy Flicky)
Energy Fairy of Noodles
Fairy partner of Cure Yum-Yum
When he combines forces with Ran he enters his "bowl form"
He is able to transform into human form at will
He is able to breathe fire to attack his enemies
He can do noodle fortune-telling, in which he can detect the location of noodle-based Recipepes, by using power stored in his jewel. But doing so will use up a lot of his energy
Magical Allies:
Rosemary - Lilac Peacock
Rosemary came from CooKingdom in search of the Recipe-Bon.
He has high beauty standards and knows cosmetology. He also cries often and is emotional.
After Godatz’s arrest he is responsible for training the Cook Fighters.
CooKing - White Hare
He is the king of CooKingdom.
CooQueen - Pale Pink Deer
She is the queen of CooKingdom.
Ginger - Calico Japanese Bobtail Cat
He was Rosemary, Fennel, and Cinnamon's master, and the leader of the Cook Fighters.
Cerfeuil - Light Brwon Irish Terrier
She was a Cook Fighter apprentice at CooKingdom, but after the Delicious Stone chose her, she is now a Cook Fighter.
Kome-Kome I - Fox Energy Flicky
Kome-Kome's predecessor
Recipepes
Omurice Recipepe
Karaage Recipepe
Pudding Recipepe
Curry Rice Recipepe
Soft Serve Ice Cream Recipepe
Sandwich Recipepe
Rice Ball Recipepe
Heart Bread Recipepe
Curry Bread Recipepe
Veggie Soup Recipepe
Corn Soup Recipepe
Beef Stew Recipepe
Fried Shrimp Recipepe
Ramen Recipepe
Gyōza Recipepe
Chahan Recipepe
Kanitama Recipepe
Shrimp Dumpling Recipepe
Spring Roll Recipepe
Sakura Mochi Recipepe
Hamburger Recipepe
Fries Recipepe
Takoyaki Recipepe
Tarako Pasta Recipepe
Potato Salad Recipepe
Hamburger Steak Recipepe
Miso Soup Recipepe
Salmon Roe Rice Bowl Recipepe
Whitebait Rice Bowl Recipepe
Meat Sauce Pasta Recipepe
Hot Dog Recipepe
Meat and Potato Stew Recipepe
Parfait Recipepe
Fruit Punch Recipepe
Shortcake Recipepe
Chocolate Cake Recipepe
Roast Chicken Recipepe
Shaved Ice Recipepe
Minazuki Recipepe
Crêpe Recipepe
Doughnut Hole Recipepe
Pizza Recipepe
Paella Recipepe
Barbecue Recipepe
Meat-Stuffed Green Pepper Recipepe
Ice Cream Recipepe
Candy Recipepe
Sushi Recipepe
Omuhayashi Recipepe
Pilaf Recipepe
Chūkadon Recipepe
Shiratama Dango Recipepe
Yakisoba Recipepe
Seafood Yakisoba Recipepe
Udon Recipepe
Sōmen Recipepe
Soba Recipepe
Pumpkin Pie Recipepe
Oden Recipepe
Pita Bread Sandwich Recipepe
Almond Tofu Recipepe
Candied Apple Recipepe
Tamagoyaki Recipepe
Tamago Kake Gohan Recipepe
Christmas Cake Recipepe
Villians:
Godatz/Fennel - Brown Maine Coon (Good)/Purple Maine Coon (Bad)
He is the leader of Bundoru Gang, who wants to steal all of the Recipepes so he can own all types of cuisines.
His real identity is known as Fennel who was the Imperial Guard Captain for CooKingdom and one of Ginger's students.
Narcistoru - Pale Green Moose
A general of the Bundoru Gang.
Narcistoru is a self-proclaimed genius who invents new items to make the Ubauzo stronger.
With Gentlu no longer a part of the Bundoru Gang, Narcistoru takes over with the mission of capturing Recipepes, but later gets arrested and imprisoned in CooKingdom.
Secretoru - Dark Green Panther
A general of the Bundoru Gang who has an insidious way of speaking.
After Narcistoru is arrested and imprisoned in CooKingdom, Secretoru takes over with the mission of capturing Recipepes.
Spiritoru - Silver Tech Boar
A robot made by Narcistoru, who is powered by the Delicious Stones.
Spiritoru was originally programmed with Narcistoru's tastes in mind as well as being very kind with cheerleader-like tendencies, but after Secretoru reprogrammed him, Spiritoru became serious and more task-oriented.
Family:
Hikaru Nagomi - Brown Wolf
Yui's father.
Hikaru works as a fisherman, and is currently on a fishing trip with Shinada Monpei.
Akiho Nagomi - Brown Fox
Yui's mother, and owns Nagomi Diner.
Yone Nagomi - Light Brown Fox
Yui's late grandmother.
She was well-known for inspiring Yui with her quotes and kindly helping others when she was alive.
Shousei Fuwa - Black Labrador
Kokone's father, who owns Restaurant Du Lac with his wife.
Hatsuko Fuwa - Dark Azure Labrador
She is Kokone's mother, who is the menu developer and ingredient purchaser for Restaurant Du Lac.
She is nicknamed the Genius Taster.
Koshinosuke Hanamichi - Brown Panda
Ran's father, and owns a ramen shop called Panda Hut.
Tsurune Hanamichi - Brown Asian Water Monitor
Ran's mother.
Together with her husband, they run the ramen shop Panda Hut, while always being on the same wavelength.
Run Hanamichi - Peach-Brown Panda
Ran's younger sister.
Rin Hanamichi - Brown Panda
Ran's younger brother.
Botan Kasai - Gray Monkey
Amane's father.
Is the owners of Fruit Parlor KASAI.
Shuichi Kasai - Black Monkey
Amane's mother.
Is the owners of Fruit Parlor KASAI.
Mitsuki Kasai - Gray Monkey
Yuan's twin brother and Amane's older brother.
He works at Fruit Parlor KASAI.
Yuan Kasai - Black Monkey
Mitsuki's twin brother and Amane's older brother.
He is a black belt karate athlete and also works at Fruit Parlor KASAI.
Supporting People:
Takumi Shinada/Black Pepper - Brown Jaguar/Silver Jaguar
Nagomi Yui's childhood friend.
He is a third-year student at Shinsen Middle School.
His family owns a guest house called Fuku-An.
His alter ego is the Cook Fighter, Black Pepper, also nicknamed BlaPe by the Cures.
He has a crush on Yui.
Monpei Shinada - Black Jaguar
Takumi's father, and one of Ginger's students.
He is currently on a fishing trip with Yui's father.
An Shinada - Golden Brown Leopard
Takumi's mother.
She works at Nagomi Diner, and owns the guest house, Fuku-An.
Todoroki - Gray Siberian Husky
He is the Fuwa family's butler.
On CureSta, he goes by the username of Solomogu.
Wakana Tamaki - Zebra
A second-year female student and also Yui's friend from Shinsen Middle School's soccer club.
She is athletic and deligent, but also caring.
Iroha Endo - Light Brown Komodo Dragon
A second-year female student from Yui, Kokone and Ran's class in Shinsen Middle School.
Risa Takada - Dark Blue Springer Spaniel
A second-year female student from Yui, Kokone and Ran's class in Shinsen Middle School.
Ena Nagase - Magenta Fennec Fox
A second-year female student from Yui, Kokone and Ran's class in Shinsen Middle School.
Moe Yamakura - Black Lemur
A third-year female student and the the vice president of the Shinsen Middle School student council.
Back when she couldn't do well in a piano competition, she was emotionally crushed until Amane told her not to overthink and gave her fruit punch to cheer her up.
Matasaburo Asai - Gray Ferret
Is an old friend of Yone prior to Yone's passing, and was also acquainted with Rosemary's master, Ginger.
——————————————————————————————————
Previously: 🌊🌴💄 | Next: ❌
Masterpost of AU: Jewel Sonicure AU Masterpost
#sonic the hedgehog#pretty cure#precure#delicious party♡pretty cure#delicious party precure#crossover#sonicure#Jewel Sonicure AU#information#characters#change in species#cure precious#cure spicy#cure yum yum#cure finale#kome-kome#pam-pam#mem-mem#fairies#magic creatures#villians#family#minor character#sth au#mobian
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Creative Ideas For Your Corporate Paella Catering London
The more you nurture your staff, the happier your employees are and food is one of the best ways.
It’s important to get this perk right. You have a company culture you want to uphold, and it looks bad if every week your food offering consists of a sliver of pizza. Going the extra mile to provide good experiences with food leaves a lasting impression and has a positive impact on your company culture. You’re asserting that you care about your staff and want them to have an enjoyable experience while working for you.
Paella Catering London for corporate is great for your employees—it’s convenient, helps employees save some money, and shows that you appreciate your staff. It’s a great way to support wellness at your organisation, too.
A few ideas for showing how you value your employees can include having lunch catered once a month, throwing fun cocktail parties at random points in the year, or giving them delicious food during boring meetings.
Some Creative Catering Ideas
Themed Menus: This technique not only will amuse the guests with their taste but also will leave a quite attractive and stunning impression on them.
Interactive Food Stations: The well-known simplicity of interactive food stations can successfully involve your guests in the event and give the event a fun vibe. Try paella live food station.
Bite-Sized Delights: Opt for smaller, bite-sized appetisers that are visually captivating and easy to enjoy while socialising, such as Tapas.
Personalised Touches: Let’s spice Paella Catering London with customised surprises so that it might appeal to your employees more. Consider adding personalised menu cards with individual names, or customised napkins and cocktail stirrers imprinted with the word of appreciation to every one of them.
USP Of Vamos Paella
Interactive On-Site Cooking: Our chefs cook delicious paella right at your event, turning the meal preparation into a captivating show. This live cooking experience adds an entertaining and engaging element to your corporate event, making it stand out.
Need help planning these acts of appreciation? Vamos Paella can help you get started. We are a Paella Catering London company that serves delicious and high-quality paella to all corporate events. From small meetings to cocktail parties, we can help you give your employees the treat they deserve.
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Creative Ideas For Your Corporate Paella Catering London
The more you nurture your staff, the happier your employees are and food is one of the best ways.
It’s important to get this perk right. You have a company culture you want to uphold, and it looks bad if every week your food offering consists of a sliver of pizza. Going the extra mile to provide good experiences with food leaves a lasting impression and has a positive impact on your company culture. You’re asserting that you care about your staff and want them to have an enjoyable experience while working for you.
Paella Catering London for corporate is great for your employees—it’s convenient, helps employees save some money, and shows that you appreciate your staff. It’s a great way to support wellness at your organisation, too.
A few ideas for showing how you value your employees can include having lunch catered once a month, throwing fun cocktail parties at random points in the year, or giving them delicious food during boring meetings.
Some Creative Catering Ideas
Themed Menus: This technique not only will amuse the guests with their taste but also will leave a quite attractive and stunning impression on them.
Interactive Food Stations: The well-known simplicity of interactive food stations can successfully involve your guests in the event and give the event a fun vibe. Try paella live food station.
Bite-Sized Delights: Opt for smaller, bite-sized appetisers that are visually captivating and easy to enjoy while socialising, such as Tapas.
Personalised Touches: Let’s spice Paella Catering London with customised surprises so that it might appeal to your employees more. Consider adding personalised menu cards with individual names, or customised napkins and cocktail stirrers imprinted with the word of appreciation to every one of them.
USP Of Vamos Paella
Interactive On-Site Cooking: Our chefs cook delicious paella right at your event, turning the meal preparation into a captivating show. This live cooking experience adds an entertaining and engaging element to your corporate event, making it stand out.
Need help planning these acts of appreciation? Vamos Paella can help you get started. We are a Paella Catering London company that serves delicious and high-quality paella to all corporate events. From small meetings to cocktail parties, we can help you give your employees the treat they deserve.
visit our website for more information:-https://www.vamospaella.co.uk/paella-catering-london/
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Chapter 8
Souvlakis - Charlie
"You hungry?" Gage asked as we walked through dark streets lit faintly by neon signs. This area was nicer, less trash around with faint chatter in the air.
"Yeah, but you know I don't have any money" I sigh, rubbing my grumbling stomach.
"Don't worry! I got you" he winked.
"No. I don't want to be a burden!"
"You're not a burden at all. There's this souvlaki place I know that's really good"
"Souvlaki?"
"What? You've never heard of souvlakis?"
"Doesn't ring any bells"
"What about kebabs, shawarma? Gyros maybe?"
"Nope"
"Prepare to have your mind blown"
"What's in it?"
"You'll see!" Gage smirked.
I followed behind Gage closely. He had a coolness about him walking with his hands in his pockets. He took us to a part of the city that had a couple of food trucks. The aromas that filled the air were delicious and definitely made me hungrier. It was a cozy place, a makeshift dining area filled the space between the trucks with candles on each table. One truck was selling something called "Banh Mi", and the hand painted illustration on the side of the truck depicted a roll with roast pork inside, nestled between what looked like sprigs of coriander and chilli sprinkled on top. Another truck was selling curry, their selection seemed to be vegetarian and vegan only with trays full of different vividly coloured stews and rice stained yellow. A third truck was selling a rice dish called "Paella" and I think I can see it through the trucks open window. A person was stirring a giant high walled frying pan that was full of orange coloured rice with other ingredients that I couldn't make out. The truck that Gage eagerly ran to was staffed by a portly gentleman, sporting a greasy comb over, a thick moustache and an apron. This truck also has a hand painted illustration of what I assume is a souvlaki. It was a thick bread wrap with meat, onion and lettuce filling with a white sauce on top. I'm surprised I haven't come across anything like that before, it seems normal enough to me.
"Gage! It's good to see ya! How have you been?" The souvlaki man greeted. Inside the truck were two misshapen cones of stacked meat that were rotating in front of heater panels.
"Found a hitchhiker today and he's starving! Thought I'd show him the best cuisine in the world" as Gage spoke, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders as if he was showing me off. I felt awkward, but I gave the souvlaki man a timid wave.
"You're always buttering me up, Gage! Alright young man, are you a fan of garlic?" The souvlaki man asked me, leaning over the counter.
"Yeah, I like garlic" I nod.
"How much though?" Gage nudged.
"I normally double the garlic cloves for recipes so, yeah. A decent amount. I'm not sure" I shrug.
"My garlic sauce has a lot of garlic, but I think you'll enjoy it" the souvlaki man winked at me.
"I think so! The illustration on your truck looks delicious" I beam.
"Well don't lick the paint!" The souvlaki man laughed heartily.
"Would I be able to get a normal souvlaki for my friend and the usual for me?" Gage ordered.
"Coming right up" the man smiled and turned around, shaving meat off the cones. As the man went to work, Gage turned to me.
"You've really never had a souvlaki before?" Gage implored.
"No! Never!" I shake my head.
"What kind of food do they serve up there?"
"Just normal stuff. We have McGregor’s, Royal burger, TFC, that's Tennessee fried chicken, but that's all take away. When I cook at home I make risotto, Wonder-steak and veggies, pasta sometimes"
"Wait, what the hell is Wonder-steak?"
"It's just vegan meat substitute"
"Are you a vegan?"
"No, but our meat is pretty bad quality, so I tend to avoid it when I'm not drunk"
"Okay, good. They use real meat for the souvlakis. Bob raises and butchers his own cows"
"There's space to raise barn animals in the city?"
"God no. Bob lives outside of the city"
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Depends" Gage shrugged. I'm learning so many things today.
"Here you are fellas! Hope it's worth the wait" Bob, the souvlaki man leaned over the counter, handing us our food. Gage slipped him some money and Bob was quick putting it in his cash drawer and giving Gage his change. The wrap was warm in my hands and the smell of garlic immediately hit my nostrils. It made my mouth water. We made our way to one of the empty tables and sat down.
"What's your usual?" I ask, carefully opening the paper on my souvlaki.
"I'm a bit weird. I get chips in my souvlaki" Gage chuckles, ripping open the paper wrapping.
"That doesn't sound weird!"
"I'm glad you think so!" Gage smiles. I was so hungry that I was drooling. I wipe the corners of my mouth before taking a bite of my wrap. Holy shit, this is delicious. The meat is juicy and well-seasoned, and the sauce enhances the savory flavour. The lettuce and onion perfectly cut through the fatty meat for a fresh taste. Not to mention the fresh fluffy bread that was slightly charred.
"What do you think?" Gage asks after swallowing his first bite.
"This is amazing! I can't believe I've never had one before" I smiled from ear to ear while chewing.
"Have I blown your mind?" He asked smugly.
"Definitely!" I nod. I hungrily shove my souvlaki in my mouth, taking a greedy bite. I couldn't help but let out a happy noise experiencing the flavour bomb again. Gage laughs and we sit together in silence happily eating our meal.
<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->
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THE TIME HAS COME!!! i just got home from an excursion and now i'm ready to buckle up and get ready for the ride! i know i said a lot of stuff to you in the dms about this fic but now you get to sit through me talking incoherently about the Little things . in detail . <3 luv u hehe
It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god. Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat. None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.
first off the beginning is SOOOO scrumptious (pun intended) like r yew kidding me! it sets such a good tone for the entire fic like its witty and food-filled and the image it paints is so perfect! like in just four sentences it not only establishes the tone of the fic but Also the reader gets such a good beginning grasp of who y/n is as a character
"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.
just like me. she is so real
The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email. Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.
the rhythm is sooooo good like you can really feel the doom
You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster.
NOT HIS WET COW EYESSDFJLFDS
You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.
ok i just picked a good paragraph but this section establishes the coworker (derogatory) allegations so good. like you have all these things you know about him or that you've theorized about him (during late nights looking over grueling transcripts i bet) and its like. he drives you insane when you think about him but that also means . you've been thinking about him a lot . a fine line between love and hate etc etc..... He Is In Your Head . [eyes glazed over] He is so infuriating actually. LIKE ALL THE INGREDIENTS ARE THEEEREEE the set up is so good to build off of!!!
Nothing you can do to stop him, huh? The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.
the double meaning goes so hard. that's all i have to say really
You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella. In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.
SCREAM!! a fine line between love and hate WHAT DID I SAAAYYY!
(No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)
SCREAM....... seungcheol and his indomitable fuckboy rizz. also he read your review...unfortunately i am that easy that would win me over. i WILL add that paella!
Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date. "You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it." "I'm no quitter." Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece. Definitely not that one.
putting this so i have a place to sum up my thoughts for this section because it made me go "WAH..." but there were so many lines in this section that made me go 🧍♂️ like . HIS INDOMITABLE FUCKBOY RIZZ.... anyway personally i just like how he always has her on her toes like 24/7 like it really reads like he always has the upperhand on her and even when she goes for low blows it doesn't visibly affect him as much as His jabs affect her (until later.......monkey covering eye emoji). Bestie you are losing resolve to his chili cheese fritos dusted fingers and his baseball ass and i cant even tell y/n to stand up ....
It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.
SIGH ..... the real question is which one is the true him and which is the mask he puts up isn't it . and really it's just which one you want to convince yourself is real because you want to keep up this image of him you have so 1) you're right and you can hate him without guilt and 2) so you don't get attached . H . but then you lower your defenses anyway because you're not the Type to hate you're the type to love especially over food (ILL GET INTO THIS LATER...). the way when he smiles it's different than the ones you're used to (the Cheshire smile you used to describe him in his first scene comes to mind) and you can't slam the door in his face and when he tries to be genuine ("this job. its--") but he rescinds it as quickly as it comes . foreshadowing. scream. its like the split poster with james mcavoy but with cheol and his 23 fuckboy personas pictured instead
"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."
cancelled.
"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet." "Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it. "Who hurt you?" "No one did. I'm just being honest." /
He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings. However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.
i just love this scene idk . it's such a good turning point en route to their Turning Point (Real) for their relationship and it hints at so much to come in the future. y/n and seungcheol just feel so Real you know like every word and action that comes through you can tell is shaped by their past experiences and their entire conversation in this scene it's like they're simultaneously trying to "win" and prove themselves right while also developing an interest in the other person's past ,,,, idk!! it all just feels so Natural and not forced at all to "form a conflict" like i feel a lot of stories do, it all just falls into place!! it's just such a good bonding moment for them while highlighting their stark differences (and foreshadowign future conflict..... Scream)
p.s. sidenote i remember this was one of the first scenes you asked me about and i just really enjoy how it turned out in the final product <3
You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on. [...] Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.
i remember the day when you told me mingyu was involved in this fic as an ex. I remember the way i Felt. catgyucore for realsies.... gunshots. i have more to say about mingyu later stay tuned .
The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).
this isn't what you're staying tuned for btw but i hate you.
"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."
SIGH. there is so much i have to say about this but the way its established that food tastes best when its gifted and how food is your love language and even though cheol doesn't believe in love he still gives you that tangerine and peels himself briefly for you . the way its mirrored by mingyu's newly cooked "leftovers" and even though its not as elaborate as mingyu's full dishes its still something. its still him caring . and you accept it . and you give half back to him . Toaster in bathtub ...........
Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop. Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol. / Just him, and you decide you like this version best.
RRRAAAAHHHHHH i don't have much to say about this scene tbh its just a good scene . the Turning Point (REAL)! also just wanna say the setup to their relationship changing is just . really good. like the slow progression of their enemy status is so smooth and reads super well so the payoff of this scene is chef's kiss
First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it. It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.
RAAAAAHHHH!!!!! HEAD IN HANDS. the way they still bump noses in a few scenes later. a gun to my head .....
"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back." "Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."
ok i already talked about this scene in the dms but i Must reiterate i love this scene and how well done it is .... the affection the care the domesticity ..... they're so silly!!!! he sleeps on her bed she nags him about outside clothes you're both losers but at the end of the day you're under the same covers and waking up on the same bed. wah.
and while we're on the topic i'll just Say it rather than finding a quote but the transition to the fight scene is >>>!!! the tension building, the starch rising to the top of the pot to mimic it, the way mingyu is still There because how can he not be he's the one who taught you how to love, but cheol fills in that space in a way where you don't Feel mingyu's absence nearly as much ... 😭 the mention of his smile again (this time bruising and sharp and hurt) and the final clashing and fallout of their characters!!!! like it was so good for them until it wasn't and it's both of their faults Really ... and actually reading this again after finishing the fic the realization that the reason why cheol starts this scene on edge is cause he thinks he's this half-baked second choice from that sticky note ....SHE DIDN'T WANT MINGYU SHE WANTED YOOOUUUU‼‼‼‼
(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.) / (11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)
ok owie ...... also sorry i didn't comment anything in the previous sections between the last scene and this one i feel like this is going a little Too long and i have more to say after . but just know those were owies too .
To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants. [...] You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.
i said this in the dms too BUT THIS METAPHOR GOES SO CRAZYYYY ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!! the croissant of doubt and loathing .... and ugh . the following resolution ... i love communication . i love honesty . AND THE FRESH RESTART .....!!!!! i love them dearly actually ....
If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them. [...] Eat, Play, Love: A Guide. Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.
what a journey ... what a feat . they're just so silly .... also the mention of getting a reservation at avra as a callback from their first scene together you're joking!!!! (i actually just noticed that on this reread SHDFJDFLK i was like That sounds familiar ..... lightbulb.)
ok those were my notes While reading but for post reading:
First Off i haaaave to talk about the prose like i know i've talked about it a little in the dms but i really have to go into it because like. as a reader i can tell how much fun you had with the wit of some scenes, you are truly the funniest person alive, but also the way you incorporate food metaphors consistently within the prose to keep with the theme of the fic ITS JUST SO GOOD it's honestly like the bow on top. like you didn't NEED to include those little details but you did and it's just the cherry on top that brings the whole fic to life! and as a writer it's just so admirable HONESTLY like i was taking notes as i was reading to put into my vernacular and prose repertoire ++ each time i read through i find something new to enjoy like that is SO amazing to me.
and on that topic, the way the theme is Food is your love language and seungcheol doesn't have one is threaded throughout the fic like. the way cheol has a shitty diet of baja blast and the palate of a 7 year old and the way the times you warmed up to cheol is when you had a meal with him (the paella for one/nai/the thai leftover in the car) but like. how in the car scene you deliberately associate food with love ("i may be bad at love, but you're worse" / "definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself") and how your first love was the person that forever solidified love = food to you .... HOW WHEN YOU AND CHEOL HAVE THAT FIGHT YOU'RE TRYING TO COOK FOOD FOR HIM ("food tastes best when it's a gift [...] you've never understood until now.") AND HE THROWS THAT LOVE (AND MINGYU) BACK IN YOUR FACE LIKEEEEE WHAT!!!! THE SYMBOLISM GOES CRAZY!!!!!!!! and the way the ramyun you were about to offer him is overcooked and bloated and something you convince yourself you never wanted anyway . 😭😭😭😭😭 and then at the end he reserves that date at avra Genuinely this time in contrast to the beginning .... ITS SOOOO ..........TEAR
your romcom connoisseurship (i had to look up if i was spelling this properly) really shines through this fic it READS so much like how 27 dresses is watched i'm such a big fan. as someone who saw this fic while it was in the works i'm just SO PROUD of you for completing this fic with such high quality i'm your biggest stan i'm so serious . also while i was finding this fic again to reblog from i saw how many notes and reblogs with feedback it has and its SO DESERVED!! a masterpiece in the cheol archives . one for the history books .
title: eat. play. love.
pairing: seungcheol x f!reader
wc: 19.4k
summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.
in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.
notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')
It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.
Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.
None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.
"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"
At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.
"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"
Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.
"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."
"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."
You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.
It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.
There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"
"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.
URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.
"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.
As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.
Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.
I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.
It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.
"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.
Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.
"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."
How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.
"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."
You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.
Looking forward to talking with the two of you.
Wait—two?
Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.
CC: Choi Seungcheol.
"Choi Seungcheol?!"
Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.
Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.
"I—he," you stammer.
Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.
"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."
You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.
"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."
Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.
"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"
You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.
"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."
Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.
The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.
It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.
"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."
The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.
Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.
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The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.
Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.
"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.
You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)
For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."
You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.
He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.
"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."
At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.
"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."
He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.
"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."
That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.
Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.
"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."
"They don't have a kids menu, you know."
"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"
You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.
"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"
You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.
Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.
"You know what?"
His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.
"What?"
"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."
The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.
"I'd rather starve."
"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."
you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.
He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.
Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.
The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.
He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.
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"You'll never guess what I have."
"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.
Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."
"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"
"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"
"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"
"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."
He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.
"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."
"And a seat at Momofuku."
"And that."
You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.
There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.
"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."
"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.
"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."
You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.
And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.
You hide behind your computer screen.
"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"
"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."
You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.
It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.
Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.
"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.
Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.
But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).
No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.
Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?
The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.
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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.
It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.
Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.
And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.
The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).
Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.
Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."
Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.
"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.
Hook, line, and sinker.
The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.
The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.
This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.
Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.
You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.
In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.
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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.
You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.
That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.
This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.
You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.
That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.
"Seungcheol?"
He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.
"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."
Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.
"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."
"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.
"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."
"Who said I was pretending?"
No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.
Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)
"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."
"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."
"I never said that."
You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.
The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.
"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."
Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?
"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.
"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."
"What do you think we're doing right now?"
"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.
"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.
"No, you do not get to make this about me."
Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.
How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.
"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"
"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.
"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."
Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.
"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."
"I'm no quitter."
Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.
Definitely not that one.
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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."
"Why, so you can steal my job?"
"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."
You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.
You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.
"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.
"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"
You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.
"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."
In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.
"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."
He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.
"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."
He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.
"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."
"So you're admitting this is a date?"
"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."
"Well, pity looks good on you."
And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."
"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."
Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.
"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."
"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."
Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.
You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.
"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."
You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).
You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.
You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.
"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."
It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.
"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.
"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"
"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"
You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.
"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"
If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.
"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."
"Running away?"
"Bored," you lie.
He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.
"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.
"Unfortunate."
"How do you think I feel?"
The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.
It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.
"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."
"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."
Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.
"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"
You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.
"This job. It's—" he clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."
And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.
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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."
It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.
The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.
"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."
"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."
"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."
"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"
"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."
Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.
"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.
You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.
"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.
"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"
"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."
"Field trip?"
Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.
"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."
Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.
"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"
"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."
Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.
You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.
"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."
Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.
"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."
"N-not both ways?" you croak.
"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."
"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."
"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."
Whatever.
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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.
Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.
A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.
Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.
You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.
For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.
"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.
"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.
Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.
"But, thank you."
"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."
The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.
"I'm retracting my thank you."
"I'm devastated. Really."
You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.
It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.
"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"
The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.
"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."
"Yeah, but why?"
Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.
"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."
Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.
"Come on, he can't like her that much."
"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."
"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."
"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."
You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.
"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."
Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.
"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."
"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.
"Who hurt you?"
"No one did. I'm just being honest."
You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.
"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."
"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.
You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.
But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.
Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.
"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."
"I wouldn't say nothing."
He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.
Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.
Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.
"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"
You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.
Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.
These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.
"You in a rush?"
"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."
"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."
That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.
That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.
"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.
"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."
You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.
Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.
"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"
Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.
It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.
You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, “your body is a wonderland,” and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.
"Stop that."
"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"
A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.
"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."
"Is it working?"
You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.
"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."
"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."
There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.
He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.
However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.
"Want any?" and when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"
This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.
For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.
Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.
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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.
"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."
Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.
"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.
"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.
"At least I'm not a slave to my career."
"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.
"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"
"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.
"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"
"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."
You almost choke on a blueberry.
"Absolutely not."
You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.
The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.
"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"
And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.
You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.
Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.
Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.
You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.
You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).
Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.
"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.
"I'm running out of options."
"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"
You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).
Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.
"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."
Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.
You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.
The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.
The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.
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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.
Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.
That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.
You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.
He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.
"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"
"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.
"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.
"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."
"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."
"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."
"Lucky you."
The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.
Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.
You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.
The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).
It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.
Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.
He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.
"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."
"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.
Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.
It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.
"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."
You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.
"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.
A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.
The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.
You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.
You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.
You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.
Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.
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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.
It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.
The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.
In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.
So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.
All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.
Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.
The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.
The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.
Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.
Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.
"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.
You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.
You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.
She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.
Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.
The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.
To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.
One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.
You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.
No, you're definitely going to cry.
Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.
You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.
"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"
You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.
"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."
You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.
But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.
Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.
Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.
You count the seconds till he walks away.
One. Two. Three.
Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.
"Hey, you ok?"
Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.
And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.
You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.
"Whoa," he breathes.
Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.
"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.
You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.
Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.
Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.
You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.
Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.
"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."
You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.
The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.
"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.
"Yeah, I-I think so."
You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.
Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.
All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.
Just him, and you decide you like this version best.
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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.
There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.
A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.
Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.
Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.
You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.
And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.
You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).
And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)
Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.
8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.
Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.
You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.
You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.
But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.
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"Here. Drink."
You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.
But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.
Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.
"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.
"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."
"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.
Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.
You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.
"I'm—" the exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."
"For…What?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."
Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.
"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."
"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."
Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.
"Thanks…?"
"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."
"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"
"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."
"You're literally the definition of easy."
"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."
"This is not a date. Dream on."
"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."
"It wasn't."
"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"
"Chicago."
"Same difference."
Your conversation continues as such.
Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?
You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.
You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.
You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)
After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.
It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.
It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.
First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.
It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.
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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.
He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.
"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.
"Hi."
The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.
And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.
The elevator dings.
Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.
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You have three reasons to get drunk.
It's Friday.
2. You finished your article.
3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.
(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)
After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.
You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.
So you get drunk.
Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.
"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"
"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.
"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"
"You got that right."
Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.
"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.
"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"
"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.
"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.
The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?
Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.
"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."
"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."
"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…You know."
"Yours or mine?"
"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.
You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.
How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!
You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.
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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.
You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.
"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."
"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."
Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.
"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.
"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."
it smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.
"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."
"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"
"No!" his hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"
He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.
"Just dates. Nothing serious."
You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.
"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."
You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.
"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."
"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."
"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."
"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.
Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.
The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.
You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.
You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.
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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.
You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.
"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.
"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."
"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.
"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."
"Or if they're trying to poison you."
"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.
"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."
You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.
"Holy shit. You live like this?"
"Not always. It's been…a week." all you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"
"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.
At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.
You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.
"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.
You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.
"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."
"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."
Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."
you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.
There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.
It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.
"What, too many dates to cover?"
He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."
Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.
"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."
"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."
His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.
You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.
"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."
The table stops rocking.
"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.
Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.
"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."
"You asked."
"Yeah? Well, what is this?" you turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."
After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.
"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"
"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."
There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."
"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"
There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.
"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."
"Wh—"
he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.
"Get. Out."
It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.
"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."
it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.
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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.
If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.
That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.
Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.
You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.
Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.
You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.
He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.
It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.
You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.
The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.
You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?
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Monday feels tilted.
There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.
You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.
"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.
He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.
You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.
"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.
Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.
Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.
All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.
You wonder what you'll be:
10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.
It's Not You, It's Them!
Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!
At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.
The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.
(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)
You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.
(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)
There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.
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Ask Samuel!
It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.
You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.
That's the only way he's beating you.
(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).
One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.
"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.
"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.
"Congrats."
"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.
"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."
For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.
"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."
"No need."
"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"
"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."
"What?!"
There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.
"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."
The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.
"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.
All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.
Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.
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To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.
When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.
You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.
You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.
And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.
He gave up.
None of this should matter to you.
You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.
It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.
His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.
"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."
That does the trick.
"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.
"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"
"What does it matter to you? You got the position."
"Look, I—" you shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."
Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.
Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.
"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."
The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.
"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."
Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.
"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."
"H-how?"
"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."
There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.
"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.
"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."
You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.
"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.
"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."
"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."
"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."
Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.
"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."
Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.
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"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"
Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.
"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."
You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.
He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."
Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.
You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.
After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.
But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.
He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)
Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.
"Afternoon, boss."
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.
He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.
"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.
"Friendly reminder we're at work."
"Everyone's at lunch, genius."
He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.
"You are the worst."
"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."
"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."
"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."
There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.
If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.
You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).
Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.
Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.
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#sorry i wrote an entire 5 page essay double spaced and formatted#but you already know im insane#i love you but you already know that hehe <3#recs
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