#cotton candy fork🥺 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nelapanela94 · 2 years

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Okay Firstly, love your work🤩 thanks a lot for everything you do.

I've seen someone answer a question about head canons of levi cutting onions? And since then I cannot stop thinking of Levi and his s/o in the kitchen, preparing something cause- maybe Kuchel is coming over for dinner?

And maybe both cut onions and crying and laughing

or maybe just Levi and his s/o is feeling bad/making fun of him?

Or maybe his s/o is cutting onions and Levi is making fun of her?

Now, you can definitely ignore this request but yes. Just some domestic fluff in the kitchen with both being married is really fluffy

First, thank you so much! 🥹🥺

TW: None. Set in modern au where Kuchel is alive and Levi grew up as mama’s boy.

The cotton ‘sac à pain’ brims with two crispy crusty fresh baguettes, one unscathed, the other victim of your bread-tearing fangs. The warm chewy inside contrasts with the teeth-cracking outer layer and melts in your mouth like cotton candy. For your loyalty, the clerk added an extra wheel of roman bread.

Two by two, you climb the stairs to the third floor to make up for the load of carbs. 302. A glint sweeps over the copper plaque. you step on the Don't wear shoes in my house door mat Kenny got for Levi on his last birthday and Christmas. Two birds killed with one stone, he says every year. That's one of the reasons why Levi is always shooting daggers at his uncle.

You lift the knocker and rap three times. Ten seconds later, the tapping of your impatience crouches in every corner of the hallway. During the wait, you break another bite-size chunk and bundle it into your mouth. You shrug. Levi must be keeping an eye on the roasted duck. A drizzle of crumbs mingles in the synthetic fur as you rub your hands on your jeans; a smidge of panic rises, and you dredge them off with your foot, scattering them around, hoping to conceal them through the streaks and twists of the silvery marble veins. The hand of keys rattles as you hook the ring out of your pocket, fiddling for the pink one, and shove it into the keyhole. A click, and you push the door open.

The alluring whiff of rosemary and garlic strikes into your lungs, making you levitate and drool. The house smells devine, and you can’t wait to sit and stab that bird. The award for the best daughter-in-law of the year will be all yours.

At the entryway, you scuff your shoes off, push them under the bench and slip into your kitty flip-flops.

“They didn’t have Brie, got Camembert instead. We’ll make it work.” Your voice blares through the apartment as you cross the living room to the kitchen, but you don’t get any reply. Slowing down, you take a look around, inspecting; being married to Levi Ackerman obligues to develop a dust-hunting radar.

It all looks pristine. The dining table perfectly set, melting swans of cloth napkins roost on each plate, families of forks lying on the left side. Why do you need that many? Who knows, but it looks so fetch. The shiny cutlery set you reserve for the special occasions finally sees the daylight.

Fresh daisies enliven the coffee table. The curtains dance in the soft breeze, natural light skims every corner of the main salon. Smoke swirls up in threads from the incense sticks, their scent quarreling with that coming from the oven.

A yummy sizzle whispers from the kitchen, and dragged by the smell, you continue your way, but then, a sob cracks, barely perceptible, the aerial in your ears tune to the right frequency, and you slip the gear to two.

“Levi!” You storm in the kitchen and stop dead in your tracks when you see him wiping his eyes in the sleeve of his t-shirt, dabbling it with a darker gray.

Squinting, you equip with a sword of bread to fight whatever the root of your honeybun’s distress is. What dares hurt your man will face your rage. Nothing on his left, nothing on his right.

Or what if Kuchel bursts in, finds her thirty-year-old baby boy weeping and blames it all on you? Your eyes bang open at the swivet twisting your guts. You shake your head frantically, tossing away the image of your mother-in-law recoiling into a fighting stance. Your award hanging by a thread.

You should never mess with the puppies.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

The knife hits dull the cutting board.

“Shit.” A hiss breaks from him, and he sucks in a long sniff. Levi reels away from the instigator and winces at the sting, scrunching his face as if he had run his tongue over a lime. He leans back against the countertop and clenches his hands around the rim. His eyes remain squeezed shut.

Your head tilts to the side, and one eyebrow curves into a knap; your misgiving slopes into curiosity, then swerves to amusement when you catch the mutilated body of the culprit, the white onion craggily chopped in fourths. The strap glides from your shoulder to your hand as you throttle a snort by clamping shut the gawky chasm between your wobbly lips. Your body bends fighting the convulsions of mirth, but you can't contain your guffaw, a slap on the knee and you crack in a storm of giggles.

knurls bridge the gap between his brows, tiny veins gnarl like red cobwebs in the white of his eyes. Glaring, his mouth twitches in a pique. He grunts, and puffs out a cheek, peeling off the counter, and thumps to you, snatching the bag of bread from your hand. "This is why I don't trust you with bread."

You straighten up and wipe off a misty line of tears from under your eyes. "That's why I always buy two instead of one, plus the bread boy added this one too." You fling your arm up, the other bag swinging at your elbow.

"He's flirting." Levi takes that one too and delves into for the woodened cheese. He oversees the baked camembert dip.

"He's just nice and rewards his best customers." You throw your head forwards and loop your hair through the donut, restricting the disheveled strands in a messy bun. "For you, whoever is nice to me is flirting." Your eyes sag at his lack of affection, and you go after him, but he flings away from your attempts of hugs.

"Don't." He pouts and sets the knife down. Strings of cheese snap as he removes the rind lid, itching to turn around and kiss you. He's just holding up, acting like the spoiled brat he is. Deep down, he knows he is.

"Are you mad at me?"

He places the cheese in a ramequin and sprinkles thyme on top.

"I'm sorry." You drape your arms around him from behind, straining your cheek over the rippling muscles of his back. at least, this time he doesn't shoo you. "Are you ok?"

"You're so mean, Y/N." Levi whines. “It’s your fault for leaving me alone dealing with those devilish onions.”

"But-"

"Don't want to hear you."

"Cry baby." You press a kiss on his back and free him from your arms, grab your bunny apron and pick up his half-hearted job. "You silly, you had to keep the root. That's what Gordon says."

"I'm not you, nuzzling in cooking videos before going to sleep."

"No, 'cause you're glued to Marie Kondo."

Glowering, his face snaps to you. He hurls a rag onto the countertop and wriggles the mittens on. The heat whacks him as he opens the oven and recoils, letting the steam escape before drawing out the dutch oven. You do know what you're doing. inwardly, he brags about how lucky he is for marrying you. That V you drooled over is hardly visible nowadays.

Ceramic clanks on the rack, and he shuts the door, unfettering his hands.

The glinting blade rakes clean the cutting board, and the seductive frizzle tickles your ears and nose. Hopefully, Kuchel will knock on time. Broccoli, mushrooms, bell peppers, you bring color to the stir fry.

Levi tears a piece of bread and crams it into his mouth. Rests against the countertop, arms folded over his chest, crumpling his matching apron. He smiles, trying not to sneer at you sticking out your tongue in concentration as you cut the vegetables.

You’ve been wringing up all your energy to impress his mother, even though he insisted to keep it simple. He sighs. Why was he upset anyway? That’s not longer relevant. He can’t be pissed at you for too long. How could he? A bat of lashes and you’ll have him on his knees. He’d walk in red coal to get you a napkin and dab the corners of your lips.

With you, he’s the fidgeting eighteen year old who stealthily picked up flowers from the neighbor’s yard to pin behind your ear.

#attack on titan levi #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan #snk #levi aot #snk levi #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman/reader

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onsunnyside · 2 years

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Heyyy, i read your latest fic about Tarzan Steve. Can you please write something about the reader giving steve modern food and how he would react towards the food that is so different fro what he usually eats

Yess !! And thank you so much for being patient for this💚

This fella is in for a whole new world. let's start off with something spicy.

Hot and sour fish soup:

Steve’s eyes widen, lips smacking. “It… burns?”

“It’s the red chilli peppers and oil. It’s spicy,” You correct, eyeing him carefully for his reaction.

His cheeks turn a little red under his beard and he scrunches his nose, “Spicy. Name?”

“Hot and sour fish soup.”

“Good… but hurts my tongue.”

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to. That fried rice, chicken and vegetables aren’t spicy.” You point across the table to the takeout container.

“No.”

“No?”

“Pain is worth it—tastes good.” Steve inhales deeply, taking another spoonful. His blue eyes water slightly, and the red in his cheeks deepened. “...Hurts, but don’t want to stop.”

Tacos:

“Steve, slow down before you choke.”

The giant freezes, mouth wide open with a taco in his hands, his third one in the span of five minutes. “It’s good.”

You nudge a glass of water close to him, “Drink something, please.”

He obeys, gulping down half the glass before returning to his taco. "Have this again tomorrow?"

You smile. "If you want."

"Wan' s'ho bad, p’ease." He says with a stuffed mouth.

Pasta:

“Tastes like food from last week.”

“Yeah, there are different types of pasta dishes. We had lasagna last week, this is spaghetti and meatballs.”

His blue eyes widen. "So... comes in different forms."

"I guess you could say that."

In amazement, he watches the spaghetti slip from his fork. "Like magic... slithery like snake though."

Cotton candy: [see also: Steve trying chocolate for the first time!]

“It’s gone?”

You smile, “Yeah, it melts in your mouth.”

“Oh…” Steve looks down at the bucket, then his sticky fingers, “My mouth is hot?”

“No, it’s your saliva.”

“Oh! Saliva is hot, understand.” He stuffs more of the sweet treat in his mouth, humming loudly. “Delicious.”

THIS MAN IS 🥺

#what a world ask #what a world: fluff #what a world drabble

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