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bellysoupset · 5 months

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Wendy and Vince - Purposefully overeating part 2. NSFW

Hi, hello. This is kink. This is fetish writing. No one look at me for one thousand years. 😳

Read part 1 here

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“Can I sleep with you?”

Wendy let out a sigh, crouching down in front of Livia and brushing the girl’s hair back, “how about you sleep over tomorrow night? Then Monday I can take you to class with Vin?”

The little girl’s pout cleared up as she nodded eagerly, “can you braid my hair?”

“Yes, I can braid your hair,” Wendy grinned, planting a kiss on Liv’s brow, “now up to bed, c’mon. I’ll help you brush your teeth.”

“You’re getting exploited, Wendy,” Giuseppe warned her from the couch, as Wendy guided the little girl up the stairs, holding her hand, “keep giving her an inch and she’ll take the whole mile.”

“I don’t mind,” Wendy shrugged and she really meant it. She had never been the type to like children, but she didn’t actively dislike them either. However, Vince adored Livia so much that Wendy couldn’t help but have it rub off on her. It helped that Liv was very much like her brother, all touchy and sweet, it was like looking at a little girl version of him.

“Vincenzo, help me with the tupperwares, will you?” Wendy heard as Ma called from the kitchen and Vince got up with a small sigh from the dining table. He had already polished off two servings of dinner — veal chops with fava beans and radishes — and had been previously munching on cookies while helping with the dishes, before his mother banished everyone from the kitchen as she sorted through the leftovers.

Livia was sleepy already, so it wasn’t hard to put her to bed, watching her brush her teeth and change into PJs, before crawling under the blankets with her stuffed animals. Most of them were purple and Wendy snorted as she wondered how did the child not suffocate with that many plushies surrounding her.

“Goodnight, Wendy,” Liv whispered, curling up and pressing her face to the belly of her stuffed bear.

“Goodnight, sugar,” Wendy leaned in, kissing the top of her head and then making sure Liv’s night light was on, casting stars on the wall it was plugged to, and walking out of the bedroom. Vince was just outside, in the hallway, and she jumped, “how long you’ve been there?”

“Just got here,” Vince shrugged, as Wendy pulled the door half closed, “just wanted to kiss Liv goodnight, then we can leave.”

“Are you still-”

He rolled his eyes, circling her and whispering in her ear, “yeah, I’m still sure.”

Wendy’s face burned and she fought the urge to squirm, leaning against the hallway wall as Vince disappeared inside the bedroom to kiss his baby sister goodnight.

She walked back downstairs, instead of waiting for him, and paused in the staircase, watching Giuseppe and Magda cuddled up on the couch, chatting over some soap opera, while Sophia was sprawled on the opposite couch with her face buried in her phone. It was such a domestic, mundane scene and yet Wendy couldn’t remember ever seeing her parents do that.

“Let’s go?” Vince wrapped his arms around her from behind and Wendy nodded, leaning her back against his stomach. She could just feel his belly pressing on her back and it was comfortable more than anything.

“Wendy, the basket on the left is for you,” Ma called as they entered the living room, Vince passing Wen her purse and going to retrieve all the leftovers his mom so happily separated for him.

“That’s too much, Ma-”

“Nonsense,” the woman scoffed, “you live alone, you’re a doctor, you don’t have time to cook and I don’t want you eating garbage. I put in some jars of my sauce and the premade pasta, there’s torrones- Oh! And the big metal jar is for Leo and Jonah, tell them congratulations for the engagement. It’s chocolate coated cookies- Leo likes chocolate, right?”

“He loves it,” Vince said truthfully, while Wendy eyed the huge amount of food with a guilty conscience. Ever since her and Vin had gotten back together and gotten in the routine of long distance, she had been barely feeding herself.

“It’s still too much-”

A string of annoyed italian words interrupted her, Ma getting up from the couch and angrily grabbing the basket, shoving it in Wendy’s hands, “don’t be rude,” the woman berated her, “buona notte, bambina. Buona notte, mio cucciolo.”

Wendy hugged the woman with one arm, the other one busy holding all the things she had been given, “buona notte, ma,” she felt very proud of mimicking the accent.

Vince answered his parents in Italian, exchanging some rapid fire words with Sophia, who didn’t even bother looking up from her phone and then they were out of the house.

“You have got to stop fighting her,” Vince berated lightly, as they entered the car, “the more you say you don’t want food, the more she thinks you’re embarrassed and she needs to feed you.”

“I need to start paying your mom somehow,” Wendy scoffed, putting the seatbelt on, “she’s spending a fortune.”

“She can quit whenever she wants,” Vince shrugged. He started the car and then planted a hand on his stomach, rubbing it lightly. All thoughts about his mother flew out of Wendy’s mind and she stared at his hand.

“So what’s for dinner?”

“Pizza,” Vince drove out of his street, “I’m thinking vegetarian?”

“Uhum,” Wendy licked her lips, then reached in and touched her boyfriend’s stomach. A jolt went up her hand as she felt how full his belly already was, rounding out nicely under his sweater, “you ate a lot already.”

“Please,” Vince snorted, “that was nothing.”

It was still early, barely past nine, and most restaurants were open and with people coming and going. They parked across a small cantina, near Vince’s place, and sat in the far back, in the most reclusive spot.

If Vince was honest, he was already feeling quite full. Ever since deciding they’d do this, five hours ago, he had been eating non stop. Two sandwiches, two servings of dinner and who knows how many cookies and juice were packed in his gut, so he was far from hungry… But nowhere near queasy, which was their end result.

Vin leaned back after they ordered, half listening as Wendy rambled on nervously — she was always chatty, but when feeling awkward it seemed to go up a notch —, too preoccupied taking all of her in.

He missed her so much, it wasn’t even funny. Wendy continued to talk as he reached in, pushing a wavy strand of hair behind her ear and letting his hand linger, tracing the soft curve of her jaw. She had baby cheeks and he loved them, freckles dusting the bridge of her button nose, lips that curved up on a perfect, pouty shape, no cupid’s bow.

Tonight she was wearing glittery eyeshadow and dark mascara, speckles of pink glitter clinging to her lids and the inner corner of her eyes, making her green eyes sparkle.

“-I don’t know, I just think if the concussion rate is so high, why aren’t they doing anyt-” Wendy interrupted herself, “are you listening to me?”

“I am,” Vince nodded, but instead of repeating what she was saying, he tugged on the belt loop of his girlfriend’s jeans and pulled her closer to him in their little booth, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “I was just looking at you.”

“Staring,” she corrected, but melted against him, sliding a hand around his middle in an inconspicuous manner. It made his tummy fill with butterflies. Vince pulled her even closer, pressing a kiss to her temple as Wendy hugged him by the middle.

They had ordered a large veggie pizza with a side of pesto sauce and Vin immediately went at it, while Wendy slid from under his arm, aimlessly biting on the crust of his pizza.

“You’re not gonna help?” Vince whined, after he cleared up his first slice entirely and opened the sparkling water bottle. Wendy wrinkled her nose.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she reached in, wrapping a curl of his around her index finger, then letting her nail trace his prickly cheek, “you’re gonna finish the whole pizza?”

“Not sure,” Vince tore the second slide apart, fidgeting a little on his seat. He was already starting to feel his pants dig on him, “gonna try.”

Halfway through Vince was forced to pull back, breathing strongly through his nose and planting a hand on his stomach, grateful that they had picked such a reclusive corner and that their table disguised his movement. He was packed full, it was hard to breathe, and Vince let out a groan.

Wendy leaned in, her whole face flushed. For the longest minutes she had been trying and sort of failing to strike up conversation, blushing and squirming whenever he let out any noise indicating how full he was or had to pause before taking another bite.

“Vin?”

“Just- Just a sec…” he cupped his mouth, trying to force up a belch, but nothing came up. His belly throbbed with the sheer volume of what was inside of it and Vince groaned, throwing his head back, “fuck.”

“Vince,” now her voice wasn’t just breathless and excited, but there was concern tinging it, “honey, let’s stop-”

“Wendy,” he leveled her with a glare and his girlfriend snapped her mouth shut. Vince gulped down the tight knot in his throat and forced another breath, “just give me a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” she moved even closer in the booth, pushing his hair back, unable to keep her hands to herself, “deep breaths.”

“I’m not even nauseous,” he said quietly, blushing and looking around. It was getting rather late and no one was paying them any mind. Across the restaurant, leaning on the bar, the waiters were talking, just occasionally sparing them a glance. There were two other couples, far from them, enthralled with each other. “Just full.”

“Do you wanna get the rest of this to go?” Wendy leaned in, whispering in his ear, “and maybe dessert too?”

The thought of eating dessert on top of all that food made a twinge of nausea blossom inside his gut. Vince thought about it, then nodded, turning his head to capture her lips into a kiss.

Wendy let out a little happy noise, cupping his cheeks and then pulling back just enough to breathe.

She didn’t say anything else and Vince didn’t need her to. With the help of their seat, he pushed himself up and then groaned out loud as the movement made his insides start to churn. Wendy got up as well, squeezing his arm in a sympathetic manner.

“Go sit in the car, I got the bill,” she tiptoed to kiss his cheek and Vince lowered himself slightly to allow her. He stared at his shoes, trying to muster up the energy to walk to the car when it felt like there was a huge brick sitting in his middle.

“Did you see who was inside?” Wendy asked, carrying a white to-go box as she walked out of the restaurant; There was an excited thrill in her voice, green eyes alight with mischief.

Vince was leaning against the hood, near the headlights, staring at his feet and grimacing as he felt the bellyache build. The little nausea twinge was still there, making him reconsider the idea of eating another bite.

“Uhm?”

“Your new bestie,” his girlfriend teased, putting the food in the dashboard and then circling the car, slotting herself between his arms, “Daniels.”

“What- Wendy,” Vince waved the subject away, he didn’t care if Daniels had been inside the restaurant or not, he cared that he was feeling increasingly pukey and he didn’t want to barf outside of his place. That would ruin the whole night, “honey, let’s go home.”

“Yeah?” Wendy pressed him back against the car, on her very tippy toes to keep kissing him, clutching the front of his shirt, “you ate too much?”

“Fuck yeah, I ate too much,” Vince sighed, “you don’t want me to puke on you, let’s go home.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she teased him, causing Vince to let out a surprised, startled chuckle and clutch at his stomach.

“Oh my god, Wendy, get inside the car, you perv!” he exclaimed, still chuckling, a cramp gripping the insides of his stomach. He tried to swallow air and force up a burp, but the bubble he could immediately feel forming in his belly came up and then fizzled out in his throat.

“Okay, okay,” Wendy pecked his lips, “just hold on a little bit more, Vin…”

There was no way he could drive, nor did she want him to. Wendy was focusing on the drive, but her cheeks were a delicious strawberry shade and one of her hands was off the steering wheel, resting on his thigh… Tracing little invisible patterns there, up and down and then a circle…

“Hurts right here,” Vince bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, as he took his girlfriend’s dainty hand and pressed it to his stuffed belly, "it's so heavy, Wen…”

She let out a forceful breath through her nose, squeezing the steering wheel, “you’re terrible…” there was a whine to her voice and Vince felt a smidge of pride bubble in his chest. The fact he knew she was so turned on by him, every little part of him.

Vince squirmed, planting his hand over hers and pushing it in, leaning in and almost pressing his forehead to the dashboard. The added pressure caused his overpacked stomach to gurgle angrily and next to him Wendy let out a noise in the back of her throat, her fingers curling against his shirt.

“Don’t… Don’t puke yet,” she bossed, voice all breathy and Vince shook his head, sitting up straight.

“Not gonna,” he thumped on his chest, forcing up a tiny little burp that brought no relief, “not there yet.”

“Good,” she pulled her hand back, clearing her throat and rolling down the window, as if the car was too stuffy. Vince appreciated it, even if it wasn’t done for his benefit. The light breeze helped some.

His tiny house was really just a large living room with a bathroom, that he had slotted in separate rooms, creating his tiny bedroom, kitchen, living room. He didn’t fit lying back on the couch, but that didn’t stop Wendy from promptly pushing him against it as soon as they got inside.

“Easy,” Vince glared at her, sitting down and spreading his legs, throwing his head back, “c’mere, honey.”

She took his hand in hers, but instead of sitting on his lap, as Vince was pulling her to, Wendy sank down to her knees between his legs and reached for his jeans. The buttons were pressing against his belly and Vin let out a moan as she undid his fly, tugging on the pants to give his stomach more space.

“Better?”

“Uh-hu,” he cupped her face, thumb on her chin, forcing their eyes to meet and making an amused face, “sorta counter intuitive with your goal, though.”

“I’m not in a rush,” Wendy shrugged, although the rasp in her voice said the opposite. She leaned in, kissing the little sliver of exposed stomach, then grabbing his shirt and rolling it up, lips pressing against his full belly as she continued kissing up.

Vince stripped down the shirt, throwing it to the left and letting out a groan as Wendy moved up, body draping over him and capturing his lips with hers. It felt like her hands were everywhere. Pressing against his unsettled tummy, index finger circling lazily against his belly button, roaming up his chest, curling in his hair-

He turned his face and muffled a thick, relieving burp against her neck and Wendy moaned in his ear, haphazardly grabbing his face and kissing him with renewed fervor. Vince pulled back after a second, pressing his forehead to hers and taking a measured breath. The bigger belch had cleared up some space, so he whispered, “didn’t you say something about dessert?”

Wendy pulled back, stunned and then glared down at his packed belly. It was rounding out, still gurgling and snarling, “are you sure?”

“Yes,” Vince’s voice was decisive. There was a manic glint to her eyes that made him feel warm all over, he wanted to see how much more he could push. If he could make her cum without even touching her. Probably, judging by the way Wendy’s chest was heaving as if she was the one struggling to breathe.

She got up to retrieve the to-go box from the small table that marked his “kitchen”, then walked back to the couch, crawling on it and sitting on his lap with a happy sigh, “I got you blueberry pie,” she opened the cardstock box, “I figured you didn’t like it too much…?”

“I don’t,” Vince frowned, “so why…?”

“I don’t want to ruin a dessert you actually like,” Wendy shrugged, tearing the lid of the box off without a thought and throwing it on the ground. There was a plastic fork and she dug into it with glee, squirming on his lap to get more comfortable. Vince opened a smile as he could feel just how turned on she was, a hard on pressing against his thigh.

He leaned back and obediently opened his mouth, resting his hands on her ass.

It wasn’t his favorite, but it was still really good. Even full as he was, Vince’s mouth still watered at the sweet taste and he happily ate the two first bites. It was the third bite that turned sour.Wendy had gotten him two slices, about 5 bites each, and Vince eyed it wearily as he struggled to swallow.

Her eyes were trained to his face and she pulled back, raised the fork and an eyebrow, “Vin?”

He forced the bite down, then grimaced, smacking his sticky lips together and clearing his throat, “not feeling so hot, honey.”

She bit down her lip, looking conflicted, cheeks aflame, “do you want me to-”

“Gimme another bite,” Vince opened his mouth, squeezing her thighs and Wendy didn’t need to be told twice.

The smell, fruity and sickening sweet, made him want to gag, but he took the fourth bite and then the fifth, finishing the first slice. Immediately he brought up a hand to his mouth and let out a little sickly burp, followed by another… A bigger belch, thick and tasting disgustingly of his dinner and Vince heaved, but didn’t bring up anything.

He whined, leaning forward and his forehead met her collarbone, since Wendy was taller sitting on his lap.

“Shhh,” she whispered in his ear, a hand rubbing up and down his back, “I got you…”

It wasn’t enough. A horrible threshold between feeling like absolute garbage, but so horny and unable to act on either. Vince moaned, swallowing air and forcing up a little burp, squeezing her close, “my stomach… Fuck, Wen, it’s all churning and…” his mouth watered, not with hunger, but revulsion and Wendy squeezed her legs around him.

“It’s not sitting well…?” This was dirty talk and Vince knew it. Thinking of everything that was packed inside of him only made him feel worse – the sandwiches, veal chops, the pizza, pie –, and yet he leaned into it, voice thick and words sticking together.

“No… No, I think the pie- I think it wants up,” he gagged and a thin dribble of saliva rushed up, bringing with it the crumbs– Vince wasn’t playing it up as he retched suddenly, grabbing Wendy’s shoulder and pulling her back to avoid puking on her. A thin, watery dribble of sweet smelling vomit fell on their laps and Vince’s back arched with another violent heave, but nothing else came up.

He forced up a burp and Wendy cupped his face, “oh honey,” she sounded more than breathless, almost dizzy. In his badly lit living room he could see the green of her eyes was almost gone, pupils blown, “darling…” fingers caressing his cheek, so gentle and then saying, “do you want more?”

“Fu-Uck!” The thought of eating even another bite had his stomach squeezing and Vince retched, bringing a much thicker wave of vomit. It splashed on his undone jeans and Wendy’s baby blue ones, a terrible shade of brown mixed with streaks of blue, splatters hitting his naked stomach and pure disgust washed over him, causing him to heave again.

Wendy let out a little noise, squeezing his nape, nails sinking on him and Vince gasped for air, closing his eyes and trying to quell the nausea. This was enough, he was done- A rumbly burp came from the pits of his stomach and he gagged, bringing up a thin dribble of puke and breathing heavily.

“Wen-”

“I’m here, I’m here-” she pressed her lips to his temple, “deep breaths, baby, it’s over. Let your tummy settle-”

“No, Wen-” he squeezed her arm, squirming on the couch as hot nausea continued to churn in his belly, “Wen-” her name up in a retch and he thought of the sheer amount of food, flashes of everything he had consumed appearing in front of his eyes. It was like he could taste every bite all over again.

Vince pushed Wendy off his lap slightly, spreading his legs and grabbing his bloated stomach, shame be damned, no longer giving a crap about the mess- Wendy’s hand found it’s way to his tummy as well, pressing in. Gentle, but steady, deeper-

The next heave was productive and Vince made a horrible choking noise and a large wave of vomit covered his jeans and splashed between his boots. He gasped for air, goosebumps running up and down his arms, head twirling with the lack of oxygen.

Wendy was rubbing his back, her mouth pressed to his naked shoulder, no longer bothering to say anything- He wiped his mouth and the tears clinging to his lashes and then groaned, falling back against the couch’s back.

“Vin?” Her hand on his naked chest, massaging it in circles. Sweet, voice concerned, “honey?”

He turned his head lazily and then let out a drained smile, noticing the wet spot on her jeans that was not caused by him, “fuck me, Wendy, without even touching you?” Vince said proudly, his voice hoarse and his head swimming with the remaining queasiness, but there was a burning deep in his belly. Down in his groin, so pleased with himself.

Wendy’s cheeks turned red and she looked away, but Vince darted out a little uncoordinated hand and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her in. He smashed their lips together and his girlfriend let out a small noise, startled, before she wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him back.

Her tongue pressed against his, teeth on his bottom lip, nose pressing to his cheek, “you’re so fucking hot,” Wendy whispered in his ear, “so fucking hot.”

Vince pulled back, pleased with himself, then wrinkled his nose “and I need a shower.”

Wendy chuckled at that, giving him a peck, the fire in her eyes clearing out, “can I join?”

“Can you join? Girl, you’re gonna be doing all the washing, this is your mess,” Vince scoffed, smoothing a hand up her back, curling his fingers on her wavy hair and basking on the sex dazed eyes she was giving him. Wendy opened a bright smile.

“Damn right it is, you’re my mess.”

#adding fluff at the start to mask the blow at the ending lol #mywriting #emeto #emetophilia #vomiting #overeating #vince monacelli

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twilightofthejedi · 3 years

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fic: this city screams your name

written for the 2021 chayenzo community fanfic challenge by @the-chayenzo-community (again)!!!

dialogue prompt:

"happy birthday"

read on ao3: here

episode 16 spoilers!

It has been a long day.

Vincenzo stands in front of his unit in Geumga Plaza, the faded numbers 606 the only thing written on the dark wooden door. It’s nearly midnight, and he is exhausted. He could go inside and decompress the way he usually does, alone, with comfortable clothes, cheap food, and relaxing music.

Or, he could use the key in his hand, and go to Cha-young’s house.

After they had started dating, on that day a few weeks ago when she had disappeared and made him go mad with worry only to show up later and give him a gift so meaningful that it had cut right to his heart, she had pushed a key into his hand. It was a night when they were sitting on the roof and staring out at the city laid out in front of them. They had been sitting on the edge of the roof, bottles of beer held loosely in their hands, when she had reached to her side to rummage in her bag. He had watched her with mild curiosity, but his mind had been too hazy to do anything other than take another drink from his bottle, and wait for her. Then, she had put the cool metal in his hand, and told him to come over whenever he wanted. He had been taken back, and even more so when she pulled him close and kissed him.

The rest of the night had been slightly blurry after that.

Now, he stares at the key, and thinks of the cozy house on the quiet residential street filled with pictures and memories and the very essence of the woman he loves. He turns around, and smiles to himself. He loves her, doesn’t he? Somehow, through the relentless legal battles and late night subterfuge and the devastating grief of losing his mother, he has fallen in love with Hong Cha-young. The realization fills him with something light, something he cannot remember ever feeling.

He makes it all the way to his car in the parking garage before he realizes that he has smiled the entire way there. Huh. So that was why Mr. Tak had looked at him strangely when he passed him in the hallway.

As he starts the car and pulls out of the garage, he thinks of a conversation that he had had with Cha-young. After unwrapping the record player and eating the salvaged ramyeon (after he had nearly burned it) at the low table in his living room, they had laid back on cushions to stare up at the faintly glowing stars on the ceiling, La Traviata’s first act playing softly from the record player in the background. She had seized his hand, bringing their entwined hands up, and pressed her lips to his knuckles. The simple gesture had ran a jolt through his body, and he had turned to look at her.

In that moment, there had been a thousand things that he had wanted to say, but what he had ended up saying was, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

She had looked sideways at him, and had only raised her eyebrows.

“I have killed. Many times, in fact. I know I told you that I didn’t, that I was only a lawyer, but in Italy, I-”

She had cut him off by raising a hand. “Of course you have killed. Did you think I didn’t know what being second in command in a mob family meant?”

“Then what-”

“Do you think that you’re some fallen angel, and I have no idea? I can assure you that it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve done questionable things, too. Before Choi came to Wusang, I was the best out of all of them, and I didn’t exactly get that title through any righteous means.” Cha-young had shrugged then, an elegant, half-raise of her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. All we can do is move forward. Right now, we can use our considerable talents in subterfuge, manipulation and trickery and who knows what else you have in your arsenal to bring down people like Babel, Shinkwang Bank, and Wusang.”

He had nodded mutely because he had no clue what to say to that. How could he tell her that her seemingly casual words had lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders?

Now, he pulls onto her street, and as usual, it is dark and quiet. He thinks he may prefer the silence of her residential neighborhood to the nosiness and loudness of Geumga Plaza. As he gets down from the carlocking it absently, he realizes that her driveway is empty; she isn’t home yet. This isn’t abnormal; she had announced that she was going to be talking to one of her old contacts for information.

He opens the gate and lets himself in through the front door, tossing his suit jacket onto the low couch underneath the pictures that she hated but could not bring herself to take down. He sets his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, next to her own, and switches on the television to the news, watching absently as he prepares a cup of coffee. Before, she had drank instant coffee almost exclusively and kept nothing else at her house, but too many mornings at her house spent staring blearily into a cheap-smelling mug of instant coffee had driven him to go out and buy her a proper coffee machine with his favorite beans that had the entire house smelling amazing in the morning before they both had to rush out to the firm.

He watches the drops fall into the cup, and wonders absently about the barista that had made his coffee in Rome most mornings. The man had been excellent, so skilled at his art that Vincenzo had returned there day after day to the point that there was always a cup waiting for him by the time that he walked through the door. But then he had left the city he had grown up in, pursued by the family in which he had never quite belonged.

He looks around and realizes that he fits in perfectly in this house. It’s messy, and cluttered, and there are a ridiculous number of blankets on the couch, but it’s no longer just Mr. Hong’s house where he learned to treat hangovers the Korean way. It feels so intimately familiar that he could probably navigate through it in the dark (he probably has). Everything, from the outdated calendar (from three months ago) to the clock that chimes five minutes late, to the wall where there are now two hooks, for both of their car keys, feels like home, a home that has shifted, just a little, to accommodate him, like someone moving over on a worn couch and patting the seat next to them and saying come on in and make yourself at home.

He pads upstairs to her (their) bedroom where he has stashed a few changes of comfortable clothes for nights exactly like this one. He pulls on the soft cotton shirt and pants, and goes back downstairs to where the coffee is ready. While he drinks the coffee, he sends off a quick text to her asking if she has eaten yet. It’s a truly ungodly hour and any sane person would have had dinner ages ago, but once his Cha-young had a goal, she would stop at nothing to achieve it, and she would have probably eschewed eating to accomplish her goal for the night. Sure enough, she responds with of course not jagiya, who do you think i am, and he laughs quietly to himself as he gets up to rummage through her pantry for ingredients. He sees spaghetti in her pantry, tomatoes in her fridge, and a sweet basil plant on the windowsill, and immediately knows what he’s going to make her.

He’s stirring the simmering sauce when she walks through the door.

“Jagiya? Are you cooking?”

“Yes,” he says, turning around to look at her. She’s wearing dark blue today, with dark makeup and jewelry, and she looks like some sort of shadow wraith. He smiles at her, and she raises her eyebrows high, like she is mocking him.

“Are you cooking for me?” He laughs again, and turns back around to keep the sauce stirring. It’s truly strange how much more he seems to laugh around her. He’s set the spaghetti to drain, so all he needs to do once the sauce is done is to add the pasta. She comes up from behind him and wraps her arms around his torso, clasping her hands together. She puts her chin on his shoulder, and he leans into her.

They stand in silence for several minutes until he judges the sauce to be done. She wriggles her fingers at it, and he dutifully feeds her a spoon to taste, at which point she suggests, very seriously, for him to add ginger. He laughs, and moves to get the pasta from the sink, but she holds him fast.

“What is it?”

She puts her hand on the side of his face and turns it to the clock that runs late. It reads 12:33.

“It’s your birthday, jagiya. Wow, can’t believe the famous mafia lawyer forgot about his own birthday-”

“How did you know?”

He pulls her around to hold her looking into her eyes, a curious replication of that night they had drank into the night and she had hugged him to test if she had feelings for him. Her eyes dance and she turns her face up to his.

“I had Luca tell me. Turns out he can get by in English, which means you-” she pokes him in the chest- “are not going to have any secrets anymore! I will find them all out.”

“I’m not keeping any secrets from you, Cha-young-ah. Just ask me whatever you want to know. I will answer all eighty of your questions.”

She blinks at him. “Yah, why do you have to get all sentimental on me?”

“You were the one who conspired with Luca to find out my birthday, of all the things.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I am going to faint with hunger. Feed me before I collapse on you.”

“As you say,” he says, leaning in to drop a kiss on her forehead.

Later, as he watches her inhale the food, food that he had made because it reminded him of the only home he had ever known before coming here, he wonders about his life. They still have so much work to do. They have to achieve the impossible against an entire system of corruption and injustice, but with her and the home that they have built for themselves, he thinks… no he knows, that they can do anything.

#vincenzo kdrama #vincenzo x cha young #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #tvn vincenzo #my fic #my writing #i go feral for them

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chefbarry · 5 years

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The Foodie Files, Chapter Two: The Misadventures of Zucchini Bellpepper, Righter of Wrongdoing, “Slappin’ Pappy in His Nappy”

I was relaxing on one of those oversized lounge chairs with the wide plastic bars that somehow get stuck in your undershorts every time you get up for another drink. I was on an unnamed island in the Caribbean (it actually has no name) drinking whiskey sours at ten in the morning, thinking about my future. I was in witness protection, of sorts—I mean the federal government had nothing to do with it—I just had a run-in with a bad seed from the neighborhood, too long of a story to tell here in my normal rantings. But anyways, it happened in the alley after hours. It was a case of he said, he cried, he fell, he sued, but I escaped just in time, and practically shut down the office. The federal government was after me for other things, which I can’t get into here, and they suggested I leave town for awhile anyway. My Uncle Vincenzo worked for one of their clandestine branches, and he said he’d try to sort things out.

Speaking of the office, well the burned-down-abandoned-warehouse-turned-trendy-lofts that burned down again, and was now abandoned, except for my office on the second floor rear, that surprisingly was still intact, (I had nothing to do with it!) burned down again, so I had to move this time for real. I found a back room in an old Danish factory, where my on-again-off-again girlfriend, Raspberry Cardamom, worked as a pastry girl. She used to tour with the Allman Brothers as their concierge/handler/caterer until one day she served an unripe fruit and stinky cheese Danish and was banished from the road. She was the youngest student to ever graduate from the Johnson and Wales Pastry and Pudding Academy in Bismarck, ND. I met her through mutual friends of mutual friends and she actually helped me solve a couple cases back in the day, when girls actually liked to be called dames, didn’t mind earning pennies on the dollah, wore a too-short skirt and knickers now and then, and enjoyed an occasional slap on the patootie, when they got out of line! I actually paid her wage and a half, respected her opinion on world events, and enjoyed her company quite a bit. We were taking a break, but I got a good deal on the Danish back office. It was close to the back alley where I could come and go when I pleased, and I had my own landline.

So, after I moved offices, I hired Avocado Toast to run things in my absence until I figured things out, and felt safe returning to the neighborhood. Raspberry and Avocado got on well, and became fast friends, and probably enjoyed me being out of town for the while. I was returning to my uncomfortable lounge chair with another drink when my phone rang. I didn’t answer and let it go to voicemail. I needed to think. That incident from the alley really got to me, I don’t like to fight and I don’t like confrontation too much. I like to solve puzzles in life. I like simple things like watchin’ the Lone Ranger TV show, baked beans from a can, and Saturday nights at the drive-in, when a dame would bring you a sody-pop and ask you questions while chewing gum.

My phone rang again, I pulled the plastic bar from my tush out, and readjusted myself to a sittin’ up position more or less. It was from my office landline, so I answered. Avocado sez to me, “Zucchini, you gotta come back! Things are getting out of hand here!” I was having Avocado handle the occasional walk in customer, someone who might need simple private detection services like finding a lost child at the mall or needing help writing a fake resume. She continued, “I know you said to not be disturbed, but I gotta disturbs you! It’s my friend, Kali. Kali Flower.” I sat up straight and tossed my drink, straightened my cap (that was made of recycled gumshoe) and put the phone on speaker. “Talk to me”, I said.

She went on for about fifteen minutes, and I gotta tell ya, the case was compelling. It seems that Kali, a friend of Avocado’s, was in deep trouble. They met at the local San Antonio AFTER chapter meeting a few months ago. AFTER was a national organization founded three years ago in southern California by a couple tech dropouts. It stood for Annoying Food Trends Eroding Restaurants. People like Avocado Toast, Kale Smoothie, Bone Broth, and Goji Berry felt at home here—no judgement, no questions, no paparazzi. They could speak their minds without feeling threatened by society at large, having to answer to the latest health craze, angry vegans, or inquiring sous chefs. Kali was the newest member, and boy did she have it bad.

She came from a long and rich family of brassicas, going back to the old country. People used to walk into an apartment building and know right away that someone was cooking cabbage on the top floor. The only excitement she ever got was a good steaming or a puree into a nice warming soup. The only other characters she ever encountered outside her sulfurous community was a shallot, maybe some cream, a little salt, maybe on a crazy weekend night, some white pepper or a green onion. No one sent her family any junk mail, they were respected members of the community, and lived quietly among all the normal guys at the farmer’s markets. Once in awhile she would go up on the speakeasy stage and do a little stand-up or spoken word, but life was pretty simple.

Now all hell was breaking loose at restaurants and country clubs across the globe. The chefs and food trenders were going nuts trying to turn everything cauliflower. Pizzas, buffalo tenders, steaks, risotto, purees, fake potatoes, flour, tortillas, you name it, any food out there was game. If you needed it, it became cauliflower. If you weren’t gluten-intolerant (don’t even get me started), well, the cauliflower craze was going to scare you into being. And Kali was furious. She couldn’t go anywhere anymore. The food bloggers alone were giving her grief. They asked about her quiet Eastern European family. “Hey, what about Kale Fritters? Or Cabbage Pizza? Have you heard they’re trying to come up with Broccoli Lasagna Noodles? Did you see what Romesco is up to? Did you see Brussels is hooking up with Bacon?! Hey, how ‘bout a little slow dance when you’re done shaving on salad?” It was meddlesome and preposterous. I had to get to the bottom of this.

I took the first direct flight from my unnamed island to New York. My uncle Vincenzo met me there, and had me sign some cryptic looking document that cleared my name and settled out of court with that lowlife from the alley. It seems I would owe them one day, but for now, I could return to San Antonio in peace. First, we had to meet with the Apple Butcher. He was in New York on business. There was a small hands food purveyors convention and he was the keynote speaker. We went to meet up with The Vegetable. The V, as he was known back in Romania, had a strange mafia-esque tone to his voice. When he spoke, it felt like you were in trouble, even when he said hello. He was a fixer back in the old country, and he happened to be visiting his nephew, who was actually my uncle Vincenzo, long story, don’t want to get into it. I talked him through my case and asked if he could help.

V said, “What we gotta do is this. First, we bring back the pasta. Pasta makes everyone feel better. No matter this gluten thing, what the hell?, we eat pasta, we drink wine, we smoke a cigar, then we go to sleep. That’s how we do it back at home, and no one tries to change.” I said, Uncle V, can I call you that?” “No, it’s just V, Zucchini!”, he said. “Ok, V”, I said, “But cauliflower is taking over every menu item, you can’t order a rice pilaf without the pesky waiter asking if you’d like cauliflower rice instead, it’s pretty annoying, I mean, what’s the big problem with rice?” The Vegetable stood back and thought for a moment and then whispered a few things in my ear so the cauliflower food truck vendor standing nearby wouldn’t hear us. I knew what I had to do.

I met the vegetable purveyors after the convention in their hotel and we made plans to spray all the cauliflower fields in North America with gluten. Slowly patrons of cauliflower delicacies would start to realize that cauliflower isn’t the answer to the world’s digestive problems, and that you might as well eat pasta. Maybe everyone would start bothering butternut squash and his family and give the brassicas a much-needed break. We might be seeing acorn squash dumpling dough, or butternut squash crackers soon. I decided to go to the next AFTER meeting to see if I could drum up any new business.

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thenourishedtraveler-blog · 7 years

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Of all the Italian cities I have been to in Italy (and I’ve visited quite a few), I would say that Milan is the “trendiest” when it comes to groceries. Not only does the city have a wealth of small independent organic grocery stores, but vendors in Milan also sell products that I haven’t been able to find in other cities, such as sprouted foods. The organic grocery stores are large and have excellent selection. It may not be the most aesthetically pleasing of Italy’s city’s, but you will definitely eat well while here!

ORGANIC GROCERY STORES

Bio c’ Bon is a chain of grocery stores with three locations in Milan. Some of the more interesting products that they carry include sprouted pancake flour, spirulina powder, maca powder, acai powder, popcorn made with coconut oil, organic mascarpone, honeycomb, carob powder, raw sprouted crackers, and oat cakes without dairy or wheat. It is a good place to buy butter and cheese. They also have bulk dry foods and a medium-sized produce section.

Address: Corso di Porta Nuova, 52, 20121 Milano

Hours: 9am – 8pm Monday through Saturday; 10am – 7pm Sunday

Centro Botanico has three locations in Milan. In addition to being a grocery store they are also a cafe and have a mini bookstore that carries health-related books in Italian. They carry a large variety of products including wild fish in extra virgin olive oil in glass jars (I saw branzino, salmon, sardines, orata, tuna, and octopus), tuna burgers, pestos, tomato sauces, mustards, olive pastes, macrobiotic products, apple cider vinegar, lots of different olive oils, bruschetta, flours (such as chickpea, teff, millet, oatmeal, rye, and buckwheat), hummus, ghee, eggs, creme fraiche, kefir, water kefir, smoked fish, canned crab, and many flavors of jam (e.g. goji, pineapple and lemon, pomegranate, orange and ginger, fig, and rose hip).

Address: Via Cesare Correnti, 10, 20123 Milano

Hours: 9am – 7:45pm Monday through Saturday; 3pm – 7:30pm Sunday

NaturaSì is what I like to call the Whole Foods of Italy. This chain of organic grocery stores carries a wide selection of produce, dairy, meat, grains, legumes, house cleaning and personal care products, baking ingredients, and many other items.

Address: Corso Indipendenza, 7, 20129 Milano (there are other locations in the city as well)

Hours: 9am – 7:30pm Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Superpolo is one of my favorite markets in Milan. It’s a well-sized organic market that also has an amusing imports section stocked with minced meat, marmite, canned pumpkin, Ocean Spray cranberry sauce, and crappy American peanut butter. Besides selling products I have never seen before anywhere, such as powdered banana and powdered cranberries, they also sell some very taste goose and duck foie gras and wild salmon eggs. Superpolo has biodynamic rice, orzo, and farro; a wide variety of whole grains (e.g. couscous, millet, teff, amaranth, bulgar, quinoa, oatmeal, etc.) and seeds (e.g. chia, flax, pumpkin, sunflower, hemp, poppy, and sesame); frozen seafood; pickled quail eggs; Asian products (e.g. umeboshi, mirin, teriyaki sauce, tamari, miso, and umeboshi vinegar); maple syrup; and dairy (including organic buttermilk, biodynamic Greek yogurt, goat milk yogurt, ghee, emmental cheese, and organic grilling cheese). They also sell produce, supplements, natural cosmetics, essential oils, and personal care products.

Address: Viale Coni Zugna, 65, 20144 Milano

Hours: 9am – 8pm Monday through Saturday; 10am – 1pm, 4pm – 7:30pm Sunday

SempreBio is a smallish organic market and cafe combo. They carry all of the basics that one could need to stock a pantry, including fresh fruits and vegetables. Some interesting finds include raw cocoa beans, kamut flour, black quinoa, brown millet, several biodynamic cheeses (e.g. ricotta, robiolina fresca, primosalino, and crescenza), kuzu, and ghee. They also sell Pacari chocolate, which is a single-origin, raw, organic, and biodynamic brand of chocolate (and very tasty, might I add).

Address: Via Giuseppe Broggi, 13, 20129 Milano

Hours: 9am – 8pm Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Piacere Terra is an organic food store chain like Naturasi. It is located rather far from the city center to the northwest. I personally didn’t make it out there, but I include it here for completeness.

Address: Viale Brenta, 35A, 20139 Milano

Hours: 8:30am – 8pm Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Almaverde Bio Market is located on the northwestern side of the city, a bit of a ways from the center (i.e., you wouldn’t want to take a stroll here from downtown). It’s a combo market and cafe with your average bio offerings.

Address: Corso Sempione, 43, 20145 Milano

Hours: 8:30am – 8pm Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Biomì is a supermarket like Naturasi. If you are staying on the northern side of the city then it may be convenient for you. It is located quite a ways away from the city center but is accessible by public transport.

Address: Via Emilio de Marchi, 59, 20125 Milano

Hours: 10am – 2:30pm, 3:30pm – 8pm Monday through Friday; 10am – 8pm Saturday; closed Sunday

NEIGHBORHOOD ORGANIC MARKETS

Il Casolino is rather small and probably out of the way for most people. In addition to the store it also has a cafe inside. The only unique items I saw at this store compared to other organic shops were the wild pecans and organic pine nuts. They of course carry all the standard fare of Italian bio stores, but do not have fresh produce. Pop in if its location is convenient for you, but otherwise I’d skip it.

Address: Via Paracelso, 10, 20129 Milano

Hours: 10:30am – 7:30pm Monday; 9:30am – 7:30pm Tuesday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Il Mercato Verde is the only shop in Italy where I have seen Dr. Bronner’s soap for sale, although unfortunately it is rather expensive. Also, if you’re looking for a Himalayan salt lamp you can pick it up here!

Address: Via Edoardo Bassini, 43, 20133 Milano

Hours: 8:30am – 7:30pm Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Mamma Natura is located far from the city center on the northeastern side of town. They sell bulk dry goods (e.g. grains, spices, teas, seeds, legumes, etc.), cosmetics, and have a cheese counter.

Address: Via Carnia, 7, 20132 Milano

Hours: 8:30am – 2pm, 4pm – 7:30pm Monday through Friday; 10am – 1pm, 4pm – 7:30pm Saturday/Sunday

Armonie nei Gusti is rather far to the northeast of the city center. They carry products for Celiacs, macrobiotic products, cosmetics, and organic packaged items (e.g. seeds, legumes, pastas, chocolate, tea, etc.).

Address: Viale don Luigi Orione, 14, 20132 Milano

Hours: 8:30am – 12:30pm, 3:30pm – 7:30pm Tuesday through Saturday; closed Sunday and Monday

SPECIALTY SHOPS

La Baita del Formaggio has an understated appearance from the street and would be easily passed by any pedestrian unless you knew what treasures lay in wait inside. This cheese shop and was one of the highlights for me while staying in Milan and I would recommend a visit to anyone who is passionate about cheese.

The cheeses will change depending on when you visit as some of them are seasonal, but during my visit La Baita had in stock taleggio la baita, pagnottella di capra, blue stilton, gouda, gorgonzola allo champagne, truffle cheese, and pecorino from Sardegna, to name a few. The gouda came in three different flavors: basil, tomato, and pepperoncino. I cannot rave enough about how amazing the flavor of the basil gouda was. In addition to their fantastic cheeses, they also have great customer service and the shop also has a small coffee bar. What else could one ask for in life?

Address: Via Vincenzo Foppa 5, Milano

Hours: 8:30am – 10pm daily

Peck will cost you a pretty penny, but the food is top-notch and the location can’t be beat as it’s right in the heart of Milan. It’s a hybrid store with cold and hot foods bars, a cheese bar, wine cellar, deli, a fresh pasta bar, greengrocer, and patisserie. While it is probably not affordable for most to shop here for a full meal, the cheese bar is worth a visit. Some of the cheeses for sale include Roquefort, Coulommiers, sheep’s milk ricotta, Gorgonzola, Camembert, Brie, Crescenza, Stilton, Emmentaler, Sbrinz, Gruyere, Holzhofer, Fontina, Toma di Gressoney, and Gran Cru di Grotta. While I was there I picked up some slices of very tasty eggplant parmesan and potato gratin that was, quite literally, melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Peck is a world of gastronomic wonders and a feast for the eyes filled with pâtés, Russian salad, endless spreads of seafood dishes, jellied meats for days, and numerous other hard to find treats for the taste buds.

Address: Via Spadari, 9, Milano

Hours: 3pm – 8pm Monday; 9am – 8pm Tuesday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Gruppo Apicoltori Riuniti is a honey store dedicated to selling products from the art of apiculture (aka beekeeping). They sell a wide variety of Italian honeys and honey derivatives, such as propolis, propolis tinctures and sprays, pollen, etc.

Address: Piazzale Lagosta, 2, 20124 Milan

Hours: 3:30pm – 7:30pm Monday; 9:30am – 12:30pm, 3:30pm – 7:30pm Tuesday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Effecorta is a sustainable, zero-waste shop located in northern Milan. They stock products from local producers and use no packaging. Effecorta sells bulk pastas, cereals, legumes, rice, detergents etc.

Address: Via Franco Faccio, 11, 20161 Milan

Hours: 3:30pm – 7:30pm Monday; 9am – 1pm, 3:30pm – 7:30pm Tuesday through Saturday; closed Sunday

Il Supermarket del Celiaco is exactly what the name proclaims it to be: a supermarket for Celiacs. The store is a bit of a distance to the northwest from the city center, and you have plenty of good options for buying food stuffs for Celiacs in other organic stores in the city, but if you want an even bigger selection of Celiac-safe foods then go here.

Address: Largo Domodossola, 17, 20145 Milano

Hours: closed Monday and Sunday; 9am – 7:30pm Tuesday through Saturday

RAW MILK VENDORS

Unfortunately there are no raw milk vending machines in the city center or within walking distance of Milan. Some of the non-organic vending machines are reachable by public transport within around 45 minutes from the city center. You can look at a map of where all the vendors are by clicking here.

CONVENTIONAL GROCERY STORES

The most common grocery store chains you will see in Milan include Simply, Pam, Carrefour, and Esselunga. At Simply you can pick up items like DOP pecorino, Scaldasole certified biodynamic yogurt, and organic Sterzing-Vipiteno yogurt. And, of course, these supermarket chains are always good for picking up things like feminine care products and plastic bags.

Grocery Guide: Milan Of all the Italian cities I have been to in Italy (and I've visited quite a few), I would say that Milan is the "trendiest" when it comes to groceries.

#Ancestral Diet #Bio #Biologico #Cooking #Farmers Markets #Groceries #Grocery Shopping #Home Cooking #Italy #Organic #Paleo #Real Food #Travel #WAPF #Weston A. Price

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