Pasta Disaster°•°•°

Idea of the scenario :

[Y/n] learned for him how to cook the iconic Italian pasta she learnt from Levi's mom.

As they were now both in the big kitchen as [Y/n] demonstrated her Italian cooking skills to him,

Asher quietly watching her with a fond look but that was before... the drama.

[Y/n] was gonna boil the spaghetti while BREAKING them in half in front of not only her husband, but her husband who's a true Italian mafia boss.

Great mistake indeed.

The oneshot :

It was a peaceful evening in the sprawling Sicilian villa that Asher called home. The kind of evening where the kitchen was warm, filled with the soft golden light of sunset and rich with the aroma of olive oil and garlic sizzling in a pan.

[Y/n], his wife, was the star of tonight's culinary production.

[Y/n] wasn't Italian– not even a little– but ever since marrying Asher, the fearsome and impeccably stylish mafia boss, she had made it her personal mission to win over his exacting palate.

Not an easy task when your husband's bloodline probably ran thick with marinara sauce.

Tonight, she had decided to tackle a classic : spaghetti aglio e olio, the deceptively simple pasta dish that Asher's mother swore was the ultimate test of one's worth in an Italian kitchen.

His mom had spent hours showing [Y/n] every step– how to slice the garlic thin as paper, how to make the oil shimmer but never smoke and how to time the pasta water perfectly.

[Y/n] felt confident.

Asher, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed in his signature mafioso pose, was less convinced.

Oh, he loved his wife, adored her even.

But watching her take on his mother's recipe ? That was like watching someone defuse a bomb with shaky hands.

Yet, he didn't interfere. Not yet.

He just stood there, silently observing as she stirred the oil and adjusted the heat. His eyes softened as he took in her determined expression, her furrowed brows and the way she bit her lower lip in concentration.

For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the sweetness of the scene.

That was, until it happened.

[Y/n], cheerful and utterly unaware of the storm brewing behind her, grabbed a bundle of spaghetti from the counter. She brought it to the pot of boiling water.

Asher straightened slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. Something about the way she was holding the pasta set off alarm bells in his soul.

And then—

SNAP.

The sound was sharp, almost violent as [Y/n] broke the spaghetti clean in half, the pieces scattering into her pot like so many shards of Asher's dignity.

Time seemed to freeze.

[Y/n], smiling, casually dumped the broken spaghetti into the pot, humming to herself.

"See ? Perfect fit !" She said triumphantly, dusting her hands like she'd just solved a complex equation.

Asher, on the other hand, looked like he'd just witnessed a crime. Which, in his mind, he had.

"[Y/n]." His voice was low, ominous, the kind of voice that made grown men tremble.

She turned, her smile faltering. "What ?"

He was staring at her with a mix of disbelief, disappointment and a touch of existential crisis.

His hand gestured weakly toward the pot, his words stumbling out like a man grasping for sanity. "Did you... did you just... break the spaghetti ?"

She blinked, confused. "Uh, yeah ? I mean, it's easier this way. The long noodles are such a pain to deal with." She shrugged.

"What's the big deal ?"

His jaw dropped slightly. He took a step closer, his hands clasping together in front of him like a priest about to deliver last rites.

"What's the big deal ?" He repeated, his voice rising an octave. "You... you broke the spaghetti in half."

"Yes, Asher, I'm aware. It's not that deep", [Y/n] said, frowning. "It's just pasta !"

"Just pasta ?!" Asher's voice echoed through the kitchen. He began pacing, his hands flying to his hair.

"This is not just pasta, [Y/n] ! This is spaghetti ! This is heritage ! This is a sacred bond between the noodle and the pot, forged over centuries !"

He stopped pacing abruptly, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Do you have any idea what you've done ? My nonna is rolling over in her grave right now !"

She raised an eyebrow. "Asher, you told me your grandmother was cremated."

"That is not the point !" He snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "Breaking spaghetti is a crime against nature ! It's... it's barbaric ! It's..." He trailed off, seemingly unable to find words strong enough for this affront.

[Y/n] crossed her arms, now fully defensive. "Well, excuse me, Signor Pasta Police. I didn't realize I was signing up for a food felony by trying to make you dinner !"

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You didn't make me dinner, tesoro. You destroyed it. You took a perfectly good meal and—" He gestured dramatically at the pot "—committed pasta-cide."

She burst out laughing. "Pasta-cide ? Are you serious right now ?"

"Yes !" He exclaimed, deadpan. "And I want you to know that I will be discussing this with my therapist. If I had one."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove, stirring the pot of spaghetti with deliberate nonchalance. "Fine. Next time, you can make your own dinner."

He stalked over to her, placing his hands on either side of her on the counter, effectively trapping her.

"Cara, you're lucky I love you more than life itself", he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

She turned her head to look at him, her lips twitching with amusement. "Oh, I'm lucky, huh ?"

"Yes. Because if you weren't my wife..." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You'd already be sleeping with the fishes for this."

[Y/n] burst into laughter again, unable to take him seriously. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Alright, alright, Mr. Dramatic. Show me the right way to do it."

He sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed a fresh pack of spaghetti from the counter. "First rule : never break the spaghetti. Second rule : always respect the pasta."

She smirked. "Got it. Third rule ?"

He gave her a wicked grin. "Third rule : don't ever tell my mom about this or she'll probably disown us both."

And so, the Great Spaghetti Scandal ended with Asher taking over the cooking and [Y/n] sipping wine, laughing at her very serious mafia husband who'd almost had a meltdown over a broken noodle.

As he worked his magic at the stove, [Y/n] leaned against the counter, swirling her wine in the glass and watching him with an amused smirk.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved in the kitchen. Sure, he commanded armies of men, negotiated high-stakes deals and ran an empire but here, in his domain of garlic, oil, and pasta water, he was just... Asher.

Her ridiculously dramatic husband who was still mumbling something under his breath about "culinary respect".

"So, what's the plan, Capo Cucina ?" She teased, raising her glass in a mock toast. "Are you gonna interrogate the spaghetti ? Make it confess its sins for being too long ?"

He shot her a sideways glance, his lips twitching. "Careful, tesoro, I'm already dealing with one crime tonight. Don't make me arrest you for disrespecting the chef."

"Ha !" She laughed, setting her glass down. "Oh no, not the chef police. What's my sentence ? A lifetime of cooking lessons from your mom ?"

Asher stirred the pot of water, the fresh, uncut spaghetti floating inside like perfect golden threads. "If you think my mother would even speak to you after what you've done..." He trailed off, shaking his head with mock solemnity.

[Y/n] couldn't help but giggle. "Oh, come on ! I think she'd understand. It's not like I killed a guy or anything. It's just noodles !"

Levi froze for a split second, then turned to her slowly, his dark eyes narrowing. "Just noodles ?" He repeated, his voice laced with faux menace.

He wiped his hands dramatically on a kitchen towel and stepped toward her.

Deena took a step back, holding her hands up. "Okay, okay ! I get it ! Spaghetti is sacred ! You've made your point !"

"No, cara", Asher said, his tone now mockingly grave. "I don't think you do get it."

He continued advancing, his broad frame towering over her, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She squinted up at him, trying to stifle her laughter. "What are you gonna do ? Lecture me until the sauce burns ?"

He smirked. "Oh, no. I'm going to make you a deal."

[Y/n] arched a brow. "A deal ? Should I be worried ?"

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "You're going to sit there, eat this perfectly cooked spaghetti and admit that it's better than whatever noodle disaster you were about to serve me. In return, I'll pretend tonight never happened."

She blinked, leaning back to look at him. "And what happens if I don't agree to your deal ?"

He grinned, devilishly handsome and completely incorrigible. "Then you'll find out just how persuasive an Italian husband can be."

[Y/n] rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of her. "Fine. Deal. But only if I get to taste-test the sauce first."

He stepped back with a mock sigh, holding his hand out toward the stove. "Be my guest, giudice della salsa. But if you say one bad word about it..."

"I know, I know. Sleeping with the fishes", she quipped, grabbing a wooden spoon.

She dipped it into the simmering pan of golden oil, garlic and chili flakes and brought it to her lips. Her eyes widened as the flavors hit her tongue.

"Wow", she said, genuinely impressed. "Okay, I hate to admit it but this is good. Like, really good."

He smirked, clearly pleased but trying to play it cool. "Of course it is. It's my mother's recipe. And unlike some people, I know how to respect tradition."

She rolled her eyes, setting the spoon down. "Alright, maestro, let's see if you can actually plate it as perfectly as you cook it."

Minutes later, Asher served up 2 bowls of the spaghetti, each strand glistening with the simple yet luxurious sauce.

He set one bowl in front of [Y/n] and another for himself before taking a seat across from her at the rustic kitchen table.

She twirled a forkful and took a bite, her eyes closing as the flavors danced on her tongue. "Okay, okay", she admitted after a moment. "This is incredible. You win."

Asher leaned back in his chair, looking smug. "Say that again, cara. Slowly this time."

She threw her napkin at him, laughing. "Don't push it, Capo."

The two of them laughed, the earlier "pasta-cide" long forgotten as they enjoyed the meal together.

But just as [Y/n] was taking another bite, she glanced over at Asher and noticed his smirk had turned suspiciously devious.

"What ?" She asked warily.

He took a sip of wine, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nothing. Just thinking about how you owe me another lesson tomorrow. And this time, I'll teach you how to make lasagna."

[Y/n] groaned. "Oh no. Let me guess– there's some sacred lasagna rule I don't know about ?"

He grinned. "Of course. But don't worry. I'll make sure to enforce the rules... strictly."

She shook her head, laughing.

Life with Asher was always dramatic, always ridiculous– but who was she to complain when she get delicious food in compensation ?

•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

(A/n) : Fun fact : I literally hate pasta– no scratch that, I LOATHE these vicious sticky noodles, they make me wanna vomit till my whole intestines cames out from vomiting too much. I just can't stand them. The only pasta dish I'll ever accept is lasagna. I may or may not started a good war for saying that.

See ya ! 😘