#just... inedibly sweet

[fisheito]

... peace on planet bottom, then there's whatever this is

[mezimraky]

i think that if i could choose my last supper it would be a good cinnamon roll with icing and a cup of sour batch brew coffee.

[arttsuka]

i just realized I didnt finish writing sorry yes i meant type of food

Yes I figured something was wrong, anyway it's ok.

I wouldn't say I like sour foods. As I grew older I started appreciating all flavors and what they bring to a dish but I still don't feel that fond of some.

I don't really like spicy stuff either (I'm talking about when it stops being just a bit spicy and it starts burning you. You lose the taste of the food idk).

So my basic answer is, I like sweet and salty foods.

[newfeeling77]

see i wish i could eat more meat n id have a truly balanced diet. bc im oan the fruits n veg and yogurt n cheese primarily…. rice and limited pasta… but meat is time consuming and often yucky disgusting to me. and im a good cook i can cook the meat perfectly i just hate the process and the texture of it i cant do it its so narsty

[depresseddepot]

This is the first time in my life I've been filled with shame and feel like I need to say it out loud to make it feel better so I'm using tumblr as my confessional. I don't like soy sauce. And I don't like tofu

[pinecavity]

You never really had a birthday. Not in that place. Dates didn’t matter—just results. Just progress. Just whether or not you survived another round of whatever they put you through.

But Caleb decided that wasn’t good enough.

So he picked a day. Maybe it was the first time he saw you, 001, still small and scrawny and barely holding on, the weight of what they did to you pressed into your bones. Or maybe it was the day he found you again, weeks later, when you looked at him like a stranger and he had to swallow down the ache that came with it. Didn’t matter. What mattered was you had one now.

And even when there was nothing to give, he made sure you had something. A stolen candy slipped into your palm when no one was looking. His half of whatever food they managed that day, pushed onto your plate like it wasn’t even a question.

A whispered, “Happy birthday, pips. Guess you’re stuck with me another year.”

When you got out—really got out, when there were kitchens and real ingredients and choices—he figured it out. He had to.

It started with the small things. The first time he watched you pick at your food, eyes downcast, shoulders tight, he realized you didn’t know what you liked. That neither of you had ever had the chance to find out. Meals had always been something given in the laboratory, not chosen. Sustenance, not comfort.

So, he learned.

Messed with recipes until they were right. Memorized the way your face changed when something was good—really good—so he could do it again. So you’d never have to force something down again just because it was all there was. No more inedible slop. No more processed, tasteless things they used to keep you both alive but never full.

Even tried baking once. Scowled at the oven like it had personally offended him when the cake didn’t come out right. Stared at the sunken middle, the lopsided edges, arms crossed like he was trying to puzzle out where he went wrong. You laughed at him, and the sound made him forget why it even mattered.

(Still, the next day, there was a second attempt. And a third. Until your birthday cake came out perfect—fluffy, golden, just sweet enough, just how you like it. He acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but he let you have the first bite.)

And every year, no matter where you were, how much time had passed, he said it the same way. That soft, teasing lilt, like it was just another joke, just another day—like it wasn’t carrying something heavier beneath it.

“Happy birthday pip. Another year, huh? You let me stick around this long—think that means you’re stuck with me too.”

And the way he looks at you when he says it—eyes crinkled and bursting with love—like it’s a promise he’s already decided to keep. Like no matter what happens, no matter how many years come and go, you can count on him to celebrate you, over and over again.

[ghostyuri]

just can’t resist you

hiii

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…nat is only your friend. she plans on keeping it that way, because she swears a girl like you would never be into her.

before you read…angst with comfort. sexual and vulgar language. reader is described to be girly! nat thinks you’re straight. creepy guy being a weirdo. wc 3.4k.

the trailer smells like burnt popcorn and spilled beer.

you had burnt the popcorn; nat’s spaghetti-o-stained microwave is nearing its end, and apparently, three minutes had meant burning the kernels to a nearly inedible crisp. natalie didn’t complain, she grabbed a bowl and snacked on it with pleasure.

not surprising, she's also the same woman who picks black licorice in a candy store.

natalie had spilled the beer, knocking it over on your cherry red skirt when she moved in closer to you on her couch, peppered with small circular burn holes and fur from a stray cat she lets sleepover during stormy nights. she apologized immediately and with an insane amount of worry, like the liquid would cause you to melt.

you were fine, you told her that again and again, even when she was wiping the fabric of your skirt with the nearest dirty laundry on the floor and a rushed hand—you had grabbed hers softly with your own to stop her.

she looked at you with those gleaming puppy eyes that always made you weak.

it was a miracle you made it seven months on the dot with her—just like this. two people who somehow fit in this dull town like pieces from different puzzles, that still managed to click. natalie had even called you her friend. and she didn’t use that word lightly…it made you blush. whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could have with just anyone.

it’s special.

you are too fucking sweet, and initially that made her want to vomit.

when you fluttered your eyes at her at the diner, offering her the special pie of the day with a kind smile she didn’t commonly receive. she said ‘no,��� with a lifeless expression; the first time.

the second occasion, the ‘no,’ was spoken above a whisper. she was sitting in the corner and avoided your eyes at that time.

you didn’t pry; you had absolutely no room to. a pretty and mysterious stranger’s problems were not your own.

then came the next week, when you saw her one-of-a-kind face again. she had looked at you, all of you, from the top of your head down to the tip of your white gym shoes. you wore the same inviting smile but spoke with less cheer. natalie had to ask you what pie was on the menu; it had seemingly slipped your mind.

you served her peach pie that evening. next, blueberry. then apple on saturday. it was an unspoken routine, and no wonder why hanging out with her outside of that lonely diner came so fast.

why you’re sitting in her trailer, curled up on the worn brown couch, painting her nails.

“stop fidgeting, natalie,” you warn with no real threat, leaning in closer to angle the brush better. you just barely miss her skin, the black paint still somehow almost perfect despite the woman growing antsy. “alllmost done.”

“shit takes five years,” nat whispers, though the painting itself isn’t why she can't remain still. she’s done this shit time and time again, though less precisely. she'd leave the dark smudges and would shrug it off. natalie is unsure she’s ever even owned a bottle of nail polish remover. what is making her shift so subtly, she doesn’t even know how you notice—is your hand holding hers.

for the past half hour. so incredibly soft to her calloused. they’re consistently scraped, but natalie liked to joke with you, too much at the serious times. she’d say she fought the new jersey devil or ran into the ninja turtles. fucking stupid, and you’d laugh at it. that noise she’d kill a man to hear on repeat.

“got a date or something?” you tease her, doing the last few strokes on her pinky. there’s a strawberry shortcake band-aid on her knuckle, placed by you the night prior.

the cut wasn’t deep enough to warrant worry, just your undying care. she didn’t even feel like washing the dried-up blood off, eager to get really close to you on the sofa without saying it was cuddling. but you’re you. treating her like porcelain. it makes her sick. nauseous with hot and vile love.

but that, that wasn’t allowed. she swallows those forbidden thoughts, pissed at herself for going there again. down the route that allows her to fall for you—just to embarrass herself when you put on that over-friendly voice you first did at the diner while you reject her.

because you…you weren’t any of this. you might be the beautiful wallpaper, but not the yellowing from the smoke that left her lungs.

maybe even the angel figurine abandoned by her mother, placed on a shelf with the rest of her junk. it got damaged in a moving box, and the wings had fallen off. she’d still catch herself studying it when the sun peered through the blinds at the right time, at the right angle.

the dozens of layers of glass within it would make it reflect a rainbow. she never had time to admire that when she was younger.

you’re not a guy she picks up when she’s so pathetically lonely—while you’re probably with some country club dipshit that’ll try to make you his housewife. someone undeserving of you and everything that you divinely are. natalie could not say the same for herself—that prick she distracts from bothering the bartender isn’t all that better than her.

you are. you must know that. the idea this friendship was based on pity filled her mind constantly, but you really fucking good at making it feel genuine. something you want. she wishes you wanted more, then she thinks shes a moron for hoping for such a thing.

she states blankly, “i might. is that a problem?”

“it is if it’s another jason—or something, again,” you respond, natalie taking notice in the way you remembered his name when she’s pretty damn sure it was uttered once in a regretted mumble. he siphoned her gas the morning after. but, she doesn’t know why you even care about who she sleeps with. it irritates her.

“won’t be…” natalie says, almost bitter. you don’t seem to catch it or acknowledge it. you twist the nail polish shut and place it beside her ashtray on the oval table and continue to talk, “or what was it—michael? that literally stole your cash?”

It’s not meant to come out so ill or make natalie uncomfortable. you wouldn’t hide your disdain towards who she was into because nat had some god awful taste. she never kept the good ones, and you wondered from the little details she’s spared about her past lovers, if she was the one who pulled away.

you lean back on the couch, and natalie straightens up at the very same time. any emotion on your face drains—realizing nat is upset. it happened when you asked too many questions; she despised those.

“you keeping track or something?”

the annoyance in her tone is evident, and you’re immediately shaking your head.

“no, i just—i don’t get why you keep doing that.”

“doing what, exactly?” she asks back like it’s a challenge; it’s nat, so it is. there were few times arguments occurred between you two, they never mattered though. it was over tiny things like you making her bed when she’s ‘super capable of it.’

you were always the calmer one; you had to be.

and now, you still are, even leaning in closer with a gentle approach. your perfume hits her in the motion, a warm sugary vanilla she wants to suffocate in. then, her eyes fall to her lap when you reach over, placing your palm on her knee.

“settle for…i don't know…pieces of shit?” your voice is soft, followed by a short chuckle, an attempt to ease the newfound tension. the truth, delivered in a way that wouldn’t have her even more pissed at you.

if only.

“well,” natalie’s mouth opens before her mind can form a coherent sentence, “maybe that’s what i fucking want and you should mind your damn business.”

she barely even pauses, “not like i tell you what prissy daddy’s boy you can go fuck.”

you blink at her.

a painfully heavy silence hangs in the air, thick like the nasty humidity outside. you don’t know if the heat in your cheeks is due to the summer evening or the carelessness of her sentence, which came out so raw. as if it’s something that crosses her mind, you and another.

she angles her body away from you.

“you should go…” natalie says with a hushed voice, and you’re trying to understand why and how the moment with her had been ruined so abruptly. an innocent night tainted by something so minor. she’s right; it’s not your business. anything nat does isn’t. or who she does.

you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

“okay.”

you get up, adjusting your skirt with her guilty, watchful pupils. she gulps, following you to the door; she never let you walk out alone.

natalie brings you all the way to your car, her fists in the pockets of her ripped jeans and a cigarette already lit when you’re in the driver’s seat. only two words are exchanged. short byes.

you don’t see her the next day.

she doesn’t even stop by the diner the rest of the week. nat, honestly, feels like an asshole. and it itself is another reminder why she picks people like her—she doesn’t have to carry this unbearable weight of guilt with someone else. only you.

and maybe it’s self-punishment to avoid you.

but you hated it.

it is a cool friday night when you drive over to her place, but your knocks are left unanswered. through the cracks in the blinds, you notice it’s dim. only the orange porch light is left on. you even called out her name, worried this was nat really ignoring you.

that’s when you hear a rattling off of a car. it’s not natalie’s. there’s a headlight out, driving down the path to her trailer, the bass pounding to metallica.

you step down the stairs from her door, hugging your arms, kicking yourself for not throwing a jacket over your dress. it’s one of natalie’s favorites on you, a pale yellow that could nearly appear tea green. it’s short and thin for the heated weather, complementing the traces of your skin she sees in her dreams.

though, when the navy car parks and an unfamiliar face gets out of the driver's seat, you wish you wore something else.

natalie exits the passenger side, speed walking towards you while glancing at the dark haired man taking his time behind her. he’s eyeing you in ways that he doesn’t have the right to.

“what is this?” nat questions when she’s stood in front of you, her poorly chopped band tee lifting slightly when she puts her hands on her hips.

“i wanted to se—”

“could’ve fucking’ called, you know?”

“you wouldn’t have answ—”

“exactly,” she cuts you off for the second time, not releasing her eyes from yours, her tone sharp and mean. you have nothing to say back to her. you wish you did call and saved yourself from her hardened eyes and the wandering ones from the stranger.

a typical bar pickup. you could gag.

“is this…?” his voice is rough when he speaks, and not in the way nat’s is when she just woke up or fighting a nasty cold. it brings you shivers, especially when he points between you and natalie, then himself. he chuckles, “shit, i ain’t complaining.”

“no.”

natalie turns her head to the guy, shutting down the disgusting idea he assumed, and regretting her decision to invite him over. she mistakenly thought maybe your face would slip from her mind for the night. that’s all she fucking saw on the drive home.

if anything, she manifested you on her doorstep. she truly has no right to be so angry.

you scoff. “guess i’ll go.”

“the fun’s just starting, princess,” the man laughs through his nose, inching closer. you’re subconsciously clinging to yourself tighter and averting your gaze to the dirt you stood on. nat notices, of course she does.

her knuckles twitch.

natalie drops her purse from her shoulder, digging in the leather bag and finding her keys, placing them in your hands that just barely open in time. with a head tilt, she motions to the door. you don’t say anything, and neither does she. she’s already telling the man to start walking to his car while you’re letting yourself in the trailer.

you shut the door behind you when the yelling begins. or, the yelling begins the moment you shut the door. perhaps nat waited.

you flip the lights on, even tidying some of the mess she abandoned earlier in the day. you��re unaware that natalie has him pressed against his own car threatening his life—a rusty pocketknife taunting his manhood through his pants. she’s done worse than whatever she’d do for you.

the door opens and shuts again when your back is turned, putting a collected pile of dishes in the sink before facing her. she throws her purse on the couch, scratching the back of her head and figuring out what the hell to say. you’re first.

“really know how to pick them, nat.”

“i didn’t fucking know you were here.”

“and that changes what?” you ask her, an already defeated voice while you cross your arms in defense. you’re irritated, not just by tonight, but the fact she’s been blowing off your calls. pretending like she didn’t care and that your absence hadn’t bothered her at all. not when she can just be with someone else.

why can’t you?

“do you seriously not have somewhere better to be?” natalie takes a step closer, pupils blown and canines showing when she speaks, “get a fuckin’ boyfriend already—i know that shit isn’t hard for you.”

nat takes your breath away.

not the good kind where when her touch lingers too long while the credits roll on the tv. or when you sit next to her in the diner booth after flipping the sign on the door to closed, watching her lips curl around the fork when she’s finishing her dessert.

this is nothing like that.

her words are heavier than she surely pictured them in her chaotic brain, and it’s not as though you haven’t heard it before from nat. it’s been casually said in passing: why you’re you and how on earth you’re single.

the same way she avoided your nosy inquiries, you laughed it off sweetly, the answer lingering in the air.

“maybe i will.”

it’s spoken quietly; you almost allowed it to die on your tongue.

“good.”

her nostrils flare and her teeth grind, then the quietness of the trailer starts to swallow you both. you’re unsure if this is the part where you walk out. you fear if you do, you won't be back for a long, long time.

that was the last thing you wanted.

this is all so fucking stupid because what you want is standing a few feet away from you—with hurricane eyes that you’re drowning in the longer you hold this unspoken staring contest.

natalie chews the inside of her cheek. you fold in your bottom lip then gnaw at it, your heart picking up speed and thumping loudly in your ear. you’re both waiting for something from the other.

she’s expecting you to exit with the slam of the door behind you. nat often pictured the worst outcome first, and she's searching for the strength to prevent that. she’s so pathetically desperate for you to stay here. even if that means this awkward as fuck standoff you're having.

at least you’re looking at her through your long lashes. and she can still smell the heavenly perfume you showered in. it’s all over that pretty little dress you’re wearing. probably wore it just for her.

she mutters a ‘fuck’ to herself, squeezing her eyes tightly and running her fingers through her unbrushed hair, before looking at you again.

she says a lot without saying anything at all. the light brunching of her brown brows and her mouth parted slightly, glancing at the soft skin of your lips. you do the same to her—and she takes a timid step closer. giving you time to say something, do anything.

you don't.

then, nat is closing the space between you.

fast and at once.

her hands find your waist first, gripping the material of your dress and slightly clawing the skin beneath it. she could break the fabric, and you wouldn’t care. natalie could tear it off of you, to unrecognizable shreds, and you’d watch her with admiration.

with zero patience, she pulls you into her. one palm on the back of your head while her rough lips crash against your smooth ones. you taste like a strawberry shake, topped with your cherry chapstick that's now coating her tongue.

it's messy, but unrushed. she's simply greedy, satisfying the constant craving she’s had for you. a lazy yet precise tango with your tongue, taking you all the way in.

nat isn't the only one hungry.

you’re pushing yourself into her, taking the hand she had on your waist and traveling it down to the lower side of your back. natalie does the rest without your guidance, resting it on your ass, listening to the beautiful noise of you moaning into her mouth. you feel on fire. unable to tug away and put yourself out, her lips burn so fucking good against yours.

you've never been with someone like her. a woman you loved so intensely in your head—that she was almost the only soul you thought about. yet, you couldn't show her how you felt in all the ways you possibly imagined. and that hurt more than any heartbreak you’ve ever experienced.

to hold her hand fondly. trace love letters on the bare skin of her back. you want to give her a lovely bouquet on a random thursday morning solely because you could. you didn't need a special reason. loving her and her letting you, was enough. she'll let them die and still keep them.

little do you know, natalie had the idea first.

it’s the next saturday night when you're closing up the dead diner, a wet rag in your hand as you drag it across the counter. kate bush plays throughout the restaurant; you're humming along when the bell above the door rings. you don't pay attention, not until you hear her dramatically clearing her throat.

“i believe these are for you?”

you look up to natalie, your wrist stilling and pupils widening on the yellow lilies and pink roses wrapped neatly with brown paper at the base.

the ribbon keeping it together is pale and twisted into a pretty bow; you almost forget to speak amid the trance of admiration. she reaches out to give them to you over the counter, her own cheeks flushing red as she does so.

you take them, bringing them to the tip of your nose, breathing them in. like a thriving meadow on the world's most perfect day. when you peek at her over the flowers, you could almost giggle at the contrast from the pastel colors to her leather jacket and midnight eyeliner. that grin she's unable to hold back reminds you just how gentle nat is despite it all.

she slides onto an empty stool, and you tilt your head at her sweetly, “apple pie, on the house?”

“s' long as you're the one serving it,” natalie says lowly, elbow on the counter and holding her chin up with her fist. you roll your eyes at her, turning around and disappearing into the back. with a sway of your hips that she does not fail to notice.

when you come back out, you place a plate in front of her, humming again in harmony to the upbeat song over the radio. nat watches you walk around the counter, swiftly pulling the stool beside her closer with her foot. you don’t realize, sitting on it and allowing your knees to touch, her dark and worn denim against your sheer tights.

nat takes a bite, nodding her head in bliss.

she manages with a mouthful, “wouldn't taste this good if someone else served it.”

“you're stupid,” you playfully mumble, a fidgety hand finding her thigh, fingers fiddling with one of the many rips, twirling one of the stray threads. you wait for her, and when you look up again, she's licking the fork.

there's filling on the corner of her mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb instead of pointing it out.

embarrassed, she licks her lips, gawking at you when you slip your finger into your mouth. your teeth scrape against your skin while you suck away the delightful cinnamon. her throat dries, and she blinks dumbly—you had done it so casually. innocently.

even holding to her thigh again, tenderly, with your irises twinkling beneath the fluorescent lights.

natalie gulps. she's only had you, all of you, for a few days. and she swears you're already the death of her. a death as sweet as candy.

[strange-aeons]

hi strange i’ve been enjoying yr videos for about four years thank u for giving me giggles for so long. however i am writing as i am not totally sure who else to ask…

my boyfriend had a traumatic pneumothorax last week and about 80% of his right lung collapsed. i don’t really know anything about pneumothorax (although i have learned so much recently lol) aside from hearing you mention it and as such i don’t know how to help him :(

i know it’s a shot in the dark but i was wondering if there are any comforts or ways to alleviate pain you could share? thank you so much strange you are super tough btw to have gone through this several times this Sucks big time

many good wishes to you and your sweet hairless babies in the new year!

If it happened one week ago he’s already gotten through the worst part! I’m assuming he’s still hospitalized with a chest tube in right now??

When I was in that situation it helped a lot having frequent visits from my partner and family. Especially when they brought snacks!!!!!! Hospital meals can be borderline inedible and there’s no way of escaping to the food court when you have a chest tube in (unless you plan to deceive multiple nurses and risk life threatening infection through the OPEN HOLE IN YOUR CHEST. Don’t do that).

Good food can be a relief in an otherwise horrible time, so finding out what he really wants to eat and brining it will definitely help. If he has no appetite then things like smoothies or drinkable soup can be very helpful. I often live off booster juice and Tim Hortona chicken noodle soup when hospitalized.

Finding the right media to keep sane is also very important!!! Your sleep schedule disintegrates entirely when laying on your back full of tube for multiple days. 2AM listening to alarms go off and 6AM getting woken up for x-rays and 1pm having the lunch slop delivered and 3pm being woken up for x-rays and 9pm visit from your surgeon all become basically indistinguishable, especially if you have no windows. Podcasts were ideal for me because it can be very hard to find a comfortable position with a chest tube / pneumothorax and looking at a screen was often too much of a hassle. Queer as fact and fall of civilizations are both excellent if you want non fiction btw. Old gods of Appalachia or welcome to nightvale if you want fiction.

There’s not a lot that you as a loved one can do about his physical pain, but I will share some of my pneumothorax expertise with you and anyone else who might go through this.

There’s no nerve endings in the lungs so all the pain/ discomfort related to a pneumothorax has to do with pressure in the chest cavity.

The pain is the absolute worst when your lung is actively collapsing so when that feeling starts SHOVE SOME EXTRA STRENGTH ADVIL OR TYLENOL DOWN YOUR THROAT, then lay down and wait for it to finish collapsing. It may seem tempting to rush to the hospital as fast as possible (or rush your loved one who’s lung is collapsing to the hospital) but trust me the last thing you want to do with a lung that is actively deflating like a sad balloon is exert yourself (this is how I collapsed my lung the full 100% and could not move my upper body for an hour. Quirky). Give it at least 30 minutes of floor time before you try to move. You will have a way better time getting to the hospital.

Wait sorry I lied lung re-inflation hurts sometimes more than the initial collapse. The sometimes are the times when ER nurses do not know how to do it properly. Immediately after they put the chest tube in, they attach it to a suction machine to suck out the excess air in your chest cavity. I do not know if these machines are the same internationally (I’m Canadian) but if you’re dealing with one where the settings are percentages, the one you want is 20% suction. NOT 100%!!! that just causes unnecessary excruciating pain without being more effective. I have had to fight numerous nurses while in the worst pain of my life to TURN THE PAIN MACHINE DOWN. fuck the pain machine. Anyway. After the pain machine they leave the tube in for a few more days to make sure the lung stays inflated. Nearing the end of that process, most of the discomfort is caused by the tube itself, so as horrible disgusting the worst getting that thing ripped out is, just know you will feel so much better after.

Throughout the healing process (and in the case of small pneumothoraxes not requiring chest tubes — I’ve had over 10 of those ones) I’ve noticed that heightened discomfort lasting a few minutes results from going from laying down to standing up or vice verse, or from bending over. This is why I have pioneered the sophisticated technique know as the pneumothorax squat. It is just as cool and hot as you’re imagining.

This post was supposed to be about how to support a loved one with a pneumothorax what the heck am I even talking about now.

Most of what he’s going to need will seem boring or insignificant. Companionship. Food. Medication. Toiletries. COMPANIONSHIP. podcast recommendations. But it absolutely is not insignificant. Abruptly losing mobility, independence, and bodily autonomy as a young person is really fucked up and I cannot fathom doing it without my family and my partner, even if most days that consisted of talking to me and bringing me smoothies and underwear.

Wishing a quick recovery to your boyfriend! Good luck with everything!!

[minwonsgirl]

cupcakes and kisses.

— mingyu x gn!reader

— fluff without plot and soooo self indulgent it's crazy

— contents : established relationship, kissing, sexual tension, kissing, suggestive content, kissing, baking, did I mention kissing

"Thank you for your purchase I hope you have a good night!" the cashier wishes while giving you your pack of rainbow sprinkles.

you smiled at her and walked out into the streets so that you could make yourself back home. the sun was just setting in, and people every where were rushing back. you were in no hurry though, your apartment was just down the block and your boyfriend was still busy whipping up some vanilla frosting.

thats why you came out in the first place, he was making cupcakes for movie night, but ran out of sprinkles for the funfetti frosting. and you, being his little minion helper, volunteered to get him some.

you were an amazing cook when it came to breakfast or brunch, but baking on the other hand, hah. baking was completely out of your expertise.

you once tried to make cookies, but they neither spread nor softened and came out as rocks. they were so inedible that even the ants wouldn't touch them. you remember getting rid of them by chucking them at your brother whenever he annoyed you.

when you finally reach your apartment, your boyfriend calls put your name, and you quickly change into your home slippers and run towards him.

"I'm here I'm here" you said, sprinting towards him with a large smile on your face. mingyu smiles back at you but doesn’t stop his mixer-blender-thing from working, "did you get the sprinkles?" he asked, his head tilting to the side in a very cute manner.

you raise the pack of sprinkles and wiggle it a little to show off your excitement. mingyu lifts one of his hands up, like a gate, and you immediately step inbetween them, successfully trapping yourself in his arms.

he turns the mixer-blender-thing off and plops his head on your shoulder, watching you tear off the packet with your teeth and pour a generous amount of sprinkles in the bowl.

mingyu had a habit. his friends would always tease him about it, but honestly he found it quite cute. It was not his fault he found everything you did so endearing that he just had to stare at you as if you were hanging the stars on the sky.

it was not his fault you were so pretty to look at, with your perfect lips and perfect eyes. or the way you looked the best when you were busy. it wasn't his fault.

you found that staring habit of his cute too. but that's probably because you did the exact same thing. but were you really to blame when everything mingyu did was absolutely perfect. especially when he baked, his concentration and attention to detail always made you proud. so it most definitely wasn't you fault either.

when you were done pouring out your sprinkles, you hummed contently and waited for him to start the blender again. but he doesn't move. you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, "something wrong, babe?" you asked, worry flashing in your eyes.

you expected him to come out of his trance, but he just shakes his head side to side, with the same look in his eyes. then he thinks for a moment before his lips moved into a tiny smile and he nods his head, "yes" he said, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head.

mingyu let's go of the hand blender and grabs your waist to turn you around to face him. you give him a curious look and he just winks at you. then he turns you both around and picks you up on the kitchen island behind him.

he buries his head in your neck and trails sweet kisses all the way up to your ear. you wrap one hand around his waist and the other around his neck, your fingers playing with his hair, and you giggled whenever his kisses would tickle you.

this was normal, mingyu always kissed you every chance he got. but he always bothered to make up a stupid excuse before it, which is exactly what lead you to ask, "why so touchy, baby?"

"need to kiss my pretty baby" he said casually, as if he did this every day (he did). you laughed and let him place strategic kisses in all the right places. your forehead, the space between eyebrows, both your cheeks, and every single mole on your face.

when he finally reached your lips, you cup his cheeks. he leaned in to ever so slightly brush your lips, he releases a breath and pulls away kissing the corner of you mouth instead, you feel your heart grip itself.

he pulls away and smirks when he sees the shiver, he caused, go down your spine. "so needy for my kisses, yeah?" he asked, a smug grin taking over his smile.

you hadn't realised that the tension had caused your hands to slips down to his chest and hold his favorite jumper in a fist. you pulled him closer towards you, "need you to kiss me gyu, please" you begged.

mingyu could never deny you, and he knew that you knew that and used it against him very often, but he still chuckles at your tactics and leans in you press his lips against your in a big fat kiss.

you wrap your legs around his waist and pull yourself closer towards the edge of the counter so that you could feel him better. you wouldn't let his pulls away from you that easily again.

mingyu smiles into the kiss when he feel your clutch on his jumper. he loved teasing you, but he loved this more. the way your possessiveness would peek out and you would be less reluctant to let him go.

mingyu lays his hands flats against the counter so that he could kiss you better, and feel you closer. you hands were crossed around his neck.

his mouth moved in perfect sync with yours and you were sure you could die like this, with him kissing you absolutely senseless.

he pulls away from you for a second and look down at your eyes, you were both panting. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and leans back in— DING.

both of your heads turn towards the little potato shaped timer kept above the oven. "aw the cupcakes are done" mingyu said sadly, his lips forming a small pout. you rolled you eyes and pushed his hands off you. you cupped his cheeks and turned his head to look at you. "so why are you pouting?" you asked, laughing softly at his cute little sad face.

"wanna kiss you a little longer" he said, speaking in pout while trying to tuck himself back in between your legs. you made sure to keep them shut.

you press a small kiss on his cheek, "we'll kiss later I promise. for now lets finish those cupcakes, yeah? " you said while jumping off the counter and walking towards the oven to take out the cupcakes. you make sure to grab mingyu's hand on the way so that he would follow you.

mingyu takes the opportunity hug you from behind and follow you like a dumb puppy. he breaths in your hair and smiles againt your neck, "I love the way you smell" he said.

you snorted, "that's not creepy at all."

"hey I'm not creepy I just liked the way the love of my life smells okay?" he pouts again, this time angrily.

you laughed again and turned around in his arms to face him. "thank you baby" you said sincerely, then got on your tippy toes to kiss him, "I love you too" you said.

mingyu felt the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. he was pretty sure the cupcakes would burn if he didn't turn off the oven soon, but who cares? he was kissing the smartest, the most beautiful person alive. for him, it really was you who hung the stars in the sky.

[charliegyrth]

Liam's Sweet Tooth

A Weight Gain Story

Liam was lifting weights when I got home. His muscular body was coated in sweat and his face was scrunched up in determination and pain. He knew I was home but didn’t acknowledge me until he finished his set.

I was fine with that. Not every guy gets to come home to an absolute adonis pumping iron in his living room.

He dropped the weights and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Hey, honey. You’re early.”

“The cake orders for tomorrow got cancelled, so I didn’t need to be there. I let Manny finish up.”

“Hopefully he won’t eat all of your inventory.”

“Don’t say that.”

Liam was such a nice guy, but he always made snide little remarks about my employees. I owned a bakery, so of course my workers gained a bit of weight over the years. Manny had been with me from the beginning, so Liam had seen him grow from a svelte 22-year-old kid into a 350-pound 28-year-old man. He was a good worker because he believed in the product, but he never, ever ate anything that wasn’t going to be thrown away.

Plus, the customers loved him. I always sold more stuff when he was behind the counter because he constantly gave suggestions and raved about pretty much everything I made.

“Sorry,” Liam said. “So what did you bring for me?”

I’d forgotten that I had a box in my hands. I opened the lid, revealing a brand-new éclair that I was planning to introduce.

He took a big bite and whimpered. “Babe, this is incredible.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Liam had dubbed himself my official taste-tester. Every time I tried something new, I always gave him the first bite.

He wasn’t a particularly good taste-tester, though. Despite being ridiculously fit, he had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I knew. Every dessert tasted “incredible” to him. One time, for a little experiment, I gave him a donut that I’d purposely made with way too much sugar. It was inedible. But he still ate the whole thing and gave me a big thumbs up.

“You just brought one?” he asked, licking his fingers.

“I always just bring one.”

“Yeah. ’Cause Manny eats the rest of ’em, huh?”

“Stop saying things like that!” I shouted.

Liam flinched. I never raised my voice, especially at him.

“Sorry. I’m a little upset. Manny put in his two weeks’ notice today. His bitchy wife got a job in Phoenix.” It really hurt to lose my oldest and most loyal employee. I knew this day would come. He’d been talking about moving for months now, but the news still stung.

“Well, shit,” Liam said, wrapping me in a sweaty hug. “That sucks.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, both to him and to myself. “I’m sure I’ll find someone, though I doubt I’ll find anyone as enthusiastic.”

He pulled away. “I’ll do it!”

I let the words sink in, but I didn’t respond.

“Seriously! Think about it! No one appreciates your baking as much as I do! Plus, I’m superhot. Your stuff will be flying off the shelves like hotcakes!”

“I don’t make hotcakes,” I joked, mostly to avoid responding.

Liam was amazing. And I’m pretty sure he was a good worker. The only reason he was currently unemployed was because his previous employer had gone bankrupt. But…

“I don’t know if that would be healthy for us,” I said. “Mixing business with pleasure. You know.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He collapsed onto the sofa dramatically. For such a big, masculine guy, there were times when he reminded me of a six-year-old.

I hated to disappoint him like this. And if I took our marriage out of the equation, he would be an ideal candidate.

“Okay. How about this? I’ll hire you for a month, and we’ll see if it works without, you know, affecting our marriage.”

He jumped up. “Really?”

“But be aware. I’m a tough boss. I try to run a tight ship, so I’ll be treating you like an employee, not a husband.”

“Understood.” He kissed me.

“And you won’t freak out if you start gaining weight like all my other employees?”

He scoffed. “Look at me! I’m married to the city’s best baker and I still have a six pack. I think I’ll be fine.”

What he didn’t realize was that I chose to limit the amount of sweets I brought home. For Liam, they were an occasional treat, not a daily temptation. At work, I used the leftover baked goods as a reward to my employees. An incentive.

But he’d find out soon enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started gaining right away. Like Manny had. Knowing how vain Liam was, he’d gain ten pounds, get horrified, and quit. You mark my words.

***

Two years later.

When I got home, Liam was sitting on our new, reinforced sofa, eating red velvet cake by the handful. His flabby body spread out in all directions, his pale side rolls hanging over the edge of the red sofa like the thick icing on his rapidly-disappearing cake. He knew I was home, but he didn’t acknowledge me until he had finished binging.

I was fine with that. Not every guy gets to come home to a such a luscious example of soft, jiggling hedonism.

“Hey, honey. You’re home early.”

“Yeah. Manny’s handling tomorrow’s orders again. Since he came back, he’s been absolutely killing it. I’ve been giving him more of my responsibilities, and he hasn’t disappointed me yet. Sales are finally up again.”

A look of embarrassment passed over Liam's icing-stained faced. “Well, you made the right choice, babe.” He tried to pull his shirt down to cover more of his bulging stomach, but the fabric immediately rolled back up. Plus, he spilled a bunch of crumbs onto the couch.

“We all have our talents,” I told him reassuringly as I grabbed the dustbuster from the table. I switched it on and cleaned up the sofa cushions. Then I got to work sucking up all the crumbs that were still on his stomach. The handheld vacuum pulled at his soft flesh, sending ripples through him in the most adorably hypnotic way. I loved cleaning my husband, and I think he loved it, too.

He just leaned back, moaning softly, enjoying the rhythmic wobble.

“And what’s my talent?” he asked me.

I picked up a hunk of cake that he’d left on the table and pushed it against his lips. He gobbled it up as fast as the dustbuster. “What do you think, Liam?”

His talent was eating. Obviously. A beautiful talent. An incredibly erotic talent.

And a talent that had almost put me out of business.

When Liam first started working for me, he was the ideal employee. He followed directions and used his muscle-god body to entice the customers into ordering more food. He had this line that he’d always use whenever a customer was second-guessing an order: “Treat yourself. An extra donut won’t hurt you. I eat ’em all the time, and look at me.”

That line became less and less effective as the weeks wore on. I thought Manny had gained weight fast, but nothing compared to Liam. It took him three weeks (I’m not kidding) to develop a droop over his belt. A month for his pecs to turn into moobs. Two months for an extremely noticeable double chin. Three months in, his stomach had morphed from abs into a full-on gut.

His whole “treat yourself” mantra had turned into a major turn-off to our customers. When they looked at Liam behind the counter, they saw proof of how dangerously fattening my treats were.

Back when Manny had been behind the counter, the customers took his large body as an endorsement of the products. With Liam, who was so red-faced and winded at the same size, they took it as a warning sign: "Don't eat here or you'll end up like him."

I lost customers. I lost money on all his new uniforms. And worst of all, I lost my inventory.

It took me a couple months to discover exactly why Liam was gaining so fast: He was stealing our food. It started out with a couple missing donuts or cake slices each day, but the longer he worked, the more he took. Once I caught him red-handed (well, chocolate-handed), I completely flipped out. He was putting my business in jeopardy. None of my other employees had ever done that.

He started crying and swore to me up and down that he’d stop.

For a while, he did. He started buying cheap (and terrible) baked goods from the supermarket just so he could have something to eat while he worked. Business was still down, but at least I wasn’t running out of food.

After a year and a half, Liam had ballooned to over 350 pounds. Manny had been that size (after six years), but he always had a ton of energy and enthusiasm. I think because Liam’s gains had happened so fast, and his muscles had so quickly atrophied under his extra layers, he’d become a much more sluggish, much less healthy-looking fat person. It took him way too long to do the simplest tasks, and he was really scaring off customers.

The ironic part is that, despite how bad he was for business, I found him hotter by the day. I loved him as a muscle stud, but I loved him so much more as the soft, weak blob that he’d become. I wanted to take care of him, to grow him, to serve his unending hunger.

When I caught him in the back of the bakery squeezing my expensive buttercream icing into his mouth, I was both furious and aroused. I fired him then and there, explaining that I loved what he’d done to himself but I couldn’t keep putting my business in jeopardy.

He understood.

Thankfully, that was around the time that Manny had moved back from Phoenix. (His marriage didn’t work out.) I hired him to be my co-manager, giving him free rein to try different strategies to turn the business back around.

And he did. Six months later and we were back on track. The business was in the black and Liam, free to eat all day at home, gained an additional 70 pounds. (I think. Our scale broke.)

I crawled onto the sofa next to my big, beautiful husband. He radiated warmth. One hand around his sloping shoulders and another rubbing his belly, I felt so deeply happy. We weren’t meant to work together, but in the short time that we had, our relationship (and his body) grew in ways that neither of us imagined.

He leaned closer, his belly shifting and sloshing, and whispered into my ear. I thought he was going to say something romantic. Instead, he whispered, “I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you something sweet.”

The End.

Thanks for reading! You can find all my stories here.

[serpentface]

A pair of chul.

Finally pulled the plug on my long-debated 'are there any suids in this setting or just the entelodonts' issue. There are no pigs, but some of the domesticated entelodonts play similar roles.

Nechoi are a broad clade of ungulates. Most are medium-sized generalist omnivores, though a minority are very large and predominantly herbivorous (an even smaller minority are bear-sized and occupy similar niches).

One species of nechoi has been domesticated and is widely utilized as livestock, which I'll be referring to as chul (this is the Burri language word for these animals, and is the common term in the part of the setting I do most writing in).

Chul have four toes per foot, but two of these are entirely vestigial nubs of bone only visible as a small bump. They lack the tusks of some of their wild cousins, though the upper cuspids of boars are still somewhat exaggerated in length as a display feature. Most morphs have floppy ears, and virtually all have full-body fur cover. As an ancestral trait, boars develop huge cheek flanges and a fatty back hump, which primarily serve to display fitness to prospective mates and intimidate rivals (the flanges may also provide a degree of protection to the face and neck during fights). Some domestic morphs have lost this trait, but it is very often preserved for its utility as a source of oil or calorie-dense meat.

As livestock, their main utility is for meat and hides. They do not provide many resources while alive (save for manure and perhaps blood), so they are rarely central to the subsistence of people who tend them. Sows well-accommodated to human handling may allow themselves to be milked, but their milk output is low and the flavor is notably gamey, and no domestic populations exhibit selection for milk production. What makes them most valuable as livestock is their generalist diets. They can eat almost anything, are not dependent on seasonal growth, and are low maintenance and do not have to be moved between different pastures. Chul can essentially be fed on garbage, and transform this into a large meaty carcass and good hides.

They primarily eat nuts + seeds + tubers + fruits + leaves + invertebrates, and will opportunistically predate on small vertebrates. They readily consume carrion, and their powerful jaws and large molars are capable of crushing bone. Their heads are not as adapted for digging as pigs, instead having flexible lips to select and crop food items. When pursuing edible roots/tubers, they usually dig scrapes with their hooves or rip whole plants out from the ground.

In captivity, Chul are usually provided refuse to eat (inedible parts of crops, byproducts of butchered animals, uneaten or rotten food, etc) and will roam a small home range to supplement this with forage. The flavor of their meat ultimately depends on their diet, which can cause notable individual/regional variations in taste. They are sometimes 'finished' on a higher quality diet of grain/nuts/starches/fruit to produce a mild-tasting carcass with sweet fat.

They pant and sweat to thermoregulate and are not dependent on wallowing, though will gladly do so when given the opportunity (they're also fairly strong swimmers). They have sweat glands across most of their bodies, and will sweat very heavily in heat and require large amounts of water to stay hydrated. They originated in the tropics and do not molt into winter coats, though some populations in temperate climes have adapted via thicker year-round coats (though usually must be actively fattened before winter. They require a lot more upkeep in temperate zones and aren't as common there).

They are notably vocal. When foraging together, they make soft barks to keep track of each other (kind of like this). Babies produce squeaky bleats as contact calls (kind of like this, but much shorter). Boars are known to produce loud, deep bellows when displaying (sounds somewhat like a red deer but a little higher). All will produce low moaning growls when threatened, sharp barks when behaving aggressively or in pain, and panting huffs when excited/happy/playing.

When left to their own devices, they generally form into herds of sows/young/juvenile males. They do not establish discrete territories, but will generally stick to overlapping home ranges as long as food resources remain reliable. They are very social animals, and these herds can become quite large when resources allow (though they are typically on the small side, with 2-6 adult sows per herd). Sow bands form social hierarchies based primarily around size and age. Dominant sows are usually the ones to chase off subadult boars, and may chase away subordinate sows if resources are scarce. Unfamiliar sows will be integrated into herds with little issue if food resources are stable (though the process entails a few hours of posturing and displaying to keep the hierarchy established).

Subadult males usually live in small bachelor groups (almost always with siblings from the same litter), which form dominance hierarchies largely based upon size. Boar bands with stable hierarchies may remain together for life, and have greater reproductive success overall than lone boars. However, boars can be extremely aggressive towards unfamiliar boars, particularly when in the presence of sows in estrus. There are some ritualized elements to confrontations between boars to prevent escalation into deadly fights. Most confrontations can be resolved with posturing, roaring and yawning to display teeth and jaw size, and will usually escalate no further than shoving matches before one backs down. Fights usually begin with face to face open mouth posturing, which will turn into slashing and biting with the cuspids. Outright fights can be deadly, and boars with a number advantage may not stop until the opponent is mortally wounded or dead. Even when confrontations do not end in fights, confident boars are known to target the scrotum of fleeing rivals in attempt to castrate them.

The best practice is to geld most of your male chul and keep only one boar per herd. It is generally safe to keep multiple intact boars together if they're from the same litter, but this can create other problems, as boars in bands will wander farther and are likelier to get into confrontations with those of your neighbors.

They are also more physically dangerous in general than domestic pigs, being similar in size but stronger with a significantly more powerful bite force. They are not particularly aggressive towards people, however. Most respond positively towards the company of handlers and enjoy close interaction, and are likelier to hurt you by accidentally knocking you over than in acts of aggression.

All in all they cause proportionately fewer deaths than cattle. The big difference is that a cow who kills you will ultimately leave your corpse alone, while a chul will readily eat it.

[beenbaanbuun]

I saw this pic of Twitter and immediately thought of Morticia Hwa and Gomez Joong 😭😭😭

OH THIS IS… HOLY MOLY

(this is not proof read and is very short)

——————————————————————————

the sitting room is quiet, a heavy haze resting over the four members of the household as they recover from the ungodly amount of food that san had prepared for dinner. in the butler’s defence, there were meant to be more of you, but a disaster at the sanctuary meant mingi couldn’t come, and yunho had gotten caught up in some artistic daze so deep that he’d been unable to draw himself away from his canvas, let alone leave his house. a meal for six became a meal for four, and not a crumb was left to spare.

“we should fire him,” hongjoong groans as he allows his body to become slack against his husband’s. it’s hardly like him to lounge so casually, and yet you find yourself unable to judge from your position, lay on the back of your favourite bear rug. it’s music to your ears when seonghwa lets out a quiet chuckle at the sudden appearance of a torso on his lap, and you give them both a lazy smile.

“on what grounds?” seonghwa purrs with so much sickly sweet affection in his tone that you’re sure his teeth must be rotting, “we can hardly fire the best butler we’ve ever had on the basis that his cooking is too good.” lithe fingers come to rest atop hongjoong’s head, sweeping through his curls to separate them. you watch as his eyes flutter closed under the touch, too full of food and love to resist the sweet call of total relaxation for much longer.

“i suppose no one else would be able to put up with our darling dove as well as san does.” you throw a mumbled complaint in hongjoong’s direction at that. unsurprisingly, it falls upon deaf ears. “anyone else would be running for the hills the moment she decides it’s time for her week long baking phase.”

visions of flour clouds and a red faces butler fill your mind, and you can’t help but grin. not one decent cake had come from your few attempts, but the fond memories are enough to make up for it. after that first messy attempt, which saw san standing over you as you meticulously wiped down his kitchen, you had to keep your baking a secret. san had decided rather swiftly that he’d rather suffer through your complaining than see you try to whip up a cake batter again, but he didn’t live in the kitchen, and there were plenty of times you had the place to yourself.

you have no doubt that he knew, though. after all, ingredients don’t just vanish into thin air, and the smell of burnt food is one that tends to linger. it’s been months since your short-term hobby came to a head though, and he’s never once brought it up.

yeosang’s theory is that he doesn’t want to stir up any further interest in you. as far as you’re concerned, he’s just being his usual, polite self. after all, mentioning a ladies failures is quite high up on the list of faux pas’ that you’ve created in your head.

“you make it seem worse than it was,” you complain from the floor, face squished rather unceremoniously against jongho’s back, your words muffled by his fur. the rug itself is warm with the spirit that runs through it like blood, and it lulls you into a sleepy state of which there is no escape. not that you necessarily want to escape it; perhaps if you fall asleep down here, seonghwa might carry you to bed instead of you having to walk it…

the chorus of laughter from the two men is enough to keep you awake for now, though.

“perhaps we’re remembering it wrong, but i seem to recall a rather continuous stream of inedible goods coming from that kitchen,” hongjoong says, “and whilst i adore you, dove, no amount of love could ever make me want to repeat that experience.”

“yeosang liked them!” it’s a bare faced lie, but with the werewolf having already taken to his bed, you have no one to dispute your claim. a perfect crime, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re such a bad liar.

“if we say we believe you will you promise never to set foot in there again?” seonghwa asks with a lilt of laughter laced through his words. it’s such a pretty sound, and you can’t help but find yourself nodding along to his offer. he smiles down at you, honest and kind as though you hold the world in your hands. “good girl.”

[rose-tries-to-write]

Humans are Space Orcs Idea

Okay so hiii, i had an idea so i kinda ran with it.

This was inspired by me eating an orange and thinking 'man, i wonder if aliens would find it weird watching me pull off all the strings like this' and it kinda ran from there. this might have a few parts later on if i get inspired, but mostly whatever is made here will be odd human behaviors that i think would be funny/interesting from an aliens perspective.

Writing under the cut!

Day 1 in alien captivity

I'll be honest, I've been here much longer than a day—perhaps four or more by now. This is the first time I've been given something resembling paper and writing tools, so to make it easier to remember, this will be labelled day one.

I couldn't tell you why I'm here or how I got to where I am. Most of it's a blur by now and even if it wasn't, I'd rather forget anyway. I won't bore you with that.

The aliens I'm with now are tall creatures largely covered in fur except for the horns protruding from their heads. Of the few I've seen its safe to assume that these horns come in many different variations—one having a pair similar to a goat and another having ones reminiscent of the classic devil horns. (There are two portrait drawings beside this passage, one of a fluffy creature with goat horns and another a slick-furred creature with devil horns. They both have smiley faces.)

Whatever these aliens are, they seem very interested in what I am. Studying what I am, that is. They treat me like an animal, trying to replicate a natural environment within a small cell and giving me food and objects that I assume are for entertainment purposes. I can see them in a window at the top of the cell, watching and writing and talking amongst themselves as I go about my day. Researchers, I assume. Scientists.

I don't know what their plans are and they seem largely uninterested in hurting me or even coming close. For now, I'll just continue what I've been trying to do from the start—make them realize I'm not an animal but a fully cognizant person who would really like to go home soon.

Day 2 in alien captivity

They keep giving me these fruits that I've taken to calling oranges due to their resemblance to the fruit. It has a peel, purple and sectioned similar to a pumpkin, that's thick but easy to pierce. It comes off in the previously mentioned sections like a banana and leaves strings behind like an orange.

This is where the name comes from—the gross and annoying strings all over the flesh of the fruit. It takes half an hour to get them off due to the size of the thing, but eating it with them on isn't an option. Taste aside, they make me nauseous. Best to avoid that.

The aliens seem amused at me painstakingly removing all the strings, like they think it's a silly behavior of an animal rather than a necessary evil. I can see them writing something down and chattering between themselves every time I do it where they can see. A voice inside me wonders if they find my methods odd—the piercing and removal of the outer peel, the long process of de-stringing the flesh, then pulling apart the sections to eat them one by one. The voice wonders if they see intelligence in those actions. If using my fingers skillfully to remove the inedible materials says I'm more than just the animal they think I am.

I've learned to ignore that voice.

The flesh of the fruit is orange, ironically, but more of a burning red shade than the brighter color of its namesake. It tastes oddly like an apple, sweet and acidic, with the texture of a grape. I can't decide if I hate it. I can't decide if I should. For now, it's food and as long as they're willing to feed me like this for free, I'm happy to eat.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congratulations on 1,000 followers! Can you please do Michael Kesselring + “I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night.” can I also request that the reader is pregnant in this prompt?

Dad!Michael makes me happy <3 He's also looking so good lately...don't tell Clayton. 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You wake to kisses being pressed across your face; little pecks to your cheeks, your nose, your chin before Michael's hand grasps your chin and pulls you into a kiss. It's the sort of wake up that has you smiling even as your back hurts and your baby kicks you like she's trying to decide whether to be in the NFL or Rugby Union.

"Morning, baby," He mumbles against your lips, sugary sweet, as you blink your eyes open to take him in. He's gorgeous in the mornings; curls across his forehead, chain swinging towards you, chest bare and tattoos on display.

"Morning..." You sigh as he leans over you, waking up a little more, smile dropping as you remember that night before, how grumpy you'd been, how snappy. “I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night.”

Michael helps you to sit up, pillows being plumped behind your back to support you as you move. Your belly making everything 10 times harder as you get closer and closer to your due date.

The grin he gives you is a little goofy, forgiving and sweet as he pulls one of your ankles into his lap, long fingers massaging the swollen area without being asked, without being told.

"'s okay, baby...you're kind of carrying an entire human in you right now. I'd probably be grumpy too." If anything his forgiveness and understanding makes you feel guiltier, like you need to explain your behaviour because you were a real terror last night and Michael's been nothing but wonderful the entire pregnancy.

"I just... she was kicking real hard last night and I was tired and hungry but I can't have half the things I'm craving because it makes me sick..." Your favourite foods had become inedible, even the smell of some of them made you queasy. An unfortunate symptom of your pregnancy and Michael had promised to bring you all your favourite foods for your first meal after giving birth.

Your eyes shift away from him out of guilt, Michael's hand stills on your ankle, "Hey, look at me."

You flick your eyes back to him, rewarded with your ankle massage ongoing, pressing into the tightness there, "You don't have to explain, I get it. I mean, I don't get it because I'm not pregnant, but I understand. You feeling better this morning, mama?"

"A little...I'm just really tired." You feel like staying in bed all day, not moving, just curling under the covers for an entire day until you feel like maybe you have some energy again.

"I know, but you've got to get your body moving, baby, the doctor said you can't be lying down too much."

"I know..." You hate that he's right. You'd been told to stay active, that not moving would make birth ten times harder on your body, but it didn't make it any easier to keep active when you were so goddamn tired all the time.

"What if you came to the rink with me? To see the boys?" He's pulling out the big guns because Michael knows you love going to the rink, you love watching practices and most of all you love the team. The guys treat you so well that sometime Michael has to remind himself that you're married to him, that he doesn't need to worry.

"Yeah?" He considers it a victory the moment you start smiling at him even if you haven't agreed yet.

"Mmm, and after at least 5 of 'em will try to buy you lunch but I'll do it because I'm your husband and that's my job," You can already imagine the scramble to pay for your lunch, the rush to hold doors for you. Each of the guys has been overly considerate of you since your pregnancy was announced, attentive to the point of overbearing like having a hockey team of brothers, uncles and fathers.

"Yeah? Subway?"

"If that's what you want or Wendy's or Taco Bell or anything you want." Michael scoots up nearer to you at the head of the bed, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and brush a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

"Do you think Logan will wear those stupid sunglasses for me?"

"Do you want him too?"

"Yeah, he looks silly in them, makes me smile."

"Give me a sec..." He's already reaching for his phone, shooting off a text message to Cools to demand he wear those ridiculous shades to make you smile. The response is quick, one word, a simple yes because Logan Cooley has no issues having a bit of fun if it makes you smile.

Michael grins at you, thumb brushing against your jaw, "Yeah, he's gonna wear 'em for you...should I be concerned that you have my entire team wrapped around your pinkie?"

"No, cause I only want you." You try to lean over to kiss him but barely move before Michael's doing the leaning for you, to ease the strain on your neck and back. You kiss him brief and soft, barely moving away, just enough so both of you can talk.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, love you the most." You do love the entire team, but it's different, oh it's different. They're the mad group of gremlins who make you smile but you're not in love with them like you are Michael. You'd pick him any day of the week.

"Uh, so you love them?" There's that little jealous pout that brushes your lips, a reminder that Michael ultimately loves you so much that the idea of you loving anyone else even platonically sets his hackles rising.

"Well, they do buy me food..." You tease knowing he'll bite, he always does.

"Okay, but you love me most, right?"

"No doubt about it."

"Good, cause I love you the most too,"

"Even more than Logan and Josh?"

"Oh, fucking 100% more than those two idiots."

[sxmmerberries]

Chestnut Tiramisu - choi soobin x reader

✦ genre: fluff

✦ pairing: choi soobin as your boyfriend

✦ word count: 1,995

✦ summary: soobin tries to help you in developing a new menu for your café by trying to make the best chestnut tiramisu ever

Soobin watched from the doorway as you stared at your failed attempt at a raspberry cream croissant. You wanted something new and unique but nothing seemed to be working out.

Either the dough was too dry or the cream was too sweet and lacked the raspberry flavour.

Soobin cleared his throat and stepped further into the kitchen. You looked up at him, still holding the tray of failed pastries.

"Looks like you’re having some trouble there," He said with a sympathetic smile on his face.

You sigh and set the tray down on the counter, feeling defeated. "I just can’t seem to come up with anything good," You responded. "Nothing seems to be working out.”

Soobin nodded understandingly and stepped closer to the counter, inspecting the tray of pastries. He picked up one of the croissants and took a bite, his face lighting up as he chewed.

"These are actually really good," He murmured, wiping a few crumbs off his lips. "I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

"The croissant is not flaky enough and the cream barely tastes like raspberries,” You sighed, looking at the mess you had made while trying out the recipe.

“I guess,” Soobin set the half-eaten croissant back onto the tray, nodding in agreement.

"But don’t be too hard on yourself. Experimenting is all about trying new things, even if they don’t always work out,” He smiled as he affectionately patted your back.

“I need to put out a limited edition menu for the one-year anniversary of the cafe by this week," You said, frustration clear in your voice, the lack of sleep getting to you. “I have been in here since five in the morning and so far, I have nothing. I need something special and unique.”

Soobin's hand feels warm and comforting on your back. You let out a sigh and set aside the piping bag you had been holding before turning to hug him.

“You’re stressing yourself out too much,” He said, caressing your hair as you clung to him. “Why don’t we take a break and brainstorm some ideas?”

He pauses for a moment, as he thought, “What about chestnut tiramisu? That’s pretty popular nowadays and I bet it would taste great.”

“You mean the one you saw on that show?" You pulled away from the hug as you considered the idea. You never made a chestnut tiramisu before but the pictures you saw online were pretty good.

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Soobin said, his excitement growing. "It was on that show I was watching. It looked so good.”

"How about I make it," He suggested enthusiastically. "And, you can try it and then think about it?”

You looked at Soobin, skepticism clear in your expression. As much as his enthusiasm was endearing, his dishes often came out inedible. You remembered Yeonjun's complaints about the "salt" soup Soobin had made once and winced.

“Soobin, are you sure that you can make it?" You nervously chuckled, hoping that he'd just drop the idea.

Soobin seemed oblivious to your skepticism and grinned widely. "Don't worry, I got this," He said, confidently. "I've been watching cooking shows for a while now and I pick up on things quickly. I'm sure I can handle a tiramisu.”

You couldn't help but feel a little doubtful. You knew that watching cooking shows and actually being able to cook were two different things. However, Soobin's enthusiasm was adorable and you didn't want to hurt his feelings by expressing your lack of trust in his cooking skills.

"Alright," You said, trying to sound more positive than you felt. "If you're sure you can do it, then go for it. Let's hope it turns out better than the salt soup.”

Soobin ignored your comment and his eyes shone even brighter. "I won't let you down," He promised. "I'll make the best chestnut tiramisu you've ever tasted.”

You watched in disbelief as Soobin practically ran towards the door, excitement written all over his face.

"I'll be back soon," He called out, grabbing his jacket as he opened the door. "I'm going to get the ingredients for the best chestnut tiramisu you'll ever taste.”

You secretly hoped that some of the ingredients would be out of stock, but your hopes were crushed when Soobin returned from the store with all the necessary items in his hands.

"I got everything," He announced, puffing out his chest proudly.

"Oh...yay?" You said, trying not to give away your lack of enthusiasm. You couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as you watched Soobin unload the grocery bags onto the counter.

"You don't sound so excited," Soobin chuckled, giving you a playful nudge as he set down the bags. "It's going to be amazing, trust me.”

"Sure, I trust you," You said, trying to sound more optimistic than you felt. "I just don't want food poisoning.”

"Hey, I'm not that bad," Soobin protested, low-key feeling offended. "I've improved a lot since the salt soup incident, you know.”

You couldn't help but side-eye Soobin as he began the process of making the chestnut cream. He boiled the chestnuts in milk, all the while humming to himself contentedly.

"This is already looking good," He said, turning to you with a grin. "See, I told you I've gotten better.”

It was looking promising so far as you two waited for the chestnuts to become soft, but after a while, it seemed like it had no intentions of softening. Soobin grew frustrated and began poking at the chestnuts with a spoon, but they remained stubbornly firm.

"What is taking so long?" He muttered, eyeing the pot with annoyance.

"Maybe they need a little more time," You suggested, trying to be optimistic. Soobin grunted in response and turned up the heat on the stove.

"I don't know what's taking so long," He said with frustration. "I've been boiling these chestnuts for hours now."

He reached out to poke at the chestnuts again, but they were still as hard as ever.

“F*ck it,” You heard him say as he took the pot off of the stove, glaring at the still-hard chestnuts.

Your eyes widened in shock and horror as you watched Soobin's impatience get the best of him. He poured the semi-hard chestnut and milk into the blender, completely disregarding the fact that they were not even close to being soft.

"Soobin, wait-" you tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Soobin pressed the "blending" button and the blender turned on, blending the chestnuts and milk into a grainy mixture. You watched as the once promising blend of creamy chestnut and milk turned into a chunky mess in the blender.

"It looks like vomit," You accidentally blurted out, trying to hold back a grimace. The chunky mess in the blender looked anything but appetizing.

Soobin's face fell as he took in the unappetizing sight. "Yeah, I guess it does look a little..." He trailed off, unable to find a kind word to say about his failed blender experiment.

"Maybe, it will taste better once we put it all together," Soobin said, trying to salvage the situation. He gave you a hopeful look, but you couldn't find it in yourself to believe him.

“Yeah…I guess?"

After a few minutes, he had formed what he hoped would resemble a filling for the tiramisu.

"There we go," He said, satisfied. "Now, I just need to let it cool down in the fridge. He placed the lumpy mixture into the fridge, hoping that the cooling process would work some kind of miracle.

Spoiler alert: It didn't fix anything

You side-eyed him as you two cleaned the kitchen while waiting for the mixture to cool down and somewhat look presentable. He took the mixture out and looked at it with disappointment. The mixture was still runny and lumpy but now it was cold.

Soobin grabbed a glass from the cabinet and began assembling the tiramisu. He placed a layer of biscuit at the bottom of the glass, before dunking it in coffee.

Then he carefully spooned the lumpy mixture on top of the biscuit layer, trying his best to make it look presentable.

He was too focused on the task at hand to notice the skeptical look you were giving the glass. Finally, he finished assembling the layers and stepped back, admiring his work.

Soobin handed you a spoon, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, excited for you to take the first bite of his masterpiece.

You stared at the spoon in your hand, then at Soobin, and finally, at the tiramisu he had presented proudly. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Soobin, who was still beaming with pride at his creation.

"Are you sure this is edible?" You asked, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh absolutely," Soobin replied, his voice full of confidence. "I'm pretty sure I got this right. I just need you to taste it and confirm it for me.”

You eyed the lumpy, unappetizing tiramisu with hesitation, but Soobin's hopeful gaze made it hard to say no. You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the worst.

With a final nod from Soobin, you plunged your spoon into it and scooped out a small portion. You lifted the spoon to your mouth, forcing yourself to look like you weren't dying.

The moment the lumpy consistency of the tiramisu hit your taste buds, you struggled to keep a straight face. The lumpy chestnut cream was grainy and chalky, and the biscuit layers were too soggy.

“So, what do you think about it, chef?" He asked jokingly, clearly excited to know your opinion on his tiramisu.

You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself to lie. "It...it's good," You lied, forcing a smile on your face while cursing at him internally.

Soobin's face lit up at your words, clearly believing you. "See, I told you it was good," He said, swelling with pride. "I knew I could make the best tiramisu.” You forced a smile and nodded, not wanting to hurt Soobin's feelings.

You watched with horror as Soobin took a huge spoonful of the lumpy, unedible tiramisu, excited to try his masterpiece. As soon as the spoon entered Soobin's mouth, his face contorted into a grimace.

He struggled to swallow the spoonful, his eyes darting from the tiramisu to you and then back to the tiramisu. It was clear that he was forcing himself to eat it, just to save face in front of you.

Soobin finally managed to swallow the spoonful, his expression still one of grimace. He forced a small smile and nodded, trying to hide the disappointment he was feeling.

"It's...yeah....it's pretty good," He said, his voice betraying his true feelings.

You gave your boyfriend a blank look, silently daring him to take another spoonful.

Soobin seemed to realize that you were onto him, but he didn't want to back down. So, he mustered up all his courage and took another spoonful, only to spit it out.

Soobin looked at the mess of a tiramisu, his earlier excitement now replaced with a sense of defeat. He then turned to you with a sheepish smile and said, "How about we work on that raspberry croissant instead?”

“Yeah…”

©sxmmerberries

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