#Is onion soup good for your stomach?

[khulkarjiyo]

Onion soup benefits (All what you need to know)

There aren’t many foods in the world of food that can compare to the love and satisfaction provided by a steaming bowl of onion soup. More than just a meal, onion soup is a soothing embrace for the soul, a reminder of the warmth of home-cooked food, and an example of the magic that can be created from a simple vegetable. How do I make classic onion soup? Onion soup benefits To make classic…

[mikedfaist]

hiii lov, can u do mike w a pregnant reader please?🥹

i don't know how this happened but jesus took the wheel on this one. you can probably find the exact point where i had to tell myself to stop and just get to the fucking point of this ask

It was his mom that first had suspicion, having watched you nearly purge your lunch from simply the smell of French onion soup, though she remained reticent of her reservation. So, it became of no surprise to her when she calls her son one afternoon, only to find he’s meandering up and down the aisles of a CVS, in search of some Dramamine to help combat your nausea.

“I think it’s some stomach bug… All she does is sleep and throw up.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. A couple days? It’s worse when she first wakes up but it’s kind of up and down throughout the day.”

“You must have a good immune system if you haven’t caught this bug.” He doesn’t coherently reply, but she can hear him hum in response. “Well, let me know if she needs anything. See if she will try some peppermint tea to help with the nausea.”

She isn’t one to meddle; she’ll let her son figure this one out on his own.

It was on that third morning, for the third time, you found yourself sprawled on the bathroom floor, seeking the frigid linoleum with welcoming arms. You focus your thoughts on the sound of the ceiling fan in your bedroom whirring above, and the light snores coming from your partner, who is lucky not to have had his sleep rudely disrupted.

You think the worst has passed you, but any sudden movements could send you right back into a spiral. You close your eyes and pace your breathing, concentrating on the whirring, when you feel a shift and the bathroom door lightly knocks against your feet.

“Babe?” His voice is deep with sleep, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him peek from the sliver of space in the doorway. “Happening again?”

You murmur an acknowledgement, bringing your knees up to your chest to allow him full entry. He doesn’t say anything this time, not when the days before he’s met with a sharp remark, teeth clenching around unwavering nausea on the brink of collapse.

He shuffles in behind you, knees cracking as he bends down to join you on the floor.

“I need you to do me a favor,” you begin, “and I don’t want to talk about it… Just need you to do it without questions.” He’s staring at you, brows furrowing. “I need you to get me a pregnancy test.”

“You don’t really think—”

“What did I just say?” You bit back, and he instantly retreated. You felt him shift behind you, leaning forward to find your hand and give you a supportive squeeze.

“I’ll be back.”

When he returns, you have finally managed to return to the confines of your bed. He held the plastic bag in his hand, unsure where to put it; passing a glance to you as he met you on your side.

“Do you want to now, or…?”

The anxiety would eat you alive if you chose to wait another second without answers. You sat up, took the bag from his hand, and sauntered back into the bathroom. Mike sat on the edge of the bed, toying with the frayed ends of your blanket. He hasn’t really had time to process what could possibly be this life-altering news. You two had thought children were still a couple years out, though the idea thrilled him to a degree. He could always slow down his career if it meant he’d become a father in some 8 months.

He always imagined the spare bedroom as a nursery. He thought about what color they’d paint it, and if he’d take the risk and build a crib by hand. Who would the baby most resemble? What color hair and eyes? Would it have heterochromia like he did? Probably not.

He’s forced out of his thoughts when the bathroom door opens, and you return to him with the test in your hand.

“It says wait 90 seconds, but I haven’t been counting.” You look down at the test and tap it against your palm. “False positives and negatives can happen, so there’s another test in the box to take later to be sure.”

“What do you want?”

“What do you want?”

“I want whatever you want.”

“Mike, I don’t…fuck, I don’t do well under pressure.” You tighten your grip around the test to withhold the urge to hurl it across the room.

“Give it to me.” He reaches his hand out, but you hesitate. “It has to of been 90 seconds by now.”

“If I look then it’s real.”

“Babe, it’s real whether we look or not…and maybe you’re not. But if you are, I am here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

And that was the beginning. After a positive test that left you in a mess on the bedroom floor, and a second one later that evening – and ultimately a third one from a doctor – you two were moving onto this new chapter in your lives together, whether you were ready or not. It took a couple days to let that shock wear off, but once it did, you found yourself ordering pregnancy books online, and scrolling forums, and even looking at maternity clothes that you weren’t even ready for yet.

As for Mike, he was quick to understand pregnancy was not going to be an easy feat for you. The morning sickness persisted, and it led him to research online for some medicines that might ease that burden on you. Peppermint tea just wasn’t cutting it. He would also read the pregnancy books you got, because he couldn’t quite grasp the idea that your organs will just casually move out of the way as the baby grows.

“I don’t get it—where are they moving to? How is there room?”

“There just is…I don’t know.”

The cravings are what took him by storm. You’d wake up in the middle of the night to make pancakes, or a quesadilla, or brownies solely for the batter. If you didn’t have what you were desiring the most, you best believe you’re waking him up, ridden with guilt, because you can’t sleep because all you can think about is a Red Baron pizza.

You have an app on your phone that tracks the size of the baby, and compares it to fruit, so every month, the two of you go to the store to get the fruit that is subsequently your baby.

“Is it weird we’re going to eat it?”

“Just don’t think about it…”

He’ll hold the fruit in his hand and be completely mesmerized. His child is actually the size of a mango?

And you best believe he cried hearing the heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time, and don’t get me started on when he got to see his little bean for the first time, who was merely just a grey blob on the screen.

He’s obsessed with your growing bump. Always wanting to touch it, lay next to it, feel the little kicks from the inside. Countless nights he has fallen asleep beside it. He keeps all the sonogram photos in his wallet, and some on his bedside table. He’ll show them to anyone who dares to ask.

“The size of a mango. Can you believe that?”

You’ll model for him your new maternity dresses that have been in your shopping cart for months. (He loves it all). He’s there for the foot massages when your feet begin to swell. The back rubs when your bump has grown large enough to cause discomfort. The minute panic attacks when your Braxton Hicks contractions hit in the middle of the night. (He was prepared for this one though, thanks to your pregnancy books).

There are hundreds of photos of you on his camera of your growing bump. He alone could fill a scrapbook to completion. Ones of you at farmers market stalls, or walking around the neighborhood, sorting through all of the baby clothes you bought, deeply contemplating the nursery color in the paint section.

He remembers how scared you were in the beginning, but the two of you have really become a proper family.

[ohmygraves]

what the 141 guys would eat in an all you can eat buffet

price

price is the one grilling the meat most of the time if they're in like a kbbq where you cook the meat yourself

he tells the boys to grab whatever they want cuz it should be fun rather than trying to get their money's worth

still though he will make sure that everyone finishes their plate bcz no wasting food here people it's an extra 10 pounds for like 100g of food you wasted get your head in the game-

honestly probably wouldn't be that hard, his boys eats a lot in general

keeping it simple with series of meats and booze, though might indulge in some pastries if something catches his fancy

tends to pick something he's familiar with and one that looks good, will be disappointed if the one he picked doesn't taste as good as it looks :(

oh also will definitely go ham at the crabs, kinda shows off how to crack it open and get the most meat from it hehe

i feel like the buffet he feels more comfortable with are the ones that offer him familiar sights and lots of meat. and maybe some veggies too to cut the cholesterol out of his body a little

he might enjoyed k-bbq, cuz they eat lots of veggies while going hard on the meat too

"see you just do this and this and..." *a log of crab leg meat pops out of its shell* "now it's all out"

gaz

oh he gets distracted by the fancy stuff

his plates has a few oysters and somehow lobster tails?? is that a caviar??

his palaté is more adventurous, i think he'd be willing to try out things that he hadn't seen or tried before

still he wants to maximize his stomach space to try out everything that the place has to offer

looks around the selection a few times before grabbing a plate and picking the things he wants (apparently this is the way to go?)

i feel like kyle would be into buffets that offers interesting dishes and unlike the ones that are in common buffets with their ham and mass produced scrambled eggs or something

he has standards

he's a fancy boy, he wants some good drinks while he eats through the entire place

indulges in desserts, but only at the end where he knows that he's had enough of the main dishes (the dessert ruins his appetite so he keeps it towards the end)

soap

picky boy #1 in the squad

cannot handle a single lick of spicy and heat so his options are limited if he goes somewhere "interesting" or wherever kyle takes him

that being said he likes carbs

lots of them

grabs bread and toast and the meats from the meat section and just makes himself some sandwiches

doesn't really take the salads bcz he doesn't like the veggies in it, will end up picking most of the stuff out (he doesn't like raw onions and raw carrots :c)

loves the sweets though

will accidentally eat too much sweets that he couldn't eat anything else because his appetite gets ruined

still though if he goes to a buffet he's gonna make sure he stays until the end, kept going either way until the last seconds.

might end up very sick and in a food comma, someone has to roll him out of the place later

his favorite buffets are those cheap ones where the dishes are something he knows and he just cycles through like five dishes through his one hour time limit

he gets made fun of by ghost because his plate is always full of beige

ghost

i still stand by ghost being a big boy that likes eating

so he lives for these buffets

he doesn't really like the ones where you cook yourself, he feels like its a lot of waiting for the cooking and not enough time eating

also doesn't really go for the soups, cuz he soups take a lot of space in your stomach. will probably indulge in a small bowl or two though just to try.

he likes a lot of things and doesn't really have anything he hates or turn away, keeps going somewhere where he knows where he could eat his fill in the cheap

he might put the place in the red though, he can certainly eat a lot

meat? sure. salad? put it on the plate. toast and eggs? why not. seafood? no need to ask.

his side of the table is always full of dishes and cluttered. you won't even be able to see the table underneath.

also the vacuum cleaner and the savior for price's wallet from paying the fee for leaving uneaten food

kyle always gets him to try interesting food, and ghost just doesn't really comment on it and puts it in his mouth

he likes anywhere where he could eat for the cheap, isn't very picky on the cuisine. as long as he's not the one cooking the food himself he's fine with it lol

[xoxoluka]

You comfortable with writing about reader having a semi mild belly kink towards schlatt? I just wanna feed him and take care of my tsundere teddy bear between my girlbossing times 🥰🥰💕

Only if you’re comfy ofc! ^^

yes of course! i’ve got a perfect idea for this!

"ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴇʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ"

jschlatt x fem!reader

summary: just cooking for him, like all the time. but he absolutely loves it.

warnings: fluff, reader is possibly an influencer or streamer or something

a/n: im cooking the best i can chat its past midnight (ps i don't mind the time that you send these! i'll still see them <3)

good god, it's freezing outside. you think to yourself as you reenter your shared apartment. the warmth you're met with inside allows you to shrug off your wet, rained-on jacket and hang it up on the hook, then slip off your shoes after. two sets of paws patter towards you, jambo and [REDACTED] greeting you happily at the door by rubbing up against your legs.

"hi, my babies," you coo to them, but your thoughts are interrupted by a string of profanities ringing through the walls. Jay must be streaming tonight. might as well make something warm for dinner.

you nod and travel to the kitchen, clearing a bit of counter space and pulling out the cutting board. jambo and [REDACTED] follow close behind, and sit next to the kitchen radiator as they watch you get ready to cook.

you figure you have at least two hours, if not more, until Jay is done streaming, so that should be enough to cook a warm dinner. you first pull out chicken, and put it in a pan for the oven. as the oven preheats, you get out your pot and get chicken broth out of the cabinet to bring it to a boil.

you cut up vegetables, including carrots and celery, as well as some chopped parsley. you put it all into the pot of broth, and when the chicken is done, you cut it up into cubes and toss it in as well. it smells amazing, and you add a tiny bit of onion and minced garlic into the mixture.

overall, it took about an hour and a half to cook up, which was enough time for your boyfriend to stalk his way out of his office to greet you in the kitchen.

"what'cha cookin', toots?" he asks, startling you as he wraps his arms around your midsection and rests his head on your shoulder.

"chicken soup, my mom's recipe," you giggle and rest your head on top of his as you stir the soup.

"smells fuckin' delicious," he says, standing up straight and giving you a kiss on the cheek before walking over to grab a water bottle out of the fridge. "i've got about an hour of stream left, that good for you?"

"yep, take your time baby, i'll be here." you turn to smile at him.

later, he meets you for dinner at the kitchen island. you plated the soup nicely, the fancy soup spoon and all.

he sits at the barstool next to you, where you waited for him.

"you didn't have to wait for me," he tells you, a tiny bit of confusion in his voice.

"i wanted to," you reply, a smile on your face. "you know i love eating dinner with you."

you ate mostly in silence for the rest of the time you sat, it was comfortable and warm, just like it always was with the two of you. as much as it didn't look like it on streams, or on the podcast, or to anyone you knew, it was always like this. the apartment was never rowdy or upbeat, the two of you and your cats lived comfortably and quietly with one another.

just like now, after dinner and the dishes that Jay so kindly helped you with, where you both laid in bed with the cats curled up between your legs. you laid on top of Schlatt, your head on his stomach and your arms around his torso, with jambo and [REDACTED] both curled up with each other between your intertwined legs.

it was like a quiet, quaint, happy little family. you wouldn't trade this for the world.

"i love you," you mumble, "..so much." you nuzzle into him further, wrapping your arms around him tighter, drifting off as you listen to his breathing.

"love you too, toots." he says, one of his hands coming down to caress the back of your head.

this was absolutely everything and anything you could ever want.

pls is this bad or what

© property of xoxoluka. do not repost.

[pokado8]

Mello x female reader please

Paradise

mello x gn!reader

Things that make Mello fall for you even more

a/n: I didn’t know if you wanted headcanons or a oneshot so I just did a bit of both 😭

𑇍 mello loves it when you cook for him

𑇍 he likes coming home to you cooking dinner after not seeing each other for a while

𑇍 it makes him all soft because it lets him know that you were thinking about him and he just loves the domestic aspect to it

𑇍 whenever you cook for him just expect him to be a little more touchy than normal

Because of Mello’s occupation, there were times when he couldn’t be around to spend time with you as much as you both wished. You understand that he’s a busy person so you try to cope with not always having your beloved around. He comes home late a lot and he gets up early too so you rarely cross paths with each other but something that mello always notes is the plastic-wrapped plate of food that you cooked from the night before in the fridge. He always wondered why you went so far as to do something like this for him but he won’t deny how much he appreciates it. The time was 10:35 pm when mello came home and you were in the midst of cooking dinner for the both of you. “ I’m home,” mello yelled to you while taking his shoes off. He walked to the kitchen and saw you standing in front of the stove while stirring a pot of soup. “Welcome home, Mihael” you said as you turned around to face him. “How was your day?” Mello sat down on the chair and let out an exhausted sigh before saying that it was fine. Mello’s eyes glanced over to you and watched your movements closely as you cut up carrots, onions, and potatoes to add to the soup. “Did you eat today?” He asked. “Yes, I have” “So why are you cooking?” “Because you have to eat” mello stayed quiet at your response. To know that you cared for him that much made him feel good because he never really got the attention and love that he yearned for so long when he was younger. “Thanks” He got up and walked over to you and intertwined his fingers with yours then gave you a quick kiss on your forehead.

𑇍 mello loves it when you tend to his wounds

𑇍 the way you handle him with such care and preciseness makes him smile a little

𑇍 he pretends to be annoyed and angry when you nag at him for coming home bruised and hurt so much but he actually likes it a lot and doesn’t want you to stop

𑇍 The reason why he likes it so much is because it gives him more time to spend with you. Since mello is a busy man he’s always somewhere away from you unfortunately so when he gets to spend time with you like this it’s even more special

The sound of flickering lights, shuffling of shoes, and rugged breathing echoed throughout the hallway of your apartment. Mello’s vision was hazy from the fight he participated in while doing some business for work, everything hurt like hell and he was trying his hardest to get to you before he passed out. His nerves created niggling aches and pains throughout his body. It felt like an hour had already went by before mello had gotten to your door. He raised his hand with the little strength he had and shakily knocked on your door before dropping his hand back down to his side and leaning his head against the door as pondered if this was even a good idea. Just as he was about to shift his legs to turn and leave, you swiftly opened the door with wide eyes once you saw mello. His nose was bleeding and a little blood had smeared on his cheek from wiping it away, his hands had cuts and lesions on them, his knuckles were extremely swollen and were bleeding too, and he many gashes on his arms. “Mihael….” You trailed off as you held his face and caressed his cheek. He knew you never liked seeing him hurt and the worry that painted your face made his stomach churn with guilt. “Sorry” he whispered softly. Ignoring his apology you shuffled him into your apartment. You helped him settle into the chair in your kitchen before leaving to go get your first aid kit. Mello sat back in your chair while taking deep shaky breaths. It was quiet except for the clacking sound of hands occasionally bumping into other products in your bathroom. You came back out and started wrapping the bandages around his hands and knuckles. You twirled the bandage around his fingers and wrapped it around his knuckles before grabbing the end and beginning of the bandage and tying it. Your feather light touches assuaged mello. He had never been touched so gently before, he was so used to the rough treatment of the people he fought and had encountered. This feeling was different though. It was comforting. Mello lidded eyes shifted to a close as he relaxed more and more into your touch with a content smile on his face. He wears he’s never loved someone as much as he loves you.

𑇍 mello loves it when you both do your nightly routine together

𑇍 at first mello didn’t have one but that changed when he started dating you

𑇍 he might act like he doesn’t like it because of all the complaints he makes but he actually likes it

𑇍 it makes him feel really relaxed and cleansed especially after a long day

“Why are we doing this [name]?” Mello questioned after letting out an exasperated sigh. “Because it’s good for your skin and it’s fun” you replied. ‘Yeah right’ Mello thought. His slender fingers picked up one of your products and examined it. ‘Tea Tree Facial Cleanser. Sounds like some expensive nonsense you’d buy’ mello tell himself. You turned around to mello after sifting through products. “Okay let’s start with the cleanser” you take the small cleansing bottle from him and pour a little on your hand then sit it down on the counter beside the other products. You start smoothing out the product onto mello’s face, not missing the way his brows relaxed. “Feeling relaxed?” You teased. “Hm, a little I guess” he grumbled while looking away. Letting out a breathy laugh, you gave him a peck on his lips then went back to work. Mello feels so tranquil while feeling the sensations of you smoothing and rubbing in the cleanser on his face. You were so gentle with him and that was something Mello liked a lot. ”Don’t fall asleep Mihael we have one more to go” “I won’t and I’m not falling asleep” Mello mumbled. “Mhm okay“ you said with a smirk. Mello came closer to the sink after you motioned him to and rinsed the cleanser off of his face. “Next is the moisturizer” you say while popping the top off and gently squeezing the bottle. “This one smells like mint, it reminds me of toothpaste” he adds. You snicker before asking him if he was ready to smell like toothpaste to which he groaned and told you to shut up. “Let’s just get this over with” he said while sitting down. You went over to him and did the same thing, smoothing and rubbing the product into his face gently. Once again mello relaxes into your warm hands. It’s like he’s on cloud nine being pampered and caressed by an angel. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you mihael? You make it seem like you don’t like it but you actually do! How cute” you say while laughing in between sentences. “No I don’t! This is such a burden and it’s boring, why would I like this” mello turned his head away from you defiantly which made you laugh even harder. If you knew that he actually did like these nightly routines you’d tease the hell out of him, and he couldn’t have that now could he?

reblogs are appreciated!

[chaosheadspace]

A little birthday gift for @seiya-starsniper. May your new year of life be full of happiness and joy! Also tagging @ginoeh, because the start of this is technically me misinterpreting one of her prompts, lol.

Without further ado, have some Dream raiding Hob's dreams post-fishbowl.

Stars twinkle through the window as Hob stands in his kitchen and cooks. It is late, but he is hungry, having forgotten the time grading. He’s got a day off tomorrow though, and so he is making himself a rather elaborate feast, because he feels like it. Because he can.

The light summer breeze coming through the window stirs the various smells about, sauteed onion and tomatoes and beef, spices and fat and broth, warm milk for hot chocolate and the dense, syrupy sweetness of baking apples. He’s never been good at moderation, least of all with food. Sue him. There’s a few candles burning on his kitchen table, decked out with earthenware, and through the speakers of his radio is playing a song he’s quite convinced he’s heard some time in the seventeenth century. It’s really crazy what musicians nowadays dig back up and incorporate into their music.

Just as he stirs the pumpkin soup bubbling on the back burner, there’s a low sound behind him. Hob turns, the dripping spoon still in his hand. “Oh,” he blurts out, “I am dreaming.”

Because there, in front of him, stands his stranger, who snubbed him at their last appointment, who he hasn’t seen in much longer than a hundred years. Who definitely, positively, has deep, black pits for eyes, who looks even more gaunt than usual, malnourished, even, and who is absolutely bang naked. He has to be dreaming. The music suddenly makes a lot more sense. The dishware, too, really.

“You are,” his stranger says, and even his voice is different, cavernous, deep and soft like his eyes.

“You’re welcome here, regardless,” Hob tells him. “You can have a shirt and sweats from me, if you want. Soup will be ready in just a tick.” He can see him swallow, hard, the movement of his Adam's apple on his slim neck stark.

“Very well,” he says, turning away. “See that it is.”

When he comes back, he’s wearing one of Hob’s old band shirts that’s somehow black now, and a pair of pajama pants with little yellow stars on them. Hob smiles, motions for him to sit down, and puts a bowl of the promised soup in front of him, steaming and fragrant, spiced with curry and nutmeg and roasted sesame seeds.

His friend wastes no time, forgoes the spoon entirely and lifts the bowl to his face to drink, his bony fingers clutching the glazed dish tight, uncaring about its heat. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t breathe until the heavy bowl is empty. Then he holds it out to Hob, the rim clutched between three fingers as if it weighs nothing. “More,” he demands, and Hob obliges.

This goes on four more times, and then the pot is empty. Next Hob serves up venison pasties, and he’s more than a little smug as his stranger devours the first one in just three bites, but Hob figures he’s allowed. “They’re good, right?” he says. His friend just glowers at him and reaches for the next one. When the pasties are gone, there’s dumplings and omelette and the apple pie.

It all vanishes, piece by piece, bit by bit, bite for bite, into his stranger. Afterwards, they look at each other in silence, Hob stunned at the speed it all vanished, his stranger apologetic for some reason. Then the silence is cut by the rather loudly growling stomach of his friend.

“I. uhm. I could make you some pasta?” Hob offers. “Maybe some pudding, too, let’s see…”

“No,” he’s interrupted just as he gets up. “I am afraid I have to hurry. There are things I have to tend to rather urgently. I thank you for being so hospitable.”

Suddenly they are standing in the doorway again, from one second to the next, Hob blinking up confusedly intovast, starlit eyes. They’re close, closer than they’ve ever been. There is no warmth emanating from his stranger, just a heavy, almost humming sense of presence that draws Hob in.

“Do you have to go?” He pleads. “Maybe I could—”

“I am afraid I cannot delay my task any further, Hob.” His stranger shakes his head. “I thank you for this.”

“Wait,” Hob says, desperately. “This is a dream, right?”

His stranger turns back around, the look on his face incredulous. “Yes,” he confirms for the second time, “it is.”

“So there’s no harm in doing this then,” Hob murmurs, stepping closer, gently placing one hand upon a lily-white neck. His friend shivers. Hob gets up on his toes and slowly, gently kisses his brow. “I hope you fare well,” he whispers, “and I will not give up hope to see you again when I am awake.”

From one moment to the next, Hob is alone. There is a relieving sense of loss in him, like a splinter being drawn from a wound.

Hob wakes.

[tarjapearce]

Could you do a Miguel story where he proposes to Y/n(female reader)and she doesn’t even realize it because she was daydreaming about food?Its fluff.

Yeah, me and this reader have a lot in common with food ❤️.

-----------

Fluff under the cut ~

Your senses tingled with the so many aromas that filled the room. Fresh bread, stews, sweet baked fresh goods, your mouth almost salivated. Damned be Pavlov, cause every time you heard a ding, your head turned to the dispatching window to see if it was your order. And there it was Miguel.

"I don't know how... this turned into what my current feelings are-"

Another ding, your eyes casted to the dispatching window. To say you were hungry was an understatement, you went to a mission with Miguel, almost get killed, but walked it off, thanks to Miguel.

You went straight for the cafeteria to try the new spicy chicken empanadas. To your surprise they had ran out quite quickly. And then Miguel had asked you to follow him, that there was something he needed to discuss with you.

"And I think it's time for me to come clean and say that... you're quite reliable and always give your best-"

A new aroma was added to the list. Chocolate. Freshly baked chocolate croissants and other choux pastries that steamed up away in the cooling racks. You licked your lips, your eyes settled in Miguel once more

"You're one of the oldest members in the Spider Society, and it's always..." he cleared up his throat as he put both his hands on the table, he wasn't one for stutter, much less to be nervous, but considering that he was about to choose a new partner for life, he had all the right to do so.

Why your food was taking so long, was a mystery. But damn, that french onion soup from the other table looked fantastic. You had wanted to surprise Miguel with some of his favorite food, and were kinda been bugging LYLA about it. Even asking her for the recipes to try at home.

He was always saving your ass when things were too overwhelming in the battlefield. He was reliable. Or so he had been saying. One thing you found cute is that sometimes he spoke too much about himself, as giving and living the example. But you knew better. With a lot of patience on both ends, he had let you in, get closer and of course, things just kept growing from there.

"So I would like to know... if you'd like to marry me?"

Another ding and your eyes shined with joy upon watching the food coming your way from the dispatching window.

"Oh my god, yes!"

Miguel blinked for a moment and sighed, releasing the breath he didn't know he had trapped in for so long.

"That's... Good to hear." He took your hand and placed the ring quite fast and he cleared up his throat. You looked up at him, and then at his hand holding yours, with a ring on your finger.

Your stomach growled and now it was your time to blink.

"W-What's that?"

The food was placed on your table, as your order of spaghetti with meatballs was brought.

"You just... agreed to marry me, (Name)" His brows furrowed in confusion and mild annoyance.

"Oh..."

"But I guess-"

"No" You withdrew your hand to hide it. and smiled.

"For you to give it someone else? Nope. You're mine. You kidding me?" You pouted before giving a bite to the meatball.

Miguel just stared at you with confused, yet loving eyes.

[veinsfullofstars]

for your childhood friends au, do the kids have any favorite foods?

Ooooh, okay okay, so this is something I’ve actually given a fair bit of thought to (maybe too much thought given how long this thing got, haha). I love little details like this in character writing - it makes them feel so much more alive and well-rounded, y'know? The kiddos have preferences as varied as their personalities, and I’m just itching to get into it, so… let’s get into it! (Also, just to be clear, I did pull some of my food headcanons for MK and DDD specifically from source material and the wiki, but most of this kinda just comes right off the dome.)

When it comes to food, Para Dee is probably the most milquetoast of the bunch (though that’s hardly a bad thing). Neither a voracious eater like Dedede nor an avoidant one like Meta, he enjoys food about as much as the average Waddle Dee, more than fine with his three square meals a day (maybe a snack if he’s good). His tastes primarily lean towards savory or bitter flavors, anything from a warm bowl of stew to a nice crisp salad depending on his mood (meaning that, of the four of them, he’s the most likely to eat his veggies... and enjoy them). He’s not the biggest fan of sweets (probably due to that fact that his father is a baker and routinely saturates their home with the heavy scents of vanilla and mixed fruit), but he does have a soft spot floral teas and hot chocolate, especially during the colder seasons. He doesn’t mind sour flavors in small amounts (meaning if someone gets pickles with their meal, you know they’re going onto Para’s plate), but spicy foods? Forget about it. His poor little stomach has no tolerance for spice, to the point where even a little too much pepper has him breaking out in a sweat (something Bow teases him about mercilessly).

If you asked him what his absolute favorite food is, he’d have a hard time choosing... but he'd probably say his father’s caramelized onion soup, a much-beloved dish at their dinner table and a favorite at every community potluck. It’s never quite the same when Para makes it (many years into the future with a family of his own), but it still sparks warm memories of holidays and togetherness with each cheese-laden spoonful.

Then, on the opposite side of the spectrum, we have Bow Dee, our tiny terror with a metabolism and appetite to rival those of her bigger buddies. If left alone and unoccupied for too long, she’s been known to sneak into locked pantries or climb high, off-limits shelves looking for any snacks she can get her grubby little mitts on (a habit she probably learned from watching Dedede). That said, she can be rather picky about which foods she’ll scarf down, especially in her youth when she would literally pick through her meals for the bits she liked and ignore the rest (much to her mothers’ chagrin).

If asked about her favorites, she’d say she likes protein-packed foods the most (omelets, jerky, trail mix, whatever will fuel those boundless energy reserves of hers in the saltiest, most flavorful manner possible) but refuses to touch veggies, pickles, and bitter flavors in general (at least in her childhood, growing a little more adventurous about food during their time overstars). She likes sweets as much as the average high-energy kid, partial to citrus fruits and sour candies especially (she likes how it stings a bit when you eat it, almost like it's fighting back). And, beyond all that, Bow loves spicy foods. Full stop. If it ain’t spicy - or spicy enough - she’ll find a way to make it so. Chili flakes, hot sauce, whole peppers, whatever she has on hand - it’s going in there, and Nova help anyone who tries to stop her. A bit ironic given her natural affinity for Water, though maybe that’s what gives her such a high tolerance for capsaicin. Or maybe she’s just that badass (as she likes to brag to her buddies, watching them steam out the ears from a single jalapeño while she’s already chomped down seven). And before you ask, yes, this has landed her in village clinic on more than one occasion. High tolerance or no, she definitely does not have Dedede’s cast-iron stomach… or Meta’s self-restraint. (We don’t talk about the Ghost Pepper Fiasco.)

Speaking of picky eaters, Meta has a… complicated relationship with food. He’s never had much of an appetite, often going (unsettlingly long) stretches of time without feeling the need to eat, only doing so if someone reminds him to (or if he gets too woozy, whichever comes first). He does need to eat, of course… just not nearly as often as everyone else does, it would seem (a byproduct of his peculiar biology, perhaps?). It’s an excuse he’s used often to get away with skipping meals, sometimes substituting in lighter foods like breakfast bars or Energy Drinks to keep his strength up (though this is hardly a long-term solution). He also finds certain textures and tastes difficult to deal with, even turning down entire meals if just one bite feels off. It makes eating with company - already an awkward experience thanks to his introversion - that much more uncomfortable, sitting there with a full plate while everyone else chews and chatters around him, wishing he could disappear as swiftly as his hunger (a habit that still crops up even in adulthood, though he has learned to push through it for the sake of politeness). Honestly, he could write a whole dissertation on how the act of consumption is a burden upon the living and no one should be subjected to it… and then he remembers chocolate exists and takes it all back for a while.

That’s really the one exception to his food trepidation: sweets. Perhaps it comes from living in Dream Land where sugary foods are so plentiful, the forests rich with apples and berries, the scent of pies and pastries wafting from windowsills, even the lands themselves named after foods of all sorts. Or perhaps it stems from his earliest memories, a helping hand and a bar of something indescribably sweet and rich, the first he’d ever tasted… Whatever the case, it’s stuck with him, a livelong love of sweets and sweet-adjacent foods, one that narrows, refines, and changes over time into preferences for chocolate, coffee, and other foods with light but flavorful consistencies. Not that this stops his friends (and later his crewmates) from hounding him into eating more nutritious meals once in a while, too. It's frustrating, but he knows they mean well, and he gets better about listening to their advice with time.

And finally, whipping to the other side of the scale once more, it’s Dedede, the penguin equivalent of a vacuum, willing to eat literally anything you put in front of him (including things you probably should not eat). He wouldn’t say he has many strong preferences - all food is good food in his eyes - though he does appreciate a good bone-in steak or similarly hearty dishes like seafood or pasta, and he could never pass up a nice rich dessert (especially cakes).

More than the taste, though, it’s really the act of eating - a pastime even more beloved than sparring or sleeping - that brings Dedede comfort, whether it’s through cozy communal meals with neighbors, the thrill of food-based competitions with friends (ones that will later inspire Dream Land’s famous Gourmet Races), or just to deal with the boredom (and loneliness) when he’s stuck on his own. It’s possible he gets this behavior from his mama, a little on the heavier side herself and known for her own cast-iron constitution back in her wrestling days (not to mention prone to spoiling her “darlin’ baby bird” and his friends with extra treats all the time). Meanwhile, his papa - a stickler for decency and discipline - is constantly reminding his son to slow down during meal times, wondering if he’s even tasting the food he’s shoving down his gullet (a blunt but well-intentioned criticism given the many, many tummy troubles Dedede suffers in his younger days). He never manages to fully tame his massive appetite (certainly not helped by the more decadent lifestyle he later adopts as a king), but he does at least refine it over time, learning from Para of all people about the joys of savoring meals rather than always inhaling them outright.

Phew, alright, I think that’s about it. Thanks for the question! Hopefully I didn't go too in-depth for such a simple one - I was having fun with it and might've gotten carried away again, haha. Well, at the very least, it'll give you guys some nuggets to chew on in the meantime (pun super not intended).

Sketches started 06/25/24, finished 06/27/24.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Our Violent Delights Will Not Have Violent Ends: The Twilight Saga Rewrite (Book 1, Twilight) | Part 2.

Summary: Y/N Swan is just like every other girl and she likes it that way. Normal is fantastic. Normal creates a functioning member of society. Normal is the reason she moved to a small town to live with her police officer father... only to find out that she gets the farthest thing from what she wanted. This is a re-write of Twilight.

Warnings for the Series: light violence, light angst, light smut

Warnings for the Chapter: none

Pairing: Edward Cullen x reader, Jacob Black x reader

Word Count: 3.4k

The entirety of the lunch period, you couldn’t find the stomach to eat much. Your bowl of tomato soup only had a few spoonfuls taken out of it. But all the saltine crackers were gone. You had gone over and over in your head what you would say to Edward. Now that he was here, you couldn’t remember anything. You had never been in a real confrontation anymore. You took a glance at his table again. 

He looked different than before. Not terribly different, but enough that you noticed. His skin looked less pale and less stretched over his skeleton. The dark circles underneath his eyes aren’t there anymore either. Now, you could see why people said he looked perfect. 

The bell rang and you silently cursed. You couldn’t have been given more time? Reluctantly, you went with Eric and Mike to your biology class. Eric and you looked over when Mike started frantically digging in his backpack. 

“Ah, shit. Hey, tell Mr. Donoghue that I left my textbook in my car and I’m going to get it.” 

“Okay.” 

Mike ran as fast as possible while the two of you continued going to class. Eric sighed before turning to face you as you stood right in front of the doorway to bio class. 

“Hey, so, about prom, I’m the one in charge of communicating with the dj. I’ve lived my whole life here so I know my music choice sucks so I’m gonna need your playlist.” 

“Okay, when?” you asked as you pulled out yout phone to jot down that note. 

“As long as it’s before the month ends, that’s cool. And then dates…  I was wondering do you think Ang—” 

“How you liking the rain, Arizona?” Mike shook out his baseball cap that got soaked in the rain from the run to his car. 

“Guys! Class is about to start. Please take your seats,” Mr. Donoghue cut off whatever Eric was trying to say. If it was important, he’d get back to you later. 

Unfortunately, his lab partner and your lab partner were back so you had to sit with Edward Cullen. There was a slight smile on his face as you walked towards your lab bench. Before you got a chance to say the prepared speech, he spoke. 

“Hello. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other day. I’m Edward Cullen.” His voice was smooth like coffee and somewhat low in its sound. “You’re Y/F/N Swan, right?”  

“Y/N.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, turning your head to listen to Mr. Donoghue’s lesson. He must have been in cahoots with the universe because his assignment was partner work. The prize? A golden onion that has no value until he comes up with what it stands for. At least only one person could look through the microscope at a time. Edward pushed the device towards you. 

“Ladies, first.” 

“Why were you gone?” You looked in the microscope. “And it better be a good answer too… It’s prophase.” 

“Mind if I check?...Yeah, I was out of town for a couple days. It’s prophase.” 

“Like I said and the empty chair next to me told me that much.” 

“Personal reasons.” 

“Do personal reasons involve rude interactions?” 

“Uh, no. I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t the best day for me before you showed up to class.”  

“Apology accepted, I guess.” 

“So are you enjoying the rain?... What?”

You tried to stop laughing. “You’re asking me about the weather?” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“Well, no, not really. I’m not really a fan of any cold or wet place.” 

Edward chuckled as he checked another slide. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “It’s anaphase.” 

“Mind if I check… Anaphase.” 

“Like I said,” he joked. “If you don’t like the rain then why did you move to the wettest place in the continental United States?” 

“Baseball.” 

“Baseball? It’s also anaphase. Do you want to check it?” 

“No, I believe you.” 

Edward listened intently as you retold your story to yet another person about why you were in Forks, asking questions when necessary. You guys continued to do your work and talk. He carried the golden onion prize as he escorted you to your locker. 

“Why didn’t you move with your mother and Phil?” 

“Moving once means moving again. Phil could get a second contract next year and we’d be in California or Maine or some stupid place like Delaware.” 

“But now you’re unhappy staying here?” 

“It’s complicated.” 

Edward paused. “I’m sorry, I��m asking too much. I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re very difficult for me to read.” 

“Well, asking questions like a normal human bei— hey, did you get contacts?” 

“No.” 

“I swear your eyes were black last time I saw you, now it’s like a golden brown color.” 

“Uh, no. It’s the fluorescents.” 

He walked away before you could say anything else. You didn’t see Edward until school ended and you went to your truck. He and his siblings seemed to be looking directly at you but you thought you were just being paranoid. You turned back around to dig through your bag for your keys. The screeching of tires caught your attention but it was too late. Tyler’s van was barrelling towards you and your feet couldn’t seem to move. 

Now was not the time to find out that your flight or fight response was the dreaded third option of freeze. You could see Edward, four cars away, staring at you in horror. His mouth dropped open. The same as all the other faces that were about to witness your death. Almost everything moved in slow motion.

The hunk of blue metal slid towards you, you felt something grab your waist, you were pulled down to the ground, and a pale hand was on the van that wasn’t hitting you. You stared at the dent in the metal caused by the hand before turning your head to make eye contact with Edward. 

He stared at you for a moment before letting go of you and running away. You were suddenly surrounded by people asking if you were alright. None of them seemed to have noticed Edward wasn’t there. The next thing you knew, you blacked out. 

The lights of the hospital were blinding when you finally came to your senses. The door opened with a vengeance and in strolled your very anxious father. He wouldn’t calm down no matter how much you tried to speak with him, threatening Tyler’s license and everything. It’s not like it was his fault his tires skidded on ice. You mouthed an apology before shutting the small curtain that divided the two hospital beds. 

“Dad, Dad I’m fine. Okay? I was lucky that Edward was there, no injuries.” 

“Edward?” Charlie turns to Dr. Cullen. “Your boy?” 

You cut in before the doctor could even get the chance to say anything. It seemed like he was going to lie. 

“Yeah, he got to me so quickly.” 

Dr. Cullen gave you a tight smile. “It sounds like you were very lucky. You just need to sign some paperwork, Charlie, and then you are good to go.” 

After Charlie signed the paperwork, he went to warm up the car before we had to drive to the school to get my car and then drive home. You turned the corner to one of the vending machines when you stopped after seeing Carlisle, Edward, and Rosalie talking with each other. It didn’t seem like a friendly conversation either. They were definitely arguing. As if they could hear you just breather, the three of them turned towards you. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” you asked. 

Edward looked reluctantly as he made his way towards you. “What?” 

“How did you get over to me so quickly?” 

“Y/N, what are you talking about? I was standing right next to you.” 

“No, you weren’t. Don’t try to lie through this either. You were across the parking lot. I know what I saw.” 

“And what was that?” 

“You stopped the van with your hand.” 

Edward’s somewhat amused face turned cold. “Well no one is going to believe you anyway. Can’t you just thank me and we just drop it?” 

“Thank you.” 

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” 

“Not at all,” I tell him, determined. 

“Well, I hope you enjoy disappointment.” 

You went home that night with more questions than answers and the oddly sneaking suspicion that someone was watching you. You went to the bathroom and took your shower while thinking about how Edward stopped the van. So far, you had no concrete answers. You went to bed without any answers as well. Although you did wake up in the middle of night after having a strange dream about Edward. 

You tried to not think about that as you went to school the next day. The buses were already up front when you parked, ready for the field trip that you were positive wasn’t going to be very fun. Edward and his siblings, Alice and Jasper, walked past you. Mike popped up in front of you. 

“Hey, you’re alive, Arizona!” 

“You need more than a van to take me down.” 

The two of you laugh as you hi-fived. 

“So I was wondering, are you going to prom?” 

“Um, I don’t know yet. Charlie said I get two free no questions asked days if I go but me and dancing… it’s not pretty.” 

“Well, do you know if Jess is going?” 

“Mike!” you gasped. “Are you trying to ask Jessica out?” 

“Lower your voice, please. Okay, I may have had a small crush on her since we were seven and I am choosing to ask out my very good friend to prom.” 

“She’s going. I’m going dress shopping with her and Ang next weekend.” 

“Okay. Okay, cool.” Mike walked off before coming right back. “Do you think she likes me?” 

“Most definitely.” 

“Sweet. Thanks, Y/N/N. You’re the best.” 

He got on one of the buses while you got on the other. Tyler sat next to you, plugging your headphones into the jack on his phone. You nodded along to Blue October’s “Hate Me” as it played. The two of you didn’t talk at all but stared out the window like you were in a music video and listened to music until you reached your destination. 

The greenhouse was… interesting. That was the nicest way you could put it. Maybe it would have been nicer if you all weren’t cramped in the small walkway between the plants. Mr. Molina and Mr. Donoghue were trying their hardest to get people to water the plants or give them soil. 

“Now, I’m gonna make a steaming cup of compost tea.” 

He handed it to Eric. You laughed as you heard a very panicked yell. 

“No! Don’t drink it! It’s for the plants.” 

“What’s a no questions asked day?” a deep voice behind you asked. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Turning around, you saw the classic peacoat and never out of place hair of Edward Cullen. When had he even come up behind you? 

“You know you’re not helping your case. How’d you even hear that?” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Dude, you never answer any of mine. You don’t even say hi.”

“Hi.” 

“Please try to act less like a human. Are you gonna tell me anything? Preferably about the other day.”  

“Yeah. I had an adrenaline rush,” he said clinically. “It’s very common. You can Google it.” 

You paused and looked at him. “You’re a terrible liar. And a no question day is when I tell Charlie I need to do something or go somewhere and he asks no questions. It’s a mutual trust betwe—” 

You tripped but felt air and two cold hands grab you instead of feeling your face kiss pavement. 

“Careful,” Edward said as he set you upright again. 

“Thanks. So are you going to answer any of my other questions?” 

“Um. Ma—” 

“Y/N/N!” Jess stepped in between you two. “Guess who just asked me to prom?” 

Edward took the opportunity to slip away. 

“Who?” you feigned ignorance. 

“Mike! I’ve been hoping since forever but like he actually asked me.” 

You and Jess talked the entire way out of the greenhouse and onto the buses, forgetting about Edward and wanting to ask him more questions until it was too late. You weren’t going to think about him for the rest of the day. You had a father-daughter/mother-son date with Charlie, Jacob’s mom, and Jacob. Which meant going to a restaurant because both Charlie and Sarah worked long hours and weren’t going to cook. And Billy was doing his physical therapy for walking so there was no way anyone would force him to cook. 

You went to pick up Jacob at his school while his mom picked up Charlie from the station. He was still inside when you reached the school. It felt stupid signing the visitors clipboard when the school day was already over but you did it anyway just in case. When you made it to a hangout area for students you spotted Jake with his friends. 

You’d like to say they were your friends too but you never got very close with them over the summer. Embry usually went somewhere with his mom, Quil’s grandfather kept inside most of the time, and Seth had sports.

And their acquaintances you knew even less. Paul and Jared were always one grade level above you all and hung out with themselves. Sam didn’t seem to like any of you despite being only a couple years older than you and having even a smaller age gap with Paul. And Leah didn’t come around because either her loser younger brother was there or Sam was there which sucked because you wanted another girl around. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Embry said as you turned the corner. 

“Hi, guys. Jake, you ready?”  

“Yeah. See you guys later.” 

He nodded at his friends before getting up to stand next to you. Your fingers twitched as he intertwined them with his own. He rolled his eyes at the wolf whistles from his friends, laughing when you threw up a middle finger while the two of you walked away. 

“So where are we going?” you asked. 

“Who picked last summer?” 

“Charlie.” 

“Oh, nice, so it’s my turn.” Jacob looked something up on his phone. “Smuggler’s Bar and Grill, sound good? It’s in Port Angeles though.” 

You shrugged. “Eh, I’ve already finished all my homework and Charlie doesn’t go back to work until the graveyard shift. Go ahead and text them our choice.” 

Your truck pulled out of the school parking lot and headed towards the highway. Jacob fiddled with the radio for at least one decent station while you drove the hour it took just to get to Port Angeles. Honestly, you didn’t mind the time. The drive, surrounded by trees, was comforting. Especially with your best friend. 

If you and Jake weren’t singing to songs, you were gossiping about school. There was no need to catch up on anything else. Jake was one of the few people you texted nearly everyday despite being so far away most of the year — including the fact that he had a secret girlfriend for three years. Whenever he wanted to get her a present, he would text you what it was and would pretend he was sending it to you so Billy and Sarah wouldn’t get suspicious. It worked. They didn’t find out even after the two broke up. 

You guys pulled into the restaurant and waited for your parents to show up. Like you predicted, Sarah already analyzed the entire menu and knew what she wanted to order. Jake held up his phone. 

“They said they’re twenty minutes away and the food takes that long to prepare so order for them.” 

“I’m surprised she got Charlie to pick something ahead of time.” 

The two of you went in and got a table like they said. The host smiled a bit too sweetly as they called over a waiter. You and Jacob looked at each other and came to the same conclusion at the same time, silently gagging. There was no way they thought that you guys were on a date. Absolutely not. Was it because you were holding hands? The two of you pulled apart but the damage was already done. 

The waiter sat you down at what you could tell was the restaurant’s nicest booth by the best window that would let you look out onto the water. He handed you the menus and left to give you alone time to think. 

“Just gross, no offense,” you said. 

Jacob shrugged. “None taken. I would never date you, you’re, like, my friend.” 

“Same. Too weird… Do you think they’ll give us free dessert if we are though?” 

“Do you want to play it up?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Jacob gave you a smile you had never seen before but assumed he must have given to his girlfriend. He laid his hand across the table for you to grab. You took it with no problem — Jake’s hands were always warm and still a bit soft since he wore gloves when he worked on cars and bikes. His thumb stroked the back of your hand and he set the menu down to look at you. Almost like magic, or like they’ve been secretly watching, the wait staff came over. 

“Are you two ready to order?” he asked as he set down two glasses of water. 

“Ladies first,” Jake let go of your hand, ready to scoop up your menu when you finished speaking. 

“Um, does the shrimp scampi have a smell?” you asked in fake concern, hoping the waiter would catch on to teen angst of potential bad breath before a first kiss. 

“Oh, no, I got you, honey.” He had a noticeable southern accent. “What do you want to drink?” 

“Iced Tea, please. Oh, and a Caesar salad with ranch dressing.” 

“Got it. And for the young sir?”

“I’ll take the Not Your Mother’s Mac and Cheese along with a lemonade. Oh, and our parents are chaperoning but they’re a little late. Can we get them one clam chowder and one Hawaiian chicken sandwich both with Ruby tonics? What is a ruby tonic?” 

“Oh, I’m so glad you kids are too young to know what it is. Your food will be ready in a minute.” 

He took the menus and walked away. You could hear him gossip to the rest of the staff about chaperones. Jacob grabbed your hand again, giving it a peck. 

“You know he’s totally gonna bring you breath mints. Did you really ask if the shrimp would smell?” 

“Hey, I had to sell it. What brand do you think it’ll be?” 

Jake kissed your hand again. “Lifesavers. They scream not obvious for teenagers asking.” 

“You say this from experience?” 

“Ehh with Elle a couple of times.” 

“Really? I can’t believe you had your first kiss and girlfriend and I couldn’t even get a date for homecoming. You’re still a virgin right?” 

“Yes. I am still a loser virgin.” 

“Hey, I’m a virgin.” 

“Well then in that case virginity rocks.” 

You and Jacob cheered and clinked glasses before laughing when you were unable to hold it anymore. He moved over to your side since the two of you would have to be sitting together anyway once Charlie and Sarah showed up. He took the opportunity to sling his arm around you while you snuggled up to him. The two of you could clearly hear awes. 

“If we actually get free dessert,” Jacob whispered. “We need to do this more often.”  

Your parents came in exactly when the food came out. They looked at the two of you weirdly as you awkwardly broke apart. You shook your head before Charlie could say anything. They went with it like you had asked.  Your parents could do absolutely nothing but shake their heads and smile as the waiter brought out free cinnamon rolls in to-go boxes for not just you and Jacob but for the “chaperones” as well. 

You guys left a generous tip, cleaned up the table, and left the restaurant. You and Jacob clinked the to-go boxes together. 

“Here’s to fake boyfriends.” 

“Here’s to fake girlfriends.”

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[the-wiggler]

If I could stay here, under your idle caress

Ellis tries to cook and plan fails successfully? 

word count: 2.2k

“My love?” A tentative voice calls into the dark room, curtains drawn. What little light filters through, Ellis can see the mountains of clothes on the floor, the layer of dust and the empty cups covering the room. On the bed in the corner, a mound under the heavy blanket shifts minutely, and their heart aches. “Oh, my Gem,” They coo, sitting on the side of the bed, slowly peeling back the blanket to reveal a sallow face, tired and weighed down, smooshed against the pillow. Ellis leans over and presses a soft kiss to their cheek, a hollow stare darting to them in vague recognition, “How are you, my dear?” 

They groan, shifting to bury their head in Ellis’s middle, quietly inhaling their scent. Their hand moves instinctively to stroke Gem’s hair, grounding repetitive motions as they sit in silence for a few minutes before Ellis breaks it, “Are you hungry? Think you can stomach some food?” 

They go to shake their head, instinctively wanting to remain in their bed despite their aching back and stiff legs. Then they register the slow acidic burn spread from their core and absently wonders when they last had a proper meal. “Yeah-could gof’r something.” Stringing together words with what little threads of energy they could muster, their voice hoarse from disuse. 

“Ok,” Ellis smiles, one last comforting stroke of their hair before they pull away, “I’ll get you something to eat, you try your best to get out of bed, ok?” They stand and go to pull the blackout curtains open, revealing a second set of thick daytime curtains, and illuminating the room in a soft light. Reaching behind the curtains, they push open the windows, letting the soft breeze and the noises of traffic below waft in. “Take your time, Gem. I’ll be just outside.” They press a gentle kiss on Gem’s forehead before they leave, and Gem misses them already. 

Outside, Ellis wracks their brain thinking what Gem could eat. They remembered the stacks of snack wrappers on the table and an idea flutters into their head, perhaps they could cook something? Sure, their cooking left much to be desired, but Gem had been giving them lessons (though they often ended up making out on the countertops instead). Their cooking “lessons” meant that Ellis could now, under supervision, make scrambled eggs, grilled cheese and pasta. And heat up soup. 

But their Gem deserved a good, warm, fresh meal, and though they had only “helped” Gem out in the kitchen, Ellis was confident they could handle this. They crack open Gem’s laptop, typing in their password (Ellis’s birthday), and pull up the recipe from a bookmark folder called “Cooking for Ellis”.

‘The perfect food for when I’m feeling sick, Oyakodon is a classic comfort food of Japanese home cooking. Simple, delicious, and utterly comforting, this is the kind of one-bowl meal you can cook in less than 30 minutes!’ The chipper description of this Japanese chicken and egg rice bowl had caught Ellis’s eye. Perfect. 

Firstly, the chicken. They rummage through the freezer until they grasped a small container of already-chopped chicken thigh. But it was still frozen, and Ellis didn’t have the time to sit around waiting for it to defrost. 

They sighed, cracking open the frozen block of meat and hacking away at it with a spoon until they had what they figured was a big enough portion for Gem to eat. Then, they slapped that in the microwave, doused it in sake, and let it sit, feeling very proud of themself. Off to a very positive note. 

Next, the onions. They carefully chopped off the ends of the onions, peeling off the crinkly skin and sliding them off to one side of the cutting board. Then they slice the onion in half, feeling the tears prick their eyes and their vision blur. 

A sudden strong gust of wind sends the loose onion skin flying off the counter like leaves in the sky. Ellis curses silently, eyes burning, and rushes to chase after the onion skin now scattered across the kitchen floor. When they finally collected the bits and deposited them into the bin, the tears in their eyes had yet to subside. 

Frustrated, they rub their eyes, forgetting the onion residue still on their hands. As their pain suddenly escalated, they cursed silently, blindly grasping around to find the sink and turn on the tap. Quietly panicking to avoid alerting their partner, Ellis rushes to wash their hands with soap and rinse their eyes, tears running down their face.

Once they had finally cleared the sulfuric acid from their eyes, they found their vision blurred and their nose running. They glance, a bit despondent, at the remaining onion and curse it out quietly. Through tears and sniffles, they finally cut the onion into slices Gem once termed ‘Julienne’. This time, they make sure to thoroughly wash their hands before scrubbing at their face. 

With a renewed sense of enthusiasm, they gaze proudly at the now conquered pile of onions on the chopping board. Despite this minor hiccup, Ellis felt ever optimistic, grabbing a bowl and mixing the liquid seasonings. 

Now, to start the cooking process. Ellis confidently opened the cupboard where Gem kept all their pots and pans. Having lived alone for so long, Gem only had two pans: a larger one for bigger meals when hosting guests, and a smaller one for personal use. Ellis frowned.

The recipe said one small pan should be enough, but…Ellis sent a distrustful look at the accursed mountain of unevenly cut onion pieces and decided to err on the side of caution. They grabbed the larger pan, dumping the onion and seasonings into it. 

The seasoning…barely covered the bottom of the pan, let alone the onions. 

A quick reference back to the recipe…and…yep, the seasonings should cover the onions. They inwardly grumbled at the idea of having yet another thing to wash and grabbed the smaller pan, pouring the sauce into it. Ellis watched as the liquid in the pan rose and rose until it reached the brim of the pan, forming the meniscus. Ok..too little for the big pan but too much for the smaller pan. 

Great. 

They pour the rest of the sauce down the drain, lamenting the wasted food. They move to dump the onions into the sauce, forgetting completely the rule of displacement. As the onions tumbled into the pan, the sauce flooded over the edge, forming a small pool around it. Ellis fights the urge to collapse into a heap on the ground and instead carefully lifts the already full pan up, spilling more sauce. They messily clean up the majority of the mess; the rest could be cleared up after they deliver this absolute guarantee of a good meal to their partner. 

Having lost a decent chunk of motivation (and seasoning) that they started with, Ellis turns on the stove, waiting for the sauce to come to a simmer. placing a lid over the pan and turning their attention to the mountain of dishes in the sink. 

They quietly hummed a song that reminded them of Gem, mind wandering to thoughts of the bright starry eyes of their partner as Ellis served them the perfect Oyakodon. It wasn’t that Ellis was doing this for the thank-you kisses they might receive…but they would be amiss if they said it wasn’t something of a motive. 

So lost in thought was Ellis that they completely forgot about the simmering, bubbling, and now boiling pan of sauce and onions just a few feet from them. It wasn’t until the metallic rattling of the lid against the pan did Ellis snap out of their daydreams and worriedly glanced over. 

The sauce had bubbled out of the pan, adding to the already large puddle. It was currently dripping over the counter down onto the drawers below, no doubt seeping into the cutlery and crockery that Gem kept there. Completely forgetting about the running tap, they grabbed a cloth and went to wipe at the angry mess on the stove, the hot liquid quickly seeping through the cloth and shooting through Ellis’s hands, making them curse loudly. 

The word rang out in the emptiness of the cosy apartment Gem had and they vaguely heard the soft padding of feet approach them before a quiet voice called out. “Ellis? Is- “Yes, my dear,” They quickly interrupt, rushing to intercept their partner at their bedroom door, “Are you feeling well enough to be up? Perhaps you should take a shower, Gem, freshen up.” They clutched their throbbing hand behind their back, chuckling nervously. 

Gem casts a confused look at Ellis. Their eyes dart from the sweat dripping down Ellis’s forehead to the panicked look in their bloodshot eyes and the hand they were not very inconspicuously hiding. They begin taking hesitant steps towards the kitchen despite Ellis’s weak assurances.

“No- don’t gaze upon my shame, please, I’m begging!” They joke weakly as Gem reaches the kitchen, but it was too late. Gem could only stare in silence as Ellis stood behind them, sheepish and awkward morphing into an overwhelming amount of guilt. The last thing Gem needed right now was more things to worry about, to shoulder Ellis’s burdens along with their own. 

“I-I’m sorry, Gem. I know this is the last thing you need; more things to do.” They sigh, “Look, take a shower, and I promise, once you get out, the mess will be gone. I’ll call up your favourite pizza place, you don’t have to worry about a thing.” Ellis tried to redirect their attention away from the mess, hoping to coax Gem away from the mess they had made. 

“Ellis-I-What…what were you trying to cook?” They whisper, a layer of incredulity concealed under genuine curiosity, their eyes fixated on the angrily rattling pan. 

“Well- I was trying to make an Oyakodon, you know, the one you had saved in your laptop?” Their partner nods wordlessly, “But clearly, I seemed to have overestimated my cooking abilities and I…oh. I forgot to make the rice.” They wring their hands together, watching their partner out the corner of their eye, waiting for the outburst. 

After a quiet sigh that seemed to pierce Ellis, Gem moves into the kitchen, slides the pan off the hot surface of the stove and carefully turns the stove off, leaving the liquid to cool. They turn off the running tap before grabbing another, not soaking wet, cloth and carefully lifting the hot pan lid, wincing at the burnt onions and billow of smoke that angrily escapes its confines. They deposit the pan in the sink and grab a bowl, filling it with ice and cold water and gently guiding Ellis’s throbbing hand into it. 

“Gem I- “Rest.” They quietly order, silencing any meek protests on the edge of Ellis’s tongue. They resign to sit at the dining table, hand submerged in the icey water. Silently, they watch Gem move through the kitchen cleaning up the mess, chewing on their lip nervously. 

Gem was always more on the quiet side, opting to save their energy for acts of service that made Ellis want to smother them in kisses. They talked in quiet smiles and averted gazes, a quiet language that Ellis had slowly become a well-learned expert in. But on days where they could barely manage to leave their bed, they resorted to one-word responses, sometimes just a vague nod, even.  

Ellis could tell, in Gem’s tense shoulders, that their disappointment was palpable- tired and exhausted, they still had to clean up after Ellis’s mess. Ellis had meant well, they didn’t doubt that Gem understood that, that they had only intended to provide a warm meal that Gem loved, but intentions meant little when the outcome directly contradicted it. 

“I really am sorry, my Gem. I…never intended to make more work for you.” They sigh, watching their partner move through the kitchen as they were stuck in the chair. They sighed, “But I did. Regardless of my intention, I…I made a right mess of things, and I can’t express my apologies enough.” They suddenly felt silly for ever thinking they could somehow whip up a meal when they could barely scramble an egg without burning something (or someone). 

A rub on Ellis’s cheek drags them out of their inner criticisms. A hand cupped their cheek gently, and they gazed up from where they were seated to stare at Gem’s eyes. In turn, Ellis turns their head to lay a gentle kiss on the palm of Gem’s hand. 

“You did,” They state matter-of-factly, quiet voice barely reaching Ellis’s ears. “But it’s not all bad. You managed to get me out of bed, didn’t you?” 

Ellis blinks slowly, then laughs, surprised. “I…hadn’t even noticed. I suppose it is a silver lining in all of this.” They place an unburnt hand over Gem’s waist, pulling them in and resting their head on their partner's stomach. “You really are too kind to me, my Gem.” 

“Nonsense.” 

[soraarchives]

yukimura x reader

you find him cooking

0.7k words

You know how Yukimura is. He and tact never go along together. What can be expected of Yukimura is bare minimum in everyday life, lots of training and strong survival instincts. Yet when you found him in the kitchen it came across as a shock to you.

"You made this?"

"What, you don't believe me?" The evidence spoke for itself. Vegetable scraps, a knife on the countertop, some pots which he also cleaned after using and no one else in sight. It's clear as day he was the one who made it.

"No, it's just that... You and cooking isn't something I can imagine."

"Feel free not to have it then," he takes on a sulky tone at your hopelessness of him. He starts walking with a food tray in his hand, his dish sitting on top.

"No, wait. I want to have it." There's a hurry in your voice, afraid he may take his dish away because you're sceptical of his cooking. You start following him and end up at your shared room where he has set up the tray and is ready to have his meal. You settle down beside him taking a good look at him and then his creation.

It isn't gourmet-style cooking. Doesn't seem basic as well. Home cook level? Yeah, that's the way to put it.

You take the chopsticks and pick up the first bite slowly lifting it towards your mouth, your eyes analyzing the bite. Yukimura's gaze, too, is on you. Though you notice neither his stare nor the intensity with which he's staring.

He had made houtou nabe. Various vegetables sat along with flat noodles in a miso flavoured broth. If it were anyone else, they would've taken the effort to plate the vegetables in a more presentable or appetizing way, placed the spring onions in the centre, and the radishes, carrots and such in an array. It seemed as if he added the cooked vegetables blindly to the soup and noodles.

Enough with how it looks. A better job could've been done with the plating but it didn't look so bad. It looked as if someone had made it in a hurry, or without a care in Yuki's case, and that is fine.

With the first bite came the aroma of the stewed vegetables, the broth, and other condiments which he had used for flavouring. You take the first bite and immediately acknowledge how good it is. A hum escapes you along with a nod and Yuki knows that you love it.

"Not that bad, is it now?" He says with a smirk now but you know he was anxious about what would you say of his skills.

"How did you manage to cook something so good?" Not only are you surprised he made something you're more so surprised it tastes so good. It isn't as good as something Masamune would make but it is delicious.

"Don't talk as if it was a fluke I made something tasty." He heaved a sigh. "I know how to cook."

"You indeed do." You take another bite of his nabe smiling at how good it is.

"I've never seen you cook though. When did you learn to cook?" Your curiosity tumbles out of you.

"It was long back. It's a necessary skill to have during wars. You have to look out for yourself and all that." That's a typical Yukimura answer you're satisfied with it.

You almost spoke while the bite was still in your mouth. "And how did you decide on making something today?"

"Figured we could have something special once in a while."

Your face lights up at that. "Does that mean you'll cook often?"

"Look at you so impressed by my cooking. And here I thought you were sceptical of me being in the kitchen. Want me to cook for you from now on?" He has a smirk playing along on his lips. He is getting back to you for all your questions from before.

"I'm not impressed or anything." You suppress the blush on your face. The idea of him cooking for you has butterflies flying in your stomach.

He swiftly takes your chopsticks from you before diving in for a bite of his own. His actions catch you off guard. "Is that the reason why half of this bowl is empty?"

Damn him for noticing. You think he's gonna take the next bite for himself but he ends up feeding it you. That suppressed blush has furiously made its way back now. He sees his victory in that and offers his smile.

"No need to be shy. I won't mind cooking for you."

a/n: it was a spur of the moment kind of thing that i started writing this. i don't remember whether it was someone's route or a bonus story where yuki and mitsunari are cooking together and yuki gets in charge because mitsunari is clumsy. it was mentioned then that yuki can cook and personally i was surprised at that. i'm happy with how this turned out

[bruhstation]

I'm interested in what the trains in your humanization prefer to eat (What if Henry loves apple charlottes?)

yes!!! eating is one of life’s biggest joys! always love talking and learning about food and watching people cook and eat and express their happiness, so this was a fun one to answer.

thomas a. billington: thomas needs something to chew or suckle on in the break room. think of any candy that your grandma would store on her detailed glass bowl. tootsie rolls, werther’s hard caramel candy, jolly ranchers… you get it. he doesn’t have any particulars when it comes to filling dishes and most of his diet consist of snacks and candies hence his thinner and shorter build.

edward pettigrew: he loves a good hot black tea with a side of rich tea biscuits or scones. he’s the guy who knows too much about tea. stomach ache? ginger tea. sleep aid? chamomile’s the way. for the more filling dishes, edward prefers light savory dishes with feta cheese involved. he’s really fond of fërgesë from his home country, but there’s no place on sodor that could make a mean one, so he settles with making it at his own home.

henry stanier: sliced apples! when he’s in a good mood, he’d shape them into little bunnies. he likes anything savory with a strong taste too, like his mother’s curry. henry loves a full course, hearty meal that tastes and feels good, and growing up, he’s always had a large appetite (fast metabolism). henry doesn’t like anything greasy or deep fried because it’ll make his stomach acid flare up. I had to look up what apple charlottes is, and yeah, I can tell you that henry would love it.

gordon j. gresley: gordon has a sweet tooth but he’s self conscious about it and has an image to uphold so he’ll tell anyone who’s making him coffee to make it black (he adds a packet of cream and sugar when nobody’s seeing) without anything added (his friends see right through him). his favorite dessert is orange float with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. gordon also likes food that is usually eaten together with friends or family (something something lazy susan) like pork roast or kway teow or thick beef stew with mashed potatoes. big portions are necessary!

james a. hughes: sweet margarita is james’ favorite drink to have during outings with his friends. he also loves a good french onion soup, especially paired with croutons (do not make them too hard or he’ll riot!!). speaking of croutons, james loves fondue and he always fights over it with thomas. really, any food that looks good and makes him look well-off would be on his favorites list (please, james, why does most of these dishes involve alcohol in one way or another). he also likes sweet danish pastries.

percival “percy” avonside: he’s a simple man when it comes to food he likes. sandwiches are the way to go! carbohydrates, proteins, the tasty stuff — it’s all there! eggs benedict (he puts another english muffin on top so the sauce won't spill everywhere) is his most favorite since it makes him feel special and fancy. percy also loves good coffee, usually mixed with condensed milk or mocha, since he delivers the night mail train.

tobias “toby” holden: tiramisu is his favorite dessert and he prefers it made with more coffee content. he has helped out henrietta many times with making it to the point he’s has the process memorized. for savory dishes, he loves some good lasagna with extra beef content in the sauce. it’s gotta drench. really, toby loves his layered food huh

montague “duck” collett: he’s not picky when it comes to food given to him, so he just eats what any average joe would eat (eggs on toast for breakfast, sandwich for lunch, sausage with potatoes and peas for dinner). normal person food. duck makes sure he has his meal three times a day and follows the motto; “eat before you’re hungry, stop before you’re full.” also diesel made mango panna cotta once for him as a desperate token of apology and duck fell in love with it.

donald and douglas dunalastair: like thomas, they don’t really have much preference for filling meals. dessert, though? now that’s the stuff. donald loves cranachan so SO much he wishes he could eat it every day. douglas likes candies more instead of softer, silkier desserts, like black licorice or peppermint candy. they also eat only twice a day since they get full super quickly. amazing how so much strength for shoveling snow is stored behind their lanky bodies. they also drink irn bru

oliver t. swindon: oliver loves shepherd's pie because it’s practical. everything he needs is right there, fitting for someone who doesn’t like complicated things. as for the sweet stuff… even after forgetting some of his memories after his rescue, oliver remembers the feeling and taste of halo-halo on his tongue clearly, something he missed dearly.

giovanni vin diesel: diesel loves bruschetta. he puts some pepper flakes on top for that spice kick. he also loves sfincione, specifically the way his family would make it, but, like edward, nobody on sodor knows how to cook a decent one (too much sauce, too thick of a bread, or too soggy) which makes him a bit sad. diesel’s kind of picky when it comes to the meals he can consider “favorite” because he believes he’s the most qualified in the culinary field on sodor due to his upbringing.

mavis hawthorne: a slice of blackforest cake always makes her heart sing. not too heavy on the whipped cream, though, because she doesn’t like her desserts too sweet. she also likes baumkuchen. whenever toby cooks lasagna, he’d make another portion to give to mavis, which quickly became her favorite and something she looks forward to during lunch breaks.

rebecca nassif: rebecca likes snacking a lot. she finds joy in eating! she grew up surrounded by meals. like diesel, because of her upbringing, she’s always been an enthusiast of not only food, but culinary arts as a whole. she loves cold desserts that usually remind her of her old neighborhood like this pistachio kulfi that she would made when she was younger. rebecca also missed having knafeh and mafruka since moving to sodor (it’s been like... a week.)

nia e. wanjala: whenever nia feels like treating herself to something good, she’d make her own version of the gatsby sandwich at her house. she’s especially keen on the french fries and enjoys extra hot sauce with it. it’d take two meal times for her to finish it all. lately, nia’s also been enjoying pastries like chocolate muffins and bombolone (chocolate fillings are her favorite).

lady: as part of her mission to understand humanity and their intrapersonal relationships, lady developed an affinity to eating. she’d eat anything as long as it’s acceptable by human standards even though she doesn’t have to. lady wants to understand that people eat not only to survive but as a way to show their love and culture. isn’t the greatest blessing to be bestowed upon living things the ability to consume to their heart’s content? does her lack of mortal needs indicate her lack of personal desire? anyways her favorite foods are fish and chips with sweet mayonnaise on the side and soft serve vanilla ice cream.

diesel 10: his go-to is black coffee mixed with red bull (added with some other weird concoction if he feels like it). some scrambled eggs with a dash of hot sauce for breakfast. some fried bacon if he has some self respect for the day. some dried sardines if he wants to feel miserable. some baklava with extra syrup and pistachio if he wants to treat himself because the sound of the crunch eases his stress

[drpeppertummy]

finally done it yipeeeeeee

[stuffing with encouragement, mild hiccups & burps]

"What can I get you tonight, cutie pie?"

"Oh! Um…" Sunny looked up at the waitress, who was smiling brightly at him. She was a tall, big-boned woman, maybe in her forties, early fifties. Marianne was her name, according to her name tag. Her greeting had caught Sunny off guard, and the way she was looking at him wasn't helping. His mind was completely blank.

"What's the matter, pumpkin, too shy to order?" she teased. "Mind if I recommend something?" Sunny nodded stupidly. Smiling, Marianne leaned over him, her shoulder meeting his as she moved in close to point at the menu before him.

"I think you could use one of these," she said, tapping on a picture of a large pasta dish. "You look Italian, hm? Don't worry, so's the cook. Trust me, you won't be disappointed."

"Sounds good to me," Sunny agreed.

"Good," grinned Marianne, giving his back a friendly pat as she stood upright again. His shoulder felt cold without hers pressed up against him. "Now, that comes with a soup and a salad. We have Manhattan, New England, beef barley, and French onion. What'll it be, sweetpea?"

"Um, can I get the French onion?"

"French onion, you got it, pretty baby. And your dressing?"

"Balsamic, please." Sunny was sure he must've been blushing like crazy; he just hoped the wide-eyed stare Marianne elicited from him wasn't entirely unwarranted. She wasn't the first waitress he'd encountered who had a fondness for pet names, but he'd never had a waitress who acted quite like her. She smiled and winked at him as she left the table and his heart skipped a beat, just as it had when she'd called him pretty baby, and sweetpea, and cutie pie, and…

Marianne hadn't been gone more than a minute before she returned to the table with the salad. It was late at night, and while Sunny wasn't the only customer in the diner, he'd only seen two others when he came in. Right now, he was entirely out of sight of them, hidden around a corner in the back of the restaurant.

"The soup'll be just a minute," said Marianne, setting the salad in front of him. "There's still time for an appetizer, if you want one." Sunny considered that for a moment. He knew he'd fill up on the soup and salad and the bread that came with it, and his dinner came with two sides. There was no way he'd be able to finish it all as it was, let alone with extra food on the table. As he thought about it, his stomach growled loudly. Marianne laughed.

"Sounds like your belly says yes," she said. Sunny blushed brightly. "How about some clam strips? C'mon, skinny little thing like you, you could stand to put some meat on your bones. What do you say, cutie?" Unable to find his voice, he nodded.

"Good boy," she said approvingly, patting his shoulder. Sunny nearly lost consciousness.

It wasn't long before Marianne returned with the soup and the appetizer. In spite of his initial hesitation, Sunny was ravenous after barely having time to eat all day, and it took all his strength not to drool at the sight of the food. His belly rumbled again.

"You better start filling that tummy before it eats you up," she teased. "Be right back with your dinner, pretty baby. It's gonna be big, so make sure you clean these plates off for me so we can make some room, alright?" She gave his shoulder a squeeze and left again. Sunny sat for a moment, utterly entranced, then snapped back to attention and dug in.

As he'd predicted, it didn't take long for him to start feeling full. The salad was big and hearty, the soup would've been appropriate as a meal all on its own, the bread that accompanied it would've been enough to share, and the dish of clam strips was clearly meant for a full table. Still, he'd been instructed to finish it, and finish he would. He would've taken a bite straight out of the table if Marianne asked him to.

It took some effort, but Sunny managed to finish off everything in front of him. He leaned back in the seat, resting a hand on his full belly. It was beginning to poke out against his snug shirt. As he sat taking a breath, Marianne returned. He looked up at her, almost ashamed at how stuffed he was, but she looked pleased.

"Wow, good boy," she exclaimed, and Sunny's heart fluttered in his chest. "Finished everything just like I asked. You've still got room, right?" He nodded, although he wasn't sure if he did. She cleared away the empty dishes and laid out the entrée: a big bowl of hot, saucy linguine, accompanied by a sizable baked potato and a dish of broccoli.

"You look pretty full, sweetie pie," she remarked, eyeing his slightly bloated tummy. "You can handle all this, right?" Sunny nodded. She smiled and squeezed his shoulder again, this time lingering on him just long enough to rub his back for a second. It was all he could do not to melt into her touch. She began to turn away, then looked over her shoulder at him.

"I'm gonna be back to make sure you're finishing it," she said, and went on her way. Sunny watched her go, then looked at the enormous bowl of pasta before him. Ordinarily, without the presence of his friends to make him feel like he had to prove something, he might have called it quits right then and there. Tonight, however, an even more powerful force had a tight hold on him. The thought of disappointing Marianne was almost unbearable. His appetite momentarily replenished by her words, he picked up the fork and started eating.

Though Marianne's encouragement had briefly returned his gusto, Sunny quickly realized that this dinner wasn't going to be conquered easily. It took only a few bites to remind him just how full he was. Still, like the smitten cowboy returning to Rosa's Cantina, he pushed on.

The pasta was exactly as good as Marianne had promised, and the sauce was mercifully light. Even so, his belly felt tighter with each mouthful, and no matter how much he ate, it never seemed to make a dent. For the moment, his stomach still felt comfortably stuffed, warm and cozy and filled to the brim with soup and carbs. He paused for a moment, hand on his belly. He was just on the brink of real discomfort; a few more bites and his stomach would begin to hurt.

"You're not giving up already, are you?" Sunny looked up, startled, to see Marianne standing over him once again. She looked down at his bloated tummy, smiling slyly. It was surprisingly round now, pushing out tightly against the waist of his jeans and stretching the fabric of his shirt. She placed a finger under his chin and tipped his head up. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared up at her with big doe eyes.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Sunny, who ordinarily couldn't shut up, lost his voice for a moment. Marianne smiled patiently at him as he struggled to speak.

"S-S-Sunny," he finally managed.

"Sunny," she repeated, slowly grazing her finger along his chin as she pulled it away. "You're a shy little thing, aren't you?" As a matter of fact, he wasn't, not in the slightest. Many words could describe Sunny--loud, mouthy, cocky, obtrusive--but shy wasn't one of them, at least not normally. Marianne almost seemed to know this, somehow, and there was a palpable satisfaction at the effect she had on him.

"You'll finish your dinner for me, won't you, Sunny honey?" Hypnotized, he nodded. She smiled, patted his cheek, and left him once again. Dazed, Sunny turned back to his pasta.

His stomach was beginning to ache now, but Sunny kept eating, albeit slower than before. He paused for a moment to try and inch the tight waist of his jeans down lower on his belly, then picked his fork back up and continued eating. He was finally beginning to make a dent, but he couldn't imagine finishing the entire bowl. He was already unbelievably stuffed. His stomach felt bloated and sloshy from the soup and the big chunk of bread that had absorbed it like a sponge, and every bite of pasta seemed to stretch his belly tighter. He forced up a small burp, covering his mouth as he did so, but it didn't do much to relieve the pressure inside him.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat to take a breath, trying to rub his belly discreetly even though all the surrounding tables were empty. He tried to burp again, but a hiccup came up instead. He groaned softly at the unwelcome jolt in his sore tummy. Another hiccup shook him. As he sat rubbing his aching stomach, the ever-attentive Marianne returned.

"Aw, poor baby," she said. He looked sheepishly up at her, hiccuping again. She leaned down beside him, one hand on his back as she picked up his water and brought it to his lips.

"Slowly," she instructed, and before he could protest--not that he wanted to--she tipped the glass. Obediently, he slowly took three big gulps, and he would've sworn he could feel his tummy push out further with each one. He didn't think he could take a fourth. Mercifully, she set the glass back down. His stomach felt tighter than ever, but the hiccups had ceased.

"There you go," she said, giving his round belly a firm pat. It sounded taut and hollow, like patting a melon, and before he could stop it, he suddenly burped. Though he wasn't typically one to get embarrassed, Sunny covered his mouth, mortified. Marianne didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she seemed pleased.

"There, I bet that opened up some room," she laughed, standing upright again. "By the look of your tummy I was starting to think you'd have to quit. You looked just about ready to pop." He felt like it too, in spite of the burp, though he didn't say anything. His big dark eyes remained fixed on hers as she took his chin with her fingers for a moment, her touch teasingly light.

"Finish up, now," she said, smiling at him. She pulled her hand away, but this time, she remained by the table. Sunny found it difficult to pull his gaze away from her, but he did as he was told. Or, at least, he tried to. Marianne watched as he took a few slow bites, but his stomach was at its limit. He couldn't eat any more. Sadly, almost nervously, he looked up at her again, his puppy eyes speaking for him: he was full.

"Aw, honey," she cooed. "You're really full, huh?" He nodded sheepishly. It was very late now, and the only thing he wanted more than to lay down and fall asleep was for her to rub his aching belly. He stifled a yawn.

"Poor thing. I'll go ahead and get you a box. I was gonna bring you a dessert menu, but I don't think that tummy could take another bite," she said, giving his stomach a gentle pat. "You did a good job, sweetheart. I didn't think a little guy like you would be able to eat so much." She left the table and he sat alone for a moment, sleepy and stuffed and wondering whether the whole night had been a dream. When she returned again with the box, he was yawning. She leaned in close as she set the box down before him, her nose brushing his temple as she spoke softly into his ear.

"It's the end of my shift, Sunny honey," she said, placing a hand on his bloated tummy. "How'd you like to come home with me?"

[aching-tummies]

Sounds like you had a rough time would be a shame if someone made it worse. Coming up behind you and placing their hands of your tummy. You thinking their gonna help with how bloated you feel but they only plan on making it worse. Your tummy is tight and hard from how bloated it is but they don't care they squeeze it anyway. Jiggling your tummy just to everything angrily slosh together as you moan in discomfort. Seeing how tight they can squeeze you before you lose everything. They would definitely tease you about how bloated you are by poking your bloated belly hard

Honestly, everything about this one (except for the partner and what they did to me) is basically a real experience. I made that discount chicken-noodle soup for myself when I was sick maybe five days in a week and it honestly felt like none of it digested by the third day. I think I skipped meals completely and fasted on the fourth day because my belly felt too damned bloated to have any appetite at all. Doing dishes was honestly terrifying and I was legitimately fighting back wet belches out of fear of suffocation all day between the third and fourth days.

As I write this, I realize I need more inspiration for dialogue in situations like this. Words definitely failed me.

I choke back another wet hiccup as I try to focus on rinsing the dishes without leaning on or bending around the counter as much as I normally do. If this kitchen counter were an inch higher, all of these plates and utensils would be getting re-filled very quickly rather than getting clean.

Apparently, sickness has decided that my stomach is going to refuse to digest for a while. I feel like a detergent pod--my belly bloated and swollen with a viscous liquid that'll burn my esophagus when exposed to the soft tissue.

My stomach rolls, rumbling without sound as the liquid contents churn inside my torso. My normally-trim stomach is visibly bloated out just a tad--plainly visible due to the form-fitting camisole I'm wearing. Thanks to fever and other symptoms not giving me a break, wearing the camisole is more efficient than anything else at the moment. I have plenty of spares, they're easy to wash and dry in a hurry, and when I feel overheated I can stand around in just the camisole, or rush to toss some layers on when I get too chilled. Unfortunately, the versatile clothing does very little for my ill-feeling stomach other than make it blatantly obvious that something's going on in the area. I've seen you leering at me in this get-up--eyes glued like a magnet to this liquid-y bloat that's refused to go down for the last three days.

I've been dodging you all week due to the sickness. Thankfully, you've been at work, but while you're home I usually have retired to the guest bedroom and thrown the lock for good measure. As much as we both love stomach-stuff, I honestly spent all those hours too sick to indulge in anything--including sleep. The last few nights have not been kind with the fever keeping me up by alternating between chills and sweats every ten or twenty minutes. The headache has been intense, and my stomach has refused to settle for the better part of a week.

I haven't eaten much of anything this week. I've made myself discount chicken noodle soup with chicken-flavoured boullion powder, onions, garlic, and macaroni and survived off of maybe a litre or a litre and a half of that stuff each day for the last three days. So...water and about three litres of soup is all that's entered my gut in the last three days. Honestly, it feels like it's all still in there, sloshing away as I carefully rinse off another plate. My stomach has been feeling increasingly more and more bloated with each day. It definitely doesn't feel like gas, especially not when I wake up to sour liquid lapping at the back of my throat. It seems my poor, little tummy has taken sick and refused to work over the last three days. Honestly, I have half a mind to just throw up and hope it makes me feel better, but the stuffy nose and congestion throughout my throat and chest threatens to asphyxiate me every time I try, so I end up swallowing back the hot and sour liquid that keeps coming up like some incessant groundhog.

I lean forward slightly with a groan as my stomach does another liquid-y flip.

"Unnngh...urk!" I yelp as I feel a new sensation--dry hands have slid over my camisole, coming to rest just over the crest of my bloated belly, right along my ribs. "Nnngh...ugh...d-darling...no." I bat at your hands, wincing as the force ripples through my bloated tummy. Your hands are in dangerous territory and it honestly scares me.

"Awww...poor tummy. So, so bloated." You tease, rubbing a languid, light circle over the tightest part of my stomach. Your rubbing causes another soundless rumble to tumble through my turbulent tummy, bringing up a wet belch.

"Nnngh...urrrrp--hic--b-babe...n-no. Please...n-not here...ulp...n-not on the plates."

My belly is surprisingly firm beneath your palms—bloated up with pretty much everything that has passed my lips in the last three days. You give it a light squeeze with your palm—testing the tension. Your hands pat roughly, dislodging a few more pitifully small wet belches that burn my throat and threaten to baptize the sudsy dishes in the sink with something nasty.

“Unnngh...nnnngh...” I mewl and moan, leaning back against you in a futile attempt to get away from the pressure of your hands.

You chuckle, jiggling my bloated belly and delighting in the wet 'glk' noise as well as my sudden reaction to bend over the sink with my eyes wide. I swallow desperately, trying to clear my throat enough to suck in a greedy breath of air. Damned congestion. I know I'd feel much, much better if I just threw up and purged the sick from my tummy—but there's a very real risk of suffocation due to congestion making it so that not only can I not breathe through my nose, but I also can't suck in enough air to even try to hold my breath for any length of time. I always thought 'shortness of breath' was just put there for people with pre-existing breathing conditions, or that it was legalese. Nope—it's real—and it is terrifying.

You continue to pat at my tummy with your left hand, jostling it uncomfortably and causing me to be reduced to moans and swallows as I fight to keep the waves of sick down. Your right hand rubs circles all over my bloated belly, varying the pressure based on what you think will cause me to moan. Eventually, you take to poking—jabbing your finger repeatedly into the tightest parts of my belly and delighting in the sharp cries and harsh belches that it causes. You nail my navel with one particularly forceful jab and I feel my mouth flood with something thick and sour.

[aceofspadille]

When on a date...

Character: Law x Reader

Warnings: SFW, one of the dates, fluff, soft Law

You ran to Heart Cafe on a Saturday morning, your favorite cafe. Your promise to have breakfast here once a week has gone pretty well since you and Law started dating two years ago.

Law is always on time. But you… not so much. But you always found him smiling softly at you at your usual table when he saw you rushing in with your hair all over the place. You grinned when you saw him, but the guilt of being late slowly crept into your thoughts.

“How was the sleep?” Law smiles, closing the menu down on the table.

You quickly ran to him, and hastily answered. “Very short.”

You sighed and looked him in the eyes. “Very rough week.” You pouted. “I’m sorry.” You murmured, looking at Law with a tiring eye and yawning; you decided to tell Law about your week and how you felt. You texted him constantly during the week, but you prefer telling him the stories again in person so you could feel his sense protecting you from everything. It’s a strange feeling, but you thoroughly enjoyed telling Law. You secretly hope that Law would not be bothered by it.

Law smiled as he ran a hand through your hair. He’s usually a distant person, he often doesn’t know how to react to a particular emotion, but he’s learning, and you are the reason that he wanted to learn this way. The trauma he had over his childhood has haunted him for so long that he couldn’t even realize it, he just knew that he’d been in hiding and you were like a ray of sunshine to his day, and he couldn’t help listening to you telling your stories, sometimes "complaining" like how you’d like to put. He listened carefully and offered advice, more often than not, he would comment to make you feel better. Law knows he isn’t the most talkative, but he’s doing his best for you both.

As Law paid attention to you, the food came out. You were surprised to see the food in front of you: raw egg soup with a touch of coriander, no spring onion, and a hot cup of mocha. You asked, “How did you know I’ll order this?”

“You ordered these every time you are stressed”. Law replied simply. The tears brim in your eyes, maybe because of the stress, maybe because after so long, you feel loved. The feeling sometimes you don’t know you could have. You rubbed your eyes before yawning and smiling. “Thank you”.

“Anytime.” Law patted your head as your stomach started to grumble, he chuckled while you just wanted to dig a hole to hide. “Let’s eat.” He said finally. You nodded, smiling at him.

As you two happily enjoy the warmth of the hot food and the aroma of the newly poured coffee, the sun shines brightly outside signaling a beautiful day is just ahead.

==

A/N: Law comforts me so much that I think of him every time I feel tired or having any difficulty in life. To me, he is soft for the one he loves and even though he might think that he's not good at comforting people, he would try. Thanks for reading!

[imtherain]

Soup

So here I am again, having feelings about a man who kills people.

This is for, about, around Simon “Ghost” Riley. From Call of Duty, a game I never in a million years thought I’d care about. But here we are.

Warnings? Hurt/Comfort I guess. Some female mentions for “you” (mentions being an auntie etc.) A lot of sort of sad feelings. Talk of trauma, injury, near death, all that fun stuff. Allusions to past relationships. No pancakes. But hey, there’s soup.

I apologize if you misread the title as Soap, as I have a few times. He’s lovely too, but this one is for Ghost.

Anywho

~~~~~

You had left the 141 six months ago. 

It was one of the hardest things you'd ever done, but after that last mission, you hadn't really had a choice. You'd been just about blown apart by a rain of gunshots. There was an explosion you didn't remember and three weeks of time you lost. Another three lost to a coma. 

And while you carried the scars and some pain the doctors said would never go away, what hurt you most was the look in your lieutenant's eyes when he told you you were going home. The way his eyes were hard chips of stone behind his mask when he told you he wouldn't let you come back.

That was the last time you'd talked to Ghost. And you tried not to think about how much his silence hurt you. You had been so close to him for so long. He always had your back and you always had his. You couldn't count the times you'd spent nights together, trying to deal with all the shit you had to do, there were too many. Maybe there were all of them. Then there were the times when you fell into each other's arms because there was nowhere else to go.

And he sent you home without saying anything that even resembled goodbye.

But that was half a year behind you. You had begun to pick up the bits of your life that could be salvaged. Your sister helped a lot. She was the only family that knew you were back, that even knew you were alive. She lived across town from your apartment, but she made sure to stop by to check on you as often as she could. 

You had taken to making food when the things in your head got too loud. You made beef stew and thought of Soap. How he always told you to add more potatoes and made jokes about the Irish in good humor. You made chicken noodle soup for cold nights in safe houses. Leek soup for when it rained and for stomach aches. And you made cakes and pies and cookies for Price and Gaz, both of which had terrible sweet tooths and always tried to steal the batter or taste the dough. 

You left a bowl empty for Ghost because you didn't know what else to do.

Tonight you made turkey soup. Lots of root vegetables from a friend of a friend who had a farm south of the city. Good fresh earth still clung to the turnips when your sister brought them to you. She had a whole bag full of turnips, parsnips, carrots, and rutabagas. Onions from the store. 

You made the broth with the carcass of the turkey you shared with your sister and her husband two nights before. At their place with their kids. The house, full of color and joy and laughter and life. You got to be Auntie y/n and not a soldier. Not a broken thing left for eternity to find left behind. 

Sometimes it was easier to forget the 141 when there was laughter around you. 

Sometimes you drove home and cried. 

The soup was delicious, warm. Tasted like the stuff that kept you alive with a hug.

You'd gotten good at making soup, as though it was the only thing you knew how to do. Your sister always made bread. Your whole apartment smelled like a Hallmark movie. You sat together at the table, three bowls, two now dirty, and all three empty. 

Your sister had stopped asking why a while ago. You figured she knew it was a type of mourning. She always knew you in ways you didn't tell her. Knew how you only wore earrings when you wore dresses. How there was always a knife close at hand. How you slept with a gun, loaded, strapped to the side of your nightstand.

How you always made soup when you missed them.

You had picked up your bowl and your sister's when you heard a knock at the door. All of your alarms went off, thinking the worst at first. But then you remembered how there was a single mother down the hall who you often told could come asking for dinner when she smelled it. Knowing she needed good food sometimes for her and her twins. Remembered just how far your sister’s bread recipe could carry down the hall.

You covered the peephole with your hand before looking through it. In case whoever it was had a gun waiting for you.

There was a shadow outside the door. Tall, broad, black sweatshirt. They were looking down the hall, towards the exit sign that glowed faintly red along the white parts of his mask.

You opened the door and he turned to you.

"Who is it?" Your sister called. You were frozen in the doorway.

"I shouldn't have come," was all he said, turning with his duffle bag to head towards that glowing red light. You caught his sleeve before he could flee. 

"Can you do me a favor?" You call over your shoulder back into the house. "Go hide in the bathroom, I'll let you know when you can come out," you stepped out into the hall and closed the door enough that she wouldn't see him. You knew how he was. How he liked his privacy. 

"What? Why?" Your sister's confused voice.

"Just do it, I'll explain later," you call back. Ghost hadn't tried to pull away yet. You just held his eyes while you both listened to your sister grumble as she did as you asked.

"You have company," his voice was gravel, just like you remember it. The accent slides around his words like silk. 

"She's my sister, she watched my place while I was gone." You told him.

"I didn't know you had a sister," voice low.

You hadn't talked about family, there had been no room for it amongst the gunfire.

"If I ask her to go, will you stay?" You didn't want to feel the hope that tried to block your throat. You didn't want to admit how badly you missed him. How being apart had made you realize just how fucked you were, falling in love with your LT.

"Simon?" Your voice was smaller than he remembered it but hearing his name in your throat brought him back to earth. 

But he wasn't your LT anymore. Not your commanding officer in any way.

So what was he? 

"Affirmative," he said. His voice was smaller than it used to be too. As though he didn't want you to hear it. You pulled on his sleeve. 

"You can go to my room while I send her home, she wasn't going to stay much longer anyway." You tell him when he resists your tug. "You can take a shower if you want, it'll feel good. Or you can just…" whatever other suggestions you had died in your throat. "Just, don't leave, ok?" This time he only nodded. 

He pulled off his boots inside the door and followed you to your room. You didn't see him look around your apartment, didn't see the way he took in the mismatched furniture, the loudly colored rugs, the blankets and pillows that filled the arm chairs. You pointed him into the darkness of your room, flipping the switch to light the lamp on your bedside table. The only light you kept in your room these days.

He looked somehow more massive in the space of your room. He glanced at the dresser which had a mess of body sprays and lotions your sister kept bringing you. There was another chair, filled with clothes this time. The bed was made up with bright colored blankets and more pillows than he'd ever seen in one place before.

"They say the more pillows you have the lonelier you are," He spoke like it was a joke. 

"That they do," you didn't agree but you knew better than to lie. "I'll be back in a minute," he dropped his duffle on the floor next to the bed and nodded. 

You sighed heavily and went to kick your sister out. 

She promised to call you in the morning and you locked the door with all three locks.

She was worried about leaving you with Ghost. You had told her more than enough to make her nervous about him. But you trusted him still, even if he had sent you away.

Even if he hadn't said goodbye.

When you came back to your room, you could hear the shower running. The duffle was opened and a few pieces of black fabric were spilling out. You weren't surprised that he wore only black when he played civilian. 

"She's gone," you called through the door of the bathroom. "Take your time," you added. 

A few minutes later the bathroom opened and Ghost came out. A simpler Balaklava over his face now, a black long sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up, black pants. The steam from the shower spilled out into the room and backlit him with the harsh light over your sink. He was barefoot as he stood on your carpet.

You didn't know what else to say to him.

He stood and faced you.

He went to his duffle and put his things back. You thought of all the times you'd imagined him here, how he'd look amongst your things. Mourned how you would surely never find out.

But here he was. 

"I didn't know you knew where I lived," you finally said. You weren't surprised he could find you, but you didn't know how else to break the silence.

"I've known for a while," he replied. 

"So why now?" You had your arms crossed as you watched him think of what to say. Maybe you imagined it but there was something sharp in his eyes, something like fear or loss or… something.

"I had to see you…make sure you were ok," 

"Why?" You didn't want him to know how fast your heart was beating.

"I had to know," you felt anger flare at his attempt to answer you without telling you anything. 

When he didn’t say anything you laughed. Of course he’d stay silent. He never quite figured out how to talk unless it was to give order, to tell off color jokes, or to grind out dirty words into your ear.

"Had to know what, Simon? Had to know if I was still alive? Had to know if I was still going to the doctor's, to rehab? Had to know if I was living alone or with someone who would actually fucking care about me?" It wasn't fair to accuse him. You knew that. But it had hurt so much when you were sent away. Hurt like a battery acid injection, straight to your chest.

Hurt like a thousand paper cuts that could never figure out how to heal. 

“It hurt like hell when you told me to go home,” You said. “Did you know that? It felt like you were kicking me out of the 141, out of all of your lives…out of your life. As though you couldn’t stand to so much as look at me.” You weren’t looking at him anymore, so you missed the way his eyes snapped to your face.

“You almost died, y/n,” He said. “Because of a bad call I made. I had to watch you get shot to shit, watch you bleeding out while Gaz did all he could to keep you from dying. It was a miracle we got you to a hospital at all.” You felt tears gather behind your eyes, pulling angrily at your throat as you tried to keep them inside.

“I never blamed you for that,” 

“It doesn’t matter if you did or not because I fucking did,” Ghost snapped. “And then I had to see you hooked up to all those fucking tubes and machines, not moving.” 

“You didn’t have to stay,” You tried to ignore the way your heart clenched at his words.

“Three weeks. I had to see that shit for three weeks before you opened your eyes again.” He took a step forward and you watched him cross the space until he was before you. You looked up at him, his frame so large in the dim light. You knew people who would be terrified of being so close to him. But not you. Never you.

“And first chance you got, you told me to get the fuck out… forced me to retire,” His face was hidden by his mask, but you could see the way his shoulders fell as your cheeks grew wet. You wiped at your eyes with your hands and pretended it didn’t kill you for him to see you like this.

“I couldn’t…I couldn’t see you like that again,” His voice was soft now. When you didn’t look at him, he sank to his knees, his hands coming up to touch your legs, gently, as though he was afraid you’d break. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you laying there, bloody or plugged up with so many machines…” He shook his head as if to displace the memories. His hands moved up your sides. You didn’t want to forgive him, didn’t want to understand.

“You told me not to die, and I didn’t,” You said. “And you paid me back by leaving,” 

“Didn’t know what else to do,” A confession at the altar you built to hide your heart from the world. You felt the walls, the temple you haunted, start to shake and crumble.

His head dipped down into your lap as his arms closed around you. He was hurting too. Just as much as you were. Your hand moved to the back of his head, wanting to comfort him even after all this time. You knew he wouldn’t be here if it didn’t matter, if you didn’t matter to him.

But it had hurt so much for so long.

“Why are you back?” Your voice was small as your hand traced the back of his head. You’d never seen him like this before, and it meant something to you. It had to.

“Soap said I was a dumb fuck for letting you go,” 

“That’s all it took?” You could almost laugh. You used your hands to bring his face up so you could look at him, but frowned when you saw his eyes, dark as always, but more haunted than normal.

There was more to it than just Soap talking shit. “Tell me what happened, love,” 

“Bad intel, shit went sideways.” You felt your heart clench.

“Who?”

“Whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was you all shot to shit, bleeding out like you were in a hurry to die,” 

“Simon,” You pressed.

“But you’re ok now,” You said. You were telling yourself just as much as you were reminding him. “And me, I’m here, I’m safe too,” Your thumbs brushed his cheeks, something that, even when you were together, you’d rarely gotten to do.

“Me,” He finally said. You had his face in your hands, but he pulled away and ripped the balaclava off, showing you his face. You’d seen him before, but seeing him now, his eyes angry and wet, caught you off guard. There were no new marks on his face, but you studied him just to be sure. “I was the one bleeding out… and you weren’t there to see it.” Your heart dropped like a nuclear bomb, but when it hit bottom it didn’t explode.

It just sat there, heavy.

“I thought it would be better if you weren’t there,” He continued. “That I wouldn’t keep looking for you,” You wondered how long he’d been keeping this to himself, knowing he didn’t usually open up to anyone. You wondered if he’d told Soap, and that’s why he’d called him a dumb fuck.

“It sucked being here without you,” You said. “Not hearing from you. Soap calls once in a while, checks in. Price even offered to come visit. But I told him no.” 

Simon looked at you for a long time, not saying anything more. You held his face, knowing he’d run out of words. After a while, you just sighed and leaned down to kiss his forehead, holding the kiss for three counts too long.

“Should I go?” He asked. Your hands were on his shoulders now, his still along your waist while he knelt on your floor. You shook your head.

“I made soup, if you’re hungry,” You told him instead. He thought for a moment before he nodded. It took a minute for him to pull away from you enough to stand. You picked up his mask and handed it to him before taking his hand. He laced his fingers with yours.

If he was going to stay, you were going to have to start over. And if you were going to start over, you’d do it right this time. Soft touches, gentle kisses. Not fast fucks in the desert. Not sloppy quickies behind the barracks. Not moans concealed by gloved hands.

He dutifully followed you to the kitchen and took the chair you offered him. You went about reheating the soup, as it was cold now. You didn’t say much, and he didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed you, face still open and empty of his mask. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen his face this long in a single go before.

It was nice.

“My sister made the bread, it’s fresh,” You told him, handing him a thick slice. You couldn’t help but touch his face one more time before turning back to the stove with his bowl.

You sat with him while he ate. Watching as he dipped the bread in and brought it to his mouth. You wondered if he liked any specific soup best. Maybe squash soup, or tomato, or mushroom bisque.

“What?” He asked after you’d stared at him too long.

“I missed you,” You said, knowing better than to lie. His lips threatened to turn into a smile.

“Missed you too,” He speaks carefully, as if the words were new, before returning to the soup. 

You were content, for now. He was here, he was clean, he was eating. You could touch him.

And the empty bowl was full.

[Masterlist]