#butter rice is so comforting

[homosociallyyours]

I have food to eat for dinner that won't take a lot of effort to reheat and enough energy to do the reheating BUT it's one of those nights where the thought of ordering food just sounds so good!! Panang curry?? Saag paneer?? Idk just. Not my (delicious, nutritious) house food lol

This isn't an ask for $ help, just some plaintive bleating that I know many of you will identify with. Sometimes you want take out just because you want take out!

[luveline]

i just discovered bombshell reader but omfg she got hit in the face with a sledgehammer??? how does the healing process go for her? especially since she’s very focused on her looks. how would she cope?

thank you for requesting <3 fem

Your new scars are… an adjustment. 

The worst one is where the hammer hit you. Where your jaw shattered, and the impact of the hammerhead split your skin. You don’t remember the pain, just the nausea, and the blackness as your consciousness slipped away, and now you have a permanent reminder stretched from the corner of your mouth to your jaw. 

You turn your chin up in the mirror, looking. When you smile the scar puckers, rigid and starkly purple against your skin.  

You can hear Spencer in your kitchen. He’s singing. You haven’t heard him sing many times, despite all your days and nights spent together. Your smile is out of your hands, you don’t really think about it, and so for the first time in weeks you see your own happiness in the mirror. 

You didn’t have your jaw wired for as long as most people, just three weeks. At first you’d decided against it, and then you’d realised it wasn’t really an option. That entire time, Spencer stood by your side like he’d been glued there supporting every decision with vigour. And considering he hadn’t been your boyfriend for very long —your best friend, arguably, but not officially your partner— he’s done more than you ever expected of him. He’s been perfect. 

He continues to be everything you need. “Hey, Y/N! Are you eating breakfast today or not?” 

You give yourself a last look in the mirror, cringe at your scars, and check your newly repaired teeth. They look fine, Spencer swears that he can’t tell the difference. 

You can. 

You leave your room for the kitchen. There are twin plates of breakfast waiting and steaming hot on the kitchen table, with a glass of juice and a second of water waiting beside them. Spencer’s coffee sits half empty beside the cutlery. 

“I love breakfast. What are we having, Spencer Reid, egg and sausage muffins again?” 

He appears from your little pantry with a big smile. “No, it’s bacon and egg. But I can make something else.”

“That’s perfect, it’s perfect.” 

Spencer puts a package of rice crackers down on the table. “Let me get the hazelnut spread. Sit down.” 

“It’s fine, we can have them after. You need to eat before it goes cold, Spence.” You open your hand for him. “Please?”

Spencer takes your hand, but only for you to sit. He stays standing at your legs, looking down at you, all brown curls and eyes as his hand runs up your arm to your shoulder, where it stays. 

The other follows a similar path, but then he holds your face, and you feel your breath catch. 

Forward, for Spencer. 

Suddenly, he’s the confident one. 

“You were in there for a long time,” he says. 

“Just making sure I look alright.” 

“You do. You look more than alright.” His thumb presses into your cheek, forcing a hollow. 

You lean into it. 

“You’re beautiful. Nothing can change that.” 

You need the comfort, and you know you’ve had enough. He keeps telling you how pretty you are, and you are, but he must be getting sick of it. 

…But no. He’s not getting tired of it. 

“Love you,” you whisper. 

He’s only had a couple of those from you. Many more since your injury, not because you didn’t love him, but because it can be synonymous with so many things, like please, and thank you, and please stay. Lately, you’ve had to ask him for more than you’ve ever asked before. 

“I love you, too,” he says, with that pout that tells you his cheeks will be pink before he’s so much as sat down. 

He rubs your cheek. Over and over, little circles as your eyes close. You’re tired again. His hands smell like toast and butter. 

“It’s really not as bad as you think it is. Nobody at work will think anything less of you.” 

“Of course they will. I used to be perfect.” 

“Hey. That’s not fair, to you or anyone. A scar doesn’t have the power to– to make you less perfect,” —you peel your eyes open at his intensity— “you couldn’t be any less pretty. It’s not possible.” 

“I know it’s ugly, Spencer.” 

“You keep saying that, but it’s not.” He raises his second hand to your cheek, the one with the scar, careful though it stopped feeling tender to the touch weeks ago. The pad of his thumb follows the line. 

You raise your chin, pulling him down for a quick kiss. “Sorry,” you say against his lips. 

He smiles in turn. “It’s okay. I can keep telling you.” 

“Can you tell me again?” 

Spencer kisses you again. His way of kissing has been toned down now, and sometimes you miss feeling like he was gonna press you against a wall, but it was necessary. Even now you feel a phantom twinge as his nose smushes yours. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, pulling back now, just one hand at your neck. “You are. You’re so pretty it gives me palpitations.” 

“That can’t be good.” 

“I think it’s really bad.” He laughs like an idiot. “I just don’t care. I’ve had you-provoked tachycardia for years. Nothing’s gonna change that now.” 

—

bombshell au

[zepskies]

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

If you want to read a reverse of this - How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy, and Russell Shaw would take care of you when you're sick, check out this HC by @luci-in-trenchcoats:

How They Take Care Of You When You’re Sick

And if you want even more fluff, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell:

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

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Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Priestly Tag List

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@mostlymarvelgirl @thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester

@deans-spinster-witch @sanscas @mxltifxnd0m @hobby27 @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @chernayawidow

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@fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused

@mrlonelycat @deans-daydream @leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989

@siampie @rubyvhs @winchestergirl2

[caoimhewrites]

Sick Days

How TF141 + König would help you on your sick days

CW: None

WC: 505

Ghost Has you snuggled up on the couch in a nest of pillows and blankets. He'll make sure you hardly even have to leave your cozy spot until you're better. He’ll check on you regularly, especially if you're feverish. Simon is very sensible about illness, he'll make sure you do everything by the book when it comes to getting better. Plenty of water, meds and rest. He won't be hearing any argument from you about it either. Too bad if you think the medicine is gross. You need it to get better and he'll make it his personal mission to help you.

König is also very sensible, much like Simon. He'll make sure you get some rest. If that's not enough, he'll be calling the doctor for you and making sure to list off every single one of your symptoms. König has an amazing memory. Especially when it comes to you. He'll always remember how you like your tea or coffee. Expect plenty of it while you're wrapped in a mountain of blankets. You'll have your favorite everything when you're sick. No need or want goes unmet with König. He may be a huge and frankly scary man, but he's a gentle giant at heart, always helping you get better.

Price will be waiting on you hand and foot. He can't let his love do ANY work in this state. Expect all of your needs to be met. Need soup? He's making your favorite. Sweet tooth? He's already on his way to your favorite bakery to get you whatever you could want. You're cold? He'll give you extra blankets and even turn the heat up. He's overly worried about you. You could have a simple cold and he'll be on webMD checking your symptoms and calling every doctor in the area.

Gaz will 100% be your nap buddy. You'll need plenty of rest to get better and Kyle will jump on the opportunity to cuddle and sleep the day away. He's always tired after deployment so if you're tired from being sick? It works out perfectly. Any time spent awake he spends helping you. He's a great cook so he'll be making whatever you request even if it's bland and boring like plain rice or pasta with nothing but butter and salt. He's pretty quiet when you're sick, just offering some silent comfort and help.

Soap is the sick one. I have it in my head that he is ALWAYS sick with something. He hides it well when deployed but when he's home and sick? Be ready to be tending to him constantly. He's very dramatic about it too. He acts like he got the plague, whining and pleading for your help. Really he just likes your attention. He loves when you pamper him and watch over him. He'll take the opportunity to snuggle as much as he can. Giving you his best pleading puppy eyes, "pleaseeeee, love? I'm a dyin' man here." You can't help but give in, his adorable expression pulling you in.

Taglist: @little-mini-me-world

[creampuffqueen]

Avatar Yangchen's Favorite Foods

My winter break boredom combined with my chronic writing procrastination have combined to form Yangchen Thoughts at never before seen levels.

AKA, I was doing a bit of research into potential Air Nomad cuisine and suddenly found myself needing to know what Yangchen's favorite foods would be. So here we are.

Most of the foods listed will be primarily of Tibetan origin, considering that is the main cultural inspiration for the Air Nomads. However, because Yangchen spent a large portion of her life in different Earth Kingdom cities, there will be some dishes taken from other cultures as well. I will be providing links to as many recipes as possible! (Note: some of the recipes themselves are not vegetarian, but could easily be modified so to fit with the Air Nomads' vegetarian lifestyles).

Now, when it comes to food, Avatar Yangchen strikes me as someone who prioritizes function over flavor. Obviously she prefers her food to taste good, but she's more concerned with what said food can do for her, convenience-wise. She prefers foods that can be eaten on the go, snacked on while working, or downed relatively quickly. As well, she wants her food to be on the filling side, which lessens the amount of time she has to spend eating. She's quite pragmatic about her food. (Is this a good thing? I suppose that's up to you to decide). Finally, her cooking skills are pretty minimal, so most of her favorite dishes are quite simple to make.

Most of this post will be under a cut because, as per usual, I can never make anything short :)

Butter Tea

This is a very traditional Tibetan drink, and it's one that Yangchen would have grown up drinking. It's actually mentioned in The Dawn of Yangchen! It's a drink she would find very comforting, as well as filling due to it being nearly half butter.

Breakfasts

Tomato Egg Soup

It's quite literally what it sounds like. This is a breakfast dish, probably very common in the Earth Kingdom and/or Fire Nation. It's simple to make, but hearty and warm.

Shom-Dae - Rice Pudding

This is a rice pudding made with yogurt. It can be eaten with fruit as a filling breakfast, or sweetened to be made into a dessert. Yangchen doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, so she prefers this for her breakfast.

Snacks

Bhobi

This is basically a Tibetan burrito. A soft, thin flatbread wrapped around various fillings. Typically these can have anywhere from 3-5 different fillings, consisting of things such as stir-fried vegetables, noodles, eggs, you name it. Yangchen would absolutely be a fan of the versitility, and would likely make these to use up leftovers for a tasty snack.

Shogo Khatsa - Spicy Potatoes

As the name implies, this dish is made up of spicy potatoes. I think Yangchen would actually be a huge fan of spice, and as such would totally love these. She would probably also dip them in Sepen, which is a Tibetan tomato-based chili sauce.

Various Street Foods

Yangchen would love trying local street foods at all the places she visits, but she has a few favorites. Fried tofu, spring rolls, and spicy cucumbers. They're all very easy on the go snacks.

Onion Tingmo

This snack is definitely more of a comfort food. These are a type of steamed bun with green onions folded in, and I think these would be Yangchen’s guilty pleasure; the kind of food she could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Meals

Tenchung - Lentil Soup

The Air Nomads would certainly be fans of lentils, considering their high protein and iron content. This is another very simple soup, but would be very comforting and nostalgic for Yangchen - as well as quite filling.

Mokthuk - Momo Soup

Momos are Tibetan dumplings, which Yangchen would enjoy eating on their own, but when added to a hearty soup the dish is called Mokthuk. As you're probably starting to figure out, I think Yangchen is a pretty big soup fan. Just like in the attached video, Yangchen would load her soup up with chili oil for added spice.

Pishi - Tibetan Dumpling Soup (also known as "Lemur-Face Soup")

This soup is extremely similar to Mokthuk, but the dumplings are made in a different way and more resemble wontons. This dish is often colloquially referred to as "Lemur-Face Soup" by Air Nomad children, as the folded dumplings resemble the faces of flying lemurs. Because the dumplings for this soup require a bit of extra effort, it would have been a rare treat growing up. Yangchen loves it both for the flavor and the fond memories it brings.

Desserts

Tenshi-Bhakthuk

This is a fried pastry covered in a sugar syrup that is typically served at New Year's celebrations. They are small, crunchy little snacks that Yangchen would love eating each year at the celebration.

Bulug

The best way I can describe this is that it's a Tibetan funnel cake. This is also served at New Year's celebrations. When Yangchen was younger, she and her sister Jetsun would always get one of these to split. It's a bittersweet memory now, but she still absolutely loves the food.

----

And there we have it! A whole selection of foods I think Yangchen would enjoy. Feel free to use this in fics, art, headcanons, whatever, and your own as you see fit!

Due to all this research I've done, I also have lots of ideas for foods that could be added to the Air Nomad cuisine as a whole - who knows, maybe that will become a separate post of its own!

Pretty much all recipes came from Palden's Kitchen ; would absolutely recommend checking his channel out! His videos are very high quality and his voice is incredibly soothing, honestly I want this man as my grandfather now.

Finally, I also need to give a shoutout to @atlaculture for providing inspiration and resources for my Tibetan food deep dive!

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Nesting for Omegas

•A Nest is a space an Omega keeps for their heats especially but also for a calming, comfortable space all their own

•No one is to enter that space without express permission from the Omega in question-permission is needed every time you enter unless you’re the Omegas Alpha and you know you’re wanted there-permission will still be needed for an Alpha if the Omega is upset with them

•When an Omega builds a nest they zone out and focus on their task, it is nearly impossible to get their attention and if you do you’ll wish you hadn’t, Omegas don’t take kindly to being distracted while building their nest {Disrupt at your own Risk}

•Do Not wear your shoes into an Omegas nest!

•Young Omegas will always have a nest of their own but when with friends or family outside their home, like at a sleep over, they will often make a nest for them and their friends to sleep in. Alphas and Betas are taught not to intrude on a nest that’s not their Omegas but in this case it’s a community nest, though the Omega will still be particular about how it’s built, often changing little things about how they buid their own nest so it’s not too similar, not wanting people to know what their nest looks like

•Many Betas and Alphas try to build nests when they’re children, wanting the comfort, especially once they’ve experienced a friends nest or been into their parents if they have an Omega parent, though it’s a behavior that doesn’t stick around long very often-only the occasional Beta will continue this practice and it will be different than that of an Omegas

(——However when an Alpha has been put on suppressants too young (usually before presenting) they will often display Omega-like behaviors and one of those is nesting. This action becomes just as if not more important to the Alpha as they grow-especially depending on their situation)

•An Omega will usually build their nest in a small space with surrounding walls, like a nook. Many young Omegas will build their nests in their closet when they’re new to it and instinctually try to hide it from people

•Many Omegas hang curtains around their nests to make them feel safer and less exposed, another reason younger Omegas nest in their closets so often. It makes them feel less vulnerable

•Typical nesting materials include

Comforters. Pillows. Body pillows. Sheets. Fleece throws. Stuffed animals. Mates clothes, or clothes of an Alpha they like that they’ve stolen to make their nest smell like them. -Young Omegas will quite often steal shirts from their Alpha fathers to put in their nest as in their youth it has only ever been a safe and wonderful/comforting smell that often helps them relax and sleep (to the small Omega ‘Alpha Scent’ just smells like Daddy and Daddy is safe-this wears off around puberty and sometimes even earlier) Many use faux fur as part of their nest, the feel of animal fur being instinctually comforting to an Omega as it was one of the only things Omegas had to use hundreds of years ago

•Candles will typically be placed around a nest or incense holders as well as lights, fairy lights often being things Omegas like hanging over their nests as they’re not overly bright and blinding, they offer a dim light that’s just enough without being too much, just enough to be comforting so Christmas lights are often perfect

•Nearly all Omegas will have a cache of snacks. Some have a mini fridge near by with things in it but most will have a box hidden in a corner of their nest containing water bottles/Powerade/gatorade since their heats cause intense thirst, it will also contain snacks. Mostly things that are filling and replace their energy during heats such as Trail mix, jerky, gold fish crackers, peanut butter crackers, granola bars, peanuts, pretzels, but they will also have other treats that they enjoy most for when they need them like fruit snacks, cookies, favorite candy bars, chips, pop corn, Rice Krispie treats

•Every single nest is different, because every single Omega is different. Some are extremely neat, some are hectic and messy, some are all matching and beautiful, some are mismatched colors and complex, made on a mattress, layered on a hundred pillows. No 2 nests are the same but they are all comfortable and perfect to each individual Omega

•A quick way to an Omegas heart is a compliment on their nest, they all work very hard to make it perfect and are more self conscious about it than you would expect since it is so personal to them

•If you are lucky enough to be allowed into an Omegas nest count your lucky stars, it is an honor and a privilege and you should never treat it as anything less

Omegaverse Beliefs

[appleblueberry-pie]

Hello again, I hope you are having a good day. May I please request for Yandere Nanami wherein he miscalculates how long his business trip would be and he comes home to emotionally wrecked and hungry darling ( He locked them in the closest as a punishment prior) which leads to hurt comfort between the two

Nanami opened the front door and kicked off his shoes, sighing in disappointment at his timing and at how late at night he got back at. Traffic was terrible, his shoes weren't as comfortable as they were this morning, and he missed you terribly. He ran his fingers through his hair that no longer mattered now that he was indoors and put his suitcase out of sight.

He was going to call out that he was home, but reminded himself that he still had you cooped up in that shitty basement. He walked through the house and into the kitchen to finally get you a glass of water. He was only supposed to be on that business trip for around two days and be back home by the time the third day ended. The basement was very spacious, but even he had his limits in there. Which is why it was a great punishment, in his mind. He had enough of your mouth and you attempted to escape after almost sending him over the edge all in one day. But he still worried for you. There were no lights or any sense of comfort in there. At this point, he just wants you in his arms again. The thought makes his heart race in excitement. You must feel so lonely, feel so anxious, so cold, and

You freeze when you turn and see Nanami standing a few feet away from you, watching you shove your fifth slice of bread into your mouth. The two of you mirrored the same look of horror as you acknowledged one another. Nanami's face contorts into one of realization while yours continues to drop. Your stomach twists in fear at the sight of your captor finding you outside of your confinement and suddenly you feel nauseous and no longer desire any kind of elements of nutrition.

Pieces of food that weren't swallowed fall out of your mouth in fear and surprise and you scatter off to the nearest room with a lock and you slam it shut, fiddling with the lock and somehow manage to turn it with terribly shaky hands. It's hard to breath and you hyperventilate as you scoot into a corner, keeping yourself huddled.

Kento was still stuck in place, his mouth open in complete shock. You had ransacked the entire kitchen. He lets his eyes scan over everything on the ground. Almost nothing in the cabinets or fridge was left untouched, so many things left open and touched by his poor, poor girl's fingers. Juice, crackers, the bread you tore into, butter, cereal, refrigerated rice, half-eaten boxes of vegetables and fruits, uncooked noodles......it didn't end there.

The more his eyes found laying around, the heavier his heart got. This was all his fault. He didn't mean to......do this to you. Not at all. His eyes flutter shut as he rubs them, a sigh leaving his mouth. This wasn't supposed to happen. He inhaled sharply to gather more courage to step past the obvious signs of severe neglect he had done to you.

He could hear your fast-paced breathing from outside of the guest-bedroom and shakes his head in shame. He was so fucking ashamed of being so irresponsible with taking care of you. He was supposed to be your lover, your caretaker, the one you should be able to trust. But it seems like he can't even do any of those things right. He was wrong. "I'm sorry." His throat felt like it was constricting his vocals as he chokes out the apology. No kind of words or affirmations could change what he did to you and he wanted to be able to help you see that.

His face was so close to the door, as if he could speak through it into your heart. The last thing he'd do is force you into anything. He deserved to work for your trust back. "I'm so sorry, baby, please." There wasn't much he could make himself say. His ears picked up on your silent sobs and he dropped his forehead on the door, his hands on it as well. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna see you. It's been so long, hm? Since we last saw each other? I just want to hold you."

You didn't know how to feel. You just did something so very, very wrong. This is the type of behavior that gets you in the basement and a chain on your ankle for decoration. You broke out and practically flipped the kitchen upside-down. What isn't he going to do to you??? You didn't even realize yourself speaking through your tears. Constant 'leave me alone's slipped through your lips as you cried. You were so damn scared of what he'd do to you.

Outside the door, Kento shakes his head at your words and presses the side of his face to the door to hear you better. "No, no, no, no, baby. I won't hurt you, I promise. Can you please trust me just this once? I just want to make sure you're okay. You're hungry, I can tell. Just let me help you and you can get all of the food you want, okay??" Kento shakes the doorknob subconsciously, which makes you gasp in fear. Kento flinches away from it when he hears you make the sound and immediately and tells you he won't do it again.

He continues trying to verbally sooth you through the door, telling you repeatedly that it's okay. "....Everyone has limits. And I pushed you to yours." You wipe your face of your tears and push yourself to your feet.

Slowly, you hesitate, but take your quiet steps towards the door. Nanami can't hear anything on the other side. Are you okay? Why are you quiet? Are you trying to escape through the window??? It's bolted. Never mind. He's worried. "Darling?" He silently whispers. All he gets is the sound of his own breaths.

Then the loud sound of the lock clicks and he takes a step back. The door cracks open, extremely slowly. It's almost impossible to tell. You only leave enough space to look through about 1 inch to peek at him through the door. And even with that much to look at, he can tell you are so scared. He shouldn't have done this. The constant anxiety this is giving him continues to make his stomach cramp. A wobbly smile makes its way onto his face. "There she is! Can you-.....please let me take you out of that room?" He stumbles over his words, his arms awkwardly spreading out to seem as if he's friendly.

The silence you let grow only leaves room for more interpretation. You just stare at him with that stone cold eye. Almost as if you're trying to see through him. But nothing is hiding behind his face but the constant stress he's getting from stressing you out. He obviously loves you too much. He gets overprotective sometimes.

You open the door and step out and his shoulders relax as he very carefully looks over you. You used the bucket. Which was good. So, you were at least somewhat clean. You just looked.....hungry. Your face seemed slimmer, your eyes sunken in exhaustion(not that much, but he's great at details when it comes to you).

Before you could stop him, he was cleaning the kitchen and got to running you a bath and making dinner.

[lonelyl00n]

wildflower. (billie eilish)

billie eilish x reader

summary: you begin dating your best friend's ex, but the guilt is tearing you apart.

❀ 🎕❁

I remember the night when she laid her golden-brown curls on my chest, sobbing and heaving while all I could do was tell her how much her ex didn’t deserve her. The same ex of hers whose arms wrapped around my waist at some random influencer party she dragged me to. Her ex, the one I’d now been dating for five months.

I had always been aware of Billie, I had been listening to her SoundCloud since middle school, she was in my friend group, and had dated my long-time friend, Odessa, on and off for about a year before they called it quits. Even after their breakup, I would occasionally run into Billie wherever I went it seemed, at random movie premieres, at friends who I didn’t even know we shared birthday parties, at the grocery store.

At first it was a bit awkward, I mean, THE Billie Eilish never seemed to shy away from blabbering to me about the most random things. ‘I saw a squirrel that looked just like you’ or ‘That new bakery had some AMAZING banana pudding, I like banana pudding, it’s really good. Do you like banana pudding?”

Eventually, she started to grow on me. Our one trip to the bakery turned into going to every restaurant in town twice a week, to making dinner at her house every other night. It was on the night where we burnt our third attempt of tofu fried rice that we laid down on her bed, munching on PB&Js, that I turned to look at her to find that she was already looking at me. Her eyes gazing at mine before glancing down at my lips.

“Do I have peanut butter on my mouth?” I covered my face with my hands, licking the area around my face. Billie only smirked, taking my hands into her and leaning in. My mind didn’t seem to be working and before I knew it, the two of us were exploring each other’s mouths. Suddenly, realizing the gravity of the situation, I grabbed my bag and ran out the door. I had broken the number one rule of girl code: NEVER KISS YOUR BEST FRIEND’S EX-GIRLFRIEND.

I did the only reasonable thing I could do; I called Odessa.

“Hey love,” Odessa’s raspy voice was heard over the line instantly.

“Hi." I responded. Already a choked-up mess sitting in my car outside an empty Walmart.

“What’s up, is everything okay.” She spoke noticing my silence. If there was one person I was never shy with, it was Odessa.

“I-“I paused. If I told her, it would kill her, rather, she would kill me. She’d hate me, and I’ve heard firsthand all the vulgar thing she would say about the people she hated. Could my heart handle hearing her precious voice, my comfort, say those words to me. “I’m sorry.” I murmured before hanging up the phone. No, I couldn’t.

That leads me back to tonight. Those familiar curls bounced up and down in that short black dress that I bought her a few years back. She looked stunning, she always had. Smiling and dancing with her friends, once our friends, looking as carefree as ever. My gaze lingered on her and so did Billie’s. Her mouth slightly agape, the blinding lights from the compact room making her eyes sparkle like jewels. She’d never looked at me like that before. Never.

There had always been a small yet present feeling whenever the two of us did anything. It was like she was a robot. Oh, we were in public! Her arms awkwardly appear at my side. Oh, I mentioned being hungry, well she knew I liked strawberry banana smoothies from the shop down the street. Nothing felt real, and if it was, then it didn’t feel genuine, it didn’t feel meant for me.

But it all made sense. Odessa and I grew up practically attached to the hips. Most of my favorite foods were her favorite foods. Most of my hobbies were her hobbies. A lot of my love language was also her love language. I was a replacement.

I gently pried her hands off me. She turned to look at me, her eyes silently asking, “You good?”

“Restroom.” I mouthed out. She glanced at me with an unsure expression but nevertheless let me go. And right on time as tears formed in my eyes as I fought through the crowd, set on making it to the restroom. Not noticing a pair of eyes watching my distraught figure.

I’ve always hated public restrooms. They stink and there’s too many germs, yet there I was sitting on the wet tiled floor of a big stall, trying and failing to keep my composure.

The sound of knocking on my stall door broke me out of my daze. “Sorry, I’ll be out in a minute.” I choked out.

“Honey, it’s me.” An angel spoke. The voice that had comforted me since I was seven years old, the voice whose calls I’d been avoiding for four months straight.

“Please, just let me in.” Odessa pleaded. I stood up walking over to unlock my stall, and there she was, Odessa A'zion, in all her glory. Her eyes widened in shock for just a little before speaking again. “Well, you look fucking awful.” She teased.

“Thanks…” I studied her as she stood in front of me. She wasn’t angry, that was good. She wouldn’t be joking with me, but she sure as hell didn’t sound happy either.

“Here,” She took my hand pulled me out of the stall, forcing me to hop on the counter. “Let me fix you up,” She pulled out her fuzzy makeup bag from her purse. She gently rubbed my face with a face cleanser.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked as she began working.

“You’re right, why am I doing this? Why am I helping my so called ‘best friend’ who’s been avoiding me on purpose for months. I mean, do you know how much I’ve missed you, how worried I’ve been about you, babe?”

“But I’m dating your ex, you hate me.” Odessa sighed and looked me directly in the eyes.

“I could never hate you, I love you too much to hate you.”

“But Billie-“

“Did I ever tell you why we broke up?” I shook my head. She hadn’t, even on that night she came over crying she never did.

“We were never official. We would mess around, tell each other things that were probably a little too intimate, but it was never truly real. Then one day, me, you, Quen, and Billie were hanging out together and I started to notice a few things: whenever she would tell a joke, she would look at you first, not with a simple look, but with a longing gaze, the same one I had for her. I realized she loved you before she did, and so, being the world’s greatest friend, I broke up with her.”

She helped me down as she finished applying lip gloss on me. “And you know what, I’m glad I did because I would have never met Drew.” She smiled sincerely. “Don’t lose that girl, okay?” She held my hands in hers. “You two are so much more alike than you realize.”

“How?” I laughed.

“Well, for starters, the two of you are the most awkward people I’ve ever met, you both think too much about everything. Secondly, you both are too scared to be vulnerable. Do you know that the last time I saw you cry was on the night of our junior prom?”

“Ouch! Don’t remind me of that.” We both laughed.

“And lastly, you two are some of my closest friends. I care about the both of you deeply, and though it hurt seeing the photos of you two frolicking along Hollywood Boulevard,  I knew that it was for the best. Don’t ruin what good you two have going on. Communication is another one of you two’s flaws.” She joked.

“Stop!” We playfully hit each other.

“Am I interrupting something.” Billie’s velvety voice entered into the restroom, her eyes looking back and forth between Odessa and I.

“Took you long enough,” Odessa turned to look at her before eying the both of us. “Talk!” She said before leaving.

Where do we even begin?

Billie stepped forward and pulled me close, “I love you.” She spoke into my ear.

At least that’s a start.

|

an: I wrote this during back in February, and totally forgot it was there until I started procrastinating on my philosophy essay, so I hope you enjoyed!

[tarotlexa]

PICK A PILE READING- you as a snack!

welcome back to another silly readings my loves, since we had a "what drink would you be?" reading: https://www.tumblr.com/tarotlexa/778546916827037696/pick-a-pile-reading-what-sort-of-drink-are-you?source=share, i thought i'd match it with a snack one!

as always, this is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not. much luvvv <3

⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　*　　⠀.

　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦

　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*

.⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

pile 1: you are that bougie snack we all love. rich, comforting and dangerously addictive. sweet indulgence but with layers of complexity. think tiramisù, dark chocolate, wine infused truffles, cantucci and vin santo, black forest cake, boston cream pie, sacher torte, mexican hot chocolate, brigadeiro, alfajores de chocolate, gooey brownies.

pile 2: old soul, wisdom and a calming presence. refined and mysterious. people might underestimate you first but once they get you, they're obsessed. matcha mochi, tin of butter cookies from grandma's house, strawberry candy, salted caramel cake, cinnamon buns, licorice, swedish candy, milka white chocolate, meringue, korean bingsu, german apple cake, thai sticky rice.

pile 3: nostalgic, warm, emotionally rich with a bit of a bite. people keep wanting more and more of you. churros and chocolate, coconut macarons, creme caramel, tres leches cake, kulfi, beignets, almond cookies, red velvet cake, baklava, linzer cookies, pudding, waffles, cheesecake, daifuku mochi.

thank you so much for reading and for being here <3 have a great day/night!

[pomegranatesarchive]

what would you like to eat today? just pick something—an appetizer, a main course, or a dessert—and a boy (or multiple) of your choice! would you prefer a shrimp cocktail or teriyaki salmon?

you can choose from the following characters/people: formula one, harry potter, criminal minds, and even stranger things! please let me know who you want me to write about! i do also accept pairing + reader, just be specific!

THE RESTAURANT IS NOW CLOSED

the menu:

.

hainanese chicken rice: "i like your...pupils?"

pad thai: "before you say anything about me being at home tonight, i want to remind you that you are too.”

zabaglione: "did you know you talk in your sleep?"

nasi goreng: “since when does your job extend to giving me relationship advice?”

chocolate mousse: "your feet are freezing!"

pho: “you seemed a little off on the phone, so i wanted to make sure you had something nice to come home to.”

kimchi-jjigae: "shit, i forgot to grab an umbrella. i didn't know it was raining"

beef bourguignon: "have you ever been in love?"

macarons: "why are you so jittery?"

flan: "don't worry, i won't tell anyone that my big bad roommate is afraid of a little thunder."

ratatouille: “tell me how you fell in love with me.”

soufflé: “why are you so grumpy all the time?”

quiche lorraine: “you fell asleep in my arms. it was kind of adorable.”

risotto: “can i sleep in your room tonight? is that weird to ask?”

cacio e pepe: "we'll need to do some serious redecorating if i do move in."

dorayaki: "please don't ask me if i'd still love you if you turned into a zombie."

atayef: “i’d love to stop kissing your neck in public, believe me, but it’s all i can reach!”

banana pudding: "i want to stay and watch those stupid nature documentaries. okay?"

shawarma: “look, i got us matching pool floaties!”

mango sticky rice: “it’s not my fault your boxers are so comfortable. besides, it’s not like anyone’s going to know.”

focaccia: "can we do that again? my eyes were closed."

tiramisu: "i left you a note, did you read it?"

pinakbet: “hey, wait up- your collar’s all crooked, let me fix it.”

mooncakes: "we can't keep meeting like this. someone will find out."

ragù alla bolognese: "what do you mean you've never gone trick-or-treating?!"

churros: "i brought you flowers."

mapo tofu: "i did your taxes."

albondigas: "you...you learned how to cook my favorite food?"

teriyaki salmon: "who needs friends? i have you."

crema catalana: "are you jealous?"

rice pudding: "you sure this looks fine?"

sinigang: "i thought you wanted some space?"

rasgulla: "why are you looking at me like that?"

kofta: "yawning whilst trying to convince me you’re not tired tends to have the opposite effect.”

shrimp cocktail: "you're telling me that you've only had one crush your entire life? that's bullshit. tell me who it is."

empanadas: "you smell good."

paella: "are you always this happy?"

pani puri: "you kissed me! you kissed me, how's that not a big deal?"

brownies: "i'm not sleeping in your bed, it hurts when my legs dangle over the edge, you know?"

chiles en nogada: “can i hold your hand? is that weird to ask?”

baba ghanoush: "I would've moved to the floor but you were using me as a pillow."

tempura: "i'm sorry, babe, are those flashcards?"

biangbiang noodles: “weird way to propose but the answer is yes.”

clam chowder: “you’re sleeping on the floor.”

chicken riggies: "stop jumping in those leaves"

chocolate mousse: ”you look—uh, good. you look good.”

haricots verts with herb butter: "you know you can just say 'no' if you don't want to come with me to the party."

roast duck: “are you okay? you look a little…”

leg of lamb: "why did you pick me of all people to haunt?"

cedar-plank salmon: "put the icing DOWN."

french toast: "you can… drink blood from me if you want."

chocolate cake: "am i too close?"

lemon curd: "laundry day doesn’t mean walking around in your underwear, but for you, i’ll make an exception."

bouillabaisse: "jealous? me? pff. never."

.

thank you for participating!! hope you enjoyed <33

[noorpersona]

Pregnancy: Yaku

It was supposed to be one of your favorites.

Yaku stood proudly in front of the stove, dishing up a steaming plate of oyakodon—fluffy egg, juicy chicken, perfectly seasoned rice. You’d been craving something warm and comforting, and he’d been more than happy to oblige. He even made miso soup on the side, garnished just the way you liked it, with the little tofu cubes floating lazily in the bowl. The apartment smelled like soy sauce and dashi, rich and nostalgic.

You waddled into the kitchen with one hand on your lower back, the other absentmindedly tracing the edge of your growing bump, already smiling at the scent you knew so well.

But then—

It hit you.

The smell.

Hard.

You stopped short. The smile slipped from your face. Your nose crinkled, your eyes went wide, and your stomach lurched.

You gagged once, loud and sudden.

Yaku turned from the stove instantly, eyes narrowing with alarm. “Hey—are you okay?”

You waved him off, trying to speak, trying to play it off like you could power through it.

“Yeah, I just—” You gagged again, louder this time, one hand flying to your mouth. “It’s fine, I think I just need a second—”

Then your stomach gave up entirely.

The rich scent of simmered egg and soy sauce suddenly turned rancid in your senses, and before you could say a word, both hands flew to your mouth. You staggered toward the sink, breathing hard through your nose.

Yaku turned just in time to watch you sprint the rest of the way.

You barely made it. Gripping the edges of the basin, you gagged violently, doubling over as your body heaved with no warning. Your knees buckled slightly from the effort, and tears sprang to your eyes as you fought to keep control.

“Oh—oh my god,” Yaku choked out, dropping the plate onto the counter with a sharp clatter. His hand hovered midair, frozen, like he wasn’t sure if he should run toward you or flee entirely.

He chose you.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” he said, voice slightly high-pitched, his mouth tugging awkwardly to one side as he fought against his visible discomfort. His nose wrinkled despite himself, but he pressed a hand to your back, rubbing slow, shaky circles. “It’s okay. Just breathe. You got it.”

You were sobbing before you even lifted your head.

“I loved that dish,” you wailed, tears streaming freely now. “You made it perfectly and I—I threw up in front of you, and I can’t even eat it now, and I’m so sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said quickly, helping you upright and handing you a cool cloth from the fridge. “None of that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You wiped your mouth, sniffling. “But I ruined dinner.”

He glanced warily at the plate, now abandoned and beginning to cool. “Yeah, well, it’s not my best memory of oyakodon anymore, but that’s fine. It’ll survive.”

You hiccupped a wet laugh. “You’re grossed out.”

“I’m... challenged,” he admitted with a strained smile. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll gag quietly in the corner if I have to.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “I hate that my body’s doing this. I hate that I wanted something so badly and then just—rejected it like that.”

He stroked your back, gentler now. “It’s not rejection. It’s just... a rebranding.”

You pulled back slightly, puffy-eyed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he said, tipping your chin up, “that we’re finding new favorites now. So tell me what you can stomach, and I’ll make it happen.”

You hesitated.

“…You’re not gonna like it.”

“I just watched you throw up mid-step and I stayed. Try me.”

“…Pickles.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

“With peanut butter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And crushed ice.”

He blinked. “Separate or…?”

“Side dish.”

“Of course.”

“And I want a plain bagel. But I want to dip it in cream cheese and ketchup.”

He exhaled. “Naturally.”

“And maybe some frozen corn niblets? Not cooked. Just... straight from the freezer.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Making a list.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted, already walking to the counter. “Because you’re growing a whole human, and apparently that human is very specific.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Even if I hate this list.”

And with that, he kissed your temple, grabbed his keys, and set off to hunt down every absurd craving you’d dreamed up—with only a faint grimace and a stomach made of steel.

--

It took him two corner stores and a specialty deli, but Yaku returned triumphant, arms full of grocery bags and a look of determination on his face. He laid everything out on the coffee table like it was a five-star buffet: pickles, peanut butter, crushed ice in a big bowl, a plain bagel, cream cheese, ketchup, and a bag of frozen corn.

You were already curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, and your face lit up like the sun when you saw it all. “Oh my god,” you gasped, reaching for the pickles first and dipping one straight into the peanut butter without hesitation. “This is perfect.”

Yaku sat on the edge of the couch, watching with a blend of horror and awe as you crunched down on your Frankenstein meal with pure, genuine joy.

You munched happily, cheeks puffed out, eyes dreamy as you chewed. “Oh my god, I love you so much.”

He smiled, soft and full of affection. “I love you too.”

Then, quieter, barely a mumble as he stared at the bagel going into the ketchup-cream cheese dip: “This kid is gonna be weird.”

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Fettuccine’s Guide to Your Ghostly Gamer Boyfriend

BEN can be quite the catch with how sweet and cute he is, especially considering once he’s dating you he’d do anything he can to keep that pretty smile on your face and joy blooming inside of you. Of course, he’s not hard to date, but there are some tips that come with dating him, so here are some things to keep in mind. 

1. Always check your surroundings, especially if he calls out for you. When you’re a ghost, who needs stairs? Always remember to check both ceilings, walls, and floors when you’re walking about, because you never know just where you might see his head peeking out from. 

2. Remember to carry snacks on you. Even the dead like to snack around, so when you find yourself visiting BEN, make sure to have some candy or nice of his favorite snacks on you. Gifting him with snacks always means he’s going to return the favor and gift you snacks too, and it also means you’re gonna have him cuddling up to you, covering you in happy kisses to thank you for doing so. Recommended choices are Doritos (specifically Cool Ranch or Spicy Sweet Chili), Goldfish (he prefers the original Cheddar flavor), Cheez-Its (White Cheddar), Rice Krispies, Fruit Roll-Ups/By the Foot, or just about any candy you can get your hands on. Peanut butter candy scores you bonus points though. Obtaining any of these snacks for him makes him feel extra happy and loved and has him turning into a puddle in your arms.

3. This next one might seem obvious, but be interested in video games. You don’t have to be good at them or play a bunch of them yourself, but having an interest in them in general is essential. He loves playing with you, and he’s happy to teach you some tricks and play at your pace, but he also likes showing off for you. Watch him play a single player he’s really good at and cheer him on and you’ll have him feeling just about as happy as he gets. It makes him feel super loved and appreciated to have you so excited over his interests, and he always returns the favor for partaking in your interests as well. 

4. Send him silly photos of yourself. I’m sure we’ve all had a moment where someone takes a particularly bad photo of us and our knee-jerk reaction is to ask them to delete it, but you should do the opposite with BEN. He loves photography and he loves taking extremely flattering pictures of you and saving them to look at later, but he tries to avoid getting silly ones of you because he doesn’t know if it’ll upset you and quite frankly he’s too anxious to ask. Set him at ease by sending him an especially silly photo of yourself every now and then. It’ll really, really make him giddy and excited, and he’ll always send you an equally goofy photo of himself back so you’re even. Those photos you send him always end up becoming his favorite because you’re being unapologetically yourself in them. 

5. Let him ramble to you. BEN feels anxious with dominating conversations, but there are times when he really wants to rant and rave about things to you. Allowing him to do so and actually listening to him (even occasionally asking questions or making remarks in response) decreases his general anxiety about it and makes him feel much, much more comfortable with you. It allows him to get out his rambles, and it lets him share his interests with you, so it’s a winning situation.

6. Sacrifice your sleep or help reel him in. BEN, as a ghost, does not need to sleep. You, as a human, do need to. He gets so used to never sleeping that sometimes he forgets that you can’t stay up extremely late every single night and that you need to be in bed before the sun comes up. When it gets close to the time you’d actually like to go to bed, start settling down in bed and offering him some cuddles. Cuddles always relax him and put him at peace, so snuggling the fuck out of him is one way to prevent him from getting late-night zoomies and keeping you awake all night. He’ll adapt pretty easily if you keep at it. 

7. Speaking of cuddles, if you’re gonna date BEN you’ve gotta be okay with being super affectionate. This gamer is extremely touch-starved and at most points in the day wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in your arms receiving all your attention. Give him hugs and kisses whenever you see him, even if it’s in passing through the hallway, and make sure to cuddle up with him when you’re both alone. Sit in his lap or let him sit in yours, lay down together, sit side by side with an arm thrown over your shoulders. He’s basically just a needy puppy when it comes down to it and he thrives on your touch.

8. Have a sense of humor and appreciate his memes. BEN shows affection by sending you a bunch of funny memes, TikToks, and YouTube videos he thinks you’ll find really funny. You don’t have to like all of them, but take the time to look at them and send some back to him. He tries to curate it over time so he sends only stuff you’ll enjoy, so if you don’t like a particular variety be sure to tell him. He enjoys the back and forth of sharing things with you so much. 

9. Be prepared to accept the fact that you’ll probably be the chef in your relationship. BEN… Well, to say the least, is not allowed in the kitchen. There are very few things he can actually make, and although he tries his best, he really is not that great at cooking things and if it were up to him he could survive off of cereal. You don’t have to be a five star chef, but it would probably be good for both of you if you could make something other than hot pockets. 

10. The final, and one of the most important, of tips is to… Be yourself. BEN spends a lot of his time with a mask on presenting a facade because he’s too anxious to really open up to people and expose the inner, depressive, and traumatized sides of himself. Having a partner who can be 100% open and honest with him will go a long way in helping him do the same for you. After all, he loves you for who you are, and he doesn’t want you to feel the need to hide things about yourself. If you can be so open and honest with him, he can do the same for you. 

Disclaimer;

BEN would like it to be said that he had no part in making this guide and that the thoughts, opinions, and claims expressed are my own (even if they’re true). He would also like to express that you also have to be comfortable sleeping in his room with his mountains of blankets, so if you cannot handle that, he recommends investing in a high powered fan. He’ll help you purchase it. He’s now also demanding a minimum of thirty minutes of cuddling per day, non-negotiable. That is all.

(That last part is just me trying to be silly please remember that BEN does not exist, is not real, never has been, and never will be. He is a fictional entity.) 

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 16

word count: 5.0k

i've hidden some small things within my story that make up aspen and harry, have you guys noticed any? 🤭 where should i turn the story to from here? more dates, more intimacy, group activities, etc! let me know & thanks for all the support!

The next day, Aspen had cleared her schedule, wanting to use the free time for something meaningful. Her evening had been a whirlwind of laughter and warmth, spent with Isobel in her bed as they dissected every detail of Aspen's first official date with Harry. Takeout containers littered the nightstand, barely touched, because they were too engrossed in giggling over Harry's sweet words and Aspen's recounting of every look, every laugh, and every moment of connection.

Today felt different. There was a quiet kind of excitement humming in Aspen's chest, the kind that made her toes curl against the floor and her heart flutter every time she thought of surprising Harry. She'd been up early, not out of necessity but because the thought of doing something thoughtful for him gave her a sense of purpose she didn't often feel in her quieter routines.

Her plan was simple but heartfelt: bring Harry lunch. She'd realized, after observing how carefree and spontaneous he seemed, that he probably didn't bother with packing himself meals. He struck her as the kind of guy who either grabbed something quick or skipped lunch entirely. The thought tugged at her, making her want to do something about it.

Aspen had spent her morning channeling her rare bursts of culinary motivation into creating something she hoped Harry would love. The kitchen had filled with the warm, savory aroma of steak bites sizzling in butter, the citrusy tang of cilantro lime red rice, and the comforting, creamy scent of mac and cheese bubbling on the stovetop. Cooking wasn't something Aspen did often, but when she did, she poured herself into it entirely. Each stir, each sprinkle of seasoning, carried her thoughts to Harry—how he'd smile when he opened the container, the way he might tease her for going through so much effort, and how he'd hopefully enjoy every bite.

When the meal was ready, she carefully packed it into a container, sticking a pink sticky note on the lid. She spent longer than she'd admit debating what to write, eventually settling on a simple but warm message:

For my favorite person. I hope you love it! ❤️ —Aspen

The little heart at the end made her blush as she stuck the note firmly in place. It was bold for her, but she wanted to leave him with a tiny piece of her feelings—nothing overwhelming, just enough to make him smile.

Aspen slid the container into her light pink lunch bag, patterned with scattered white stars, and tucked in a bottle of water and a Redbull, knowing he might need the energy boost. Napkins and a fork were added as the final touches. Checking her phone, she noted the time—she had about thirty minutes before his usual break, just enough to pull everything together.

She dashed upstairs, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. After rummaging through her clothes, she decided on the grey flared leggings from the other night, paired with her trusty Converse. For her top, she grabbed the shirt she'd "borrowed" from Harry—it still smelled faintly of him, which made her cheeks flush as she pulled it on and tied it in the back to better fit her frame.

Aspen worked quickly, brushing her hair and pulling it into a simple half-up, half-down style. She swiped on a light coat of mascara, just enough to make her eyes pop, and dabbed tinted lip balm on her lips, giving them a subtle sheen. Glancing at her reflection, she smoothed the shirt over her waist, trying to quiet the small voice in her head wondering if she looked okay. It wasn't about being perfect—Harry had already seen her in her coziest clothes—but she wanted to feel confident and put-together.

With her tote bag and lunch bag slung over her shoulder, she took a deep breath, her heart thudding softly in her chest. The thought of surprising Harry, of seeing the look on his face when she handed him the meal she'd made with him in mind, made her smile. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would let him know how much he meant to her.

As she locked the door behind her and stepped into the bright spring afternoon, the warmth of the sun seemed to echo the warmth in her heart. Today, she wasn't just thinking about Harry—she was showing him how much she cared, in her own quiet, thoughtful way.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The bell above the tattoo shop's door jingled softly as Aspen stepped inside, her lunch bag clutched tightly in one hand. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the space that felt both familiar and slightly intimidating. The red-accented walls were lined with framed artwork and sketches, a testament to the creativity that buzzed within these walls. Aspen adjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder, her heart racing—not from fear, but from anticipation.

Zayn was the first to notice her. He was behind the counter, flipping through the appointment book, and his face lit up when he saw her. "Well, if it isn't little miss Aspen," he greeted warmly, leaning casually on the counter. "What brings you here today?"

Aspen offered him a shy smile, shifting on her feet. "Hi, Zayn. I, um... I'm here to see Harry."

Zayn's brows lifted, his grin widening with mischief. "Here to see Harry, huh?" His tone was teasing, but not unkind. He gestured toward the back of the shop with his chin. "He's in his office. Go on back."

Before Aspen could move, another voice chimed in—Niall, sitting in the nearby waiting area, sketchpad in hand. "Ooh, Harry's got visitors now? And bringing lunch, too? Look at him, living the dream." His Irish lilt made the teasing even more playful, and Aspen could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Shut up, you two," came Harry's familiar voice from somewhere behind them. He appeared a moment later, his flannel sleeves rolled up, ink staining the tips of his fingers. His green eyes softened the moment they landed on Aspen. "Hey, love," he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a lopsided grin. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Aspen smiled nervously, lifting the lunch bag a little as if to explain herself. "I thought I'd surprise you... I figured you might not have had lunch."

Harry's gaze flickered to the bag, then back to her, and something warm and unspoken passed between them. "Y'know me too well," he said softly. Then, turning to Zayn and Niall, he added, "Don't you two have something better to do than nose into my business?"

"Not a chance," Niall quipped, earning a laugh from Zayn. "You're the entertainment, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. Instead, he placed a hand lightly on Aspen's lower back, guiding her toward the hallway that led to his office. "C'mon, let's get out of here before they make it worse."

Aspen's skin tingled where his hand rested, and she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder. Zayn gave her a wink, and Niall mimed a slow clap, his grin wide. They exchanged a look between each other, surprised at Harry's sudden softness. 

She turned forward quickly, her cheeks flushing even more. "They seem... nice," she murmured. Harry chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Nice isn't the word I'd use, but they mean well."

When they reached his office, Harry pushed the door open and gestured for Aspen to step inside first. The space was small but cozy, with sketches pinned to the walls and a desk covered in art supplies and paperwork. A worn leather couch sat against one wall, and the scent of ink and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," Harry said, shutting the door behind them. He leaned back against it for a moment, watching as Aspen set her bag down on the desk. There was something about the way she moved, so quietly yet purposefully, that tugged at his chest. And he would be lying if he said his eyes didn't wander lower, lingering on how her gray leggings hugged the beautiful curve of her ass. He looked back up with a small smirk when she turned back to face him.

Aspen glanced around, taking in the little details of his space. It felt so him—creative, a little messy, but warm. She carefully unzipped the lunch bag, pulling out the container and setting it in front of him. "I, um, made this for you," she said softly. "I hope it's okay... I wasn't sure what you'd like, but..."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to lift the container's lid. The smell of the warm food hit him immediately, and his eyes widened slightly. "You made all this?" he asked, looking at her in surprise.

Aspen nodded, twisting her hands together nervously. "I thought... maybe you don't bring lunch with you? And I just wanted to, you know... do something nice for you."

Harry stared at the meal for a moment, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. "But... thank you, Aspen. Really."

Her heart fluttered at the way he said her name, the warmth in his tone making her feel like she'd done something right. "I just... I wanted to," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "You do so much for me, Harry. I wanted to do something for you, too."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. "You're somethin' else, y'know that?" he said, his voice low. His touch was gentle, grounding, and Aspen felt her nerves settle slightly under his gaze.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. For Harry, the thoughtfulness of her gesture was almost overwhelming. He wasn't used to people doing things for him, not like this—not with so much care. And for Aspen, the way he looked at her, like she was the most important person in the world, made her chest feel light and full all at once.

Harry reached down, his hand sliding gently along Aspen's arm as he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding, just a quiet moment that seemed to still the world around them. Aspen's breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as her heart raced in her chest. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on her face, his green eyes warm and filled with something she couldn't quite name but felt deeply all the same.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, his voice low and coaxing. He slid his hand into hers, guiding her toward the worn leather couch against the wall. Aspen followed, feeling lightheaded but blissfully so, her fingers curling around his instinctively.

As they settled onto the couch, Harry unwrapped the container she'd brought him, his brows raising slightly as he took in the meal. The sight of it—the steak bites perfectly cooked, the fluffy cilantro lime red rice, and the creamy mac and cheese—made something tight in his chest ease. She'd done this for him, thought of him enough to go out of her way. He wasn't used to that kind of care, and it both surprised and humbled him.

He took the first bite, letting out a low hum of approval. "Bloody hell, Asp," he said, looking at her with wide eyes. "This is incredible. You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Aspen's cheeks flushed immediately, her fingers twisting in the hem of her borrowed shirt. She ducked her head, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "I don't cook much," she admitted, her voice soft. "It's kind of rare that I actually feel like doing it."

"Well, I'm lucky you felt like it today," Harry said, taking another bite and savoring it. He glanced at her, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You're spoiling me, baby."

The word "baby" made Aspen's stomach flip, and she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too widely. She couldn't help the warmth spreading through her chest at his words, though, or the way her heart seemed to skip every time he looked at her like that.

As Harry continued to eat, he threw in compliments here and there—about how perfectly seasoned the steak was, how the rice was better than anything he'd had from a restaurant. Each word made Aspen shrink a little further into herself, not because she didn't like the praise, but because it made her feel so seen. She wasn't used to this, to being appreciated so openly, and the intensity of it made her shy.

But as she watched him eat, a different thought began to creep into her mind, one that made her pulse quicken. She wanted to kiss him again. Badly. The way his lips curved into a soft smile as he spoke, the way he licked a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth—it all drew her in, leaving her with a quiet ache she didn't know how to voice. The realization made her blush even more, and she turned her gaze toward the floor, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Harry, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in her demeanor. He set the container down for a moment, leaning back against the couch as he looked at her. "Y'alright?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Aspen nodded quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leggings. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at him, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter. "Just... thinking."

"Thinkin' about what?" Harry asked, tilting his head slightly. He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to push her too much. He could tell she was feeling shy, and the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Aspen hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down again, her blush deepening.

Harry couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him. "Asp," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and the touch sent a shiver up her spine. "Y'don't have to say anything if you're not ready. But if i's about me, I'm all ears."

Aspen bit her lip, her gaze flickering up to meet his for a moment before dropping again. "I was just... thinking about... how much I liked—" She broke off, her face flaming as she stumbled over her words. "Never mind."

Harry's grin widened slightly, though his tone remained soft when he spoke. "How much you liked what? The food? Or somethin' else?"

She groaned softly, hiding her face in her hands. "Harry," she said, her voice muffled but filled with exasperation. "You're making it worse."

"Alright, alright," he said, laughing quietly. But he didn't let go of her hand, and the warmth of his touch was enough to steady her nerves. He was patient, waiting for her to speak when she was ready, and that alone made her feel a little braver.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Aspen finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She peeked at him through her fingers, her heart hammering in her chest. "And now I'm all embarrassed, so... yeah."

Harry stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening in a way he hadn't expected. She was so endearingly honest, even when it made her nervous, and he found himself falling for her all over again. "You're somethin' else, Asp," he murmured, his voice soft. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her temple. "Y'don't have to be embarrassed, love. I've been thinkin' the same thing."

Aspen's blush deepened, but this time, there was a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "You have?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Course I have," Harry said, his tone gentle but firm. "Who wouldn't?"

Aspen fidgeted with her hands as she tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, her blush still lingering as she glanced shyly at Harry. The words danced on the edge of her tongue, but she hesitated, biting her lip as if she wasn't sure if she should say them. He waited, patient as ever, his eyes soft as they studied her face. Finally, she took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"Maybe it's the whole... 'I have a boyfriend' thing," Aspen murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I've been thinking about you more than usual. Like... a lot more." She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, her cheeks burning with the admission.

The corners of Harry's mouth curved into a slow, warm smile. His chest tightened at her honesty, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He knew how much it took for Aspen to open up like this—how much courage it required for her to let him in on the thoughts she usually kept to herself. That bravery was one of the things he admired most about her.

"Y'know," he said softly, setting the half-eaten container of food aside, "you're so brave, Asp. For tellin' me all this. For lettin' me in." His voice was warm, laced with sincerity, as he leaned forward to take her hands in his. His thumbs traced gentle circles over her knuckles, his touch grounding her in the moment.

Aspen looked down at their hands, her lips curving into a shy smile. "It's easier with you," she admitted. "You make it... safe. Like I can say anything, and it'll be okay."

Harry's heart swelled at her words, and a quiet sense of wonder settled over him. He'd never expected to find someone like Aspen—someone who made him want to be better, softer, more present. He gave her hands a gentle tug, guiding her toward him.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and coaxing. Aspen hesitated for only a moment before letting him pull her onto his lap. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders for balance, and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushing again as she settled against him. "This is so unfair," she mumbled, though her tone was more playful than anything.

"Unfair?" Harry repeated, raising a brow as he gave her a teasing grin. "How's this unfair?"

"You're too... you," she said, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything.

Harry chuckled, his hands resting gently on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. His lips lingered there for a moment, and he couldn't help but take in the details of her outfit—the way the leggings hugged her legs, the way his shirt looked impossibly better on her than it ever had on him.

"You're wearin' my shirt," he teased, his voice a low murmur against her skin. His grin widened as he leaned back slightly to get a better look at her. "Didn't think you'd steal from me so soon, love."

Aspen's eyes widened, and she quickly tugged at the hem of the shirt, her blush deepening. "I didn't steal it!" she protested, though her voice was soft and her smile betrayed her. "You didn't mention needing it back, and it was... just there, and it's comfortable, so..."

"So y'stole it," Harry finished for her, his tone light and teasing.

She buried her face in her hands, letting out a soft groan. "You're impossible," she mumbled, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry laughed, his hand sliding up to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Impossible, huh? Guess that makes two of us," he said, his grin softening as he looked at her. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

For a moment, the world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of their connection. Aspen felt her heart steady, the nervous flutter settling into something warm and sure. Harry's presence had a way of grounding her, of making her feel like she could let go of the walls she'd spent so long building.

"You're somethin' else, Asp," Harry murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. "Y'know that?" Aspen bit her lip, her gaze meeting his. "I think you might've mentioned it," she said softly, her smile shy but genuine. Harry chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her temple. "Well, I'll keep sayin' it," he promised, his arms tightening around her. "Every chance I get."

Aspen’s fingers moved delicately along Harry’s shirt collar, their slow, rhythmic movements betraying the nervous energy coursing through her. She felt the soft material between her fingers, grounding herself in the moment, but all resolve slipped away when Harry pulled her closer. A small, involuntary sound escaped her lips, blending into a soft giggle as his lips curved into a smirk against hers.

Harry’s hands rested on her hips, his grip firm but reassuring. He tilted his head up to meet her lips, their familiar softness igniting a warmth in his chest. It had been too long—much too long—since he’d kissed her like this, and the moment felt like a long-awaited reunion. The cool press of his lip ring against her skin sent a shiver through her, its gentle nudges against her teeth a comforting reminder of their closeness.

For Harry, kissing Aspen always felt different—more intimate, more profound. Her lips molded perfectly against his, and the subtle gasps she made only fueled his desire to savor every second. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the way she melted into him, the way her quiet trust was woven into every kiss.

Aspen slid her arms around his neck, her thumbs brushing lightly against the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The sensation made him hum low in his throat, the sound reverberating between them. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, and it made Harry feel cared for in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Their kisses were slow and tender at first, each one a quiet confession of how much they’d missed this. But when Aspen tilted her head slightly, granting him better access, Harry’s lips parted. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and Aspen’s breath hitched. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, letting the kiss deepen.

The moment their tongues met, Aspen’s body instinctively leaned closer, her movements shy yet intentional. The languid motion of their tongues moving together sent a warmth coursing through her, spreading from her chest to her fingertips. Her thumbs brushed gently over the curls at the base of his neck, grounding her in the moment.

For Harry, it was as if time slowed. Every touch, every small sound Aspen made, was etched into his mind. His fingers tightened slightly on her hips as he sat up straighter, his head tilting to match the new depth of their kiss. The soft noise Aspen made from her nose—a quiet exhale laced with pleasure—sent a jolt through him. He didn’t want to stop, but the need to taste more of her overwhelmed him.

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from her lips, but he didn’t stray far. His lips pressed gently to her jawline, tracing a line of tender kisses down to the side of her neck. Aspen tilted her head instinctively, granting him better access, her cheeks flushed with a deep blush that spread all the way to her neck. The warmth of his mouth against her skin made her dizzy in the best way, and she let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into his touch.

Though this was only the second time Harry had kissed her like this, the intensity of it all overwhelmed Aspen in the best way. It wasn’t just the physicality of it—it was the way Harry’s touch felt deliberate, the way he seemed to cherish every inch of her. She buried her manicured nails gently into the curls at the back of his neck, her fingers tightening slightly as she let herself sink further into the moment.

Harry’s hands shifted, his fingers splaying out over her hips as they began to wander. He tested the waters carefully, his hands slowly moving toward the curve of her ass.

“This okay?” His voice was low, thick with want but tempered with care, his words murmured between kisses as his lips lingered against her skin.

Aspen’s breath caught at his question, but she nodded, her voice soft yet assured. “Yes,” she whispered, her tone trembling slightly but filled with trust. When Harry kissed that one particular spot on her neck, a breathy whine escaped her lips. “Yes, it’s okay,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her again, focusing on the spot that had made her gasp. His fingers moved lower, trailing over the curve of her ass before gripping gently, pulling her closer against him. She fit against him so perfectly, it almost made his head spin.

“You’re perfect,” Harry whispered against her skin, his lips brushing against her collarbone. He pressed wet, lingering kisses there, his teeth grazing her lightly, just enough to make her shiver. Aspen’s hands tightened in his curls, her soft breaths quickening.

The next sound she made was different, not quite a whine but unmistakably a moan. It was quiet, shy, as if she hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but it made Harry pause for a moment.

She had moaned for him, on his lap, in his office, because of what he was doing. 

Harry groaned softly against her neck, his lips trailing wet kisses along her skin. The nip he gave to her sweet spot drew a quiet gasp from Aspen, followed immediately by a soothing kiss that made her body relax under his touch. She felt warm, wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, and completely consumed by the moment—until a sharp sound jolted her out of it.

Her eyes shot open, her ears now hyper-focused on the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the door. Panic shot through her like lightning, and her hands quickly slid down from Harry’s neck to his shoulders. She gave him a gentle but urgent push, scrambling off his lap and onto the seat beside him.

Harry blinked in confusion, leaning back against the cool leather as he tried to process what had just happened. His brows furrowed deeply, his green eyes clouded with concern. Had he done something wrong? The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Asp?” His voice was low, tinged with worry as he studied her flushed face. “What happened? Did I—.”

Before he could finish his thought, Aspen shook her head frantically, her soft voice rushing out a series of breathless “no’s.” She was practically vibrating with nerves, her fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt when the door swung open.

There, standing with smug grins and bags of crisps in hand, were Zayn and Niall.

“We just came to check on how your homemade lunch was,” Zayn began, his tone dripping with mock innocence. His gaze flitted between Harry and Aspen, taking in their disheveled state. His grin widened. “But it’s very clear you need some alone time.”

Niall snickered beside him, not bothering to hide his amusement. Harry ran a hand through his wild curls, his face twisting into a scowl.

The picture Zayn painted wasn’t far off. Harry’s hair was a mess, his lips red and slick from their kisses, and Aspen’s face was a shade of crimson that matched the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks. They probably looked the part of being “busy,” and that only added to Harry’s irritation.

“Don’t you dipshits know how to knock?” Harry growled, his voice sharp as his glare bore into them. “Get the hell out.”

Zayn and Niall didn’t seem phased, their laughter echoing as they backed out of the room. They continued to crack jokes through the muffled door, their chatter trailing off as their footsteps faded.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of Harry letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He leaned back and turned his head to Aspen, his expression softening the moment he saw her face. She was burning red with embarrassment, her wide brown eyes fixed on the closed door as if willing it to lock on its own.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, his touch gentle and grounding.

“That was somethin’, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry 'bout that, love. Was what I was doing okay? Didn’t scare you off, did I?”

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she tried to gather her thoughts. Slowly, her eyes peeled away from the door to meet Harry’s.

Her gaze took in everything about him—his unruly curls, his lips still glistening and swollen from their kisses, the cool glint of his lip ring catching the light. He looked confident and composed, as if the interruption hadn’t rattled him at all. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly handsome he was, and the realization only made her blush deepen.

“No, no…” Aspen’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she tried to convey her feelings. “It was good. I liked it. Really… liked it, H.”

Her words were sincere, and though her tone was laced with shyness, it carried a weight of gratitude. She appreciated how Harry always checked in with her, how he never took her silence or hesitation as anything but a reason to ensure her comfort.

Harry’s heart swelled at her honesty. He knew how much courage it took for her to open up, and every time she did, it felt like a gift. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin as he hummed in approval.

“Mmm.” His fingers wrapped gently around her ankle, tugging her closer with ease. “Yeah?”

Before Aspen could process what was happening, Harry guided her down onto the seat, coaxing her to recline fully. She felt her heartbeat thunder in her chest, each pulse so loud she swore it echoed in her ears.

Her breath hitched when Harry nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. The closeness made her head spin, her fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle themselves in his curls at the nape of his neck once again.

Harry’s grin widened, playful and teasing as his gaze roamed over her. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement as he kissed her shoulder and worked his way slowly up the side of her neck.

“’Cause I wasn’t done.”

[asexualsinner]

More Ghoul Headcanons: Kitchen Edition

Mountain

Hides his snacks on the top shelf to avoid the others stealing them

Has to use a recipe when cooking

Likes hearty meals like stews

Is an excellent shadow, will assist any of the other ghouls or Copia when asked.

Likes to just be in the kitchen

Is the embodiment of a pioneer woman mom

Loves to bake

CanNOT handle spice

Thinks cayenne is spicy

Favorite food is chili and drink is tea

Favorite snacks are fig newtons (yes he knows that they're made with wasps, he thinks it's funny)

Carries epi pens on him for the others

Rain

Is obsessed with making smoothies

Isn't allowed to use the stove after using water on a grease fire

Nearly burned half the abbey down

It's fine, he prefers salads anyway

Do not trust this ghoul with a knife he will find a way to hurt himself by accident

Is just a disaster when in the kitchen

Favorite food is smoked salmon thanks to Dew

Fancy ✨bitch✨ that puts mint and fruits in his water

Is the only ghoul to like Kale

Has a high spice tolerance

Takes forever to do the dishes bc he'll play in the water instead

Dew/Sodo

Favorite snacks are seaweed sheets and Takis

His taste buds went "weird" after his transition

He can't decide what he likes anymore, spicy? Fish? So he decided on both. Sometimes neither

Loves to smoke foods, begs Mountain for dried wood flavors for it

Dew learning to smoke properly was heavy trial and error, some things were edible some were very much not

His favorite changes weekly, but ATM it's smoked veggies and tofu

Is a big garbage ghoul, will throw everything together on a plate and eat it

Drinks coffee but doesn't like energy drinks

Has moderate spice tolerance

Will try anything once

Surprisingly one of the better cooks in the pack

Is lactose intolerant. No this doesn't stop him. Why would it?

Doesn't need a recipe, cooks from memory or guesswork

Has everything labeled and dated

Swiss

NO spice tolerance

Tries to compete with Dew, Cumulus and Rain and it never ends well

Loves comfort food!!! Give this ghoul Macncheese or pierogies and he's happy

Can follow boxed instructions or strict recipes but tries to "improve" them

Survives off of Redbull

Doesn't know the difference between a chef's knife and a paring knife

Thinks bc he's a multi ghoul he can pull pans out of the oven without mitts - has been treated for burns multiple times

Hates doing the dishes

His go to snacks are gummy worms or jerky

Will eat expired food thinking it'll be fine - it never is

Is a 3am fridge raider

Phantom/Aeon

Loves pancakes, absolute favorite food though is fettuccine Alfredo. Has to be fettuccine noodles, spaghetti isn't the same

Has texture issues with food

Absolutely hates ground meats, the texture is bad

Has a sweet tooth

Is a surprisingly decent cook, can manage without recipes

Baking is beyond him

Mistook baking soda for sugar once and Mountain banned him from baking ever again

Doesn't like eggs

Is allergic to peanut butter

Favorite snacks are Oreos or rice crackers

Enjoys cranberry juice

Can't have caffeine - gives him headaches

Aether

One of the better cooks in the pack

Is one of the only ones that can finish the dishes without distractions

Is allergic to citrus fruits

Has an app on his phone to scan packages for ingredients

Will practically drink soy sauce he loves it so much

Favorite snack is cucumbers and Italian dressing

Prefers strawberry jam over grape jelly

Doesn't like seafood

Favorite food is deer chili - shares this with Mountain

Wears gloves when cooking to avoid cross contamination

Cumulus

SPICE QUEEN

Has done every spice challenge possible, downs it like it's nothing

Like Swiss, can read box instructions but don't trust her past that

Has burnt frozen pizza before

Favorite snacks are tortillas and ghost pepper salsa

Eats jalapenos like candy

Needless to say she terrifies others

Favorite food is homemade ramen - she begs the others to make it for her

Package ramen isn't the same

Likes to do the dishes and help out in the kitchen

Does need a step stool however

Favorite drink is hazelnut coffee

Aurora

Junk food junkie

Favorite snacks are Skittles and kettle cooked potato chips

Prefers vitamin water over regular water

Likes to make quick easy meals like grilled cheese etc

Eats at the oddest times, breakfast is 2pm and dinner has been at 4am for her

Leaves her dishes in the sink like a gremlin

Has been banned from eating in the living room

Gets easily distracted while cooking

If she puts her mind to it, can make really elaborate dishes for the pack

However she makes a huge mess of the kitchen when doing so

Cirrus

Can identify spices/ingredients after tasting things once

Is also lactose intolerant, takes lactaid frequently

Loves Korean BBQ

Likes differing temperatures (cold food that's spicy, mints, etc)

Loves blackberries and celery

Is a very good cook, can make most things after trying them once

Her favorite drink is bubble tea

Has medium spice tolerance, like spicy flavor rather than the heat

Would rather dry and put away the dishes than wash them

Has a massive sweet tooth like phantom

[ominous-faechild]

"GET TO KNOW YOU" TAG GAME

I've been tagged twice by both @theink-stainedfolk and @willtheweaver, so... 💀

Do you have any pets? I have my characters 💀 and the things creeping around in my brain gET THEM OUT—

Comfort food? This is sending me back, but—enchiladas and arroz rojo (spanish rice). I grew up in Texas, but haven't lived there or had the money to go out to eat at all for a long time, haha.

How many languages do you speak? Just one: English.

I was good at Latin back in the day (took 3 years in HS), but remember next to none of it now lol. Similarly, I'd started learning Russian alongside Slavic culture and folklore(? feels insulting to call it that lol) years ago to help with tAR, but remember very little of it now.

I have vague plans to try to learn Spanish (I've had misc ties to it throughout my life; knew bits in my childhood lol), but def not any time soon.

Random fact about yourself: I speak very softly (to the point where it's hard to hear/understand me) when I get tired. I tend to be a softer speaker, but get louder as I get more excited lol

Something you are proud of? My progress as a writer across the years :)

I was even thinking about making a post about this soon, but. I've been writing for over a decade now, and I somehow manage to get better every single year that passes. Even though I've been good for years, I'm constantly able to look back at my old stuff and recognize different ways I've changed and grown and—it just makes me so happy :)

("Everything" taglist)

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter

divider by @cafekitsune

[feedybot]

The Tipping Point, PART 1/2

Chapter One: Just a Little Extra

You’d been on a “health kick” for about a week.

Again.

This time it was a Mediterranean thing—olive oil, fish, vegetables, whole grains. It actually wasn’t bad, at first. You’d meal prepped like a pro on Sunday, filled the fridge with colorful containers and planned your workouts on a little whiteboard stuck to the freezer. You felt good. You felt in control.

But then came Thursday.

You walked through the door after a long day, stomach growling, feet aching, the smell of garlic and butter already hanging thick in the air. You barely managed to get your shoes off before you called out.

“What’s cooking?”

Your husband’s voice floated in from the kitchen, warm and cheerful. “Something special. You’ve been working so hard lately, I figured you deserve a treat.”

You hesitated in the hallway, toeing at the tile floor. “I was gonna have the salmon and quinoa thing I made…”

There was a pause, followed by a sizzling sound and a smell that made your mouth water.

“Babe,” he said gently, stepping out with a grin and a wooden spoon still in hand, “that can wait till tomorrow. This? This is fresh.”

You peeked past him into the kitchen and saw a bubbling pan of creamy pasta on the stove—ribbons of fettuccine tangled in a thick sauce, glistening with cheese and butter. Toasted garlic bread waited on a tray beside it. And a little bowl of Caesar salad, as if it made the whole thing balanced.

It was your favorite.

You opened your mouth to argue… then closed it again. Your stomach made the decision for you, rumbling audibly. He chuckled, kissed your forehead, and gently took your bag off your shoulder.

“I’ll pour the wine.”

You sat down with a sigh. “Just a little,” you said, but you already knew the meal would be anything but.

—

One plate turned into two. The salad disappeared quickly—mostly to justify the second helping of pasta. The bread was warm and crusty, the butter soaked deep into its golden surface. You told yourself you’d just have a bite. Then just half.

Then it was gone.

By the end of the meal, you felt full in that slow, drowsy, too-comfortable way. Your belly pressed lightly against your waistband as you leaned back, wine glass in hand, feeling flushed and guilty and—somehow—happy.

He watched you with a quiet, unreadable look. His hand slipped to your thigh under the table, his touch gentle and reassuring. “See?” he murmured. “You deserve to relax.”

You wanted to protest. Say something about calories, or your whiteboard schedule, or the promise you made to yourself. But all that came out was a soft, sleepy hum of agreement as you leaned into his shoulder.

Chapter Two: Slipping Slowly

You did try again.

Friday morning, you woke up feeling that familiar pit in your stomach—not hunger, but regret. You told yourself it was just one meal. You still had time to turn the week around. You laced up your sneakers, chugged some water, and headed to the gym with determination in your step… and the pasta from last night still sitting heavily in your belly.

The workout was slow. You pushed through it, sweating harder than usual, your movements a little sluggish, a little less precise. You avoided the mirrors.

Later, back home, you snapped open one of your meal-prepped containers, trying not to think about the way it looked next to last night’s feast. Dry grilled chicken, couscous, and broccoli. It filled you, technically—but it didn’t satisfy you.

Your husband walked by, kissed your cheek, and didn’t say a word.

But that night, he offered to order in.

“Just for fun,” he said casually. “No pressure. You’ve had a long week.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sticking with my meal plan.”

He nodded, accepting, and disappeared into the living room. You sat there alone, fork in hand, chewing a piece of roasted carrot that tasted like cardboard.

And then the smell hit.

Thai. Your real weakness. Rich coconut curries, sticky rice, those little crispy spring rolls that always came steaming hot and perfectly golden. You tried to block it out, but it was hopeless. When you peeked into the living room, he was already on the couch with the food spread out in front of him, looking up at you like he was trying not to smirk.

“You sure you don’t want just a bite?” he asked innocently, holding up a spoonful of glistening, spicy sauce.

You crossed your arms. “You’re evil.”

He grinned. “You say that like it’s a no.”

You lasted maybe five minutes before sitting down next to him, pretending you were just “tasting” it. The curry was sweet and velvety, the rice soaked in it perfectly. One bite turned into two. Then you took a spring roll. Then you asked for your own spoon.

Somewhere between the last dumpling and the end credits of the movie, you stopped pretending you were resisting.

That weekend followed the same rhythm—moments of resolve, immediately followed by tiny indulgences. Pancakes on Saturday morning, “split” fries at lunch that mysteriously disappeared almost all on your side of the plate, popcorn with butter during movie night. You told yourself you’d start over on Monday. Always Monday.

By Sunday night, you were laying in bed with a soft belly and a strange, quiet feeling that mixed guilt with something almost comforting. His hand slid under your shirt, over your stomach, and he kissed your neck softly.

“You looked really happy this weekend,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer, not right away. You just closed your eyes and let yourself be held, trying not to notice how snug your shirt felt across your chest—or how easily he touched the new softness you were starting to carry

Chapter Three: The Quiet Creep

You didn’t notice the changes at first. Not really.

Your clothes still fit—for the most part. Maybe the waistbands left a slightly deeper mark when you peeled them off at night. Maybe your bras needed a little more adjusting lately, and you’d started favoring the ones with stretchier bands. But nothing dramatic. Nothing alarming.

Besides, you’d always fluctuated a little. A few pounds here, a few there. It was just how your body worked. You were used to the ebb and flow.

What did change, quietly, was your appetite.

You started to crave more. Your little meals didn’t cut it anymore—not after the week of rich sauces and takeout splurges. You found yourself adding an extra spoonful to your plate. You stopped skipping dessert. You started looking forward to your husband’s surprise snacks and spontaneous cravings.

He made it all so easy.

Sometimes, he brought home pastries in the morning—just one for you, “because I passed your favorite bakery.” Other nights, he’d surprise you with something baking in the oven, always timed perfectly for when you walked through the door: rich, cheesy casseroles, gooey mac and cheese, buttery roast potatoes. You still worked out sometimes. You still thought about being healthy. But the effort felt less urgent now. Less important.

And honestly? You felt more content than you had in a while.

There was something comforting in letting go a little. The pressure to be perfect, to follow every food rule, to constantly strive for that someday body—it had always left you stressed and unsatisfied. But now, your husband looked at you like you were already enough. No, more than enough. Like the extra softness only made you better.

One night, you caught your reflection in the mirror as you stepped out of the shower. The change was still subtle—your belly a touch rounder, the curve of your hips a little fuller. You turned side to side, studying yourself with curious detachment.

You didn’t hate what you saw. You didn’t love it, either.

But when he came in behind you, slid his arms around your waist, and kissed your bare shoulder, you felt something shift.

He didn’t say anything—just rested his hands on the new softness, gently, almost reverently, and met your gaze in the mirror with a small smile.

You looked away first.

Chapter Four: Denial, Served Warm

You didn’t weigh yourself.

You told yourself it was a healthy choice—not obsessing over numbers, not letting a little digital screen dictate your self-worth. But really, you knew better. The scale sat in the corner of the bathroom, untouched, gathering a faint layer of dust.

Instead, you judged things by how your clothes fit. Or at least, how they used to fit.

Your favorite jeans had quietly migrated to the back of the drawer. The high-waisted pair with the stiff waistband? Forget it. You’d started reaching for leggings more often, oversized hoodies, anything soft and forgiving. You told yourself it was just for comfort, that you were bloated, that laundry day had limited your options. Every excuse, soft and soothing, wrapped around you like the blanket you kept pulling over your body when you collapsed on the couch after dinner.

Because dinners… had changed.

They’d become events.

He made them feel like rituals: candlelight, music, a bottle of wine, second helpings before you could even ask. You’d always had a decent appetite, sure, but lately it was different. You weren’t just eating because you were hungry—you were eating because it felt good. Every meal he made was so rich, so delicious, and he never held back with the portions.

And you never refused.

You didn’t even notice how often you went back for seconds. Or thirds. You didn’t notice how he lingered, watching as you cleaned your plate, smiling softly, always ready with more. You didn’t think too hard about how often he touched your hips now, let his hand rest on your stomach after dinner, or kissed the corners of your mouth like he was tasting the last bite.

But deep down… part of you knew.

You just didn’t want to face it.

One morning, as you got dressed for brunch with friends, you pulled on a blouse you hadn’t worn in a while. It used to be loose—your go-to when you wanted to feel effortlessly cute. Now, it clung around your middle, the fabric tight enough to pull slightly between the buttons. You tugged it down and looked in the mirror, trying to smooth it out, trying not to frown.

From behind, he appeared, arms looping around you.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmured against your ear, his hands resting right where the shirt felt the tightest. “Seriously.”

You gave a weak laugh. “It’s a little snug.”

“I like it,” he said, voice low, lips brushing your neck. “Everything about you lately feels… softer. Happier.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared into the mirror as he held you there, his fingers slowly moving over the new curves that weren’t there a few months ago. The ones you’d been trying not to notice.

You wore the blouse anyway.

And at brunch, you ordered the French toast.

Chapter Five: Numbers Don’t Lie

It happened on a Tuesday morning.

You’d just finished a shower, hair wrapped in a towel, steam still clinging to the mirror. You were running late, but something pulled you back into the bathroom. Your eyes drifted to the corner, where the digital scale sat, neglected and silent.

You stared at it for a long moment. Heartbeat rising.

You hadn’t stepped on it in… months?

Your stomach was still warm and heavy from last night’s dinner—creamy mashed potatoes, roasted chicken with thick gravy, and two slices of homemade apple pie, courtesy of your husband’s sudden “baking phase.” You remembered how full you’d felt afterward, how tight your waistband had gotten, how he’d smiled when you let out that soft little groan and leaned back, stuffed.

You’d laughed it off. You always laughed it off.

But this morning, the bloated feeling lingered. Your thighs looked fuller. Your belly curved out with a softness you could no longer write off as water weight. And now, standing there in nothing but a towel, you could see it—truly see it.

The roundness in your face. The faint roll forming beneath your breasts. The way your hips had widened just enough to shift how your towel tucked in.

You took a deep breath and stepped on the scale.

157.4 lbs.

Your breath caught.

You blinked. Stepped off. Stepped back on.

157.6 lbs.

You couldn’t remember the last time the number had been that high. Maybe never. It didn’t feel real. Not until you stood there for a long minute, towel loosening around you, reality sinking in like a weight on your chest.

You hadn’t just gained a little. This was… real. Measurable.

And yet, even as the number echoed in your head, another memory crept in:

Your husband’s hands on your waist last night, gently guiding you back for seconds. The way his eyes darkened as you finished the last bite. How he kissed you afterward like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact… he seemed to like it.

That night, you made a salad for dinner.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly as you prepped your plate. When he sat down with his own serving—generous, creamy, full of roasted chicken and croutons—you noticed he’d added a little extra to yours too. Some shaved parmesan. A drizzle of olive oil. A thick slice of buttered bread on the side.

“Babe,” you said, hesitant, “I was thinking maybe… I should cut back. A bit.”

He paused, fork in hand, eyes warm. “Cut back?”

You nodded, trying to sound casual. “I weighed myself today.”

His lips curved into something unreadable—half concern, half something else entirely. “And?”

“I’ve put on a few pounds.”

He reached across the table, took your hand.

“You look incredible.”

You wanted to argue. Say something logical. Sensible. Instead, you let him squeeze your fingers, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and tried to ignore how the bread was still warm… and how hungry you suddenly felt again.

Chapter Six: Mirror, Mirror

You waited until he left for work.

The second the front door closed and the lock clicked, you were already peeling your hoodie off. The living room still smelled faintly of breakfast—bacon, syrup, cinnamon-sugar toast—and your stomach gave a lazy churn, still half-full from the meal you’d eaten out of habit more than hunger.

Your hands were trembling before you even made it to the mirror.

You’d avoided it lately—never stopping too long, never letting your eyes linger. But today, you faced it. Stripped off the hoodie, then your leggings, then your tank top. One by one until you stood there in just a bra and panties. Bare. Exposed. No more soft lighting. No more flattering angles.

No more denial.

Your breath caught.

Your belly, once soft but subtle, now pushed gently forward—round, undeniably heavier. The waistband of your panties pressed into your skin, leaving a faint red line across your hips. There was a crease forming below your navel now, one that deepened when you shifted. You reached down and touched it, fingers trembling, tracing the unfamiliar curve.

Your thighs had changed too. Fuller. Plush. They brushed together now when you stood still, a faint rub that had become normal but you’d never really noticed. You turned sideways. Your backside jutted out more, your bra digging in slightly at the band.

You raised your arms and watched how everything shifted—the way your belly gave a soft jiggle, how the flesh under your arms was a little looser, a little softer than you remembered. You grabbed at your love handles with both hands, pressing into them, trying to reshape them, contain them.

They didn’t go anywhere.

Your chest, once barely filling your cups, now threatened to spill over them. Your favorite bra had started leaving marks. You’d blamed the dryer. You’d blamed swelling. You’d blamed everything but this.

This body.

Your body.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It came out shaky, broken. You turned, trying to find an angle that didn’t feel like someone else’s reflection—but it all looked unfamiliar. Heavier. Wider. Real.

You dropped to the bed, half-dressed, heart pounding. Your hands went to your stomach again, almost without thinking, cradling it. You sat there, feeling the weight of it settle into your lap, heavy and undeniable. You pushed against it. It pushed back.

“How did this happen?” you whispered.

But you knew.

You knew.

Every meal, every bite, every moment you’d shrugged it off and let him take care of you. The way he’d encouraged you to skip workouts, the desserts that had become routine, the casual grazing that seemed so harmless at the time. It had all felt so innocent.

Hadn’t it?

Or… had he known exactly what he was doing?

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A text from him: “Thinking of you. Hope you’re relaxing today. I left a little surprise in the fridge.”

You sat frozen for a long moment, your stomach flipping—not from hunger, but from something deeper. Something almost like dread.

Then you stood up. Slowly. Still staring at yourself in the mirror.

Because for the first time, you didn’t just see the change.

You felt it.

And it scared you.

Chapter Seven: What You’ve Been Feeding Me

You didn’t open the fridge.

You couldn’t. Not after what you’d just seen in the mirror. Not after sitting on the bed in your too-tight underwear, holding yourself like a stranger. You ignored his text. You didn’t even reply. You just sat, stewing in a mix of disbelief, confusion… and something dangerously close to betrayal.

You didn’t want to believe it.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop spiraling.

The subtle portion increases. The constant temptations. The way he always brushed off your concerns with a compliment or a kiss or another warm plate full of something rich and impossible to resist. It had all felt so loving. So natural.

Now it felt calculated.

By the time he got home that evening, you were waiting.

He walked in with a smile on his face, a paper bag in hand, the kind you knew carried something indulgent. “Hey, babe—guess what I found at the bakery? Those little custard tarts you—”

You cut him off.

“Sit down.”

His eyes flicked up, surprised by your tone. But he obeyed, setting the bag on the counter and pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. You stood across from him, arms folded tightly over your chest, still wearing the oversized hoodie from this morning—but now you felt everything under it. The heaviness. The tightness. The truth.

“I weighed myself.”

He said nothing. Just looked at you, calm. Neutral.

“I’ve gained… over twenty pounds. Twenty. And you never said a word. Not once.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’ve looked beautiful every single day.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, voice cracking. “You knew. You saw it happening. And instead of helping me—instead of encouraging me to stay on track—you just kept feeding me. You wanted this.”

Silence. He didn’t deny it.

Your heart raced. “You planned it, didn’t you? You knew I couldn’t say no forever. You were just waiting for me to give in.”

He exhaled, slowly. Leaned forward on his elbows, eyes soft but steady.

“You were miserable before.”

You blinked. “What?”

He spoke slowly, carefully. “Always stressing over what you ate. Counting calories. Starting over every Monday. You hated your body no matter how hard you tried. And I hated seeing you like that.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“I never forced anything,” he continued. “I didn’t hide vegetables or slip butter into your smoothies. I just gave you the freedom to enjoy things. And yeah… maybe I hoped you’d let go a little. Maybe I wanted to see what would happen if you stopped fighting yourself all the time.”

You stared at him.

“So you wanted me to get fat?”

He flinched slightly, but didn’t deny it. “I wanted you to feel safe. Safe enough to eat. To be full. To let yourself have what you want without guilt.”

You felt heat rise to your face—anger, shame, confusion, something molten and messy.

“You should’ve told me,” you whispered. “You should’ve asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

That stopped you. The room felt thick with silence.

He stood slowly, came around the table, and placed his hands gently on your hips. They settled higher than they used to. You felt the warmth of his palms against the new softness there.

“I love this version of you,” he said quietly. “But it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want now.”

You looked up at him, breathing shallow. You could feel the weight on your body, the pressure of your belly against the inside of your hoodie, the way your thighs had begun to subtly touch even standing still. All of it.

“So what happens now?” you asked.

His answer came without hesitation.

“That’s up to you.”