Big Spoon Cuddling Novels & Stories

Instead, I shifted the conversation. “How about dinner? I’m actually quite hungry,” I said softly. He smiled, relief in that smile. “Let me see what we have. I’ll do something simple.” He stood, and I watched him move into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening, a can of soup being shifted, a spoon being placed in water quiet, comforting domestic sounds. I sat back, thinking how amazing it felt that someone had gone from just friends to best friends… Ethan returned with two bowls of soup and placed one before me. The warmth rose from the bowl, easing my tension.

Just set everything down on the small table, pulled up the other chair, and sat directly in front of me. He stirred the spoon through the broth, blew on it once, and held it out toward my mouth. I just stared at him. The spoon hovered inches from my face, the steam rising between us. I kept staring. The silence stretched until it became unbearable. “Is this some kind of weird fetish?” I finally asked, my voice cracky and dripping with exhaustion and sarcasm. “Tying women up and spoon-feeding them like toddlers? Because if it is, you can go fuck yourself. I’m no longer playing along with whatever sick game this is.”

I growled in frustration. An arm wrapped around my waist and steadied the jar. “Is that better?” Andrew whispered in my ear. Chills ran down my spine. I twisted the lid. It released its hold with a satisfying pop. “Much better.” “Anything else I can help you with?” “I need someone to hold the handle of the pot while I stir the spaghetti.” Andrew reached around me, encasing me in his arms. He grabbed the pot handle with one handle and my uninjured hand as I held the wooden spoon. Together, we slowly stirred the pasta.

Naomi peered at me with a soft, wolf-kin warmth. "I had the omegas prepare your favorite—wild mushroom and cream broth. Cameron, fill your mate’s bowl. Don’t just sit there like a stone." My skin prickled. I reached for the ladle, but Cameron’s hand got there first. He took my bowl, his fingers brushing mine with a heat that felt like a brand, and filled it to the brim. As I stared at the steaming cream, my stomach did a violent somersault. The very scent made my throat tighten.

I suddenly felt an intense hunger when the aroma of the soup filled the room. He babbled while his tail wagged like a dog, holding a small bowl of tonic clumsily. "Guyon made soup for Mommy!" The bowl he was holding was placed on top of a wooden tray; there were traces of spilling on it. His hands were shaking despite his cute smile, so I couldn't stop smiling at his cute gestures.

He winked at her. “When did you turn my sous chef?” she laughed. Adam beamed and fell into the couch lazily, sliding his phone from his pocket. Salma looked at the bowl. “It’s still porridge.” “It’s elevated porridge. There’s cinnamon and something that claims to be honey from a specific valley. Devon will be able to tell you which one if you ask him.” He said from the couch. “But don’t ask him.” She laughed despite herself. The sound felt strange in her chest, lighter than anything she had produced in weeks.

And Spaghetti had knocked over his bowl again, maybe protesting the lack of bone broth in his boiled chicken. I poured kibble, added some salmon, and slid each bowl into place. The sounds of crunching and licking filled the kitchen like some absurd soundtrack to my increasingly surreal life. The coffee machine clicked. The scent of caffeine and mild existential dread spread through the air. I grabbed my mug, poured, and— Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

He rubs her back and she gestures to the problematic spoons, “I don’t see a difference, the size is the same, the position on the table is virtually indistinguishable from this other spoon. But using it for anything other than its intended purpose is ‘frowned upon most deeply’.” She sighs, giving up for now. George has again chosen her food for her, as she’s been drowning in the spoon section, struggling to see the spoons for the other mildly different spoons. George looks at the spoons in question, and frowns,

Baekhoon lifts his spoon, pretending to focus on the porridge, but I notice the way his eyes flick toward me every few seconds. His gaze lingers just a fraction too long, teasing, and it makes my stomach twist in a way I can’t ignore. I hand him a sip of water, my fingers brushing the back of his hand. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb traces lightly over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. I bite my lip, trying to appear casual, but the heat in my chest rises sharply.

"Thank you Mr. Kim, it looks delicious." “Wow, this is really nutritious food for my future nephew. Come on, Ed, eat a lot and be strong." Shane added excited. The two humans looked so happy and just ignored Acelon's displeased gaze which had not been separated from Edna. He realized that this time the woman was conspiring with Shane to get back at him. "Aaaww... hot hot... ahhh..." Suddenly Jessica exclaimed softly while wagging her hand which was spilled by the soup. With her slightly spoiled style, the woman asked Acelon to blow her hand and wipe off the spilled broth that had stained her thigh.