Big Spoon Cuddling Novels & Stories

I brought just one spoon Me: I only brought one spoon He took it from me and put it in the food Andy: it's blessed, amen I smiled He took a little of it and brought it to my mouth. I opened up and he gently fed me. Next he fed himself Andy: did a maid or chef make this? Me: I think my mom did Andy: it's good He took another spoon and nodded then another spoon. I chuckled Me: mister, you're forgetting me He chuckled and fed me three times Andy: now feed me

Scott offered. Dang! The moment Scott mentioned food, her stomach began rumbling. Sigh, she was hungry! "I hear your stomach rumbling, Bri. Don't be stubborn! I'm going to order that soup, whether you agree or not!" Scott said as he proceed to made the order online on his phone. Brian sighed and said nothing. She continued sipping the hot water until the cup was empty. "Who's cup is this?" she asked. Scott smirked. "That's mine. We are practically having lips-to-lips, Bri. I didn't wash that cup due to panic, and I used it this afternoon when I made my coffee," he said, grinning cheekily.

“So, how about some soup?” When Conner made no move toward the bag, Sloane didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” he said, pulling the bag toward him and unrolling the top. “You’re probably feeling a bit weak from that cold of yours.” He dug into the bag. “Voila,” he said, pulling out a large Styrofoam cup with all the flourish of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. He placed the cup in front of Conner, then reached back into the sack and retrieved a second cup, along with a pair of plastic spoons. He slid one of the spoons across the table to Conner.

Slowly, the hall returned to its rhythm: Spoons scraping bowls. Soft conversation. A child being hushed by an older woman. The clatter of a dropped cup. Life continues, even in the shadows. I lifted the spoon, hands trembling slightly, and tasted the broth. Warm. Savory. Real. And unexpectedly comforting. Jessa smiled when she saw my expression. “Told you. The little things.” She nudged my knee lightly under the table, a simple gesture that said: You’re not alone here. Not while I’m with you. And for the first time all morning - I believed her.

I set the spoon on the table between us. “Watch this.” Mel lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?” I focused the way I had been practicing in the evenings. Not forcing it. Just feeling for that quiet pull inside me. The spoon trembled slightly. Then it slid an inch across the table toward me. Mel leaned forward immediately. “Well now,” she murmured. I tried again. The spoon lifted a fraction off the table before dropping with a soft clink. I laughed nervously. “It’s still a little clumsy.” “Clumsy?” Mel said. “Esme, that’s wonderful.”

Fifteen, maybe sixteen, with a kitchen apron still tied at his waist and a bowl of something covered with a cloth balanced in both hands. "You're the one with the silver eyes," he said. Completely conversational, as if this were a standard greeting. "Apparently." "Bennik," he said. "I work the kitchens. I heard you hadn't eaten since this morning and Fenna doesn't count as a welcome because she never welcomes anyone so I made soup." He held out the bowl. "It's got potato in it. I find potato helps." I studied his face. No calculation in his face. No awareness of bloodlines or Moonborn markers or pack politics. He had made soup because I hadn't eaten. Nothing more complicated than that.

He takes it, turns it over, taps it against the tray, and then holds it toward me with the offering gesture he has developed — the same gesture Roberta uses to share significant objects, which he has absorbed from watching her over eleven months. "Thank you," I say, and take the spoon, and examine it, and return it. He receives it with satisfaction. We are, at this moment, exactly what we are — a man and an eleven-month-old in a kitchen in the November morning, passing a wooden spoon between them with the specific seriousness that such transactions deserve. I find that this is one of the mornings I will keep — not because anything significant happens in it, but because nothing is required fr

I said with puppy face and snatching away Ice cream tub from her hand. Sonia and I watched an old season of f.r.i.e.n.d.s on TV while having our dinner, we talk and kept eating our food for almost one hour until we finished our entire meal, once our bowls and plates were empty we took them all to my kitchen basin and cleaned them thoroughly.

She was so harsh, vile, and malicious. Madam Duval was very pleased by the sight of the disheveled Hesper. “Since you’re awake, have some soup, quickly! I had someone prepare a lactation-boosting soup especially for you so you can breastfeed my grandson when you’re done! Come and feed Mrs. Duval the soup!” Upon Madam Duval’s order, someone immediately served a bowl of oily-looking soup to Hesper. The surface of the soup was still boiling and steaming, a sign of it being freshly-prepared.

she says, lifting a separate tray, “something special.” She brings it directly to Hope. “Everyone else, grab a plate.” The room erupts into movement. When they return, plates heavy with protein and steam, Hope peers into her tray. “Oh wow—what’s all this?” “It’s for the pup,” Bea says casually. The room freezes. “The bone broth’s been simmering for twenty-four hours,” Bea continues, oblivious. “Soup’s packed with spinach and liver for nutrients—” She stops when she realizes everyone is staring. “What?”