#yaz talks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ramenaddicted · 6 months

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Nice and warm

synopsis: I cook soup for my man and reminisce about how we met, also recipe included.

an: So this little ditty is part of the @love-and-lore autumn self-ship collab, so if you are not into that feel free to skip this one.

The stage is set. My boyfriend won't know what hit him. I chuckle to myself as I continue to dice my yellow onions. The strong scent of onions stings my eyes and they start to water slightly. It’s September; that means soup season, and I aim to introduce different soups to my boyfriend through the fall and winter. My boyfriend is so picky. He only likes to eat foods that are easy to cook and easy to eat like chicken tenders and mac & cheese. There’s nothing wrong with those foods. I love a good bowl of mac & cheese every once in a while. However, I also like to get my daily intake of veggies so to increase his intake of veggies, I’m going full throttle.

As I finish chopping my onions, that’s when I start peeling and mincing my garlic. The delicious yet pungent aroma of garlic is a promise of the delicious soup that is to come. My kitchen is on the smaller side with its light green walls and the awkward color countertops. I have zero space so I have to mince all this garlic by hand.

I turn my attention to a bowl of potatoes sitting in water, soaking and cleaning, the last of the prep for the heavy load of soup. With all of my fresh veggies neatly prepped and put into bowls, I start on the potatoes. Taking my peeler, I swiftly peel each of my potatoes and then cut them in halves. To make sure I don’t get early-onset arthritis, I bought a little gadget to help me easily dice my potatoes. I transfer them into a large bowl with cold fresh water to keep them all nice and white.

I take a step back and marvel over my work. Wow! All of my items have been perfectly prepped, but now here comes the fun part: cooking! I decide to take out my beautiful butternut squash-colored Dutch oven and turn the fire up high on the stove. As I feel a tiny bit of heat radiating from the pot itself, I layer the bottom half of the pot with bacon slices.

The bacon does its job and slowly cooks. I decided to take time out and measure my wet ingredients: 4 cups of chicken stock and 2 cups of milk.

As the bacon slowly cooks, the scent radiates throughout the kitchen. It’s a wonderful smell. Hopefully, my boyfriend likes it. I had decided on a soup that was easy to make and very pleasing with the accouterments such as the bacon in the cheese.

Cooking bacon takes a while, especially when it’s still in its strip form and not chopped up like I should’ve done it. Still, who cares? As I slowly drift off into La La Land, the bottom of the pot with the bacon starts to turn brown. I am reminded why I am doing this. I'm doing this because I love my boyfriend and I want to eat soup; two birds. one stone.

My boyfriend and I have been dating for about two years. Within those two years, I found out so much about him; I know he’s a picky eater, a hard-core gamer, and I know he has a selective group of friends whom I affectionately call the ragamuffins or the little bastards. Anywho, when I first met my boyfriend, Tomura Shigaraki, I was a bit put off by him just because he didn’t traditionally approach me. I was just minding my business when I heard a cheery feminine voice call out to me.

“Hey! You’re Yasmin, right?” A cheery voice called.

I turned around to see who was calling me. It was a short blonde girl wearing a dark hoodie and sneakers. I could feel an invisible pair of eyes staring at my dark skin from the shadows. A small chill ran down my back.

“Yes, who’s asking?” I balked at her question.

“So my friend over there likes you and would like to get to know you,” she stated while turning behind to point at a shadowy figure trying to conceal himself by a nearby tree.

The figure in question was a tall lanky man dressed in a dark hoodie and dark sweatpants. Blazing ruby red eyes with deep bags under his eyes, chapped lips, and the aura of an enraged Discord mod*.

“Why does he look like that?” I inquired while physically taking a step back. The man wasn’t even in my personal space and I felt like I was gonna get stabbed.

“He’s just shy,” she tried to assure me.

She was not doing a good job, plus with his intense staring, he was also shooting himself in the foot.

“Naw, I’m cool.”

Afterward, I got hounded by other people in his friend's circle. The blond girl introduced herself as Himiko Toga. We hung out more just because she was approachable and not stalking me from the shadows. A week after the informal meeting, I was approached by another man with tall dark spiky hair, turquoise, blue eyes, and a bad attitude: Dabi.

Dabi’s method of persuasion was terrible. He was more annoyed than anything as he tried listing off the non-redeemable qualities of his friend.

“Stop please,” I begged. As I would come to find out, Tomura truly has some odd friends. Dabi didn’t do a good job of painting Tomura in a good light. The heavily tattooed stranger emphasized the other was a hardcore gamer with mommy issues.

With friends like these, who needs enemies? I collected myself and turned away from Dabi.

“Listen here, if your friend wants to talk to me we can sit down at the campus coffee house and talk.” Dabi could feel my frustration as I spoke.

I turned on my heels and went in the opposite direction of the campus coffeehouse. “Otherwise I’m going to the campus police and reporting him for stalking!”

The scent of freshly ground espresso was a welcomed scent inside the coffee house. The campus coffee house was a nice and quaint place; pastries, coffees, and teas were their game, and serving espresso and other caffeinated delights was their cash cow.

The jingling of the bell alerted the barista to my presence. They greeted me warmly as I made my way to the counter to order. I ordered my usual – a London fog tea latte and a vanilla bean scone. After paying for my goods, I went to find a nice and secluded area for me and hopefully my stalker.

After my items were done, I quickly took them and sat at the very back of the cafe with a window seat. The coffee house doorbell jingled harshly as the perpetrator entered. Lo behold, it was my skrunkly stalker. Tomura was dressed in a gray hoodie and sweatpants. His hair at the time was blue-tinged. His striking red beady eyes stared straight at me. I waved him over, and he ran towards me like his life depended on it.

"So you want to tell me why you have been stalking me from the shadows?" I asked, cutting to the chase while sipping my latte.

The silence was deafening as I sipped on my latte loudly. The poor boy was sweating bullets while trying to concoct an answer.

"Because you smell nice," His answer stunned me as he continued to explain.

"We have some connecting classes so when I sit behind or near you…I sniff your perfume." He admitted as his cheeks blushed a furious shade of red.

"That is so creepy."

The smell of cooked bacon pulls me from my daydream as I go to collect my bounty of cooked bacon. Swiftly picking the bacon strips out of the Dutch oven with my tongs, I put the bacon on a paper towel-clad plate and then turn the heat to low.

With the bacon secured, I quickly move on to building the soup base. Next, I add two tablespoons of butter, diced onions, and minced garlic. With those ingredients, the kitchen quickly becomes more fragrant and delicious. My onions cook down and are thoroughly translucent, and the garlic is browning in color: not burnt, but beige.

I measure my liquids: chicken broth and heavy whipping cream. Then once the vegetables look nice and golden brown, I add half a cup of flour.

As much as Tomura’s friends would tease him about our initial courting, I wouldn’t have traded the experience for the world. After our impromptu date at the campus coffee house, Tomura went out of his way to talk to me. He still stalked me from the shadows but that kept the real creeps away from me. So a win is a win…I guess.

With the veg and flour mixture fully turned into liquid goodness via the six cups of chicken stock, I quickly add my chopped potatoes and herb mixture: rosemary, thyme, salt/pepper, and a couple of dashes of Montreal steak seasoning.

Keys jingling and the lock turning makes a smile spread across my face.

“Babe, I’m home,” Tomura calls as he waltzes into our shared apartment.

“I’m in the kitchen!” I yell.

“Smells good in here, what are we having for dinner?”

“Loaded potato soup.”

Slender arms wrap themselves around my waist and I feel slightly chapped lips kiss the side of my cheek. I giggle at the affection my boyfriend dotes on me in private. I tell him to go wash up and that dinner will be ready in a minute. I took the time to crumble up the cooked bacon for garnish. Along with shredded cheddar cheese, chopped green onions, and the crumbled bacon on top of the piping hot soup dinner is complete.

Once back, the table is already set, and the man of the hour is wearing his at-home sweater. Dressed in a white t-shirt with a black sweater with cream lining, it gives off an academic vibe.

“Someone looks fancy,” I tease.

“I can’t help it, it's comfortable,” he playfully pouts while taking his seat across from me.

I hand him his bowl of loaded potato soup. My gremlin doesn’t even set the steaming bowl on the table before he begins chowing down on the cheesy and bacony goodness. I laugh at his antics; the man is acting like this is the first time he'd ever had my cooking.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, acting like a starving kitten.”

He blushes furiously at my taunt and looks away from me before going back to eating his soup, this time less comically.

“I’m glad you like it though,” I beam at the praise. “I thought about you while making it.”

Tomura stops eating for a moment and looks at me. Carnelian eyes glow with amusement as he reaches out for my hand on the table.

“Yaz, I don’t care if you served me those abominations from the 50’s,” I giggle at his words. “I will treasure anything you make.”

He quickly stands the both of us up, and I point to his sweater.

“I didn’t make that, but I bought it for you.”

“Doesn't matter, this was bought with the intention of making me happy.”

“And warm,” I mock him.

“And warm,” he repeats.