#Kitchen Knife Guide

[anielskaaniela]

10 Best Japanese Knife Set Every Chef Should Buy

In this post , you will discover 10 best Japanese knife set. Check out my japanese products [here]. Japanese knife sets are renowned for their craftsmanship, razor-sharp edges, and precision. Whether you’re a professional chef or a home cook, investing in a high-quality Japanese knife set can elevate your culinary skills. This guide will explore what makes Japanese knife sets popular, the types…

[reviewsbrotherofficial]

Learn how to select the best chef knife for your kitchen with our ultimate guide. Learn about blade materials, handle designs, balance, and top brands to make an informed purchase decision.

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Cooking with Simon 🍆🍒🍑

The kitchen was warm, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air as you stood at the counter, chopping vegetables. Music played softly from the speaker, setting a light, playful mood. Simon leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed, his mask pushed up to reveal his mouth.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said, his low voice laced with amusement as he watched you work.

You shot him a glare, knife pausing mid-chop. “Oh, really? And when was the last time you cooked anything other than instant noodles?”

His lips quirked in a rare smile. “Doesn’t mean I can’t supervise.”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his chest brushing your back as he reached for your hands. His rough fingers covered yours, guiding the knife. “Like this,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear.

The proximity made your breath hitch, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands lingered a moment too long before he let go, but he didn’t step back. Instead, his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly in place.

“Simon…” you started, your voice trembling slightly.

“Keep chopping,” he ordered, his tone deep and teasing.

You tried to focus, but it was impossible with the way his fingers were now tracing lazy circles on your waist, the heat of his touch burning through the thin fabric of your shirt. His lips brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Careful,” he whispered, his voice a rough growl. “Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.”

The knife clattered to the counter as you turned in his arms, your pulse racing. “You’re distracting me.”

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Maybe that’s the point.”

The intensity in his gaze made your knees weak. Without warning, he lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your legs. His hands splayed on either side of you, caging you in as his lips claimed yours. The kiss was fiery, possessive, leaving no room for doubt that he was in control.

The forgotten vegetables and simmering pan were nothing but background noise as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth grazing your skin.

“Simon,” you gasped, your hands gripping his broad shoulders.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble against your throat. “Dinner can wait.”

And with the way his hands roamed your body and his lips left trails of fire wherever they touched, you couldn’t bring yourself to argue.

[alisonsfics]

take care of you

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: carmy obviously cares about the wellbeing of everybody who works at the bear, but it’s different with you. everyone realizes how crazy he is about you when almost loses his mind when you cut your hand.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mentions of blood, stitches, and needles, but not too graphic

“Everybody still good and focused?” Carmy called out to the kitchen. “Yes, chef,” the room echoed. The Bear was doing a test run for a special event. And a brand new menu always meant chaos at the Bear.

You were chopping away at vegetables, continuously looking up at the clock to stay on time.

You glanced up to check the time and got distracted by Richie bumping a container onto the floor. Only looking away for a second, the knife in your hand slipped and cut the palm of your hand.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, in instant pain. Carmy heard you swearing over his shoulder and glanced over at you. First, he saw your face and could tell you were in pain. Then, he caught a glimpse of the red that was spreading on your hand. “Ow, fuck. Carmy?” You called out, having no idea that he had already noticed.

“Oh, shit,” he said, immediately turning off the stove and abandoning his station. He raced to your side, grabbing a towel and quickly wrapping it around your hand.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he assured you. He grabbed your arm and started guiding you towards the big sink. “Out of the way, please. Give us some space, guys,” Carmy said, urgently.

He removed the towel from your hand. He turned on the water and stuck your hand under it. “Syd, I need the first aid kit quickly, please.” He called out. You saw Sydney quickly run towards the office.

Carmy noticed that you’d started breathing faster. “Hey hey hey, look at me. Don’t look at that. Just focus on me,” he said, noticing how frantic you looked. He knew that you were freaking out, and he could only calm you down if he remained relaxed.

“Carmy, it really fucking hurts.” You said, your voice cracking and tears welling up in your eyes. It almost broke Carmy to see you upset. He cared about you so much and hated seeing you in pain. “I know it does, but you’re doing great. You’re probably gonna need some stitches, but I’ll take you after we get this cleaned and bandaged up, okay?” He told you.

You nodded your head, trying to focus on Carmy and not the throbbing pain in your hand. “Don’t worry. Just take some deep breathes, okay? We can’t have you passing out.” He instructed you. You started taking deep breaths, but you were still wincing in pain.

Carmy noticed the way your whole face tensed up. He grabbed your other hand and placed it on his forearm. “Go ahead. You can hold onto me and squeeze my arm if you need to. I’ve got ya,” he assured you. You felt calmer in Carmy’s presence.

Sydney returned with the first aid kit. Carmy quickly flipped it open and grabbed the supplies he needed. “I have to clean this before I bandage it. It might hurt a little, but just keep squeezin’ my arm.” He told you, grabbing some wipes.

You winced as he wiped your hand. “Tell me about that book you were reading this morning.” Carmy suggested, trying to get your mind off the pain. You started talking to him, and you were much less focused on how much the wipes stung.

After, he bandaged your hand up, making sure it was secure. “Is your coat in your locker? I’ll go grab it.” He said, going over to your locker and grabbing your coat and bag for you.

“Just keep your hand still. I can do this.” He said, carefully slipping your coat over one arm and then the other. He threw your backpack over his shoulder because it had all your important things in it, like your phone, wallet, etc.

“You don’t have to carry that. I can do it.” You protested. Carmy shook his head. He wasn’t going to let you lift a finger. “Let me take care of you.” He said, smiling at you. He looked genuinely happy to be able to take care of you.

He rested his hand on the small of your back. Richie tossed Carmy his car keys, and Carmy guided you back towards the parking lot. Carmy ran ahead of you, opening your car door for you.

“Thank you, Carmy,” you said, smiling at him as you carefully got into the car. Before you could reach for the seatbelt, Carmy stopped you. “I got it.” He said, grabbing your seatbelt and clicking it into place.

He put your backpack into the back seat, and then got in the car. He quickly started the car and started to drive towards the hospital.

“You still doing okay?” He asked after a few minute, looking over at you with a concerned expression. You quickly nodded your head. “You’re doing so great.” He said, smiling at you and reaching over to hold your free hand.

“Thank you for driving me and taking care of me back there.” You thanked him, sincerely. He looked over at you with a pure smile, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Of course. I’m always here for you. No matter what you need,” he told you. You felt so grateful to have Carmy watch your back. There was nothing Carmy would rather do more.

Once you got to the hospital, Carmy helped you out of the car and brought you inside. There was a long line to check in, so you both stood waiting. “This fucking sucks, Carmy.” You said, resting your head on his shoulder.

He chuckled at your impatience. “I know. It shouldn’t be that much longer. When we get out of here, I’ll bring you to the new ice cream place I was telling you about.” He told you, rubbing your back.

He watched how fast your expression changed once he mentioned ice cream. “I mean, I do think I deserve a treat after this.” You joked, making Carmy laugh.

You both finally got to the front of the line and checked in. The front desk worker handed you a clipboard with forms on it. “Just fill this out for us. Since that’s the hand you write with, your boyfriend can fill these out for you.” They told you, handing the clipboard to Carmy.

You froze for a second, trying to process what they meant. “Thank you,” Carmy said quickly, after noticing your surprise. He put his hand back on your back and guided you towards a chair to sit down in.

Carmy started filling out the forms for you with the information that he knew. “You seemed pretty offended they thought I was your boyfriend.” Carmy teased, smirking at you.

“I was just surprised. I’m sure you’d be a great boyfriend.” You said, trying to pretend like your heart hadn’t skipped a beat when you heard the word boyfriend. You’d had a not-so-subtle crush on Carmy for a while. You were genuinely surprised he hadn’t noticed yet.

You both sat in the waiting room for a while. Carmy kept texting everyone at the Bear and updating them. Then, he played silly brain games with you to keep you distracted from the pain.

Finally, a nurse brought you back to a room. “Somebody should be right in here to get you stitched up.” The nurse told you and left.

“You ever had stitches before?” Carmy asked you.

“I think I’ll seem more mysterious to you if I refuse to tell you.” You teased him. At this point, you both were pretty tired and therefore, getting pretty giggly. “Oh, you’re going for mysterious now?” He asked you, chuckling.

You nodded your head, trying to hide your smile. “Has that not been coming across?” You joked.

The door flung open. “Hi, I’m Claire. I’m gonna be your— oh…hey, you guys,” you both were met with a stunned Claire standing in the doorway. You could almost hear the way that Carmy was mentally cursing himself.

“Oh hey, Claire,” you said, dragging out the words. Getting stitched up by your crush and boss’ ex-girlfriend was not how you thought you’d be spending your night.

She turned away from you both and set down her laptop on the counter. You glanced over at Carmy, trying to read his expression. “It’s fine,” he mouthed to you, giving you a fake smile.

Carmy sat down in the chair beside you, focusing all his attention on you and not Claire. She sat down on her stool and rolled towards you, putting on her gloves. “How’ve you been, Carm?” She asked, nervously looking at him.

He sheepishly nodded. “Yeah…I’ve been good.” He quickly replied.

You all were very aware of how awkward the situation was, so you all opted for silence. “You did a great job bandaging this up.” Claire told you, as she unwrapped all the gauze.

Your gaze met Carmy’s. He waited for you to correct her and tell her he did it. You smirked at him, letting him know you weren’t going to say a word. He jokingly made an offended face.

Claire missed the completely nonverbal conversation between the two of you.

She started cleaning your hand, and you winced. Carmy quickly grabbed your other hand and let you squeeze his hand. “Sorry, that might sting a little.” Claire apologized.

Once she got to the actual stitches, you were in lots of pain. You tried to distract yourself. You looked around the room. You noticed the small lingering glances where Claire would look at Carmy. But his eyes never strayed from you.

“Oh, fuck,” you swore under your breath as you felt a sharp pain. A tear rolled down your cheek. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re doing so good.” Carmy quickly praised you, kissing the back of your hand and wiping the tears off your cheek.

Claire stalled for a second. She realized that this was more than just a boss bringing one of his employees to the E.R. She noticed the way Carmy jumped to comfort you.

“I didn’t know that you guys were together.” Claire said. Carmy didn’t make any move to correct her. “No no, we’re not.” You said.

“Doing it again? It really sounds like you’re offended at the idea of being my girlfriend?” Carmy whispered to you, teasing you. You rolled your eyes at his teasing.

After Claire finished your stitches, she practically ran out of the room, not being able to handle the awkwardness anymore.

“The stitches are definitely helping with the mysterious vibe. It suits you.” Carmy smirked at you.

“I know. I’m really boosting your street cred by letting you hang out with me.” You returned the teasing. You felt more butterflies every time Carmy laughed at one of your jokes.

“So, you still want to stop and get a little treat on the way home?” He asked, picking up your coat for you.

“I think I have a better idea for a treat.” You said. You used your one hand to cup Carmy’s face and pull him closer to you. You closed the distance and kissed him. He quickly kissed you back. Your coat fell out of his hands and as he rushed to wrap his arms around your waist.

You could feel Carmy smile against your lips. “Quit smiling and kiss me, Berzatto.” You teased him, earning a chuckle from Carmy as he leaned back in.

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[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝟵 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N's and Matt's babies are finally born after 9 long months of waiting; OR, where Matt is finally a dad.

WARNING: Pregnancy, crying, mentions of labor, pain.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I cried while writing this one, it totally melted my heart 🥺

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The contractions hit Y/N like a tidal wave, her breath catching in her throat as she gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her knuckles turning white. The pain radiated from her lower back, wrapping around to her abdomen in tight, relentless waves. She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart pounding in her chest.

They had been waiting for this moment for nine long months, and yet, now that it was here, the reality of it was almost overwhelming. She tried to call out for Matt, her voice wavering, but the pain was so intense that it felt as if it was squeezing the sound right out of her.

Matt was in the living room, his eyes glued to his laptop as he reviewed some emails. It had been a busy few weeks leading up to the due date, and he was trying to get ahead of things before the twins arrived.

The sound of Y/N’s voice, strained and filled with pain, cut through his concentration like a knife. His head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat. He leaped from the couch, knocking his laptop to the floor, and sprinted into the kitchen, his heart racing with panic.

"Honey? What’s wrong? Is it- oh God, it’s happening, isn't it?" Matt’s voice was a mixture of excitement and sheer panic as he reached her side. He placed a gentle but trembling hand on her back, his eyes wide with concern as he watched her struggle to breathe through the contraction. "Breathe, baby, breathe. Do you need water? No, wait- sit down. Should you sit? Or should you lie down? Oh my God, I should call 911!"

Y/N squeezed his hand, her face scrunched up in pain, but she managed a breathless laugh.

"Matt, relax... it’s okay. Just-" She interrupted her own sentence when a new wave of pain invaded her whole body.

"Come here, sweetheart." Matt gently guided Y/N to the edge of the kitchen chair, his expression shifting from sheer panic to a momentary calmness, trying to ground himself in the situation.

He knelt down in front of her, his hands trembling slightly as he placed them on her knees. His eyes, wide with worry, locked onto hers as he tried to steady his breathing.

"How long has this been going on?" His voice held a perfect mix of calmness and nerves, the gravity of the situation starting to dawn on him. He reached out instinctively, his hand gently resting on her stomach, feeling the tension in her muscles.

"Oh God, I don’t know." Y/N replied, wincing as another contraction hit, this one even stronger. She grasped Matt's hand tightly, her grip involuntarily squeezing his fingers. "Maybe an hour or so... but it’s so much worse right now."

Matt’s eyes widened, the shock and concern evident in his expression. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

"Okay, okay, don’t panic." His voice was a bit firmer now, though a subtle tremble betrayed his nerves. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch warm and reassuring as he looked deeply into her eyes. "We need to time these contractions, okay? See if they’re far apart or getting closer together..."

Y/N nodded weakly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to focus on his words. Matt quickly grabbed his phone, fumbling with it slightly as he opened the timer app. He sat back on his heels, his eyes darting between the screen and Y/N's face, waiting for the next contraction to hit.

When it did, she squeezed his hand again, and he hit the timer. They both watched the seconds tick by, the silence in the room only broken by Y/N's labored breathing. The contraction passed, and Matt stopped the timer, noting the time with a furrowed brow.

"Okay, that was... three minutes." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at her, his heart pounding in his chest. "We’re close, Y/N. We need to get you to the hospital now."

He helped her to her feet, moving with a newfound urgency but still managing to maintain a steady calmness, knowing he had to be strong for her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way out to the car, his determination stronger than ever.

He opened the passenger door of their car, gently easing her into the seat before rushing to the driver’s side.

"Matt, the... the bag."

"Right! The bag!" Matt practically yelled as if suddenly remembering the concept of bag. "I'm gonna be right back, baby!"

He darted back to the house, running around the kitchen like a man possessed, searching for the hospital bag they had packed weeks ago. He spotted it by the door and grabbed it, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to get back to Y/N.

"Here, I’ve got the bag! And... what else? Do we need snacks? Maybe you want something to eat before we go?"

Y/N's response was a groan as another contraction hit, stronger this time.

"Okay, no snacks, got it. We’re going to the hospital now, I promise. I’ll get you there, Y/N. I won’t let anything happen to you or the babies, okay?"

As he started the car, his mind raced. He had planned for this moment, had rehearsed it in his head a thousand times, but now that it was happening, he felt completely unprepared. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and he glanced over at Y/N, who was trying to remain calm despite the pain.

Matt hated seeing her in so much pain, his heart aching with every sharp intake of breath she made.

"Okay, okay, we’re going. We’re going." He muttered to himself as he pulled out of the driveway, his voice a mix of determination and barely contained panic. The streets of Los Angeles blurred past them as he sped toward the hospital, his mind racing with all the things he needed to do.

"Siri!" He suddenly barked at the car’s dashboard, his voice urgent. "Send a text to Chris and Nick."

"What would you like to say?" Siri responded in its calm, robotic tone.

"Um... Uh..." Matt hesitated, trying to form a coherent sentence as he glanced nervously at Y/N, who was breathing heavily beside him. "Tell them... we’re on our way to the hospital. Y/N's in labor. Get there by tomorrow morning. And don’t panic like I am because... just get there!"

"Sending message to Chris and Nick." Siri confirmed, and Matt let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he continued driving.

Y/N chuckled softly, despite the pain, and Matt shot her a quick, incredulous look.

"What? What's funny?"

"You are." She managed to say between contractions. "You're... adorable when you're freaking out."

Matt’s face flushed as he gave her a sheepish grin.

"I'm just trying to keep it together here, baby. You’re the one doing all the hard work."

"Trust me... I know." She replied, wincing as another contraction rolled through her.

Finally, they pulled up to the hospital entrance, and Matt jumped out of the car, nearly forgetting to put it in park in his haste to get to Y/N's side. He waved frantically at a nurse standing nearby, who immediately came over with a wheelchair.

"She's in labor! It's happening! We need to- she needs- help!" Matt's words tumbled out in a rush as he helped Y/N into the wheelchair, his voice rising in pitch with every word.

The nurse smiled reassuringly, clearly used to panicked fathers-to-be, and guided them inside.

"Don’t worry, we'll take good care of her. Just follow me."

As they were whisked away to the delivery room, Matt's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts of what was about to happen. He couldn't believe that in just a few hours, they would finally meet their babies.

Once in the right room, Y/N was settled onto the bed, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as the contractions intensified. Matt stayed by her side, clutching her hand as if it was his only lifeline. He leaned in close, his voice trembling but filled with love as he whispered,

"You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you."

Y/N squeezed his hand, her eyes locking onto his.

"I need you to stay calm, okay? We've got this... together."

Matt nodded, swallowing hard as he brushed a few strands of hair from her face.

"Together. I’m right here with you, every step of the way."

The room buzzed with activity, doctors and nurses moving around with practiced efficiency, but all Matt could focus on was Y/N’s face, her eyes squeezed shut as she battled through another contraction.

Time seemed to warp in the delivery room. Minutes stretched into hours, the pain of each contraction relentless, only broken by brief moments of respite. Matt stayed by Y/N’s side, his voice soft and steady as he encouraged her, even though his own nerves were frayed to the core. He watched the monitors anxiously, every beep and flicker, causing his heart to jump.

"Matt." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion as another contraction hit. "I can’t... I don’t know if I can do this."

Matt’s heart broke at the sight of her so vulnerable, so exhausted. He took a deep breath, brushing a few strands of hair away from her sweaty forehead and leaning in close, his lips brushing her temple.

"You’re the strongest person I know." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve got this, baby. I’m right here with you. And in the end, everything will be worth it, yeah?"

Hours later, after what felt like a lifetime of labor, the doctor finally said the words they had been waiting to hear.

"It's time to push."

Y/N gritted her teeth, her entire body trembling with the effort as she bore down, Matt’s hand in hers, his words of encouragement a constant in the whirlwind of pain and exhaustion. The room seemed to close in around them, everything else fading away as they focused on bringing their babies into the world.

"Breath." Matt murmured, his hand gently rubbing her tense shoulders. "Just focus on your breathing. In and out, slow and steady. You got this, sweet girl. It's almost ending."

The first cry shattered the tension in the room, a tiny wail that echoed in Matt’s ears like the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He watched in awe as the doctor carefully lifted their first baby - a tiny, wriggling girl - into the air.

Time seemed to freeze as the nurse quickly wrapped her in a blanket and handed her to Y/N. Matt felt tears well up in his eyes as he looked down at his daughter for the first time. She was perfect, with a shock of dark hair and rosy cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut as she continued to cry.

"She’s beautiful." Y/N whispered, tears streaming down her face as she cradled their daughter against her chest, gluing her small head to her chin. Matt leaned down, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his own tears finally spilling over.

But the moment was short-lived as Y/N was hit with another wave of contractions. The doctor quickly reminded them that there was still one more baby to bring into the world, taking their daughter away from them so Y/N could concentrate.

"One more, honey. Just one more. You can do this. You're so strong, I know you can." Y/N, though exhausted, steeled herself for the final round, and with Matt’s unwavering support, she pushed again.

Minutes later, another cry filled the room, this one just as heart-wrenching and beautiful as the first. Their son was born, his tiny fists clenched as he wailed with the full force of his little lungs.

"I don't... I don't know how to hold- Oh, okay." The nurse placed him in Matt’s arms, ignoring his sentence. He stared down at his son in awe, his arms trembling with fear of holding him in the wrong way, or worse, dropping him.

The baby boy was the spitting image of his sister, with the same dark hair and tiny features, though his cries were slightly less intense.

"He's... he's so small." Matt whispered in awe.

Matt’s breath caught in his throat as he carried his son over to Y/N - who was already holding their girl again -, his heart swelling with a love so profound it was almost overwhelming. He gently placed their son in Y/N’s free arm, and for the first time, they looked down at their twins together, their hearts filled with an indescribable mixture of joy, relief, and pure, unconditional love.

"We did it." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she looked up at Matt, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They’re here, and they’re perfect."

Matt could only nod, his throat too tight with emotion to speak. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his daughter’s tiny forehead, then his son’s, feeling the warmth of their little bodies against his skin. They were so small, so fragile, and yet so full of life.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds of the hospital room, casting a warm glow over the quiet scene. Y/N was resting peacefully, her exhaustion from the previous night’s labor evident in the serene expression on her face as she slept. The twins were nestled in their bassinets beside the bed, their tiny chests rising and falling in a synchronized rhythm, the only sounds in the room being their soft breathing.

Matt sat in the armchair near the window, his eyes moving between Y/N and their newborns, a small smile playing on his lips. He had hardly slept, but he didn’t mind. He was too filled with wonder, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he was now a father to two perfect little beings. The magnitude of the moment wasn’t lost on him, and every time he looked at his family, his heart swelled with a mixture of pride and overwhelming love.

Just then, a soft knock on the door drew Matt’s attention. He stood up quickly, careful not to disturb Y/N, and opened the door to find Nick and Chris standing in the hallway. Both of his brothers looked a little disheveled, their hair slightly messy from a night of restless sleep. Chris held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and Nick had a stuffed animal - a small bear with a yellow bow - tucked under his arm. The moment they saw Matt, their faces broke into wide grins.

"Hey, Dad." Nick joked softly, giving Matt a one-armed hug while still holding the bear. "How’s it feel?"

Matt chuckled, the sound low and full of affection.

"Surreal." He admitted, stepping back to let them in. "Come on, they’re right over here."

Chris was the first to approach the bassinets, his breath catching as he looked down at the sleeping twins. He placed the bouquet on a nearby table, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out, but then hesitated, as if afraid to disturb the peaceful scene. Nick followed, standing beside him, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of his new niece and nephew.

"They’re so tiny." Chris whispered, his voice cracking as he looked over at Matt, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Oh, my God, Matt... they’re so small."

Nick nodded, his usual bravado momentarily stripping away as he gazed at the twins.

"Yeah." He added, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "How is this possible?"

Matt felt a lump form in his throat, seeing the raw emotion on his brothers’ faces. He watched as Chris finally let out a shaky breath and reached down, his fingers gently brushing against his niece’s tiny hand. The touch seemed to undo him completely, and within seconds, tears spilled over, streaming down his cheeks.

"Chris." Matt said softly, his voice full of understanding as he placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. "It’s okay, man."

But Chris couldn’t find the words to respond. Instead, he just nodded, tears continuing to fall as he stood there, overwhelmed by the sight of his niece and nephew. He had always been the emotional one, the heart-on-his-sleeve brother, and in this moment, he felt everything with an intensity that was impossible to contain.

Nick, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain his composure. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. He wanted to be strong, to keep it together, but seeing Chris break down and knowing just how much this moment meant, even he couldn’t hold back completely. He let out a shaky breath, wiping his eyes quickly.

Matt noticed Nick’s struggle and gave him a reassuring smile.

"It’s okay to cry, you know." He said quietly, his own eyes misting over. "They’re your niece and nephew. This is a big moment."

Nick managed a small, watery laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Matt grinned, pulling both of his brothers into a tight hug. The three of them stood there for a moment, embracing each other, their silent bond stronger than ever before. When they finally pulled away, Chris wiped at his eyes, sniffling a little as he turned back to the twins.

"Can we hold them?" Chris asked, his voice still shaky but filled with awe.

"Of course." Matt replied, his heart warming at the thought of his brothers meeting their niece and nephew properly. He carefully lifted his son from the bassinet, gently cradling the tiny bundle before handing him to Chris. "This is your nephew." He said, watching as Chris took the baby with the utmost care, as if he were the most delicate thing in the world.

Chris’s breath hitched as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

"Hey, little guy." He whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I’m your Uncle Chris. You’re going to be so loved, I promise."

Nick took his niece from Matt, holding her close, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed at her tiny features.

"Hi, princess." He murmured, his voice soft. "I’m your Uncle Nick. And don’t worry, I’ll always have your back. You’re in good hands."

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly, but when the little girl's tiny hand grasped his finger, Nick’s composure slipped. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears, but a few escaped, trailing down his cheeks.

"They're perfect... You and Y/N did good, Matt."

Matt felt his own eyes sting with tears as he watched his brothers, their love for his children evident in every trembling breath, every tear they tried to hold back.

"They really are." He whispered, his voice filled with pride as he watched his brothers bond with their niece and nephew.

The soft rustling of sheets drew Matt’s attention back to the bed, and he saw Y/N slowly stirring, her eyes fluttering open. She looked groggy, her movements sluggish as she tried to orient herself.

"Matt?" She called out, her voice hoarse and weak, a faint frown creasing her brow as she tried to sit up.

Matt was by her side in an instant, his hand gently brushing her hair back.

"I'm here, baby." He said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "The babies are right here, and Nick and Chris are with us."

Y/N’s gaze shifted to where Nick and Chris stood, each cradling a baby in their arms. Her eyes softened, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she saw them.

"Hey, guys." She murmured, her voice raspy but filled with warmth.

"Hey, Y/N." Chris replied, his voice thick with emotion as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding the baby boy close to his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I’ve been hit by a truck." Y/N joked weakly, managing a small laugh despite her exhaustion. She reached out for Matt, her eyes pleading for his help. "Can you help me sit up? I want to hold them."

"Of course." Matt said, his voice tender as he gently supported her back, helping her sit up against the pillows. He adjusted the bed to make her more comfortable, his movements careful and precise, always mindful of her comfort.

Once she was settled, Y/N looked at her babies, a rush of love flooding her system. Chris carefully handed her their son, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he watched Y/N cradle the tiny bundle in her arms. The baby boy squirmed slightly, his little face scrunching up as he nestled into Y/N’s embrace, and Y/N felt her heart melt at the sight.

"Hi, sweet boy." Y/N whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks as she pressed a soft kiss to her son's forehead. "Mommy’s here."

Nick, still holding their daughter, hesitated for a moment before offering her to Matt, a silent question in his eyes. Matt nodded, and Nick carefully placed the baby girl into his brother’s arms. The little girl yawned, her tiny fist curling up near her face, and Matt felt his heart swell with a fierce, protective love as he looked down at his daughter.

"She's got your eyes." Nick teased softly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"And her nose." Chris added, his voice still wavering with emotion.

Y/N smiled, looking at Matt, who was gazing down at their daughter with such love and awe that it made her heart ache in the best way. She could see the tears in his eyes, the overwhelming emotion that he was trying so hard to keep in check, and it made her love him even more.

"It's like I've waited my whole life for this moment."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Ready?" Matt asked, his voice soft as he looked over at Y/N, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she gazed back at him.

"Ready." She whispered, her voice steady, filled with a quiet determination.

They walked up the path of their house together, Matt balancing his baby boy in one arm while Y/N held onto his other arm. The front door, painted in a cheerful shade of brown, seemed to welcome them home as they stepped inside. The familiar scent of home - fresh linen, a hint of lavender, and the comforting smell of wood - washed over them as they crossed the threshold.

Matt paused in the entryway, taking a deep breath as he looked around. Everything was exactly as they had left it, but now it felt different, infused with the anticipation of this new chapter.

"Welcome home, little lovies." Y/N whispered, leaning down and brushing her lips against her daughter’s small head covered by her light pink beanie.

Matt led the way, his steps slow and deliberate as he carried their son into the living room. He paused in the center of the room, turning in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Look, little guy, this is where we'll spend most of our time together." He said softly, his voice taking on a warm, inviting tone as if he were talking directly to the babies. "Right here, in this room. We'll have family movie nights, and you’ll play with your many toys on the rug... and when you’re a little bigger, we’ll build forts with blankets and cushions."

Y/N followed him, her heart swelling with love as she listened to him talk. She could see it all so clearly in her mind; tiny feet pattering across the hardwood floor, peals of laughter filling the air as they chased each other around the coffee table, and sleepy cuddles on the couch after a long day of playing. It was the life they had dreamed of, and now it was finally real.

"And this." Matt continued softly, leading Y/N out of the living room and down the hallway to the master bedroom. "Is Mama and Dada's room."

He pushed the white door open, revealing the room they had shared for a year now - after they moved in to their own shared house -, now feeling so much more significant with the addition of their new roles as parents. The bed was neatly made, the pillows fluffed and arranged just the way Y/N liked them, and the soft curtains billowed slightly in the breeze from the open window.

"This is where you’ll come when you need comfort." Matt said, his voice thick with emotion as he looked down at their son, still cradled in his arms. "Where you'll crawl into bed with us on stormy nights, or just because you want to be close. And we'll always be here, waiting to hold you, to keep you safe."

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she looked up at Matt, her heart overflowing with love for him, for their children, for the life they were building together.

"They’re so lucky to have you as their dad." She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "And I’m so lucky to have you as my partner in this."

Matt’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes filled with the depth of his love.

"I'm the lucky one." He murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "I get to spend my life with you and our beautiful babies. I don’t think I could ever ask for more."

Leaving the bedroom, Matt led them to the one right by the side, stopping in front of a door that had been carefully painted in soft pastels. He pushed it open gently, revealing the nursery inside. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the afternoon sun, and the soft colors of the walls and furniture created a peaceful, serene atmosphere.

"Now, this is your room." Matt said softly, his voice full of pride and love as he stepped inside.

He carefully set the bag that was held by his free arm down on the plush rug in the center of the room, turning to Y/N as she entered behind him.

"We've spent so much time getting it ready for you." Y/N muttered, her eyes shining as she looked around the room.

"That's right. This is where you'll sleep, where you'll have sweet dreams and where we'll sing you lullabies every night. Also, where your mama is going to read all those cute little stories every day."

Y/N carefully placed their daughter in the crib, brushing her fingers over the soft white blankets they had chosen with so much care. She looked around the room, her heart swelling with a deep, almost overwhelming sense of love.

"It’s so beautiful." She whispered, her voice catching in her throat as she looked up at Matt, her eyes lowering to her baby boy still on his arms, his big blue eyes now appearing smaller with the heaviness of sleep that dominated them. "They’re going to be so happy here."

Matt’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they stood together, looking down at their tiny daughter, who was already drifting off to sleep in the crib.

"We all are."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

I also wrote it while listening to a really beautiful brazilian song about pregnancy. I'm gonna let it right below so yall can listen to it and see the translation through Spotify! 🩷

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @earth2starkey @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @junnniiieee07 @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @soso-scarlettolivia @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw @colorthecosmos444 @thewhispersofthewaves @mattslolita @imwetforyourmom @mrl217 @sturnsmia @mattsfavbitchhh @sturnioloshacker @soursturniolo @blahbel668 @sarosfilms @moncherriis @tobesolonelyjess @zainabthescientist @littlemisswhore

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[southernsmokebbq]

[hcneymooners]

thinking of chef!sevika...

suggestive content. men & minors dni.

🫕 and how the two of you met least luxuriously. you had gone on a terrible date - the kind where the conversation was tepid as lukewarm soup, where you watched the other person cut their food into increasingly smaller pieces just to have something to do with their hands.

🫕 you'd stolen away to the bathroom and found yourself wedged between the open window and sill, desperate for air untainted by forced laughter. thinking of how you got stuck and she looked up at you, as if you were suspended in a baroque-era painting, all twisted limbs and desperation. you'd reached out to her, a stranger in the alleyway of a restaurant, and asked for help.

🫕 she'd lifted you free with hands that spoke of years in kitchens - calloused, sure, strong - and you found the ground beneath your feet again, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. thank you, you said and she'd smiled so that you could see the body of the cigar held tightly between her teeth. she had a gap-tooth smile that reminded you of warm bread torn apart, and you thought of it all the way home and even after, constantly.

🫕 thinking of chef!sevika and how you met again, this time at a group function at some lush little eatery off a street you didn't know had any reputation in the city. it was a birthday party so the place had been rented out and you were pressed back-to-back and front-to-front with people who you knew nothing of, but shared memories of the birthday girl with. it was nineteen twenties themed so you'd gotten a jet-black wig, short and curling softly at the apples of your cheeks, and had ornamented yourself with an authentic flapper dress: glittering sleekly in the perfect shade of baby blue. your diamond necklaces were long and layered, your mother's relic.

🫕 the noise had become too much - crystal glasses clinking like wind chimes in a storm - so you'd slipped away, found a door marked 'staff only' and pushed through into blessed quiet. you've tucked yourself into this side kitchen, where the air smells of reduced wine and fresh herbs.

🫕 chef!sevika who's surprised to find you lounging in her extra kitchen, who hides a smile as you dip a finger into a plate of artfully smoked salmon laid out in thin blush slices against a fan of pita and sauce. she's older than you, carries it in the silver threading her temples, in the assured way she moves through her domain.

🫕 her knife work is hypnotic - you watch her hands move with the surety that comes from decades of practice, the blade an extension of herself. curious little thing, she murmurs, but slides the plate closer to you instead of pulling it away.

🫕 you start bringing her things after that night - rare spices from specialty shops tucked into quiet corners of the city, flowers still warm from the morning market, cookbooks with cracked spines from antique stores.

🫕 she teaches you to taste properly: eyes closed, breathing in the steam of broths she's spent hours perfecting. slow down, she'll whisper, one hand on your wrist, savor it. and you learn to do just that - to savor everything about her, about this slow-burning thing between you.

🫕 in her kitchen late at night, you watch her alter recipes. she lets you be her tester, feeding you tiny portions from wooden spoons worn smooth with use. too much salt? she asks, and you shake your head, entranced by how she makes notes in a leather-bound journal, her handwriting precise and slanting. you're perched on a counter, legs swinging, and she moves between stoves with the grace of a dancer. sometimes her hand brushes your knee as she passes, and you feel it like a flame.

🫕 she teaches you to make pasta on a sunday morning, the kitchen filled with golden light. her hands guide yours through the motions of kneading, and you lean back against her chest, feeling how your breathing slowly synchronizes. patience, she says, when you want to rush. good things take time. you understand she's not just talking about the dough beneath your fingers.

🫕 your first real kiss tastes of the cardamom ice cream she's been perfecting - sweet and complex and slightly spiced. she cups your face in hands that smell of basil and butter, and you think about how many ways there are to feed someone, to nourish them.

🫕 months pass like honey dripping from a spoon. you build rituals together: morning coffee in the garden she's started growing herbs in, weekend trips to farmers' markets where she charms every vendor with her expertise and that gap-toothed smile. she teaches you the names of every herb in her garden, how to tell when tomatoes are perfectly ripe, the secret to properly seasoning cast iron. you teach her how to slow down sometimes, to leave the kitchen and dance with you in the living room, to let a meal be simple if it means more time to kiss.

🫕 you surprise her on her birthday by converting the spare room into a spice library - floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with jars from your travels together, each one labeled in your careful handwriting. she cries, just a little, and you kiss the salt from her cheeks.

🫕 the proposal happens in her kitchen - where else? - while she's teaching you to make her grandmother's secret recipe for braised short ribs. this is a family secret, she says, and then pauses, wooden spoon halfway to the pot. i suppose you should be family then. you nearly drop the wine you're holding, and she laughs, deep and rich. marry me, she says, let me feed you forever.

🫕 the wedding is in autumn, when the air is crisp and sweet with falling leaves. she spends days in the kitchen you built her, crafting a feast that tells your story: the smoked salmon from the night in her extra kitchen, pasta rolled by four hands instead of two, herbs from your shared garden. your dress is the color of a deep forest, and when you walk down the aisle, she cries again, just a little.

🫕 there are harder days, when eating feels like swallowing stones. she finds you curled on the kitchen floor one morning, the marble cool against your cheek. without a word, she sits beside you, gathers you into her lap like something precious.

🫕 hey baby, she whispers against your hair, and her hands are so gentle as they trace the hollow spaces of you. she feeds you breakfast slowly, carefully - warm bread torn into tender, small pieces, drizzled with honey. each bite is followed by a kiss: to your temples, your shoulders, the soft plane of your stomach.

🫕 you're here, she reminds you, you're safe. and you are - safe in this kitchen that smells of rosemary and rising dough, safe in her arms that have always known how to hold you.

🫕 later, when you're stronger, she shows you another kind of recipe. dark chocolate melting on your skin like sunset, the sharp bright burst of reduced raspberry sauce. the secret, she murmurs against your collarbone, is the canvas. her tongue traces patterns like plating designs, and you laugh, breathless, at how she makes art of everything. my masterpiece, she calls you, and you feel beautiful, consumed, cherished.

🫕 the cookbook comes as a surprise - you find the proof copy on her desk one evening. "recipes for my love," the title reads, and inside are all your favorites. each recipe comes with a story, a memory. "the secret ingredient is time," she writes in the introduction, "and someone worth spending it with." it sells out in weeks, then months. "it's like reading a love letter," the reviews say, and you blush every time, even as you beam with pride at how she's shared your love with the world.

🫕 thinking about how your home becomes a sanctuary, especially for jinx and isha. they come at all hours - after fights, during celebrations, on quiet sunday afternoons when they just need to be somewhere warm.

🫕 sevika teaches jinx knife skills while you and isha roll out cookie dough, all of you covered in flour and laughing. the cool aunts, they call you, but you know it's more than that. it's the way sevika always knows when to start making hot chocolate (the real stuff. none of that synthetic crap, she grumbles), the way you keep their favorite snacks in the pantry, the way the kitchen island has become a confessional booth where secrets are whispered and hearts are allowed to be swollen with grief .

🫕 kitchens are for healing, sevika says one night, watching you all from the doorway. jinx is asleep on the couch, isha curled up beside her, and the house smells like the cookies you'd stress-baked together after a particularly rough day. you lean back against her chest, feeling her heartbeat strong and steady. and for family, you add, and feel her smile against your hair.

🫕 thinking of how the years pass like this - measured in meals shared, in recipes perfected, in late-night comforts and early morning kisses that taste of coffee. your love never spoils, never grows stale. it only deepens, like a good red wine, like a soup that's been simmering all day.

🫕 sevika still feeds you from splintering spoons, still kisses your stomach on hard days, still looks at you like you're the most exquisite dish she's ever created. and you still perch on counters to watch her work, still bring her flowers and spices, still catch your breath at the full force of her smile.

🫕 in the end, it's simple: your kitchen is your heart, and your heart is always full.

© hcneymooners.

me 🤝🏾 my eating disorder and subsequent recovery 🤝🏾 wanting to marry someone in the food industry.

[vincinnamontoast]

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ

vi x reader <3

synopsis: vi and reader being cute and domestic.

word count: 1.7k

contains: mentions of smut, slight food play, lowercase intended, and cursing. think that’s about it :3

‼️MINORS/MEN DNI ‼️

the steam from your shower clings to your skin as you step into the kitchen, cozy in your pjs and socks. the warm, inviting aroma hits you first—a medley of spices and flavors swirling together in the air. It’s almost overwhelming, the way sweet caramelized sugar mingles with the savory bite of roasted garlic and fresh herbs. your stomach growls instinctively.

there, at the counter, stands Vi. her tank top clings slightly from the heat of the stove, and her sweatpants sit low on her hips, casual and comfortable, revealing the subtle curve of her figure as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. strands of her fuchsia hair stick to her temple, a result of the rising steam from pots bubbling away. she’s in her element, moving between tasks with an effortless rhythm. one hand guides a knife, swiftly chopping potatoes into precise chunks, while the other stirs something in a skillet—a sweet glaze, judging by the scent.

the kitchen feels alive, filled with the hiss of sizzling oil, the occasional clatter of utensils, and Vi’s gentle, melodic humming. you linger in the doorway, quiet, not wanting to disturb her. your attention isn’t on the food anymore. It’s on her—the way her body moves with a certain grace in the small space, the way the golden light from the stove dances along her skin, and the calm confidence she carries, even in chaos. you notice the way her back tenses ever so slightly as she works, muscles shifting beneath her tank top with each precise motion of her hands, whether she’s cutting or stirring.

she turns suddenly, reaching behind her to grab something from the island. the motion is fluid, unhurried, as she retrieves a bowl of prepped ingredients. when she looks up, her gaze lands on you, and she freezes for half a second. then a slow, cocky grin spreads across her lips, one brow quirking slightly.

“caught you staring, didn’t I?” she giggles. her look lingers, warm and playful.

you can’t help but smile back, heat creeping up the back of your neck—not from the warmth of the kitchen, but from being caught admiring her. as she giggles softly, her eyes still on you, you catch another detail that sends a jolt through your chest: the faint outline of her pierced nipples visible through the thin fabric of her tank top. a knot catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as your gaze flickers away for a moment, only to find its way back to her. Vi taps the open space on the counter beside her, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

“come here, baby,” she says, her voice warm and teasing, beckoning you closer with a tilt of her head.

you swiftly walk toward her, the knot in your throat giving way to a warm, giddy feeling in your chest.

as you reach her, you giggle softly and say, “hi, pretty. what are you makin’?”

her eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, everything else fades. the way she looks at you—with pure admiration, love, and a spark of mischief—makes your heart stutter. before she can answer, you lean in, gently pressing her lips into yours.

Vi doesn’t hesitate. she shoves herself closer, her body molding against yours as she lets out a low, hungry moan. her tongue finds its way into your mouth, and her hands grip your hips, pulling you firmly against her. the kitchen feels even warmer now, and you’re almost dizzy with the intoxicating mix of her and the delicious scents filling the air.

“food’s gonna burn, baby,” you giggle against her lips, breathless but teasing.

Vi pulls away slightly, letting out a soft sigh, her lips forming a little pout that almost makes you want to pull her back in. Instead, she steps back just enough to slide her hands under you and lift you effortlessly onto the counter.

she taps your thighs, her grin returning as she holds your gaze. “I’m making mashed potatoes, caramelized steak, and corn,” she says smoothly, her voice low and warm. “and for dessert, apple pie with caramel glaze and ice cream.”

her hand comes up to brush a strand of hair out of your face, the gesture tender and intimate. for a moment, you forget about the food entirely, lost in the way her touch feels and the way she looks at you, like you’re the most important thing in the room.

she leans in and gently pecks your lips, letting the touch linger just enough to feel like she’s savoring you. then, with a soft hum, she turns back to the stove, resuming her careful orchestration of pots, pans, and sizzling flavors.

you stay perched on the counter where she placed you, leaning forward slightly, chin resting in your palm as your eyes follow her every move. admiration swirls into something deeper as your mind starts to wander. memories flash through your head—the times she’s bent you over this very counter, leaving you breathless and euphoric. the nights you’d kneel between her legs, devouring her in ways that made every bite of food seem insignificant, lost in the sweet heat of her, a hunger that nothing in the kitchen could ever satisfy. you remember the feel of her hands threading through your hair, tugging just right, the sound of her moans as they pulled you deeper, and the way your own eyes rolled back, overwhelmed and so into the sweet and salty taste of her.

your lips curl into a faint, private smile as another memory rises to the surface—those late-night cravings for something sweet that would send you both stumbling into the kitchen, half-asleep but giggling as you pulled out ice cream. feeding each other spoonfuls would inevitably devolve into something messier, her head buried between your thighs, tongue and lips leaving you trembling. you can still feel the stickiness of melted ice cream on your skin, mixed with her kisses, her spit, and the raw intensity of being drowned in each other, sticky and gross but utterly intoxicating.

God, you think, your gaze fixating on the way her back moves as she stirs something on the stove. this woman is fucking delectable.

“whatcha’ thinking about?” her soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and when you blink, she’s turned around, catching you mid-stare. again.

her cute, mischievous giggles bubble out, her face lighting up as she watches you struggle to compose yourself. you don’t answer immediately, still too caught up in the haze of thoughts about her, but the way she’s grinning at you makes it clear she knows exactly what’s running through your mind.

“here. try this,” she says softly, holding a cut piece of steak between her fingers. she pushes it to your lips.

as you open your mouth, she gently guides the food inside, never breaking eye contact. the steak is unlike anything you’ve ever tasted, its rich, savory flavor sending a wave of pleasure through you. the best, juiciest steak you’ve ever had in your fucking life. she holds your jaw with a delicate touch as you chew, as if she’s not just feeding you, but helping you savor every bite.

you can’t help but notice how her fingers linger on your skin, the warmth of her hand on your jaw making your heart race. as you chew, a drop of drool slips from the corner of your mouth, and your face burns with a rush of embarrassment. the softness of her touch, the way she holds your jaw with such care, makes the moment feel far more intimate than it should. you wonder if she forgot to pull away—but no, you realize, it’s intentional.

she is fully aware of what she’s doing, the way her gaze lingers on you. her eyes are dark and heavy with something that’s not just desire, but something deeper, something pure. lust and love swirl together in her gaze, and you can feel it in every fiber of your being. the way she looks at you, the way she touches you, it’s all deliberate—each moment designed to pull you closer.

then, as the drool escapes and your face flushes, she lets out a soft giggle, the sound sweet and teasing. “so I’m assuming I did good?” she asks, her voice playful yet full of confidence.

you swallow and respond, your voice low and thick with desire, “so fucking good. you always do.”

Vi blushes deeply, battering her lashes. her freckles scattered across her skin as her soft, puffy cheeks redden. her fingers graze your thighs as she leans in closer, her touch making your pulse quicken. without a word, she gently pops her thumb in your mouth, and you instinctively lick off the remaining juice of the steak, the rich taste lingering on your tongue. she watches you, a soft smile playing at her lips, before leaning in even closer, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss. It’s slow and tender at first, then deepens as she pulls you off the counter, her hands guiding you without breaking the kiss. your tongues twist and slide together, the taste of each other’s saliva merging in a heated rhythm. her hands roam up and down your body, caressing every curve, sending shivers through you.

you giggle between kisses, your breath catching as you try to pull away just enough to speak. “Is it done? I’m hungryyyy,” you whine, your voice playful yet needy.

“yes, brat” she replies, her voice thick with amusement, “let me make our plates.” she pulls away for a moment, her eyes sparkling as she moves toward the kitchen.

you nod, then add with a smile, “I’ll do dishes since you cooked.” before she can pull away completely, you press a fat, wet kiss to her cheek, your lips lingering a bit longer than usual.

she smiles, her eyes twinkling. “mmm let’s both do them. wanna be next to you.” she pecks your lips again, her hands lingering on your waist as she pulls you close.

the night unfolds with laughter and warmth, the air filled with the sounds of giggles, soap, and bubbles splashing everywhere as you both work together in the kitchen. your hands never stray far from each other, whether it’s during the dishes or sharing a quiet moment by the counter. the intimacy of the night, the closeness you share, becomes the perfect backdrop for what has become your norm.

neither of you could have asked for anything less.

A/N: just a little smthn bc I miss my bby. all the while it takes me 24 years to finish the other things I have drafted 😛. I’ve been busy I’m sorryyy. will try and get back on track soon. MWUAH <3

[teddybeartoji]

sukuna teaching you how to cook…       

pressed flush against you, his hand rests on top of yours as you grip the knife. it’s almost as if he’s the puppeteer and you his toy with the way he guides you – he moves, you move, you’re one and the same. his other hand is on you as well, fingers almost intertwined as he helps you hold the piece of meat steady on the cutting board. you can’t help but think how intimate it all feels, how close he is. 

his voice is deeper than usual and it’s making it very hard for you to concentrate, especially when his lips keep brushing over the shell of your ear. you’re trying, you really are, to pay attention to what he’s saying because it’s not often you get to see this side of him – cooking is something he adores, and he’s taking this way more seriously than you could’ve ever imagined. but it’s not like you’re complaining… oh, no – you’re loving every second of this. 

you’re sure he can feel that your breathing has picked up, and you’re sure he knows that you’re stumbling further and further away from being his perfect little pupil and falling head first into an entirely different role instead. your hold on the knife falters while his on your hand tightens. the meat before you bleeds and the clear juices coat the wooden board alongside with your fingers. 

and his. 

“focus, doll… “ 

his rasp catches you off-guard, his low voice pulling you from your thoughts. he hears you swallow the lump in your throat and you feel him smile against your ear. 

“i’m very focused, ryo…” 

“on the wrong things– yes.” you don’t have to see him to know that he’s wearing that annoyingly handsome smirk of his, ever so proud to have this kind of effect on his beloved.

you suck your teeth before poking your tongue against your inner cheek; your body grows hot at all the attention he’s giving you. sukuna presses forward an inch and your hips meet the edge of the kitchen counter – now completely sandwiched between him and the piece of furniture, your head clouds with thoughts so far from cooking that your knees nearly buckle from below you. 

“c’mon now.” he raises your hand with the knife still in your palm and holds it above the piece of red meat. the blade glints under the dimmed down light, the silver winking at you before sinking down into the raw cutlet. back and forth, the movement of your hands is slow but steady – the knives in your house are never dull, so every pull and every push you make feel as if you’re gliding through butter. 

but it’s not just the sharpened blade— 

it’s the sheer power he holds. 

sukuna’s hands are skilled, his fingers rough but surprisingly gentle at the very same time. he knows exactly how much force to use, how to cut through a piece of flesh with so much ease that the act makes you wonder about his past lives. a butcher, a killer? or perhaps a god instead? 

to slash and to score. to gut and then devour. 

caged in his arms, you feel like his next bite. his sharp teeth brush against your ear once more and you can’t help but tense up as a wave of excitement shoots through your body and a nervous chuckle tumbles from your lips. 

he hums. 

his fingers unwrap themselves from around your hand before reaching for the cut you just made. he picks it up and then shows it to you with pride. 

“not too thick, not too thin.” your mouth waters, you barely register his words. “remember that.” 

“mhmm.”

there isn’t an inch between your bodies and you can hardly breathe. 

“what did i say?”

with him, you’ve learned about this other kind of excitement; he asks you a question and there’s this pressure, a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach – it teeters between a giddy, butterflies of love type of thing and pure feverish thrill. 

walking in a circle, eyes on each other – a dance between the prey and the predator. the most he’d do is laugh, tease you a little. maybe even sink his teeth into your neck and inhale the whine you’d let out. that’s what he wants. a little sound. you’re in the palm of his hand and you both know it. 

but if you’re good…

“not too thick and not too thin.”

it’s a kiss from a beast that you’ll get in return. a word of praise from a god, a tender look from a killer. a safe haven behind a butcher’s ribcage.  

stained fingers find your cheek and you’re putty in his hands; it takes no effort at all to turn you to finally face him and it takes no time at all for him to press his lips against yours. but he doesn’t nip and he doesn’t bite, not this time. 

a soft spot in a lover’s heart.

[celestialprincesse]

clumsy!reader and simon.. she's always tripping over something, if not herself. :((

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃

"Easy, tiger." Simon rumbles affectionately as he catches you around the waist, stopping you from tumbling off of the kitchen counter. You'd been stood up there in an attempt to find some niche spice at the back of the cupboard, one you'd needed for the dish you'd been wanting to make since you saw it online earlier in the week.

You almost find yourself rubbing chilli sautéed onion in your eyes until a hand wrapping around your wrist saves you from inevitably winding up in tears. "You - how the fuck are you still alive?" He questions with an amused incredulity, wrapping his arms around your waist, guiding your hand with the knife to save any bloody fingers.

"Maybe you're my guardian angel." You giggle, not even looking down at the cutting board, knowing that Simon's got you covered.

Still with a scar on your foot from the last time you dropped a scalding metal tray, you've long since been banned from actually getting things out of the oven, always forgetting gloves, stumbling over your own feet or accidentally setting your hair on fire with the rings on the stovetop.

As Simon withdraws dinner, you watch eagerly over his shoulder, fingers crossing in the hopes that it turned out alright.

"Smells really good, honey." He coos as he swats your hand from the tray, still piping from the oven. "And no injuries this time. A new record."

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃

[dropsnectar]

Your Puppy Siren!: When a Siren becomes a House Husband

PART TWO

NSFW

Obviously, when Baby got his legs, you couldn't just abandon him. You weren't sure exactly what was next for the two of you,, so you took it one step of a time. Baby had an issue with that, as balance wasn't necessarily a skill he could magic up with his oceanic enchantments.

He leaned on you the whole way home, taking jerky steps through the grasses.

When you showed him around the house, and the first thing he did was ask where you slept. You had shown him your bedroom and he immediately made himself comfortable about the blankets and pillows. You set him up with a copy of ‘The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe”, before going to make him dinner: mild Japanese curry. 

It was mostly vegetables, as you had only had a few ounces of ground beef left, but you hoped his stomach was as human as his now legs. His whole body had changed, leaving him now almost albino pale, with large dark eyes that were still a bit too big for his human face.

When you went to walk him to the dining room table, you found him standing, holding the book to the ceiling as he read. He was leaning back and forth on each foot, as if the movement kept him upright. Perhaps he still had his sea legs under all that new skin. 

He still needed your help to get to the table but his steps were more sure now. He ate the food happily, making sure to compliment you whenever possible. On the way back to your room, Baby could now keep his balance as he went. The first thing he did was gather as many pillows and blankets as he could from the living room, before leading you by the hand to your room, and arranging them further on the bed.

“Do you like it?” He asked, eyes eager. It had never occurred to you that Sirens may nest, but you took it in stride.

“It looks very warm.” you apeased, tired. 

Sleeping on the nest didn't go as bad as you thought, but Baby had been a bit confused when you had tucked a blanket around the two of you

“It's to keep us warm.” 

He had responded by pulling you to his arms and wrapping his legs around you.

“I can do that just fine.” He beamed. You laughed and let him hold you as you fell asleep. You could figure out Baby's fate tommorrow.

You had always pushed off the deciding of Baby's fate to tommorrow. You couldn't face it. Going to your part time job, then nursing school had been difficult for you. You were exhausted everyday you came back home.

Baby made himself as useful as he could. You had taught him some of the basics of cleaning the house. He had seemed somewhat confused by the idea of cleaning, but he took it upon himself to make sure the place was gleaming when you got home. You had taken him to the library a day after his legs sprung up, and he had carried home a pile of books, one of them being “Martha Stawarts Complete Guide to Housekeeping”.

 You hadn't resided in the place long, but places you hadn't even realized were dirty were suddenly sparkling and smelling lightly of lavender and orange peels. 

He had also brought home a whole pile of fish. It seemed that he could now shift his form back and forth at will. You remember coming home, sweat covered and in need of ibuprofen, when you found a pile of fish on the kitchen table. He had looked so proud if himself.

“We can keep them all in the freezer! What a useful device!”

You had gently taken his arms in hand and explained that humans weren't able to eat fish whole like sirens could. They had to be stripped of their scales and deboned. He seemed a bit tired by this, yet another a strange human quirk, but had taken it in stride. Per his request you had set him up with an instructional video on the subject. 

He seemed to catch on pretty quickly, the only difference was that rather than using a sharp knife, he had preferred to use his talon like nails. They were retractable, he clarified later, and arguing they were cleaner than any knife when you had demanded he washed his hands before working.

“They will only get dirty again anyway!” He had argued, one of the few times he had ever done anything but smile at you. The concept of germs was met with raised eyebrows and apprehension. 

For the first time in your life, you gave him “the look”. As this seemed to be a communication move that spanned species, he gave in, washing his talons? Claws? Before going back to his work.

A silent system had begun to flesh itself out. You brought home the money and groceries, and did most of the cooking, he did everything else. And anything you asked of him. Which wasn't much, but he became more and more useful by the day. 

You couldn't help but feel a bit proud for Baby. The more you learned about him and Siren Life the more different the two of you seemed. But he had been adjusting so well, you almost didn't have to worry about him. Plus, it was hard to be mad at someone who made a point of taking care of you, like he did. 

He gave you shoulder messages, microwaved old dinners when you didn't feel like eating. Hed shush you, and sometimes carry you to bed, petting your hair and singing you to sleep everytime everything felt like too much. And that was often. 

It had been a week since he had taken up shop in your bedroom, and reality reared its big fat head like a snake. You had been whisked away to bed, and instead of cooing at you and humming that impossibly sweet voice of his, he had started to nibble on the side of your neck, hands reaching towards your pajama shorts. His tongue felt so incredibly good, and his touch was like silk, but you knew where this would leave.

“Stop. We don't have any protection.”

He had frozen and blinked at you, expression changing to the barely concealed mask of an adult trying to not laugh at a child's sudden declaration.

“If I sense any danger, I will deal with it immediately. Now come here…” His voice grew husky. You trailed back.

“I know we haven't talked about this before but what if… well you're a human so im not sure if it'll be the same but… I can't get pregnant. I don't know if it works the old fashion way or you might lay eggs in me or something but… we need to be careful.”

He was still smiling but he was biting his lip. “While I DO lay eggs, that part of me hasn't changed, I don't understand why it would be an issue. I am your husband, after all, shouldn't it be normal to have children at some point?”

“H-husband? Why do you think you're my husband?”

Babys face changed, the closest you had ever seen him get to upset. “We mated, we share a nest, how am I NOT your husband?”

“We had sex, yeah, but we didn't get married. Do Sirens mate for life? Is that why you think this?” 

His expression grew animated and confused.

“Sirens do not mate for life, we have breeding seasons. But Humans mate for life, do they not? Why do you think I have been doing all this? I mean, I even made you a nest and you slept with me in it! How much more is their to a human marriage ritual?” 

You stared at him, the realization dawning. You slowly put your hand over his and arranged your expression to one of patience.

“Humans used to mate for life. But ita a bit different now. We can have sex, even spend years courting before we agree to marry.”

Baby just stared at you, his confusion and anger turning to one of hurt.

“B-but what does that mean? I told you, I love you. I want to be with you.” He leaned forward tears starting to glisten at the corner of his eyes.

“I wanted a life with you. I threw my old life away the moment I got these legs. I have no idea where my pod is now, I can not return to them. I do not wish to return. I want to stay here, with you and be your mate.” He nuzzled his nose against yours and then took your cheeks in his hand. He gazed into your eyes, filled with longing.

“I may be new to being your partner; at being Human too. But I will do whatever you ask of me. Please. Be mine?” 

He started to kiss your forehead. Then your eyes. Then your cheeks. His gaze strayed to your lips and he whined out, full blown tears now streaming from his eyes. 

“I'll be so good. So good for you.” 

Your heart went out to him. You had to admit, life had gotten so much easier to bear since he had entered it. No one could make you laugh like he could, could make you as curious as he could, could kiss you like he could. 

You thought about it. Genuinely thought about it. You had a job, and nursing would pay you enough to pay for both of your lives once you started. You'd have to teach him how to properly navigate human society but he was so smart and charming, you were sure he would do so well. You came up with so many reasons why it could be doable, but the most important one was you didn't want to let him go.

“It'll be really hard for you. Are you sure you want this?” You whispered. “Want… me? You could spend the rest of your life sharing your season with mate after mate. Are you sure you would want to spend the rest of your days with me?”

He looked at you with intensity, the light finally dawning across his features. 

“It will always be you.” And then he was on you. Was kissing you.

He was quick to take off your clothes, and did the same. His mouth was hot and needy, the feeling of his tongue in your mouth being everything you could ever want. That was except for one or two other places. 

As if he could read your mind, he grinned, pulling himself down to stare at your groin, fingers grasping, teasing and exploring every sensitive curve and crevice. Then he got to work with his mouth and you groaned, your core turning molten. You could hear the noises of his mouth on your flesh, and it made your cheeks overheat. 

His tongue glided around you as he sucked with his full mouth, making you shake and jerk under him. He made sure to pin you down with his hands now, before he started to trill and sing around you.

You chocked, pushing your hips up against his big string hands, which were now a mix of grey and white. It seems he had been riled up to, as his form was caught halfway between human and Siren. It was a new sight and he was absolutely gorgeous and one long note made you crash over the edge, toes and fingers curling. 

The whole time his eyes were on you, gauging your reaction. He continued to auck you through the high but now started clawing at your entrance, circling slick little shapes. He seemed to take great joy in this, teasing your ache, before he plunged his fingers in making you choke and sigh all at once. When he was certain the area was worked enough, he gave you big puppy dog eyes. 

“Can I be yours again?” He whispered huskies slowing the rate of his fingers. You nodded and he pulled himself up, pumping his own cock a few times making sure it was properly slick. His cock was half transformed too. It was extremely veins and the ridges weren't as pronounced, but he was thicker. You licked your lips as you remembered how he felt inside you.

Aware that you were watching him he keened in pride. He then slowly inserted himself, pushing further and further until you took every inch of him. You gasped out and clawed at the sheets in pleasure as he pumped you, his own eyes glazing over as he unleashed low, pornagraphic moans. He was louder than he had ever been, snapping his hips into yours, fingers clutching deep into skin. He looked completely blissed out as he rocked himself into you, huffing and moaning.

“Sound. So. Beautiful.” You breathed, knowing he was getting close. You could feel a heaviness now in the air. He wouldn't be able to help it. He'd be so drunk he'd use that song of his and you'd cum and cum for him until he was too far in exctasy to make any noise. And you were right.

You could tell he was holding it in. But he couldn't help but hum out, a song that seemed to cup and penatrate your very soul, making your entire mind stuffy and silly. You didn't want him to stop, going over the edge as another one of his moans turned into a full blown note. He kept bucking into you, skin slapping skin, as he keened and hummed and sang out for you. He wanted you to feel good. Wanted you to cum and feel good only for him. Because you were his.

When you felt his cum splash inside you it was warm, and more sludge like. It took a while to seep put of you. A comedic point in the back of your mind noted, “No eggs”. 

He pulled himself to your side, pulling you tight to him. “Can… can I stay in you for a while?” He said it in a light begging tone. You nodded, a pulse of faraway pleasure as he pushed his soft dick inside you again. It felt nice, being one with him in this sweet comfortable moment.

You wanted to ask him about the magic, about the song and how for just a moment, it was like you could read his mind. But their was something so special about the moment, you didn't want to push him too far. Maybe next time, you could egg him on to use that power on you, to be completely encompassed by his pleasure and song. 

“I know your tired, and we can wait but… can we do it again?” He pushed his nose to yours and traced it up and down, his eyes watery and begging. You could feel his dick twitch inside you. 

“Please just let me spoil you. It is our wedding night after all…”

You had to stop yourself from correcting him. Tomorrow you would explain vows and wedding ceremony, but for now you'd just give in. But you had to admit, now a big piece of you belonged only to him.. So, in a way he had been right.

[txrully]

COOKING W BLLK BOYS!

chars: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, hiori yo, chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, alexis ness x gn! reader

a/n: absolute chaos

isagi yoichi

he’s super serious about making the perfect dish, like he’s in a World Cup of Cooking.

somehow burns his toast while watching a “how-to” video.

if you walk in, he’s muttering to himself about “optimizing flavor potential.”

bachira meguru

adds random ingredients for the ✨fun✨ of it.

“what if we add chocolate to the pasta? i think it’d be awesome!”

chaos incarnate. you taste it, and it’s somehow not terrible but still... concerning.

itoshi rin

looks like he’s planning to fight the stove.

surprisingly good at following recipes but will argue with you if you question his method.

you ask if he needs help, and he deadpans, “do I look incompetent to you?” ( yes, rin, yes you do ).

hiori yo

sweet boy is great at baking, not so much at cooking.

“i read that adding basil to everything makes it better!” ( hiori, no ).

ends up apologizing for the kitchen mess while you reassure him it’s cute.

chigiri hyoma

looks like he’s in a cooking commercial the entire time.

perfectly chops veggies like he’s a Food Network star.

BUT the second he burns something, he’s done. “this is why I don’t cook. it’s bad for my image.”

will dramatically sigh and say, “let’s just eat salad.”

mikage reo

knows the fanciest recipes but can’t cook without nagi reminding him not to overthink it.

“why isn’t this soufflé rising?! i followed the michelin-star guide perfectly!”

you make a grilled cheese and tell him to chill.

nagi seishiro

lazy king doesn’t even know where the pans are.

“why can’t we just order takeout, babe?”

somehow burns instant ramen and says, “cooking’s too much effort.” with his infamous " :x " face.

shidou ryusei

starts a fire. that’s it. that’s the headcanon.

“babe, i burnt the water!”

“shidou, HOW TF DO YOU BURN WATER?!”

he grins and says, “talent, baby.”

itoshi sae

acts like cooking is beneath him.

“do you know who i am? i don’t cook.” but secretly knows how to make a mean omelette.

if you tease him about it, he just glares but ends up cooking more for you.

michael kaiser

tries to make cooking sexy. “let me show you how a real man handles a knife.”

ends up being decent but gets distracted flexing his skills for you.

if it fails, he orders food and says, “That was my plan all along.” ( yeah right 🤨 )

alexis ness

follows recipes to the letter. he’s a baking pro but struggles with timing for cooking.

“it says to stir constantly, but how am i supposed to prep the sauce?!”

it’s so cute watching him panic that you end up helping him out.

© 𝘁𝘅𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 :: 2024

𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

[iannmin]

00:00 — s.mg | 송민기

word count: 0.7k pairing: newlywed mingi x pregnant reader

a/n: wrote this fic because it felt like something mingi would actually do :(((( feel free to leave a comment! love you atinys <3

🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

You’re in the kitchen, preparing for Chuseok. The rich, savoury aroma of doenjang jjigae fills the air, mingling with the subtle scent of sesame oil from the side dishes you’re making. The bubbling broth and rhythmic chop of the knife create a soothing backdrop as you work.

As you reach for another piece of tofu, you feel a sudden yet delicate flutter in your belly—a sensation so gentle it almost feels like a dream. Your hand instinctively moves to your stomach, pressing lightly against the fabric of your cardigan. A soft gasp escapes your lips, a mix of surprise and joy. Just then, Mingi’s hurried footsteps approach, and the sliding door to the kitchen opens with a soft thud. He appears in the doorway, concern etched on his face. His eyes quickly find you, and when he sees your hand on your belly, he rushes over, his movements quick but careful, as if afraid to disturb you. “Jagiya, are you okay?” he asks, his voice thick with worry, brows furrowing.

You smile softly, reaching up to straighten his brows. “I’m fine, the baby just kicked, that’s all.” Relief washes over his features, quickly replaced by awe. “The baby… kicked?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with wonder and disbelief. You nod and guide his hands to rest gently on your belly. His palms are warm and slightly rough from working on his music all day, a comforting contrast to the delicate fluttering within.

Mingi’s hands are tentative at first, his fingers lightly grazing your stomach as if afraid to press too firmly. He bends closer, his breath warm against your skin. Then, with a playful whisper, he murmurs, “Fix on”. Almost immediately, the baby responds with a gentle kick, a soft nudge that makes Mingi’s eyes widen in surprise. His gaze locks on the spot where he felt the movement.

The unexpected response makes you both burst into laughter. You exchange a look of sheer disbelief, the joy and wonder in your eyes mirroring each other’s. “Did you feel that?” you ask, laughing as you try to catch your breath. “I did!” Mingi exclaims, his voice filled with amazement. “I can’t believe it. Our baby actually responded!”

You both laugh, the sound light and full of happiness. The sheer joy of the moment makes it feel like time stands still, the laughter echoing through your small kitchen, mingling with the comforting aroma of the stew. Mingi’s fingers continue to trace the spot where the baby kicked, his touch tender and full of awe. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just below your navel. His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the depth of his emotion through that simple gesture.

But then, his protective instincts kick in. Mingi straightens up, concern replacing the wonder in his eyes. “You’ve been standing too long,” he says firmly, guiding you toward the dining table. “You need to rest. I’ll take care of the stew. Please, just sit down and relax.” 

“Mingoo, it’s just a little kick,” you laugh softly, trying to ease his worry as he helps you sit. “I’m not going to break.” He’s already grabbing a cushion from the couch and carefully placing it behind your back, then lifting your feet to set them on another cushion on the floor. “You need to take it easy,” he insists, his tone softening. “I’ll get you some yulmu-cha. Something warm and good for you and the baby.”

Watching him move about the kitchen with such care, your heart swells with affection. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you say softly as he hands you a steaming cup of tea. Mingi kneels beside you, taking your hand in his. “I just want to make sure you are safe…both of you are safe,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I want to protect you, to take care of our little family… always.” Who knew that such a tough-looking man was actually a softie?

You laugh, light and full of love, and rest your head on his shoulder in a teddy bear hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your small apartment and the love that fills it, you know that everything will be alright—as long as you have each other, you have everything you need.

[brain-rot-central]

Pegging Your Vampire Boyfriend: A Beginner's Guide

A/N: This is exactly what you think it is. Kudos to @kittenintheden & Shaurbox for teasing this pegging idea with me over a month ago. It hasn't left my head since.

Rating: E, a very hard E Words: 5.3k Pairing: Spawn!Astarion/Fem!Reader Warnings: 18+, pegging, bdsm- soft!Dom Tav & sub!Astarion, bottom!Astarion, praise kink, ear play, size kink if you squint, inappropriate use of magical scrolls, oral sex - fellatio, anal fingering, anal sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, verbalized consent, blood warning

Summary: Astarion has been on the receiving end before, but not since he's gotten with you. Wanting to try it again, he propositions you in a rather intimate way.

“Darling?”

A soft, questioning voice calls out from the living quarters of your shared home. 

“I'm in the kitchen, love,” you respond. You're standing before the countertop, fileting a roast of beef into smaller portions for easier storage.

Wisps of bergamot fill your senses as the inquisitor reveals himself, arms wrapping gently around your waist. His nose dips into the crook of your neck, cool lips planting chaste kisses upon your skin.

“Oh, that smells divine,” he comments. Of course it does - it's a blood-soaked slab of beef. You laugh and lean your head into his, carefully slicing another steak from the meat. He covers the hand holding your knife and brings it carefully to his face, tongue lolling out to drag across the flat of the blade. He sighs in contentment as the blood soaks into his tongue, lavishing the flavor.

You wince as he releases the grip on your hand, gently placing the knife off to the side. I’ll need a new one, now, you comment to yourself. 

“Is there something you needed, Astarion?” you ask him.

He hums low in his throat. “Hmm, yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.” He peels himself away from your back and stands straight. His hands are still on your hips and you feel his forehead fall against your back.

In a whisper, he asks, “How do you feel… about taking the reins?”

You turn your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as you ask, “What do you mean? I was on top last time.”

Astarion laughs against your back, a puff of cool air passing over your clothed skin. “I know, love,” he begins. “I mean to suggest that… you play the part of me. And I… well, you.”

It takes your brain a few seconds to interpret his words, but once it finally comes together, you feel a blush beginning to creep up your chest.

“Oh!” you exclaim, now with full understanding. “A-are you sure? I'm not opposed to it, but I have to admit… I've never done it before.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, tightening his grip around your waist, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck. “Neither have I, my dear.”

You peel yourself out of his embrace, turning your whole body toward him. A scowl lines your face; you know of his history.

“Well, I-” he stammers. “I've been with men, yes; laid on my back a number of times for them.” Astarion casts his eyes to the floor before continuing, “I have never done… this, though. With a woman.”

Expression softening from his explanation, you turn your body again toward the counter, moving yourself over to the sink to begin washing your hands. “Are you sure you want to explore this?” you ask, concern evident. “That it won't bring back… memories?”

He leans against the opposite end of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's no way to truly know unless we try,” he explains. “Though, I must admit, it's been on my mind incessantly, as of late.”

It's your turn to laugh, grabbing a hand towel to dry your hands. “Really?” you ask. “You've been thinking about me fucking you?”

Astarion scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. “Must you be so vulgar?”

You smile, moving toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'd be your first?”

He sighs with an eye roll before saying, “Proverbially speaking, yes, you would be my first.” Astarion's hand comes up to hold your chin fast as he captures your lips in a chaste kiss. “My second first.”

You hum in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his waist. He releases your chin and you rest your head against his chest. “So, how do we do this?” you inquire. “I wouldn't even know the first place to start.”

Leaning his cheek against the side of your forehead, he replies, “Not to worry, I've taken care of that already.”

“Astarion!” you exclaim, lifting your head from his chest.

He smiles as he meets your gaze. “I already told you I've been thinking about it!”

You lightly tap on his chest in a scolding manner before asking, “How did you know I'd even be okay with this idea?”

“I didn't,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But even if you weren't, I'd still have something to play with later.”

Your face burns at his bold admission, images of him sinking said something into himself flooding your vision. You've never thought of him in that way before, but you quickly admit to yourself just how much it excites you.

“Hello?” Astarion asks innocently, waving his hand over your face. “Are you still with me? Have I given you too much to think about?”

“You're terrible,” you tease, peeling yourself from his embrace in a huff once again. Your face is as red as hot coals, head swimming. “When did you want to try this?” 

Astarion cocks his head to one side in thought. “I was thinking tonight?” he answers. “Or sometime soon. Whatever works for you, love.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you say, “Alright, then. Tonight it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening has fallen and you're fresh from the bath. You walk out into your shared bedroom, bathrobe wrapped snugly around your form as you dry your hair with a towel. Astarion bathed earlier as you cleaned the kitchen, telling you he would use the opportunity to prepare for your night ahead.

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaims in joy. “I've been waiting for you.” Dipping down into the drawer of the end table next to the bed, Astarion says, “There are a couple options we can choose from, darling.”

Astarion is dressed in nothing but his ruffled white shirt with the front laces undone, and his favorite pair of baby-blue and gold underwear. The hem of the shirt covers his underwear, giving off the illusion of wearing nothing underneath.

Standing up straight, he's now holding a tube of rolled parchment in one hand and a phallic toy in the other. “We have a scroll of Mystical Phallus,” Astarion explains, “or, your more traditional approach.”

You smirk as you run the towel through your damp hair, letting your bathrobe fall to the floor. Lifting your chin toward the direction of the parchment, you ask, “What's the deal with the scroll?”

Astarion clears his throat as the robe falls off your form, eyes quickly roaming over your newly exposed skin. He turns to place the toy back in the drawer, returning to meet your gaze before saying, “The shopkeeper explained it as ‘granting the caster a temporary phallus that's as close to the real thing.’ Not quite sure to what level it goes, but I'll admit - I am curious.”

“Alright, let's go with that one, then,” you decide, walking over to take the scroll from his hand. 

You're not too familiar with magic, being a soldier and all, but you've used scrolls before. Opening the paper tube, you're relieved to find that the spell is a rather simple one.

As you recite the incantation etched within the scroll, a faint blue light envelops the room for a mere moment. The light fades, the scroll disintegrating, and you can't help but notice an unfamiliar heaviness between your thighs that wasn't there before.

“Oh,” Astarion comments, shifting his weight onto one hip, accompanied by a hand. “Well, that's rather generous.”

Looking down, your eyes drink in the source of your discomfort. Glowing blue, and well endowed, lay a cock. Your cock, at least for tonight. It juts up proudly in the air from between your thighs, seeming like an extension of your clitoris. Other parts, thankfully, have remained unchanged.

“...Oh,” is all you manage, continuing to survey the mystical length. “This… this is mine?”

Astarion walks over, lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. “It would appear as such,” he states. “And my, oh my, how beautiful it is.”

You scowl, meeting his gaze. You're suddenly uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between yours and your newly summoned appendage. “I don't know what to do, Astarion,” you admit in a hushed tone.

He chuckles lightly. “Touch it, love,” he says, reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It's your cock.”

Nodding your head, you bring a hand up hesitantly to brush over your new addition. “Ah!” you exclaim in shock, your fingertips passing over the bulbous tip. A familiar pulling sensation in your groin begins to stir as you bend slightly inward.

Astarion, looking up at you with wide eyes, asks, “So? How does it feel?”

You can feel everything, as if this has always been part of your anatomy. Each feathered touch sends sparks of electricity up and through you, snagging behind a peculiar spot in your lower stomach.

“Real, Astarion,” you sigh in disbelief, giving yourself a few more tentative touches along the shaft. “I feel like this is my cock.”

“Do you, now?” he quips in a sultry tone. “Is it okay if I do this, then?”

Your mind barely has time to register what he might be implying before Astarion drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of your ethereal summon. Your vision blanks from the sensation, nearly toppling over had Astarion not been bracing you.

“Wh-what was that?” you yell, nearly breathless.

Concern outlining his face, Astarion asks from below you, “Too much? We can stop, if you want.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “N-no,” you respond. “No, that's not it.” Placing a hand on his head, you brush his fallen curls out of his eyes, meeting them with yours. “If this is even remotely close to how you feel when it's me doing this,” you explain, “then I appreciate the level of self-control you maintain over yourself.”

Astarion hums in satisfaction, placing a quick kiss along your shaft before rising to his feet. “It's a lot, I'll admit,” he tells you. Your length jumps in response, and he smiles. “Especially how you suck my cock.”

You're barely able to respond before Astarion’s kissing you; soft, but passionate. His hands grab hold of your hips, drawing you in closer until your centers meet. You moan into his mouth as he repeats the motion a few times, your jaw going slack under his ministrations.

His arousal is evident through the fabric of his undergarments, though not quite there just yet. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you roll your hips into his with vigor, a bolt of pleasure pulling behind your pubic bone. He groans, tangling his tongue with yours, and begins walking you back until you hit the wall behind you.

Astarion asks, “Do you want me to do that to you, darling?” breathily, breaking the kiss. A hand winds in your hair, pulling your head to the side as he licks a stripe up the side of your neck. 

You shudder under his touch, grinding your length against his clothed erection again, searching for friction. “O-oooh-nly,” you groan, “i-if you want.”

Astarion pulls himself back entirely, tapping a finger lightly on your chest. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “I asked you. I already know what I want.”

You close your eyes in frustration, hips involuntarily lurching forward in an attempt to catch more contact. You feel how heavy your cock is - painfully hard between your legs, desperate for release. It throbs in time with your clit, and you feel the wetness of your arousal beginning to gather at the apex of your thighs. 

“Y-yes, please,” you gasp, thighs rubbing together in a hopeless quest for relief.

Satisfied, Astarion plants a kiss along your jaw, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders. “Good girl,” he purrs as he begins to kneel again. Tracing a line of kisses down your body, starting between the valley of your breasts, his hands move down to cup each within his palms.

Rolling the sensitive peaks of your nipples between his fingertips, your body jerks again, cock brushing ever so lightly against his chest as he continues kissing down the plane of your abdomen. Astarion, now sitting on his heels, braces his hands against your thighs. 

He looks up to meet your eyes through full lashes. “Please tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he tells you, genuine concern lacing his tone.

You hum in agreement, a hand coming up to tangle within the silver locks atop his head. Watching as he closes his eyes, Astarion licks again at the underside of your cock, base to tip. You shudder as his hand wraps delicately around your shaft, peeling the foreskin back. He takes a few tentative passes with his tongue along your frenulum, meeting your eyes momentarily to gauge your reaction.

Your hips buck and stutter under his tongue, a string of pleasured gasps and guttural moans slipping past your lips. The hand in his hair tightens as he takes the head of you past his lips, suckling softly on the sensitive gland. 

It takes a world of restraint not to shove the rest of yourself into the inviting cavern of his mouth. Astarion must know this, however, as the hand still planted on your thigh moves to your hip, holding you still. He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, passing as much of your length into his mouth as he can manage, his hand following you down to the base. He flattens his tongue on the way back up, hollowing out his cheeks as he reaches the tip, only to do it all over again.

Knees growing weak, you push your back into the wall behind you to hold yourself steady. The hand in his hair slips, pads of your fingers passing just over the tip of his ear. Astarion moans at the faint touch, the vibration shooting up through your cock and spreading like wildfire throughout your abdomen. You perform the same motion again, and Astarion begins craning his head into your touch.

“A-ah-” he gasps, pulling himself off of you. “Darling, if you keep doing that, I-”

His mouth falls open in a delicate pant, eyes flitting closed as he works his spittle over your length with his hand. You continue toying with the outer shell of his ear, intrigued at this new discovery, and he rests his forehead against your hip. 

“I never knew you had such sensitive ears,” you comment as you look down, watching him rub his thighs together as his hips buck up and down into the air.

With a drawn out groan, Astarion explains, “I’m an elf, my love. We all have sensitive ears.”

“Noted,” you respond, shakily bringing a hand down to join him along your shaft. You softly peel off his touch, lacing your fingers together. “I-I think I want to try something else, now,” you admit.

Smiling, Astarion slowly rises to his feet, cradling your jaw within his hand. His lips, swollen and soft from his prior activity, find yours; his kiss is desperate - hungry. “What do you have in mind?” he questions between quickly stolen breaths.

A fire swells within your core, and you're suddenly met with the same raging intensity and desire displayed in Astarion's kiss.

Hand tangling within his mess of moonlit curls once again, you pull Astarion’s head back, exposing the marble column of his throat. He groans when you drag the flat of your tongue over the apple of his throat, hips jerking into yours.

“I want to try fucking you,” you whisper into his skin, grinding your conjured length against his concealed erection to punctuate your intent. The coiling in your core winds tighter, but not enough to snap just yet.

As his weight presses into you, his hands grip your biceps for stability. Another roll of his hips and he sighs, dropping his head down to catch your eyes. “Are you sure?” he questions, breathless. “Because I'd really like that.”

With a nod of your head, your hands travel up under the hem of his shirt to settle on strong, narrow hips. Your lips meet again, the kiss just as ravenous as before, and begin walking you both toward the bed. When Astarion’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he gently falls back, with you quickly closing the distance above him.

“You needn’t worry about preparation,” he reveals as you lavish attention on his neck. “I took care of that earlier.” 

He shudders beneath you as you mouth his scars. “Isn’t that part of this whole process?” you ask while hooking your hands into the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.

Astarion lifts his hips up and laughs, providing enough space for you to slide the cotton fabric down and off his form. “It is, but I figured it was gracious enough of you to entertain this idea,” he explains. “Prep for this is… well, intimate.” He averts your gaze for a brief moment, drawing a large breath in before continuing, “I would understand if it didn’t appeal to you.”

Removing yourself from his reach, you sit back over your legs. His face shifts uneasily at your sudden withdrawal. “Astarion,” you begin to tell him, “I’m not ashamed of your body. I want to explore this as a couple.” He’s drawn his legs together in a likely attempt at covering himself. You place a hand atop one knee, rubbing soft circles as you say reassuringly, “All of it, together. So, please. Let me?”

Astarion sits up with a smile, and rests his forehead over yours. “If you keep being this nice to me, I may just return the favor,” he says, light-heartedly.

“You already do, Astarion,” you tell him with a laugh. “Always the gentleman.”

His kiss is a quick peck over your lips as he tells you, “There's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer. Grab it, and I'll show you what to do.” 

You nod, sliding off the mattress and doing as instructed. Astarion moves himself higher into the center of the bed, sinking into the comforter and pillows. The bed dips below him as you climb back on, bottle of viscous liquid in hand.

“Pour some into one palm and rub your hands together, love,” he instructs. “This helps warm the oil.”

Popping the stopper off the bottle, you pour the cool, thick, opaque fluid out into your hand. You reapply the cork, placing it face up on top of the bedside drawer, rubbing the palms of your hands together. It takes a bit, but inevitably your body heat begins to seep into the oil.

Astarion lay before you, eyes beginning to hood over as he follows your hands. His legs fall silently open as his breath hitches for a mere moment. “Good,” he says encouragingly, his voice an octave lower. “Now, come here. Between my legs.”

You move in closer and note how the hem of his shirt is obscuring his cock from view. You can just make it out, though - it pushes against the fabric of the shirt, tenting it slightly and you swear you see a small darkened spot right where the tip of his cock lay hidden. Looking up, your eyes drink in how his collar has fallen to one side, sliding down and off his right shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Astarion normally wears this shirt with the sleeves rolled up tight, yet today, he's chosen to wear them loose.

His hands, half covered by the cuffs of his sleeves, envelop yours in a gentle embrace as he guides your slickened fingers to his core. Astarion stills for a moment, and you look up to find him staring back at you. 

There's an expression on his face that you’re not immediately familiar with - it's not fear, excitement, or lust, really. Yet, the longer you study him, recognition begins to dawn over you. 

It's the same look you've given him countless times before on this very bed, having thrown caution to the wind as you entwine the very fabric of your souls together.

Astarion is… submitting himself. To you.

Something majorly delicate, knowing his past. 

You know of what he was forced to endure while being compelled into submission. 

The barrage of lovers who cared not for the person below them; who saw him only as a means to an end. A quick pump, a cheap lay, a tool to scratch a nagging itch.

“Some people refer to the moment of climax as ‘a little death,’” he’d once told you. That was before you knew just how many he'd lead to their actual deaths.

True to form, Astarion's words are often double-edged blades. His mind dances constantly on the edge of pleasure and shame. You see it in his face, now. He’s standing on that precipice, knowing not whether to jump head first or step back.

You swallow thickly and stare back at him, unblinking, before saying, “You can always tell me if it becomes too much, and I will stop.” You pause for a brief moment before adding, “Pleasure is my only intent, Astarion.”

A smile graces his lips as he welcomes your fingers to make first contact with his entrance. “Oh, my dear,” he says with a sigh, “I’ve never doubted that about you.”

Leaning over him as you press the pads of two fingers teasingly against his tight ring of muscle, you kiss him. Astarion groans softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup either side of your face as he arches into the kiss. He’s grinding down lightly into your fingers, meeting each of your chaste touches against him.

“How many should I start with?” you ask softly, breaking the kiss for a brief moment.

“Two,” he answers, voice but a whisper against your lips. “Whichever ones you want.”

Humming into his mouth, you begin pushing your fingers into his entrance. Astarion’s breath hitches as you breach the perimeter, shoving his head back against the pillows. He instinctively tries closing his legs around you, though you hold one open with your free hand.

You still your movements, giving him a chance to adjust to the intrusion. “Is it alright?” you ask him.

Astarion nods his head as he moves a hand under his shirt to toy with a nipple. “Yes,” he huffs out. “I'm more than fine, love.”

Emboldened to the task at hand, you move, gently pushing and pulling your fingers within him. You feel his muscles contract around you and you briefly wonder if this is what he feels when he's inside of you. The thought sends a bolt of pleasure to your cunt, reverberating as a twitch of your cock. 

You look down to watch your fingers as they work him open, and finally see his cock laying against the plane of his abdomen. Compared to the pallor of the rest of him, his length is flushed pink and red, and you can make out the labored beating of his undead heart as his cock thumps softly against his stomach. Pre-fluid seeps from his tip, gathering in a small puddle just below his navel. Bending down, you catch a small rivulet rolling off his hip with your tongue, tracing it back to the source. Astarion shudders under you, threading his free hand through your hair as he pushes down onto your fingers.

You're beginning to understand that this isn't too different from your usual sexual encounters with one another. It's truly just a mirroring of your typical positions. Out of curiosity, you curl your fingers upward in one particular pass, and his entire body spasms beneath you.

“Fuck, darling, yes… You've found it,” Astarion groans out, labored. The grip in your hair tightens and he begins fucking himself in earnest on your fingers, a string of moans falling from his lips as he passes that same spot over and over again.

Your cunt aches and your cock throbs watching the scene before you. To see him unraveling before you, submitting himself to the pleasure of the moment is intoxicating. His legs have fallen open again and you watch, diligently, at how easily your fingers glide in and out of his core.

“I- I need more,” Astarion suddenly chokes out. You meet his gaze and through lust-hooded eyes, he says, “Please… let me ride you.”

He's pleading, you notice. Begging. Your eyes travel down his form again, drinking in the wanton display of him splitting himself open over your fingers. Your cunt throbs; you think of nothing else in that moment but pulling out your fingers and replacing them with your cock. 

To hear the delicious whines, the sobs, the cries that would surely tumble freely from Astarion's lips as he came undone around you. You want this, just as much as he does.

Pulling your hand free from his entrance, Astarion sobs as you crash your lips into his. “I'd love that,” you tell him, honestly.

Astarion begins to sit up, concentrating on never breaking the kiss you share as he aids you both in switching positions. You lay back, him straddling your lap mere moments later. He grinds his taint against your conjured appendage, your shafts brushing, and he cries out in a gentle moan against your lips. He breaks the kiss, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, dribbling some onto your cock.

With a few languid strokes of your mystical length to spread the oil and he lines himself up over you. Your eyes meet and you hiss through clenched teeth as your tip kisses his entrance, feeling the pressure slide over your glans as he slowly begins to take you.

“A-ahh,” Astarion pants from above you, still holding your cock steady in one hand. You sigh as you feel yourself push past the first ring of muscle, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hands grip at his thighs as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you, fingertips likely to leave bruises that will be gone come morning.

Once he feels confident that you're nestled far enough inside, he releases his hold on your shaft, resting the palms of his hands against your lower stomach. He continues to slowly take you further in, words in a language you're unfamiliar with spilling from his mouth, until he's flush against your thighs.

Both of you freeze in that moment - you struggle to control your ragged breathing as he flutters around you, Astarion taking a moment to adjust to this foreign, but not unpleasant, sensation.

“H-how do I feel?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Truthfully? He feels… astounding. Tight, wet, and warmer than you would have thought for a vampire. When he lifts his hips, you feel the air being pulled out of your lungs. His walls drag deliciously along your shaft, and a nagging pull starts to build behind your navel. 

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as your eyes meet his through hooded lids. “A-amazing,” you pant out. “You feel so good, Astarion.”

He moans above you, his head falling to one side as he rolls his hips over your cock. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, the hem obscuring his cock again from view. Though, you feel its weight slap against your stomach with each lift and drop of his hips. 

Astarion’s voice comes out strained when he says, “Tell me again… please.”

You feel your cock twitch within him; he clenches around you as he locks eyes with you, waiting patiently for a response. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stick to his face, and on one particular stroke of his hips, you brush up against that place inside of him that forces his vision to blur at the edges. His mouth begins to salivate.

“Please, please, please,” he begs impatiently, voice an octave higher now. He's practically sobbing, spearing himself over your cock so each roll is angled to hit his prostate. You meet his thrusts from below, coil winding tighter within your abdomen as his walls continue to massage your cock.

You're not going to last much longer.

“You're so good for me, Astarion,” you say, obliging him. “You're being such a good boy.”

Astarion's mouth drops open as he bows his head forward, his entire body dipping down over you as a shudder passes through him. “Yes,” he whines, rocking back on your hips with renewed vigor. You feel his cock lay flat against your abdomen in this new position. It drags over your stomach, pre-fluid dripping from his tip and onto your skin providing an easier surface.

I am! And beautiful - not enough people mention that.

His words from long ago echo in your mind as you drink in his expression. He's gorgeous above you; handsome to begin with, but as he slips further toward toppling over the Cliff's edge, his beauty is quickly becoming amplified as he continues to lose composure.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you coo to him, lifting a hand from his thigh to rub over an ear.

Astarion's body is wracked by yet another tremor as he cries, “Darling, if you don’t-, I will-, I'm going-!” His head nestles into the hand toying with his ear and his hips pump erratically over your cock, having lost his prior rhythm.

You suck in a sharp breath, jaw clenched as Astarion becomes impossibly tighter around your shaft, and you groan. You're so close, so very close that all you need is one more thing to push yourself over the edge.

“Let go, Astarion,” you say, somehow finding the rhythm in his desperate rutting. The sound of skin slapping roughly fills the room as your hips meet his on his downstroke. You wrap a hand around the outline of his cock tenting his shirt, and jerk him in tempo with your thrusts.

He’s sobbing, loud and unabashedly. With one particular pass of your fingers over the outer tip of his ear, Astarion suddenly unwinds. He yells his pleasure above you, collapsing onto your chest as wave after wave overcomes him. You feel his spend seep into the fabric of his shirt and onto the skin of your abdomen in a small warm pool. 

It doesn't take long for the involuntary spasming of his core over your cock to send you spiraling into your own completion. Moans slip freely past your lips and you feel your folds become soaked, drippinh down the cleft of your ass as your relief washes over you. You bury your face against Astarion's hair, breathing in his soft silver curls and the signature cologne you know so well.

As you both begin to come down off your highs, you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tightly against your chest. You feel the spell of the phallus lift, Astarion whimpering softly as it vanishes from within him. You both lay on the bed, panting, trying to catch your breath for what feels like ages.

Astarion is first to lift up his head and say, “That… that was amazing.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. You can barely open your eyes as fatigue begins to set in.

Taking a finger, Astarion traces circles absentmindedly into your skin as he rests his head back down over your chest. “Darling?” he asks softly. “May I tell you something?”

Sleep almost has its claws in you when you jolt back awake, forcing your eyes to snap open and find Astarion. “Hmm?” you groan in question.

With a quick huff, Astarion says, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me.” He places a quick peck below your jawbone before adding, “It was really nice.”

You sigh audibly, and say “It was, we should do this again.” Your eyelids are impossibly heavy; sleep is threatening to claim you and will do so in mere moments. “I love you,” you manage to mumble out before slipping gently out of consciousness.

Astarion smiles into your skin as he says, “I love you, too,”

I love this, he thinks.

I love us.

[pomefioredove]

"I'll do anything for a woman with a knife"--THIS IS SO ROOK IM SCREAMING!!! If you would kindly for the requests???

I SEE THE VISION

summary: "I'll do anything for a beauté with a knife" type of post: short fic characters: rook additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, Rook being cute actually a part of this event

"Give it back!"

You lunge at him again, and, as each time before, he avoids you with grace.

He even grabs your wrist and pulls you upright before you can go crashing into the wall. A perfect gentleman.

"Chérie, you wound me!" Rook chimes, holding the black-bound book far above your head. "I only came to return something so clearly precious to you!"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Then give it back,"

Rook is quiet for a moment, those ever-familiar piercing green eyes glancing between you, then the book. Then you again, then the book.

"...No,"

You swing at him, and he ducks under your arm.

"You must forgive me!" he says, backing towards the kitchen door. "But my curiosité has been piqued, and now I simply must know the contents of the book you so fiercely defend!"

He may act romantic, but he's really no less of a jerk than any of the other boys here.

"Give it!"

You follow him around the Ramshackle kitchen, jumping in a vain attempt to snatch it out of his hand.

It's useless; he's holding the book up to the ceiling as if presenting it to the heavens themselves.

"A diary? A journal? A beloved sketchbook, perhaps?" Rook wonders aloud, reading your name off the front again. "Ooh, I must know what secrets this beauty contains..."

You back to a corner of the decrepit kitchen, pulling a worn-down knife out of a drawer. It's too dull to do any damage, but he doesn't know that. Probably.

"Hand it over," you demand, waving the knife around like a madman.

Rook pauses, eyes shining with a new interest. He seems to forget all about the book, setting it on the table and approaching with his hands folded behind his back.

"Ah, mon Trickster, how clever," he says, smiling wide. "I'll do anything for a beauté with a knife."

As annoyed as you are, you let him come closer. He grabs the hand holding the dull instrument and clicks his tongue.

"Ah, you are wielding it all wrong! Come here," Rook chides, standing behind you and guiding your arms.

"Stand like this for balance. Oui, like that, and hold the knife like this..." his warm breath hits the back of your neck as he tweaks the position of your fingers.

"Perfect. Une beauté!" he says, finally stepping back. "But, this particular knife is much too dull to defend yourself in a true attack."

"Hmm... very well, I will lend you one of my hunting knives until I can purchase you one of your own! Bonsoir, Trickster!"

He beams, waving as he leaves you bewildered in the kitchen.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗕𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗗, 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗙 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗨𝗧𝗘

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N participates in the Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute video, but things don't go as planned.

WARNING: Begin of a panic attack, anxiety.

REQUESTED?: Yes, @ecliphttlunar

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Alright guys, it's been almost a year since the last time we filmed one of these, I think..." Nick began, his body appearing in the camera frame, stopping next to Matt.

"Yeah, and today we have a special guest-" Matt was interrupted by Nick, who swallowed all the rest of his energy drink, stumbling back as he shook his head hard, feeling the burn go down his throat.

"Like she doesn't appear in almost every video." Chris ignored Nick's reaction, momentarily pointing to his girlfriend next to him.

A laugh escaped his throat, followed by a dramatic sound of pain as he received a slap from Y/N as a response, who rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms and looking at the camera.

"They love me more than they love you guys at this point." She murmured, pointing at the camera with her chin, blowing an air kiss towards it.

"Anyways!" Nick shouted, casting a scolding glance from the corner of his eye at Chris and Y/N, focusing his eyes on the lens. "Today we're going to do the baking blind, deaf and mute challenge, and we have a guest with us, Y/N!" He raised his left hand, pointing it towards the girl momentarily, who smiled big and waved.

"Exactly, and since there will be four of us, instead of three, we will repeat one position. Y/N will be blind with Matt, while I will be mute and Nick will be deaf." Chris explained, wrapping his left arm around his girl's shoulder, pulling her close and massaging her biceps slightly, sealing his lips over her head momentarily.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Okay, today we're going to cook a carrot cake with chocolate frosting since it's our guest's favorite." Nick spoke, his voice coming out louder than normal since his ears were covered by the headphones where music was coming out at full volume.

Y/N nodded, resting her hands on the table, unable to see exactly where she was, her eyes already covered by Chris's red bandana.

"Y/N doesn't eat ready cake mixture, so we're going to make it from scratch!" Matt added, his back resting on the counter next to the stove.

His arms were crossed, and his head was turned in the direction he thought the camera was.

"Let's begin!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Can someone preheat the oven, please?" Y/N asked, her head turned to the side where she heard footsteps.

A tired sigh escaped her nose when she received no response. The girl moved slowly, using her raised arms for support, feeling wherever she went.

Sudden hands on her waist made her jump in fright, relief coursing through her veins as she quickly recognized Chris's touch. The boy holds her tightly, guiding her slowly through the kitchen, until they reach the stove.

Chris lightly held her wrist, guiding her hand to the button to turn on the oven, waiting for her to do so before letting go of her hand, moving away slightly.

"What is happening? Are you still here?" Matt's voice cut through the air, his figure doing a 360° turn as he tried to understand where the others were.

"In here, Matt." Y/N replied as she walked back to the table, feeling around until she found the ingredients already separated.

The girl reached for the carrots, feeling them to check if they were peeled. They weren't.

"Chris, can you peel it for me, please?" The girl asked loudly, lifting her chin in the air so her voice could echo better.

Footsteps approached, and soon, the carrots were taken from her hands, the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board filling her ears.

The sound of screams filled the kitchen, Nick singing the songs he was listening to as loud as possible, probably dancing around the space, checking every now and then if the others were making the recipe correctly, despite Y/N and Chris knowing it by heart.

"Nick, can you shut up?" Matt asked loudly, turning in the direction where his brother's voice came from.

Nick noticed Matt trying to talk to him, looking back while furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?" He screamed.

Y/N, who was blindly measuring the correct amount of oil using a measuring cup, jumped in place in fright by the sudden loud sound. Her hand holding the oil shook slightly from the movement, spilling some of the contents onto her other hand and the table.

Her shoulders slumped, but she just kept going, knowing that there was nothing she could do at that moment other than fulfill her task.

After measuring the oil and flour as correctly as possible, the girl felt the table on her right side in search of the cut carrots, no longer feeling Chris' presence there.

Her hands ran across the wooden surface, grabbing the first thing she found in the belief that it was the vegetables, but instead, it was a knife.

A wince escaped her lips, feeling a sharp burning sensation spread from her right index finger to her hand. She had cut herself.

"Can I have a paper towel?" Y/N asked in a low tone, her voice coming out choppy from the pain she felt. "Hey, somebody, a paper towel. Please?"

No one answered her, Matt and Nick's arguing voices only growing louder and louder.

The girl took a deep breath, wiping her finger on her t-shirt, feeling pain and disgust at the same time at the thought of cleaning a wound on a fabric that wasn't as clean as something specific for hygiene.

Her attention returned to the things in front of herself. Y/N replayed her last steps in her mind, making sure she did everything right.

With that, her hand rescued the fuê that she knew was on her left side and began to mix all the ingredients in the ceramic bowl carefully, despite the pain in her hand.

She felt her senses were more heightened than normal, perhaps because her eyes were covered, which made her hear the different steps of each of the triplets, their voices, and in which direction they were going.

But at that moment, her attention was so focused on the mixture that she forgot to pay attention to the three boys.

"Matt, I'm not listening to anything you're saying!" Nick shouted, his tone full of sarcasm.

"I'm just asking you to stop-"

"Don't touch me, Chris!"

"Nick, stop doing that-"

"Stop talking, I can't hear you-"

The impact came suddenly against Y/N's back, causing her to hit her belly on the corner of the table and, consequently, pushing the mixture forward due to the impact. She was certain that everything had been spilled onto the wooden surface when she heard a loud gasp coming from Matt.

Y/N's lips trembled before the tears even came. She felt her eyes burning behind her bandana while her cheeks and chest ached with anguish.

"Y/N?" Chris's voice came out softly, his hands quickly ripping the bandana from his mouth, approaching his girl, ignoring the guilty looks from Nick and Matt as they both removed their respective bandana and headphones.

Y/N didn't respond, resting her hands on the table and lowering her head, feeling the fabric over her eyes getting damp little by little.

"Baby?" Chris whispered, slowly untying the knot on the bandana behind her head, being careful not to pull out any hair. The last thing he wanted was to cause pain on his girlfriend.

He felt his heart sink at the sight of her eyes closed tightly and her eyelashes damp against her pink cheeks. His own eyes quickly caught her chest rising and falling faster than normal in agitation.

Chris moved closer to her, positioning his hands on both of his girl's hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin in an attempt to ground her.

"Hey, hey, pretty girl, it's okay. Deep breaths, hm?" The brunette whispered close to her ear, casting a quick look behind his shoulder at his brothers, silently asking them to move away. "That's right, just like that. You got it, my love."

Y/N sucked in air through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it through her mouth.

After repeating the process a few times, she could finally feel her heart calm down and the anguish slowly disappear. Y/N opened her eyes slowly, blinking a few times to remove the remnants of tears.

"There's my pretty girl. Are you with me, baby?" Chris smiled kindly, his eyes shining as he looked at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

"Uhum, I am good. Thank you, baby." Her voice came out still a whisper, but in a healthier tone. "Can we continue? I really want to-"

"Wait, is that blood? Baby, are you hurt?" Chris noticed the reddish tone on her right hand, interrupting her sentence and holding her hand delicately with both of his, analyzing the small cut.

"Yeah, with that knife. It was an accident, but it's not hurting anymore." The girl tried to assure him, stroking his hands with her thumb slowly.

"Can we at least clean it? Before we continue." He asked, his tone full of hope while his eyes run through her face, trying to find any trace of pain.

"Okay." Y/N nodded, whispering with a small smile decorating her face.

The boy guided her to the sink, turning on the tap to cold water and slowly bringing her hand closer to the jet, letting the water hit the injured skin slowly, so that it didn't make her feel any more pain.

A wince escaped Y/N's throat when she felt the contact, suppressing the urge to pull her hand back.

"I know, baby. I know, I'm sorry." Chris whispered, his lips pressed against the side of her head. His free hand made small circles on her back, trying to reflect calm to her.

After a few seconds, Chris finally turned off the tap again, drying his own hand before rescuing a few sheets of paper towels. He wiped Y/N's sensitive skin slowly, wrapping her finger around a clean sheet.

"All done, honey."

"Thank you." She smiled, sealing her lips on his jaw slightly. "Can we bake now?" She asked innocently, looking at Matt and Nick, who were still watching them with guilty eyes.

Chris let out a low chuckle at her comment, waving his brothers closer again.

"Are you good, girl?" Nick asked as he approached Y/N, stroking her left shoulder lightly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I am good, Nick. I promise." She smiled big at her best friend, hugging him sideways and laying her head on his right shoulder for a few seconds before stepping away again.

"Okay then, let's bake a cake!" Matt smiled at the camera, grabbing the nearest roll of paper towels, ready to clean up the mess before they could start baking again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"omg I would die on Y/N's place, all this was so overwhelming 😭"

"chris is such a good boyfriend and you can see it in here, the way he helps her at the beginning? bf goals 😫😫😫"

"chris and Y/N are so beautiful together 🥺"

"the way chris was super worried about Y/N so he ripped off his bandana too quickly to help her 😔😔😔"

"I want what they have so bad"

"nick and matt feeling guilty and then worrying about her was so cute!!"

"them baking it from the beginning again only because Y/N wanted to eat that cake is so thoughtful 😭"

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