#and brown countertops. steam oven

[berrybobs]

Dining Kitchen (New York)

[allisonranieri]

Transitional Kitchen

[luveline]

eddie and roan <333 reader is on her period and Roan wants to help, sweet girl is a real-life heating pad

.thank you for your request! dad!eddie x stepmom!reader

"Taste?" Eddie asks, lifting the wooden spoon up to Roan's mouth. "Blow, blow. Super hot."

She's heavy on his hip but isn't yet a weight he can't carry. Eddie thinks he'll probably still be picking her up at eight, at ten. Hell, he'll throw her over his shoulder when she's a teenager if he needs to. But for now she's six, and she's light enough to carry, especially if he props her on the lip of the countertop. 

Roan blows on the pasta sauce, cherry tomatoes and ricotta. Steam billows away from the spoon and kisses his cheek. She licks the spoon tentatively. 

Eddie laughs as her eyes widen and she puts the spoon in her mouth happily. "Yummy?" he asks. 

She nods around the spoon. 

Eddie looks down at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. He's not anxious in the day to day beyond the usual family related worries, but your absence is really playing on him. You should've been home twenty five minutes ago, which is super late for you. 

Eddie dips the spoon in the sauce before Roan can burn herself in her own attempt, blows on it, and passes it to her before putting her down gently into a kitchen chair. She's focused on her pasta sauce and doesn't notice. 

Eddie takes the boiling pot of pasta off of the heat, strains it, and pours it into the sauce. Then he transfers that pot into a baking tray, covers it in ricotta, breadcrumbs, tiny diced tomatoes and fresh herbs and puts it in the oven to bake on a low heat and brown the top layer. He washes the dishes he'd made, including the wooden spoon, which Roan goes on tiptoes to deposit at his hip, and is just about finished when the front door opens. 

"Finally!" Roan says. 

"You took the words out of my mouth, babe," Eddie says, dumping the dampened hand towel over the dish rack. 

You shuck off your shoes and sigh. Your back is hunched a little and you're squinting, clear signs of discomfort. A blue plastic bag hangs from two curled fingers. Still, you say, "Hi, my loves." 

Roan jogs up to you and wraps her arms around your knees. Eddie knows exactly how she's feeling, the ache of missing your mom and the relief of seeing her again. 

You don't frown at Roan, exactly, but you don't look happy. Fingers brushing down her hair to push stray strands from her face, you lean down to dot a quick kiss to her forehead. "I can't pick you up, sorry. My tummy hurts." 

Eddie doesn't waste time waiting for you to come to him. You roll your eyes as he approaches, murmuring complaints when he gets his arms around you, Roan included. She oofs at being squished between thighs but she's a really smart girl, moving to your side before Eddie can encourage her away from your stomach. He rubs your back, checking you're all in one piece 

"What's wrong?" he asks, pressing his cheek to your temple for a quick second. "Time of month?" 

"Time of month," you confirm, wielding your blue bag at him. He had a suspicion.

He peeks inside at the assortment of Midol, heat packs, and sanitary towels. "Sorry, babe. Bummer." 

"Super bummer," you say. 

You mention wanting to shower and Eddie ushers you away with the promise of a dryer warmed towel and a bowl of pasta when you get out. Roan trails around after him curiously, knowing vaguely what time of month entails. She can't sit in your lap unless you ask her too, and she can't start a karaoke party without permission. Besides that, not a lot changes for her. She insists on being the one to get your pyjamas out and ready, and when you emerge from the shower she makes herself scarce with a promise —you will be in the company of her very best Teddy, just as soon as she decides which one that is. 

Eddie tries not to stare as you change, but it doesn't matter, you don't mind nor wither under his watching. You wince as you pull your pants up over your stomach and roll them down so the band cinches lower. He winces when you sniffle. 

"Is it really bad?" he asks. 

"No," you say miserably, shirtless and aching. He has a funny feeling that you're lying. 

You don't cry and Eddie thanks whoever for that, but you struggle to raise your arms when a shooting pain nibbles at your spine, so he decides it can wait, and wraps you up in another hug, careful not to touch your abdomen. 

"Midol not working?" he asks.

"Not really." 

"Want a double dose?" 

"Don't joke, I'll say yes." 

He eases his hand down your front and presses it gently to your soft tummy. Not even pressing, simply holding it there. Eddie doesn't know if he could handle it, but he wishes he could take the pain from you. It's brutal, and it's much too often. 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says, meaning it emphatically. 

"It's okay," you say. Quieter, "Will you help me with my shirt?" 

Eddie stations you at the end of the bed. He brushes your tacky face dry with his hands and picks up your shirt, bunching it together in his hands to pop it over your head. You slip your hands through the arm holes and Eddie pulls it down, smoothing down the slope of your waist to your hips. "Tada," he says. 

You give him a kiss for his efforts. 

Roan rushes in with a teddy in her hands. She has two favourites, both missing an ear, and when she was a baby baby she'd call them all 'Teddy' without differential treatment, but she's brought Mr. Cool in, named for his dark eyes that look like sunglasses. 

"I've found him," she says urgently, running to the bottom of your bed and climbing up, little nose tipped up as she meets your eyes, "don't worry, mommy. Mr. Cool has super powers." 

You accept Mr. Cool with a hand held over your stomach. He didn't notice when you first came in but you're definitely bloating now. He knows that can make it more painful. The last thing you need is more pain. 

"Let me bring dinner upstairs, yeah? We can eat it in bed, you can keep your shoulders back," he suggests. 

You nod quickly. You'd probably say yes to an exorcism right around now. Dinner in bed doesn't scratch the surface. 

Eddie nips downstairs to gather the trays and drinks and has to bring it up in two trips. When he finishes his final trip, you and Roan are sharing from your plate, the tray on your thighs with your back to a mound of pillows, her smaller stature nestled into your side cautiously. 

A cherry tomato falls off of the knife you'd been using as a fork and onto your clean t-shirt. You groan. Roan laughs and picks up the tomato, eating it without another word. 

"Weirdo," you say fondly. 

"Dad says five second rule," Roan says through her food.

"What if I wanted to eat that one?" you ask, amused. 

Roan swallows her tomato. "Huh." 

"I brought your heat packs up," Eddie says, slotting his tray haphazardly onto the dresser so he can peel open the box. 

You lift your shirt and indulge him, letting him place it against your pouch with a ridiculous amount of tenderness if he does say so himself. Roan pouts a little bit, and her pout soon turns to puppy eyes, and before he knows it she's lifting her t-shirt for him to pat a heating pad onto her stomach. 

"They're for grown ups, Ro, and they get really warm. Please tell me if it's too hot," Eddie says, folding her shirt back down. 

Roan squirms. "It feels weird." 

Your smile tells a different story. "It feels nice. Thanks, handsome." 

Eddie squeezes your shoulder in a shake. You're more than welcome. 

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Chocolate Chip Banana Muffins

Made these last night, had three bananas to use so I improvised on a muffin recipe I've used for a long time. When you've done this as long as I have, you learn how much of each ingredient you'll have to adjust to fit what you've got to work with. After awhile, it's just instinct.

These turned out just about exactly what I generally shoot for: a dense but soft crumb, packed with whatever extra ingredient (choc chips, blueberries, etc), golden brown and crispy tops, tender and moist below.

I'll post the recipe later tonight...got kiddo's spring band concert, and I think it's going to be the first one with her playing violin instead of trumpet.

Ingredients:

3/4 cup (stick and a half) salted butter

2 cups granulated sugar

3 over-ripe bananas, mashed

4 eggs

4 1/2 tspns baking powder

2 tspns vanilla

1 tspn cinnamon

1 tspn kosher salt

3 to 3 1/2 cups flour

2 cups chocolate chips

3/4 to 1 cup buttermilk

Sprinkling sugar crystals

PREHEAT OVEN TO 400 DEGREES, Rack in center of oven.

Cream the butter, sugar, baking powder, vanilla, cinnamon and salt until fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating thoroughly between each. Keep the mixer going and add the mashed bananas and the buttermilk. Beat thoroughly, making sure the ingredients are all incorporated, turn the mixer to lowest speed and slowly add the flour, 1/2 cup at a time, until you have a thick, creamy batter. Add the chocolate chips and mix for a few seconds to distribute. Fill your large muffin cups to the top, and coat the tops with a liberal sprinkling of sprinkling crystals. Bake at 400 for 24-25 minutes, until golden-brown. Cool in pans for 20 minutes, then on a wire cooling rack until totally cooled.

Baker's privilege to have one while steaming hot, fresh out of the oven ;-)

These keep VERY well, thanks to the butter, eggs, and buttermilk. Fine on the countertop under a cake bell for at least 3-4 days, if they last that long!

[kitchnoider]

Kitchen Appliances To Prepare Healthy Meals

Maintaining a healthy diet is important for our overall well-being. The food we choose affects our energy, health, and mood. To support a nutritious lifestyle, having the right kitchen tools is crucial. In this guide, we'll explore essential appliances like the air fryer, blender, slow cooker, and more. These appliances make cooking convenient and promote healthier meal preparation. Let's dive into the world of must-have kitchen appliances for nutritious meals!

Kitchen Appliances To Prepare Healthy Meals

High-Speed Blender

A high-speed blender is a powerful kitchen appliance that can blend fruits, vegetables, and other ingredients into smooth and creamy concoctions. It can easily turn whole fruits and vegetables into nutritious smoothies, helping you incorporate more vitamins and fiber into your diet. With its fast and efficient blending capabilities, it can also be used to make homemade soups, sauces, and even nut butters. The high-speed blender's versatility and ability to break down tough ingredients make it a must-have for anyone looking to create healthy and delicious meals or snacks.

Slow Cooker

A slow cooker, also known as a crock-pot, is a convenient kitchen appliance that allows you to prepare flavorful and healthy meals with minimal effort. Simply add your ingredients, set the cooking time, and let the slow cooker work its magic. It slowly cooks food at low temperatures, tenderizing meats and allowing flavors to meld together. With a slow cooker, you can make delicious stews, soups, and even whole-grain dishes like oatmeal or quinoa. It's perfect for busy individuals who want to come home to a nutritious, home-cooked meal without spending hours in the kitchen.

Air Fryer

An air fryer is a countertop appliance that uses hot air circulation to cook food to a crispy perfection, all without the need for excessive oil. It's a healthier alternative to deep frying, as it significantly reduces the amount of unhealthy fats and calories in your favorite fried foods. The air fryer can create crispy french fries, crunchy chicken wings, and even golden-brown vegetables with just a fraction of the oil used in traditional frying methods. It's an excellent addition to any kitchen, providing guilt-free indulgence while promoting a balanced and nutritious diet.

Food Processor

A food processor is a versatile kitchen appliance that simplifies food preparation tasks. With its sharp blades and various attachments, it can chop, slice, shred, and puree a wide range of ingredients. From quickly chopping vegetables for salads to making homemade pesto or nut-based spreads, the food processor saves time and effort in the kitchen. It's perfect for creating healthy dips, dressings, and sauces, and can even knead dough for homemade bread. By having a food processor, you can easily incorporate more fresh and nutritious ingredients into your meals, making cooking a breeze.

Steam Oven

A steam oven is a kitchen appliance that uses the power of steam to cook food gently and efficiently. Unlike traditional ovens that rely on dry heat, steam ovens help retain the natural flavors, colors, and nutrients of the ingredients. They are ideal for cooking vegetables, fish, and grains, as the steam helps maintain their texture and nutritional value. Steam ovens also eliminate the need for excessive oil or fats, making it a healthier cooking option. With precise temperature control and even heat distribution, steam ovens ensure that your meals are cooked to perfection, promoting a nutritious and flavorful diet.

Electric Grill or Griddle

An electric grill or griddle is a versatile kitchen appliance that allows you to grill or griddle food indoors, without the need for an outdoor barbecue. With adjustable temperature settings, you can cook lean meats, fish, vegetables, and even fruits with minimal oil. Grilling or griddling food helps reduce the consumption of unhealthy fats, while still imparting a delicious smoky flavor. It's an excellent way to prepare low-fat and flavorful meals, whether you want to enjoy a juicy grilled chicken breast or a stack of fluffy pancakes. The electric grill or griddle brings outdoor cooking convenience to your kitchen while promoting healthier eating habits.

Juicer

A juicer is a handy appliance that extracts juice from fruits and vegetables, providing a concentrated source of essential vitamins and minerals. It allows you to enjoy a variety of fresh and nutrient-rich juices with ease. By separating the juice from the pulp, a juicer helps you consume a larger quantity of fruits and vegetables in a convenient and refreshing way. Whether you prefer citrus juices, green juices, or a combination of different flavors, a juicer allows you to customize your drinks to suit your taste preferences and nutritional needs. Incorporating freshly squeezed juices into your daily routine can boost your intake of vitamins, antioxidants, and enzymes, supporting a healthy lifestyle and providing a refreshing way to hydrate.

Spiralizer

A spiralizer is a nifty kitchen tool that transforms vegetables into fun and healthy noodle-like shapes. By creating spirals, ribbons, or strands, it offers a creative and nutritious alternative to traditional pasta. With a spiralizer, you can turn zucchini, carrots, sweet potatoes, and other veggies into low-carb and nutrient-rich substitutes for pasta dishes. Whether you're aiming to reduce your carb intake, increase your vegetable consumption, or simply add some variety to your meals, a spiralizer allows you to experiment with new flavors and textures. It's an excellent way to incorporate more plant-based options into your diet while enjoying delicious and satisfying meals.

Final Words

Adding essential kitchen appliances to your cooking routine can greatly improve your ability to prepare and enjoy healthy meals. From the versatile air fryer that makes crispy dishes with less oil, to the high-speed blender that turns fruits and veggies into nutritious smoothies, these appliances offer convenience, flavor, and health benefits. The slow cooker simplifies meal prep, the food processor helps with chopping, and the steam oven and electric grill promote healthier cooking. With a juicer and spiralizer, you can incorporate fresh juices and creative veggie-based options. Equip your kitchen with these appliances for a healthier and more enjoyable eating experience.

[saritha-sri-2012]

Microwave baking –  Now trending

Baking with the help of a microwave is a child’s play. It’s a beginner's delight. Microwave Baking is a cake walk for smaller, quicker treats like mug cakes, brownies, cookies, or individual portions of cakes.

Traditional ovens use dry heat to cook baked goods, while microwaves heat water molecules in food and cook it using electromagnetic waves. They differ in multiple ways that affect texture, flavor, time, and even nutrition.

Microwave is best for quickly reheating leftovers, making coffee, steaming veggies, and just heating food at a desirable temperature. Typically, people use traditional ovens for longer cooking times, despite their lower energy efficiency.

Both methods of baking have their strengths and weaknesses, and the best choice depends on what you’re baking and your time availability. If you need speed, the microwave is a fantastic choice; if you’re after flavor and texture, traditional oven baking usually wins.

A typical microwave baking guide with tips and tricks for beginners is listed below.

Always use microwave-safe utensils like ceramic, glass, and silicone molds. Never use stainless steel inside a microwave, as it can cause sparks and is highly unsafe.

Be very mindful of cooking times. Microwave baking time is generally a fraction of the traditional oven baking time. Beware of overbaking.

Always preheat the microwave to set the temperature for baking.

Always rotate food and keep stirring to avoid cold spots and distribute temperature evenly. After baking, allow the food to sit for a few minutes to allow residual heat to dissipate.

Add moisture if necessary. If the output is dry, add a splash of water to make it moist and aid cooking.

Unlike traditional oven baking, which tolerates few lumps, microwave batters require thorough mixing.

Try quick one-serve recipes like mug cakes, cookies, and brownies; they are a big hit.

Types of Microwave Ovens

Microwave ovens are of various types, each designed for different cooking styles and kitchen setups. Here’s a breakdown.

Solo Microwave Oven

This is the most basic type of microwave oven, lacking options for grilling, convection, or baking. People use it for food reheating, food defrosting, and basic cooking tasks.

Grill Microwave Oven

The microwave oven is a basic model that offers additional grilling and browning options. Ideal for grilling meat and vegetables. Comes with a grilling tray. Not suitable for baking.

Convection microwave oven.

Highly versatile microwave oven. This oven serves multiple purposes, making it perfect for baking, grilling, and roasting. A fan and a heating element aid in the circulation of hot air, enabling fine baking and roasting. It usually costs more than other microwave ovens.

Over-the-Range OTR Microwave Oven.

Microwave ovens fit perfectly in sleek, compact, and integrated kitchens, allowing for direct installation within walls or cabinetry. The installation process necessitates a substantial initial investment and expert skill.

Countertop microwave oven.

Highly beneficial. It is available in solo, grill, and convection types, making it convenient to place on a countertop. Renters, kitchens with sufficient counter space, and those seeking a cost-effective microwave solution will find it simple to install.

Quick Microwave Mug Cake Recipe

Ingredients:

4 tablespoons all-purpose flour.

4 tablespoons sugar.

2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder

1/4 teaspoon baking powder.

3 tablespoons of milk

1 tablespoon of vegetable oil

Note: Add chocolate chips and multicolor sprinklers for that extra touch of perfection.

Instructions:

Combine dry ingredients in a microwave-safe mug.

Stir in milk and oil until smooth.

Microwave on medium-high for 1-1.5 minutes, then let sit for a minute before eating.

[cowboy-turtle]

For February fluff can I request #1 with the pilot of my heart Frankie Morales please?

AHH HI GERRI! Tysm for requesting! We started off February Fluff with Frankie and now we’re ending it with him ❤️

(even tho we blew past the original end date of Valentine’s Day, this ending on my birthday feels just as good)

Inspo credit for this one goes to the Frankie tummy fiend @letterfromvienna and this post

February Fluff Prompt #1: “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Pairing: Frankie Morales x gn!Reader

Word Count: 685

Tags: established relationship, food mention, saccharine sweet fluff because what’s Frankie’s shirt made out of? Husband material

ct’s february fluff masterlist | main masterlist

Sundays were for baking. A time honored tradition where Frankie yielded full reign to you over the kitchen, countertops messy with family cookbooks and overfilled cooling racks and flour patches of rolling stations. It’s a peaceful little bubble you create every week, heart warmed by the patient love in each recipe and the pleased sounds your taste tester always provided.

Frankie was always more than happy reaping the rewards of your efforts, and you can’t help but have a little selfish honor that you’ve contributed to the soft tummy he’s developed over the years. He brings your leftover treats into work, pride coloring his smile when he gets to tell his colleagues that his wonderful partner handmade these.

He knows where to find you today, face streaked with flour and what you hope is only egg drying on your apron. You’re deep in focus measuring out powdered sugar, a rack of cookies cooling on the kitchen island that Frankie reaches for.

“Don’t have too many,” you say over your shoulder, “they’re for the neighbors.”

His mouth flounders like a fish to blow out the steam of the still-hot cookie, his voice muffled while he tries to chew quickly. “We have new neighbors?”

“No, the ones across the street,” you sigh. “Their kid’s in the hospital, poor thing. I’m hoping these will help a little.”

“Are they getting this banana bread too?”

You watch him inspect the walnuts and chocolate chips peeking out of the golden brown loaf, his eager hand skimming the edge of the countertop in wait for your answer.

You shake your head with a smile. “That’s for your grandma when we visit her this week.”

He nods, satisfied though disappointed at the untouchable reason, and glances over at the cake you still need to decorate, the cream cheese frosting still coming together in the mixer before you now. The whir of the mixing blades is almost silent, a top-of-the-line model Frankie gifted you last Christmas that made you squeal in delight. It was even better than the one you had your eye on, and he must have done incredible research to find it.

“And before you cut a slice of that, I’m bringing that to work with me tomorrow.” You watch the look on his face change. “It’s my coworker’s birthday and red velvet is her favorite.”

He doesn’t respond right away, still looking at all the desserts with a funny expression.

“Babe?” you call, and he slowly stares up at you.

You smile at him apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t make anything for us. When this next batch is in the oven I’ll make whatever you want, okay?” You wag the plastic spatula in your hand enticingly. “I’ll even let you lick the batter.”

He blinks, then shakes his head like he’s brushing off the faraway look he was just carrying.

“No, it’s not that,” he laughs.

He walks to your current station set up by the window, arms sliding around to hug your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh. “I’m pretty sure I have frosting in my hair.”

His face shifts for him to plant a kiss on your cheek, stubble brushing along on your skin.

“You’re making all these things for other people to make their days better, and you’re worried I want something for myself?” He bites at your jaw playfully. “The only thing I want in here is you.”

You snort. “And maybe another cookie.”

“And maybe that,” he concedes. He rubs your hip affectionately. “Seriously, how did I get so lucky marrying you?”

Your heart melts at that, placing your spatula down to turn in his arms. You’re careful not to get your batter-dirtied fingers on him when your palms rest upon his neck, a slow kiss enveloping the two of you in a gentle embrace. You hum in contentment.

“Will you still feel lucky if I ask for your help cleaning up?”

His hands leave your waist as he steps away, an eager glint in his eye at the opportunity of being useful.

“Where do I start?”

--

taglist: @1800-fight-me @iamskyereads @microsoftcraint @thisgirl-knm @dobbyjen @arahxdjarin @triggerhappyflygirl @athalien @phandoz @queen0fchaos @c4psicle @sunnshineeexoxo @mrsudontknowme @rosethornxs @wyofabdoms @mandosmistress @thirddeadlysin @kissasith @cmc1014 @morenhoe @mssbridgerton

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 14}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby’s blogs! >>@snelbz​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Cassian was up far before Nesta, but that was to be expected.

He had worn her out, after all.

In all honesty, though, she had worn him out, too. And he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

It had taken him a while to fall asleep the night before, to fully digest everything that had happened between the two of them. He didn’t regret it, not for a second, but it was…strange. Nesta Archeron was the last woman he thought he’d find himself in such a situation with.

It had been a pleasant surprise, to say the least. Even when he had finally fallen asleep, it was all he dreamt about.

His hands on her body.

The little sounds that fell from her lips.

The feeling of his mouth against hers.

The feeling of being inside of her.

Dressing, he crept downstairs, not wanting to wake her, and made a pot of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen table, he ran a hand through his messy hair.

Cassian had no idea what was going to come this morning. Was she going to pretend it never happened? Was she going to be mad or say that it was a mistake?

He sure as hell hadn’t thought it was a mistake. He’d loved every minute of the night they’d shared, but he knew that a line had been crossed between them.

He was going to let her decide what would come next.

It wasn’t two minutes after Cassian pulled a pan of crispy bacon out of the oven, he heard a door open at the top of the stairs. He smirked, but felt a sense of dread as footsteps slowly descended towards the kitchen.

Nesta appeared, dressed in long-sleeved flannel pajamas. She stopped in the doorway and cleared her throat.

“I made breakfast,” Cassian said, gesturing to the display on the countertop.

“Thanks,” Nesta said, scratching the back of her head.

“Care to join me at the table?” he asked.

Nesta hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Cassian said nothing more as he made her a plate, then himself one, and carried them to the table. He was already popping a piece of bacon into his mouth when Nesta sat.

“So,” Cassian began. “How are you?”

“Good,” Nesta answered, a little too quickly. “You?”

“Good,” Cassian said, nodding.

Silence ensued.

They ate quietly. Cassian glanced at Nesta from time to time. Nesta did the same. Eventually, Cassian dropped his fork on his plate and ran a hand through his hair.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” he said.

Nesta raised a brow. “What is?”

“This awkwardness,” Cassian said, laughing quietly. “I mean, we fucked, right?”

Nesta nearly choked on a piece of bacon. “We….”

“Had sex,” Cassian finished. “We did, and you know what? It was good. But when we went to bed, it was awkward. And this morning? Still awkward. Why is it awkward?”

“Because we had drunk sex,” she said, laughing, despite herself. “We got drunk and we hooked up, like horny teenagers and…” She shook her head, and looked up at him. And she burst out laughing.

“And we’re adults,” he said, laughing along with her. “We made that choice. I liked that choice. I’d make that choice again.”

Nesta’s laughter quieted. “I know. I don’t either, but…”

Cassian took a drink of his coffee, smirking. “Was it not the best sex of your life?”

Nesta began blushing, and she bit her lip as she moved the eggs around her plate. “I plead the fifth.”

“That’s a cop-out answer,” Cassian said, his mouth full.

Nesta laughed. “So what?”

Cassian’s grin said plenty. “Fair enough. I mean, it was a one time thing, right?”

“Right,” Nesta said, without any hesitation. “So, there’s no need to feel awkward, right?”

“Right,” Cassian agreed. “We were letting off some steam, some stress, and now we’re fine.”

“Exactly,” Nesta said, scooping up a mouthful of eggs.

That silence resumed.

A few minutes later, Nesta said, “It was pretty good, though.”

Cassian chuckled. “Oh, I know.”

She kicked his shin beneath the table.

His grin widened.

“What do you have going on today?” Cassian asked, at last.

“Work,” Nesta answered, simply. “You’ll pick Nyx up?”

“I will,” he promised.

“Great,” she said, taking a drink of her coffee. She glanced at the clock and jumped to her feet. “Shit, I need to go get ready.”

“Go,” he chuckled, shooing her off. “I’ll handle the kitchen.”

She glanced around at the room, which was still a wreck from the night before. Her bikini top was looped over one of the drawer pulls and she blushed.

She couldn’t believe it.

She had sex with Cassian, her sworn enemy for years.

And the most surprising thing of all? She had liked it.

A lot.

He hadn’t been lying when he said it would be the best sex of her life. There was no comparison, whatsoever.

Even waking up after a fantastic night of sleep, Nesta still felt amazing. She was relaxed, albeit a bit sore. Nearly giddy.

And all because of Cassian.

*

Since the accident, Nesta hadn’t spent nearly as much time at the restaurant as she usually did. And not nearly as often as she liked. Her staff had absolutely understood that she needed to get accustomed to her new life and how things worked, but as she hurried between the dining room and the kitchen, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in a bit over her head.

Granted, her mind kept trailing back to the activities she’d had the night before, which flustered her to no end every time she thought about them. She was staring at an open laptop in front of her, the PDF of the new menu staring back, when she heard a throat clearing from the doorway of her office.

She glanced up and found Helion standing there. He was her general manager and made sure everything ran smoothly when she wasn’t there, and he was a blessing in her life.

“What’s up?”

He looked around before slipping into the chair across the desk from her. “You going to tell me what’s got you spacing out so badly today that you mixed fresh salmon into the chicken salad base?”

Nesta cringed, but tried not to show it. “I wanted to try a new recipe. If it bombs, it bombs.”

Helion lifted a brow, not believing her lie for a second.

“What?” Nesta asked.

“Did the walk of shame this morning, did you?” He asked, a familiar mischievous glint in his eye.

Nesta hesitated. “Is it still a walk of shame if you never leave your house?”

Helion’s brows furrowed but then the dots connected. His mouth fell open as his eyes widened. “You fucked the hot uncle?”

Nesta groaned, her face falling into her hands.

Helion had no sympathy. He asked, “Is he the one that’s sitting at the bar asking for you?”

Nesta’s hands fell and she met Helion’s eye.

Helion shrugged. “Didn’t think I just came back here to chat, did you?”

“I…” Nesta was up before she could even think through what she might say to him, rounding her desk and hurrying towards the front of the restaurant.

She wasn’t sure if Cassian’s mid-day appearance was a good thing or not. On one hand, he may have stopped by with Nyx after picking him up from Elain’s. On the other, what if something was wrong? What if Nyx had had a bad night or something had happened? Her steps slowed and she paused before she left the kitchens, taking a deep breath.

Nothing was wrong. She wouldn’t accept any other answer. Tucking her loose hair behind an ear, she pushed through the door.

But she didn’t find Cassian sitting at the bar.

It was Balthazar, whose brown eyes she met and her smile faltered, but only a little. She had it back in place before he had time to notice.

“Figured out how I recognized you,” he said, as she approached from the other side of the bar.

“I see that,” she laughed, softly.

“Turns out I come here often,” he continued, his smile growing. “Turns out, so do you.”

“I would say I make an appearance here from time to time,” she agreed. “So, stop in for lunch?”

“I had the day off,” he explained, shrugging. “Errand day.”

She was just now noticing the designer sweatpants and hoodie he wore. His sneakers alone probably cost a couple hundred dollars.

Apparently the rumors were true…

Doctors made good money.

“And this was on your list?” Nesta asked.

Bal chuckled. “Well, last night I got to thinking that I’ve seen you here once or twice. It just clicked. So, I googled the restaurant, and, believe it or not, the owner’s picture is on the website.”

“Huh,” Nesta chimed. “Funny.”

“Mhmm,” Balthazar crooned. “I thought so. So, I thought I’d come visit and, yeah, maybe stay for lunch.”

“Well, lucky for you, the lunch special of the day is the prime dip, and I must say that it’s absolutely delicious,” Nesta said.

He closed the menu on the bar top in front of him. “Sounds perfect.”

“Give me just a minute to get that for you, and I’ll be right back. Can I get you something to drink?” She asked, sliding the menu below the bar.

“Drink drink or just to drink?” He asked and his smile did strange things to her stomach.

“Oh, I don’t have a liquor license,” she said, scrunching her nose. Too many hoops to jump through, but she would have loved to serve wine with her food. The pairings she would come up with were tempting. “Water, your everyday sodas, and homemade fruit teas.”

“Fruit tea, huh?” He tapped a contemplative finger against his chin.

She couldn’t have stopped the grin if she tried. “Has that piqued your interest?”

“Depends on what flavors you have,” he said, folding his arms across the bar. “I’m very choosy about my fruit tea.”

She laughed, quietly. “Mango, raspberry, strawberry, and passion fruit.”

“Passion fruit,” he repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

“Okay,” Nesta said, quietly with a little smile she couldn’t stop, and hurried back to the kitchen.

Helion was waiting for her behind the swinging door, grinning from ear to ear.

“Not him,” Nesta said, sweeping past him.

“Still handsome!” Helion called after her.

Nesta ignored him, not wanting to give him too much information on her current man-drama, even though she could tell he was far too invested in her private life.

After putting his order in, Nesta was heading back into her office and shutting herself inside, if only to shut out Helion.

When she had rounded the corner and saw it wasn’t Cassian, there was the tiniest bit of disappointment that she had to quickly push away. Then again, it also meant that everything had apparently gone okay with Nyx, which Nesta was happy about.

She and Cassian had been a one time thing.

Yes, they had called a truce, but it didn’t mean anything more than them being civil with one another. It meant co-parenting. Maybe even one day becoming something that resembled friends…but nothing more.

She tried to focus on the proof of the menu she was editing, tried to pay attention to the descriptions she typed out and the pictures she selected as focal points. But after she ended up choosing the wrong picture three times in a row, she closed her laptop and sighed, letting her face fall into her hands. She was distracted and she genuinely couldn’t tell if it was due to the man sitting out at the bar or if it was thanks to the one at home.

Balthazar’s order was up, and Nesta was delighted to find that someone, most likely Helion, had brought him his tea. When she set his plate down in front of him, his tongue swept across his bottom lip, and Nesta couldn’t help but notice.

“This looks amazing,” he said.

“And your tea?” Nesta asked.

“Pretty good,” he grinned.

Damn his smile. Every time he smiled, Nesta couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well, it was great seeing you,” Nesta said, and she meant it. “I should get back to work, though, I’m pretty booked.”

“Of course,” he said, understandingly. “I get it. I did want to ask you, though, if you were free on Saturday night?”

It was only a few nights away, and at first, Nesta hesitated, but then she thought it was ridiculous that she was hesitating, so she said, “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Good,” Bal said, cocking his head to the side. “How about that date, then?”

“I’ll have to check with Cassian,” she said, and when his eyebrows raised, she added hastily, “To make sure he doesn’t already have plans. It’s- We alternate who gets weekends off, and I made a deal with him last weekend.”

Balthazar nodded, and he took another sip of his tea. “Well, then you just let me know if Saturday will work and if not, we’ll figure out another day.”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay.” Nesta turned and was almost back to the door leading to the kitchen when she turned and said, “Lunch is on me today, by the way.”

His own smile was dazzling when he said, “My compliments to the chef.”

With a shy wave, though Nesta wasn’t sure she had a timid bone in her body, she was through the door and headed back to her office. Helion was on her heels a second later, trailing her through the doorway.

“One minute, you’re banging the hot uncle and the next, a Greek god asks you out on a date?” He said, his brows flicking up. “You apparently have fate on speed dial and I need you to give me her number.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, collapsing into her chair. “Don’t you have orders to help cook?”

He hummed quietly as he left her to her thoughts, but did as she said, finding his way back onto the grill line.

Nesta glanced over at the clock. Only two in the afternoon. It was going to be a long day.

*

Nyx blew a raspberry, landing a spray of sweet potato directly on Cassian’s face. His body stilled, but when Nyx started giggling, Cassian’s body quickly relaxed.

“Very funny,” he said, ruffling Nyx’s hair as he stood and went to the sink. After tearing a paper-towel off the roll, he held it under the faucet and wiped off his face.

The front door opened and closed.

“Hello?” Nesta called.

“Kitchen!” Cassian replied. “Nyx is making a mess!”

Nesta was in the kitchen in no time, hurrying to Nyx and kissing his chubby cheeks. “Hi, my love. I missed you. Yes, I did.”

Nyx babbled incoherently in response.

“How was your day?” Cassian asked, wiping off the last bit of potato from his eyebrow.

“Long,” she admitted. “Right before I was about to leave, a shipment of fresh ingredients came in that I needed to get stocked and inventoried.” She dumped a few of the strawberry-banana puffs into her hand and popped one of them into her mouth. “If I have to count another head of lettuce today, my head might explode.”

“Well, fortunately,” Cassian chuckled. “There are no heads of lettuce here for you to count.”

“Have you eaten yet?” She asked, heading for the fridge. “I’m starving.”

“There’s pizza on the way,” he said, attempting to get another spoonful of sweet potatoes into Nyx’s mouth. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, or if you’d feel like cooking.”

“You’re a blessing,” she sighed, and sat down at the kitchen table. She watched as Nyx continued to spray food into his face and chuckled quietly. “You want me to take over?”

“Nah,” he said, leaving the splattered sweet potato where it stuck to his face. “No need for both of us to get covered.”

“How gallant of you,” Nesta chuckled, opening the fridge and pulling out a can of Coca-Cola. She rarely did caffeine, but after the day she had, it was necessary. “I, um, did have a question for you.”

Cassian looked over his shoulder, brow raised.

Nesta couldn’t help but smile at the specks of sweet potato that covered his face.

“I was wondering if I could go out Saturday night,” Nesta said. “I mean, I know last weekend I went out, and I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness-.”

“With the doctor?” Cassian interrupted. His tone wasn’t hard, but it did seem uncertain, or another emotion that Nesta couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” Nesta began, cracking open her can. “He came by the restaurant today and asked me to dinner on Saturday night. I told him I’d have to talk to you about it first, since I said I’d have Nyx.”

“I see,” Cassian said, turning back to Nyx.

“If it’s an issue, if you have plans, I don’t mind telling him no-.”

“You should go,” Cassian said, shrugging. “I have no plans. I can stay here.”

She blinked, watching him. “You’re sure?”

“You sound like you don’t want me to be sure,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Are you looking for a reason to say no?”

“No,” she replied, quickly. “It’s just… After last night-.”

“We hooked up,” he shrugged. “We blew off some steam, in a very physical way. But that was that, and, like we said this morning, it was a one time thing, yeah?” She nodded. “Alright, then if you want to say yes, say yes. I can watch Nyx.”

She hesitated for a second, but her smile grew. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, and gave her a smile of his own. “Go relax for a bit, I’ll let you know when the pizza is here.”

She nodded and was about to head up the stairs, but she turned around, wiping the smeared baby food off his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Cass.”

He mumbled something and waved her off, and she grabbed her phone from her purse before she hurried up to her room.

After changing out of her work clothes and into something far more comfier, she fell back on her bed and unlocked her phone.

Balthazar’s messages were soon pulled up, and Nesta was sending him a text.

Saturday sounds great. Pick me up at 7?

She didn’t wait for his response before tossing her phone aside and going through her nightly routine. She figured she would eat and call it a day.

She was beat.

After washing her face and pulling up her hair, Nesta walked back into her room just as her phone lit up on top of her comforter.

Balthazar.

I won’t be a second late.

[pascalpanic]

Fixer Upper PART ONE (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Nothing seems to go right in your new house. When yet another thing breaks, a certain handyman comes to your rescue.

W/C: 2k ish

Warnings: language, joking mentions of a house being cursed (it isn’t), reader has dirty thoughts bc it’s Frankie and he’s hot

A/N: this one goes out to my anons who’ve been sending me stuff about frankie as a repairman! I loved the idea and I thought it would be super fun to write! This will be part ONE of three-ish! ps idk if any references to reader’s gender are in this part but there certainly will be some in the future so.

It’s been a while that you’ve lived in this house. Since that day you hauled in the cardboard boxes, you’ve been feeling that your life is the epitome of Murphy’s law. Or rather, this damned house is.

Nothing ever goes right. The heat breaks in the winter and the air conditioning breaks in the summer. The plumbing needs work when you need it to work, and the oven only ever breaks halfway through cooking something. Seriously, you swear this place is cursed by some hex determined to pester you out of living here.

You’ve never exactly been the handy type. You don’t know much about mechanics, heating or cooling, the electricity and wiring in your house, any of it. By now, you wish you’d taken the time to learn it at some point rather than hiring someone every time.

The first sign was that the June heat seemed inescapable. You’d been outside all day, and you figured it was just your body taking its time to adjust to the cooler, indoor temperature. Then you never cooled down. When you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower and found the air to be nearly as muggy as that of the steamed bathroom, you realized that the air conditioning must be off.

Well, it was on. The problem was that it wasn’t working. You opened all the windows, and figured the night breeze would cool you, then you became worried about serial killers and crimes and promptly shut and locked all of them again. With the fan in your bedroom on, the air at least moved, but was still thick and heavy.

In the morning, when you wake with no blankets on and sweaty sheets, you dial the repair company as fast as you can. You inform them of the situation, and they tell you they’ll send someone out your way in the next hour or two.

The air is still somewhat cool outside, so you give the front porch a shot once you get changed out of your pajamas and take yet another cool shower. The heavy dew is an indicator of just how humid the air is, and you relish every little breeze that passes by and cools you down. You conduct your morning business outside, hoping to have this problem fixed before the sun reaches a height where the temperatures will rise exponentially.

About an hour after the call, the repair van rolls up into your driveway and parks. “Thank God,” you murmur to yourself.

Your focus returns to your computer, but you hear the door slam shut and look up to find the repairman there. He wears khaki cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, complete with a ball cap on top, with dark brown curls peeking out from the bottom. He fastens his tool belt around his waist as he walks up to the porch. “Hey there. I’m Frankie. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he informs you, a kind smile on his face. You already like him. “I got the basics from the boss, but can you tell me more about the problem?”

Looking up at him from the seated position you’re in, you give an awkward smile. Suddenly, you wish you’re better dressed, fixed up and looking nice. Even in work clothes, this man is beautiful. It makes you a little nervous, you in your pajamas and him looking like a god even in cargo pants. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about the air conditioner and how it works other than how to change the settings. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

He gives a good-natured chuckle, a soft bounce of his chest beneath the shirt. He looks down at his tool belt and his scruff brushes against the collar of the gray. “Well, let’s go give it a shot. I’ll need you to show me around, show me the control panel and the main system.” God, he’s handsome.

“Oh, of course,” you nod and stand, leaving your laptop on the small table. “Well, right this way. And please, you don’t need to take your boots off. Those look complicated,” you laugh as you look at the heavy tan boots at the bottom of his body.

Frankie nods and looks around as you lead him through the house. He doesn’t take his boots off, since you insisted, but he does give them a generous wipe on the doormat, careful not to track anything in. “It’s a beautiful place,” he tells you honestly, with a half-smile that just tugs at one of the corners of his ridiculously soft-looking lips.

“Thanks,” you shrug and show him to the control panel. “I try. Okay, here’s the button thingy.”

“The button thingy?” he teases, which leads to laughter from the both of you.

“If I knew what it was called, you wouldn’t be here,” you tease him back and shake your head.

Frankie uses the tools from his belt to take off the casing. You lean against the wall as he works, admiring the way his hands nimbly check the wires and paneling behind it. He holds a small flashlight between his teeth to look into the wall cavity.

“I can hold that for you,” you offer, and he moves his mouth for you to take it from him.

“Thanks,” he says, popping his jaw slightly to adjust from the awkward angle of holding it between his teeth. “You don’t have to. I’m just here to fix it.”

You point it at the same spot. “I might as well be some help, considering I don’t know shit about my own house.”

Frankie laughs at that, stealing a glance your way that makes your face warm before his gaze returns to the electrical situation. “Well,” he declares after a few seconds. “The wiring must not be the problem here. This all is working fine, so it must be with the actual system.”

“Great,” you groan. “The part I know even less about.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles and screws the panel back into place on your wall, making sure everything works properly and he didn’t mess with any functions.

Leading Frankie to your basement, you show him the cluttered laundry room and the central air conditioning unit. He’s already analyzing the system, and you back off to let him work. He looks focused. “Holler if you need me,” you tell him as he gets on his knees to look at something, daring to gently pat his shoulder. It’s strong, muscular beneath your palm.

Heading back to the kitchen, you open the fridge and sigh. For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and just enjoy the cold air it produces. Hopefully, your house will be the same soon enough. Grabbing two tall glasses, you fill each with ice before pouring half sweet tea and half lemonade into the glasses.

You stand in the kitchen with the freezer open, sighing at the cool air it provides. Not sure how long he’ll take, you scroll through your phone. It’s surprisingly quick, you find.

“Hey, I found it!” Frankie calls from the basement.

Carrying the two glasses, you return to the laundry room to find him reorganizing his tool belt. “Here,” you tell him with a smile as you hold out the drink. “Least I could do. It’s unbearable in here.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and lifts the glass to you in a miniature salute before taking a sip. Frankie then launches into a detailed explanation of the issue with the A/C unit, using all kinds of terms you don’t understand and mentioning parts you didn’t even know were included in the machine. “I got it all fixed up, though, and it shouldn’t take long before it’s working just as good as normal.”

You sigh in relief, swallowing the sweet drink and smiling at him. “God, thank you so much. You don’t even know how awful it was in here.”

“If it’s anything like right now, I do,” he chuckles. The man takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe his face, revealing a muscular but soft body beneath it, with a beautiful little trail of dark hair leading to beneath his belt. Is it terrible that your first thought is that you want to lick it?

You force the image from your mind with another swig of the drink. “Yeah, just about. Well, how much do I owe you?” You ask the man, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement that’s already feeling cooler.

“Oh, nothing right now,” he shakes his head as you lead him upstairs and to the kitchen. “I just tweaked some things for you, didn’t need any parts or anything, so it’s just gonna be labor.” He seems to remember something. “Ah, shit. I gotta have you sign something. I’ll grab the paper from the van and be right back,” he tells you and leaves his drink on the counter, half-jogging outside.

While he’s outside, you lean against the cool kitchen counter and let yourself daydream. This Frankie guy certainly is attractive, and his personality is definitely something you’re interested in. What if the situation right now played out like a porno, and he fucked you on the countertop? You certainly wouldn’t complain. You noticed his hands and feet are large. Certainly he must be big somewhere else too. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you murmur to yourself. Why did my mind have to go there? And why is the thought so hot? He’s a sweet man too, clearly goofy and sweet. Why is your mind going there then? Really, upon further pondering, you just want to hug the man, admire his strong body pressed to yours in an intimate but innocent gesture.

“Sorry, what was that?” Frankie calls out as he walks into the house again.

His voice snaps you from your daydreaming. “Oh, just talking to myself,” you say quickly and cheerfully, taking the paper from him. The top is printed with repairman name: Francisco Morales. Francisco. That makes you smile. What a cute name. The rest is filled with the details of what he did to the machine to fix it, and you sign and date at the bottom. “Here you go, Francisco.”

His tanned skin turns a little pinker on the cheeks. “Great,” Frankie smiles and takes it back.

“Before you leave,” you tell him quickly, darting to grab your purse from the entryway, “here.”

Frankie walks to you and you hand him a generous cash tip, with a stupid smile stuck to your face. “Thank you, wow,” he says, voice honest in its surprise as he notices the total of the money.

“Of course. I really can’t thank you enough. God, it’s been painfully hot in here and I really just can’t stand the heat,” you ramble, your voice speeding up. “And… yeah. Thank you. For your company, too.”

“Just doing my job,” he tells you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, here.”

From his pocket, he pulls a little rectangle of paper with his name and company on it. “The shop number is on here; if anything changes, just call and ask for Catfish.”

“Catfish?” You ask with a smile, puzzled.

“My old military nickname. It’s what the guys around there call me,” he shrugs, shy at the nickname.

It makes you laugh a little, and you tuck the card in your purse. “Well, Catfish, thank you. I’ll be sure to use this next time I have some stupid thing I can’t repair myself.”

“Please do,” he chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks!” You call again and cringe. That’s, what, the ninth time you’ve said that now? He walks to the van and you give him a wave before retreating back inside. God, now you can’t wait for this shitty house to need another repair. You’ll certainly be asking for Catfish.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal

[nutmegalomania]

Sweet Tooth

a beelzebub x reader ff

description: a midnight snack before bed turned into more when you ran into the object of your recent sexual desires: beelzebub. Instead of sinking your teeth into a delicious snack, he devoured you instead, and it was more than you could have asked for.

ingredients: beelzebub (obey me!)/reader, gender-neutral reader, beelzebub (obey me!), smut, blow jobs, fingering, sir kink, asphyxiation, hair pulling, food play, spanking, degradation, creampie

flavor: spicy  🌶️

calories: 8,272

🥐

Your mouth stretched open, and a yawn pushed itself out as you walked out of Levi’s room towards the kitchen. Between playing games with him and Mammon texting you every five seconds asking if he could borrow money which you knew he’d blow instantly and never pay back, you were in desperate need of a deep nights sleep, but before that, your stomach beckoned you to eat something to calm the grumbling down and allow you to have a good rest in your soft bed. Tears sprung up in your eyes as another yawn hit you along with the scent of something sweet that led you deeper into the kitchen.

A large back met your droopy eyes as you dragged your feet on the floor, and you plopped down into a chair at the wooden table as you rubbed your eyes with a fist. The smell of cake mixed with peanut butter, chocolate, and fruits hit your nose—or at least things that smelled similar since your comfort foods on earth didn’t exist here in Devildom. Your stomach let out a drawn out and pathetic growl, and saliva filled your mouth at the thought of tasting whatever was cooking. You wiped the side of your mouth with the back of your hand, and leaned forward to catch a better whiff of the baked goods.

“Are you hungry as well, Y/N?” a voice asked, and you shook your head to snap yourself out of your hunger daze to see Beelzebub staring at you, his orange hair falling into his amethyst eyes as he leaned against the table to look at you, a bar of what you assumed to be chocolate in his hands, a large bite taken out of its corner. 

You blinked and leaned back at his proximity to you, your cheeks reddening as the smell of chocolate from his breath wrapped around you and mixed with his natural scent. “Uh… Y-yeah. I got a little hungry after playing with Levi so I decided to grab a little snack before I went to sleep.” You gave him an awkward chuckle and scratched the back of your head while avoiding his eyes. “The smell of whatever you’re baking made me stop though.” He took another large bite of the chocolate bar, almost all of the chocolatey goodness gone now, and you watched as he licked his lips after swallowing the food. “It-It smells good,” you said, mentally hitting yourself for honing in on his lips instead of looking him in the eyes and managing to stutter. 

You didn’t know what was wrong with you that your breath kept getting caught in your chest whenever you saw Beelzebub lick his lips after eating, but it had been happening for a few weeks now. You had been hanging out with anyone but Beelzebub to get your minds off it, whether that be playing games or talking about manga with Levi, going shopping or getting mani pedis with Asmodeus, kicking Mammon out of your room for begging to borrow money, taking naps with Belphie, reading in Satan’s room, or helping Lucifer with artifacts he’s found. Frankly, you should have known that Beelzebub would be in the kitchen, so you should have steered clear and gone straight to your room, but the hunger gnawing at your stomach won and led you to the predicament you found yourself in right now, aka trying not to grab Beelzebub by the back of his head to smash your lips against his. 

He tilted his head to the side, his hair bouncing as he smiled at you. “It does, doesn’t it? It’s almost done. When it’s finished cooking, do you want a piece? I might be willing to share if it’s you,” he said, and you nodded as your heart thrummed in your chest at his words. 

Though you didn’t tend to read too deeply into things, his words struck something in you that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he liked you even a smudge of what you felt for him. Just someone bringing his name up in conversation sent your face flushing and pulse racing, and being in his presence only worsened those symptoms. 

After you nodded, he turned away from you to take the cake out of the oven, giving you a full view of his wide back. You bit your lip as his back muscle contracted underneath his shirt, and you slapped the sides of your face to get your mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t be. Instead, you opted for looking at the steaming cake he pulled out of the oven and decorated it with swift ease, white icing dripping down the sides of the dark brown cake, red strawberries dotting the top with whip cream piped around where the fruits touched the cake. You licked your lips as the smell became stronger and hit your nose, triggering saliva to fill your mouth at the sweet, tantalizing scent. 

“Someone looks excited to see the food,” Beelzebub said, and you nodded your head so fast that he thought it would fall off.

“It’s very, very rare that you offer food to others, so I know it has to be good enough to share. It smells so good though that I’m dying to dig in. Please hurry up or I’ll die of hunger!”

“Now you know how I feel every day,” he said with a chuckle, and you groaned in agony, unable to imagine this empty feeling in your stomach lasting every single day, every waking hour. 

Your eyes remained glued to the cake as he set it down on the countertop, a knife in hand as he prepared himself to cut you a slice. The knife sank into the cake, and Beelzebub slipped it underneath the slice he cut for you before he placed it on a plate and handed it to you with a fork. After he set the knife down, he grabbed the rest of the cake and sat across from you to indulge in his food. 

Hunger gnawed at your stomach, begging for food, and you used your fork to cut off a tiny piece to eat. You brought it to your mouth, and Beelzebub watched with an intense gaze as you wrapped your lips around the cake. As it entered your mouth, you chewed it a few times and licked your lips. You just about moaned when the familiar flavor of sweet and sour strawberries hit your tongue and mixed with the whipped cream frosting and rich chocolate cake.

“It’s so good!” you said as you shoved another piece into your mouth. A glob of icing fell out of your mouth and hit the exposed skin of your chest, your baggy shirt’s collar hanging low enough that all Beelzebub had to do was lean over the table to see down your shirt. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he responded as he brought a piece up to his mouth, but his eyes widened when another blob of icing dropped onto your collar bones and trickled down.

“Where did you even get all of this stuff? I thought the Devildom didn’t have any human foods,” you said, shovelling more cake into your mouth, not caring how messy you were.

“I asked Lucifer if he’d allow a one time import of human food so I could try it once, and he surprisingly agreed.”

You nodded as you chewed, this time not hiding your satisfied moan as the sweetness of the cake spread throughout your mouth, and Beelzebub’s body tensed at the sound. The amount of thick, white icing dotted across your face with your moan made not-so-innocent thoughts run through his mind. Once you cleaned your plate of any crumbs, you licked around your mouth and sucked icing from your hands. Beelzebub set his fork down, the metal clinking against the plate, and your eyes shot up to look at him. 

He leaned over the table, and you stared at him with wide eyes, warning sirens blaring at full volume inside your head. From how close he was, his body heat reached you, and you wanted nothing more than to climb on top of the table and push your body against his. His scent that always made you light headed and five seconds away from pouncing on him wrapped its musky fingers around you and trapped you in its grasp. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, and before you could get out a single sound, his face was centimeters from yours. The sweet, tantalizing smell of his breath fanned across your face, and your eyes honed in on his lips.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he ground out, and you shot your eyes up to look into his. 

“W-What do you mean?” you asked while your heart pounded in your chest and body heated up from the look in his eyes.

In response, he took a finger, dipped it down to where the collar of your shirt ended, and swiped up a glob of icing from your skin. You shuddered when the rough pad of his finger grazed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from following his finger as he brought it to his mouth and slipped it inside, his tongue wrapping around the digit to lick the icing clean off. You squeezed your thighs together as he looked into your eyes the whole time, a burning fire of desire lit behind his purple irises.

“You shouldn’t waste food,” he said, voice deep and husky as it puffed across your face, and you breathed in the chocolate scent of his breath. 

Your throat felt thick as you gulped, eyes unable to look away from his lust-filled ones. Instead, your body instinctively leaned forward until your lips remained a hair from his. Air escaped you and fanned against his mouth, and his tongue snuck out to swipe along his bottom lip, the touch of his tongue ghosting over your soft lips. Shivers ran down your spine, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and your body begged for more of his touch.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your eyes fixating on the other’s lips, and you snaked a hand behind his neck to tangle your fingers through his orange hair. He shuddered when your fingernails grazed the skin of his nape, and you sucked in a deep breath as you curled your digits in his locks and tugged his head back to see his reaction. The deep groan that escaped his mouth rumbled in your core, and your thighs squeezed together, arousal burning deep inside. 

His amethyst eyes peered down at you, lips parted, and you licked your lips when his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Your chair scraped against the floor as you pushed it back and climbed onto the table, the wood digging into your exposed legs while you slid the cake away from underneath you two, and Beel’s tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth as a heavy breath pushed past his lips. Lust swam in your hooded eyes as you locked eyes with him, his eyes telling you all you needed to know. He was ready to fuck you up. 

A soft tug to his hair pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry eyes, and desire burned in your veins and spurred you on to latch your slick lips to his smooth skin. A content sigh tickled his neck as the taste of his skin melted on your tongue, the salty taste from the thin sheen of sweat coating his neck addicting you to him. You dragged your tongue over the muscles in his neck, stopping as you ran it over his Adam’s apple, and your teeth nipped at the skin beneath his Adam’s apple, red splotches staining his skin. He hummed, the vibrations stimulating your lips against his skin, and you tightened your finger in his hair. 

His large hands slid underneath your thighs to pull you into a sitting position in front of him, your legs dangling on either side of his hips, and he pressed his pelvis into you. Your lips detached from his neck as you threw your head back to let out a quiet moan as his clothed cock pressed against your lower half. The size of it from behind his clothing left your mouth drying and heart rate quickening, and your throat bobbed. You needed him inside now.

“Beel…” you breathed out, and he hummed in acknowledgement as his hands slid to your ass to press your lower half flush against his, and your body jerked when he rocked his hips forward, rubbing against your arousal and slicking your underwear through your shorts. He peppered wet kisses against your jaw, his tongue slither out to lap at the perspiration forming on your skin, and you whimpered and slid your hand from his hair to grip his shoulder. Your nails dug into his back, and he hissed in pain against your neck, though he didn’t stop swiping his tongue along your skin and nipping to leave his mark. Your toes curled, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull his cock flush against you. “Fuck… I-I want you to fuck me now.” 

Your unwavering eyes that begged for him to fuck you senseless made his cock twitch in his pants, and he rested his forehead against your shoulder, the last shred of sanity he had ready to snap. The grip on your ass tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh when impatience filled your body and urged your body to grind against his clothed erection. The friction of your clothes rubbing against you left high-pitched mewls slipping from your red lips, and he groaned against your shoulder.

“If you keep doing that, Y/N, I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said, and you tugged his head back to bite your lip at him, taunting him with your eyes.

“I don’t mind.” Your arms slithered behind his neck as you pulled your face closer to his, the tip of your nose pressing against his. “Make a mess of me, Beel,” you said, and the sweet scent of strawberries lingering in your breath invaded his nose and muddled his brain, your words taking a few moments to register in his mind.

“Shit…” he said once the words processed, and he wasted no time in slamming your back against the table, a large hand gripping your wrists to hold them above your head. The wood digging into your back and the tight hold on your wrists burned in your core, your arousal increasing as you moaned. His head dipped down to your shoulders, his tongue pressing against your collar bones. You had dreamed of being roughed up by Beel, and now that it was happening, your body couldn’t take how much you loved it.

“Rougher,” you said, and he groaned against your neck. His hot, damp breath burned against your skin, and your fingernails dug into your palm to control yourself. “Slap me. Pull my hair. Make me your bitch!” 

His hands around your wrists tightened, and your back arched as the burning pain spread through your body and made arousal spill from your lower half. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, and a hand slid underneath your shirt, the calluses on his fingers scraping against your skin as his hand crawled up to your nipples. 

A shuddering gasp dissipated into the air from your lips as his fingers pinched your nipple and yanked on it, your back arching and legs trembling around his waist. He grinded against you as his teeth sank into your trapezius, fingers still twisting, pinching, and yanking on your nipples. Curses spilled from your lips as searing pain flared up in your shoulder and chest. 

“More!” 

His hand on your nipple retracted and reached up to grab your hair. He yanked it back, your scalp screaming in pain, and you winced as you stared into his purple eyes.

“Don’t get greedy, bitch. On your knees. Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice as your body twitched in pleasure from his degrading words and commands, and you unhooked your ankles to slide from of his grasp on your wrists to sink to your knees on the ground in front of the table. Beel turned around and leaned against the table, the outline of his cock free for your hungry eyes to take in. You crawled towards him on your hands and knees, your legs burning from the hard floor, but before you could run your hands over his bulge, he grabbed something from the table and held it up. A bottle of chocolate syrup.

“Why don’t we have a little fun?” he asked, lips curling into a smirk as your mouth went dry. You nodded, and he sat on the table, spreading his legs. “Pour this on me.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slotting your body between his legs as you propped yourself up on your knees and rested your hands on his hard thighs. 

He shoved the bottle of chocolate syrup into your hands, and your mind whirred with ideas of what to do. An image of the dark liquid dripping down his stomach for your tongue to lap up popped up, and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Your hand slid underneath his shirt and ran over his abs, the muscles tensing beneath your soft touch, and you rubbed over his hard chest before dragging your hands back down to the edge of his shirt, loving the way his body trembled beneath your hand. He groaned at your touch, eyes closing as his head rolled back, and when you tugged at the hem of his shirt, he peered down at your face and chuckled.

“You sure are eager,” he said as he took in your glistening red lips and hooded eyes that begged for his cock. 

His muscles rippled as he gripped the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head to discard off to the side. Your eyes dragged over his body, and you brought the bottle of chocolate syrup up once you popped open the cap. Your hand tightened around it, and a stream of dark liquid poured out and trickled down his chest. The syrup dipped down into his abs, and before it could reach the waistband of his pants, your tongue stopped it. The sweet, chocolatey taste of the syrup mixed with his sweat to create a tantalizing new flavor on your tongue better and more addicting than any drug. 

 A needy sigh hit his skin as you ran your tongue up the sauce running down his body, bottle of chocolate syrup on the chair next to you, hands running up and down his sides. You stood to your feet as your tongue trailed up to his chest, fingernails scratching his sides, and your head craned down as you swirled your tongue around his nipple to get every last drop of chocolate off of his body. You looked up at him as you lapped a streak of sauce from his chest. He groaned, and a hand snaked up to grip your hair. He yanked your head back once you licked the last drop of sauce from his chest, and your tongue stuck out as a breathy chuckle left your open mouth, hands resting on his thighs.

“Good, bitch. Here’s your reward,” he said, and he pushed his face towards yours, his tongue rubbing against yours as he pushed it inside your mouth. 

He swallowed a surprised whimper escaping your mouth, his tongue circling yours, and your body trembled when he sucked on your tongue, the wet sounds echoing in your head and muddling your thoughts. His grip on your hair and the warmth of his tongue running along your teeth and prodding inside your mouth stole all your attention and made it impossible to think of anything else. The chocolate on your tongue mingled with the sweet icing and strawberries on his, but you couldn’t focus on it as you dug your fingers into his thighs, your nails sinking into the cloth of his pants. He let out a pained grunt into your mouth, hand tightening around your hair.

His lips pressed into your abused ones in a heated, open-mouth kiss as he yanked your head back, and a shaky breath slipped from your mouth as searing pain shot up on your scalp. The pain traveled through your body in a burning sensation that brought forth a wave of desire that his soft, warm lips dancing against yours only served to worsen. His teeth sank into your bottom lip, and your body flinched. He pulled back from your face and tugged on your bottom lip as your chest heaved up and down.

His fisted your hair tighter, and his free hand snaked up your torso, grazing your hardened nipples to clutch your jaw as his teeth released your lip. The pad of his thumb pressed into your jaw, and you pursed your lips at the dull pain echoing in your face. He turned your face over, watching with mild amusement as you let your head follow his guidance, and his large hand let go of your jaw to slide down to your neck.

Before you could react, his fingers dug into the side of your neck, and his lips slammed into yours again. Your head felt light as oxygen flow to your brain cut off, all thoughts flying out of your mind, and his tongue curled inside your mouth to run across the roof of your mouth.   Your hands on his thighs fumbled around as your lungs and head begged for air, but the enticing burning sensation left you wanting nothing more than for his hand to stay around your throat as he tongue-fucked your mouth. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and right before darkness took over, he detached his hand from your throat and pulled away from your lips. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, a deep, broken breath rubbing your throat raw as you gasped for air. As oxygen reached your brain and allowed you to think again, you licked your lips as a tempting thought came to mind.  “I wanna suck you off, sir…. Please,” you whimpered as your hands ran over his erection, the warmth seeping into your hands through his clothing. “I need your cock in my mouth.”

His eyes fluttered back, the whites exposed to you, as he tilted his head back, and a guttural groan kissed your ears and set ablaze a burning desire in your lower half. Your hands climbed up to his abs, the muscles contracting beneath your touch as you glided your palms against his warm skin, and you leaned in towards his neck to press wet kisses to his throat. As you trailed the kisses lower and lower on his body, his hands gripped your ass and squeezed it, an aching whine escaping your lips and fanning against his skin as his fingers dug into your clothed ass and pulled at the flesh. You pressed your ass back against his hands as he massaged it between his digits, and a needy mewl released itself from your throat when he delivered a slap to your cheeks, the flesh bouncing before he grabbed it again in a vice grip. 

Your fingernails scratched against his stomach and left red marks as the pressure against your ass cheeks moved to your waist, his large hands pressing into the dips in your waist, and your lips trailed down to his chest. You looked up at him as your tongue rolled his nipple around on your tongue, and when his eyes locked with yours, you let out a breathy laugh and wrapped your lips around his nipple, teeth nipping the bud, before you moved down to his abs. Your knees sunk to the kitchen floor, hands on the waistband of his pants as you traced the outline of his stomach muscles with your tongue.

A hand moved to run through your hair as you licked his stomach, and the other reached over to grab the bottle of chocolate syrup from the chair. As your hands slipped underneath his pants, he tugged your head back, your tongue sticking out, and he squeezed a stream of chocolate onto your tongue. The brown liquid trickled down your tongue into your throat, and you swallowed, the chocolate disappearing from the flat of your tongue, and stuck it back out. 

“Good, bitch,” he said in a rasp, and you wasted no time in tugging his waistband down to let his erection spring free. 

You gasped when it hit you in the side of the face, the size of it bigger than your mind ever imagined, and your underwear felt even wetter than before. This was really happening. You were about to put his cock in your mouth. 

He chuckled as your wide eyes stared at the red tip of his erect cock, the deep huskiness of the sound shaking you to your core. All of a sudden, a stream of chocolate syrup hit the head of his dick and dripped down his shaft to rest on his balls. Your tongue swiped across your lip, slicking the plump flesh as you mentally prepared yourself to take him into your mouth. The chocolate glistened in the lighting of the kitchen and begged for your tongue to lap it off of his pulsating erection.

A shaky hand reached out to rest underneath his balls, the chocolate syrup running down onto your hand as you brought your face closer to his tip. Your throat bobbed as you gulped, ready to test your gag reflex on his length, and you pressed a kiss to his red tip. Chocolate coated your lips, the bitter taste of his precum blending with it and making you wince. Had it not been for the deep sigh he let out when you kissed the head of his cock and the way his hand tightened in your hair, you would have been hesitant to go further.

Your lips wrapped back around his head to suck the chocolate off of it and ignored the slight bitter taste of it as your lips wandered down his length, stopping to press sloppy kisses against his dick to remove the chocolate syrup. You reached the crevice between his balls and the base of his dick and peppered kisses against it as your left hand on his balls gently massaged the flesh, your right hand circling around his shaft. As you lapped at the liquid around the base of his cock, sometimes running your tongue across the creases on his balls, your right hand tugging at his length. 

Your thumb pressed into his slit, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, and you rolled the pad of your thumb around his head to slick it up with his precum. You hummed against his cock and balls, and his grip in your hair pulled at your roots as he tightened his hand. Once you had spread his precum, the bitter liquid mingling with the leftover chocolate syrup on his skin, you twisted your wrist around his head and worked your way down his shaft as you returned to sucking at the base of his dick, nipping softly to leave love bites on his tan skin. 

“Put it in your mouth, whore,” he ground out, and your throat went dry as his strained, rough voice went straight to your core, your thighs squeezing together to hide the wetness between your legs. 

You ran your hand along the length of his shaft before resting it at the base and pulling your lips free from his warm, chocolate-covered skin to press them against his head once more. Your right hand gripped his base, your left supporting his balls, and you took a deep breath before wrapping your lips around his head. His warmth spread across the flat of your tongue as his dick inched farther inside your mouth. To accommodate his size, you relaxed your jaw and your throat as he invaded the heat of your throat. Before you reached half of his length, the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around it, your throat closing on his head and trying to force it out.

“Watch your teeth,” he said when your mouth tried to instinctively close around him, and you looked up at him with teary eyes as you forced your throat to adjust to his size. He sighed as your right hand twisted around his base, shaking rapidly to send vibrations through his length while you readied yourself to take him in more. 

With a deep breath through your nose, you pushed your head farther down his length, and your grip on his balls and shaft tightened for a second as his tip slid down your throat. Your throat bulged as you took him in, and you forgot to breathe when you slid down to his base. As your nose pressed against his pelvis, he tapped your cheek with his hand to remind you to breathe, and your hands moved to grip his thighs and dig into his flesh as you took a deep breath through your nose. You whined around his length in your mouth, and he threw his head back.

“Yeah, just like that, slut. Take it nice and slow for now.”

His encouraging words lit a fire inside you, and you dragged your mouth up his length, reaching halfway, before shoving your head back down onto him. A wet gagging sound reached your ears as he slid fully into your throat, but when he grunted and adjusted his hands in your hair to move it out of your face, you didn’t care about your gag reflex and only wanted to make him cum. 

You rocked your head forward on his cock, sucking as you tilted your head to the side and took him inside your mouth at a consistent pace. Your tongue traced the large, bulging being on his cock, smirking around his dick when his body twitched under your tongue. A moan vibrated against his length as you dragged your head up his shaft to press the tip of your tongue against his frenulum. 

“Fuck!” he cursed, hands gripping the back of your head as you flitted your tongue back and forth over the sensitive spot beneath his tip, and he pushed your head down onto his length once more, his cock sliding fully into your mouth and resting on your tongue. You gagged around him, but you relaxed your jaw and let him rest in your throat.

He held your head down on his length, and you breathed through your nose as your throat closed around him, hands clutching his thighs. You pressed the flat of your tongue against his length, the last smearing of chocolate on his cock disappearing on your taste buds. His head fell back, and his hand holding your head on his dick loosened. You dragged your head off of his cock as his hand dropped from your head, swirling your tongue around his tip and sucking on his slit. As you detached your lips from him and sat back on your knees, he gripped his cock in his hand and twisted his wrist around his length.

“Fuck, I want you to cum in my mouth, sir. Give it to me. I’ve been a good slut,” you said, eyes trained on his hands violently jerking up and down his shaft. The heavy, guttural grunts leaving him warned you of his oncoming orgasm, and you stuck your tongue out, ready for his thick, hot cum to shoot onto it. 

“Shit…” he cursed, and you scooted closer to his pulsating cock as it twitched in his hands.

You cupped his balls in your hands and rested the tip of his dick against the flat of your tongue, and his cock bulged in his hands before he released onto your tongue with a rough, drawn-out moan, his hot liquid trickling down your tongue when you swallowed all of it and lapped at the white cum that spilled from his slit. The bitter liquid made you cringe, but knowing it was Beel’s, you didn’t care and made sure not to waste a drop as your tongue ran along his shaft to lick up any that trickled down. As you dragged your tongue up his length to get all the cum and leftover chocolate from his skin, your eyes bore into his with a burning flame of lust. His tongue poked out to swipe along his bottom lip, and his teeth snagged the flesh as the flat of your tongue rubbed against him.   

“Get on the table and spread your legs,” he said, and the rough, filthy growl with which the words left his saliva-slicked lips had you obeying in an instant. You licked your lips as you settled yourself onto your back and opened your legs, exposing your pulsating entrance to his hungry eyes. “Fuck…” he breathed out as you used two fingers to spread open your hole for him to see your pink walls.

He trailed a finger from the base of your opening to the top, loving the way your body shuddered beneath his calloused touch. Your hands gripped your thighs as you pulled your legs back towards your chest, giving him full access to your wet, needy opening. The tip of his fingers swirled your arousal around your hole, slicking up his digits, and he spread you open. His cock twitched when you whined in annoyance, wanting his fingers inside you already, and he chuckled.

“Desperate whore,” he said. “I’ll give you what you wanted.”

You bit your lip and giggled, eyes rolling back in your head and mouth opening in a silent moan as he pushed his middle finger inside of your warm walls. The presence of his finger inside made you clench around it, and you rolled your hips as he pumped the finger in and out of you. When he curled his finger inside of you and scraped the calloused pads of his digit against your walls, your legs trembled and threatened to escape your grasp. 

“Just like that!” you said, whining as he complied and curled his finger again, pressing into your walls and dragging it along it. 

“You like that?” he said, and you nodded your head, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. He slapped your thigh, and you moaned. “Use your words, bitch.”

“Yes! I love it! More, sir.” 

“Good bitch,” he said, slapping your ass as he inserted another finger. 

You gasped as your walls stretched around the two fingers inside of you, and your head rolled back against the wooden table. He licked his lips, an idea twinkling in his hooded eyes, and your body tensed in anticipation.

He pulled your shirt up to expose your chest to his eyes. “Bite it,” he told you, and your teeth sank into the hem of your shirt without a word. 

Your pupils trailed after him as he reached over to the side, his arm flexing, and grabbed your unfinished slice of cake. The food sat on the white plate, and before you could question why he held it in his hand, he tilted the plate and let the slice fall onto your stomach. 

While he thrusted his fingers into you, he used his other hand to smash the cake against your stomach and smear it onto your skin. His tongue poked out to slowly lick up the cake coating his hand, and the lustful look in his hooded eyes left your hips jutting in the air. He shoved his cake-coated fingers into his mouth, tongue rolling around each digit with care to get everything off of it before he retracted them from his mouth to push your hips back down to the table. Your back rested against the wood, and he bent down to kiss your stomach, a shaky breath exhaling from your nose.

His tongue pressed against your stomach, licking the icing from your skin as his eyes bore right into yours. Your breath caught in your throat, and he closed his eyes as he panted against you, tongue swirling around your body. You rolled your hips when his fingers pressed against the top of your walls, tongue still dancing on your skin. Little by little, the white icing smeared on you disappeared as the sweetness melted against his tongue.

“Fuck, it taste so good on you,” he moaned while he pumped his fingers inside you, his other hand trailing up your side to run over your chest. His hand stopped to pinch your nipple and tug at it, watching as you arched your back and whined through your shirt in your mouth, and he chuckled against you, his hot breath hitting your skin and making your stomach tense. “Such a waste that you couldn’t finish your slice of cake, but it tasted better on you anyways.”

You dropped the hem of your shirt in your mouth, the cloth sticking to your sweat coated chest, and he sucked at your skin, nipping and relishing in the hisses you let out as he left red splotches on you.

“Who said you could drop your shirt, whore?” he asked, and he pulled away from your stomach. His hand circled around your throat, and you clutched at his wrist as airflow cut off. You gasped around his grip as his fingers thrusted into you at an erratic pace. The tips of his fingers jabbed into your soft, wet walls, and the pain from his digits abusing your walls mixing with your lightheadedness brought your high closer. 

“Cum… cumming,” you choked out as your lower body tensed and the pool of heat in you spilled over. 

His fingers kept moving in and out of you, not changing pace or depth as he helped you chase your orgasm, and you threw your head against the table, back arching as a choked moan left you, legs shaking and hole clenching around his fingers. He pumped his digits in you for you to ride out your orgasm, and as you whined from overstimulation, you moved your hands from his wrist around your throat to his hand between your legs to pull it away from your walls. The hand around your throat disappeared, and he leaned over you, his sweet breath puffing against your face as you looked him in the eyes.

“You’re so wet. Aren’t you naughty?” he ground out in your ear as he slipped his fingers out of you, a string of your juices connecting the tips of his digits to your hole. The huskiness in his voice reverberated through your body, and you rolled your head to the side to give him a sly look out of the corner of your eyes.

“Just for you, sir.” You rolled your hips and pressed his hands harder against you. “Please fuck me now.” The sharp inhale from him made your entrance clench as confidence coursed through you. It made you proud to know you were able to have an effect on him and make him as crazy as he was making you.

“On your hands and knees. Now.”

In an instant, you flipped yourself over and pushed your ass into the air for him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you waited for his cock to enter you. He slid closer to you, pushing the chairs out of his way, and his fingers slipped back inside you. A broken moan left you as he curled his digits inside you, his fingernails scraping against your walls, and your legs trembled as your arms gave out and left your upper body leaning on the table.

“Give me your cock now, sir. I want it in my hole. Fucking abuse me—I can take it,” you begged against the table, the wood pressing into the side of your face as his fingers slid out of your wet hole and left you clenching around nothing.

A slap to your ass jolted your body, and you threw your head back to moan at the stinging pain spreading through your skin. He grabbed your hair, shoving your face into the table before he yanked it back to lean into your ear. Your neck ached from the way he craned it, but you let out desperate pants in anticipation for what he would do to you.

“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch. I’ll fuck you how I want to, and you’ll take it,” Beel growled into your ear, his hot breath hitting the side of your face, and you pushed yourself back onto him.

“Yes, sir. I’m just a hole for your cock. Use me,” you said in between heavy pants, and your voice turned into a whine near the end of your words as your entrance clenched, ready for him to enter and mess you up.

The palm of his hand slapped your ass once more, your body twitching at the impact before he gripped it between his fingers and spread it apart. His other hand released your hair and gripped his cock to press the tip of it to your entrance, and he ran it around your hole, chuckling as you tried to push yourself against it to get it inside of you.

“You’re like a bitch in heat,” he said, and you bit your lip to hold in a cut-off whine, your head still thrown back. “Fine, I’ll give you what you want so badly.” Without another word, his dick entered your hole, and your body jerked forward at the sudden action.

“Oh, fuck yes! Shove it all in! Yes, yes, yes!” you cried out as your walls spread when he pushed inside you. Your mouth hung open in a silent moan as his length rubbed against your walls before a long, drawn-out, and filthy moan pushed its way out. The loud noise echoed in the silent kitchen. 

“Not so loud, slut,” he told you, a hand snaking around your throat to hold it as his digits dug into your throat.

You choked as his fingers curled around the sides of your neck and squeezed your throat shut for a second. As you coughed on your saliva, his hips rolled forward, pressing his dick farther inside of you slowly as he let you adjust to his size. Your coughs turned into surprised gasps as your hole burned from his cock forcing it open. 

“Yes… Abuse my tight hole with your large cock, sir,” you choked out, throat scratchy from his hold, and the lack of oxygen to your brain and lungs made your thoughts hazy as words slipped from your lips in incomprehensible babbles. 

“Don’t egg me on, whore. If you do, I’ll make it so that you can’t walk,” he growled into your ear, and shallow pants left you.

“Do it, sir. Fuck me so hard that I’ll be walking sideways for a month!” you said through a gasp, and the pads of his fingers dug into the side of your neck more, his other hand slapping your ass and watching it jiggle from the impact.

“You asked for it, bitch,” he said, and he pulled his cock out until only his head remained inside of you. Before a complaint could slip from your tongue, he snapped his hips and thrusted his full length inside of you, his head prodding a bundle of nerves deep in your walls that shook your body.

You moaned, the noise cut off from his hand around your throat, and more whiny sounds spilled from your lips as he continued to slam inside of you. Your ass jiggled each time he slammed fully inside you and pressed his pelvis flush against you, and the sound of skin slapping created a symphony in your ears with your moans and his grunts. Each thrust from him burned your entrance and pricked your insides, but the pain mingled with your lack of oxygen to produce a dull pleasure in your body that you couldn’t get enough of. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure as he abused your hole, using you like his own little slut as he chased his orgasm, and your walls cried out from the pain and pleasure his cock gave you. With each snap of his hips, his cock nestled farther inside of you and hit all the spots on your walls. You pushed yourself back onto his cock to meet his thrusts, loving the way it pushed his cock even deeper into you than before, and he raised his other hand to deliver a hard slap to your ass.

“You’re so fucking needy, aren’t you, slut?” he drawled, rubbing your reddening skin. He yanked your head back by your throat, a strangled gasp leaving you, and his hand loosened to grip your jaw as he leaned down to your ear. “Who said you could fuck yourself against my cock?”

“I’m sorry, sir… It just… it just feels so good,” you whined, still bouncing back onto his dick. 

He released your jaw and grabbed your wrists with his hands to pull you back until you sat on your knees. His dick slipped in and out of you at a faster pace as he held your wrists in a tight grip. The burning on your skin from his hands brought a delicious tingle of pain crawling through your body, and you knew it would leave bruises on your skin. Strings of moans and whines spilled from your lips as you arched your back from the stinging pleasure in your lower half, and he cursed when you clenched around his cock. His balls slapped against you as he moved faster and faster inside of you, and you let out breathy ‘yes’s as your core burned.

The head of his cock prodded against walls, and you looked down to see the bulge in your stomach from his dick. Your eyes watched as it disappeared before returning, your stomach bulging out once more. The sight made your hole squeeze around him as it reminded you of who was inside of you, making you a moaning, blabbering mess, and before you knew it, the puddle of heat deep inside of you burned while your body tensed. He released your arms, and you fell forward, bracing yourself against the table as your high came closer and closer.

“I’m… I’m cumming!” you cried out, and he kept his pace consistent as he leaned forward to press his front into your back and groaned in your ear.

“Cum for me, slut,” he said, and you let out one last filthy moan before your orgasm slammed into you. 

Your whole body shook, the wave of pleasure spreading from your scalp to your toes as your head tingled and toes curled from your orgasm. You blanked out for a second as all you could register was the pleasure in coursing through you. Your lower half dipped down towards the table, and he slid an arm around your waist to hold you up as you clenched around him. He craned his head down to rest his forehead against your shoulder, and as your walls squeezed him once more, he cursed against your back as his hot, thick cum shot out into your hole. A helpless whine pushed past your abused lips as he filled every crevice inside of you with his cum, your walls expanding to let his seed fill you up. You rocked your hips back onto his cock to milk him of every last drop and to ride out your orgasm, and he hissed as you squeezed his dick.

As you rocked yourself on his cock. he slipped it out of you, your body twitching from the overstimulation. His cum slipped out of your hole as it clenched and pushed his seed out of your opening. A blob of cum hit the table, and a small bit trickled from your hole down the inside of your thighs. Beel used a thumb to spread open your hole as it pushed more of his cum out, watching with mild amusement as your hole clenched uncontrollably to push his white liquid out. 

You tried to hold his cum in, wanting to savor the feeling of it inside of you, but he dipped his head down to press his lips to your entrance. A soft kiss pressed itself against your sweaty skin before he poked his tongue out to enter you and swirl it around inside of you. He licked up his liquid painting your walls as you whined from the uncomfortable burning in your lower half. 

A sucking sound echoed through the kitchen as he made sure to get the last drop from your hole, and you reached a hand back to latch onto his hair and tug at it. He swirled his tongue inside you once more before he pulled off, and you fell forward and flopped onto your back. Your chest heaved up and down, sweat sticking your clothes to your torso, and Beel ran a hand through his orange hair to push it out of his face. Your hazy eyes trailed down his body and fell onto his erection. You knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, and you silently apologized to everyone in the dorm, knowing they’d hear everything. You gulped, and he smirked at you, lust still swimming in his purple irises as he grabbed his cock. 

“Care for seconds?”

[seokmingiggles]

sleepytime herbal tea.

Prompt: "How about something warm? It will help you sleep."

Pairing: Xu Minghao x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff, mutual crushes, roommate!au, college!au.

1.65k words

No warnings.

Sometimes, you believe there’s something unspoken between you and your roommate. Sometimes, he’ll do little things for you or say little things to you that will make your heart warm like it’s a teabag brewing in a toasty cup of fragrant tea.

Alternatively, maybe Minghao is your human equivalent of a cup of tea: warming, calming, and all-around comforting—particularly at 3 am when the rest of the world is asleep.

A/N: What started with Minghao shall end with Minghao. (Just kidding! I’ve already written a second piece for some members! ^^)

Back to the teacup masterlist.

•• "Oh, hey. What are you still doing awake?"

Minghao looks up from his novel to see you making your way into the kitchen. You're wearing the pair of slippers he got you for your birthday; the shuffling sound scampers across the apartment's wooden floor. Your hair is messy, going in every which direction, and your eyelids droop heavily. Your eyebrows furrow slightly.

"What time is it?" his expression is confused, lips gently pouting as he rubs his eyes with his free hand, the other one acting as a makeshift bookmark between the pages of his novel.

You glance at the clock on the microwave, "Just past three in the morning."

"No kidding," he mutters, standing from his spot on the sofa to stretch out his limbs after remaining in the same curled-up position for hours. The boy creases the top corner of his page, setting the book down on the couch's armrest. "What are you still doing awake?"

"I couldn't fall asleep," is your answer. You frown, "I was just lying there until my mouth got dry. But when I reached over for my glass of water, I realized it was empty."

Minghao hums, knowing the all-too-familiar feeling. "How about something warm? It will help you sleep," he says as he wades over to the kitchen, ending up by your side. He reaches up into the wooden cabinet above your head, "I like this one. You're welcome to try it tonight."

With a short hum, the boy presents his favourite herbal tea in the adorable little box: the brown bear clad in pyjamas and sat by a fireplace in its comfy armchair.

You set your empty glass on the kitchen counter and take the thin cardboard box in your hands. "Your sleepytime tea? I thought this one is off-limits."

Minghao shrugs, a gentle smile forming on his face in the dim lighting, "It normally is, but this seems like a special occasion."

"Us—both being awake at three in the morning with classes later today—is a special occasion?"

"Don't make me change my mind, (Y/N). Here," he grabs a pair of mugs from the dish-rack by the sink, "I'm going to have some too."

Minghao moves to fill the kettle with water and places it on its base, adjusting the setting on the side with a shrill beep at its programmed start.

You fiddle with the handle of the ceramic mug, trying to distract yourself from your roommate's delicate features in the faint light sourced only from the oven range hood and the moon outside the far window in the living room.

"What were you reading?" you ask him, still fixated on the countertop. "It must have been good if you lost track of time."

The boy nods with a hum. "One of my friends recommended it to me a little while ago—the one in my literature class. I haven't had the time to read it until tonight—or last night, I suppose—but I must be a third of the way in already. Maybe even half-way by now."

"What's it about?" you nonchalantly question, continuing the conversation while keeping your eyes low.

Minghao's ears begin to burn. "Ah, nothing in particular," he softly clears his throat. "Just a slowly-building love story between a couple of childhood friends. But," he adds quickly, "it's quite contemplative and poetic."

"A romance novel?" your eyes eventually meet his. "I wouldn't have taken you for someone who enjoys reading love stories, Hao," you can't help the playful smile that wiggles onto your lips.

The kettle's signal is high-pitched as the water reaches its desired temperature, giving Minghao a reason to pull his eyes from yours. He pours water into both of the mugs, allowing a few centimetres from the rim. You watch the rising steam as it tickles the bottom of your roommate's circular glasses when he leans over the counter to place the kettle back on its stand.

"It can be fun to read stories about a picture-perfect relationship sometimes," the boy continues. "Novels are the only forms of romances so pure and heartfelt. They're carefree, too," Minghao says in a hushed tone. "It makes me wonder why real-life isn't the same way."

You're now fiddling with the hem of your shirt when you whisper, "It could be."

Minghao looks up from his gaze on the teacups. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eye when you follow his movement to meet his stare.

"Relationships in real-life can be sincere and passionate too," you continue with a low voice to maintain the quiet three o'clock atmosphere. "Maybe not in the ideal way fiction can depict them to be, but that's what makes them real. It makes them human."

"Since when are you such a philosopher of romance," Minghao chuckles.

"At three in the morning, Hao, anything is possible."

"Anything, huh?" the boy smiles and nudges one of the mugs closer to you across the kitchen counter.

You softly thank him and take the cup in your hands. Your eyes focus on the teabag spinning in lazy circles, a solo slow dance on the surface of the hot water.

"Let's go sit down to drink our tea," you hear Minghao say as he begins to walk back to the couch.

You let him lead you, following behind in his shadow.

It's times like these where you aren't sure how close you should sit next to him. You sometimes wish you could curl up against his side and feel him hold you tightly in return, or even being able to rest your legs overtop his lap with his hand on your thigh.

Tonight, though, you take a seat at a respectful distance from the boy: about a couch cushion's length away.

Minghao rests his head on the sofa's backing, eyes trailing upwards to the speckled ceiling displaying the moving pictures of shadows from the foliage projected by the moon and streetlights outside.

"If you could have the perfect relationship, would you?"

Your eyes search for Minghao's once you hear his question, but he remains to look upwards and away from you.

You hesitate momentarily before saying, "No."

Minghao lowers his gaze and takes a sip of tea. He finally peers at you. "You wouldn't?"

You shake your head. "No. Because although disagreements and turmoil can be difficult to deal with, without either of them results in a relationship that won't grow," you take a small sip of your steaming tea. "If nothing else in life is perfect, then why should a relationship be that way?"

"Nothing's perfect, huh?" Minghao traces your facial features, trailing along the bridge of your nose and lingering at the dimple of your cupid's bow, but stopping himself before his gaze reaches the plush of your lips. He suddenly returns to your eyes, "But you have a point. Perhaps perfect relationships should stay within the pages of novels and works of fiction."

The wind rustles the tree branches nearby, and you find yourself bearing a small smile at Minghao's words. His gentle voice, combined with the warm mug of herbal tea in your hands, makes you lean deeper into the couch and pillows. Your eyelids suddenly feel heavier.

"I could lend you the book after I finish it if you'd like," the boy asks, turning his head to the side to gauge your reaction. But upon looking at you, he takes in the sight of your closed eyes with your head pressed against the couch backing, all while still sitting up.

Minghao's heart warms at the image. The boy drinks the remains from his cup before standing and moving to your side. He quietly places his mug on the table in front of him before slowly taking yours, still clutched between your hands, and setting your cup next to his on the coffee table. Your palms and fingers radiate the tea's warmth—his touch lingers.

"And you didn't even finish your tea," he whispers to no one, shaking his head with a smile.

He looks at you fondly before gently maneuvering your body to lie you down. Minghao gathers the blanket draped over the side of the couch and places it overtop of your body. He takes extra care to make sure it reaches all the way up to your chin but also without your toes peeking out from the bottom.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he speaks softly, carefully moving some stray hairs that have fallen onto your face.

Seeing you nuzzle into the soft blanket in your sleep nearly makes him coo at your cuteness.

An image pops into Minghao's head: he can picture himself leaning down, delicately kissing your forehead while his hand gingerly grazes the side of your face, thumb tracing the high of your cheekbone; he can feel your warmth radiate through his fingertips. He can feel your smile as it spreads across your cheeks. He can see your eyelashes flutter open and your eyes crinkling with your grin when you notice his proximity, your hand reaching up to thread into his hair when he leans in, and you close your eyes all over again–

But instead, Minghao decides he'll wait until you're awake so he can kiss you properly for the first time. He's not sure when it will happen—it could be this week or this month, perhaps when you're done with your semesters. It could be later today. It could be a year from now.

It may not ever happen for all the boy knows; what even are the odds that you return his feelings?

Minghao takes one last admiring look at you before he stands and retreats to his bedroom for a long-awaited sleep, collecting his novel from the edge of the couch on his way.

A pair of mugs remain on the coffee table—one entirely empty, one nearly full, but both belonging to hidden romantics. Buried feelings brew beneath the surface, steeping like the gradually darkening herbal tea.

••

[beck-a-leck]

Doug Dylas fluff might be nice I don’t know if they are capable of fluff

Thank you for the prompt!

Those two are almost incapable of fluff, but I managed to squeeze some out of them. Naturally food is involved, and some minor bullying, and bread.

Enjoy!

Ask for some self-indulgent writing prompts!

An unusual aroma greeted Dylas as he stepped into the general store. The strangeness of it nearly stopped him in his tracks. It wasn’t an unfamiliar scent, just not one he’d ever experienced here.

Blossom caught his eye and flashed Dylas a warm smile from behind the counter. “he’s waiting for you upstairs, dear.”

Dylas thanked her, scooted past the customers in line, and let himself through the closed door. As he climbed the stairs, the aroma grew stronger – warm and yeasty. Blossom must have been baking earlier, and the scent was still lingering. Dylas didn’t mind, fresh baked bread was, in his opinion, one of the best smells in the world.

He handled plenty of bread at Porcoline’s but couldn’t recall a time when he’d caught it here. Doug abhorred bread, and Blossom was content to get what she needed for her uses from the loaves that came into the store, supplied by a local bakery.

Dylas turned automatically at the top of the stairs to look into Doug’s room, but paused when he saw the dwarf was not in his usual spot. He found him in the most unusual place, in the kitchen.

Doug was preoccupied with washing up dishes in the sink, he didn’t even notice Dylas was standing there.

Smirking, Dylas crossed his arms. “What are you doing in there?”

Doug yelped, dropping the bowl he had been scrubbing into the sink. He whipped around, shouting an accusation. “You’re early!”

“Well, ‘hello’ to you too.” Dylas stepped into the kitchen. He saw no fresh loaves of bread, and the oven was warm. Doug, however, was wearing a frilly, flour dusted apron. Curious. “That’s a cute look.”

Doug flushed almost as deeply red as his hair as he yanked off the apron. “Just borrowed it from Granny.”

Dylas reached up and brushed a bit of flour from Doug’s hot cheek. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were baking, and breadof all things.”

“S-so what if I am?”

“Well… by your own words, you hate bread. You never eat it.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t make it for myself.”

“Oh, for Blossom then?”

Doug looked away, his silver eyes skirted all around the kitchen when he muttered, “Yeah, sure.” He checked the ticking timer sitting on the countertop. “It’s still got a few minutes left to bake.”

Dylas took the unspoken hint and pulled out a kitchen chair. “So, what possessed you to bake bread of all things?”

Doug rubbed at the back of his head, his cheeks were still a little pink. “Well, I asked Granny to teach me how to cook, ya’know it’s useful to know and I thought it would be nice to be able to cook her dinner once in a while and well… it turns out bread is pretty easy to do, if you stick to the basics and don’t get too fancy.”

“Hm, true.” Bread was one of the first things Porcoline had taught Dylas to bake back when he started helping out around the restaurant. “But rice is also really easy. You didn’t start with that.”

“Well… I tried making risotto and,” Doug grimaced, but laughed. “We kinda had to throw the whole pot out. Granny enlisted me in breadmaking instead. She used to bake her own all the time, but she doesn’t have the strength anymore to knead the dough. Heh, it’s actually kind of fun, even if I don’t eat the stuff.”

Dylas had to agree with a knowing smile. Kneading dough wasa good way to work out some minor frustrations.

The timer rang and Doug jumped to his feet like a fire had been lit underneath him. “These’ll need to cool for a while, you can go ahead and head to my room.”

“Not a chance, I’m going to inspect your handiwork. Can’t have you poising old Blossom on accident.” Dylas shadowed Doug back into the kitchen, keeping his distance, but putting his height to good use to peer over Doug’s shoulders. The dwarf tried to block the baking sheet with his body, but there was no hiding once he set the hot pan on the stove top.

Dylas was… genuinely surprised. Cooking was not Doug’s forte and would never be. He half expected to see lumpy, misshapen loaves, unevenly cooked, probably burnt on the bottom, or very undercooked, at best, just a basic round loaf of bread. Instead, there were half a dozen little loaves, only about the size of his hand, they were perfectly golden-brown, and fish-shaped.

“I think you’ve outdone yourself, Doug.” Dylas leaned closer to inspect them. “You used an egg wash, I see, and sprinkled sesame seeds on top, and…” he took a deep breath. Beneath the wonderful bready scent of the loaves, he caught a hint of herbs and… “Do I smell fish?”

“Yeah, they have a spicy salmon filling.”

“Wow, color me impressed.” Dylas’ ears perked when he realized something. “You… didn’t make these for Blossom, did you?”

Doug’s cheeks went bright red once now. “Uh, no. She’s not much for spicy things. I um… I m-made these for you.”

“Me?” It was Dylas’ turn to blush.

“Yeah, well… you know, I thought you might like them…”

“Well, let’s try one! Get me a plate and knife.”

Doug produced them, holding the plate while Dylas reached for one of the loaved. “Wait, that’s still hot!”

Dylas didn’t even flinch as he picked up the oven-fresh roll and dropped it on the plate. “Kitchen hands.” He said with a laugh, patting Doug on the cheek.

He turned back to the table and sat down once more. He cut the fish roll cleanly in two, releasing an aromatic pocket of steam that smelled of the spices and salmon. While he waited for it to cool, he gave it another examination. “It looks good, smells great.” He cast Doug a suspicious look over the steaming roll. “You sure you’re not just taking credit for Blossom’s work?”

“Of course not! I did everything myself!” Doug sputtered indignantly. “The only thing that came from Blossom is the recipe!”

“All right, all right, I believe you, calm down,” Dylas laughed. He picked up half of the now cooled roll, thought it was still pleasantly warm. “How does it taste?” Dylas asked, eyeing the roll.

“I-I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat the bread.”

“You mean you haven’t even tried your own cooking?” Dylas shook his head and tore the piece of roll in two. He offered one to Doug. “You have to try it. You’ll never become a better cook if you don’t try the food you make.”

“But – ugh – but it’s bread.”

Dylas was insistent. Grumbling, Doug took the piece of roll. “The things I do for you…” Despite his tone, he still smiled.

“You cook it, you eat it.” Dylas shot back. He raised the bread to Doug and added with a smile. “Cheers.”

[pretendingboyfriends]

Warnings: smut babayyyy

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: A quiet evening in Italy with Harry.

On an Evening in Roma - Dean Martin

The coral hue of the setting sun seeps through the open doorway leading to the terrace, casting a similarly colored shadow onto the tile floor as the two of you move around the kitchen. A warm breeze drifts through the room causing the curtains framing the door to flutter daintily and the scent of the homemade bread to waft throughout the house, setting a soft and romantic mood for the evening. 

You leisurely pour a second glass of wine for Harry and yourself before you begin crafting your meal, the warm buzz of impending intoxication lulling the both of you peacefully along with the soft jazz you have playing quietly in the background. You both have aprons tied around your waists to prevent your clothes from being splattered with flour or wine, aware of your tendencies for clumsiness.

“Can you crack the eggs into a bowl for me, darling?” You request, nudging the small carton of eggs towards Harry as you scoop the right amount of flour from the bag and onto the clean counter. 

“Mhm,” He hums happily, “How many?” 

“Two is fine.” You smile, shaping the flour into a decently large pile before pressing your fingers into the middle to make a well for the eggs and sprinkling a little bit of salt into it. 

Harry quickly cracks the two eggs into a small bowl and sets the bowl on the counter besides you. “Okay, now what?” 

“Now, we pour the eggs into the middle of the well I’ve created in the flour, like this,” You start, reaching for the bowl of eggs as Harry watches intently, pouring them carefully into the well. “And then we knead it with our hands, like this.” You finish, burying your fingers into the flour, kneading slowly and carefully as Harry rolls up the sleeves of his button up. 

“Can I just-” He mutters, walking behind you slowly and wrapping his arms around you, placing his hands over yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder to watch what he’s doing. “That’s better.” 

You snicker girlishly at him, shaking your head as you continue to knead with his hands over yours. “You’re an absolute idiot.” 

“Mmm, yeah, but you love me.” He hums through a chuckle, nudging his hips against you playfully. 

The two of you knead the flour and egg mixture into a malleable dough, making sure to add flour when needed. Harry’s playful attempts to flick flour into your face has a smile glued to both of your faces as you giggle and scold him for getting into your hair, though truthfully, you don’t mind.

Once the dough is thoroughly mixed, you form it into a ball and wrap it tightly with cling wrap to let it rest.

“Now, after we let the dough rest for 15 minutes, we flatten the dough out with a rolling pin,” You announce, slipping from your place between Harry and the countertop to find a rolling pin. “And then, after that, we cut it into the noodles.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows excitedly, taking his half empty wine glass from the counter and downing the rest of the liquid as he watches you. “What kind of sauce are we having?” 

You pull a wooden rolling pin from a drawer, mumbling a small “aha!” before setting it on the counter. “I was thinking alfredo, if that’s alright with you. It’s simple and doesn’t take long at all.”

“Sounds amazing,” He hums, stepping towards you to curl an arm around your waist and press your body against his. He leans down for a moment to capture your lips between his and your hands come to rest on his chest. Your lips meld together languidly for a few passing moments as he presses you into the counter and trails his lips down your jaw to your neck. You can’t help but whimper from the plush warmth of his lips, sponging along your skin. 

“Salad!” You exclaim suddenly.

Harry frowns, pulling his face from your neck, “That’s what you’re thinkin’ about right now? M’doing some of my best work over here and all you can think about is salad?” 

“Well, we need something to go with the pasta and bread and we have that vinaigrette that we still haven’t tried.” You reply, patting his cheek with your hand before you wiggle from his grasp. Harry watches you with a pout on his lips, making you roll your eyes at him as you take a container of lettuce from the fridge.  

Minutes later, the two of you are back working on the pasta, a pot filled with water is put aside as you slice the rolled dough into fettuccine pasta. Harry watches as you cut into the dough, creating almost perfectly measured strips, all dusted lightly with flour to prevent them from sticking to the counter. 

“Can you turn the stove on to let the water boil? I’m almost done with the noodles.” You hum, glancing up at him. He quickly complies, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sliding over to the stove and turning the dial to high. “Oh and salt the water, too. Helps it boil faster.” You add, sliding the salt shaker towards him. 

Once the noodles are boiling and the bread is cooling on the counter, you and Harry pour yourselves some more wine and begin swaying to the sound of Dean Martin crooning in Italian. His arms are loosely wound around your waist, one hand grasping his wine glass. You have one arm draped over his shoulders, the other grasps your own wine glass, allowing you to sip it at your leisure.

“Quite like this,” Harry purrs, eyes focused on yours. “Havin’ you all to myself for awhile. S’nice.” 

You smile, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. “It is nice.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours gently, continuing to sway the two of you side to side. His lips taste strongly of red wine as he licks into your mouth, a low grunt vibrating from the back of his throat. Your fingers tug at the curled tendrils of his hair as you adjust your grip on the wine glass, careful not to spill or drop it. 

Suddenly, the hissing of water overflowing onto the hot stove causes your face to separate from Harry’s with a quiet smack as you whip your head to the side to see the water from the noodles spilling over the side of the pot. 

“Shit,” You mutter under your breath, unwrapping yourself from him quickly to turn the heat down and fan at the bubbles with an oven mit. The water and bubbles calm to a simmer and you sigh in relief, stirring the noodles slowly. 

“Everything good?” Harry asks, leaning over your shoulder to watch you stir. 

“Yeah,” You breathe through a sigh, “I think they’re done anyways.” 

Eventually, you’re serving the noodles onto two plates as Harry tosses the salad and slices the bread. You slice a few small pieces of butter onto the steaming noodles before grating parmesan cheese over them generously and stepping back to admire your work. 

“Looks delicious,” Harry smiles, slicing a few pieces of bread from the loaf. 

Once everything is finished, you bring the food to the terrace, placing all of it on the small, round table to set up for the evening. Both of you discard your flour dusted aprons to reveal your cream, silk slip dress that reached to mid thigh and Harry’s white button up with a lavender sweater vest layered on top of it, paired with his brown, flared trousers. As always, he looks like a dream.

You sit across from each other and enjoy one another’s company as you eat, the sun slowly setting as you lounge. Harry endlessly moans over how delectable everything is and you giggle at him, nearly kicking them under the table every time he makes a sound. 

After both of you clean your plates completely, you finish off the bottle of wine, splitting the remainder of the liquid between the two of you before migrating to the metal railing of the terrace. Harry’s arm is wrapped around your waist tightly, pressing you into his side as you gaze out into the quiet street.  

“Lovely view,” He says from beside you and you nod, glancing at him to find him staring directly at you. 

You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your wine glass and muttering “Wanker” under your breath before turning your attention back to the actual view in front of you. He chuckles to himself quietly, easily dragging you around to his front so that he can wrap both arms around you from behind. His lips drop to your shoulder, softly trailing along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can still hear the music playing in the house, Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind Of Love” drifting from the small speaker on the kitchen counter to the small terrace where the two of you sway.  

You stay like that for awhile, drinking in the perfect weather and enjoying one another’s company until the sun goes down and the only sources of light are the street lights below and the soft light coming from the kitchen. By this time the tune of Yes’ “Yesterday and Today” is playing, the soft piano nearly lulling you to sleep in Harry’s arms.

“S’gotten dark,” He hums into your neck.

“So it has.” You reply, opening your eyes for the first time in what seems like hours.

“Think we should head in?”

You grunt quietly in response, allowing Harry to unwrap himself from you and lead you to the doorway. The sudden prospect of what’s about to come causes both of you to become giddy with excitement. The alcohol coursing through your veins heightening your emotions immensely. 

The two of you stumble back into the house from the terrace, tripping over one another’s feet as you giggle drunkenly. Neither of you bother to shut the door behind you, leaving it wide open for anyone to hear or see into your house.

 Harry falls back onto the couch, gazing longingly at you as you stand above him. His hands dropping to the backs over your bare thighs and tugging you forward to straddle him. You snort loudly and press your nose into his cheek as you wrap your arms wrap around his neck. 

“Dinner was nice,” He mumbles, pressing hot kisses to your neck. You hum in agreement, clutching the curls at the base of his neck as his lips move. “Think I’m ready for dessert now.”

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips into his, “What kind of dessert were you thinking?”

He pulls his face from the crevice of your neck, his hands sliding to grip your waist and push you against his growing bulge as he gazes up at you with lust blown pupils. “The kind where you ride me right here on the couch.”

The delicious feeling of Harry’s bulge pressed directly against your clit mixed with the sexy rasp of his words causes a quiet whimper to pass through your lips. You lean forward, capturing his lips between yours fervently as you grind your hips against his slowly over and over. 

“How’s that sound, baby?” He asks, pulling away for a moment to gaze up at you. 

“Sounds good, s’good, just- please,” You slur, desperately pulling him back in for kisses. He chuckles drunkenly against your lips and slides his hands up your thighs beneath your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist so that he can easily grasp your ass and press you into him. You whimper a little louder this time, fingers tangled into your lover’s mop of curls as he works you up. 

Harry’s fingers find the waistband of your thong and he helps you tug them down your legs  before dropping them onto the couch cushion beside him. Your hands start to fumble with the button of his slacks, fingers working loosely due to your intoxicated brain. 

Finally, his trousers are off and kicked to the side along with his briefs and you’re stroking him slowly as his lips brush against your clavicle. He’s discernibly hard already, rutting his hips up against your hand despairingly. You push yourself up onto your knees above him, holding him right against your entrance before slowly sliding down onto him. Once you’re fully seated in his lap, you gasp out a moan, pressing your forehead to his as he breathes out his own guttural moan. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” He mutters under his breath, hips jutting up into you subconsciously. 

The thin strap of your dress slides off your shoulder as you begin to move on top of him, the movement causing your braless breasts to nearly spill out of the fabric. Harry leans forward, pressing hot, wet kisses to the swell of your breasts as you move, both of you whining breathlessly. 

“Mm, Harry,” You gasp after he thrusts up into you harshly, his tip brushing directly against your g spot and causing your legs to quiver violently. 

“That’s the spot, hm?” He growls, wrapping his arms tighter around you to aid him in thrusting against the same spot over and over as you bounce against him. You nod weakly at his venereal question, hiding your face in his neck and pressing your chest flush against his. 

Your tepid, clammy bodies slide against each other with every girate of your hips, fingers tangled between locks of hair, tugging and combing at the tendrils. Neither of you are fully undressed, Harry's vest and button up crumpled up over his belly button, both straps of your silk dress barely holding on to your shoulders, but you’re both so entrapped with each other that neither of you care. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, biting into his shoulder. “You’re so big, H. Always feel so good.” 

He grunts, pushing up into you harder and silently requesting a kiss from you by moving his head to nudge against yours. You move your head to kiss him, haphazardly taking his bottom lip between yours. His tongue slowly works its way into your mouth as you kiss, hands pressing into your ass cheeks to push you onto him deeper. You move back against him harder, chasing your imminent release no matter how much your thighs burn and ache with your constant movements. 

“I’m gonna cum,” You breathe into his mouth, his arms immediately tightening around your waist to pull you into him and thrust upwards harshly. 

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb quickly gliding over your slippery clit. “Shit- c’mon, cum for me, baby.” 

You toss your head back onto your shoulders, Harry’s lips immediately stamping into the column of your throat as you gasp and your thighs tighten around his waist. You cry out as the knot snaps and warmth spreads across your body from within, Harry continuing to fuck into you from beneath you. 

“That’s it, good girl.” He mutters into your throat, perspiration building at his hairline as he chases his own orgasm and brings your body down into his. 

Moments later he grunts into your skin, cum spilling into you thickly. Your hips roll into him slowly, coaxing everything out of him as his head falls against the back of the couch. Your fingers slip into his sweaty curls, gently and soothingly stroking his scalp whilst the two of you catch your breath. Leaning forward, you press gentle kisses to his face and he mumbles under his breath, “So fuckin’ good to me,” 

The playlist you put on is finally repeating itself after sifting through nearly 2 hours of songs. The door to the terrace is still wide open, curtains quivering slightly from the steady breeze. Harry finally regains his strength and rolls the two of you over so that you’re lying back against the couch cushions, hips still pressed together as he hovers above you. He presses a few kisses to your neck and face before he pushes up onto his knees and pulls out of you. 

He steps away for a moment to grab a damp washcloth for you to clean up with and returns with a clean pair of boxers on and a t-shirt for you to wear (along with the washcloth, of course). He helps wipe the stickiness from the inside of your thighs before waiting for you to change into his t-shirt.

Once you’re both (for the most part) cleaned up, you pitter into the kitchen to grab a small container of gelato from the freezer.  “Up for some real dessert?”

-

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OK HEY!! i kinda just wrote this bc i saw a tik tok of a couple making pasta and wanted to write something similar so here ya go <3 don’t forget to reblog and send me asks!!!<33333

[honestsycrets]

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius​ ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?” 

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen. 

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!” 

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.” 

“So what? It’s just for us, right?” 

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.” 

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels. 

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.” 

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up. 

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.” 

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now. 

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date. 

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.” 

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--” 

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.” 

“You are annoying me.” 

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids! 

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?” 

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look. 

“That suit, I suppose.” 

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses. 

 “Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?” 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.” 

“This isn’t about that.” 

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.” 

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.” 

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet. 

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat. 

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.” 

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again. 

“Is someone inside?” 

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.” 

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade. 

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later. 

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back. 

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil. 

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.” 

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.” 

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?” 

“Ivar.” 

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.” 

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough. 

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles. 

“Ain’t that for your date?” 

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave. 

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood. 

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

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