#culinary disaster

[aventurineswife]

Lmaooooo the one with Yor Forger!Reader 😆 Any chance we could get that with Sushang, Feixiao and Qingque? 🤣

Just imagine…someone daring to take a bite—

And then straight keeling over dead to the world. ☠️

“When Love Cooks... but the Kitchen Revolts” | Part 2

Tags: Sushang x Reader, Feixiao x Reader, Qingque x Reader, Crack Fic, Humor/Comedy, Food Gone Wrong, Culinary Disaster, Over-the-Top Reactions, Slight Angst (if you squint), Unintentional Poisoning, Bad Cooking.

Warnings: Food Horror, Exaggerated Reactions, Implied Food Poisoning.

A/N: MY GIRLS ARE GETTING RECOGNITION‼️🗣️🔥✨

[Part 1] | [Part 3]

[Header credits]

Sushang was eager. Very eager. Her wide grin could almost be mistaken for excitement—or was it fear? Either way, she was excited to try what you had prepared for your meal. After all, she was always willing to test her strength against challenges, even culinary ones.

Sitting at the table with her chopsticks poised, Sushang watched you carefully lift the lid from the steaming dish. Her eyes widened with hope, but as the lid was removed, a heavy, ominous cloud of smoke wafted up. Sushang’s eye twitched uncomfortably, but she pushed forward, determined to taste the dish.

A single bite.

The moment it hit her tongue, her entire face went pale. Her hand quivered as she swallowed—if you could even call it swallowing. Her stomach churned in rebellion, but her pride prevented her from showing weakness. For a few moments, Sushang managed to sit still. And then…

BAM!

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her chopsticks dropped, and she slumped forward onto the table with a loud thud.

"Th-the flavor... it’s... it’s like… poison, but worse." Her voice came in a dazed, muffled tone from beneath her arms.

You winced and muttered an apology, unsure whether Sushang had actually fainted or was simply overwhelmed by the sheer force of the meal. Either way, it was clear that your cooking had struck a blow greater than any battle wound.

Feixiao always thought she could handle anything. She’d survived a life of violence, fought against abominations and enemies alike—how bad could a home-cooked meal really be?

When you called her over to try your cooking, she arrived with a casual, confident stride, expecting a delightful meal to complement her otherwise personality. But then the smell hit her—overpowering, strange, and almost wrong.

She eyed the dish warily, an unusual shudder running down her spine. "You... want me to eat this?"

Her heart told her she could handle anything. Her pride as a general told her she had no fear.

But as she took that first bite, her world shifted in a way it never had before. The moment the food touched her tongue, the fury of Moon Rage coursed through her. Not because of her affliction, but because her body rebelled against the impossible texture and the flavor so harsh that it nearly shredded her soul. Feixiao's eyes widened, her hand shot to her mouth, and before she could control herself, she vomited onto the floor.

“That,” she coughed, gasping for breath, “is a weapon of mass destruction.”

Her ears drooped, a rare moment of vulnerability seeping through her usual battle-hardened demeanor. You stared, horrified.

“Don’t worry,” Feixiao said, wiping her mouth and struggling to stay upright, “I’ll... I’ll survive.”

But just as she attempted to regain her composure, the general’s knees buckled, and she crumpled into the nearest chair. “Moon Rage... is kinder than this...” she muttered, slumping down in defeat.

[Header credits]

Qingque had heard the rumors. The food that could make even the toughest warrior faint. She was curious but, above all else, intrigued by the possibility of surviving the meal. After all, as a fan of all things quirky, she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge—no matter how lethal it seemed.

She sat across from you with a small grin on her lips, as if savoring the potential disaster. When the plate was set before her, the aroma was enough to make her eyes water. It wasn’t that it smelled good; no, it was suspicious. But Qingque was brave, so she lifted the chopsticks and took a tiny bite.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. There was an odd, almost humorous flavor to it. Like burnt something with an aftertaste of... did she detect metal? But she kept chewing, determined to understand this creation. The more she chewed, however, the worse it became.

It wasn’t food anymore—it was a force of nature, rising within her, threatening to take over her senses. Her cheeks flushed, her hand clutched the table, and her usually bright eyes narrowed.

“...No... no, this is—”

And then, with the most dramatic flair, Qingque flopped backward in her chair, one hand pressed dramatically to her forehead.

“Please... if there is an Aeon of Hunger, I beg of you... spare me,” she gasped, “I’m... dying.”

You were horrified, muttering frantically as you checked to make sure Qingque was still breathing. “Wait, no! You’re not—”

"I’m alive," Qingque groaned, lifting a hand. "But this... this is beyond death. I'm too alive. I don't know what's happening, but this... is not food. It’s a curse."

[pratignya18]

Getting future ready

What are you most excited about for the future? Mum was a vegetarian and we grew up on a healthy diet of vegetarian food. Dad introduced us to eating non-vegetarian by taking us to restaurants that prepared them. During those days, chicken tikka with toothpicks sticking out of them was all the rage. I remember gorging on them. We used to polish off 2 or 3 plates in one sitting and then used to…

[stealingyourbones]

Bologna, peas, and orange soda has been purchased. Culinary crimes commence

[fieriframes]

[I give it all up in laughter. The sign of the cross awaiting disaster. Dove flew to me like a vision of paranoia. Dove flew to me like a vision of paranoia.]

[chirp-a-chirp]

Court of Darkness: Satisfaction

A gift to @aide-falls 😊🎂

Fandom: Court of Darkness

Couple: Guy x MC

Word Count + Rating: ~550, PG-13 at the end

Description: Guy’s gift to MC does not go according to plan. Not that he and MC mind 😈

…

MC looked at the cake presented before her. It was clearly expensive, topped with crimson sugar roses on three tiers that cascaded down smooth black fondant. The smell of dark chocolate and freshly cooked sugar tickled MC’s nose.

Guy’s face revealed none of his thoughts, except for a brief eye flicker towards the back kitchen area of his quarters. MC faintly touched Guy’s sleeve as she said, “I really appreciate this Guy, I can’t wait to—“. MC paused, her nose twitching at another smell—this one acrid, lingering in the back of her nostrils.

“It’s not worth your time. Don’t investigate it further.” Guy’s voice brooked no argument. Which meant, naturally, MC had to investigate. MC followed her nose and opened the kitchen door. Before her was a scene of what could only be called culinary carnage.

Scorch marks from a pan blazed the black and white kitchen floor tiles. Gobs of cake batter were be-speckled across the counter, walls, and countless bowls. The windows, normally closed to ensure Guy’s privacy, were wide open; a pleasant breeze flowed that blew away most, but not all, of the smell of burnt sugar and smoke.

But the crowing jewel of it all oozed before MC. Beside the oven on a crystal platter was a pile of cake bits that was somehow burnt yet raw. Charred mounds of sugar vaguely resembling rose petals fell from crumbling cake tiers. Copious amounts of red icing were splattered across the dessert in a furious attempt to lend some sort of artistic flourish. If the attempt was to make the cake look like a crime scene, it succeeded.

MC could not contain her laughter. “Did Sherry help you create this?”

“Do not compare me to Roy’s little sister.” Guy glowered, his voice rumbling with displeasure.

“Yeah, you’re right. I can actually eat your cake…I think.” MC took a spoon to the mangled dessert and brought it to her lips. “It’s very good, and suited perfectly to my tastes!” With a smirk, she added, “Well, the parts that are fully cooked, that is.”

“Are you quite finished? I am not in the habit of making a spectacle of myself.”

“Oh yes, quite a spectacle; it’s so unusual. It’s why I’m enjoying this moment.” MC sauntered towards Guy and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Did you buy the second cake in case this one was a bust?”

“I had no intention of disappointing you.” Guy grumbled, displaying a rare look of vulnerability. “You said you wanted something made from my hands. But I wanted to ensure your satisfaction in case things took a wrong turn.” The soot and smoke covered ceiling proved just how great a turn things had taken.

With a mischievous smile, MC swiped a finger across a pile of red icing, dragging it across her neck. “There ARE other ways to use your hands, you know.”

“Heh, how bold of you.” Guy took a few steps forward until MC was pinned against his body and a nearby wall. His palms skated across MC’s curves, luxuriating in their softness and warmth. Guy buried his head against the crook of MC’s neck, his tongue licking the icing off her skin. “Prepare yourself for what’s to come.”

“Guy…”

“It’s just as I said before,” Guy paused, his breath ghosting across MC’s skin. “I intend to ensure your…

satisfaction.”

[lukida-c]

Collection of my favorite tags in the reblogs

I am in tears

[cynthiabertelsen]

Cake of Bitterness: Children Cooking

Batter beginning As the old adage goes, ” it takes the cake.” None of us likes to recall our culinary disasters, and each of us — no matter how good we may be as cooks — can claim at least one major culinary disaster to our credit. Julia had her broken omelette. With me, it was a cake. Every time I make a cake, I am reminded of my first “from-scratch” cake, in the days when Jiffy cake mixes were…

[fanficrocks]

Robbie’s incinerated cheese pasta-bake!

We’ve already explored Lewis’s domestic challenges, but can we discuss Dr. Laura’s face here? I think the last time she looked this horrified she was being buried alive.

[spartanmemesmedical]

"Sweet Disaster: The Epic Gulab Jamun Fail"

Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail. It was a balmy evening in Delhi, and you were feeling particularly inspired to try your hand at cooking a classic Indian dessert: Gulab Jamun. Armed with a recipe you found online and a list of ingredients, you embarked on what would soon become an unforgettable culinary adventure. With great enthusiasm, you mixed together the khoya (milk…

[pebblegalaxy]

A Culinary Catastrophe: My Epic Baking Fail Turned Triumph

Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail. In the annals of my culinary escapades, there exists a tale that transcends mere kitchen mishaps. It is a saga of epic proportions, where the delicate art of baking collided with the forces of chaos, resulting in a spectacle of culinary failure that still echoes in the halls of my memory. It was a day brimming with ambition, a day when my…

[levynite]

His views on the matter were shaped early by Robert Egger, the founder of DC Central Kitchen, a non-profit based in the nation's capital, where Andrés lives. Egger's group not only rescues imperfect produce from farmers to reduce food waste, but also salvages human beings that society has left behind, providing culinary training to the formerly incarcerated and other overlooked populations. "He taught me one of the most valuable lessons of my life," says Andrés. "Too often charity is about the redemption of the giver, when in fact it should be about the liberation of the receiver."

[sunderwight]

love how the MXTX protagonists have gotten progressively worse at cooking over time

it's like

Shen Yuan: not terrible. his biggest struggle is that he wasn't really culinary before he transmigrated, and since transmigrating he has very little idea of how an ancient kitchen works, so any disasters can mostly be attributed to that. would be perfectly fine making simple dishes in a modern kitchen.

Wei Wuxian: a capable cook, except for when it comes to seasonings. absolutely loses his mind at that point. if you do not hide the chili oil ALL OF IT will be going into the pot. has no ability to moderate spice levels for the preferences of others.

Xie Lian: almost lethally bad. just terrible. completely allergic to following a recipe. only one other person can eat his cooking without suffering and that guy's already dead.

Prediction for Book 4 Protagonist: actively just serves people poison on purpose.

[hurtblossom]

Lover ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female!Reader

Summary : In the middle of heartbreak and unspoken feelings, (Y/N) finds her place both behind the camera and in Lando Norris’s life, as they cautiously build a connection worth risking everything for.

Warning : Nothing, just fluff

Part 2 to this

The weeks after Lando’s confession felt surreal. (Y/N) wasn’t sure what to expect after their conversation at the café. It wasn’t as though everything could change overnight—she was still cautious, her heart too bruised to let down all its defenses. But Lando seemed to understand that. He didn’t push. Instead, he found little ways to show her he meant what he’d said.

One evening, as she sat editing footage from their latest shoot, her phone buzzed with a notification. It was Lando.

Lando: What’s the best pizza topping combo? Lando: Asking for a very important debate.

She smiled, shaking her head.

(Y/N): Margarita. Classic and unbeatable. (Y/N): Why?

His response came almost instantly.

Lando: Wrong answer. Lando: Pineapple is the GOAT. Lando: Max agrees. Lando: Ria thinks we’re all insane. Lando: Also, I just wanted to check in. Lando: How’s your night?

Her smile faltered for a moment, her chest tightening at the unexpected warmth in his words. He didn’t have to do this—reach out to her, make her feel seen. But he did.

(Y/N): Busy, but good. Thanks for asking. You?

Lando: Better now that I know you’re not buried in stress. Lando: Don’t stay up too late, yeah?

It was a small exchange, but it left her heart lighter. She didn’t want to admit it, but maybe, just maybe, Lando was trying to prove he cared in ways she hadn’t dared to hope for.

~~~

The next Quadrant shoot was a return to the ridiculous antics the team was known for—a blindfolded cooking challenge. (Y/N) arrived early, as usual, setting up her cameras and prepping the equipment. She was adjusting the lighting when Lando walked in, his hair slightly messy, a lazy grin on his face.

“Morning, chef,” he teased, stopping beside her. “Ready to document the greatest culinary disaster of our time?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “If by ‘greatest’ you mean ‘most unappetizing,’ then absolutely.”

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know, I’m pretty sure I can bribe you for some favorable edits. Just say the word.”

“Bribe me with what? Pineapple pizza?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me. But yes, pineapple pizza. It’s the ultimate peace offering.”

Their playful banter caught the attention of the others, who immediately started teasing.

“Oi, Lando, stop flirting and get over here!” Max called out, earning a round of laughter from the crew.

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, but Lando seemed unfazed, flashing her a quick wink before heading to join the chaos. She watched him go, her heart fluttering despite her best efforts to stay grounded.

Quiet Moments

The shoot was a success—messy, chaotic, and hilarious, as always. But it was the quiet moments afterward that lingered in her mind.

While the rest of the team celebrated their “culinary masterpieces” in the lounge, (Y/N) stayed behind in the studio, packing up her gear. She was stacking tripods when Lando walked in, a takeaway box in hand.

“Figured you’d still be here,” he said, holding out the box. “Saved you some food. Don’t worry, no pineapple.”

She blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, his expression casual but his tone warm. “I wanted to. You always take care of us, so… someone’s gotta look out for you too.”

Her chest tightened, and she accepted the box with a soft ��thank you.” They sat together on the edge of the stage, the studio quiet around them.

“You’ve been quieter lately,” he said after a moment, glancing at her. “Not just today—since you came back. Is it… because of me?”

She hesitated, fiddling with the corner of the box. “It’s not you, Lando. Not exactly. I just… I’m still figuring out where I fit in all this.”

“You fit,” he said firmly, his gaze steady. “More than you know.”

The sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten. She wanted to believe him, but the lingering insecurities were hard to shake. Still, his words stayed with her long after they left the studio that night.

~~~

Weeks passed, and (Y/N) began to notice subtle changes in their dynamic. Lando seemed to go out of his way to include her, whether it was during shoots or group outings. He started inviting her to lunch with the team, pulling her into conversations, even teasing her on camera—moments that often left her flustered but secretly thrilled.

One afternoon, during a rare day off, he texted her out of the blue.

Lando: Fancy a karting rematch? Lando: I promise not to go easy on you this time.

The memory of their last impromptu race—a chaotic, laughter-filled mess where she’d somehow beaten him—brought a smile to her face.

(Y/N): Rematch? (Y/N): You’re just mad you lost to me.

Lando: Exactly. Lando: My pride is on the line. Lando: Meet me at 3?

She hesitated for a moment before typing her reply.

(Y/N): You’re on.

When she arrived at the track, he was already there, leaning casually against a kart. He greeted her with a grin, his competitive energy infectious.

The race was as ridiculous as she’d expected, filled with trash talk, near collisions, and plenty of laughter. When she crossed the finish line—barely ahead of him—she threw her arms up in victory.

“Two for two,” she teased, removing her helmet. “You’re losing your touch, Norris.”

He laughed, pulling off his own helmet. “You’ve got a lucky streak, that’s all. Next time, it’s over for you.”

But as they stood there, still catching their breath, his expression softened. “Thanks for coming out today. I needed this.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his tone catching her off guard. “Me too,” she admitted quietly.

A Confession Revisited

The real turning point came one evening after a late shoot. The team had gone out to celebrate, but (Y/N) stayed behind, finishing up some last-minute edits. She was so focused on her laptop that she didn’t notice Lando until he spoke.

“You’re always working,” he said, his voice warm.

She looked up, startled to see him standing in the doorway. “I could say the same about you.”

He grinned but didn’t respond, stepping closer until he was standing beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled with unspoken tension.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he began, his tone careful. “About why you left.”

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Lando, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted gently. “Because I hate that I made you feel like you didn’t matter. You do, (Y/N). You always have.”

Her breath caught, and she looked away, her heart pounding.

“I know I was blind before,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent. “But I see you now. And if you’re willing to give me a chance, I’d like to prove it.”

She stared at him, her emotions a whirlwind of hope and fear. “Lando… what if this doesn’t work? What if it changes everything?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said simply, his gaze steady. “But I think it’s worth the risk. Don’t you?”

For a long moment, she said nothing, the weight of his words settling over her. But then, slowly, she nodded, a tentative smile breaking through her uncertainty.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think it is.”

The smile that spread across his face was brighter than she’d ever seen, and for the first time, (Y/N) felt like she wasn’t just behind the lens anymore. She was finally part of the story.

In the weeks that followed, their relationship grew slowly but surely, filled with small, meaningful moments—quiet conversations, shared laughter, and the steady reassurance that they were building something real. And though (Y/N) still carried traces of her old insecurities, Lando’s unwavering support made her believe that maybe, just maybe, she’d found her place—not just in the team, but in his heart.

taglist : @landossainz , @carloswife , @scopeiguess , @stylesmoonlight12 , @raynetargaryan2 , @rawr-123s-stuff , @myescapefromthislife , @nxk1309 , @bbg-blue-lock , @spooky-librarian-ghost , @lisa24x

[heich0e]

ever since you were young, you've fallen victim to at least one terrible cold per year.

it's not your fault—your almost laughably fallible immune system is seemingly genetic, as your family was always the same growing up—but even that biological truth does little to make you feel better when you're in the thick of cough and cold season, waiting for illness to inevitably strike. one faint, meagre consolation from your predictably lacklustre immune response means that you at the very least have a fairly well-practiced routine for when you fall ill. you know the brands of medication that work best, the fever patches with the most reliable adhesion, which teas seem to help decongest you better than others. you've got soup recipes, and hot water bottles, and fuzzy socks tucked away at the ready for when you need them, because you know that you eventually will.

but this season, there's a wild card in the mix. a variable you haven't had the opportunity to plan for in years past.

shouto.

you met shouto last summer at a going away party to which you were a plus one of someone who didn't even know the person who was going away particularly well. you'd been beyond shocked when you turned up to the gathering only to see half the top pro-hero ranking list gathered before your very eyes. even more shocked when the most handsome one in the room—in the world?—bothered to speak to you.

your relationship with shouto built slowly. you were casually dating last cold season, so he hadn't had to witness you at your lowest, but this year you're living together—having moved in rather suddenly just shy of your one year anniversary since your lease was ending and shouto's apartment was more than suitable for two.

so now here you are, languishing in the bed you share with your still unfairly handsome pro-hero boyfriend, drifting in and out of consciousness in a decongestant fuelled haze, with a (now tepid) fever patch stuck to your forehead.

and there is a god awful racket coming from outside your bedroom door.

peeling yourself up from the loving embrace of your mattress is a nearly herculean task, but once you're upright it's not so hard to stuff your feet into your slippers and stumble your way to the the door. your head feels heavy and your cough is still in the nasty hacking stage, but you suspect your fever's dropping, which means the worst of your illness is likely over. any relief you may feel is decidedly shortlived as you turn the corner to the kitchen and freeze in place.

"shouto—" your voice is so raspy it sounds foreign to you "—what are you doing?"

in the kitchen, standing in the eye of what can only be described as a culinary hurricane, is your apron-clad boyfriend. he has one of your barrettes clipping his two-toned bangs up off his forehead, and a smudge of something (presumably edible) across his cheek. his eyes are wide as he turns to face you in the centre of this disaster, a carrot in one hand and a potato masher in the other.

"i," shouto pauses, and though you know it's not for dramatic effect it sure sounds like it is, "am cooking."

you start coughing, and rush to cover your mouth—turning away and bending a little at the waist from the force of it. you see shouto step towards you in your peripheral vision, but with the hand not covering your mouth you wave him away—you should have gotten a mask before you left your bedroom, but in your haste you'd forgotten to grab one.

"you sound terrible," shouto remarks and then follows up his own commentary with another, somewhat reproachful, "that's not very nice."

you look at him curiously, confused as to what he's just said and he points to his ear where he has one wireless earbud in.

"that was bakugou," he explains, and you realize he was only relaying the comment of his friend on the phone. "i'll call you back," he says again, and this time you don't need to wonder who he's speaking to before he plucks his headphone out of his ear and sets it (and the carrot and potato masher) down in the very limited counter space left.

shouto fidgets with his hands now that they're empty, inching a bit closer to you—slowly, like he know's you're going to wave him off again and is trying to avoid it.

"how are you feeling?" he asks.

"a bit better," you say, even though you don't sound it.

"why are you out of bed?" he follows up his first question with another, concern in his gaze.

"i heard... something," your eyes scan the room as you take in the very something you speak of. "why are you cooking?"

"i'm making you soup," shouto says, and then looks around the room at the scene you'd just surveyed. then he looks back at you again with a somewhat grim expression. "i'm trying to make you soup," he corrects himself.

and maybe it's the fever, or the decongestants, or the fact that he's possibly the sweetest man you've ever met in your life (on top of being the most handsome), but suddenly you feel like you might cry. or laugh, maybe. you aren't entirely sure either of them is off the table.

"what kind of soup?" you ask him, and this time your voice is croaky for an entirely unrelated reason.

"chicken soup," he answers, and he's suddenly closer than he'd been at first—having continued creeping closer to you when your guard was lowered. "with ginger. you said you like that."

"i do," you answer, and when shouto reaches out to wrap his arms around you, you have no will left in you to push him away. you tuck your face against his chest and relax against the firm, familiar shape of his body pressing into yours.

shouto peels the old fever patch from your forehead and tosses it aside, replacing it with the delightfully cool palm of his hand. he's been doing this since you fell ill, and was more than a little affronted the first time he came home from work and saw that you'd put a cooling patch on in his absence—as though jealous that it wasn't his touch that you were turning to for relief.

"was bakugou helping you make soup?" you ask, leaning into his hand.

shouto hums, and you feel the sound reverberate through his broad chest. "i don't know if helping is the right word."

"why did you have a potato masher out for chicken soup?" you then ask, remembering the utensil he'd been holding when you first walked into the kitchen.

"potato masher..." shouto says, realization heavy in his tone. he'd clearly had no idea what it was to begin with. "i was looking for a slotted spoon."

you laugh, and then cough a little.

"you should get back to bed," shouto insists.

"just another minute," you sigh, reaching up to hold his wrist and keep his hand in place. shouto freezes, and you feel his eyes on your face, peeking up at him through your lashes.

"what?" you ask him curiously.

in place of an answer, shouto wraps his arm (the one you don't have in your clutches) around your waist and hoists you up, balancing you against his hip like an overgrown toddler.

"sho-shouto! wait!"

he doesn't wait. in fact, he barely acknowledges you've said anything at all as he trots back in the direction of your shared bedroom. before you even manage to get your bearings, shouto's placed you gently back into bed, shucked his apron, and crawled in alongside you under the covers. you hardly have time to miss the cool weight of his hand before it's returned to its rightful place against your brow.

"what about your soup?" you ask him, but even in spite of your own words—and the fact that you've been keeping him at arm's length for days out of concern for his own health—you find yourself curling up against his side in bed, snuggling closer.

"i don't think it was going to taste very good anyway," shouto remarks somberly. he pouts a little. "bakugou said he'd drop some off for you later, because he was worried my soup was going to kill you."

you laugh, and then cough, and then rest your cheek against his chest.

shouto's heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear. his hand stays cool against your skin.

you may not have planned for him, but you think you might keep him around.

[blaire-apricity]

Kitchen

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : How does the LADS boys handle themselves in the kitchen?

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : prompt, soft, fluff & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Xavier in the kitchen was almost a disaster waiting to happen—no exaggeration. He had a knack for forgetting to turn off the stove or neglecting to set a timer, leaving his meals charred and inedible more often than not. While eliminating Wanderers with effortless precision was second nature to him, cooking seemed to be his weakness. Typically, Xavier gravitated toward quick, easy meals—cup noodles, ready-to-eat options—and never fussed over what he ate.

Despite his mishaps, he genuinely put in the effort to learn, committing to recipes and working to improve. With time, practice, and a few burned pans later, he eventually became efficient in the kitchen. Once he mastered the basics, he started preparing large meals, focusing on quantity so you’d never be short of options, making sure you had plenty of your favorites to choose from.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Zayne embodied the perfect image of husband material. Though his job as a Linkon doctor kept him busy with back-to-back surgeries and long hours at the hospital, he never failed to make time for you—especially if you were craving his cooking. Despite his demanding schedule, he made it a priority to prepare meals whenever he came home, often late into the night, just to see your face lit up with each bite.

Zayne was meticulous in the kitchen, his precise nature extending from surgery to the ingredients he handled. Aside from his disdain for carrots, he had an impressive knowledge of different vegetables and how to bring out their natural flavors in every dish. Whether he was baking or cooking, he always followed the recipes to a tee, ensuring every detail was perfect, particularly when trying something new. His care and precision in the kitchen mirrored the way he treated you—attentive, thoughtful, and deeply considerate.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

Rafayel may come off as bratty and spoiled, but beneath that exterior, he harbored surprising culinary talent. It wasn’t something he flaunted, considering that most of his meals were either prepared by Thomas, brought or ordered online. But when the mood struck him, Rafayel could whip up a dish with flair, though he often relied on instructions and recipes to guide him. His creativity shined through, however, as he loved experimenting and adding his personal touch to any recipe.

You were always his first taste-tester, the one he’d eagerly present his latest creation to—sometimes a surprisingly delicious innovation, other times an odd combination that left you questioning his choices.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus, much like Zayne, could easily be considered husband material, though he typically didn’t need to lift a finger in the kitchen thanks to his personal chef. Yet, when the occasion called for it, Sylus was more than capable of preparing a meal. Confident and knowledgeable, he rarely consulted recipes, instead relying on his sharp memory and expertise.

While patience wasn’t his strong suit, he made an exception when you were involved. If you were there to taste his dish, Sylus would put his full effort into crafting a meal that catered to your palate, making sure each seasoning and flavor hit the right notes. For someone who thrived on power and control, cooking was one of the few activities where he allowed himself to slow down, focusing intently on every detail. After all, he wanted it to be perfect for you.

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: There's significant parts that are definitely inspired by Infold's Special Chapter; "Ways Of Making Chocolate" chibi report on this prompt.

I'll be working on some requests (specifically a continuation of Grief) by next week since preliminaries are approaching soon, I'll be off from writing for a few days.

[whereforarthur]

Poker Night Never Felt So Right

Pairing: ArthurTv x Reader x George Clarke x Chrismd

Summary: A game of strip poker with your friends, goes a little further than anyone expected...

Category: Mature (SMUT)

Word Count: 5k

*****

Let’s play strip poker

And they removed all their doubts

And their insecurities,

And finally made out,

They lay all naked with not a single secret left,

They were happy and kissed their fate for they meet. -Tiara

"Alright, lads and lady," Chris announced, glancing at the group and y/n, slapping a fresh deck of cards onto the worn-out kitchen table, "Poker night is in full swing."

The aroma of George's burnt lasagna filled the flat, a constant reminder of his culinary disasters that had become a tradition in their weekly gatherings. Arthur's eyes lit up as he pulled out his favorite chair, the one with the slightly wonky leg that made everyone else wobble but somehow suited him perfectly.

Y/n, the sole female in this sea of testosterone, rolled her eyes at their juvenile antics but couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. She'd known these three since starting YouTube, and their friendship had endured through the chaos of their YouTube fame.

Chris shuffled the cards with a dexterity that suggested he'd had a bit too much practice, while George attempted to mimic his skill, earning a chuckle from Arthur. Y/n took a sip of her beer, the cool liquid cutting through the tension of the room.

"I've got an idea," George said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Since it's just us tonight, how about we spice things up a bit?"

Chris paused mid-shuffle, raising an eyebrow. "Spice it up how?"

George leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Strip poker. You know, like they do in the movies."

The room went quiet for a beat before Arthur let out a hearty laugh, slapping his hand on the table. "You're joking, right?"

Y/n took another sip of her beer, eyeing George over the rim. "As if I'd agree to that."

Chris grinned, playing along. "Aw, come on, it'll be fun! Plus, you've got nothing to worry about, you're a pro at poker."

Y/n set her beer down, her expression unreadable. "Fine, but only if we all agree to keep it friendly. No funny business, got it?"

Chris and Arthur exchanged a look, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. "Friendly, got it," Arthur said with a nod.

The game began, the shuffling of the cards and the clinking of beer bottles punctuating the occasional bursts of laughter. Y/n focused on her hand, trying to ignore the electric current of excitement that buzzed through her. The guys were her closest friends, but the thought of playing strip poker with them sent a thrill down her spine that she couldn't quite shake.

Arthur's luck, however, didn't seem to be in his favor tonight. His hand trembled slightly as he placed his bet, and when the cards were revealed, his face fell. "Bugger," he muttered, glancing at the table as he realized he'd lost the first round.

With a dramatic sigh, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Alright, alright," he said, playing it cool as he pulled his shirt over his head. The room was a mix of cheers and good-natured laughter as he tossed it aside, revealing his bare chest. He sat back down, his cheeks flushing slightly as he tried to cover his modesty with his arms. "Remember, this is all in good fun," he said, his voice a bit shakier than he'd intended.

Y/n couldn't help but blush as she took in Arthur's abs. They were surprisingly defined, a testament to his gym routine, and boxing history. She quickly averted her gaze to her cards, hoping the flush on her cheeks would be attributed to the heat of the kitchen rather than her newfound appreciation for Arthur's physique.

The game continued, the tension ramping up with each new hand. Despite her initial confidence, y/n felt her heart racing as she tried to read the guys' faces for tells. Chris remained stoic, his poker face unwavering, while George's was as transparent as always, his eyes widening with every good card. Arthur, on the other hand, had become a closed book since his shirt came off, his focus solely on the game.

Y/n's luck took a nosedive, and she found herself holding a pathetic hand of cards. She bit her lip, contemplating her next move. The pot grew larger, and the stakes grew higher. She could feel the heat from the oven and the anticipation from her friends. With a deep breath, she called George's bet, hoping for a miracle. The cards flipped over, and George's smug grin told her everything she needed to know. She'd lost this round.

The room grew silent as she slowly stood up, her heart racing. She unzipped her hoodie, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a simple black tank top that clung to her curves. She caught Arthur's eyes lingering on her for a moment too long, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. She took a seat, trying to regain her composure.

"Looks like the tides are turning," Chris said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving her.

The boys' laughter filled the room as they joked about her losing streak. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she shrugged it off, playing along with their banter. "Just a bad hand, that's all," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The next few rounds were a blur of cards and clinking bottle caps. Y/n managed to win a few hands, but her losses outweighed her victories. Her stack of clothes grew smaller, and she found herself down to her bra and jeans. She gulped, trying to ignore the way Arthur's gaze lingered on her when he thought she wasn't looking.

Chris's hand won again, and George's smug look was wiped clean as he had to remove his trousers, revealing his colorful boxers with cartoon characters on them. The room erupted in laughter, and George shot a playful glare at y/n. "You're enjoying this too much," he teased, but his cheeks were flushed, and she could see the excitement in his eyes.

The other boys were staring too, but not just at George. They couldn't help but sneak glances at y/n, their gazes lingering on her in a way that made her acutely aware of her dwindling clothing. She felt their eyes on her, and the air grew thicker, charged with a tension that was no longer just about the game. It was about the thrill of the reveal, the anticipation of what would come next.

Chris dealt the next hand, his eyes flicking up to meet y/n's. She couldn't read his expression, but she knew he was enjoying the game more than he let on. They all were. The stakes had changed, and the atmosphere in the room had shifted from friendly competition to something else entirely.

Y/n studied her cards, her heart racing. A full house stared back at her, and she couldn't help the smug smile that spread across her face. This was it, her chance to get back in the game. She raised the bet, watching as the boys' expressions grew serious. They had to know she had something good.

The bets went around the table, and the moment of truth arrived. Y/n laid her cards down with a flourish, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was silent as the boys revealed their hands. George had a pair of twos, and Arthur had a straight. But it was Chris who had the nerve to call her bluff. He laid down his cards with a wink, revealing a royal flush. The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"Looks like it's your turn, love," Chris said, his voice thick with victory.

Y/n felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine as she reached behind her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She took a deep breath and let it fall away, feeling the cool air of the flat kiss her skin. She kept her eyes on the table, focusing on the cards as the fabric hit the floor. The room was so quiet she could almost hear her own heartbeat echoing off the walls.

The silence was palpable, thick and heavy, as if the very air in the room had turned to jelly. The boys didn't dare to look up, their eyes glued to their own cards or the beer bottles in their hands. They were her friends, her colleagues, but in this moment, they were also men, and she was very aware of it. The game had taken a turn she hadn't anticipated, and she felt vulnerable in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Finally, she looked up, her gaze meeting Chris's. He held her stare for a beat too long, and she saw something in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. It wasn't just the thrill of the game anymore; it was something deeper, something she hadn't expected to find in a casual poker night.

"Good game," Arthur murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the room. His eyes flicked over her exposed skin before darting back to his cards, and she couldn't help but feel a flutter in her stomach.

Y/n cleared her throat, trying to ignore the sudden self-consciousness that had crept over her. "Alright, let's keep playing," she said, her voice a little too high.

George, ever the opportunist, leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming. "Someone's getting a bit flustered, aren't they?"

The room grew tense as George's comment hung in the air, unspoken feelings now laid bare. Y/n felt a blush creep up her neck, her hands clinching into fists at her sides. "It's just a game, George," she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her cool.

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let's keep it friendly, yeah?"

The game resumed, but the dynamics had shifted. The banter was less playful, the glances more intense. Y/n could feel the energy in the room pulsing with every card drawn, every piece of clothing removed. Her hands were trembling slightly as she dealt the next hand, her eyes avoiding the hungry stares of the boys. She focused on the game, trying to ignore the heat of their gazes on her bare skin.

*****

George's luck had run out, and he was just left in his boxers. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he realized loosing this hand, meant losing them. He met y/n's eyes, and she could see the nervous excitement in his gaze. She felt a strange sense of power, a thrill that was as intoxicating as it was alarming. She called his bet, her heart racing.

And of course that’s what happened George lost the hand, and lost his boxers. They were ridiculous, covered in cartoon characters that clashed with the seriousness of the moment. But as he stood up, the room's focus shifted from the ridiculousness of the situation to the very real and very attractive man in front of them. Y/n couldn't help but feel a flicker of attraction she'd never noticed before, not like this.

Chris cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on George's newly exposed skin before flicking back to his own cards. The air in the flat was charged, and the smell of George's aftershave filled the room, a scent that was at once familiar and entirely new in this context. Arthur's poker face remained unchanged, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his beer bottle, his eyes darting from George to y/n.

The next few rounds were a battle of wills, each player trying to maintain their composure as the clothes piled up on the floor. Y/n's jeans were the next to go, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. The guys' eyes darted up to meet hers, and she could see the struggle in their expressions as they tried to keep the game friendly.

But the game had taken on a life of its own, and the line between friendship and desire was blurring. The stakes were no longer just about winning; they were about power, attraction, and the thrill of the unknown. The tension grew with every card dealt, every article of clothing removed. It was no longer just a game of poker; it had become a dance of seduction, a silent negotiation of boundaries.

Chris's eyes never left y/n's, his gaze dark and intense. The air between them crackled with an energy that was impossible to ignore. As the rounds went on, the smiles and laughter grew forced, the room thick with the scent of pheromones and anticipation. Y/n felt a strange thrill at the thought of pushing the boundaries, of seeing how far they'd all go.

The next hand was dealt, and the tension grew palpable. Y/n studied her cards, feeling the heat of the guys' gazes on her bare legs. She knew that she had a good hand, but the game had become less about winning and more about the thrill of the risk. She raised the bet, watching as the other two exchanged glances. The silence stretched out, the only sound the crackling of the cards and the occasional clink of bottle caps.

Chris called her bluff, laying down his hand with a smug smile. George fully nude now. Both Chris and Arthur in their underwear, the fabric clinging to their growing arousal. Y/n felt a strange mix of nervousness and excitement, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her friends in such a vulnerable state. The room felt like it was closing in on her, the heat from the oven now a stark contrast to the coolness of her bare skin.

The next round began, and the stakes were higher than ever. Y/n's hand trembled as she placed her bet, watching as Chris and Arthur followed suit. She had nothing to lose now but her pride and the last shred of their friendship's innocence. The cards were flipped over, and she felt a jolt of victory as she revealed a full house. Arthur's face fell, and she knew she had him beat.

"Alright, Arthur," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "Looks like it's your turn."

Arthur swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He reached down to remove his underwear, and Y/n couldn't help but watch, her eyes widening slightly as he revealed himself. He was more than she'd ever allowed herself to imagine, and she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. The room was a cacophony of shuffling papers and shallow breaths, the only sound louder than her pounding heart.

Chris took a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned back in his chair, his own arousal evident, and she realized with a start that he was enjoying this game more than he'd ever let on. "Looks like we're all in this together now," he said, his voice low and gruff.

*****

The game had become about more than just poker; it was a silent dare, a push and pull of power and desire that none of them could ignore.

Chris collected the cards, shuffling them with a deliberate slowness that had y/n's stomach flipping. "Alright, lads," he said, his voice a low rumble, "whoever wins the next hand gets to ask y/n to do something for them."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she took a sip of her beer, trying to play it cool. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice betraying the slight tremble in her chest.

Chris leaned in, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Whatever we want, within reason. Just a little extra... entertainment."

Y/n felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves. "As long as it's not too embarrassing," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Chris grinned, his eyes flicking over her body. "Oh, I think we're past the point of embarrassment."

The room was thick with tension as the final hand was dealt. Y/n picked up her cards, trying to focus on the game, but her mind was racing with the possibilities of what could happen next. She had a decent hand, but she knew that Chris was playing to win.

The bets were placed, and the air was electric as the cards were revealed. Y/n felt a surge of victory as she saw she had a full house again, beating Arthur's two pairs.

Y/n felt a mix of excitement and nerves, her eyes flicking to Chris, who was watching her with an intense gaze. She knew he'd won the round, but the real prize was in the daring request he was about to make.

Chris leaned in closer, his eyes dark with desire. "Alright, love," he said, his voice a low rumble, "it's time for your forfeit."

Y/n's heart raced as she took in the sight of Arthur and George, both fully exposed and equally as nervous. She had no idea what Chris had in mind, but she knew it would be something she'd never forget. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his words.

Chris leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want you to kiss me," he said, his voice low and commanding.

The room froze, the only sound the erratic beating of her heart. She felt the color drain from her cheeks as she met his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, with a slow nod, she leaned in, her heart racing.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of them were testing the waters. But as their lips met, something ignited between them, a spark that grew into a flame. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as the kiss deepened. Arthur and George watched, their own tension palpable, their eyes flickering between y/n and Chris, their friendship and their desires colliding in a way none of them had anticipated.

Chris's hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. Y/n's body responded, arching into him as the kiss grew more urgent. The room was a blur of heat and need, the air thick with the scent of arousal and the faint scent of George's burnt lasagna.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting, their eyes locked. The room was silent, the only sound the crackling of the oven and the thudding of their hearts. Arthur and George watched, their expressions a mix of shock and arousal. Y/n's cheeks were flushed, and she couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Fuck me," George murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was..."

"Hot," Arthur finished for him, his eyes glued to the sight of Chris and y/n tangled in a passionate kiss. The atmosphere in the room had shifted so dramatically, it was as if someone had flipped a switch, turning the innocent game of poker into an intense, erotic battleground.

Chris's hand slid down y/n's back, cupping her ass as he deepened the kiss. She gasped into his mouth, the heat of his touch sending a bolt of pleasure through her. The air was thick with the scent of their desire, and she could feel the warmth of Arthur and George's gazes on her exposed skin. The game had evolved into something she'd never expected, but the thrill of it was undeniable.

Breaking away from Chris, she turned to face Arthur, her eyes flicking to his evident arousal. "Looks like you're up," she said, her voice husky with desire. Arthur's cheeks reddened, but he met her gaze, his eyes smoldering.

"What's the forfeit?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n leaned in, her breasts brushing against his bare chest. "You get to kiss me too," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, with a nod, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was just as fiery as Chris's. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together. The room spun around her, the lines between friendship and desire blurring into a haze of passion.

George, not to be left out, approached her from behind, his naked body pressing against her back. She could feel his erection against her, and she shivered with anticipation. "I guess it's only fair," he murmured, his hands sliding around her waist.

The kiss with Arthur grew more urgent, his hands exploring her body as George's lips found the sensitive skin of her neck. She moaned, the sensations overwhelming her. The three of them were entangled in a dance of lust, their friendship forever changed by this night.

As Arthur pulled away, George took his place, his lips brushing against hers. His kiss was gentle at first, but soon grew in intensity, his hands caressing her breasts. She felt a hand slide down her stomach, and she gasped as it reached the apex of her thighs. It was Chris, his fingers teasing her through her damp panties.

The room was a whirlwind of sensations, and y/n was lost in the moment. She couldn't tell where one kiss ended and another began, only knew that she was the center of their attention, the object of their desire. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"Take them off," George murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n's hands trembled as she slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them. The cold floor sent a shiver through her body, and she felt more exposed than she ever had in her life. But the way the boys were looking at her, with a mix of awe and hunger, made her feel anything but vulnerable.

Chris's hand found her again, his fingers delving into her slick folds. She moaned into George's mouth, the pleasure building within her. Arthur watched, his eyes dark with need. The air was charged with a current of desire that had them all in its grip.

The poker game was forgotten, the kitchen a mess of cards and discarded clothing. The only thing that mattered was the heat between them, the unspoken promises in their eyes. The night had taken a wild turn, and as the three of them moved closer, y/n knew there was no going back. This was a new chapter in their friendship, one filled with passion and the thrill of the unknown.

And she was ready to play her hand.

*****

Chris's fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She moaned into George's mouth, her hips bucking against Chris's hand. The sensation was too much, and she felt her orgasm building. Arthur's hand joined the fray, his calloused fingers teasing her nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core.

They were all in this together now, their friendship forever changed by this night of strip poker turned passionate frenzy. Y/n had never felt so desired, so wanted. The kisses grew deeper, more intense, as the three of them explored each other's bodies with an urgency that could no longer be contained.

George's hands roamed her body, his touch setting her skin on fire, while Arthur's kisses grew more demanding. She felt a hand slide down her back, reaching around to cup her ass, and she knew it was Arthur. The thrill of having both of them touch her at once was almost too much to bear.

Chris's touch grew more insistent, and she felt herself climbing towards the edge. She broke away from George's kiss, panting, her eyes meeting Arthur's. "Fuck me," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.

They didn't need any further encouragement. Arthur and George shared a look, and she could see the understanding in their eyes. They knew what she wanted, what they all needed. This was no longer a game; it was a declaration of desire that could no longer be ignored.

With a growl, Arthur picked her up, setting her on the edge of the kitchen table. She spread her legs, her heart racing as she watched him stroke his length. She felt a thrill of desire that made her knees wobble. George stepped aside, his own arousal evident, making room for Arthur to claim her.

Chris stepped back, watching with a hunger that made her insides quiver. "Take her," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Make her scream."

Arthur positioned himself between her thighs, his cock hard and ready. He leaned in, kissing her again, and she felt the tip of him at her entrance. With a gentle push, he slid inside, filling her completely. She gasped, her nails digging into the table as he began to move.

The sensation was exquisite, and she felt the room spin as the pleasure built. George's hands were on her breasts again, his mouth finding her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. The three of them moved together, a symphony of passion that she never wanted to end.

Chris stepped closer, his hand wrapping around his own erection as he watched the scene unfold. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking beautiful."

Their eyes met, and she knew he was next. The thought of all three of them together was too much, and she felt her orgasm crest, her body tightening around Arthur. He groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent, and she knew he was close too.

With a final, deep kiss, Arthur pulled out, his hand guiding George to take his place. She moaned as George filled her, his grip on her hips tight. Arthur stepped back, watching with dark eyes as George began to move, his own hand stroking his shaft.

The room was a blur of sensation, the only sounds their panting breaths and the slap of skin against skin. Y/n felt like she was floating, lost in a sea of pleasure that she never wanted to escape from. This was a night that would change everything, a night that would be etched into their memories forever.

And as George's rhythm grew more frantic, as she felt him getting closer, she knew that she was ready for whatever came next. The world outside their flat had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the heat between them, the passion that had been unleashed by a simple game of poker.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her body and leaving her trembling. She cried out, her nails digging into George's shoulders as she came, her body shaking with the force of it. And as George followed suit, filling her with his release, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power and belonging she'd never experienced before.

Chris stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he stroked himself. "Your turn," she managed to gasp, her voice hoarse with need. He grinned, a wicked glint in his eye, and she felt a thrill of excitement as George pulled out, making way for Chris to take his place.

Their kiss was explosive, a culmination of all the tension that had been building through the night. She felt Chris's cock nudge against her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. He entered her with a groan, his movements more deliberate, more intense than the others. The sensation was almost too much, and she arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest.

Their bodies moved in sync, the table rocking beneath them with every thrust. Arthur and George watched, their own desires reflected in their eyes as they stroked themselves, their gazes never leaving the erotic sight of their friend taking charge. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, a moment that would forever change the dynamics of their friendship.

Chris's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of her exposed skin, sending shivers down her spine. She could feel his need, his desire, and it only served to fuel her own. The room was a cacophony of gasps and moans, the air thick with the scent of sex.

And then, with a final, deep kiss, Chris reached his peak, his body tensing as he came inside her. They held each other for a moment, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. It was a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their relationship, a moment of pure, unbridled connection.

As they pulled apart, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the kitchen lights, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. The poker night had turned into something none of them could have anticipated, a night that would be remembered for far more than just the game.

They stood there, panting, their eyes locked. The silence was deafening, filled only with the sound of their heavy breaths and the distant hum of London outside. They'd crossed a line, stepped into a new chapter of their friendship.

Y/n looked around the room, her eyes taking in the sight of her friends, naked and aroused, their friendship forever altered by this night of passion. But as she saw the hunger in their eyes, she knew it was a change she didn't regret. In fact, she was eager to see where this newfound intimacy would lead them.

The game had ended, but the night was far from over. They had each other, and as they moved closer, the whispers of desire grew louder, the kisses deeper. They were no longer just friends playing a game; they were lovers, ready to explore the depths of their desires

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @amz824