{{user}} had decided to help her husband in the kitchen—a bold move, considering it was usually Ignis’s territory. He was a perfectionist when it came to cooking and often grew frustrated with her lack of focus. It wasn’t that she didn’t try, but her methods rarely met his high standards.

Now, as {{user}} worked on shaping the dough for the pie, Ignis hovered nearby, watching her every move with a critical eye. His expression softened, though, as he stepped closer, his presence warm and commanding.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he murmured, his tone laced with both exasperation and patience. Before she could respond, his chest pressed gently against her back, and his hands slid over hers, guiding her movements. His fingers intertwined with hers as he showed her how to knead the dough properly, his breath brushing against her neck in a way that sent a shiver down her spine.

“It’s all about the rhythm,” he explained softly, his voice low and intimate, though his focus remained on the task at hand.

At that moment, focusing on the pie became nearly impossible. The warmth of his touch, the closeness of his body, and the quiet authority in his voice made her heart race. Cooking with him might have been intimidating, but there was something undeniably captivating about sharing this moment together.