Like stated above, I will only do 16+ and I take payment through Paypal and Revolut (no cashapp bc im based in a country other than the 2 they support)
Yes: Furries (will charge extra though and take longer), ships, any fandom
No: NSFW, heavy gore, proship
Backgrounds will be an extra €2 (othwise will be textured color)
Each character after 2 will be +20%
DM me here or on discord (gaynymsical)
Payment will be after I finish but before I send
under the cut is a guide of what I'll need
Character(s):
Fandom(s):
Line: Sketch/Clean
Shading: Yes/No
Size: Headshot/Bust/Fullbody/Doodle Page
BG: Yes/No
Details:
References:
You okay with me posting on my page?: Yes/Yes but don't tag/No
You, the homeowner, are a polyglot. A handful of the objects in this house speak more than just English. The funny thing is that none of them seems to know YOU can also speak more than one language. How will they react to you speaking their native tongue?
𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3: 𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝙰𝚕𝚕’𝙸𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚊
Love rises like dough—slowly and tenderly. You and Cabrizzio share a moment together in the kitchen. A recipe and a few sweet words.
Song for Chapter: “Fly Me to the Moon”- Frank Sinatra
You pace here and there throughout the kitchen. Trying to check off the list in your head of everything you need.
“Flour—check.”
“Tomatoes and mushrooms—check.”
You continue to grab items from the fridge and pantry, making sure not to forget anything. After you manage to find your rolling pin and that troublesome 1/2 cup measuring spoon. You set everything down on the countertops you’ll work on.
“Okay, I think I have everything—wait...” You speed run through your list again, something is missing.
Ah! The olive oil!
You try to search for it in your lower pantry—nothing. You can’t seem to remember where you left that darn oil bottle. Until you look up and see it standing on the very top shelf of your pantry. Great. Stefan must have used it and placed it there—dang, that man was tall. You huff in annoyance and start to reach for the bottle. You stretch as much as you can go, tiptoes and all. The top of your soles start to hurt, but to no avail, you can’t seem to reach the stupid bottle.
You are just about to give up this whole struggle altogether, when a strong arm moves in front of you and effortlessly grabs the bottle for you. You whip your head around and meet a pair of captivating green eyes set on a handsome face.
“Oh-thanks Cabrizzio!” You smile in relief as he gladly hands you the bottle. He smiles back.
“You're most welcome, Amore mio.”
God, why did he have to be so devilishly good-looking?
“May I ask what you need this oil for?” He inquires as you lead him to where the rest of your stuff is. He seems to put two and two together, his expression changing from simple curiosity to one of bright excitement.
“Oh! You are cooking something, vero Amore?” (right love?)
You nod in agreement and go to put on your apron—the one both Stefan and Mr. Chuckles gifted to you when they finally trusted you to work in the kitchen with them. A very ceremonial and VERY emotional event to be sure(not that Stefan would show it, but he was proud).
“I was thinking of making some pasta, actually. It’s a recipe a friend of my mothers gave to me a while back. I thought I would give it a shot and try to make it."
You could see Cabrizzio’s eyes practically sparkle in delight at hearing this. He was a pasta lover as much as someone like Mitchell was, an Italian enthusiast in every way.
“Ah, Tesoro mio, making the pasta from scratch, too? You truly know the way to a man’s heart.”
You chuckle softly, spreading some flour onto the clean counter surface. “You say that like I’m trying to impress you.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, his shirt slightly unbuttoned—because of course it is. His dark chest hairs feel like eye candy to you. You're trying not to stare.
“Amore, you need not try. You already do.”
Your heart gives a tiny, traitorous flutter. You quickly busy yourself by focusing on the flour on the counter, forming a well in the center for the egg mix.
“Would you like to join me? I know how much you like pasta.” You say in the most nonchalant voice you can muster, trying to hide the small blush forming on your cheeks.
Cabrizzio's heart gives a flutter of its own. His dashing smile only seems to widen at the request—you might as well have asked this man to marry you, he’s that happy. He would rather die than let this opportunity slip by, to be by your side, doing something as romantic and intimate as making dinner together. What a dream come true.
He places a hand to his heart as he gives you his most endearing stare. “Tesoro, I would love nothing more.”
You both work together in the kitchen for quite a while.
He cracks the eggs carefully into the well, then adds a drizzle of golden olive oil. “Three eggs. Enough for two—unless you are very hungry.”
“Depends on how good it turns out.”
“Oh, it will be perfect, Amore mio. You have Cabrizzio in your kitchen. What could go wrong?”
You can’t help but smile as you both mix the ingredients together, his hands guiding yours when the dough resists. His touch is firm but gentle, the warmth of his palms steady against your flour-dusted fingers.
“Piano, piano… Slowly,” he murmurs near your ear. “You must treat the dough with love. Pasta can tell when your heart isn’t in it.”
You huff a soft laugh. “I’m treating it with as much care as I can.”
He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping lower. “Then I am jealous of the pasta.”
You only roll your eyes playfully.
You rest the dough under a damp cloth to relax. Cabrizzio starts slicing tomatoes, his knife moving with effortless rhythm. The sound of the blade against the board mixes with the quiet bubbling of the water on the stove.
You move to stir the sauce in a pan: olive oil first, then garlic. The scent blooms through the kitchen—rich, inviting, almost intoxicating. Cabrizzio closes his eyes as he inhales deeply.
“Dios mio,” he hums softly. “You are truly magnificent, Amore. You cook like this, and any man would fight for your hand.”
Your hand stills for a second before you recover. “I didn’t realize I was that good.” You’re happy your back is turned so he can’t see how your face matches the color of the pasta sauce.
“You have no idea.” Is all he says.
He moves beside you again, tossing chopped mushrooms into the sizzling oil. Your arms brush—accidental, but you don’t move away. Neither does he.
After the sauce thickens, you both move to roll out the pasta dough. The air fills with laughter when the flour puffs up into both of your faces. Cabrizzio chuckles, brushing a streak of flour from your cheek with his thumb.
“Perfetta. Even covered in flour, you are stunning.”
Your breath catches. You glance down quickly, pretending to focus on the dough. “T-thank you?”
He smiles, that same gentle warmth in his eyes. He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “Amore mio. Can I ask you something?”
You hum in response, busy cutting thin ribbons of dough.
“If Stefan or Mitchell had been here,” he says, voice light but his face is tinged with something akin to doubt, “would you have asked them instead?”
You pause, turning the question over in your mind. Then you shake your head, your voice soft but certain. “No. I wanted your company, Cabrizzio.”
For once, Cabrizzio looks caught off guard. His usual charm falters—replaced by something earnest and vulnerable. “Then I am the luckiest man in this kitchen.” He leans in to whisper the words, his breath brushing your cheek. You try your damnest to suppress a shiver. Seeing as you haven’t made any moves of discomfort or moved away from him, he rests his head on your shoulder as he hums a content sound. He practically breathes you in. His next words are but a whisper, but carry so much emotion.
“Dio, sei la cosa più irresistibile che abbia mai visto. Mi togli il fiato, amore mio. Potrei baciarti per sempre e non stancarmi mai.”
(God, you are the most irresistible thing I’ve ever seen. You take my breath away, my love. I could kiss you forever and never tire.)
You freeze, unsure if you actually heard him right. His words are soft, honey-smooth, and dripping with devotion — but he’s spoken them in Italian, assuming you won’t understand.
Your lips twitch into a small, mischievous smile. Oh, Cabrizzio.
You turn to face him, meeting those deep green eyes that still linger on your mouth. “Mi togli il fiato anche tu, amore mio.”
(You take my breath away too, my love.)
Cabrizzio’s entire body goes still. His head lifts from your shoulder, eyes wide in disbelief. “Aspetta—parli italiano?”
(You—you speak Italian?)
You tilt your head, trying not to laugh at the sight of the smooth, confident Cabrizzio actually stammering. “Of course I do. Why did you think I was nodding along this whole time?”
He runs a hand through his dark hair, that dashing composure finally slipping. “Madonna santa, you’re going to kill me, Tesoro. First, your cooking, then your breath-taking smile, and now to know you speak my language? How is a man supposed to survive this?”
You giggle, delighted to see him so undone. “You’re the one who always says I am irresistible.”
He groans softly, a half-laugh bubbling in his throat as he steps closer again, his hand brushing against your cheek—gentle, loving. “You’re more than irresistible, Amore. You are divine.”
His gaze drops to your lips, but he pauses, waiting for you to close the distance. You lean in slightly, your foreheads touching, the scent of tomato and basil lingering in the air.
“Ti amo, Cabrizzio,” you whisper, your voice soft and certain.
(I love you, Cabrizzio.)
His breath catches for the second time—then he smiles, slow and adoring, before pressing a warm kiss to your lips.
“Anch’io ti amo, amore mio.”
(I love you too, my love.)
The moment between you is both tender and passionate.
You leave the kitchen full from the satisfying meal. But also slightly disheveled, clothes rumpled, and flushed, breathless.
To say the only thing being kneaded was the dough would be an understatement. (hehehe.)
A/N: Both Cabrizzio and Amir deserve more attention tbh. I MEAN JUST LOOK AT THEM!
(Pst-Just so you know, I have this posted on my AO3, where it is already complete since late Jan. 😶🌫️ )
i am not “crazy”. i do not have delusions, i am not cringe, i do not spend my free time harrassing doubles, i am not making up terms, I AM A NON SHARING SELF SHIPPER. and if i see a double i simply BLOCK.
I hate polls like these but I am powered by the sun to tell the people that yes, that masc butch lesbian Italian cabinet serves more cunt than...what i might look like in 5 years...
Hello Hello guys ! I decided to start a collab for the end of the years 2025 as a way to celebrate the holidays season and our community of fabulous artist !
If you are interested in joining, please, fill the form below and share this post so it can reach as many people as possible!
The date everything Blissmass collab is an event welcoming all and every artist. Our goal is to draw as much of the 100+ dateables in a gian
my wife...a cabient...❤️ @nyms-fandom-dump - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
