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luna-lovegreat · 7 months

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Wait...

It's November. It's November first. Yesterday was October 31st, so October is over. ...it's over. Is it over?

Inktober, artober, whumptober, flufftober, linktober, every tag ending with -tober that's been circulating for the past month... is it over? I don't know why it's just hit me but...

This matters. So I will try to get the message across, even though I'm not the best at it sometimes

Fanartists, fan writers, artists, fic writers, people making comics, every single one of you that has created art for the past month...

Thank you

This is my first October on tumblr. When I started seeing the "tober" tags, seeing the posts from artists with wips, saying they were going to make something every day to a prompt, making masterposts to update with each day, I thought "cool"

But every day this month, I have gotten on here and smiled.

And I don't mean smiled. I mean I smiled at least 20 times every time I got on the app because I saw all the art and fics. I got to see artists/writers connect stories through different day prompts. I saw people having the most brilliant ideas and creativity, flowing from their hands into their posts. I saw artists responding to continuous asks, telling them how amazing they are. I saw artists getting behind, and keeping going.

I saw Free. Beautiful. Emotional. Amazing. Original. Creative. Art.

Every day

I haven't committed to anything of this before, so I can't directly relate to what you guys were thinking and feeling. But I'm willing to guess; I think you probably enjoyed it, because most won't do such a huge project unless they enjoy it. I think you probably saw it as a challenge you were willing to fulfill, and an opportunity to grow and develop your skills.

... but I'm also willing to bet you did it for us. For people like me, who love art, but don't do this specific type, who are in fandoms, who love tracking and watching you art and sending you compliments, who take joy in your work. For the other artists (and writers!) who admire each others styles and love to learn from each other.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that humans are inherently evil again, I will strap them to a chair, pull up these posts and say look. Look at what these people did. Look me in the eyes and tell me these sorts of actions don't come from the most loving hearts. Tell me these people don't want to make others happy, that they aren't inherently good. And I will tell you you're wrong.

I have so much going on, yet somehow it slipped into my life that I was constantly looking at your art for the joy of it without me even noticing.

And how is it possible. That we have such a beautiful community of people here that we will share. And communicate. And exchange compliments. And literally do things and send asks solely for the purpose of making someone smile.

I'm almost crying by now. God I can't express it well enough! But I am so. So. Grateful

You guys brought me a month of joy! You gave headcanons, and art, and stories!

Even yesterday, Halloween, I was blown away. Because I had expected... I didn't expect anything. And then I log on and see people sending happy halloween asks, exchanging doodles of candy, and headcanons and gifs.

And some are still catching up to the schedule or whatever, and that's ok! But at the beginning of this post, when I was simply realizing it was November, I asked myself "is it over?"

Is it over?

... I don't think so. I've seen artists say they're going to continue and expand on a piece they made and especially liked this month. Some people are still continuing, catching up to a voluntary deadline. All those masterposts with your whump/fluff/link/ink tober art? I know many as well as myself will be going through, looking over your posts with smiles, catching up on some things they missed this month... it will continue in the people and artists I didn't know existed before, but now follow. In the skills and growth in creativity! In the community we've grown, and art you've made, and the art to come, at a normal rate like every other month, even if it's not October anymore!

But my artists, writers... thank you so much. I don't know if you guys know how valuable and amazing you are. How incredible it is that you exist! People say it's amazing we exist under a sky of such stars, but how incredible is it that you made a stranger on the internet smile every day! Your life is so. So. Valuable. I can't even express how grateful I am that you exist, that you somehow are selfless enough to share the most beautiful parts of yourself simply to create, and to create joy. Thank you so so much.

(And this applies to all artists, in any fandoms, not just mine. And I'm just as grateful to people who couldn't do something every day, or only one day! You still share your art, you're just as... incredible. You are incredible.)

Okay.

So I'm gonna do this, and if others want to do it in the reblogs that's great! I do not care at all about reblogging or likes, but I want to make the people that have brought me such joy some appreciation- I hope I can bring you even a smidgen of the light you have brought into my life. So I'm gonna tag all the artists/writers I know of/can think of that have done any sort of October challenge, all of you creators that have made me smile. If people wanna want to tag others in the reblogs or replies to spread love that's cool.

(Basically I don't know social customs or anything at all, so if you don't want me to tag or if I was supposed to do something different or something let me know I have no idea what I'm supposed to do)(if I like accidentally tagged someone who isn't an artist/writer or forgot someone I follow... sorry)

@skyward-floored @kikker-oma @adrift-in-thyme @blueskittlesart @zeldaseyebrows @smilesrobotlover @bahbahhh @soso-dedeck @lennsart @arecaceae175 @illcamp @breannasfluff @solarfire-art @26kabeuchi @cathianemelian @truffeart @scribbly-z-raid @uniquevoidflowers

To all the artists and writers out there: thank you so much!!! You are amazing and I'm glad you exist. Your life is precious, and you matter. Thank you so much for sharing your beauty with us, we love you too!!!!!

... yeah. Just want yall to feel loved... because you are. Again, thank you. Thank you so so much to my beautiful creators who create joy as well as art, who keep storytelling alive. Just... thank you.

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mysteryshoptls · 28 days

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SR Azul Ashengrotto - Luxe Couture Vignette

"Please come this way"

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Azul: …Now, now, don't say that!

Azul: I would be honored if you would come by the Mostro Lounge to come see my photo with Eric-san.

Vil: I'm staggered. You would not only use my father, but also myself to increase your reputation?

Grim: Oh hey, if it ain't Vil and Azul. What're you guys talkin' about?

Azul: We just happened to come across each other over here, so we were merely chatting about plans once we return to campus. Have the two of you been shopping?

1. I bought some clothes for myself.

Azul: You bought clothing at the Crystal Galleria? You must be a better shopper than I thought.

2. I bought some gifts for everyone back home.

Azul: A wonderful sentiment. Keeping people in your debt is very valuable.

Azul: I myself just finished purchasing some cosmetics. After this, I plan on perusing some tableware.

Grim: Huh, tableware? Don't really matter what gets used, to me.

Grim: The food 'n drinks're waaay more important than the plates 'n cups.

Azul: I fully believed that would be your response, Grim-san.

Vil: I absolutely adore that sort of dedication. The more opulent the tableware, the more sophisticated the mealtime becomes.

Vil: Weren't the plates, cups, and cutlery at the restaurant we dined at yesterday utterly sublime?

Grim: I don't remember a thing about 'em.

Vil: ...Right, I was a fool for even asking that in the first place.

Azul: The golden rimmed white porcelain plates at that restaurant was indeed spectacular.

Azul: Decorated in both matte and glossy gold, these surely were high-quality wares. A rare sight, indeed.

Vil: Well, now. You're well informed, Azul.

Vil: It may be interesting to shop for tableware with someone who actually knows a thing or two. I'll join you.

Azul: Why, certainly. Would you like to join us, [Yuu]-san?

1. I'd like to. 2. I'm definitely interested.

Grim: 'Kay, then I'll tag along too, then. But anyway, do they even sell stuff like that here?

Vil: Of course. Fine ceramic wares are yet another major product of the Fairest City. There are also many antique shops.

Grim: Uh-huh. So it's not just make-up 'n clothes 'n food, huh.

Azul: It is said that there were 3 primary factors that led to the development of those fine ceramic wares in the Fairest City.

Azul: The first factor was due to the nearby mines.

Azul: The neighboring mountain range had an abundance of high-quality clay, for which artisans from all over began to come for.

Azul: The second factor is the development of pharmaceuticals thanks to knowledge passed down from the Fairest Queen.

Vil: That pharmaceutical science was then used to develop a diverse array of pigments, and that allowed for the field of colors to become what it is today.

Azul: Indeed. It's just as you say.

Azul: And the final factor is the sense of beauty that every Fairest Queen-loving inhabitant of the Fairest City carries.

Azul: Thus, the potters and sculptors who were raised with a heightened awareness of beauty themselves brought their ceramics to an entirely new level when it comes to works of art.

Vil: Only the residents of the Fairest City would find ways to elevate beauty in fields other than fashion and makeup.

Azul: We've arrived. I hear this shop carries a rather large collection of antique tableware for sale.

Vil: Have you already done prior research?

Azul: Yes, indeed. I must admit I have been looking forward to purchasing new tableware.

Grim: Woah! There's a ton of sparkly dishes and stuff!

Vil: What sort of tableware are you planning on purchasing, Azul?

Azul: I believe I'd like to find teacups, saucers, and a matching teapot.

1. What about this golden tea set?

Grim: Yeah! The shiny gold color is so cool! Azul: I see they allowed gold to oxidize and used that to create a pattern for the design. I must admit it is extravagant and definitely draws an eye. Vil: An opulent design. However, I feel it may not suit the Mostro Lounge.

2. Look at this pink tea set!

Azul: I see it is a set of teacups with a frill molding. The flower pattern along the rim is so wonderfully subtle. Vil: A rather cute design. However, I feel it may not suit the Mostro Lounge.

Azul: Fufu, I agree completely. Perhaps now we can look at the wares that had caught my eye?

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Azul: This is the one I am looking to purchase here.

Grim: This one, huh? It's just a borin' looking white cup with a tiny bit of blue stuff on it.

Azul: That dainty and subtle touch is intended to be its charm point… It seems you fail to comprehend that, Grim-san.

Azul: This bright white porcelain shows not a hint of translucency… Does it not seem to be the pinnacle of class?

Vil: It certainly does have a refined beauty about it.

Azul: The elegant design carved out of the rim of the teacup is called a "scalloped rim."

Azul: And consider this wave-like handle curled along the side… Even the minute details are so stunning.

Grim: A handle? What, you gonna steer somethin' with this cup, then?

Vil: Obviously the handle is where you hold the cup.

Vil: But, Azul. These cups and teapot are a vintage set.

Vil: Is there any need for you to use such an extravagant tea set in a café that caters to students?

Azul: Indeed. I consider this a necessary investment.

Azul: Just because my customers are students does not mean that I intend on compromising my standards.

[Fairest City – Queen's Palace]

[camera shutters clicking and screaming]

Fans: KYAAAAAAAAA! VIL-SAMAAAAA!!!

Reporter: If I can run an article on Vil Schoenheit, then there's no doubt that both magazine sales and website traffic are gonna go through the roof!

Reporter: Alright, now I just gotta hop this barrier so I can cover Vil Schoenheit up close…

[Grrk…]

Azul: Oh, my, it is dangerous to attempt to climb the barrier. Please take all photographs from the designated area.

Reporter: You little brat, don't get in my way! [Azul starts pushing] Urgh, what strength! He's pushing the whole barrier back towards me…!

Azul: If those instructions cannot be followed properly, I may have to take appropriate countermeasures…

Azul: For example, I may be inclined to ring up your place of employment and file a complaint at the highest levels.

Reporter: Okay, fine, just get out of my way, then! I can't even take a picture with you like this!

Azul: How wonderful that we've reached an understanding. Vil-san, please come this way.

Vil: Thank you… You were awfully efficient in handling that.

Azul: When you've made as many deals as I have, it's not uncommon to encounter troubled clients in need of extra firm handling.

Azul: I'm just glad I was able to put the mediation skills I've accumulated to good use.

Vil: Not only are you handling the press well… But you are doing a fantastic job as my escort.

Azul: Well, it also is not uncommon for me to host prospective business contacts personally, either.

Azul: Ah, we are almost at the staircase.

Azul: Right this way. If you wish, my hand is yours to take.

Vil: Well, then. I shall accept it.

―A few days later

[Mostro Lounge]

Octavinelle Student: Welcome!

Azul: Oh my… If it isn't Vil-san! You've come, as promised! I'm so elated.

Vil: Excuse you. I don't recall ever promising you anything. However…

Vil: I was merely thinking back to how you handled yourself previously. I do expect exceptional service today as well.

Vil: Business seems to be going well… Are you using that tea set you purchased back then?

Azul: I am. Right now… The guests at that table are enjoying the tea served in it.

Deuce/Epel: AHAHAHA!

Vil: …There is no way those two even remotely understand the worth of those cups.

Vil: Neither would the rest of these customers. Do you still think that it was worth selecting that specific set?

Azul: Absolutely. I vow to serve drinks and meals on quality dishes that I have personally selected.

Azul: That is something that I will never compromise as the proprietor of the Mostro Lounge.

Azul: You yourself would never touch clothes or cosmetics that don't suit your design or aesthetic taste, yes?

Vil: So, just as I carefully concoct my personal brand by being particular on how I fashion myself…

Vil: You look to enhance the Mostro Lounge by careful consideration of the tableware and table linen.

Vil: I think that fastidious approach of yours is just as spectacular. Perhaps I have judged you a tad harshly.

Azul: Why, thank you. I fully believed that you of all people would understand, Vil-san.

Azul: However… I cannot deny that at times I would like to share that appreciation of the tableware's elegance with someone who actually understands their worth.

Azul: That being said, Vil-san, allow me to prepare your order on my absolute finest plates.

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #deuce spade #epel felmier #twst azul #twst vil #twst deuce #twst epel #twst grim #twst yuu #twst translation #twst tapis rouge #mention: eric

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bakesforsport · 1 year

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i was going to put this on my art blog but i am not afraid to have GAY ALLIGATORS on my dashboard also i don't want to

#the cool art tag i thought of yesterday #later alligator #later alligator pat #later alligator mandy #this game is latched onto my brain and it wont let go

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becsabillion4 · 3 months

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take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls.

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control.

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it.

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there.

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

#becsabillion #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x ofc #carmy the bear #the bear #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #carmen berzatto smut #jeremy allen white #the bear fanfiction

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bidisasterevankinard · 1 month

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Wip Wednesday

tagged by @wikiangela @tizniz @smilingbuckley Gonna share a wip and little bit from the fic I posted yesterday to seduce you to read

I can't imagine a world with you gone

“Firefighter Kinard, your status?” Bobby asks again, and Buck is pretty sure if he doesn’t not hear the answer this time, he will pass out because he is not breathing, scared to miss Tommy’s answer. He just listens, not breathing, not moving, only silently begging Tommy to answer. “Firefighter Kinard, what is your status?”

Nothing. Tommy still says nothing.

The radio is silent. Someone starts saying something to Bobby, but Buck only listens when he hears Tommy’s name.

“Firefighter Kinard is still near the delta zone, but,” Buck’s heart misses a beat and he can see that Eddie near him doesn’t like where it goes too, “ he is not moving.”

and now fluff from I want to dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life)

Buck’s thought process interrupts when big warm hands lay on his waist, and a kiss lands on his neck, a slightly rough post-nap voice asking,

“What made you smile so beautiful this evening?”

Tommy’s beautiful face appears in his line of sight as the man leans in to kiss him on the cheek, then to his lips, making Buck smile only brighter.

“You,” Tommy smiles now too, with his eyebrow raised a little. “Was thinking how happy I am to meet you.”

“Feelings are absolutely mutual, handsome,” Tommy kisses his neck again. “What absolute form of art do you cook for me now after which I wouldn’t be able to eat any other food without dreaming about yours?”

Buck blushes from the compliment.

“I’ve just finished the Bolognese for lasagna. Bobby’s special recipe. Trust me if you barely can eat food after all the other things I cooked, then now I doubt you’ll eat anything again.”

“So sure about yourself, baby?”

“Oh, just trust me,” Buck takes a little of Bolognese from the pot and blows to cool it down. “Just try and remember it’s just part of the lasagna.”

Tommy opens up and moans almost immediately, making Buck bite his lip from both satisfaction his boyfriend likes it and from the arousal the sound Tommy made send through his body.

@wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @elvensorceress @ebdaydreamer @eddiebabygirldiaz @rogerzsteven @theotherbuckley @pirrusstuff @neverevan @aspecbuddie @saybiwithme @spotsandsocks @spaceprincessem @devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @honestlyeddie-im-bi @hoodie-buck @hippolotamus @jesuisici33 @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @bibuckbuckley @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @bewilderedbuckley @bi-buckrights @monsterrae1 @steadfastsaturnsrings @sunshinediaz @transboybuckley @buckstommy and anyone who wants to

#fic: I want to dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life)#my wips #bucktommy #tuck #tevan #kinkley #evan buckley #911 #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy

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nrdmssgs · 6 months

Text

How to not motivate your favorite author to write

So recently this happened to a very dear friend of mine. And then this happened. I'm not tagging her deliberately, to not drag her name into any shitshow. I love her dearly and will fight with tooth and claw for this person.

I will be referring to my personal experience not because I want to make this 'a story about precious me', but because I can guarantee, that overall pattern of creative process will go along with these examples, and I don't want to torture others with interviews on their particular creative process examples.

I want to address that anon and talk a bit about how creative processes work. I am not a writer, but I have two art degrees, so I just happen to know a thing or two about creativity and its ways in human brains.

How creative process differs from creative outcome

Imagine a situation: you roam around your favorite network and find this one cool author, that seems to create something especially for you. I like their characters, their storyline, their ways with the language and overall scenery. You and them seems like a match made in heavens. There is only one 'but': you crave more.

You find your perfect fic, you read every chapter and end on a painful cliffhanger, poor you? But what if I tell you, that to complete this chapter, your favorite author had to process a ton of information, their own suggestions, 'what ifs', questions around every single detail, different dialogue and action options? What you see is a perfectly cut ice cube, but it took a freaking iceberg to make it. By the way, the same goes for illustrations. Remember this short comix?

Well, it took a day to create it, and actually drawing it took only 4 hours. Another 8 hours were spent on concept. Here are just 2 pages of my ideas, and I have like 8 pages of this.

And sometimes authors don't even write down their draft thoughts, but it doesn't mean, these thoughts doesn't exist. We are thinking about our stories while going for groceries, driving a car, doing laundry, taking shower and so on.

So if you read something, that is one-page long - it doesn't mean, that your favorite author spent an average 'fill one page with text' time interval to create it. You are reading an outcome, while the author went through the entire creative process!

How creating one thing may help you to create another thing

Sometimes you need to practice, just to get to know a new character/situation.

I had such difficulties, writing Nikto, that I wrote this and this just to bring this marvelous character to the latest part of my ongoing series. Yes, it took me a month to figure out this character, but it was worth it. So please, bear with an author, that makes little attempts, before going back to their magnum opus. Sketches and renders can and will help them evaluate the story, that you`ve fallen in love with in the first place!

Sometimes you need a break.

If you thought, reading some angst was not easy - just know, that writing it was also not easy. Sometimes authors speak on deeply personal topics, sometimes they express their negative emotions through hard and draining scenes and stories.

And before you say 'oh, but the author knew in advance what is yet to happen' - let me remind you, that the author relieves everything, their characters go through.

Creating something completely knew helps author to gain powers, to take a step further, to breathe and calm down.

Sometimes you just feel like shit.

You wake up, revisit, what you wrote yesterday, and you hate it. And you hate yourself for setting the bar so low. And a very right thing to do at this moment is to get yourself distracted by something completely new. Or even to force yourself to not go back to creating for a bit, so that your 'creativity muscles' get some rest.

So please don't be disappointed by your favorite creator for paying attention to other media/fandom/story/character. It may be their way (long and complicated) to go back to that very work, you liked so much.

What doesn't motivate authors

Punching them with 'hey, stop whatever you're doing and go back to that thing, I LIKED'. This will only make your fave creator freeze in a cycle of self-hate, diffidence, art blocks.

Comparison of their works. "Your Ghost fics are top, so stop writing about Gaz and turn into a full time Ghost praiser". Again, this won't motivate your fave to change their writing habits or preferences, this will make them fill guilty every single time they create something against your preferences. That 10-30-50 sketches with Gaz will eventually help them go back and write something for Ghost!

#nrdspeaks #nrdmssgs

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yuyu1024 · 4 months

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Won't you regret it?

Pairings: Yunho × y/n x Mingi

Genre/tags: arranged marriage, cheating

Warning: 🔞🔞🔞 cheating (dont ever do this guys), probably mention of food, alcohol & smoking, cursing, pet names, jealousy, smut/angst, kikk/fetish, semi public, fingering

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 3.7k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: repost. There is a part 2 for this ♥️

Title is "I think... I love you"

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated 😊

***

I just got married. Literally just yesterday and I can't fucking believe it.

I've always thought that I would never get married. Not that I don't want too. It's just no guy ever likes me to that extent. I am in my late 20s. Well actually going on thirty in a few months. But surprisingly, here I am.

I married this guy because I was told to. I had to. My parents sold me like a piece of meat in exchange of a deal for the business. Typical drama shit. Now, I am going to be stuck in an enormous house pretending to be happy even though I am even unsure how will this work.

As far as I know, based on the few months I have known him before marriage, I don't think we have anything in common. He is a few years younger than me, he works in corporate in their family business while I just do art for leisure and part time job as you may say coz I do sell most of my work. Next thing is, he's so fucking handsome. He is a great catch. Tall, handsome, smart, successful and seems kind. (Sexy also btw) On the other hand, I do look normal, not sophisticated nor a fashionista. I am also a bit curvey than what people nowadays say, the standard beauty. So... He is so out of my league.

I pity him. I know I am not happy about the marriage per say but he's on a great loss on it too. He is stuck with me. A boring, not smart, not feminine nor pretty looking enough.

Oh well. Goodluck to us.

***

"What are you doing?"

I jump a little when I suddenly heard his voice, making me stop sketching on my pad. "Hmm?" I turn my face to look back at him where he's sitting. "What?"

"I said... what are you doing?" He stands up and makes his way to the balcony where I am sitting.

"I'm just... trying to..." I feel awkward explaining to him what I was doing.

I was just drawing yes. However, it's nothing special. I was just letting my hands move on its own as I am drowning in my thoughts about us, this marriage.

"Is that the church where we got married yesterday?" He asks as he sees my sketch pad.

"Yeah... it just came into my mind... while... I was thinking of anything to draw..." I shyly close it and hide it from him.

"You're mother told me... you love to draw and paint... and to see it in person... it's amazing." He says

I could feel his huge presence behind me. His aura feels different from the guy I married yesterday or even the guy I've been seeing the past few months for the preparation of our wedding. He sounds more soft spoken and warm. I thought he will be the strict kind or a cold hearted douche bag behind the curtain

"Thank you." I quietly answer

We're both silent for quite some time. It's not that we are that awkward but I guess both of us got mesmerized to see the beautiful sunset happening right in front of us. The sky sort of blends with the sea as the light reflect onto the water. It's out of this world!

"It's so beautiful..." I mumble as I let the crispy cool wind blew my hair off my shoulders.

"It's indeed beautiful..." he utters. He then move beside me, to sit down.

His eyes are sparkling. And a hint of smile spreads on his lips.

He really seem is a nice person. He is just unlucky he got married to me. A responsibility and a duty for his family.

"What time are we going to have sex?" I spat out

His head snaps back to look at me, stunned. "What?" And then after he processed what I just asked him, he snorts a laugh out "Right... you're mother also told me that you are a bit...straightforward."

"Sorry..." I look away. "I just.. you know..."

"And she said... you're cheeks get red when you are embrassed."

"Wow... You've talked to my mother quite a bit huh?"

"Well..." he stood up and goes behind me again. "When you were doing fittings... she made sure I was not bored waiting..."

My head follows him as he get in his position behind me. "She must've said a lot of embarassing things about me too...?"

He hums as he thinks. "Not much."then he starts to lean in a little bit, his hand goes sliding down on the both sides of the chair I am sitting on. "Just... a few funny moments when you were a baby..."

My heart is pounding off my chest. His face is just inches away from mine. His eyes are scanning me. Is he watching my reaction? What does he want?

"What are you doing?" I ask

"Nothing..." he answers softly. Almost a whisper. "I just...I..."

He is kissing me. He's fucking kissing me! Oh my goodness! Well yeah we did seal the wedding with a kiss but that was just a peck. This is our first damn kiss.

We continue to make out like it has been due but not gonna lie, him making me turn my head like this to face him is straining my neck. HOWEVER fuck that shit. He is kissing me so damn good!

He then pulls away from the kiss leaving me hanging and wanting more.

"Y/n..."

"Hmm?"

"Are you on birth control?"

"Yes..."

"Good."

I squeal as he carries me off the chair, dropping everything I'm holding.

He throws me onto the bed and starts to unbutton his shirt. "Since you asked about us having sex... I guess we could go straight into it?"

Climbing on top of me, shirtless, I am in awe how fucking fine this man is. Damn. I guess there is something good about this arrange marriage after all.

"Okay... game..." I answer, giddy.

I go ahead unhook my bra and throw it away whilst still wearing my fitted off shoulder top.

"Do you mind if I?" He point at my floral skirt

"Go ahead..." my voice is shaky

He goes down and personally takes off my skirt along with my panties.

"We'll take it slow... and..." he is so cautious talking to me all of a sudden. He must be nervous too.

"Where is the brave guy who carried and thrown me on the bed?" I tease, smiling.

He chuckles, "I am still here... just... controlling it in." He then kisses me on my cheek. "We are married... yes... and its our duty to fuck and what.. but... I still want to respect you... as a woman... and do this right..."

I put my arms around his nape. "You are doing good." I whisper.

He is massive. His length is lengthy. I am lost of words to explain it but he perfectly fits me. I think more than perfect actually. I could really feel him IN me. Full, warm, and pulsating.

"Y/n..." he cries my name as our hands linked together. "Y-you... ugh..." he is shaking and sweating like me.

"Are you trying to say... it feels good?" I kiss his cheek

"Fuck yes." He hiss.

He is sweating bullets. His eyes never left my face. He is really gazing at me, seeing me get wrecked by him. It's not weird. It's like he is admiring me also absorbing every moan that escapes my lips. If that makes sense.

We continued until both of us came and pass out from extreme adrenaline. We are exhausted but it was a blast.

"So, since I'm in birth control... we'll always do it raw?" I ask, still panting

He laughs again. He does enjoy it when I say random things and straight to the point.

"If that's what you want. But to be fair, I am okay using cond0ms."

"Okay."

***

A few months later, so far... I'm still married. Yey for arrange marriage. (Sarcastic)

Yes we started as strangers forced to be married and I thought we would be worst; fighting or being enemies like the ones I see in movies and drama but because of our one week honeymoon it shifted a little. We got to know each other a little and we talked about our bounderies. It was all good. It's like a good partnership but on a business level.

Anyways, yeah. It's all good. However, there's one thing missing in our deal lately. "Sex"

We did quiet a lot during our honeymoon. Like, a lot... a lot. I didn't even know I could do a marathon like that. And if I was not on birth control I swear I'm pregnant now. That's how much seeds I got from him.

However, after we got back from abroad Yunho became busy. His schedule is hectic and he is barely home or in the country. So we barely get the time to do it. We do a few make out sessions here and there but not on a regular basis. Their family business is on steroids like everyday is a peak season. I hate it but I can't complain about it.

I never dared to ask him for his time or even a date (not that I need a date but yeah). We just started to connect, to make this work but got drifted apart the second we got back. He became a stranger to me again. It's like meeting him for the first time every 3 to 4 days that he's back.

I want this to work. I need it to work. Because we will be together for a long time.

"Y/n!" my mother-in-law welcomes me to her home. "Thank you for visiting me..." she hugs me and pats my back. "So sad Yunho is out of town and can't come..."

"Yeah, he have been... busy." I agree, smiling.

"Come, I'll introduce you to my friends and their sons. They are Yunho's childhood friends."

"Oh..."

I follow her walk from the foyer, across the living room and out to the terrace and until we reach the gazebo where the three elegant ladies are waiting.

"Here she is." Mrs. Jeong says as we both arrive. "Isn't she lovely?"

All three ladies cheer as they see me. They complimented how I look and how I am the best wife for Yunho. I smile at each of their words but I don't know what they meant by best wife when I barely became a wife to him. He's not here.

"By the way, this is my son... Mingi." The lady with the bob hair cut says pointing to the tall guy, wearing a very loose and unbuttoned top, sitting on the fence. "Mingi! Stop smoking and come here." She calls

He jumps off the fence and put off his cigarette on the ashtray. "Mingi." He sturnly says. We both shake hands and nod at each other.

"And I'm San... and this is Yeosang." A man with broad shoulders on the other side introduces him and himself.

"Aren't they all charming." Mrs. Jeong says to me.

"They are." I smile and bow to all three

The catch up continued for quite sometime until it started to drizzle a little bit. It didn't bothered me but the ladies are not into it. They all cutely panicked and hurried their way back into the house.

I tell them that I will stay and just draw for a bit and I'm glad Mrs. Jeong allowed me. She is sweet and kind. She also supports my hobby.

I got into my zone sketching and trying to capture the beauty of the garden. I didn't even noticed that I've been drawing for more than an hour already.

"You paint to right?"

I raise my glance up and see Mingi, the guy with the deep ass voice earlier. He is smoking again.

"I do."

"Mrs. Jeong boasted about your works to my mother last week. She said... you are talented."

"She's kind. I'm just... alright." I go back to sketching whilst he makes his way closer to where I am sitting

"Do you paint people too?"

My hand stops. "People?"

"Yeah... I meant... portrait... not on people..."

I laugh at his panic reaction. "I know what you ment... why do you ask?"

"Could you paint one for me?" He blows a puff of smoke and then leans his back, crossing his legs. "Don't worry... I will pay."

"I'm not questioning if you will and can pay... but..."

"But what?"

"I don't paint... requests... for now..." I look away. "I'm trying to explore ideas... and learn more... for now... I only paint what I find beautiful...and interesting... the ones I am selling, those are old painting..."

"I see..." he flicks his cigarette on the ashtray.

"Yeah, sorry... Maybe you could find somebody else to paint your parents and--"

"Who said it's for my parents?"

I look at him, confused. "Then... who are you requesting for?"

He smirks, lightly bitting his lower lip. "Me."

"Oh."

"Will you still not paint me?"

"Ahm... sorry...but..."

"Why?" He raises a brow. "Don't you find me beautiful and... interesting?"

Fuck yeah he is beautiful. Sharp eyes and nose. Plump and rosey lips. And a nice built of body. He is huge but lean.

Yunho... my husband is leaner and taller.

"Do you really want me to do a painting of you or you are trying to mess with me?"

"Both." He's so honest. "So tell me, what can I do to peak your interest?"

Fuck. What's going on? Why is he coming at me like this? So bluntly, in broad daylight and in my husband's family home.

"Y/n..." Yunho then suddenly appears. He's still wearing his suit.

"Look who just arrived." Mingi smiled and stands up, welcoming his pal. "Fresh from the airport I pressume."

"Yeah..." both of them quickly hugs and do their handshake.

They have a friendship handshake. And this Mingi, is trying to suggest someting to me just a few seconds ago. What the fuck? Is he doing it on purpose? Is he testing me if I would cheat?

"Just met your wife..." Mingi says, "I'm asking for her to paint something for me... but she refuses."

Glad he didn't lie.

"All of a sudden? You want a painting?" Yunho asks

"Well... I just do." He shrugs his shoulder. "Plus... I want to be friends with your wife."

"Don't worry... he's an ass sometimes but most of the time he's good." Yunho says to me, smiling.

He talks to me like we've never been apart for more than a week. After not having one text nor a call from him. He's a great actor. (Why am I so irritated?)

"I just arrived and saw you two from afar so I said hi... I'll just go inside and meet mom and the rest." Yunho says

"Go ahead... and mingle with the mother earths... I'll stay here with your wife."

"Okay."

***

After the sun setting down, I grab my things and go inside where Yunho and the others were.

I cautiously emerge from the glass door from the terrace. "What happened to your skirt?"

I startle as I see Yunho. "Oh." I look down at my skirt and see the dark stains on it. "From my hand probably..." I show him my left hand that have charcoal color stains as well from me sketching.

He then comes closer and suddenly gives me a kiss on my temple. "I missed you." He mumbles under his breathe

I look up to my tall husband, "Missed me? But you never even texted me or called me this week." My brows are crunching and shows how irritated I am. We had a deal. We make efforts for this fixed marriage at least. "I texted you... multiple times asking you when will you come home... and to my surprise... you arrive today."

He snorts a smile. "Straightforward as ever." He tugs the loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "I was busy. That's all. I didn't even have time to text my mother too."

"So, every time you go abroad or out of town... should I expect cold treatment from you?"

"No..." he shakes his head, "No... it's just..."

"You told me to not ask anything about your work for your family's business... I get that. But atleast just let me know if I would sleep alone in the bed for one week. I have needs okay?"

He smiles again, "needs?" He repeats, sounding amused

"You know what I mean..." I roll my eyes and walk pass him but before I could totally leave the area he follows me and take my hand.

"Do you want to fuck later?" He blurts out, smiling

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Mingi is chuckling as he hear Yunho. "Buddy.... what a topic to hear."

"Go away, Mingi. This is a private matter."

(Part 2 of this, checked pinned post. 'I think... I love you')

Wearing a playful smile, Mingi raises his hands as gesture of surrender and says, "Fine. I'm going anyways... mom asked me to drive her home so... see you!"

"See you whenever." Yunho answer

"Nice meeting you, Mrs. Jeong." He says to me, winking.

I didn't answer him. I just bowed and looked away quickly. I don't want to react to him that much because.... well... earlier...

I don't know what fucking happened. But the next thing I know after Yunho left to go inside the house, Mingi and I argued. He kept on asking me to paint him which I kept saying no. I even asked him face to face why is he messing with me. I remembered walking away from him.

However he did follow me and well... it... went downhill after that.

Can you believe me when I say, I was hiding behind a big ass tree earlier? legs spread and being eaten by a wolf man named Mingi?

"F-fuck..." I breathe out, clutching onto my skirt for dear life. That's where I get the stain in my dress from my hand. "We... might... get... ahhhh... caught..." my eyes are leaking with tears. Even my voice and body is shaking. And I can't stop moaning. It's THAT GOOD.

I've been craving for sex or anything sensual from Yunho for the past days but since he's busy and away, I haven't had sex for quite some time and this... THIS cures the itch.

"Fuck! Mingi!" I grab him by his hair and pull him away.

He gets up and growls at me. "Do you really want me to stop, baby girl?"

I'm dying. I am aroused, needy and I fucking want more but "This is not right... I'm... I'm married..."

"So?" He smirks and then goes on to kneading my covered breasts. "You know you want it too." He bites onto my covered n!pple. "You are wet for me baby girl...you are turned on... by me..."

"I'm married... to your friend..." I'm still catching my breathe

"He does not have to know..." pushing my boob out of my bra and start sucking on it. I could feel his tongue circling over my tip.

What the fuck. This is wrong but why do my body react to it like it is the right thing to do?

"Don't you... want it...?" He's eyes are so alluring. "Me sucking you... whenever you want and need?"

His voice plus the way he speaks is so intoxicating. And the way he sucks my breast. Damn it! My breast is one of my thing when it comes to intimacy. I'm sensitive and in heaven when you play around it and I know my full breast give the other person pleasure as well.

"And this..." his long fingers goes back down to my core, teasing my already wet folds. "Can you feel how wet you are for me baby girl?"

"Ughhh..." I throw my head back.

"I can put one in and..." he slowly eases one digit in. "Do this..." he thrust his finger in me vigorously.

"Oh shit!" My mouth drops as he fucks me with it

He growls under his breathe, "You are tight... squeezing my finger. I could imagine how good it must feel if I put my c0ck in you."

"Here?!" I gasp

"No baby girl, don't worry. I won't do that..." he pulls his finger out of me and kisses my exposed breast, leaving a mark just right in my cleavage. "If we're going to fuck... I want you to feel safe and..." then he runs his tongue from my n!pple up to my collarbone. "to enjoy it as well. Remember, I am here to please you baby girl."

He thrust his fingers more. Faster. I am barely hanging on him. I could feel my nails digging onto his shoulder.

"A-ahh!" I throw my head and I could feel my hips moving along with his rythm. "I'm going to come..." I cry

"Come for me." He growls as he is inserting another digit. "Is this it?" He asks curving his fingers in me

"Holy shit!" I squeal as he hits it. He found my spot.

My mouth is open in O shape. I am barely breathing and barely holding it in. I want to fucking scream but we can't get caught.

"C'mon baby girl... let it out."

"Fuck!"

I came and collapsed on him. I can't fucking believe this! I am on high from the f!ngering he did that even though I knew this is not right, me dealing with him, but then again I said yes.

"Okay...fine." I breathe out. "I'll paint you..."

He pauses and a smile beams from his lips. He understood what I meant by that.

"You won't regret it." He lowers his head and continues to lick onto my sensitive tips

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