#pound scallops

[bringbackgenestealercults]

Seafood - Citrus Scallops I Recipe Serve this citrusy scallop dish atop fresh cooked pasta. Add some crusty bread and bottle of chilled white wine and you've got yourself an elegant dinner.

[demonofnoontide]

Soups, Stews and Chili - Creamy Scallop Chowder

A wonderful soup featuring white wine, onions and tender scallops. You may use either ocean or bay scallops.

[camillafioravanziphotography]

Scallops with Pesto Cream Sauce This delicious scallop dish only takes a few minutes to make and is to die for. Serve the scallops as they are or with some crusty bread, rice, or pasta. 1 tablespoon capers, 1 tablespoon pesto, 1 pound scallops, salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste, 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, 2 tablespoons butter, 1 cup heavy whipping cream

[rocoreview]

Citrus Scallops I

Place some freshly cooked pasta on top of this citrusy scallop dish. A bottle of chilled white wine and some crusty bread complete an elegant dinner.

[transsubstantiatio]

Creamy Scallop Chowder a delicious soup with tender scallops, white wine, and onions. You can either use bay or ocean scallops. 1 pound scallops rinsed and drained, 1/2 cup dry white wine, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 bunch green onion minced, 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley, 2 tablespoons butter, 1/2 cup shredded Swiss cheese, 4 ounces fresh mushrooms sliced, 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, 1 pinch ground white pepper, 1 cup milk

[milakunisandwords]

Recipe for Scallops with Pesto Cream Sauce This delicious scallop dish only takes a few minutes to make and is to die for. Serve the scallops as they are or with some crusty bread, rice, or pasta.

[baronsanders]

Scallops - Sauted Scallops Served as a main course for two, scallops sautéed in butter with fresh rosemary and minced garlic is a dish that is both straightforward and delicious.

[skyefully]

Sauted Scallops Sauted scallops in butter with crushed garlic and fresh rosemary; a very simple yet incredibly delicious shellfish main dish for two!

[absolutelyzoned]

DAMNNNN im thinner than i thought 😭😭

[gingerteafairy]

heart shaped carrots (carmen berzatto x reader)

Carmy was a dream where everything could happen. He was your dream.

tags n warnings: f!reader, arguing, cursing, angst, the bear background, dry humping, usual unprotected piv, oral (f! receiving). word count: 3.4k

The dream of becoming a chef was practically in shambles, like fish bones discarded in a pot. The exhausting routine at The Beef, overdue paychecks, and the constant tension — Carmy’s harsh words, Sydney’s sharpness, and Richie’s ironically calm chaos — felt like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse heralding the end.

You couldn’t even tell what season it was anymore. The oppressive heat from the kitchen had blurred time. It was already 11 PM, and Carmen Berzatto was pacing like a caged animal, demanding speed for one of your dishes, his blue eyes sharp and unrelenting.

You chose an Italian Carrot Dish to impress him. Terrible decision. Perpetually dissatisfied, he hovered over you like a storm cloud, criticizing every movement. The way you chopped carrots, the angle of your knife, the thickness of your slices — everything was wrong to him.

He leaned over the counter, his hand gripping the edge tightly. “Why are you doing it like that again? Why are you doing it like that again?” Carmen barked, his voice cutting through the sizzling pans and clattering utensils. With a swift motion, he grabbed the cutting board, his jaw clenched, and unceremoniously tossed your carefully sliced carrots into the trash. “Do it over.”

Your hands froze mid-air, the knife trembling slightly in your grip. The exhaustion and frustration boiled over. “It’s the hundredth time you’ve made me do this shit, Carmen!” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to make Sydney glance up from her station.

Carmy’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening even further as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? You’re right . This is shit. It's a fucking shit. You want to send out garbage? Be my guest. But not in my kitchen.”

“Yeah? Fuck you cause you are the shit here, Carmen,” you muttered under your breath, slamming the knife onto the cutting board. “What’s wrong with the way I’m doing it?”

“What’s wrong?” he echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. He stepped closer, pointing at the trash can where your work now sat. “This isn’t just a carrot. It’s discipline. It’s focus. If you can’t get that right, how are you gonna handle a risotto? Or a plate of scallops? And don't fucking calm me Carmen.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the heat from the stove and his words making it hard to breathe. “I’m not a mind reader! Maybe if you actually explained instead of throwing tantrums, we’d get somewhere. Fuck.”

“Hey, Chef. Take it easy,” Marcus tried to intervene, his usual calm demeanor intact, though there was hesitation in his voice.

“Marcus, don’t bother,” Tina cut in, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “It’s not worth it.” Her voice was firm, her eyes darting between you and Carmen. This was fire against fire, and no one dared step into the middle of it. It would be absolute suicide.

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face — frustration, guilt, or maybe even exhaustion. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same hard stare. “Just do it again,” he muttered, his voice lower this time, almost as if he didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides before you reached for another carrot, biting back the words you wanted to say. The kitchen wasn’t just a battlefield; it was a prison, and Carmy Berzatto was the warden.

As you began chopping again, Richie’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Hey, Cousin, maybe lay off for a second? Poor girl’s about to combust.” He smirked, leaning casually against the counter, a toothpick dangling from his lips.

Carmy shot him a glare. “Stay out of it, Richie.”

But Richie only chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure thing, Chef. Keep barking orders. See where that gets you. I'm done with this. You guys are fucking insane. Fucking insane. But I love you, sweetie. You don't deserve the Carm shit.”

“Bye, Richie. Love you.” You couldn’t help the small, bitter laugh that escaped your lips as you continued chopping, your movements more aggressive now. The night wasn’t over, and neither was the chaos.

“We're going too… Chef, Jeff… goodnight.” Tina smiled, her motherly nature slightly soothing the moment. “Get some rest, okay?” She rubbed your shoulders and you smiled at the touch.

“I'll try.” you murmured, wiping your hands on your stained apron, your voice barely audible over the hum of the kitchen. “Goodnight, Tina. Marcus. Good job, guys.”

“Yeah… good job, everyone, you did great.” Carmen echoed, almost under his breath. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing hard against his temples as he watched the team shuffle out through tired, half-lidded eyes. The room fell into a heavy silence until it was just you and him left in the kitchen.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself back into motion. Silently, you picked up the cutting board and knife, grabbed more carrots, and started again. Alumette, brunoise, batonnet, julienne, mirepoix. Every possible cut danced beneath your blade as your sweat mixed with silent tears of frustration. The kitchen air felt suffocating, the heat and stress pressing down on your chest.

“Slower! You’re too slow! Dammit, this is painful to watch!” Carmy barked again, stepping closer, his voice grating and relentless. He slammed his own knife onto the counter, demonstrating cuts so precise they looked effortless, but the condescension in his tone stung like a burn.

It was too much. The tension snapped like a rubber band.

With a sharp exhale, you threw your knife and cutting board onto the floor, perfect pieces of vegetables scattering across the tiles like broken glass. The clatter echoed loudly, cutting through the silence.

“And you’re being an insufferable jerk, Carmen!” you shouted, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

“Don't fucking call me Carmen, I told you.” he threaded, tooking a step forward pointing fingers to your face, that you slapped away, your movements sharp and deliberate.

“Why the hell are you being so irritating? What’s your problem?” Your chest heaved as you stared at him down, your frustration and defiance meeting his unrelenting glare.

He exploded, forking his fingers on his hair. “You’re pissing me off. You're making mistakes. Fucking my kitchen. You're fucking with me.”

“You're fucking with everyone.” you shouted. “Everyone is gone. No one stands between you and me anymore. Even Marcus is tired of this. Do you even know what that means?”

“Oh, I know…” His jaw tightened, and his hands moved to grab your shoulders, forcibly pushing you to face him. “Because of you! Fuck! You're making everything difficult.”

You shove him hard in the chest, your hands striking with frustration. He stumbles back, his eyes narrowing as he collides with the wall, but he doesn't resist.

"Why don't you fire me, Carm? Go ahead!" you challenge, your voice sharp and trembling with anger.

“I would've fired you months ago if I knew you were like this.” He continues, stepping closer, his face inches from yours.

"You're wrong. It's because no one else would put up with your nonsense. That's why you don't fire me. You. Just. Can't." Your fists clench at your sides, your breath quick and heavy, chest rising and falling as the tension builds.

"Feel better now?" he spat, his voice low, almost mocking. He straightens himself against the wall, brushing off his shirt as if your outburst was nothing more than a passing annoyance. “I swear to God, I'll shut your mouth one day. And you'll be just-"

"You know what? I'm gonna be honest with you." you interrupted, trembling as frustration spills out. "You're lucky you're the most talented chef I've ever met in my life. You're the best in the world for me. I had to make an effort.”

“Oh, you want a congratulation card?” He mocked, clapping his hands slowly. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“Listen to me, you piece of shit. I'm not done.” You growled, grabbing his hands. “Fuck, you're so fucking perfect in anything you do and still be a jerk. It's tiring. And for the worst, you're hot. Hot as hell and this is triggering for me. That's why I don’t leave this hellhole. This isn't a life, Carm." Your hands gesture wildly before falling to your sides, defeated.

He pauses stepping back, his jaw tightening as he runs a hand over his face, clearly at a loss for words. His fingers drum once on his hips before he exhales sharply through his nose, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. "You think I'm hot?" he echoed, his voice low, almost teasing.

For a moment, Carm stays silent, his gaze fixed on you. There's a flicker in his expression—anger, maybe even something else—usually quickly masked by his stressed composure breaking apart.

And that moment you felt what you've been trying to hide behind screams and what Carmy muffled on his curses. Explosive unnatural sexual tension. The reality of the situation is weighing between you both as you walk back to the counter and he follows you as a strong force tired of being ignored pulls him back to you.

You stare at him in disbelief, your mouth falling open. Trying to deny the obvious. Denying your need. "Is that all you got from what I just said?" you shoot back, pushing off the counter and stepping closer to him. “Yeah, that's what I said. You're a fucking hot pain in the ass. If you just…”

“You don't know when to stop?” he cut off as his patient ran thin. “You're fucking testing my limits, pushing me, tempting me. Fuck, I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't even know why I keep going back to you everytime. Every day. Here. At the same place, when everyone goes and leaves us both alone again.”

You exhale the air you didn't even know you were holding back. “You need me, asshole. Stop… fucking pretending you hate me.” your voice lowed on every word, til you whispered what he craved to hear for all these months. “I'm tired of pretending I don't want you.”

He sighs, as his gaze locks on yours, carefully stepping to the moment he pins you to the counter.

You expected everything from Carm except him trapping you this way and worse, in the kitchen. In his kingdom.

He grabs both of your wrists, caressing the whitened knuckles, moving his leg between your thighs. You gulp, directioning your eyes down. You shutted your mouth, every cell of you was alarmed. You were needy, more than that, you were starving Carmy Berzatto.

“Why do you want me?” He demanded softly, and you furrowed your eyebrows. How the hell are you supposed to respond to it? Carmy had a beauty to fill centuries of art museum collections.

He closed his eyes, landing his forehead on yours. Then you shutted yours as well. Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as you try to steady your breathing.

“You're Carmy.” You replied weakly, slowly opening your eyes as you met his watery globe. Your fingers advanced on a slow dance from the counter to print his arm, chest and finally his face, resting your palm on his cheek where a silent tear fell. “There's no reason bigger than this. You're perfect, Carmy. Don't you see that? You’re…my fucking inspiration. You're my dream. You're the reason I do all of this. That's why I outburst when you scream at me.”

Your lips parted slightly, and his gaze flickered down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. You saw it, and your breath hitched. His face was close now, so close that you could feel his breath, warm and uneven.

His pulse quickened. He swallowed as a small red tint flashes his cheek, licking his lips to dissipate the nervousness. You shivered, your brain working to wonder how that talented tongue tasted your juice.

Your hands gripped his apron. The moment your lips touched his, they parted and his tongue teased yours. He wrapped his arms around you, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. the stress in his shoulders loosened as he just held you close.

He let out a quiet moan against your lips as he grabs your hips again and pushes your back against the counter as he kisses you hungrily.

He moves his kisses to your neck, biting and sucking the skin, humming while you tilted your head to guarantee access to him.

Your hand grabs his locks on your fingers, pushing those soft curls on your fingertips. You pursue his lips, nipping the bottom while you grind against his pelvis, humming on how his cock felt just right even clothed.

“Hmmm…this is good.” He groans, swaying, mimicking slow thrusts, his fingers catching your ass cheeks while you continually round your hips on his.

You mewl when you feel his hard tip right on your clit, proceeding to rub on that spot where he threw your head on your neck to pepper kisses and nip on the skin, leaving marks. His marks. “Yeah…it's…weirdly good.”

He whimpers, breath fanning as he brushes his nose on yours. His hands ran up to slap your ass, caressing as a sorry. Carmy was on a trip, where he never failed to surprise you, each fucking moment seemed meaningful.

“What we're doing… We shouldn't…This…We. It's risky.” He sighs, pulling you closer as your chests touch, guiding your movements. .

"Being with you is already a risk, Carm," you whispered, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Let's fuck, can't cum in this fucking dry humping, would ruin my reputation.”

“I wouldn't mind ruining mine by cumming on my jeans.” he says, and somehow it comforted you as a cool breeze in summer.

He peels the apron off simultaneously as you take off yours and tossed on the counter, stripping your jeans down your ankles, kicking it while he unbelt and unbutton his jeans, down to his thighs with the boxers.

You grasp the hem of your panties, but Carmy stops. “You sure of…”

“Fuck me, Carm.” You cut off and he nodded, blushing. Carm liked your orders more than he would like to admit. “Please…” but loved even more when you pleaded.

He placed the tip, rubbing softly on your pearl to spread your liquid on his pre-cum. You hummed, wiggling on it. “Fuck. I've always wanted to do it. Tastes together. Like…like cooking. Mixing flavors.” Carmy groaned, rocking his aching tip on your clit. “Fuck. I need to taste it”

He bent, kneeling on the floor, spreading your legs as he placed one of your thighs on his shoulders. So, in that moment, your eyes mingled on how Carmy seemed delighted as a chef, inhaling scents, kitten licking slowly as every taste bud memorized on every spot of his tongue how you tasted.

He hummed, sucking, going for the entrance to get more liquid, more lubrication, burying his face on your core, tantalizing your pussy by inserting one finger deep and pulling out to suck on his tongue, moaning again.

“Carm…stop teasing me. Please, bear…” you weeb, groggy at the pleasure roller coaster. He shivered by the name again, planting one last licking to get up again.

He wrapped his cock on his hand again, pressing the tip against your cunt with no resistance, pushing his length deep on you, lifting one of your legs to keep you close. “Fuck.” He breathes, sinking down on you.

“Yeah…fuck.” You echoed, ripping a grin from him. You capture his lips, wrapping your leg on his hip, cradling your arms around his neck while you sigh and cry on each thrust harder than the one before. “We should… be… doing it every time we fight, bear”

He nods, pursuing your lips, slides his hands down further, going for your ass to smack and squeeze tightly. “Now I know how to put you in your place.” he whispers.

You grin, your giggles paused between your moans on Carm’s cock popping in and out crazily fast. You threw your head back, disheveled, chased back again by his strong hands on the back of your neck, looking at him.

“So you don't mind?" he asks, his shoulders tensed as he looks at you with quiet hope between the foggy atmosphere, your so loved white shirt covered in sweat.

You opened your mouth, forcing your eyes to open. “About what?”

“About me.” He answers, groaning. His pace became slower, matching the intimate vulnerability of the moment. “About us. About…fucking everything.”

"Our relationship is already broken, right?" Your tone is soft but resolute, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words lingers between you. You clench, feeling your so known vibrations.

“Is that what you call….fuck…, a relationship?” He managed, his right hand travelled to your throat, landing on the back of your neck, knuckles brushing on your jaw.

“What else would it be?” You smile amused, brushing your hands against his biceps scratching your nails. Your marks.

“A headache?” He constantes, pressing his lips trying to stifle a laugh, slipped out anyway. You couldn’t help but join him.

“You know that anger can be misunderstood with arousal, right?” You flashed a grin, muffled by him biting your lip, landing your eyes briefly at his mouth before back on his blue iris. “Maybe that's why we always screamed at each other and fuck Carmy m cumming”

“Fuck, let it out…let it all out.” He moans, sliding faster on your cunt, passionately fucking you til your back arch convulsing blissed out in ecstasy.

He swallows, driving his head back on your neck so he could hear every moan you let out on your climax, the ones he caused. And it was enough to make him pulse, spasming as he cummed on deep sways, colliding on you.

His chest rose heavy, pushing back to look at you, as a satisfied grin creeps his face. You lick your lips, smiling as well. And silently as the moment demanded, he popped his softened cock out, dressing again as you did the same. But first, he got his own apron to clean his mess carefully, kissing your forehead as a cherry on top.

You smiled as he lifted your pants, buttoned up and unshrink your shirt. "Thank you, chef," you mutter, your voice soft and sincere.

"Thank you, chef," he whispers back, leaning in until your foreheads touch again. His hand moves gently to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. "Let’s go home," he murmurs, his tone low and filled with a quiet longing.

"Okay, chef," you sigh, your fingers lightly tracing along his arm in response. He lingers for a moment, as if reluctant to let go, before tilting his head toward the door. You nod, taking off your apron and carefully turning off the lights before stepping outside with him.

Walking beside Carmy down the street, you steal a glance at him, your heart caught in a mixture of hope and uncertainty. He catches your gaze, holding it for a moment longer than usual before glancing away. You swallow hard, lifting a hand in a hesitant wave goodbye before taking a step forward.

He nods silently, his eyes following your retreating figure. "Chef," he calls out suddenly, his voice firm but tinged with something softer.

You stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder before turning to face him fully. He locks the restaurant door with deliberate slowness, then strides toward you, his steps purposeful.

"What is it?" you ask softly, your voice carrying a hint of worry as you search his face.

He stops just a breath away, his blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. After a pause, he speaks, his voice low and vulnerable. "You’re my dream too."

His lips curl into a tender smile as he takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against your skin. The words sink into the quiet air between you, their weight undeniable.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes glisten as you fight back tears. You shake your head slightly, a shaky smile breaking through. "I still hate you, Carm," you tease, the words laced with warmth neither of you can deny.

He laughs, the sound soft and genuine, his hand still holding yours. "And you’re not half bad at chopping carrots," he quips, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin as he releases your hand reluctantly.

"Goodbye, chef," you say, your voice quieter now, the words carrying an intimacy you don’t attempt to hide.

"Goodbye, chef," he replies, his eyes lingering on you as you walk away, the echo of your shared moment still hanging in the air.

[honeylullaby]

“How does it feel, huh?”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Declan is set to interview your actor boyfriend on his show, and uncovers more than a few home truths…

18+ FANFIC / Angsty Declan, our fave 💋 DV mention. Reader character aged at 21.

“30 minutes.” You grin towards Declan O’Hara, who was hidden behind his desk, his eyes scanning his production notes furiously. “Thank you.” He murmured, not giving you the decency of eye contact. The ghastly day outside only reflected the inner mood at Corinium — harsh and embittered. “I know it’s a lot for me to ask but… please be nice.” You speak in a hushed tone, and his melting chocolate eyes take a quick glance upwards, his hardened expression softening as he began to bask in your presence.

Recently, you had been courting Frankie Powers — an American, super-hot, effortlessly talented actor. And you’d made absolutely no bones about it in the office, he was in love with you, he asked you to move into his dreamy mansion in California, he had asked for your fathers permission to marry you. But, being the self-righteous shit that he was, he had recently been increasingly distant — he had slept with, and impregnated, his lead makeup girl and paid her off to maintain her silence. Whilst you were pitifully aware of this commotion, you had the most excruciating feeling that Declan was too. You had grown increasingly close to each other in the past weeks, and had noticed his reproving dismissals of any conversations you had attempted to make about Frankie.

“Anyway, Cameron asked me to give this to you.” You peeped, slamming a neatly scribed bundle of papers onto his desk, the scalloped sleeve of your black blouse riding slightly upwards. Momentarily glancing towards his new stack of documents, Declan observed a smattering of scarlet bruises, beginning at your wrist and trailing up to your elbow. “What the fuck is that?” He roared, gripping your wrist and yanking irritably at your sleeve. “Declan, please don’t…” You whimper, desperately trying to release yourself from his grasp but alas, it was too late. Declan had almost tore your sleeve from your arm, revealing the true extent of your horrific bruising. “I’ll ask again, what the fuck is that?” His face grew puce with fury as he yelled, spit flying from his mouth like a rabid dog.

“Honestly, it’s nothing. I really fucked up dinner last night and Frankie was so hungry after shooting all day.” The words fell from your stammering mouth in a timorous, blundering manner. Declan’s unbridled fury rose through his body like a kettle being brought to the boil. It was despicable to do this to any woman, he thought, but he was beginning to feel an overwhelming sense of protection and longing towards you. For Declan, this was enough. All but launching himself from his chair, he thundered down the tangerine-orange corridors of Corinium, barging past secretary after makeup girl until he reached the dressing room, pounding white, clenched fists against the door. “Declan! Please don’t!” You beg, chasing after him and tugging at the bottom of beige tweed blazer.

“Can I help you?” Frankie asked, opening the door, and most definitely, immediately regretting it. Declan grabbed the collar of Frankie’s shirt, bunching it up in his fists and pinning him against the wall. With bated breath, you anxiously chomped at your fingernails — furtively grateful that Declan was so wildly protective. “What the fuck, dude?” Your boyfriend stuttered, frozen with terror. “I saw what ya’ did to her. Does it make ya’ feel like the big man?” Declan growled into his ear through gritted teeth. Frankie opened his mouth to speak, but simply couldn’t. “What about now, someone ya’ own size picking on ‘ya? How does it feel, huh?”

Desperately, you fought off the urge to smirk, internally overjoyed that Frankie had finally got his comeuppance. But, before you could finally pull Declan from him, you were startled by the deep, wet smack of a punch. Please let him be okay, you thought to yourself, eyes clamped tightly together. “Fuckin’ bastard.” Declan grunted, shaking his bloodied knuckles that now stung acutely. Opening your eyes, you saw Frankie laying on the floor, slightly dazed and nursing what will most likely be a dislocated jaw. Thank God, you thought. “Thank you.” You peeped in a quaint voice, gazing up at Declan with glazed eyes. “No need. He won’t be botherin’ ya’ again. Please tell Cameron that tonight’s show is cancelled.” He huffed, outstretching his hand and caressing down the length of your arm tenderly. Following Declan out of the dressing room, you peered up at him with a burning sense of desire — what a magnificent man.

[btsgotjams27]

perfect palette | jjk

vegas isn’t your first choice, but you love your best friend and are willing to do anything for her, including planning her bachelorette party. everything is all set, ready to go for the last day, until you receive a text from the model you’ve hired. he’s out sick but have no fear, he’s sent the next best thing to replace him for the night.

✨ title: perfect palette

✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader (nicknamed Ro)

✨ genre/au: slice of life, light angst | model!jk, las vegas!au

✨ rating: m/18+ | ✨ word count: 7.5k

✨ warnings: language, drinking, mild nudity, jungkook + reader are tipsy, kissing, reader is nicknamed Ro but is only called by her name a handful of times.

✨ a/n: hi again! so this idea came to me when i was in vegas lmao, and the painting idea is from 'this is us' (the show). i just thought it was a fun premise. i hope you enjoy it.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Your head is pounding, and your stomach is growling. As you pop your head up, you notice the hotel room is a complete mess: furniture has been knocked over, empty tequila and champagne bottles litter the room, and clothes and money are scattered across the floor.

A low, muffled groan startles you, making you cover up with the duvet. You definitely don’t remember sleeping with someone. Your mind races, attempting to recall last night’s shenanigans.

Whoever is next to you mumbles under their breath and turns over on their stomach. The silver chain that’s adorning their neck glimmers from the sunlight peeking through the blinds. You can’t help but notice their broad chiseled back and the markings on it. No, they’re not scratches from nails—they’re purple lines, going from one beauty mark to the next, and each mark is surrounded by a pair of red lips. Turning your hand over, you see it’s stained with purple, matching the color on their back.

What the fuck happened last night, you think.

You lean over, peering at the mysterious person. A scalloped tattoo delicately covers their shoulder and the rest of their arm is covered in ink. You giggle when you discover the tattoos are colored an array of hues—blue, red, green, and orange. It looks almost like a child was told to have fun and went wild with coloring.

The person groans again, switching to lay on their back side. You pull back, holding the duvet up to your chin. A small gasp comes out when you recognize the mystery person—it’s Jeon Jungkook, your old college buddy. Five years have passed since you last saw him at graduation. Last you heard, he was in Los Angeles, taking a jab at modeling and acting. Well, with his perfect face and body (your eyes quickly scanned over him), who would say no to him?

The real question now was, how did he end up in Vegas, and specifically in your hotel room?

—

The day before.

“Ro, cheer up please. We’re in Vegas, not a funeral,” Lottie says, swiping on a pink lip stain. “You’re only gonna feel like shit if you keep scrolling through those photos.”

Lottie’s right because looking through your ex-college sweetheart’s wedding photos is not doing anything for you. Four years of committing to a man who said he never wanted to get married, but there he was with a ring on his finger.

Your phone is swiped from your hand. “Hey!” you protest, standing to snatch it back. “Give it to me!”

“No! I will not let my maid-of-honor mope around like a sad puppy. Forget Jimin! He’s a married man now and a Libra—an October Libra too, I might add. That should’ve been a red flag right off the bat!”

She’s been your work wife for the past three years, and the two of you bonded over talking shit about your boss and colleagues. The only anecdotes she knew of Jimin were the ones you spilled on drunken nights.

“Lottie, give me my phone. I have to make sure everything is ready for tonight. It has to be perfect,” you explain, holding out your hand, insisting she gives it to you. But it was an excuse to keep lurking.

The itinerary for today consisted of: brunch, pool and cocktails, dinner at Hell’s Kitchen, then a night of painting–naked painting you should add. As if the Magic Mike show wasn't enough skin for Lottie and the rest of the crew. You somehow stumbled upon a small business, ‘Perfect Palette’ combining models and painting into one. This would be the next closest thing to being with a fully naked man. It's been a hot minute since you've seen one.

The bride-to-be reluctantly hands over the phone and you're scrolling through emails, switching apps to confirm everything.

“Take a chill pill, babe. Everything doesn't have to be perfect, but I am excited about painting tonight!” Lottie smiles and claps, then leans over to give you a hug. “Okay! Time to get ready for brunch.” She runs off to the restroom. “And no more pining over Jimin, please!” She yells back.

It's hard not to look through the photos of your ex-boyfriend because it was supposed to be you, not the woman he's kissing and holding. If only you could go back to graduation and fix things between you and Jimin…maybe life would've turned out differently for you.

As you open up Instagram (your burner account, obviously), you see a new post of him and his wife on a plane with the caption, “Can't wait to honeymoon in Bali.”

Bali was your dream honeymoon location.

With a heavy sigh, flinging yourself onto the bed, you turn off your phone. Lottie’s always right—this is depressing.

A ding goes off and you're hoping it's just one of the girls confirming the schedule for today. Grabbing your phone, you hold it above you, the screen illuminating your face.

The notification reads:

Namjoon 8:30 AM

Hey. I came down with the stomach bug so I can't make it tonight, but don't worry, I'm sending the next best thing to replace me. I promise the bride and your girls will love him. He's a newbie but he's just as beefy if not more than me. Have fun tonight.

You turn the phone over and rub your hand over your face. Great, just my luck, you think.

Well, whoever this person is, you hope he’s worth what you’re paying for.

–

The Primrose restaurant is the perfect spot to finish off a weekend in Vegas. It’s bustling with groups similar to yours—probably other brides and bridesmaids celebrating a last hoorah before committing yourself to one person for the rest of your life. At this point it seems silly, doesn’t it? Being with someone, choosing them on a daily basis, loving them for all their faults, but who are you kidding? You’re a hopeless romantic now waiting for your charming prince.

Gwen and Ivy sit across from you and Lottie, whispering and pointing to their phone like two high school girls. You don’t doubt they’re plotting something. You just hope it doesn’t involve more naked men, minus the one you’ll see tonight. There are only so many ripped abs you can take.

“What are you two whispering about?” Lottie asks while narrowing her eyes. She holds her glass of mango mimosa, taking a sip.

“Nothing!” They both speak in tandem and Lottie makes a face at the two.

“No surprises,” you plead with your friends. “The rest of the day is already planned.”

“Don’t worry, babe! We’re not planning anything else,” Gwen reassures.

“It’s just that—” Ivy is cut off when Gwen jabs her in the ribs. “Ow!”

Gwen puts her phone down, hiding it under her thigh. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”

“But it does—kind of—” Ivy interjects. “Jimin and his wife—they’re pregnant.” She grabs Gwen’s phone, showing a photo of Jimin kissing his wife’s belly.

“Oh,” you say softly. “That’s great. I’m really happy for him.”

You hate to admit it, but it stings. He’s living the life you dreamed of with him. The big house, big cars, but someone else got the big ring. And now they’re starting a family? Everyone seems to be moving forward, but it feels like you’re at standstill. It’d be amazing to have a man plop in your lap, but life just doesn’t seem to be going your way.

Clearing your throat, “Should we get ready for the pool?”

—

It doesn’t matter how many times you tug down your swimsuit, it keeps riding up in all the wrong places. The white linen shorts and tie top aren’t doing you any favors either by being paper thin.

The pool is bustling with hoards of party-goers. They’re laughing, drinking, and having the time of their life. An ex-boyfriend’s current life shouldn’t be affecting yours—but it is. You wish you could let go, let loose, forget everything related to Park Jimin. You’d rather be consumed by anything, anyone other than him.

Lottie’s at the bar, ordering a round of drinks. Gwen and Ivy are grabbing the attention of four guys. And it’s the last night before returning to reality, so you should be having fun, flirting, and making a fool of yourself to someone whom you’ll never see again. That’s what Vegas is for, right?

As a maid of honor, you’re definitely not living up to the hype and you know Lottie’s disappointed expression like the back of your hand, and yet you can’t unbunch your panties that are in a twist. The effects of the morning mimosas have worn off, and maybe you need something stronger. Hell—even a gummy sounds tempting at this point. Anything to forget how miserable your love life is.

“You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” Lottie asks. You shake your head no, but she knows you. She sits down, taking your hands. “Look, I’m sorry about Jimin. It sucks that he got married even though he said he never wanted to—” You’re ready to interrupt but she stops you, placing her index finger on your lips.

“Bup-bup-bup. I know what you’re going to say, but don’t,” Lottie implores, pleading with her eyes. She knows how much you torment yourself with lowly thoughts.

You want to say that there’s definitely something wrong with you. Why else would Jimin say one thing to you about marriage and then do the complete opposite?

“You’re more than enough, so please don’t think otherwise. Don’t let this one guy determine the course of your future relationships. He’s not worth your time and energy.”

Tears began to well behind your eyes as she continued, “You deserve to have some fun. So please, can we enjoy this last night together before we have to go back to our real lives?” Lottie pouts along with puppy eyes.

Lottie’s always right and that’s what you love about her. You hate that you’ve been a poor sport this weekend when you’re supposed to be celebrating your friend and having fun. You’ve been busy moping over a man who is now married with a child on the way. It’s a pathetic way to spend your last night in Vegas.

You let out a deep breath, expelling all the bad energy you’ve harnessed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been the worst maid of honor, but have no fear!” A server brings over the drinks that Lottie ordered, you pick up your Paloma cocktail and an oversized margarita, handing it to the bride-to-be. “Let’s have the best night. Cheers!” you say, clinking your glass against hers.

—

Tequila is one of your worst enemies, but also the best way for you to loosen up your limbs and lips.

By the time the four of you arrive at the hotel room, you’re unsure if you can even pick up a paintbrush, let alone even get paint on a canvas.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sorry that you love me! Change my mind up like it’s origami!”

The trio of you, Ivy, and Gwen are linked arm in arm trying to fit through the door while singing at the top of your lungs.

“Ugh—I swear Tate McRae is my spirit animal,” you say, turning to Gwen. “You know, she just gets it. Always gets me in my sad girl hours and then has me dancing the next.”

“I’m a-I’m a-I’m a wild ride that never stops!” Ivy continues singing, letting go of the two of you while Lottie trails behind. Someone has to be the semi-sober one.

“Hey Ro—they’re bringing everything right?” Lottie asks you.

“Yeah, the guy will bring the supplies. There’s an area cleared out for him. I’m gonna freshen up then I’ll be out.”

“I’m ready for a man to bare it all and ask nothing of me in return,” Gwen comments, taking a seat on the couch.

You chuckle, shaking your head at your friend. Hopefully, it’ll be the last naked man you’ll see this weekend. But either way, you’re sure you’ll enjoy this last activity.

The powder puff pats against your skin, making dust fly everywhere. Taking a step back, you give yourself the once-over in the mirror, but not before swiping a red stain on your lips. You don’t want to look disheveled for this naked guest. Apparently, he’s the ‘next best thing’ next to Namjoon, and you saw Namjoon’s photo on the website. You’re curious to see this mystery man and how this evening will end up.

As the door is ajar, you can hear the girls talking amongst themselves along with giggles. Whoever this guy is, he must be living up to their standards.

You’re unsure what to expect, how everything will turn out. Is this model fully naked? Are they covered? Do you keep your art piece? How are you supposed to bring a canvas of a naked man on a plane without receiving a few stares? You definitely didn’t think this part through.

“Ro! Get your butt out here. We’re gonna start painting soon!” Gwen yells, making you sprint out the door and into a curious situation.

Four canvases on easels and paint palettes on stools surround the model. His back is turned to you and he’s already half-naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist. One arm is completely inked from the top of his shoulder to his wrist. When he turns around and your jaw drops, not because he’s built like a Greek god (well, yeah he is), but because you recognize the half-naked man.

“Jeon Jungkook?” 

“Ro?” His eyes light up and he secures his towel, tucking it in his waist. “What are you doing here?”

You step toward him and the girls. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “Err—”

Lottie clears her throat, blinking at you and then Jungkook. “Um, excuse me. How do you two know each other?”

The pair of you give each other a look and chuckle before you answer. “Oh, we went to college together.”

“Just went to college together? Nothing more?” Ivy narrows her eyes at you, trying to figure out if you’re lying.

“What? No! We’re just friends. I was with Jimin, remember?” A pathetic reminder of your past relationship and now non-existent one.

“Uh huh,” Lottie remarks, taking a stride to you, pulling you in. “I wanna hear all the details about that one later.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you whisper. “We’re friends—nothing more.” Catching Jungkook’s gaze, you smile softly before taking your seat on the stool.

“Are you ladies ready?” Jungkook asks, ripping off his towel, only to reveal another small hand towel covering his crotch.

The girls are yelping and hollering. You can’t help but cover your eyes, giggling at the fact that you’ll be painting one of your friends—naked.

—

Jungkook’s surrounded by the four of you. His pose is simple, straight forward. Literally straight forward because he’s facing you, knees slightly bent as he’s sitting on the stool. Your eyes have caught his every now and again, but he's focused on something past you.

Every inch of him is chiseled like a statue right out of Ancient Greece. From his jawline, to his collarbone, to his sculpted chest and not one, two, three, four, but eight pack abs. How is it that some people are just born to look like a Greek god? You didn’t think God had favorites, but Jeon Jungkook definitely proves you wrong.

Studying Jungkook’s physique for the past hour has made you realize how intimate this feels. Although the pair of you were friends in school, this is the most time you’ve spent with him outside of it, and the most time you’ve spent just looking at him. He is definitely a pretty boy with a soft, sweet energy.

Your brows are knitted, biting your bottom lip, trying to figure out how to paint his inked arm. It’s looking more and more like a glob than anything distinguishable. It’s when your eyes catch his and he’s doing that smile, the one where one side curves up, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

Jungkook’s eyes flick to the large clock in the living area. “Okay, ladies. It looks like time is up. How did everyone’s painting turn out?” There are groans and grumbles coming from the four of you. Jungkook chuckles, “Aw, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

He turns, fetching a robe behind him, slipping it on to cover himself. Jungkook takes it upon himself to check out everyone’s canvases, and you’re dreading the moment when he approaches yours.

You clutch it, holding it close to your body, and you have no intention of Jungkook ever seeing it.

He tilts his head, giving you a look. “Ro—it can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me, it is!” You turn, hoping to somehow destroy it before leaving tomorrow morning. It’s not that Jungkook looks horrible—it’s that you’re a horrible painter. But your death grip isn’t as strong as he is. With a sigh, you hand it over to him.

Jungkook nods with a pout on his lips. “It’s…”

“Horrible—I know.”

“No, no. I’d say it has an abstract feeling to it. I like it.” He gives a bright smile, returning the canvas to you.

You give him a thin smile, knowing that he’s just saying it because it’s his job. “By the way, you’re really good at this gig, but are you still pursuing the whole modeling thing?”

“I’m still doing that. I just do this gig for fun on the weekends. I mean, I get to meet cool, and sometimes crazy people and the money isn’t bad either.”

“Alright, ladies and gentleman. Tequila, anyone?” Gwen suggests as she wiggles her eyebrows, holding up the bottle. No one answers which makes her frown. “Aw, come on!”

“I’m game. What about you Ro?” Jungkook’s eyebrows are raised, eyes practically pleading for you to say yes. “One for me?”

You know it’s never ‘just one’ with Jungkook. You’ve seen first hand what that one line does to people, but you take the risk. “Okay, Jeon—just one.”

Everyone else gives in, raising and clinking their glasses to toast the bachelorette. Expelled breaths come from everyone after knocking back the clear liquor.

“Round two?” Jungkook asks, extending his glass toward Gwen in which she happily obliges.

You smirk, shaking your head as you catch Jungkook’s gaze.

—

It didn’t take long until you were feeling euphoric from the alcohol coursing through your veins. You’re always on cloud nine when you drink Tequila.

Lottie called it quits after her fifth shot. Gwen and Ivy are also well on their way to sleeping like babies. But you and Jungkook? You both have caught a second wind of energy.

“Ugh, I’m so hungry!” you exclaim, rubbing your belly as it growls. Jungkook’s trying to hold in a laugh. With a gasp, you turn to him, slapping his back, which is firm to the touch. “Shut up! Drinking makes me hungry.”

“Okay then, let’s get some room service. What are you craving?” 

You tap your cheek with your index finger, combing through the many options. “Pizza. No—wait, chicken wings.” Jungkook closes his eyes and hums. “No, nope! I want a juicy, juicy hamburger…with…with…” Your brain is obviously short-circuiting.

“Fries?” Jungkook answers.

“Yes! Fries! And a milkshake!”

“We can do that. I’ll call it in.”

An hour has passed and you and Jungkook are sprawled out on the bed, bellies full and minds are swirling.

“Oh man, I haven’t done anything like this in such a long time,” you admit, turning over onto your belly. You lay your head in the crook of your arm, facing Jungkook.

“What? Eating?” he teases.

You giggle. “No—getting tipsy and I don’t know, just being free.”

“This is you being free?” Jungkook raises a brow. “I gotta get some more tequila in you then.” He proceeds to get up, but you pull him back.

“No, no, no. Trust me, this is good. I don’t wanna black-out.”

“Okay, how about some champagne then? Just to celebrate your last night here,” Jungkook suggests.

You know you’ll regret it, but you agree. “Just one bottle.” Besides you already paid for it, you wouldn’t want it to go to waste.

He sprints out of the bedroom to the bar area to grab a bottle and two glasses. You can’t help but notice how his biceps flex as he pours the two of you a glass.

“To—”

“Lottie,” you finish his sentence.

“To Lottie.” He clinks his glass with yours before chugging down his bubbly.

You stare blankly at the Greek god himself. “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?”

His lips thin into a smile. “I’m not doing anything…”

“Mmhm.” You take a gulp of your glass. You’re sure that if Jungkook were to ask you to do something, you’d say yes in a heartbeat. He made being around him comfortable and you always felt at ease.

“So, what should we do now?”

Your lips turn into a pout, peering around the room before a lightbulb goes off. “Ah! I have just the thing.” You rush over to your luggage, rummaging through it. Turning around, you wave a box of double tipped markers.

Jungkook knits his brows together. “And what do you think you’re going to do with those?”

You giggle. “You’ll see!”

—

Your tongue is out, concentrating on the purple line connecting from one beauty mark to the next. You’ve forced Jungkook to lie on his belly as you’re hunched over, straddling his legs.

“Don’t move!”

He relaxes, letting you continue on. Capping the purple marker, you set it aside. You’re giggling, tracing the line across his back and you can feel him squirm under your touch.

“You finished or what?” He peers over his shoulder but you turn him away.

"Just need to add the finishing touches." Leaning forward, you press your lips to the first beauty mark on his mid back, leaving a lipstick stain. Then you move to the next one beneath his shoulder blade, and continue on. His skin is smooth and warm under your lips, and though it's faint, you think you hear a low groan from him.

You sit up, adjusting your position, staring at the artwork you’ve created on Jungkook’s back. “Done—with your back at least. Now onto your arms.”

—

Jungkook turns his head to see what you’re coloring, flexing his bicep, making you color outside the lines.

“Oh my god! You made me mess up!” You try wiping the color, but it doesn’t budge. “You did it on purpose.”

“I did not! Why do you need to color inside the lines anyway?” he asks before returning to his previous position, resting his head on his arm.

“Because…that’s the way you’re supposed to color.” Taking an orange marker, you continue shading in his cloud tattoo.

“You don’t always have to follow the rules,” he breathed, gazing up at you.

“I know…” you mumble. Your eyes flick to his then back to the tattoo. You hate when things are not in your control. There were a handful of moments in your life when shit hit the fan and chaos ensued—Jimin being one of them.

You clear your throat, grabbing a yellow marker to color in a gradient effect. “And are you the type to not follow the rules?”

Jungkook chuckles, “I guess we don’t know each other well huh?”

“Well, I was practically glued to Jimin when we were in school.”

“What happened with you guys anyway? I thought you guys were like soulmates or something.”

“We just wanted different things,” you mumble, not wanting to elaborate. “What about you, hmm? Being a model in LA and Vegas? I’m sure you have women wanting to crawl into bed all the time.”

His gaze catches yours. “Exhibit A.”

You scoff. “Hey! We’re friends—that’s the only reason why you’re in my bed.”

“Uh huh. I saw the way you were eyeing me during the painting session. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it,” Jungkook teases, making you stop coloring, and pinch his underarm. “Ow, ow, ow! Okay, just kidding!” He moves away, but you pull him back.

“Hey! I’m almost done coloring,” you say, gripping tighter onto his arm.

“That’s not fair. Only you get to color me?”

You sigh, tilting your head. “I’ll let you draw one thing on me.”

“Can I pick the location of where to draw it?”

“As long as it’s not my tits or ass.”

Jungkook lets out a hearty laugh. “Alright, how about your—”

Your hand flies to cover his mouth, knowing exactly what he’s going to say. “Jeon Jungkook! That’s a hard no!”

“You practically saw my junk and I can’t see yours?”

“Well, I paid for it.”

“I can pay you too.”

You gasp. “You can’t just buy me.”

“Fine. Give me a few options and I’ll choose the placement.”

It would be easy to choose a place more visible, but you’re feeling frisky. “My hip or my back.”

Jungkook lips his licks, eyes flicking to your hips then back up at you. “And I can draw anything I want?”

You hum with a nervous tremble. You’re sure he wouldn’t draw anything ridiculous. “I trust you.”

“‘Kay then, turn over on your belly. Top off.”

Sitting up, facing Jungkook, your hands fall to the first button on your linen vest. Your eyes never leave his as you continue to unfasten the rest, then you toss it aside, revealing a blush pink see-through bra with floral detailing. Jungkook is trying his best to not let his eyes wander lower and you’re trying to do the same. Yes, you’ve stared at his half-naked body for an hour tonight, but you didn’t have the chance to explore it up close.

“Is this okay?” You know it is, but you’d like confirmation.

“Mmm.” He gestures for you to lie down, and you do as he asks.

Jungkook reaches for a black marker, the tip is thinner than the others. He shifts his position a few times before lying comfortably next to you. The warmth from his body radiates, heating up against your skin. You lie on top of your crossed arms, facing him, wondering what he’s planning to draw. Maybe some flowers or stars.

His brows are knitted as he’s concentrated on where to begin. He starts on the middle of your back, drawing circular shapes from what you can tell. The tip of the marker grazes back and forth, and his hand and fingers emanate a gentle touch upon your skin.

He’s quite handsome, you think. Even the scar etched on his cheek has a certain beauty, and his nose must be a butterflies favorite place to land on.

“Is it okay if I unhook this?”

“Hmm?”

“Your um,” he clears his throat. “Your bra.”

You’ve been too focused on Jungkook’s face, you hadn’t realized he was halfway down your back. “Yeah, um, go for it.”

He unhooks your bra in one fell swoop and the sides of your bra fall to the side. Continuing with his design, he concentrates on the smallest details going down your spine. Your eyes flutter shut as his warm breath softly fans the wet ink on your skin.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jungkook asks, trying to make conversation, realizing he doesn’t know you well, besides when you were with Jimin.

“Single as can be. What about you? A girlfriend? Friends with benefits? Situationship?”

Jungkook laughs. “What kind of life do you think I lead here, hm? That’s a lot of assumptions about me.”

“I don’t know. I just assume that someone that looks like you would have someone is all.”

“Well, I’m also single, and I’m a more monogamous kinda guy.”

“You are?” you question with a dramatic gasp. “That comes as a nice surprise. Maybe we should go get married tonight in a chapel,” you joke.

“With a few more drinks in me, I’m sure I’d say yes to anything.”

“Stop—don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious. I’m ready to meet someone and do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but a lot of the people I meet just want sex.”

“I’m sorry, did I just meet a guy who doesn’t want sex?”

Jungkook deadpans. “I didn’t say I don’t want sex. I do—I just wanna be a romantic and spoil someone.”

“Oh, well, you can always wine and dine me. I won’t object,” you tease.

As Jungkook continues drawing, the pads of his fingers create a light buzz of electricity, from one end to the other. Your eyes flutter shut, relishing from his soft touch. You almost let out a low moan but catch yourself when he gets to a ticklish spot near your ribs.

“Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think the right person will come along for you?”

A beat passes before he answers. “Yeah, I think so. Whoever they are, I just know that I'm probably not ready to meet them yet, but the right time will come.”

“But what if the right person came at the wrong time?”

“Or…you were the right person in the wrong place,” he suggests. “Are you talking about Jimin?”

“Yeah, I've been trying to avoid talking about him. He recently got married and his wife is pregnant too.”

“Ah, don't tell me you're feeling shitty? ‘Cause you shouldn't.”

A sad chuckle leaves your lips. “I'm pretty sure I fumbled it.”

Jungkook stops drawing on your back, softly calling your name, in which you hesitate to look at him for fear of bursting into tears.

“Hey…you didn't fumble anything. Pretty sure it's Jimin’s loss.”

“You're sweet, Kook. Thanks.”

Jungkook continues on his quest to finish his drawing.

“Is it almost finished?” you ask, clearing your throat. The tequila and champagne are starting to wear off and tomorrow’s reality is beginning to settle in. Tonight feels like a dream and you don’t want to wake up.

He hums. “Almost. Just a few more details then we’ll be good to go.” Short strokes lightly mark across your back and he doesn’t break his concentration. He continues for a few minutes before closing the cap. “Done. Wanna see?”

“I’m not gonna lie. I’m low-key scared to see what it is.”

Jungkook straightens his posture then reaches for his phone. “You have nothing to be scared of. It’s pretty. I promise.” He takes a photo, showing it to you.

Though the drawing session didn’t feel long, you could see the intricate detailing he went into drawing the moon phases down your back.

Sitting up then turning away from Jungkook, you use your arm to cover your breasts and secure your bra. “Are you always good at everything?” you ask, standing and walking over to the dresser, you pull out an oversized shirt, slipping it on, then you grab the tequila bottle and two shot glasses. There’s just enough to end the night.

Jungkook shifts to the edge of the bed, legs spread, and you slot yourself right in between. “Nah, I’m not good at everything.”

“Oh yeah? What are you not good at?” you ask, making him hold a glass while you pour his then yours.

He chuckles, looking away, then back up at you. “For starters, I’m not good at flirting.”

“You’re lying.” Your eyes lock in on his as you set the empty bottle down on the floor.

“I’m not.”

“Okay, practice on me then,” you say, trying to persuade him.

“A bit of liquid courage might help.”

You raise your glass and clink it against his. “Bottoms up.” The both of you wince as you knock them back, tossing the glasses on the carpeted flooring.

“Better?” you inquire, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, playing with the hair along the nape of his neck. Jungkook’s fingers delicately trace up and down your thighs, sending tingles across every inch of skin. His eyes are so starry, you’ll gladly get lost in them.

“You’re pretty.”

“Could say the same about you,” you giggle, twirling his hair in your fingers. “You’re right.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, reveling at your touch against his skin. “Mm, about what?”

“That you’re bad at flirting.” Your eyes linger on his lips, wondering what they taste like and how much you’d like to kiss the chocolate chip mole right underneath his bottom lip.

He lets out a soft chuckle, looking down at his feet then back at you. “Told you,” he says as he pulls away, propping himself up on the bed. He scans you from head to toe, loving the fact that you’re in between his legs. Hasn't seen you in years, but he’s intrigued.

Letting out a yawn, you cover your mouth then apologize.

“Damn, didn’t think my non-flirting would put you to sleep.”

You laugh. “It’s been a long day and it’ll be an even longer one tomorrow.”

“Right, I should head out too.” Jungkook shifts, scooting to the edge of the bed but you don’t budge.

“Do you wanna stay? Since it’s pretty late already.” Nearly 3 AM and you know you’ll regret this but right now, you’ll indulge in whatever’s left of this trip.

Jungkook’s silent for a moment before answering, “Sure. I’ll stay.”

You crawl over him, slipping under the covers that have been calling your name for the past few hours. The plush, fluffy pillows are like a cloud as you lay your head down. Jungkook follows your lead, doing the same, facing you. His fringe gently falls, covering his eyes, and you find yourself moving them out of his face.

“You’re cute,” you whisper, letting your finger trace his cheeks to his jawline.

“I don’t really like being cute,” he hums.

“Well, that’s just too damn bad, isn’t it?” You inch closer to him, and can feel the warmth radiating off his body. It feels nice to be in close proximity to another human being again. And you like that there are no expectations. You can just be with Jungkook. The two of you run in the same circle of friends, and he makes you feel safe—like if anything were to happen to you tonight, he’d take care of you.

Your eyes flick to his lips, lingering longer than expected, and your cheeks are warming up, ridding the last bit of alcohol coursing through your veins.

Jungkook moves in, closing the distance. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, lips ghosting each other in a delicate dance before finally meeting in a tender kiss. Time seems to stand still as you melt into each other. Hearts beating in perfect harmony, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

With your breaths mingled, it creates a cocoon of intimacy as you savor the softness of each other's lips. Your fingers entwined in his hair, drawing him closer, bodies pressed together in a silent declaration of desire.

The last leg of this trip was fate trying to make you forget about your worries, and Jungkook was the perfect color to paint over your monochrome palette. 

There’s a longing deep inside you wanting to escape, and as much as you want to release it, you’d rather have him when you’re sober and in the right mindframe.

“Ro…” Jungkook moans as he pulls away, your hands splayed on his taut chest, forehead resting against his.

“Yeah?” you reply, leaning in for another kiss.

“I don’t want you like this,” he says, taking you by surprise, almost like he could read your mind.

Letting out a chuckle, you answer, “No—yeah, makes sense.”

“It’s not that ‘I don’t want you’, I do! I just—don’t want this to turn out like other flings I’ve had in the past because I don’t consider you ‘a fling’ or someone to just toss the next day because we’re friends and I would never do that to—“

You interrupt him with a peck on his lips. “Jungkook. I understand. I feel the same way.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I had a lot of fun tonight and that’s all thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“No, you did! You helped me loosen up.”

“I’m sure it was just the champagne and tequila doing all the work.”

“They helped, but it was mostly you.” You smile, letting a beat pass before speaking again. “Should we try to get some sleep?”

He hums, leaning in for a kiss, in which you willingly give. You tug on his silver chain, asking for a few more kisses before letting him go.

Not even three minutes in and Jungkook is already snoring. His chest rising and falling, rumbling like a mountain. It’s cute, you think. Could get used to listening to this, almost like white noise.

You admire how Jungkook lives his life without worries, letting the wind guide him. It might not happen right away, but maybe when you return to reality, you should consider not always staying within the lines. That it’s okay to go out of bounds and live a little. Life shouldn’t be so serious all the time.

—

There’s a light sound of pitter patter sweeping across the floor with shushed ‘Ows’ and ‘shut up’. You weakly open your eyes to see what the commotion is. Your body wants to get up, but the pounding migraine is saying otherwise.

A loud thump makes you blink your eyes open and pop your head up. There’s furniture knocked over, tequila and champagne bottles are scattered everywhere, along with clothes and money.

The low, muffled groan startles you, making you cover yourself with the duvet. They’re facing away and you can’t make out who this mystery person is. You peer over to find a man covered in tattoos, and it looks like a child tried to color inside the tattoo lines but failed miserably.

He mumbles gibberish under his breath and turns over onto his stomach. Great, now you can’t even get a good look at him, you think.

His silver necklace glimmers from the sun peeking through the blinds. And holy shit—his shoulders?

Broad.

Chiseled.

For all you know, he could be some kind of athlete. Then you notice the purple lines on his back, and no—they aren’t scratches from nails, the lines connect from one beauty mark to the next across his back. It’s like one of those connect the dot pictures, except the finished drawing wasn’t anything recognizable. But surrounding each beauty mark is a pair of red lips, and as you look down at your hands, you find that you’re the culprit who must’ve drawn on this man.

What the fuck happened last night, you think.

Another groan escapes the man’s lips and he turns over again. You pull up your side of the duvet, further covering yourself, and the smallest gasp comes out. It’s none other than Jeon Jungkook, an old college buddy.

The duvet is pulled down, covering his bottom half, revealing his taut chest and not one, two, three, four—but an eight pack set of abs. Is it humanly possible to even have more than six?

How did he end up in Vegas? And specifically in your room?

“Jungkook?” you whisper. “Are you awake?”

“Mmm…”

You move closer, feeling the warmth from his body. “Jungkook, it’s time to get up.”

Still half asleep, he wraps his arm around your waist, bringing you flush against him. “Just five more minutes, Ro,” he says, nuzzling into you.

“Jeon Jungkook! What are you doing?”

He chuckles, smiling, finally peeking his eyes open. “You don’t remember anything from last night, do you?”

“I…remember things…” you say, lying through your teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook moves into a sitting position, turning to you. “So you know we got married, right?”

Your jaw drops and eyes widen. “Oh my god, please tell me you’re lying.”

“You’re the one who suggested it!”

How could you let yourself get married in Las Vegas? And at your best friend’s bachelorette party? It’s not like you’re trying to steal her thunder, quite the opposite, really. This was supposed to be about her, not you. Fuck—Lottie’s going to hate you, isn’t she?

Jungkook quietly watches you freak out. Wonders how long he can let this continue before telling the truth. He thinks you’re cute when you’re all flustered.

“No, we can't be married! I don't even know you and how would this even work? We live like 3000 miles away from each other? And would you move to New York? Or would I move to LA? What if your family doesn't like me? Your friends even? Wait–do you even like me? Oh–Jungkook, how did we let this happen?” you ask, burying your hands in your face.

Question after question runs through your mind and Jungkook is sitting there with a smirk on his face.

“Why aren't you freaking out?” you question, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook chuckles, leaning over toward you. “You're really cute, you know that?” he says.

Your eyes follow his finger as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Clearing your throat, it's time to get down to the important things. “Kook–please! This isn't the time to tell me I'm cute. We have bigger things to worry about. We're married!”

He sucks in his lips, trying to hold in a laugh.

You knit your brows and narrow your eyes. “Unless…we’re not married…”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh, his finger gently caresses your cheek. “Maybe one day, pretty girl. If we ever get to that stage of course.”

A smack against his arm reverberates throughout the room. “Aye! I'm gonna kill you. You really had me worried.”

He rubs the ruby red spot that's imprinted on his arm. “Why? Because marrying me would've been horrible?”

No, you think, quite the opposite.

“Of course not. It's just, we don't know each other and I wouldn't want you to feel trapped in a marriage,” you explain.

You'd at least wanna go on a real date and get to know him before strapping him down forever.

He nods in agreement. “Well, I had fun last night. Hence all the things I let you do to me.” Jungkook points out the badly colored arm and connect-the-dots on his back.

“Oh, I'm so sorry about that.”

“I'm not. I'm glad you had fun even though you don't remember it.”

“Please tell me I didn't act like an idiot.”

Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, you're fine, but uh, I should get going since you have a flight to catch.”

“Oh, shit. My flight.” You reach over to find your phone. It's already 9 AM, and thankfully the airport isn't far away and TSA Pre-check has been a lifesaver.

With another glance, you see your clothes and Jungkook's scattered on the ground. He reaches to grab his shirt and sweats.

“I, um, I was pretty bold last night. Wasn't I?” you were referring to the pair of lips covering his back.

Jungkook snickers. “Yeah, just a bit, but I didn't mind it at all,” he says, slipping his shirt on. He stands, putting his sweats on and you can't help but stare at his peachy ass in his black Calvin Klein–the tight kind. “Do you remember anything else from last night?”

Your mind thinks back to the whirlwind of last night. There was definitely alcohol involved because you only act with confidence under the influence of Tequila.

But a recollection of soft lips and entangled hair between your fingers flutter back into the present just for a fleeting moment.

You shake your head, wanting to keep this memory to yourself.

Jungkook's lips thin into a smile as he ruffles his bed head hair. “Call me next time you're in town?”

You stand to meet him. “Or you can call me when you're in the Big Apple,” you reply, handing him your phone.

He dials your number, so you can have his. “Mm, looks like that confidence hasn't left yet.”

“Mm, I have a smidge of it left.”

“Yeah?” He draws closer, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking in his warmth and scent.

Last night was hazy but bits and pieces are coming back. You're not sure if a lot of these moments with Jungkook are real or just a dream. You'd like to hope he enjoyed spending time with you as much as you did with him.

“It was really good to see you, Kook.”

“Good to see you too, Ro. Don't be a stranger, okay?” He turns on his heel to open the bedroom door, but turns around to say one last thing. “Oh, and don't worry too much about the right person. Who knows, maybe you’ve met them already.”

You wonder if he's referring to himself. You have to admit, he's been making you smile and laugh more than usual, even making you blush.

“Mm, I'll keep that in mind.”

He flashes a smile, opening the door.

“Jungkook?”

He hums, turning to you again.

You reach up to kiss him on the cheek. “What happened in Vegas, can it not stay in Vegas?”

[weirdmarioenemies]

Mola mola. The mola we all knowla. The mola we all molove. What an incredible creature, Mola mola is! Such a strange shape, so many eggs, no swim bladder... and the size. Its most prized aspect! If you know one thing about Mola mola, it’s that it is the largest bony fish, right?

...Right?

Nuh-uh-uh, Mola mola. Don’t try and sneak away. It’s very noticeable. After all, you are one of the biggest bony fish!

Let me repeat that. One of the biggest bony fish.

Mola mola, the ocean sunfish, is NOT in fact the largest known bony fish! You’d think we were talking about Mola tecta, because this sunfish has hoodwinked us!

Behold MOLA ALEXANDRINI! Known, very appropriately, as the giant sunfish. This is the true heaviest bony fish! Not Mola mola, as has so been thought, and as I have even claimed in front of all of you. I was wrong! Mola alexandrini has been recorded weighing up to 6,049 pounds, with Mola mola trailing in the measly little 2,000s range. But if Mola alexandrini can be so much bigger, how was Mola mola seen as the champion for so long?

It was a misunderstanding. A misidentification! That huge specimen was caught all the way back in 1996, but thought to be Mola mola until it was reevaluated in 2017! Members of the Mola genus are just always accidentally tricking us humans. I’m sure they would say “sooorry” in a deep and booming, yet slow and gentle voice if they knew.

So how can you #KnowYourMolas? It is easy to confuse them- even scientists do it- but generally, be sure to notice the shapes of both the face and the clavus (the funny butt fin)! If the face is relatively smooth, and especially if the clavus has a scalloped shape, that’s Mola mola. If the face is bulgy and bumpy and the clavus is smooth and round, that’s Mola alexandrini! And if the face is smooth but the clavus is too, then you have been hoodwinked by Mola tecta!

So there you have it. The truth about the Mola mola! Not the biggest after all... but that does not matter to me. Mola mola will always be my favorite! That being said, please show Mola alexandrini some love too, as despite its size, it is still a lesser known Mola!

And who knows? Maybe even alexandrini will be dethroned! Maybe we will find a bigger alexandrini, or maybe a bigger mola! Maybe even a different species altogether is the true largest bony fish! There is no way to know what the future has in store... so many secrets in the ocean!

Refer here for more information on the updated identification!

[kaijuno]

My name is Spike Cohen, and I ate 10 pounds of food.

Last Sunday, I went to a hibachi restaurant with my wife, my mother and my cousins to celebrate Mom's birthday.

If you've ever been to a hibachi restaurant, you know that they give you an insane amount of rice.

I usually eat a keto diet. This day would be an obvious exception.

I hadn't eaten all day, so I decided to order extra scallops, in case the laughably large amount of food they give wasn't enough.

My wife doesn't eat rice, so I got her portion too. I knew that going into this struggle.

She also had them give me her shrimp. That, I hadn't anticipated.

But I'm a man, and that really doesn't excuse any of this but I'm going to say it anyway.

When my cousin Sherri asked the chef to give me her rice portion as well, I knew that I was in danger.

As the food continued to pile onto my plate, I had to form a mesa of sorts with the rice, so that the shrimp, scallops, and vegetables wouldn't fall off.

Because God forbid I neglect to eat any of it.

A pile of food would come. I'd eat it, and then get back to chipping away at my Rice Mesa.

And then another pile of food would come.

And then another.

I felt like Sisyphus, except his task at least made him more fit.

Mine put me at serious risk of hospitalization.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

My cousins said that I could take the rest to go and eat it later.

My wife informed them that I would be eating all of this food tonight, because I have a problem.

Minutes turned into hours. Not that I could keep track of time.

Nothing felt real anymore.

What we call "reality" stripped away from what was left of my consciousness.

Nothing existed but me and the endless pile of food.

At some point, the rest of the family was getting bored and wanted to leave, so I had to pack my leftovers into a to-go container.

To put it in perspective, less than half the food was left, and it barely fit into a full size styrofoam clamshell container.

As I packed the food in, my wife and mother insisted that it wouldn't fit.

My own wife and mother.

It hurt me to know that they didn't believe in me. In retrospect, I was probably a little overly emotional because my blood sugar was somewhere north of 800.

But Mark believed.

"It's rice", we both said, almost in unison. "You can really pack it in there."

And we were right.

You can really pack rice in there.

My family pleaded with me, "please Spike, please don't eat the rest of that food tonight. We are worried that you will die."

I said "of course I won't eat the rest of it tonight. I've had more than enough."

But my wife said "he's going to eat this before it gets cold."

"No no" I insisted. "This will make a great lunch for tomorrow."

She continued looking at my family.

"He has a problem."

My own wife.

First she didn't think I could pack that rice into the container. Now she thinks I'll eat the leftovers, when I insisted that I wouldn't.

I was heartbroken.

How could the woman I had pledged my life to, my Queen, my very rib, plucked from me and formed as I doth sleep, have so little faith in me?

It was a long and quiet ride home.

I felt alone, betrayed even.

At this point my blood sugar was hovering somewhere around 1200.

I'd estimate that I consumed roughly 600 grams of carbs, and 43,000 mg of sodium.

(I didn't bother calculating the protein and fat, because counting the macros of this meal seemed like a mockery of God and His creation)

All of this would have broken a weaker man.

But not me.

Unlike many lesser Jews, I am stronger than my addiction to Asian food.

My name is Spike Cohen, and I ate the Food and Nutrition Board of the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine's recommend weekly allowance of calories in one sitting.

This is my story.

[bubble-leaves]

Your Cooking Expertise - Reth x Reader

When you first moved to Kilima, Reth was so ready to show off his skills and impress you, the new human on the block. And, bless his heart, he thought he was so cool. I mean, you seemed to enjoy his world famous soups! He felt on top of the world being able to impress someone that knew nothing about him.

. . . until he learned that you were highly experienced with cooking.

Reth's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he first saw you bring him a gift of pan-seared scallops. He was so pissed; it tasted delicious. And it got even worse, as you started a habit of bringing him morsels of dishes you were working on perfecting. Eventually, Reth became so intrigued and so jealous that he finally asked if you could teach him some of the basics of your fancy cooking. Which leads us to the present.

Reth stands in the inn kitchen. The inn is closed and empty, apart from Ashura packing up his things for the night. Reth leans against one of the counters, biting his nails as he awaits your arrival. His mind is sifting through all the terrible ways he could embarrass himself in front of you. Asking for your help was embarrassing enough, but what if he spills something and ruins the dish you two were going to make tonight? What if he accidentally cuts himself when chopping produce? Oh Dragon, what if he suddenly sneezes in front of the food?

His face is a shade of deep pink as he pictures several ways he could ruin how you think of him. Just as he's nearly consumed with doubt, your footsteps approach the kitchen entryway. Reth's heart leaps as he takes one look to his left and sees you in the arched entrance. You have a hand on your hip, simultaneously carrying a rattan basket, and a smile on your face.

"Nervous?" You ask.

Reth flashes his handsome award-winning smile and waves his hand dismissively. "Nah! Why would - what gave you that impression?"

"The nail biting. Now you have to go wash your hands," You chuckled, "Wah wah."

Reth paused, then flushed in embarrassment. Yep, first screw up complete.

"Oh, great. I'm on a roll with this fancy cooking biz," Reth sarcastically says, before looking up at you to add, "If you wanna hire me as your head chef at your culinary empire now, you can have all my details."

You laugh as he turns to the sink to wash his hands. He smiles genuinely as he listens to the sound. Your laugh makes him feel so much better, in an instant, like audible morphine.

Reth notices you placing items on the prep counter, each one being taken out from your basket. He finishes drying his hands to investigate. He comes close to see what the ingredients all are. With this distance, you could smell a delightful musk of spices and woodsiness eminating from him. It makes your heart skip a beat, yet you remain calm and act like all is natural.

"Huh. What — HOLY DRAGON," Reth shouts as you suddenly retrieve an expensive sernuk tenderloin from the basket.

You look up at him with raised brows, surprised by his volume. His mouth hangs open as he stares at the sernuk, trying to comprehend how he's possibly allowed to be near such a luxurious cut of meat.

"Wait-waaaait a minute, sweet tooth, that is way out of territory for me," Reth declares.

"You'll do fine," You assure with a gentle laugh.

You place the cut of meat upon a cutting board then reach for the knife rack, simply moving forward. Meanwhile, after a brief pause to comprehend what you said, sparkles fill Reth's eyes. Hearing someone as experienced as you say he'll succeed makes his heart pound. He looks at your face, studying its expression with awe. Damn. You're amazing. Oh, he's so screwed.

"You know, you have a lot of guts to trust me with something like this," Reth chuckles.

"Reth, stop that, I'd trust you with anything," You say with a smile, chastisingly swatting his arm. "Now, c'mon, this is an easy stuffed tenderloin. Slice it open for me."

"Oh, this is the end," Reth dramatically says, taking the knife you carefully hand him.

You ignore his doubts this time and lock into the recipe. You instruct, "Make a three-quarter slice down the middle."

"Bold of you to assume I know fractions," Reth quips before doing as you say.

While he makes a precise cut, you go over to the gas range stove and set the oven to preheat at a precise temperature. You then turn back to Reth, who already has a feeling about the next step.

"Guessing this part includes the salt and pepper you brought," Reth says, "You think I didn't have salt and pep, sweet tooth? I swear I'm not that incompetent!"

You laugh and shove his arm a little. "I bring every ingredient needed just because I can! Plus, you don't have to waste product, right?"

Reth makes an agreeable face and shrugs, simultaneously seasoning the sernuk. "Didn't think about that. Now I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," You say, multi-tasking just as he was.

You got out a chopping board from a nearby cabinet and moved a medium-sized cube of cheese onto it. Reth raises a brow.

"What kind of cheese is that?" He asks.

"Manchego," You reply, retrieving a knife.

He cocks his head. "Never heard of it. Is it some kind of fancy rich people cheese?"

"Ehhh," You shrug. "Not really. It's just uncommon in every day cooking."

You slice thin sheets of the cheese and lay them flat along the cut of the meat. Again, Reth has the correct intuition of what comes next.

"And this is where the sage comes in, huh?" He asks.

"You got it. See, this isn't hard at all for you, right?" You say, looking over to him with an encouraging smile.

Reth feels his face get a little warm as he looks back at you. He can't believe how well you treat him despite what he's known for around here.

He lags a bit, then smiles back and says, "I just have a good teacher."

You softly chuckle, and for a moment he swore he saw you shift your lips to the side to hide any flustering. He doesn't bring it up, though, and simply retrieves the sage with a suddenly smug smile. Subtle flirting just does that to him.

"Oh, and don't use both sprigs, just use one," You quickly advise.

Reth replies with a quick "gotcha" before scattering the leaves of a sage spring along the sernuk. You're pleased with the even coating, and Reth sees it in your eyes, which shows clear satisfaction. He feels so in control, suddenly, like he actually knows what he's doing.

"Perfect," You praise, sending his heart in a whirl. "Now, could you get me the string in there?"

Quickly recovering from hearing that first word, Reth raises a brow and gets a spool of string out of your basket.

"Okay, officially confused. Is this the part where we sew 'live, laugh, love'?" Reth asks with an amused hum.

A loud cackle escapes your mouth, the sound making Reth's grin double. He motions his hands outward in a manner that signifies asking a question.

You giggle, "No, goofball, we roll up the tenderloin and tie it inch by inch so it won't unroll in the oven."

"Ohhh, gotcha, that was my second guess," Reth muses. "Also, 'goofball'? Is that my new nickname, sweet tooth?"

Once again, you lightly shove his shoulder, your cheeks feeling hot. "Now it is."

Reth smirks, as he knows you're starting to get bashful, just a little bit. He hasn't seen that from you before, you're usually incredibly confident and he's usually the one who seemed flustered by you. He likes the turned tables. Alas, you don't let him bask in the moment for too long. You readjust your posture and put back on a regular façade. Reth refrains from pouting; he listens for your next instructions.

You clear your throat and say, "Okay. Get the roasting tray. Sprinkle — "

"The other sage sprig and this thyme here?" Reth finishes with an uprising tone.

"Yes," You smile, then motion to the tenderloin. "I'll tie this up."

Reth does as you say. You both go into a spell of silence to do your tasks, but since Reth's takes less time, he's left to watch you complete yours. He watches as you tie the tenderloin in evenly spaced intervals. Then, of course, he gets bored and feels the need to chitchat again.

"Hm. I never asked, what are we gonna do with the 'loin when it's completely finished? Do we take it home for friends and family or do we have a little date?" Reth asks.

He sees you do that lip thing again; it must be a habit when you're feeling shy. How cute!

"Uh . . . well, I didn't really think that far, for some reason," You say with a subtly embarrassed chuckle.

"Can I give a suggestion?" Reth asks further, leaning upon the counter with his arms crossed to look at you.

Your face feels hot as he stares at you. He doesn't get an answer to his question, as you had just finished tying the protein.

"Could you get me the olive oil?" You request, pretending that you didn't hear his insinuating question.

Reth narrowed his eyes humorously and nodded his head. “Oh, I see. We’re just gonna have to find out, then.”

He hands you the olive oil, watching you simmer in your own fluster with a smirk. You drizzle some of the oil on the meat, looking at it like you’re asking it to help you out of this sudden shift of atmosphere. Reth glances away from you to look at the remaining ingredient, which is the last sprig of sage. Looking for one last chance to help out, he reaches out for the herb. However, at the last second, you also reached for it. Your hands accidentally make one brisk touch, before simultaneously pulling away.

It’s quiet. Reth looks at you with concern and a hint of curiosity. He worries about how forward he may have been, even if it was accidental. You look like you’re swallowing your words, he can see.

“I’m sorry,” You simply say.

Reth smiles. “It’s fine, no worries. It’s just sage, right?”

You sigh. “Uh, yeah. If you can sprinkle that on, that’d be great . . . oh, what is wrong with me?”

“Huh?” He asks as he cocks a brow.

Reth suddenly notices your face is flushed with color, making both his brows raise in surprise. Your hand rests over your heart wearily as you breathe.

“Aha . . . hold on, let’s just get this in the oven first,” You say.

“(Y/n), you better not peki out about telling me what’s goin’ on,” Reth replies, stepping over to the oven but keeping his eyes on you.

You shook your head. “I’m not, please; I’m just wanting to cook this tenderloin. Open the door.”

He hums a sassy, unconvinced “mmm-hm” and opens the oven door. A wave of heat billows out and he chokes and leans away. You laugh and make it quick as you slide the trayed tenderloin into the oven. You push it to the center before retracting your hands. Reth closes the door immediately after. He’s onto you immediately, too. As you set the timer, his interrogation starts.

“Kay, now, what did I do?” He asks.

“Oh, you didn’t do anything,” You chuckle with a tinge of anxiety. “It was just me.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously, although still playfully spirited. Feeling pressured, you give up more information to satisfy those eyes.

“My heart is just beating very fast,” You say with another laugh, this one sounding breathless and shallow.

That makes Reth’s own heart skip a beat. He’s doing all this to you? Huh. He may be more capable than he thought when it comes to flustering you.

He tilts his head. “My bad, my bad. Do I do that to you often?”

You blink and ponder on that. Your heart palpitations are lesser when you and him are in a room with other people, but you realize that this has only ever happened when you were alone with him.

After brief hesitation, you admit, “Only when no one else is around but me and you.”

Reth stares with complete shock while you bite your cheek in thought. It took him a second for him to process that you basically just confessed your feelings, but now that it’s hit him, he has even more questions.

“...me? Why?” He asks in a voice quieter than usual.

“Why?!” You repeat with passion, making him slightly jump.

You both are completely flushed in the face, hearts beating quick. He has so much he wants to blurt out with passion too, but he waits for you to go first.

“Reth, every time you get close to me or subtly flirt or compliment me or do anything when we’re alone, I get so bashful, I have to find a way to leave immediately,” You confess completely. “But seeing as I can’t leave mid-cook session, I’m . . . agh. I’m just . . .”

Reth’s lips are awkwardly pursed and his eyes are big. He didn’t exactly expect tonight to turn into a confession. He rarely ever saw you this vulnerable, maybe only once or twice. Right now, he can see how conflicted you feel, and hear your soft, deep breaths. He rescues you from the silence.

“Well. Um. I . . . honestly did not expect you to actually share any sort of feeling for me,” Reth suddenly confesses also.

Your eyes, once gazing to the floor, shoot up at him. “Wha — what?”

A soft laugh escapes his lips. “(Y/n), why do you think I act the way I do around you? You’re awesome; you’re so talented and so funny and so sweet and so tolerable of me, for some reason. Like, how could I not . . . y’know . . .”

Reth averts his eyes for a second then looks back with admiration. He sees your face swiftly display relief, which makes him relax too. You both stare at each other for a second, maybe a little too longingly too soon, but you didn't care. You feel the weight and tension graciously lift off your shoulders, as does Reth. The atmosphere feels light and airy, as if anything could happen, as if anything is possible right now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, though? That I was making you feel like that?” Reth asks.

You lift a hand up before letting it fall back to your leg, as if to say ‘I don’t know.’

“I don’t really know what your stance on relationships is or whatever. Plus, we’re good friends, I wouldn’t wanna ruin it,” You frown.

Reth scoffs as if you said something completely nonsensical. “You really think that I’d just give you the boot? I mean, jeez, sweet tooth, I know I’m a career criminal, but I’m not heartless.”

You chuckle, “True.”

“Plus, I know for a fact that I’m not heartless because I feel the same tussle going on in my heart that you do,” He adds.

“Ah . . . you mean that?” You ask.

Reth’s eyes close halfway and he smirks. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Unless it was funny.”

You roll your eyes but smile widely. Your spirit feels so alive. Being so open with Reth about your feelings with him feels surreal, like a dream, especially due to his reciprocation. He was into you, too.

“Um . . . I’m still up to wine and dine over our fancy-schmancy sernuk,” Reth offers. “If you’d like that too, of course, you don’t have to — ”

You cut him off before he talked himself into a rabbit hole of doubt. “I’d love to.”

Reth processes your interruption, then smiles. “Ugh, you’re so amazing. Should we set up a table in the inn, then? I got fancy cutlery just for this special occasion!”

You laugh and nod your head. “Sure. I’ll keep you in check so nothing gets broken.”

“Ruuude,” Reth playfully drawls. “You’re probably right, though.”

-

The night ends with you and Reth chatting and laughing at a pristinely decorated table. There’s a luxurious tablecloth, folded napkins, shiny cutlery, and even an atmospheric candle between you two. Reth really goes all out to make this night seem like a high-class restaurant experience for you. You both have a cut of the cooked sernuk tenderloin on your porcelain plates. Although it wasn’t soup, Reth is obsessed with his meal. He is secretly proud of himself for how this night went. Reth managed to cook an excellent protein with you, somehow get a confession out of you that he reciprocated, and now he’s sitting across from you, watching you smile and laugh and enjoy the fruits of your labor. He could get used to seeing you so happy like this, but privately. Reth likes being alone with you, he realizes. You show him a side of you that you don’t show anyone else, and for some reason, it feels so right. He wants you to be that comfortable around him that you just let go and be yourself, he wants to be that safe space for you. Reth doesn’t know what the future holds, though. All he can do in this present moment is just laugh, crack jokes, and keep making your heart race for him.

[waight-gain]

The Chef and the Critic

Chapter 2: The Review and Revelation

The week following Jacob's visit to La Cuisine was a whirlwind for Alex. The buzz among patrons and critics alike was palpable, and reservations were pouring in at an unprecedented rate. Word had spread of Jacob's visit and bystanders spread rumors, both about his food and their obvious attraction to each other. Alex knew that his review, when it finally came out, would either solidify his restaurant's status or catapult it into the culinary stratosphere. He found himself in a state of eager anticipation, nervously awaiting the critic's verdict.

Meanwhile, Jacob had been equally affected by the evening at La Cuisine. Alex's culinary prowess had left an indelible impression on him, and he found himself both excited and nervous to put his thoughts into words. He wanted his review to do justice to the extraordinary experience he'd had, while also maintaining the objectivity and high standards that his readers expected.

Finally, the day of the review arrived. Alex woke up early, his stomach churning with a mix of excitement and nerves. He grabbed a copy of the city's most influential food magazine from the newsstand on his way to the restaurant, his heart pounding as he flipped to Jacob's column.

The review was titled "A Chef's Masterclass in Desire: La Cuisine's Alex Chevalier." Alex's eyes scanned the page, drinking in Jacob's words like a thirsty man in the desert.

From the moment I stepped into La Cuisine, I knew I was in for an extraordinary dining experience. The dimly lit dining room, the soft hum of conversation, and the scent of tantalizing dishes wafting from the kitchen all conspired to create an atmosphere of anticipation and desire.

Alex's heart swelled with pride as he read Jacob's words, each one painting a vivid picture of the culinary journey he'd experienced. He could almost taste the dishes as Jacob described them, feeling a sense of accomplishment and connection to the critic.

The first course was a testament to Chef Chevalier's skill and creativity—a delicate composition of seared scallops atop a bed of citrus foam, garnished with microgreens and edible flowers. The plate was a masterpiece, each element carefully curated to dance on the palate. The scallop melted in my mouth, its sweetness complemented by the tangy foam, while the microgreens provided a crisp contrast. It was a symphony of textures and flavors, a perfect introduction to the culinary symphony that was to follow.

As Alex read, he found himself transported back to that evening, the pride and satisfaction he felt as he watched Jacob savor each bite. He could almost see the critic's eyes closing, his features softening as he savored the dish.

The review continued, each paragraph a celebration of Alex's culinary prowess. Jacob praised his innovative techniques, his bold flavor combinations, and his ability to evoke emotions through food. But it was the personal nature of the review that truly resonated with Alex.

There is something undeniably sensual about Chef Chevalier's cooking. It is not merely food; it is an experience, a seduction. One cannot help but be captivated, both by the chef's artistry and his magnetic presence. In the dimly lit dining room of La Cuisine, I found myself drawn into a world where desire and delight intertwined, and I was eager for more.

Alex reread the paragraph, his heart racing. He hadn't been imagining the connection between them; Jacob had felt it too. A slow smile spread across his face as he continued reading.

The evening at La Cuisine was one of the most memorable dining experiences of my career. Chef Chevalier's cuisine is not just exceptional; it is transformative. It has the power to challenge our perceptions, to awaken our senses, and to leave us craving more. I, for one, am already eager to return to La Cuisine, to lose myself once again in the chef's culinary embrace.

As Alex put the magazine down, he found himself thinking about Jacob. The critic's words had been so personal, so intimate. It was clear that Jacob had felt the same spark between them, the same unspoken connection. Alex couldn't help but wonder what this meant for them, both professionally and personally.

Lost in thought, Alex found himself in the kitchen, a new dish taking shape before him. He chopped, stirred, and tasted, each action a reflection of his emotions. As he added a final touch of garnish, he heard a soft knock at the kitchen door.

He turned to find Jacob standing in the doorway, a small smile playing on his lips. Alex's heart skipped a beat, surprise and pleasure warring within him.

"Jacob," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "What brings you to La Cuisine today?"

Jacob held up the magazine, his eyes twinkling. "I thought I'd come by to see if you'd read the review yet."

Alex chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. "I have. Thank you, Jacob. It's truly an honor to have you write such kind words about my cooking."

Jacob stepped further into the kitchen, his eyes never leaving Alex's. "It was an honor to taste your cuisine, Alex. And I must admit, I found myself hoping that our professional relationship could become something more."

Alex's heart skipped a beat. He had been hoping for the same thing, but hearing Jacob say it out loud sent a thrill through him. He took a step closer to the critic, their eyes locked.

"I'd like that very much, Jacob," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.