#eat in bordeaux

[nando161mando]

[Bordeaux, France]

[lupismaris]

Me: I'm too tired and evil tonight to go out i need a quiet night in with a comfort activity, a focus on self care, and a simple dinner

Me: -craves only boeuf bourguignon and no where locally does an honest portion at a fair price so now we've spent more than is comfortable on ingredients and will expend our last half a spoon in food prep-

[frmisnow]

ALL KINDS OF WINE ! — series masterlist.

summary. after you realize that the man you had a drunk one night stand with, was in fact your new ceo. you settle on avoiding him as best as you could- but why do you feel so drawn to him?

🍷⭒⋆｡˚ masterlist key s - suggestive (m) / 18+ - smut f - fluff a - angst

chapter one. — BORDEAUX ─ ・ﾟ 🥤 "bordeaux wines are known for their deep, complex flavors and are often associated with luxury and intimacy. "

teaser tags. alcohol nerd! jk, reader uses him to get over bad memories ?, making out, alcohol!! ┃ rated : s

chapter two. — 1:37AM : BAROLO ─ ・ﾟ 🥤 "barolo wines are known to be one of italy's greatest wines. with bold, rich flavor. "

teaser tags. business trip, smoking (reader's first time), masturbation heavely implied, fingering, giving m. head, pussy eating, drunk!!!, tad bit of angst at end ┃ rated : (m) / 18+

chapter three. — MERLOT ─ ・ﾟ 🥤 "merlot wines are known for their smooth, soft flavor, often with cherries. "

teaser tags. let me take care of u! jungkook, hints at domestic abuse and daddy issues, angst, rly bad ex :/ , comfort!! ┃ rated : f, a

chapter four. — ONCE AGAIN, MILAN

teaser tags. a lot of sex, spoiling! jungkook, italy ┃ rated : (m) / 18+ , f

chapter five. — honey moon!

teaser tags. in love love love, marriage, drabble, turkey mentioned ┃ rated : f

drabbles are possible !

[textmel8r]

[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eighth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try. 

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak. 

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass. 

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail. 

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in. 

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance. 

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips. 

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him. 

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.” 

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around. 

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now. 

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other. 

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle. 

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline. 

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

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[micheltaanman-blog]

Frankrijk - Tien Toffe plekken om oesters te eten

Frankrijk – Tien Toffe plekken om oesters te eten

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 2

Part 1

Eddie hadn't forgotten about Steve the next day. Far from it. But his early morning thoughts had been occupied with getting up in time and going through his morning routine. It wasn't until he got dressed and put his jacket on, the same one from yesterday, that he was hit with the remnants of Steve's scent. He lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath.

His number was still in the pocket. Would texting him now seem desperate? Eddie took another breath. Fuck appearances. He had to see him again.

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

Steve had been prepared to chalk up last night to a fever dream. Or even if it was somehow real, that Eddie wouldn't call or text. Or even if he did, it wouldn't be until weeks or months later when he remembered the pathetic omega he'd met one rainy night.

And then he checked his phone on his lunch break and saw that he had a few messages. All from an unknown number.

'hey' 'it's me' 'Eddie' 'that guy you met last night?' 'I was thinking that i could maybe take you out to dinner again?'

Steve beamed so hard anyone looking might think he was insane. How cool should he play it? Maybe he should wait until he got off of work. Would it be better to call? By the looks of the texts, Eddie seemed really into him. Would Steve be able to string him along for longer?

The moment the thought passed through it was gone. He had woken up this morning, yearning for Eddie's scent. If he got close to him again, there was no way that he could make him wait.

Steve told him that he was free any time.

It probably came off as desperate but he didn't care. He wanted Eddie and wanted to be wanted by him. He couldn't afford to play it cool.

Three days later, Steve was standing outside of a nice restaurant. Eddie had sent the location and Steve dressed in the best clothes he owned. Thankfully he didn't have much of a reason to wear them, so they looked fresh and he went the extra mile to iron them. It was a nice collared shirt in blue and some khaki pants. A car drove up and Eddie came out of it, tossing the keys to a valet.

Eddie had offered to pick him up from his apartment but Steve refused for some reason. It felt like a dignity thing.

"Hey there, handsome", Eddie grinned. He had a red button down over black slacks and that leather jacket again. Steve needed to bury his face in it, in Eddie.

Steve got part of his wish when Eddie slung an around his waist and led him inside. He refrained from turning his head to dip his nose into it and drown himself in Eddie. They sat down and a waiter was with them right away for their drink orders. The waiter asked about wine as Steve looked at the menu.

"Hmm, whatever's red and sweet, my good man", Eddie said.

"We have a nice Cabernet, if you would like."

Eddie looked like he was about to agree when Steve spoke up. "Eddie, what are you eating?"

The alpha glanced at the menu before pushing air out of his mouth. "Probably a steak, beautiful. I'm actually not all that picky."

"We'll take a Caremenare", Steve said. "One from Bordeaux if you have one, if not anything on from southern France is fine."

Eddie gave Steve an appraising look as the waiter walked off to get their drinks. He let out a low whistle and then Steve stiffened.

"You know your stuff."

"I uh, yeah", Steve cleared his throat. "This seems like a real classy joint. Normally a server will ask what you plan on dining on before giving a wine suggestion."

"Ah, so he thought I was some bum who would've been happy drinking some cooking sherry?"

"Basically." Steve hadn't meant to show off like that. It just came out.

Eddie didn't look put off though. If anything, he looked impressed.

"You know, I'm not hard to please. I'm the type to drink whatever they put in front of me. Unless it's vodka." Eddie stuck his tongue out in disgust.

"I figured a rock star would have more refined tastes", Steve said.

"Oh I think I've got great tastes", Eddie said, licking a canine.

Steve had been looking at the menu, about to ask what he meant he saw the look Eddie was giving him. He quickly snapped the menu back up to cover his face and how warm it felt. Steve was no stranger to blatant flirting. He'd frequently laid it on thick himself. But knowing who Eddie was and how they'd met put an extra layer on it.

Did Eddie like him for himself? Or because he seemed easy? They started talking, the conversation now about traveling. Eddie was telling him of a particularly wild night in Italy and Steve was halfway in thought.

Would he feel different if Eddie was just a normal alpha? Or was it the fact that Eddie knew he was half the way to destitute that made Steve hesitant? Above all, Steve just didn't know if Eddie respected him or if he felt sorry for him. Eddie hadn't ever said anything condescending about him or omegas in general though. He'd never made Steve feel lower than him. He made sure he was comfortable with rides and being paid for before doing so.

Steve remembered what his best friend told him before abandoning him (getting her dream job) across the country. Basically, waste not, want not, but applying it to everything. If Eddie wanted to take him out and buy him meals and drinks, who was Steve to deny him? And if he wanted something sweet after, well Steve wouldn't be upset.

"Wait, you tried sneaking into the catacombs? You know it's a tourist site? You can just get a guide and go in", Steve said.

"Yeah, well Jeff had this bright idea of going in without permission, cause you know, rebellion is totally more metal than just hiring a tour guide, and going at like 2 am because that's the 'best time'", Eddie did air quotes and rolled his eyes. "And also tried to get into more restricted areas."

"Lemme guess, Jeff's a free spirited explorer?"

"I like adventure as much as the next guy, but I also like seeing the sky", Eddie said. "And Gareth's worse. Dude froze solid the moment we got down there. Hell of a time to learn he's got claustrophobia."

Their orders were taken and Eddie watched probably with a bit too much interest as Steve ate. He was enjoying this ritzy fare as much as he did the bar and local restaurant from before. Maybe Steve was the type to fit in anywhere. Eddie wanted to give him more. He'd seen some of the couples around them. People with clearly money to spare and they lavished it on the beauty dining with them. Gilded omegas. Kept omegas.

"I just wanted to, I don't know, take care of him", Eddie had lamented to his band mates while on a Zoom call.

"What, like a puppy?", Grant asked while in the middle of doing laundry.

"No! Yes? Like, ugggh", Eddie ran his hands down his face. "I know how this is gonna sound. Don't judge me."

"Holy shit", Gareth paused in his gaming to look at Eddie's face on one of his screens. "Dudes, I think it's finally happening."

"No fucking way", Jeff said.

Eddie turned around in his chair, trying to turn his back to them but he went to hard and did a 360 instead.

"Eddie, do you wanna be his-"

"Please don't say it out loud", Eddie covered his face with his hands.

"He does", Jeff said. "He wants to be a sugar daddy."

"This guy's gotta be hot. You got pics?", Grant asked.

"No one's that hot", Gareth said. "Chrissy was that hot and you still didn't-"

"Alright, forget I said anything. This is supposed to be a brainstorming sesh", Eddie quickly changed the subject.

Eddie wanted Steve to be his. But he didn't just want to date him. He wanted to spoil him, take him on exotic vacations, show him off, have Steve lie in bed without a care outside of being Eddie's baby.

But he couldn't just ask that, could he? That was probably one aspect of celebrity life Eddie, nor any of the other guys really knew too well. Getting a date? Easy. Getting someone like this? Would Steve even want to do that? He probably had his own goals and aspirations that went beyond being some guy's plaything. God though, Eddie would treat him so right. Steve really wouldn't want for anything.

"So, I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but how does a uh, fine vintage such as yourself find him single?"

"'Fine vintage'? Are you calling me old?", Steve asked with mock offense.

"Well you wear it very nicely", Eddie quipped back.

"For the record, I'm not chronically single. I've just been pretty busy lately. Had a few quick lays, but nothing serious for a while."

"How about somethingggg not serious buuut pretty exclusive?", Eddie asked. He leaned a little closer to Steve and was able to smell the increased interest. Good.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you, me, on a French beach in about a month. You could really show off that wino talent."

Steve snickered and moved a little closer to Eddie. "Well you can start with not calling me a 'wino'. And if you really want me to show off, you'll have to take my to Italy."

Eddie put an arm around Steve. "That can be arranged." He started to kiss his neck and let out a soft growl at the way Steve melted under his lips. His hand found Steve's thigh and gave it a squeeze.

Steve hummed and turned his head to kiss Eddie's cheek, then grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers together. He gave Eddie's lips a rather chaste kiss but then whispered against them.

"Take me to your place."

dont @ me on the wine stuff i literally drank a $7 bottle of vermouth yesterday and enjoyed it clearly i am not an expert.

Part 3

Tag Team

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @marklee-blackmore @dragonmama76 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[drunk-person]

Aemond Targaryen: Temperament analysis

Okay, first of all, there are four types of temperaments that a person can have: Melancholic, Choleric, Sanguine and Phlegmatic. Each of them brings unique characteristics to a person and in general, you can only have one, but with secondary characteristics of another.

For ME, Aemond Targaryen is a melancholic with choleric influence. Melancholic people have as their main characteristic this external quietness that often makes other people think they are boring or different, but no, they are just being themselves.

This matches perfectly with what Aemond said to Madame, he was always considered annoying and mocked by others because he was considered different. Aemond was a child but would be more reserved, he was studious and quiet, from a very early age taking his duties very seriously while others didn't even understand the duties that were around him.

A very big indication of this temperament is the fact that Aemond never got along with Aegon, who is a sanguine. In general, melancholics and sanguines do not tend to get along well together. The melancholic has no patience for the careless and uncommitted way of the sanguine and the sanguine in general cannot stand the correct and quiet way of the melancholic.

And here comes another important thing: in this temperament we have a very big problem related to hurt and trauma.

Think about temperaments this way: The phlegmatic temperament is a water temperament. What happens when we stick a knife in a river? The knife goes through the water and leaves no mark when removed.

Now bring this to Aemond's temperament: the melancholic is an earth temperament. What happens when we stick a knife in the ground and remove it? The mark will remain there forever if nothing is done to remove it.

You see it clearly in Aemond, the pain and hurt that was kept with him for years and years without anything being done to reverse it, only to feed it. The bullying suffered as a child, the loss of his eye, being belittled by his father, all of this is very vivid for him.

Aemond doesn't forget the pain caused to him!

Now let's talk about something important: the temperament, which is like a person's secondary temperament. Aemond has a choleric supply, which in temperaments is fire. Melancholic and choleric are a combination that, when not well-worked, can be dangerous, considering how melancholic is spiteful and choleric is vengeful. While melancholic thinks a lot about everything and plans every detail of everything he's going to do, choleric is extremely reactive and acts without thinking about the consequences.

A single person with two opposing temperaments can be complicated, and Aemond is like that. While he is very rational, he sometimes acts recklessly when he's angry, such as chasing Lucerys. However, when he kills him, guilt overwhelms him almost immediately, and the realization of what he did thoughtlessly eats away at him.

What makes Aemond predominantly Melancholic? His quietness and seemingly calm way of being. Choleric people are prone to subsequent outbursts of anger, are restless and impulsive to the extreme. You will rarely see a choleric person think about something.

An example is the scene at the bordeaux, a choleric person would not have thought twice before attacking or even killing Aegon right there, but a melancholic person would not, he keeps his anger and plans revenge for later, even if at some point in the future the guilt of what he did may eat away at him alive.

The way he hides each of his emotions behind a carefully calculated facade is the most melancholy thing anyone could do.

"I care but there's no point in letting anyone know."

I particularly love characters with this temperament, because they usually have so many nuances to observe.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Few Food-related Words

for when your character is cooking or maybe eating at a fancy restaurant

Béchamel - a rich white sauce. This thick white sauce was invented by, and thus named after, Louis de Béchamel, a French courtier who served in the court of Louis XIV.

Bordelaise - a sauce consisting of stock thickened with roux and flavored typically with red wine and shallots. The etymology of bordelaise is tastefully simple: bordelaise is the feminine form of the adjective bordelais, meaning "of Bordeaux" (a region in France famous for its wines).

Braise - to cook slowly in fat and a small amount of liquid in a closed pot. The verb braise is from French braiser and braise, both of which signal that the coals are hot. The likely ignitors of the French words are Germanic kindling along with the Swedish brasa, meaning "fire."

Flam​bé - (adjective): dressed or served covered with flaming liquor (such as brandy, rum, or cognac). (verb): to douse with a liquor (such as brandy, rum, or cognac) and ignite. Flambé is the past participle of French flamber, meaning "to flame or singe," which is derived from the Old French noun flambe, meaning "flame."

Roux - a cooked mixture of flour and fat used as a thickening agent in a soup or a sauce. Roux is a shortening of beurre roux, which in French translates as "brown butter."

Soubise - a garnish or white sauce containing onions or onion purée. Soubise is said to be named after 18th-century French nobleman Charles de Rohan, Prince de Soubise, a favorite of Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour.

Velouté - a soup or sauce made of chicken, veal, or fish stock and cream and thickened with butter and flour. Velouté, in French, means "velvetiness" or "softness." It is related to velours, which gave English velour, a word for velvety material.

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 62)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

That evening, after you settled in, you chose to cook dinner for the three of you while Cillian played with Mara on a big blanket, he had rolled out on the living room floor. 

You brought some of her toys with you on this trip, and she still seemed particularly fond of her stuffed giraffe, Gigi, who by now, looked pretty worn.

But Mara didn't mind, she still loved playing with her.

As you watched Cillian playing with her, you couldn't help but feel grateful for him. Despite everything that happened between the two of you, he had never let that affect Mara's relationship with him, always making an effort to be there for her.

He loved her  with every fiber of his being, and it showed.

As you continued to cook and watch your daughter with play with her father, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing and sadness wash over you. You missed this, missed having Cillian in your life, in your bed, as more than just Mara's father.

But you knew that the past was in the past, and that there was no going back. You had made a decision to leave him, and you do so for a reason.

"Hungry?" you asked Cillian, as you stirred a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove. You were trying to focus on the task at hand, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the life you had shared with Cillian, before everything fell apart.

Cillian looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, playing with Mara, a soft smile on his face. "Yeah, I'm starving," he said, winking at Mara who giggled at her father's antics.

"Sghetti" Mara  tried to say, her voice squeaking with excitement as the aroma of the sauce filled the room. Spaghetti was her favorite food and you knew that, within the next fifteen minutes, she would be a mess, covered in sauce. 

Hurriedly scooping up some food onto plates, you carried them to the dining table along with two wine glasses and a bottle of Bordeaux. 

Cillian put Mara into the highchair the hotel had provided for you  , tucking her in snugly before going to sit himself at the table.

"Cheese?" Cillian asked Mara, pointing to the bowl  of grated parmesan. Mara nodded her head up and down excitedly and watched as Cillian carefully grated a heavy dusting of shavings over her spaghetti before stirring and cutting them up.

"Alright then, ready for the airplane?" he then asked, picking up the spoon, pretending that he was engine. "Big aa...,"  he made the sound of an airplane taking off, and Mara squealed with delight as the spoon made its way towards her mouth.

"You know your own food will go cold if you keep doing this?"  you said with a playful smile, hinting at Cillian's antics while feeding Mara. He smirked, the corner of his lips curling upward,

"That's alright. I can eat later," he smiled before pretending to be an airplane once again , and Mara burst into a fit of giggles.

"Okay, okay, alright. I get it," you rolled your eyes in amusement, unable to suppress a smile.

You couldn't believe how much joy this simple action brought to Mara.

It was truly heartwarming to witness the unfiltered happiness on her face.

As Mara continued to eat with Cillian playing alongside her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia.

The three of you had shared so many precious moments like this before, and you missed them dearly.

You couldn't help but think about how it used to be when you and Cillian were still together. The way he used to make you laugh, the way he used to touch you, the way he used to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You missed the intimacy, the connection, the warmth.

You shook your head, banishing the thoughts away. There was no point in dwelling on the past. You had made your decision, and it was for the best. You needed to focus on the present and the future.

After a while, Cillian ate too and then he got Mara ready for bed, reading her a bedtime story and tucking her in while you cleaned up the dishes but, just as you had your hands in the sink, you heard a quiet knock on the door.

You dried your hands quickly and walked over to open, finding an attractive blonde woman standing in the hallway with a bottle of wine in her hand and two glasses.

"Can I help you?" you asked the blonde woman, feeling a little confused. You had just arrived in Liverpool and wondered who she was, even though her face looked familiar to you.

"Oh, hey, uhm, I was after Cillian actually," she  smiled sheepishly, glancing at the door you were standing in front of.

"Well, he's currently putting our daughter to bed," you told her matter-of-factly, wondering why she was even there.

"Daughter?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion before it clicked. "Oh, right, you must be Y/N then? I didn't know you were coming to stay here. I am so sorry," the blonde woman replied, a look of embarrassment on her face. "Cillian didn't say anything," she explained further before finally introducing herself.  "I am Annabelle by the way, and Cillian and I have a few scenes together in the next couple of days," she added, holding out her hand.

You shook it, trying to keep your feelings in check. "Right, uhm, nice to meet you," you said, unsure of what else to say.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort at her presence, seeing how you had just realized that she was playing Grace Shelby, Cillian's love interest in the show. On top of that, you just remembered that there had been some allegations against her for having had an affair with Cillian in 2014 when he was still married to Danielle and, even though Cillian denied that any of this was true, you couldn't shake the sudden feeling that she had taken a liking in him. 

"Do you want me to take a message or something?" you asked Annabelle, trying to remain polite despite the sudden wave of unease that had washed over you. 

"Oh, no, it's fine. I was just coming over to hang out and have a drink with him, but I will see him tomorrow on set," she replied, giving you a polite smile.

You felt your smile falter for a moment before gathering yourself and saying, "Well, that's nice. I will just tell him that you came by," you added, making it clear that she needed to leave.

Annabelle nodded, then turned to head back to her studio down the hall.

As she walked away, you couldn't help but notice the way her hips swayed in the expensive-looking dress she wore. She was undeniably attractive, but something about her left a bad taste in your mouth.

You shook your head and returned to cleaning up the kitchen. Your thoughts were in turmoil, and you weren't sure what to do.

You didn't want to be the jealous ex, but Annabelle's sudden appearance had brought up old insecurities and doubts. You decided to push those thoughts aside for the night and focus on spending time with Cillian.

After cleaning up the kitchen, you settled onto the couch with a glass of wine, flipping through the channels on the TV. Cillian soon joined you after putting Mara to bed, sitting close enough that your knees were touching. The intimacy of the moment felt strange, unfamiliar, but also comforting in a way.

"Hey, uhm," you began to say before cutting to the chase. "A woman named Annabelle came by while you were putting Mara to bed,"  you informed him matter-of-factly, trying to keep your tone neutral as possible.

He raised an eyebrow, furrowing it slightly. "What did she want?" he then asked, somewhat confused and you turned to face him. 

"She said she was coming over to hang out and have a drink with you," you elaborated, taking a sip of the wine in your glass.

"Alright," he simply responded before picking up his reading glasses from the coffee table in front of him.

"You know you can go if you want to?" you then offered, letting him know that he was free to go if he felt so inclined, especially since it appeared that Annabelle had planned to come over for more than just a quick drink.

"Go where?" Cillian asked, a look of confusion on his face as he adjusted his glasses.

"To see her, I guess. I mean, I don't know. I don't mind," you replied, trying to maintain a casual tone. Cillian studied you for a moment, his eyes dancing with a hint of mischief.

"Really?" he then chuckled, removing his reading glasses again. "Do you want to get rid of me?" he then asked, a teasing tone in his voice that made you chuckle despite the tension that had been building up.

"No, I just don't want you to feel like you have to stay here. Mara is asleep and I have nowhere to go, so you can hang out with your costars if you like," you clarified, your tone light.

Cillian looked at you for a long moment, a strange expression crossing his face. "I want to be here, Y/N, with you and Mara," he finally said, his voice gentle and earnest. "Despite, I still need to learn the script for tomorrow and then hit the hay early to get some sleep. My first scene is at 5 o'clock in the morning," he added, holding up the pages he had brought with him from the studio.

You nodded, understanding his situation. "You know the couch will be really uncomfortable and, if you don't get enough sleep, then  you won't be able to focus on your scenes tomorrow," you said, worry seeping into your voice.

 "It will be fine Y/N," he assured you, running a hand through his hair, but you shook your head. 

"Seriously Cillian. You can take the bed, and I will have the couch. I can't go to sleep that early anyway so it would be more practicable that way," you suggested but Cillian didn't agree.

"No chance Y/N. You came all this way and are staying here with me now so that I can spend some extra time with Mara. You didn't have to do that, so you take the bed," Cillian insisted, a determined look on his face.

"Well, how about we share the bed. It's not that we haven't slept in the same bed before, and it will probably be more comfortable for the both of us," you proposed the idea, trying to play it cool.

Cillian looked hesitant for a moment, as if considering your suggestion.  "Do you seriously think that would be a good idea?" he said, pondering your unexpected proposal. 

"Yes, I mean, nothing has to happen. If we both mind our own business, it will be fine," you said, trying to reassure him.

"Alright, then," Cillian said, seemingly satisfied with your response, although still reluctant about where this might lead. 

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[exitwound]

august: linework, lacework, I downloaded the house of the dead because I wanted to find gratitude through exposure to another’s suffering, I don’t usually do this, then again, I always say yes to running away, taking off our dresses and wading into the lake at night but i wouldn’t call it skinny dipping, not quite, it was more of a submersion, not coating ourselves in water and letting it dry but pleading with it to soak into us, like being born, like babies pleading with the air to enter their lungs, what if I ate nothing but raw meat, placentae, what if I ate nothing but the waste caught in the filter, decreasing intensity of sensation allows one to taste its subtleties, requiring less and less over time, but this too is intensity, like Man is a full bodied bordeaux with an extra grape, who knows what the extra grape is for, pear on the nose, like Man is a jet ski, to circle back and drive over the rare the smoothness of your own wake, to taste wine with someone else’s family, this is someone else’s sandbox, and I peed in it, I peed blood, eating their steak and their avocados, watching the meteor shower while floating in their cold pool, you have to learn to eat again, you have to learn to have again, dostoyevsky says Man is a creature that can get accustomed to anything, that doesn’t mean he will survive

[je-lurk]

I gave omgitaj a(nother) rewatch and noticed… something. When French chariot-driver Sam meets Jean-Luc, he says they’re in Bordeaux. Let’s say near, to give them all a bit of grace (They can’t actually be in Bordeaux for reasons. Also where would you raise chickens there).

(Sam also later corrects Tom by saying "les coqs" which is 1) wrong, because in this context "coq" is singular, so it would be "le coq", and 2) wrong, because in this context "coq" is indefinite and it would be "des coqs", which, as stated in the first point, is also wrong, since it should be a singular, finally giving us "un coq". Which is stupid, because Tom already used the, albeit English (although it does sound like the French), singular indefinite article. Sam, with all due respect, you know nothing, stfu.)

Anyway, back to Bordeaux, it means that Jean-Luc ran all the way from (supposedly) near Berlin without meeting anyone nor realising he crossed the border (and probably without taking a break).

Bordeaux is here:

LOOK! Bro ran at the very least 700 km in 1942 France territory. And that’s being nice! The shortest distance between Berlin and Bordeaux is 1300 km.

Let’s do some unrealistic maths. I know someone who has been running marathons for a long time. For his last run, his speed varied between 8 and 10 km/h (well it was mostly between 10 and 11 but that’s not the point).

Assuming Jean-Luc, a trained spy and soldier, ran all the way without stopping to eat, drink or sleep, at a sustained 8 km/h speed, he made the 1300 km in 6 days and 18 (and a half!) hours. A WHOLE WEEK. That’s 3 days and 16 (and a half!!) hours FULLY IN FRANCE. How did he not notice we’ll never know.

Anyway, props for Sam for at least choosing a city that was actually occupied (I’m not entirely sure he knew, tbh, he might have just said the first thing that came to his mind). It does raise an issue, which is the number of borders Jean-Luc went through without noticing.

Below is a map of France in 1942. The blue (as well as the green-striped) part is the free territory, the light orange the occupied territory, the red, the forbidden zone, and the bright orange, the annexed one.

Notice how Bordeaux is in the forbidden zone? That’s the reason I evoked earlier.

Let’s be kind and say they were indeed fully outside Bordeaux, this makes a whopping 4 borders Jean-Luc crossed, again, while running without meeting anybody, you know the drill by now.

To break down the numbers, Jean-Luc ran:

150 km (18h45 min) in the forbidden zone,

225 km (1d4h) in occupied territory,

225 km (1d4h) in the free territory,

and another 75 km (9h30min) in occupied territory.

When you see how much work was done by the Résistance to smuggle Jews to the free territory, this is crazy.

There’s no real point to this post except making you all aware of the additional absurdity of this play and maybe let’s change Jean-Luc’s assignment? He would work miracles

[nando161mando]

05/07/2024 Bordeaux 🇫🇷

Mobilisation de l’OAB dans la manifestation contre l’extrême droite

05/07/2024 Bordeaux 🇫🇷

Mobilization of the OAB in the demonstration against the extreme right

#BordeauxAntifa #Antifa #Squads

[nekatto]

Given that this is my first adoption advert, I decided to go with something basic… Basic white girl basic.

Without further ado, I present you the MeowBucks baristas: Madeleine, Mary Jane, Fontina the Big Cheese, My Little Pierogi, Gruyère, Bordeaux, and Artemis.

Accepting applications from residents of South Carolina and neighboring states only.

Bios for each cat as well as a link to the adoption form are under the cut.

logo (c) wafflestash on Etsy, used here with their written permission.

If you can’t adopt, but would like to support us, I have a cashapp ($kpao69) and PayPal (k-pao@outlook.com). I’m an independent foster and all food, litter, and vetting is paid for out of pocket. Any help is appreciated.

ADOPTION APPLICATION:

Adoption fee is $85

MADELEINE || SPAYED FEMALE

10/10 but she bamboozled me.

The one who started it all. I was walking my dog when this sweet mama approached me and meowed sadly at me. From that moment on, she had me hook, line, and sinker, and I ended up returning to the spot I met her and started feeding her, quickly gaining her trust and bringing her inside… Along with her seven relatives she had hidden in the bushes.

Despite being the grandma of the family, I believe she’s still a fairly young cat, possibly around three years old or so. Since her spay surgery, it’s almost like she’s trying to make up for the kittenhood she never got to have. She loves nothing more than batting toy mice across the floor and playing chase with her granddaughter Pierogi. When not zooming around, Madds is quite the cuddle bug and loves a warm lap to lay in.

MARY JANE | SPAYED FEMALE, ~3 yrs old

Mother of Fontina, Gruyère, and Pierogi. Now that her kittens are grown, Mary Jane is beyond done with wild kitten antics and looking for some place calm and quiet to settle down.

All in all a pretty chill cat, though not particularly social. Out of her relatives, she most prefers to spend time with her daughter Gruyère.

FONTINA THE BIG CHEESE | NEUTERED MALE, ~1 yr old

They say the key to a man’s heart is food, and that’s doubly true for Fontina! While he can be shy at times, add food to equation and he’s putty in your hands.

He’ll do just about anything for food and so far has even trained himself to go inside his carrier on command. Would make an excellent trick training candidate.

Ideally would prefer a home with his best friend and wrestling buddy, Bordeaux.

**Fontina has displayed a propensity for eating non-food items. Please be mindful of this and take appropriate precautions.

MY LITTLE PIEROGI | SPAYED FEMALE, ~1 yr old

When she first came here, Pierogi was a bit shaken by the overnight transition from living outside to living in a home and spent her first few days inside hiding. But now she’s come out of her shell and blossomed into the sweetest little girl, albeit still on the shy side. Loves churu, head-butting feet, and playing with wand toys.

**tentative. if no applications look promising I miiiight end up keeping her.

GRUYÈRE | SPAYED FEMALE, ~1 yr old

No, you’re not seeing double, though very different in personality, Fontina and Gruyère are our loveable void twins!

The princess of the group. Gruyère demands you provide her with your undivided attention at all times… or else.

Out of her siblings, she has the closest relationship with her mother, Mary Jane, and the mother-daughter pair can often be found grooming one another.

**though she’s never broken skin, Gruyère can be mouthy, and we'd recommend applying for a different cat if you have young children or elderly people in your home.

BORDEAUX | NEUTERED MALE, ~1 yr old

Sweet little Bordeaux had a very rough start to life. At just a few weeks old, Bordeaux lost both of his siblings and was briefly separated from his mom during a particularly nasty winter rainstorm. It was only through a stroke of luck (and his cries) he was found before it was too late.

But none of that has dampened his spirit! As you can undoubtedly see, Bordeaux is a silly young man who loves having fun.

Without fail, he turns everything into a game. You thought you were going to mop the floor? Nope! Time to play wrestle the mop away from the kitten for the thousandth time!

10/10 but you’ll never get anything done with home around. But with a kitten this cute, who can stay mad?

When he’s not being a menace to society, he can be found palling around with his best friend and brother from another mother, Fontina.

ARTEMIS | NEUTERED MALE, ~2.5 YRS OLD

The odd one out of the bunch. I’m unsure how, or even if, he’s related to the rest of the colony. All we know is that he was buddies with the other adult male of the group, Apollo, and they could often be found huddled up together for warmth.

Artemis is a sweet boy who wants very much to be someone’s one and only. Always the first to greet me when I come in. And don’t think he’s content with a simple pat on the head. He DEMANDS all the love and snuggles. Like, I’ll sit down to relax and next thing I know he’s climbing up on my shoulder and nuzzling me.

*would prefer a home with no other cats.

**Apollo will be going up for adoption separately as he needs to have a specialist vet preform his neuter due to some neurological issues.

[luvsfootball]

wildest dreams - aurelien tchouameni.

requested by - @certainsaturn

author’s note - this is specified to an asian reader!

you were panicking.

it was your first time travelling by aeroplane, usually depending on cars or trains. but today you couldn’t seeing as though you were going from valencia to boredeaux.

you were texting your sister who was telling you to just go and get something to eat and stop worrying. after paying, you walked off to a lounge close by where your plane was taking off from.

a boy, around your age, was sitting there, half asleep but trying to keep himself awake. he had a travel pillow wrapped around his neck and you tried to hold in your laughs at how silly he looked.

“excuse me, is this plane flying to bordeaux?”

he opened his eyes at your sudden question, confused for a moment but he nodded. “yes, it shouldn’t be too long now.”

aurelien could sense how nervous you were. “first time?”

“yes. can you tell?”

he gave you a sympathetic smile. he still remembered the first time he flew by plane, and it definitely wasn’t an experience to be remembered.

“what are you going to bordeaux for?” he wondered. “i’m a music producer. going to work with an upcoming artist over there.”

“i’m just visiting family until work starts up again,” he told you, trying to play it cool.

the noise came over the speakers to tell you that your flight was boarding. both of you stood up, and you said goodbye and wished each other a safe journey.

“i’m aurelien, by the way.”

“y/n. it was nice to meet you.”

aurelien was a couple of people behind you in the queue to board and when he got on, he was surprised to see you in the seat next to him.

“well, this is a coincidence,” he laughed, relaxing into the seat.

he figured that if you were going to be sitting together for the rest of the flight, he might as well get to know you for a bit.

“so, where are you from?”

“singapore originally, but when i got my job i work all over. i lstill live in singapore, though. what do you do for work?”

aurelien didn’t want to sound big-headed, but he was surprised you didn’t know who he was. “i’m a footballer. that’s where i’m coming back from, actually. i’m just not travelling with my teammates because i’m visiting my family.”

you raised your eyebrows, double checking him to see if you recognised him but you didn’t. “sorry, i don’t really keep up with sports or anything like that.”

“don’t worry, i don’t keep up with music producing either,” he laughed, cracking a joke to try and make you cheer up because the flight was about to take off.

+

things between you and aurelien were going great and you really hit it off. you both walked to the exit of the airport together, and even exchanged numbers.

“so, y/n. where are you staying?”

“oh, just some hotel. my manager said he was going to set it up for me.”

aurelien pondered on the thought for a moment. if he invited you back to his family home, you could stay there free of charge and he could at least have a friend instead of just him and his parents.

“i know we just met and everything, but do you want to stay at mine? it’s close by and free.”

you had just met aurelien, and he wondered if he was being too pushy or creepy by inviting you to stay at his.

but to be honest, you didn’t want to be alone in a hotel and if his parents were there, surely everything would be okay.

“sure, why not.”

he hailed a taxi and you both got in the back, aurelien directing him to his family home.

it was a beautiful house in the country, with a lake for fishing and even a patch for fruit and vegetables. “my mum takes pride in her house, but she’s a lovely woman. i think she’ll like you.”

his family dog immediately jumped on you when you entered and you cuddled him, leaving aurelien to let his parents know about you.

when his mum came out, she seemed like a really nice woman, rushing you off the kitchen to show you her new plants and things.

his family were extremely welcoming and loved you, constantly telling aurelien that they think you were the one for him.

but he’d push them away in private, telling them you were just a friend and nothing more.

+

it had been an amazing year for aurelien. you were living in madrid for a while due to work when he told you that real madrid want him to play for them.

you were aware of the football club, how could you not be?

they were one of the most decorated clubs in history and you were incredibly proud of aurelien for getting a transfer there.

he had been apartment hunting ever since he touched down in madrid, and it wasn’t going well. so you offered your home to him until he found somewhere.

but there was a problem.

aurelien was bringing back women every now and then. most of the time, you’d spend the night out somewhere to leave them be, but you couldn’t help but feel jealous.

all of the women looked different to you, and it made you upset. you cried on the phone to your sister plenty of times, confessing how you really liked him, more than a friend.

he obviously had a type, and they didn’t look like you.

“hey, is it okay if i bring eduardo over tonight? just for dinner?”

“yeah, sure.”

you didn’t mind one bit. eduardo was a likeable guy and always made you laugh and feel good about yourself.

when he got here, you pulled him in for a hug. he returned it, ignoring aurelien’s little glare and asked how you had been.

you all ordered some takeout food, eating it whilst watching a movie. that was when aurelien’s phone began ringing and he left the room to answer.

you and eduardo listened in discreetly and it was obvious he was talking to a girl. “you like him, don’t you?”

your head shout up, signalling for him to be quiet. if aurelien knew, you were scared it would ruin the friendship and leave. “please don’t tell anyone.”

“i won’t. you know he likes you too, right?”

scoffing, you shook your head and sighed, “i’m not even his type. i’m-i’m just his friend…”

eduardo chose not to touch on the subject again for the rest of the night in front of aurelien, until he said he was going out for the night.

“oh, where are you going?”

“just to see some woman i met on a dating app.”

it felt like your heart had been took out of your chest and stomped all over. you should have been used to it by now, but the thought of him with someone else was upsetting.

“i’ll walk down with you. i’ll see you soon, y/n.”

eduardo kissed your cheek as the two boys left your apartment together.

as they were in the lift, eduardo wanted to help you both in some way. and the only way he could that wasn’t nice, but it would be worth it to see his two friends happy together.

“i was um… i was thinking of asking y/n out on a date.”

aurelien stopped texting the woman, turning his phone off to look at eduardo. “are you serious?”

“yep. she’s a very beautiful woman and she’s kind to me. i think i like her.”

suddenly his date didn’t feel important to him anymore. not after eduardo had confessed that to him.

+

“how was your date?”

aurelien was surprised to see you still awake seeing as though you were supposed to be flying out to america tomorrow for the grammy awards.

if he was being honest, aurelien blew her off. told her some bullshit about ‘a family emergency.’

his mood had totally soured after he had left eduardo and he just walked around town for a bit before coming back.

“i didn’t go,” he confessed. you furrowed your eyebrows, standing up to go and check if he was okay. he didn’t look it.

aurelien was tearing up.

“what’s wrong? did she do something to you?”

“no, no. it’s my fault, really.”

confusion filled you. what was wrong with him?

you grabbed his hands, pulling him into you. it was something you had been doing for ages. whenever he was upset, you’d pull him in for a hug and he’d spill.

but he didn’t move.

he pulled away.

“what is it?”

you were worried. the frenchman sighed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

“i was speaking to eduardo earlier. he-he said he was going to ask you on a date.”

it was news to you. eduardo hadn’t even shown an ounce of interest in you in that sense, and then it hit you. you knew exactly what he was doing.

“and what’s that got to do with your date?”

“it ruined my mood.”

you scoffed, crossing your arms, “why would eduardo asking me out ruin your mood?”

aurelien looked at you like you were stupid. how did you not know that he liked you?

“because i like you!” he burst out, moving towards you now and grabbing your own hands.

“me? you like me?”

aurelien sighed, shaking his head and whispering, “why wouldn’t i like you?”

“i thought i wasn’t your type.”

“how can you not be anyone’s type? you’re gorgeous!”

his words felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around you, sparking fireworks in your stomach that you didn’t even know was possible.

you could tell he was waiting for an answer but you were rendered speechless. never in your wildest dreams did you think aurelien would be stood there, confessing he liked you.

“you are the girl i want. none of those instagram models who love my money. you’re my best friend, and i want us to be together.”

squeezing your eyes shut, you pinched the inside of your palm to see if you were dreaming. aurelien swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down before he said, “i love you.”

“you love me?”

“i’d me crazy not to.”

you giggled and aurelien compared it to sunshine in his mind. “so will you have me?”

nodding, you smiled at him and whispered, “i’d be crazy not to.”

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Bordeaux

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: She's not exactly sure why she's invited Marc to Bordeaux.

Warnings: mentions of the death of a loved one, written in two hours, poorly edited (author has BDE)

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my head ever since I watched Un Beau Matin. Any dialogue I used from the movie is bolded down below. English translations will be given at the end of the fic. French is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Élodie had invited her, once again, to the villa in Bordeaux. Had tempted her really, with the promise of sunshine and a warm, swimmable, ocean. Two things that were a rarity to come by in London, and a luxury spilled in abundance in the South of France. 

There was also room that would be left empty, Élodie had said, a friend of a friend had cancelled last minute (so much the better for everyone else, if you asked her sister), and if she wanted to, she could bring a friend. 

Friend, being a word heavily insinuated and laden with worries unsaid. 

A word that she bravely took at face value and approached Marc with the offer. 

Though it was easy to play oblivious to her sister’s intentions, it was less possible to ignore her own motivations. 

Why Marc?

At face value, it was because there was a loneliness in him that she felt was reflected in herself. Because he was the only person she dared call a ‘friend’, ever since moving to England and isolating herself on the little island. 

She liked to believe Marc was a friend. They went out for lunch almost every week and usually, Friday evenings, she’d come over and get a little tipsy on wine, tipsy enough that her words would slur and her well-practised English would slip and fall into her mother tongue. Once or twice a month they go and see a play or movie, or to the orchestra, with drinks before and dinner after. 

Those nights, the formal nights, Marc is partial to an all-black getup, a black dress shirt that he leaves unbuttoned, a black suit. It’s an image that alights a squiggly feeling inside of her, one a clumsy child’s hands would make with a broken blue crayon on paper. 

Other than that, sometimes Marc comes over for brunch on Sunday mornings, a concept he’d introduced her to and one that she’s come to grudgingly see the appeal in. He sips coffee with her and eats buttered toast and makes her laugh with crude little pequin peppers of jokes. 

But never, from either side of the conversation, has there been any hint towards inviting more people into their bubble. 

Her excuse is simple, she doesn’t know anyone else to invite. Everyone she knows is on the other side of the Channel. 

Marc’s excuse is not so obvious to her. She squints through the parchment papers of them, and can’t come up with a satisfactory answer. 

She wonders that maybe the reason why she hasn’t bothered herself to find more people she’d be able to call friends was because she was happy with Marc’s quiet companionship. His not-so-smiling-smiles, the way his eyes crinkle when he gives her a belly-laugh like a giant Ferroro Rocher ball, wrapped up in golden paper. 

She’s moved to England for almost a year now, and she’d only been lonely the first two months, before she ran into Marc in a coffee shop, tears in her eyes and ready to call this new chapter over before it was written. 

Sometimes, she tries to reason that it’s because he’s an American, a foreigner in a new continent. That his move was more intense than hers, and together, they found each other in the margins and happily decided to set up camp. 

His Americanness is also a blessing in disguise. The dreaded oral exams of her youth were always in a quite generic, American accent. When moving to London, she’d had a false sense of security that there would be a very short adaptation time to the English accents, since she could understand the unobstructed audio of the woman saying I like bananas very much. What is your favourite fruit? in her BAC listening exams. 

Coming home from work, her head is pounding from the struggle of trying to sort through the various inflections, tones, speeds of the seemingly infinite variations of a single accent. She feels betrayed by the French public education system. Nobody had prepared or warned her about this. 

When she talks to Marc, however, it’s easy to understand him. It relaxes the joints of her brain, soothes it over. It’s the reassurance that she’s not in fact stupid and incompetent, things her coworkers must surely think of her after she’s asked them for the fourth time to repeat themselves. 

She could also argue and say that she had already pushed away many of her own friends, heaping handfuls of time before her move. That the very reason why she changed countries was to start fresh, and that inviting her old university friends to the vacation would be awkward and heavily-charged with betrayal, a step back. 

Despite all this, she hasn’t been able to ignore the true reasons underneath her choice of Marc. 

Quite simply, she could have just said she had no one to invite over. 

It would have resulted in a decently heated exchange or two, about wasting her life, about using her youth to find someone to settle down with before she was too old for it. 

Not a pleasant experience for what should have been easy vacation, to kick back and destress. 

But at least she would have had an easy mind about her own choice.

Yet, looking at Marc now, playing with her niece, she’s not sure she regrets it; even if her mind has been plagued with the why of it ever since they arrived.

He’s letting her niece play with his cheeks, letting her hands push around an imaginary bubble of air in his mouth.

The two of them had been able to surpass the language barrier quite easily it seems. Though little Anaïs, at only five, had been sure to show him that she was quite well-versed in English by rattling off the alphabet and counting to twenty-five for him, the difficulties only starting from seventeen. 

Relaxed and sunkissed is a nice look on him. 

Laughter comes easier to him now, even if their jokes and stories are poorly translated and lose a lot of their mirth in English. The smile lines are deeper than the frowns, the delicate folds around his eyes like embroidery almost always present. 

In London, Marc combs back his hair meticulously. She’s seen him do it, grumbling and swearing under his breath when it doesn’t fall the way he likes it to. 

In Bordeaux, he lets it loose, free from the obligations of work and life and the fresh air and the saltwater bringing out the best of it. His short curls move as if they have a mind of their own. 

She longs to thread her fingers between them, to sink her teeth into the exposed, caramel-like freckled skin of his chest as if it were cotton candy and salt-water taffy. 

She had meant to be reading. 

The sight in front of her, the view of the ocean just a stone’s throw behind the two, was much more appealing at the moment. 

The glassed door opens and there’s the gentle swish of Élodie’s sandals, the faint thud of a tray of lemonade and wine hitting the table beside her. 

“T’as soif?” 

She shakes her head, murmurs her thanks. She’s the type of sleepy that comes from too much rest and sunshine. 

The hinges of the chair squeak as her sister sits down beside her. 

The moment before it happens, she knows it’s coming. They’ve barely had any time alone together since her arrival, and Marc’s presence had already raised quite a lot of eyebrows, undeterred by the fact that they had separate rooms. 

It’s the perfect moment for some older sister grilling. Everyone’s retreated to their own rooms, or to town to stock up on some groceries and alcohol. 

Marc doesn’t understand French, Anaïs too little, and too preoccupied, to understand what they’re truly saying. 

She tsks and sets down her book a tad too harshly on the table, “Putain, Élodie-”

“J’ai rien dit!” she holds her hands up in defence. 

At the sudden sound of an argument in the making, Marc looks at the two of them, a crease forming in his eyebrows that fades as soon as she smiles back at him. 

The momentary distraction gives Anaïs the executive power to decide that a change in pace would be nice, and she pounces on him from behind. 

Marc’s taken aback but then he laughs out, turning behind him, “You’re a bit of a monkey aren’t you!” They tumble together onto the ground, the girl’s excited giggles swirling up into the ocean air. 

The sight warms her heart in ways that his all-black look does, and she knows better than to dive into those emotions. 

“Il est beau, ce Marc, non?” Though the question is teasing, though she’s heard it multiple times from the people in the villa, there’s an undercurrent of sisterly concern and worry. Despite all the troubles Élodie gives her, it’s a sound that pricks tears from her eyes, reminds her just how homesick she’s been this past year. 

She takes an exasperated breath and picks up her book again, “J’en sais rien.”

There’s a heavy pause, almost as if it exists outside of Marc’s happy world. She’s never heard him giggle like that before, it twists at her stomach in unignorable ways. 

“Tu l’aimes?” 

She turns an unread page and hopes the thundering of her heart isn’t too loud. 

Her sister’s eyes soften, out of the corner of her eye she sees her head tilt towards her direction, “C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche?”

“Non,” she concedes and picks at her thumb, then thumbs the corner of her books, letting the pages run under her finger. 

“Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune,” she rolls her eyes at this, it’s the same excuse every time. “T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée.”

When it’s clear that she won’t respond, Élodie continues, slyly, “Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien?”

It stings like a bee, her words. The images that arise in her mind against her will are like poison, homebrewed alcohol. 

She stings back, “Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille.”

That manages to shut off the conversation, though there’s a sour taste in her mouth that also hangs in the air between her and her sister. 

With a squeal, Anaïs runs towards her mother, a grin pressed into her cheeks, “Maman!”

Élodie takes her daughter in her arms, kisses her cheeks, “Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien?” The girl nods, hugging her back. “T’as soif, alors?”

Marc gets up from the ground, and brushes off the dirt from his shorts. There’s a groan as he tries to stand up, and he rubs his back soothingly to combat against it. 

She treasures the sound he made, the gentle frown in his face and the soft way it faded away with the pain in his back. “Are you thirsty, Marc?” she calls out to him. He comes to stand in front of her, and he nods, an open smile hanging around his face like morning dew. “Wine? Or lemonade?”

As she pours him some wine, her niece some lemonade, Steven looks at her from the wine bottle with a dumbfounded expression, his eyes dark and serious with grief. 

A glance at him makes Marc wonder what kinda stick his alter’s got up his ass now. 

But the wine is refreshing, and it brushes away any thoughts of Steven and of the heated words the sisters had exchanged as he was playing on the ground. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond to, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly. (Part 2 to this is looking enticing lemme tell you)

Masterlist here, requests here.

Translations:

T'as soif? - Are you thirsty?

Putain, Élodie - Fuck, Elodie

J'ai rien dit! - I didn't say anything!

Il est beau, ce Marc, non? - He's pretty, this Marc, isn't he?

J'en sais rien - I don't know what you're talking about.

Tu l'aimes? - Do you love him?

C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche? - Is it his memory that's stopping you?

Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune - So what's your problem? Sweetheart, it's been almost five years since his death, and you're still young,

T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée - You have the right to love, to be loved.

Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien? - So, you don't care that Marie likes him?

Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille. - Elodie, you're worse than Mom. Leave me alone.

Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien? - Hello, my angel, were you having fun?

[ohmytomorrowisthursday]

AOT characters taking you on a date pt. 2

Hi! part one is here 

A lil spice!

Reiner: Idk, Reiner is a hungry man and I feel like he wants a place with a lot of meat lol. Takes you out for southern style barbecue. Loves the low-key vibes and the good food; orders extra corn bread and beans. He is sooooo shy when it comes to his feelings for you  I feel like he would eat so much so that he doesn’t need to talk lol. Likes taking you to his favourite restaurant and seeing you in jeans. I feel like he would love going to a sunset outdoor concert or a drive in movie. Even going to a haunted house, he’d loooove the feeling of protecting you. Wants to hold you to the music, or cuddle you in the car. Physical touch is his love language and he just wants to go somewhere where he can feel your body and make out with you for hourrrrrsss. He cant keep his hands off of you. 

Sasha: ALL YOU CAN EAT. Not sure if its a buffet or like ayce sushi but a place where you can try a ton of dishes and eat as much as you can. Would love making you laugh and playing silly get-to-know-you games. Going to a theme park or fair or anywhere with rollercoasters would be her jam. I feel like she’d love Disneyland but hate how expensive all of the food is haha. Wants to go on rides, eat mini doughnuts and enjoy the fun until you’re both exhausted. Kisses you on the Ferris wheel and buys you both matching merch, like those Toy Story aliens hats. Taking photos in a Photo Booth and end up making out. Hiding behind corners and stealing kisses from each other so no one sees. 

Levi: Every minute of the date is planned perfectly. He has high standards and wants to take you somewhere really nice for dinner, a restaurant where you get multiple courses of food and there’s matching wine paired with each course. Dimly lit with jazz music playing. Has a list of acceptable places and it has to be at one of those. He doesn’t go out to restaurants often, but when he does he goes for a five star experience. Loves seeing you all dressed up, just so he can take it off later. Touches your thighs at the dinner table and is giving you the ‘fuck me’ eyes all night. Loves teasing you and seeing you blush and get flustered. Takes you to a quiet speakeasy after to drink cocktails. My man is definitely a whisky drinker, he is getting an old fashioned or a scotch on the rocks. Whispers dirty things in your ear all night but refuses to kiss you which drives you craaazy. When he drops you off back at home he brushes your hair behind your ear. “I want all of you,” he says before he kisses you. Doesn’t stay because he wants to leave you wanting more. 

Jean: He would be sooooo nervous while planning this date lol. Probably googles ‘romantic date ideas’ because his brain was too anxious to some up with his own ideas. Would pick a nice French restaurant and give you a red rose at the beginning. He’s super blunt and throughout the night he’d say things like ‘you are so hot’ and tell you how much he likes you. Something about him just makes me think he loves classic romance tropes. Like he’d take you to the Eiffel Tower and kiss you under it when its twinkling. Getting a cartoonist to sketch both of you and then keeping it on his wall. Sooo nervous when he asks you to kiss him and he doesn’t hold back at all. Lifts up your chin and look into your eyes kind of kiss. Wants to be your Prince Charming. You tease him about how sweet he is and he gets all red and flustered.

Erwin: I feel like Erwin is a gentleman and wants to take you on a really classy night out. I feel like he’d want to dress up and go to the symphony with you or a charity event at a museum of anthropology, followed by a dinner at a boujie restaurant. Wants to talk about work and your career with him. Would love asking you tough hypothetical questions because loves having really cerebral conversations. Drinking nice Bordeaux and eating oysters and steak. Shares chocolate cake with you after. I feel like he wouldn’t try anything because he’s such a gentleman, but he’d compliment you and kiss your hand. Takes you back to his place for a night cap on his deck. He’d tell you how that he finds you beautiful inside and out and ask for a kiss. He’s slow and holds back but as soon as you say the word, he’s ready to go. Tells you to take off your clothes and loves watching you undress. Loves making your toes curl.