#we love a bit of mayo

[sidetongue]

heckin DELISHUS

[deathscastleofficielle]

Death's Castle - Pride Headcanons

Since my beloved Jack did this with his versions of the PDP Amnesia characters, I definitely felt like I should join in! So this is basically going to be a masterpost of the characters' queer identities with some anecdotes on how and why I came to these conclusions.

(Note, the artist has since changed their handle to NoxAtraWendigo, which is... Unfortune, but I'm afraid I have to move on.)

One more thing, I am mainly listing specifics here. As far as I'm concerned the entire castle is some shade of queer, but unless I have a specific label for them I'm not putting it in the list. For example, some characters have displayed attraction to the same sex, but you may not see any specifications there because I simply haven't determined if they're also attracted to the opposite sex, or even in that case if they're bi or pan. This stuff's complicated, and I don't like putting things in boxes if it's not entirely necessary.

WARNING: There are spoilers for Death's Castle under the cut. It would have been too hard to talk about their identities without pointing to specific moments.

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The Big Five

You know funny story this was never meant to be their official title, but Zoe picked up on Lullaby calling the primary Bros "The Big Four" so I guess that's what I'm going with now.

Stephano - Bisexual

This one isn't really a surprise to anyone who's been reading my posts or the fic itself, but Stephano is very much a bisexual man. This one was just a bit of lifting from the videos, despite how much he insists he's straight and the anecdotes of dating women he undeniably displays attraction to the same sex. The way I personally write it is that he has an easier time flirting with and finding initial attraction to women, but falls a lot harder for men.

Jennifer - Biromantic Asexual

While normally I think of specifics as I go, Jennifer was a case where I actually knew from the start what I wanted her sexuality to be. When I began conceptualizing her story, I knew I wanted her to be asexual but not aromantic for a few reasons.

At the time and even still today, a lot of our aro and ace representation was synonymous with each other despite them being separate identities. So even for just a fanfic, I wanted to make characters that showed more of the nuance of asexuality and aromanticism.

I wanted to explore her love for Pewdie through the lens of asexuality. It seems a lot of allo people base their initial feelings off sexual attraction, so what does such an intense love entail if sexual attraction isn't involved?

Jennifer is fat and struggles with her weight, and I'm sorry to point this out but I feel like a lot of body positivity boils down to assuring people (mostly women) that they're still sexually attractive. But what if being seen that way is almost as repulsive as being "ugly?" I wanted to write her story to focus on body positivity and beauty in a way removed from sex.

Honestly, Jennifer's story ended up being very personal. When I started Death's Castle I was under the impression I was simply a straight ally. By the time I got to her backstory though, I had realized I was asexual myself, but had struggled to realize it since my experience didn't conform to the usual stereotype. As such, there was a lot of catharsis writing Morning Glory, which is probably why her section is the longest here oops.

Mr. Chair - Grayromantic Homosexual

While Jennifer was thoroughly planned out, Mr. Chair's identity was kind've a happy accident. I sort of knew he was gay, but over time I realized that a lot of his writing lined up with an arospec experience. Mr. Chair is very unfamiliar with romantic love and what it feels like, and while he definitely feels something for Skully, it's never portrayed as particularly intense. As such, I came to the realization that he's definitely under the grayromantic umbrella. He experiences romantic feelings infrequently and perhaps not as strongly as others do.

Piggeh - Panromantic Asexual

Yeah, I made the character that did nothing but talk about sex ace. Deal with it. In seriousness, again, a lot of this was kinda just something that happened and honestly feels more on the lines of allegory than a straightforward example, but I think it's fine to make official. While Piggeh definitely enjoys sex, he isn't really sexually attracted to anybody. In fact, he finds most people (including himself) physically unappealing. Despite this, he does display romantic attraction, showing that appearance and gender don't really factor in for him when it comes to that. Again, ended up kinda cathartic in hindsight.

Mayo - Androsexual Agender (He/They)

This was a case where the character kinda just evolved as I wrote them, which you know what is fitting for a teenager growing and discovering their identity. He started as a boy, but as time went on I started to realize something wasn't cis about this kid. I played with a few ideas before I settled on him being agender. In-story, he first started to realize he may not be cis in Geode when Martin taught him that people can feel being a specific gender, inadvertently revealing that he didn't. This culminated in Peter's Gate where they realized that they felt uncomfortable being seen as a boy or a girl. For now he only uses he/him pronouns, but I'm hoping to start incorporating the they/them pronouns in future chapters.

I do see him being attracted exclusively to men or masc-leaning identities, hence androsexual. This has been established through him mentioning wanting a boyfriend in Binding Ties, and the implications that he had a bit of a crush on Stephano when he was a little kid. Unfortunately, not many romantic options since the other teenagers even remotely around their age in the castle are too old for them.

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Other Bros

Martin - Genderfluid (All Pronouns)

Development wise this is a long story that is almost too hard to recall if I'm honest, but I knew pretty early on I wanted Martin to be genderfluid if just to display some of the world building. As readers of the fic will know, Martin was born female but basically swapped bodies with Sammy Sue in order for her to live as a woman and for him to start over from his previous life as "Susanna." Martin now presents masc, but they still identify as both genders, or sometimes none at all.

Also, quick aside. I kinda like that I have a genderfluid character that's over 40. It feels like less binary identities like that are often limited to teen or 20-something characters. So she's a good first step for my future projects.

Torchy - Transgender (He/Him)

I've had two headcanon voices for Torchy, and both are trans men, so I was just like fuck it, let's make him trans. That sounds fun. There really wasn't much thought in this decision.

Skully - Intersex (He/Him)

I couldn't decide if he was cis or trans, so I decided on both and neither. To be a little more serious, there isn't a whole lot of deep reasoning for this, I just thought it would be cool to have at least one intersex person in the castle and Skully was standing right there.

Also him being intersex has nothing to do with his ability to mimic voices. That's just a thing he can do.

Pipé - Transgender (She/Her)

This is a long story involving me wanting to do this from the beginning, a now ex-friend using a weird excuse to talk me out of it, and then me having to cram it back in before it was too late, but yeah. Pipé is a trans woman!

Bluey - Lesbian

There was a time where I might have said she was bi but you know what no this girl is gay as hell. Definitely has a thing for Jennifer.

Lullaby and Lisa - Sapphic

"Scout why didn't you just say lesbians?" Because that doesn't really convey the whole story tbh. Lisa is definitely a lesbian, but Lullaby I actually see being specifically gynesexual, which is the attraction to femininity and doesn't necessarily have to be gender specific. Either way though they're in a sapphic relationship.

Save Kitty Cat - Bisexual

Is this mostly because of his blue and purple color palette? Yes. But I have always seen him as being attracted to both genders.

Jesus - Transgender (He/Him)

Honestly this was mainly a "because it's funny" decision. It was inspired by a scientific thing that basically meant that since the biblical Jesus was born from only Mary without any male dna in the equation he would have logically had to have been born female. Thus, trans Jesus.

Disclaimer, Death's Castle Jesus is not actually the Jesus. He just named himself that because he also thought it would be funny.

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Barrels

Red Chair, Gonzales, and Sammy Sue - Polyamorous

Sammy's getting her own section, but like Lisa and Lullaby it felt more efficient to put them together rather than doing three separate entries for the same relationship. But yeah, as many readers are aware, these three are in a polycule. Like many things, this was an idea I lifted from the now deleted fanfic Hyperthymesia. Their relationship has been one of my favorite things to write in Death's Castle, as their more stable and loving relationship provides an interesting contrast against the dysfunctional Bros, especially now that things have started to shift in both groups. Also it's interesting to write just how complicated such a relationship can get in a tumultuous setting like Death's Castle.

Sammy Sue - Transgender (She/Her)

And of course, another idea borrowed from Hyperthymesia, Sammy Sue is a trans woman. She was my first real experience writing a trans character, so she definitely has a strong place in my heart. As mentioned under Martin's section, she was born male but swapped objects with Martin and gained his female body.

Broom - Lesbian

Unfortunately I haven't been able to show this off much, but I definitely see Broom as a lesbian. I intended for her to have a little something something with Jennifer in Morning Glory, but I was told they had more of a sisters vibe, so I decided not to push it there. I have plans to establish her identity though, don't worry.

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The Filthy Pig + Bro

(because there were no other unaligned characters left lol)

Bunny - Aroace

This is a bit on the subtler side in my writing, but Bunny was always meant to be aroace. She never shows any interest in having a romantic relationship and only seems interested in sex for the purpose of reproduction, given that she had kits before being revived in the castle. I thought it would make her a fun contrast compared to all the rampantly horny swines she lives with.

Berta - Pansexual

Again, haven't been able to display this much given her only shown attraction is to Piggeh, but girl's pan. Gender doesn't matter to her, just that special something that apparently Piggeh had.

Gandalf and Rudolph - Polyamorous

Gandalf and Rudolph are in an open relationship. They're committed to each other, but have other relations on the side. I want to figure out a way to actually confirm this in Death's Castle, but it's hard since the Filthy Pig group doesn't really show up that often and when they do the pig trio are often in the background.

Adolf - Aromantic Bisexual

Keeping it simple over here. Adolf ain't much for romantic stuff, but still enjoys a good time with any person.

Bro - Bisexual

Bruno here loves both men and women. He's slept with Piggeh in the past, and previously dated Sammy Sue, which ended... Pretty poorly. He's also shown an attraction to Martin, which actually seems to be returned if their interaction in Geode is any indication.

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Miscellaneous Thoughts

I don't see Bengt being picky about gender, but given he's more interested in cutting people up than fucking them he's probably never put a label on it himself.

I know the Barrel King is into men, but the dude has yet to physically appear so I kinda can't go into it.

During a conversation with Jack, specifically about Tom Hardy's "Paint That Lady" he suggested that Peter could also be Asexual. That would be fun, but I'm not sure about it since some of his dialogue in Morning Glory kinda suggests that he isn't.

Stephano isn't ace, but I have joked with my friends that making him ace would have been a mercy given his... Situation, regarding Janus. But no I want him to suffer.

I've considered that Pipé could be aromantic, but a lot of that also boils down to me not really having a strong ship for her, so I don't feel comfortable making her officially aro yet.

I might remove the colored text if people report issues with reading it.

[tankvine]

it just occurred to me that i have literally never been on big man's splatfest team yet, whadda hell

[wooahaes]

svt - whatever you say, beautiful

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: i'm not arguing with a man who has big brown eyes. whatever you say, beautiful.

warnings: established relationship aus. food and alcohol mentions. jeonghan and reader lovingly calling each other 'ugly' like an old married couple. 96z roommates au (jun). soonyoung's terrible mayo-ketchup concoction (jun). reader gets called beautiful back (jun, soonyoung). friends -> lovers (jun, soonyoung, jihoon). bickering as a love language (minghao, seungkwan). sexual implications from a third party (chan telling seungkwan to let him know if he needs to put headphones on or leave).

daisy's notes: i wrote that vernon drabble and gave myself brainrot. also on jeonghan's: ik there's cultures that do this lol but for those unaware: pls don't take it as a serious thing haha its meant to be akin to calling someone silly or goofy. i just think it gives old married couple energy to be like 'you're a nuisance but you're my nuisance and i adore you wholeheartedly.' like seungkwan tells them: just tie the knot if they want to, because they already act like they've been married for seventy years.

choi seungcheol

seungcheol was sprawled out in your bed, blanket securely tucked around him while he scrolled through his phone. sleepovers, at this stage in your relationship, weren't exactly uncommon... but the giddiness still hadn't worn off. the two of you didn't intend on moving in together for at least another year, both of you enjoying living on your own for right now after so, so much time of living with other people. still... that would never stop you from enjoying the sight of your beloved in your bed, ready for sleep, and winding down by checking his social media for the second or third time today.

until you saw him stop. he furrowed his brow, that handsome face completely perplexed. and you fought back a grin, because you knew exactly what was confusing him.

today the two of you decided to publicly reveal your relationship to more than just immediate family and very very close friends. seungcheol had been thrilled over it: he'd always been wanting to show you off since you started dating. but when you asked for a little time, he didn't fight: he just met you where you were. and now that everyone knows...

"what is this?"

he turned his phone to face you, giving you full view of the caption you lovingly wrote out. it sat underneath a collection of pictures, some taken by you, others by him, and one taken by one of his close friends in preparation of this special day... and, of course, it was a silly little joke.

i'm not arguing with my man and his big brown eyes. whatever you say, beautiful. ❤️

you snickered, crawling into bed next to him. "what's wrong with it?"

"nothing!" but he was pouting, and you knew what was coming next. "did you see my post?" he was already moving to pull it up, as though you hadn't read and re-read it a million times while he was in the shower.

so you decided to torment him. just a little bit. "you don't like it...?" you frowned, putting on your best 'kicked puppy' look.

"i do like it!" he was quick to try and assuage your worries. he turned over so that he could face you. "but... when we decided to tell everyone, i thought you wouldn't post a meme as the caption."

"so you hate it." you crossed your arms, pouting as hard as you could muster.

"i don't hate it! i didn't say--i didn't mean that, i just--" he looked up, watching you for longer than a few seconds. then he snorted, hand resting over his heart for a minute. "you're going to be the death of me."

with a snort, you crawled closer to him, all but dragging him up so that you could kiss him. "you know you're the normal one here."

he giggled, capturing your lips in another quick peck. "maybe i am," he said. "... i do like it, though. just warn me next time."

yoon jeonghan

joshua (hannie's coworker): [IMAGE.JPEG]

joshua (hannie's coworker): can you come get him he's bickering with seungkwan rn

joshua (hannie's coworker): (it's mostly seungkwan bickering but jeonghan is actually fighting back a little)

joshua (hannie's coworker): (it's literally over who's paying for chan's birthday dinner. cheol literally picked up the check half an hour ago right after they started.)

you: omw. also idk how seungkwan does it. i'm not arguing with a man with big brown eyes. whatever you say, beautiful.

the moment you pulled up outside the restaurant, you should have known exactly why jeonghan was grinning at you. he waved from the sidewalk, turning back to his friends to talk just a bit longer. he didn't move, which... on most days, you wouldn't care. but it was late, and you had work in the morning, and (according to joshua) they just spent the past few hours just chatting after their meal. five minutes melted into ten, and then into twenty...

and so you rolled down your window, yelling out a 'happy birthday!' to chan that finally got jeonghan's attention. another grin, and that was enough to tell you that he'd been waiting for that. he wouldn't do it for everyone, but chan? you knew their friendship was different. he hugged the guy one last time, and then made his way over to the car, climbing into the passenger seat. with a final wave to his friends, you pulled back onto the road, and started the journey home.

"so... you really think my eyes are beautiful?"

ah. that was the other reason the fucker wouldn't stop grinning at you. of course it couldn't just be one thing with jeonghan.

"you think i'm beautiful?" he watched you with this knowing smile, as though the two of you hadn't been dating for years now. as though you hadn't drunkenly confessed it before. "i'm starting to think you actually like me."

"you're just now realizing that?" you flicked on your blinker, coasting into the turn lane. "do you think i'd be living with you if i didn't?"

"you never call me beautiful to my face anymore, you know," he said, reaching for your bottle of water. without a care, he uncapped it, taking a long sip from it. "you just call me 'ugly' whenever you call me something."

that was far from true, to be fair: he was your love, your baby, your honey... and he was 'ugly' when you were particularly affectionate. "i have to keep you humble, ugly. you already know how beautiful you are."

his eyes twinkled a little as he looked at you, that fond smile telling you all you needed to know. "i know, ugly." he'd never been afraid to throw the word back at you, and you hoped that the tiny thrill it brought you never died.

no wonder seungkwan once said the two of you should go ahead and tie the knot. "you already act like it," he'd said, side-eyeing the two of you before taking a long sip of whatever coffee-flavor-of-the-day he'd picked out.

he reached over, prodding your cheek. when you glanced over, just enough to let him know you were listening, he just leaned against the center console with this handsome smile he reserved for you. "i love you."

and maybe he was a little drunk. just a little. but you let him have this one. "i love you, too, handsome."

joshua hong

"am i not worth the effort?" joshua couldn't even fight his playful grin now, his phone in his hand. "you couldn't even come up with an original post for our anniversary?"

with a roll of your eyes, you glanced back over his own post for a moment, pausing your search for movie snacks. he'd written out this long, sappy love letter to you about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life alongside you. it was sweet, and a little silly when he recounted the embarrassing story of how the two of you realized your feelings for one another (all it took was one spilled milkshake, courtesy of jeonghan), but overall a very public display of his adoration toward you. the picture-perfect, romance novel act of love from your boyfriend.

in other words: he was hamming it up so that people would gush over how he was the most adoring boyfriend, and how lucky you two were to have one another based on everything he said. in reality, he was literally eating your snacks right now. and later that night, he'd put his cold feet on you and then laugh over it.

"uh-huh." you continued searching through the cabinets after pocketing your phone. "should i have told everyone about how you somehow always manage to eat the last poptart in the box, even though you straight up told me that you keep count just so you can tease me over it?" you tossed an empty box into the bin, making a mental note to add them to the list. "or the time you literally ate all of my fries when we were on that road trip?"

"you're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"didn't mention how god awful your workout clothes stink, either." you grimaced at the memory alone. "seriously, dude, how fucking hard do you go?"

"i forgot to wash them twice!" he turned around on the couch. "all because i said i thought it was cute when you mumble in your sleep and keep me up all night--"

"listen. i'm just doing damage control for you, hong," you pulled down a bag of chips, carefully rolled and clipped to keep them fresh. making your way back over, you continued, "really, you should be hiring me. i called you beautiful and mentioned those big brown bambi eyes." you threw yourself down next to him, bag crinkling as you unrolled it. you held up the first chip, an offering to him that he leaned over to take. "i think i deserve payment for it all."

but he grinned at you, settling back in. "i'll think about it. i'll get the big box of poptarts next time," he poked your side, just hard enough to get you to move off of his blanket, and then drew you right back in once he could throw it over you. "and i'll let you pick the first movie."

with a roll of your eyes, you reached for the controller. "what a gentleman."

wen junhui

your life was truly, sincerely, over. this was it. this was the big one. the big fuck-up that would kill you from embarrassment alone. if you were a sim in the sims 4, little sim jihoon would be sobbing over your body right now as the grim reaper came to take you away.

instead, he was just stiffling his laughter, patting the top of your head as you bury your face in a pillow. "it's not that bad."

"it's terrible! i was only posting that picture because we looked good!" you jerked up, staring at him. "and--and jun liked it! did he not read the caption?!"

"oh, he read it," soonyoung was doing something unholy in the kitchen, from the sounds of the ketchup bottle being opened alongside the smell of mayo. not another thing to ruin your day. "he's on his way home, by the way."

yep, this was how you died. surrounded by two of your roommates and being confronted by the guy you've had feelings for for... fuck, how long had you known him? since college? he'd been there for you after a particularly nasty breakup not long after the two of you met, and that was when your stupid heart fell for him. you'd always pushed back against it: it wasn't the right time. he was dating someone at one point. he wouldn't like you back. but the more the two of you started spending time alone, the deeper you fell.

"have you thought about just telling him how you feel?" jihoon asked, stealing your pillow and hugging it against his chest. "i know it's scary, but i don't think it'd go badly."

soonyoung looked over, condiments smeared on the outsides of his mouth as he chewed. he swallowed, wiping his face with a paper towel as he spoke, "even if he didn't like you, he'd let you down easily."

"soonyoung!" jihoon turned to face him. you rarely saw jihoon mad, but this had to be the closest.

soonyoung realized what he said. and immediately took off, shutting himself back into his room as jihoon raced to encounter him first. while he tried to jostle the door open, the yelling faded into background noise.

jun... what?

the apartment door opened after a while, wonwoo standing there with jun right behind him. without hesitating, you hopped up off of the couch, immediately excusing yourself as you went to hide in your own room. jun called after you, and you just shut the door behind you, face in your hands. this could not be happening. this wasn't happening. if soonyoung was telling the truth, and, because jihoon yelled at him, he definitely was... what now?

jun knocked on your door. everything outside of your room was silent now. if jihoon was chewing out soonyoung, you'd probably hear some of it. yet... quiet. peaceful quiet that you weren't exactly used to with this bunch.

"can we talk?" he spoke up after a moment. "i don't exactly get the caption, but... do you really think i have beautiful eyes?"

oh. he had no idea it was some meme you'd seen online that always reminded you of him. yet the gentle way he'd asked made your heart flutter all the same. you said nothing, just sitting with your back against the door.

"it's okay if you do." you could hear the sound of him moving, and slowly, it sounded as though he was sitting, too. "i... i think you have pretty eyes, too." was it possible to hear his uneasy smile in the way his voice shook just a little, his nerves so, so evident? "the others left, by the way. so we could talk. wonwoo was confused, but jihoon dragged both him and soonyoung out for a walk."

that answered one question, at least. again, you just said nothing, curling up as tight as you could. your heart hammered in your ears, and you shut your eyes. was this really happening?

"i've liked you for a long time," he said, voice just as gentle as it was before. like he, too, was scared of what this all meant. the two of you were crossing a line you never thought you'd even tread near, let alone vault over. "it's okay if you don't feel the exact same way. but... you're sweet. and i--"

you bit the bullet. you got up, opening your door to see jun turning to face you. he'd been sitting there, back against the door, talking to the air while you'd been too scared to face him. he stood up as quickly as he could, watching you carefully.

he was the one who spoke first. "hi."

"hi." you said it back, heart racing. "i think you're beautiful."

and oh-so-shyly he smiled back at you. "i... think you're beautiful, too."

maybe this would be the start of something good.

kwon soonyoung

with your eyes screwed shut, you knew that seungcheol was going to give you so, so much shit about this when you told him. knowing your luck, it was going to go horribly, and you'd probably die right here and it'd be your ghost haunting seungcheol... but that was something you could deal with.

yet the moment 'tiger kwon' popped up on your phone, you knew you couldn't avoid this forever. you'd pester soonyoung later for changing his name in your phone again. for now, you just answered the request for a video call, and you were met with those pretty eyes staring at you in the low light.

"hi." he giggled. "i don't think that text was meant for me."

astute observation, considering the first three messages before you gushed about his eyes and called him beautiful were "FUCK" and "CHEOL I CAN'T DO THIS" and then a picture of the two of you from when you grabbed dinner together earlier. you expressed your romantic frustrations in the only way you knew how: a screenshot you'd seen of someone's tweet. the same thing you'd said to seungcheol many, many times before.

"so what does that even mean?" he's grinning, and you knew that it's half-genuine. he was smart enough to get the gist of it (to put it simply: you were, as you'd been told, down bad) but you weren't sure how often soonyoung saw memes like this. he was watching your face, those cute eyes shining with the light from his phone screen, and he rolled onto his stomach. "when did you get worse at technology than me?"

was this what confessing to soonyoung would bring? a lifetime of having a cute man tease you oh-so-lovingly?

"are you alive?"

you managed to squeak out a deeply embarrassed, "yep."

he just giggled, head resting on his hand. "do you text seungcheol like that a lot?" he waited. and when you didn't answer, too embarrassed to speak, he continued on, "i think he and jihoon trade war stories, then. jihoon..." his cheeks were dusted red. "jihoon hears a lot about you."

holy fuck. your stomach was doing flips. "soonyoung?"

"this is embarrassing, isn't it?" he chuckled, eyes focusing on his screen again. "jihoon said it's some sort of joke. vernon showed it to him once. but... i think you're beautiful, too."

truly, this man would be the death of you if he kept smiling at you like that. like you were his world already, eyes shiny and cheeks red.

"i..." your mouth felt dry. "can we... maybe... a date?" something about seeing his face right now made your mind go blank.

he chuckled. "i'm free this weekend," he said, still smiling. "we'll talk tomorrow morning. okay?"

"okay." you licked your lips, just trying to come down from this high. "goodnight."

the moment he ended the call, you were texting seungcheol: LET'S FUCKING GO GOT A DATE W SOONYOUNG!!!

and in return, he sent you three words: about fucking time.

jeon wonwoo

people always warned you about marrying the love of your life. the honeymoon period was something strong, that tinted your days with sugary kisses and honeyed skies until it all dissolved when reality washed back over the two of you. yet you had been married to wonwoo for two years now, and that sweetness never seemed to melt from your lives. the honeymoon period was over, yes, but the work you put into your relationship kept things lively. arguments came and went, and you always found yourself enamored with the man who guarded your heart in the same way you guarded his.

that was why anniversaries were special. not because they were another milestone, another celebration of a year the two of you made together... but an excuse to gush about wonwoo. you kept it to two days in particular: your wedding anniversary, and his birthday, both dates set months apart. wonwoo was different than you, however: he didn't want to broadcast his feelings for the world to see. he reserved all the sweet things for words he physically wrote down for you to read, or as things he said to you outright when he was sappy enough.

and you? well... he knew your true feelings would never be one-hundred-percent out there. those were reserved for him. but if you wanted to gush about how much you loved him, then who was he to stop you?

he'd been scrolling through his instagram feed that night while brushing his teeth, only to snort when he finished reading your post. the duality of your relationship was beautiful: he'd posted a short, sweet caption for you underneath a lovely quote from a book the two of you loved. and you had gushed... and finished it off with a meme that you sent to him the moment you saw it. i'm not arguing with a man who has big brown eyes. whatever you say, beautiful. the same words you teased him with when you were in a particularly playful mood.

so when he returned to you, he just crawled into bed, pressing kisses against your face. his affectionate moods would always take you by surprise, and he was glad for that. it spiced up the relationship just a little that he was still able to surprise you after all this time.

"you're so cute," he curled up with you, pulling you into his arms. "happy anniversary. i love you."

you snorted a little. "i see you've noticed."

"should i have read it sooner?"

you waved him off, "no, no... i'm glad you didn't see it until now. check the comments when you get the chance. a bunch of your friends loved it."

he was sure that they did. they all seemed to adore the duality of the two of you more than he did. the quiet, studious wonwoo and his silly love who made him laugh more than anyone else. but he knew as well as you did: no one would love your dynamic more than the two of you did.

he was your home, just as you had become his.

lee jihoon

all jihoon wanted to do was ask if you wanted to go to dinner. he'd suggested a place, you'd suggested another, and he mentioned not wanting that kind of cuisine... only for the words to appear on his phone within the next few minutes: i'm not arguing with a man who has big brown eyes. whatever you say, beautiful.

... beautiful?

"soonyoung!" he yelled out for one of his housemates. if he wasn't here, then seungcheol would come in. yet he heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching, soonyoung sliding against the wooden floor a little as he looked in. "read this."

so he did. he read it once, and then again before looking up. "... they're flirting with you, i think."

"that's weird, right?" jihoon looked up. "they don't like me back."

"how do you know that?" soonyoung grinned, leaning against the empty doorframe. "you don't know that. they're hitting on you. shoot your shot."

"i'm not going to--"

his phone started to ring. he looked down, wide-eyed, as he realized you started to call him. before he could debate denying the call and pretending the text never came, soonyoung bolted forward, answering it before immediately leaving his room. the little shit--

"oh my god," you said, "i'm so, so fucking sorry--mingyu's here and i was trying to look up other places to eat on my laptop, and he had the bright idea to text you that shit. i left my phone alone for one minute, and this is what happened--"

"why would he text me that?" jihoon could feel his heart begin to hammer in his chest. why would mingyu tease him like that? mingyu knew that you were off limits when it came to this kind of thing. unless...

"i--well, i--" you stammered, all sentences melting in your mouth before you finally let out a long sigh. in the background, he could hear mingyu begin to laugh. "shut up!" and then the sound of a door slamming behind you. "fucking--" you let out a sigh. "sorry. made the mistake of putting you on speaker."

"that's okay." jihoon leaned against the back of the chair. "but my question...?"

with another sigh, he could hear you settle into something. a chair, a couch--he wasn't sure. "this isn't how i wanted this to go... but... i like you. and i guess mingyu's had enough of hearing about it. it's okay if you don't feel the same, but... that's all."

quiet. neither of you moved to speak, to pitch another restaurant to go to. jihoon opened a new tab on his browser, already typing in a new search for the best places to take a first date.

"jihoon?"

no point in not taking the leap now. you'd already taken the first step: he could do the next one. "can... can tonight be our first date, then? instead of us getting dinner as friends."

quiet.

"jihoon..." your voice was soft. "i'd love that."

note to self: thank mingyu.

xu minghao

"what does this mean?" minghao looked up from his phone, where you could clearly see the post you'd made earlier. it was a combination of candids and the actual pretty pictures you'd taken of him, all captioned with a joke. he began typing something out, "we bickered about toast this morning."

"oh my god, hao--"

then your phone buzzed. you looked down, and there it was: minghao calling you out on your own damn post. when you looked up from your phone, he just had that stupid smug grin on his face. he crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair as he waited for you to defend yourself.

"it's a joke. it's a meme. maybe you should learn them, old man."

he rolled his eyes. "it's a lie and i'm not standing for it. everyone knows that we argue about everything."

even before the two of you started dating, you'd bicker about the smallest things. none of it was ever serious--the two of you had only fought a handful of times in the entirety of knowing one another--but you remembered the annoyed look you would get sometimes. just go make out already had been what his friends would say. eventually, it turned into mingyu telling minghao to go ahead and give you the marriage papers already. the two of you were in it for life, weren't you?

which, ultimately, turned into you and minghao bickering about that, too. the two of you hadn't even been dating at the time, but you would both be lying if you said that conversation hadn't made the two of you figure out your feelings. you'd retorted that minghao wouldn't get along with your parents like that, leading to him actively calling them to prove that, yes, in fact, he would.

(you would simply never live down both of them going "he isn't your boyfriend? we were waiting for you to be ready to tell us," and the subsequent call where your mother chewed you out for hanging up on her right after.)

"we don't argue about everything."

minghao gave you a pointed look. "strawberry jam."

you pinched the bridge of your nose. "not this shit again. i thought we agreed that butter is--"

... fuck, he was proving his point.

"fine," you said. "we bicker a lot. doesn't mean i can't lie via meme."

he just smiled, happy to have won whatever little argument this almost turned into. "everyone knows this is our love language," he said, head resting in his hand. "but fine. you can lie through your memes."

and thus he put the two of you on equal grounds once again: a truce, in a sense. just like most of your little debates ended in.

kim mingyu

"you know you could just call me pretty if you wanted to."

your face burned at the way mingyu was giggling now. all you did was text him a meme (yes, from the other end of the couch) and wait for his response. he'd read it under his breath before bursting into giggles, so, so enamored with the way that you were. he always had been: mingyu, unlike you, wasn't shy when it came to his affection. he complimented you constantly on anything and everything, whether it be your appearance or the way you rambled to him or the way you clammed up "all cutely embarrassed" (his words, not yours) when you realized just how much you said. you told him once that you weren't the most open about your feelings or the loudest.

and he'd merely kissed your forehead and said that was okay. he was loud enough for the both of you. if loving him quietly meant that you loved him, then that was all that mattered to him.

you whined his name at him, trying to hide your face. you knew that you always would get this doe-eyed, dreamy look on your face whenever he teased you like this. you caught a glimpse of it in a mirror once when you were at a store buying furniture, and swore to yourself you'd never let him catch you like this so obviously ever again.

of course, that was moot because mingyu saw that sappy look on your face and treasured it every time... but for your own sake, you couldn't let him notice.

yet he laughed anyway, crawling over to pull your hands away from your face. "i mean it!" he squished your cheeks, "just call me pretty next time. that's what you wanted to say, right?"

you pushed his hands away from your face, just so that you could speak clearly. "i think you have pretty eyes."

his smile dropped, eyes going wide. and he slowly pulled away, face turning redder by the second as he turned from you. "you can't just say it like that! i wasn't prepared!"

you felt a little bold this time. "whatever you say, beautiful--"

the groan that mingyu let out, fully flustered by you now, only made you feel more confident in teasing him. no wonder his friends loved to pick on him... he was so cute about it.

lee seokmin

the minute you finished saying it, seokmin had burst into giggles. all because you wanted to jokingly flirt with your beloved and see his reaction. he had looked up from his phone, where he'd been idly googling to find dinner options, and then you could see those gears turning before he started laughing.

"really?" he reached over, drawing you into his arms. "so you won't argue with me tonight?" seokmin squished your cheeks to pucker your lips, planting an loud kiss against them. "all because you think i'm beautiful?"

you just fought back a laugh, reaching up to toy with the hair at the base of his neck. "whatever you want, beautiful."

another giggle burst past his lips, and he dropped one hand down, sliding it up your thigh. "do you mean it? or are you just flirting with me?" he gently squeezed your thigh, just a little. "you don't have to flirt with me like that. i'm already yours."

ever the romantic. you drew him in for another quick kiss, soflty laughing against his lips. "gotta keep you here somehow," you teased. "it's hard to compete with you when you're mister perfect."

his nose brushed against your own. "i think you keep up just fine." he paused, drumming his fingers against the outside of your thigh idly. "can i confess something?"

you watched him curiously. "huh?"

"your best friend..." his hand slid up to your hip before he loosely draped his arms around your waist. "when we got together, they messaged me to tell me you talk about my eyes a lot."

oh no. "you know you have pretty eyes--"

"like a baby seal." he giggled. "and something about having puppy dog eyes, too."

ohhh no. of course they'd rat you out. "but am i wrong?"

he just nuzzled his nose against your own for a minute, planting a tiny kiss against the tip of it. "i just like you. you're so silly, it's cute."

with a smile, you just settled against him. "i mean it, though. pick wherever you want, beautiful." his giggles only made you happier. "i'll pay."

boo seungkwan

"chan and i bicker less than we do."

seungkwan wasn't phased by your flirty word or the way you were trying to call him beautiful (my boo-tiful boo, if your silly phone contact was anything to go by). he just looked up from his phone with a flat expression, which... probably meant he saw that post somewhere for himself. the lack of originality probably also got you here.

"okay, fine, that's true," you said, rolling your eyes. "you're still beautiful, though."

"i know that," he said. "but we argue a lot over silly stuff. vernon said he thinks it's a love language."

another roll of your eyes. "seungkwan, we don't argue that much."

"don't we? remember that time the neighbors got concerned because we got a little too heated about the way one of our dramas ended?" he crossed his arms. "i still think the ending was good, but you got angry over the way it tried to incorporate greek myth and--"

"it was incorporating greek tragedy and didn't give it the sad ending!" you threw your hands up in the air. "don't promote it as being based on the myth if you aren't going to have a tragic ending!"

"it didn't have to! it was a retelling! things don't have to adhere strictly to--"

chan's door opened, and he walked out of his room. he looked at the two of you before groaning. "this fight again?"

"we're not arguing!" the two of you said together, turning to face him.

chan just rolled his eyes, making his way over to the kitchen. "sure..." then he took one look at the two of you, shaking his head. "i'm going to see if yeonjun wants to go out. don't do anything until i'm gone or have headphones on."

"we don't--"

"you do. just keep arguing or whatever," he pulled out his phone, walking back to his room.

his door shut. and the two of you just looked at each other. seungkwan rolled his eyes, flopping back down on his end of the couch.

"i hate him," he said offhandedly, no venom behind it. you knew just as well as seungkwan did that if chan was in trouble, seungkwan would be one of the first to run there. "who does he think he is? he always acts as if he knows our relationship better than we do."

you slid over closer to him, and he lifted an arm so that you could cuddle in. "he's a jerk," you said, again, no real malice behind it at all. "you should come live with me."

he rolled his eyes. "you always say that." he turned his face, kissing your temple. "like we don't have plans already."

once his lease was up. but you just looked up at him, smiling a little. "whatever you say, beautiful."

that shy smile told you all you needed to know. keep calling me sweet things, then.

chwe vernon

"uh-huh." he didn't even look up from his phone, scrolling through his youtube history. "did i send you this video?"

you frowned. "you're not even going to say anything?"

"you've used that on me before." he continued to scroll. he looked up for just a moment. "also, i'm thinkin'... maybe we could go get tacos for lunch? haven't been to that place in a while." vernon turned his attention back to his phone. "i'm down for whatever, though."

with a groan, you slumped into the couch, already googling for cheesy pick-up lines. the back-up plan, always, for when you need to tease your boyfriend. "hey, nonny? do you have a map--"

"because you're lost in my eyes," he said without missing a beat. "actually, i'm really craving tacos now. i think we could get an order to-go if you don't feel like going out."

he hated you. this had to explain everything. "do you believe in love at first sight--"

"i might," he moved over so that he was closer to you, pulling your legs into his lap. "so, were you being legit about the not arguing thing? because i might take my chance and order anyway."

with a roll of your eyes, you gave up. you weren't going to win this time around. "get your tacos, beautiful," you reached up, turning his face toward you. "i'll pay."

he snorted, bursting into giggles as he leaned over to kiss you. "you're such a dork."

you just smiled into his kiss. "but you love it."

lee chan

you loved confusing chan so, so much. all he did was ask what you wanted for dinner, and you hit him back with "whatever you want, beautiful. i'm not gonna argue with a man who has big brown eyes." thus began the confused looks as he looked at you, then his phone, unsure of how to respond to that.

"... what?"

"i said we can get whatever you want," you shrugged. "i'm not picky--"

"that's not what you said." he frowned just a little, clearly aware that you were teasing him in some way... but not quite connecting the dots quite yet. "you never call me beautiful," was what he settled on a moment later.

which was true. you often opted to call him handsome, usually with a soft laugh and a smile that showed just how endeared to him you really were. on occasion, you'd call something about him pretty--the way he styled his hair, or the makeup he wore once when mingyu roped him into being a model for him--but beautiful? as much as you thought he was (chan deserved all the complimentary words, in your humble, unbiased opinion), you'd never voiced that opinion to him directly. the closest was the time you told one of your friends that he had beautiful eyes.

he narrowed his eyes at you. "is this a joke?" for a split second, he glanced down at the phone in your hands. "... are you recording?"

"i can't call my man 'beautiful'?" you put on a fake pout, just to tease him further. "you really think i'm cruel enough to make fun of you like that?"

chan, however, knew you. he knew that you were easily swayed into pulling pranks on him. that time he introduced you to jeonghan was enough proof of that--and every subsequent trip with his friends always seemed to result in them picking out his weak spot and turning you against him, just for a simple joke. if it bothered him, he would have said something... but it did leave him fully aware that you were the kind of person to lovingly tease him.

lovingly, he told himself. he knew it was. but sometimes he wondered if you were put on this planet just to mess with him in a way he'd secretly love. if you were going to be the death of him, then at least he'd die loving you.

"okay." he made his way over, pulling up a restaurant. he showed you his screen, and immediately you focused on the fact that this place was far from cheap. "i want to go here."

"channie, we--"

"you just said you weren't going to argue," he smiled at you, leaning against you. "hm?"

with a sigh, you shook your head. "whatever you want, beautiful," you reached up. "i'll just eat ramen for the next few weeks--"

he snorted, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "just book it for our anniversary, then." he paused for a moment, just watching you with a tiny smile. "... do you really think i have beautiful eyes?"

how could you say anything other than 'yes' when he was staring at you with them?

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @porridgesblog

@actuallynarii @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunnyunny

[wolfiesmoon]

A rare ingredient

Inumaki x gn!reader

sometimes only being able to say onigiri ingredients gets a little tough on our boy :(

@kairiscorner just tagging you since you wanted to read this!!

The upside of having a crush is, well... everything good that comes along with having a crush. Your smile is the most beautiful thing ever to him. He feels oddly happy most of the time and especially happy when you're by his side. He wants to share everything with you, every minute detail of his life.

The issue is, however, that you've only transferred to Jujutsu High recently and can't understand anything he says. Unlike his other classmates who reply with "thanks" and a grateful smile to "spicy cod roe" as is intended, you simply give him a confused smile every time.

And that doesn't even cover the fact that he doesn't have any words to describe his love for you. He wouldn't have them even if he were able to talk normally like everyone else.

"Kelp." he greeted you, waving.

"Ah, hello!" you inferred that he was greeting you, waving back to him. He swears you look better every day and help but gaze upon your amazing face.

He is eternally grateful for the uniform that covers the lower part of his face, because he doesn't think he would have gotten away with blushing so much around you otherwise.

Normally he would surprise you by sneaking up on you from behind but after you told him that freaks you out he stopped. You're the one person he's willing to make that exception for. Maki isn't as lucky, unfortunately.

"...Tuna mayo." he never knows what to tell you, and considering his limited vocabulary, that would be kind of hard to do anyways. It's fair to say that you do most of the talking when alone with him.

"Uhhh, I met up with my non-sorcerer friends today." you always assume the role of storyteller with Toge. He's a good listener. Though you don't know why he always insists on staying by your side.

"I didn't tell them what I've been up to, of course. They wouldn't believe it anyways. But aside from that, we went to our favourite café that we frequented all the time in middle school." you smiled fondly at the memories that flooded your mind at that moment.

"Salmon." he wants to be invited to that café, too. Prefferably just the two of you. On a date.

You smiled awkwardly at him, nodding. You never know what in the world he's trying to tell you so you just "smile and wave" most of the time.

He furrowed his brows slightly, then looked off, seemingly thinking really hard about something. You raised an eyebrow in question.

"...Prawns." ("...I love you.")

His eyes met yours, and your eyes slightly widened. Did it finally get through to you?! Did you somehow understand his little confession?!

"You've never used that one before..." your expression returned to normal, still smiling at him, atlhough a bit intrigued by the rare ingredient now.

"By the way, are you alright? You're making a weird face." you moved closer to him, inspecting the upper half of his face.

"Caviar." he covered his face with his hands.

You're going to be the death of him.

[apomaro-mellow]

Steve let out the greatest sigh he'd ever heaved. "I can't believe I have to fuck him."

Robin's head whipped to him so fast like he just said he was gonna jump off a building. "You don't have to."

"No I'm gonna", Steve said, eyes not leaving Eddie. He was biting his thumb like he couldn't wait to get alone with him.

Robin looked back at Eddie, who was filling up his plate with things from the picnic table. "I don't see it."

"Because you're a lesbian."

"With taste. And standards. I mean what exactly has got you twirling your hair right now?"

"I mean look at him!"

Eddie had a plate in one hand that already had an open burger on it. The fingers of his other hand danced like they were trilling a piano as he was deciding on what to put on the plate next. He grabbed some chips on the side and then placed the plate down to figure out what he condiment he wanted.

Eddie put his hand on his chin like it was the utmost important decision. Then he grabbed the mayo and the mustard in one hand and squeezed them in a swirl.

"You gonna kiss him with must-ayo breath?", Robin snickered.

"I wish I was that burger", Steve said as he watched Eddie sink his teeth into it. Steve bit his lip while Eddie was licking som stray sauce off his fingers and Robin felt uncomfortable.

"Um, do you, Eddie, and the burger want some privacy."

If Steve was being honest, he didn't fully trust himself to be alone in a room with just Eddie and whatever he was currently feasting on.

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

Eddie wasn't drunk. He wasn't even buzzed. No this particular evening, he was simply loopy on lack of sleep. He'd meant to go to bed, honest. But an idea popped into his mind and things kept adding in a delicious stew of inspiration and he just stayed up all night.

When Steve heard that, he nearly cursed him out for driving like that to his house.

"We were supposed to meet today, Steeeeve."

"It could've waited."

"Hmm, one doesn't make the king wait."

Eddie collapsed onto his couch and Steve thought he might conk out right away, but he was valiantly staying awake. Steve sat next to him and thought he might wait to see just in case Eddie fell asleep in the next 15 seconds.

Instead, Eddie reached out slowly with his pointer finger and booped Steve's nose. "It's so pointy", he said in a croaky voice. "Bet the girls loved that."

Steve snorted. "What?"

"When you ate 'em out."

"Dude!", Steve laughed. Eddie was always pretty candid, but this was another brand.

Then Eddie began to draw circles on Steve's face with his finger, all while drawing out that croaky sound before saying "Phooone hoooome."

Steve giggled and Robin finally spoke up from the loveseat.

"Yeah, I'm still here. But you know, movie night can wait or whatever."

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

Steve's hands were in his face as he sat on the edge of his bed. Robin was patting his back reassuringly.

"There, there."

"It's just... Robin you should've seen him."

"I've seen him, babe."

"Not like this he was just-he was so into it!"

Steve had gone to pick up Eddie from the Wheeler's. He figured he'd find the other either with Mike, or maybe even Nancy. But no. Eddie had been in the backyard, in the middle of a very intense game of pretend with Holly. It had taken Steve everything not to strip and beg Eddie to give him his own babies.

"Have I...always been this much of a slut?", Steve asked.

Robin thought for a second before answering. "Yyyeah. But also, you've always been a goofball. Now that I think about it, you and Nancy had kinda an opposites attract thing. But maybe you don't need to opposite. You need someone as silly as you."

"Steve!", Eddie nearly crashed through his door. "We're making a blanket fort downstairs, you in?"

Steve rubbed his face and looked to Robin, admitting defeat with his eyes and then looked to Eddie. "Yeah. I really do."

[adskayapanda]

I managed to get another cameo. So Jayden is aggressively eating an apple, Charles is a Christmas tree, which one is ketchup and which one is mayo and the guys are goofing around a bit 💖

And I started chatting a lot about how much we love them and I'm glad Jayden said the same. They are the most precious 🥺

[buggybambi]

lost in translation | carmen berzatto

you get a job working as a waitress at the bear. if only you knew it would get you here. ─ 3.68k ─ angst and fluff, breakups / fighting, some cursing, reader is younger then carmy.

THE STRANGERS PHASE

The first time you and Carmen met was when Nat and Richie had hired you as part of the Bear staff. 

A waitress, and a sweet looking one at that. Younger than him. "You guys finally settled on a candidate?" Carmen asks as Natalie and Richie watch you from the small window in the kitchen.

You sit there for a moment before adjusting the silverware, passing Richie's test almost immediately. "I believe we just did." Nat confirms. Carmen takes a look for himself and swears his heart skips a beat as he watches you for a brief moment before clearing his throat, having to pull himself away. "Okay. Cool." He brushes it off.

He didn't get the chance to meet you right away, not until the night before their soft opening. You'd been through training, getting used to the system at the Bear and getting accompanied with staff. All but one. The head chef and owner, 'Carmy' as everyone called him.

"Hey, you're the new hire, right?" A voice asks as you shut your locker. You jump a bit, as you turn, smiling. "I am." The male nods, holding out his hand. "Sorry about scaring you. I'm Carmen Berzatto, don't think we've had the chance to meet." He introduces.

You accept the handshake, swearing you feel a little spark between you two just from touching him.

───

From there, it was like clockwork. You and him would get stuck closing together, and each night you'd dive into a new part of his past. "So, what made you wanna open this place?" You question. He exhales, momentarily pausing his movements of scrubbing the counters before he sniffles. "My brother left it to me after his death."

You pause, staring at him. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked-" He laughs. "You couldn't have known. It's okay, really. I actually wanted to work here, or what used to be here, for the longest time by his side but he didn't let me. Never knew why. It was the thing he left me in his will." He gives a more in depth answer.

You nod slowly. "I'm sorry about that, Carm. His death and not letting you work here." You specify as you look at him. "If it's any comfort, I think your brother would be really proud of what you've turned this place into." You say.

He nods, sniffling again. You set your rag back in the soapy water, sighing as you mark off your final station to clean on the clipboard.

"See you tomorrow night?" He asks as you begin walking to the lockers.

You smile. "It's a date, chef." You confirm. He blushes at the idea of you and him being on a date.

───

Carmen swore to himself he'd take you on an actual date. The planning was easy, it was actually asking you that he found to be a challenge.

"So, are you seeing anyone?" He asks, trying to sound as casual as he can the next night when you two are closing, which didn't come for almost a week. Though he was grateful, it also felt like torture having to wait to get you alone.

"No, I'm not actually. Chicago hasn't exactly been my Paris, you know? City of love and all that bullshit." You answer as you stare at the chore list for that night. "Check the mayonnaise labels. Does Nat think our mayo is expired?" You question.

“Nat thinks all of our stuff is expired one way or another. It doesn’t expire ‘till the nineteenth of May.” He grabs out a knife to start chopping the vegetables. “Anyway, Chicago isn’t really known for its romance.” He points out.

"So I've been told." You stare at the menu. "What's a vegetable medley?" You question as you look back up at him, catching him staring at you. He clears his throat and quickly sets the knife down, wiping his hands on a towel. "Uh, it's a bunch of veggies like green and yellow bell peppers, asparagus and squash topped with balsamic vinegar.” He answers.

You nod slowly. “Only you can explain something like that and make it sound so good right now, Carm.” "Did you eat today?" He doesn't hesitate to ask. "Haven't had a chance to. Richie had me running around all day with the new system, but don't worry, I'm gonna make myself something at home."

"No, come on. I'm- You're not driving home hungry like that. It’s a safety risk. Sit." You go to protest before he repeats himself. "Sit."

The entire night was spent with you and Carmen eating his way too fancy dishes and talking. Sharing memories - childhoods, dreams, stories.

He likes to consider it your first date.

You like to consider it the night you fell in love.

───

You weren't sure what you and Carmen were after that night in the kitchen. Or how to even ask. Do you just come right out and say it? Is there a specific way or time to ask? Google provided zero help, so it was up to you to solve this one.

Maybe that’s what was driving you and Carmy apart for the next week: your mind trying to run through how to even approach that with him. It wasn't until he ambushed you at your locker that you were forced to approach the topic with him. "Not talking to you all week has been driving me insane. Are we okay? If dinner was too much.." He lets his voice trail off.

You smile, as you exhale. "Carmen, I loved dinner. I was just unsure of where we stood. Thought I was driving myself crazy trying to figure out if that was a date or not." You admit. He stares at you, nodding slowly. "Let me take you out to an actual dinner. A real date night." He requests.

You nod. "Okay, I'd like that." You barely have another chance to speak before Richie's calling your name. You place a hand on Carmen's shoulder as you pass him, giving him a small smile before you rush to find out what Richie needs you for.

Carmen watches you leave, wishing you'd come back to him.

Carmen had thought of your date night perfectly. A romantic, rooftop dinner overlooking Chicago’s nighttime streets. “You bring all the girls up to your rooftop, Berzatto?” You question as you stare at the cars passing by.

“Only the special ones.” He’d answer with a grin.

You wished he kissed you that night, but he didn’t. Instead he settled for dropping you off at your apartment before leaving. You could tell he wanted to kiss you, too, but he wanted to wait.

"So, you and Carmen?" Sydney asks as you help her open the Bear that morning, cutting vegetables up with her. You sigh, a smile on your face regardless. "How'd you hear about that?" You question in return.

“It’s the Bear. There’s no such thing called secrets when you work here. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Now, you and Carmy?” She asks again as you laugh. “There’s nothing going on between us. He and I got dinner a few times, but I don’t think it’s going anywhere.” You say with a shrug.

She stares at you, noticing the blush in your cheeks. You grin. “Don’t even. Nothing has happened between us.” You reiterate. She laughs, grabbing her bucket of vegetables. "Whatever you say!"

You roll your eyes, turning and staring at Carmen in the doorway. There he goes again, staring at you when you aren't looking. It doesn't slide past you that he has a noticeable sparkle in his eyes.

───

Of course the universe would have it out for you and Carmen to close together that night. As you two stand over the counters, cleaning them down, you decide to ask the question that had been plaguing your mind.

"What are you and I?" You ask, looking up at him for the first time. His scrubbing stops, as he looks back at you. "I want us to be together." He answers honestly, and you're a bit taken back by his honesty.

“You seem like you’ve thought about this.”

“More than you know.” Translation: I’ve thought about you.

You nod slowly as you walk over to the sink, beginning to wash your hands. "I want us to be together, too. I just don't want this to be weird between us because we work together, you know." You voice your concerns as you grab the towel, drying your hands.

You turn, finding him standing behind you. "I don't care if we want us to be together. I want us to give.. us.. a chance." He says, taking your hand in his. You stare at your hands interlocked as you hum. "Carmen."

"Yes?" He asks softly.

"If you don't kiss me right now I might just walk out and not come back." You tease.

He doesn't have to be told twice, and he kisses you like he's been thinking about it. Like he's been needing that. Hands cupping your face, yours finding his waist.

You didn't need much of an answer as to what you and Carmen were after that.

THE LOVERS PHASE

You and Carmen had agreed: the staff didn’t need to know you two were officially dating. If it was important enough to share, sure. But other then that, you two wouldn’t go around publicly announcing it.

Turns out, dating Carmen wasn't much different from being friends with him. Except now you were in the kitchen at two in the morning, slow dancing with him.

It'd started with dinner that night. Him holding you from behind,

Frank Sinatra plays lowly on the radio as he spins you around, with you grinning as you sway with him. “Who taught you to dance, Berzatto?” You question.

“Nat did. Taught me for her wedding. Said if I looked like a fish outta water she’d ban me from the reception.” He answers with a lovesick grin. You laugh, throwing your head back. “Sounds like Nat.”

He smirks. “And who taught you?” He asks in return. You hum as he pulls you closer to his chest, as Sinatra’s ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ plays. “I did. Convinced myself when I was a little girl I'd be like Misty Copeland.” You answer.

He grins. Only two weeks had gone by with him being officially yours, and he was falling in love with you. Maybe that’s why it spilled out as he held you close.

“I love you.” His voice is hushed.

You pulled away only a bit to look at his eyes. Maybe searching to see if they were genuine, if he said what you think he did. "Carmen..." You smile, a laugh coming out. "I love you, too." You repeat it back to him.

"Take the too out. Makes it sound like you're just agreeing." He requests softly, lips brushing barely against yours. You giggle at his plea, but comply anyway. "Carmen, I love you." You say it again, this time it feels more real.

Two weeks in, and you two are in love. If you knew any better, you'd assume you were screwed.

───

"What do you wanna do with your life?" The question startled you as you and Carmen sat on the balcony of your apartment, overlooking downtown Chicago. Buildings illuminating the night sky, car horns blaring every few minutes from the nighttime traffic.

"I wanna open a bar. Maybe go to Los Angeles or New York, just open my own place. You know?" You hold your knees up on the patio chair with you, a cup of tea in hand. "Some dive bar but... fancier. Live music, live entertainment."

He nods slowly, grabbing out his notepad. "Get out of Chicago?" He asks. You laugh. "Pretty much. Don't get me wrong, I love this city. This just.. isn't the plan." You say with a shrug.

"Mm." He says, scribbling something down on the paper. You lean over, staring at it. "What are you drawing, Berzatto?" You question. "Nothin'. It's a surprise, if I show you it now it won't be a surprise." He points out.

You grin as you lean your head back. "Okay. What about you? Is the Bear your final dream?" You question, still looking over at him. He sets the pen down, looking over the skyline. "I don't know. Though until I met you I had all my dreams and goals figured out."

"Don't say it-"

"You're my new dream." He grins, looking over at you. You laugh, rolling your eyes. "That was unbelievably cheesy, Berzatto. I don't know if I can ever look at you the same after that." You tease.

"You don't have to look at me to kiss me." He points out as you roll your eyes, standing up. You give him a quick peck as you open the door, stepping halfway inside. "Don't take too long getting to bed, okay? It's cold out here." You comment.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." He waits until you're fully inside to pull back out the notepad. Sketched on is a logo for a bar, your bar. Your name written in what he imagines is neon lights. 'ANGEL'S BAR'. The way he views you, an angel. His angel.

He hums, standing up and making his way inside, the notepad tucked under his arm. He finds you in the living room, sorting through the mail. “Hey, hey, my old college roommate’s getting married. New York. What a terrifying city.” You laugh as you set the invite down, before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you down to the bedroom. 

───

Carmen had spent so much time in your apartment that it practically felt like his own. So, the idea of asking him to move in wasn’t totally crazy. His clothes were now hung up in your closet, his cologne and cedarwood soap lingered.

Your relationship with Carmen had grown, so much so that you were now spending time with his family. You stood in the kitchen of the Berzatto home. Your first family dinner with them, and it had been more drama filled then a soap opera. Soft music filled the room, cinnamon roll scented candles lit making the house smell like a bakery. Your scarf hung on the staircase banister. 

"First official Berzatto dinner. How ya holdin’ up?" Sugar asks as she slides beside you, handing you a glass of wine to match her own. "Oh you know me so well. It's going.. as good as I expected it to be. Are they always this chaotic?" You question.

"Hell yes. The Berzatto family has never been calm, y'know?" She laughs. "But you seem to be fitting in nicely. And this is the first year of us doing one of these that Carmen truly seems happy, I think you're to thank for that."

You grin. "Well, as long as he's smiling." You and her watch him in the living room, chasing down the younger family members, laughing as they tackle him down to the floor.

"Yeah, well, I've seen Carmen with other girls before, and none of them have made him this happy. So, on behalf of the Berzatto family, thanks for bringing us a smiling Carmy." She raises her glass to you as you laugh, lifting yours as well.

Carmen watches as you clink glasses with Nat as he enters the kitchen. "You two doing good in here?" He asks. "Oh, we are doing wonderful. I should go find my husband." Nat says, smiling and walking out of the kitchen.

You sigh, setting your wine glass down behind you on the counter. "Hi." He greets, arms wrapped around your waist. You hum, wrapping yours around his neck. "Hey you." You reply, pressing your lips against his.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” He says quietly after he pulls away, placing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

You smile, placing a hand on his cheek. “I’m glad too, Carm.”

───

Arguments in relationships are common. They’re healthy, they bring growth. You and Carmen had a fair share of disagreements but never ones where he called you the name he did tonight: clingy. 

“Can you just fucking leave me be for a second?! I don’t need you crowding me and being so- so fucking clingy.” Right in the office of the Bear, as you made sure he understood what was happening with Syd’s plans. 

Now here you were, in Nat’s living room. “He probably didn’t mean it, you know?” She asks softly as she pushes some of your hair out of your face, wiping tears that fall down your cheeks. “I think he’s just been so worried about our mom, her issues and the Bear.”

“What if he did mean it though? What if.. What if he was just with me out of convenience or pity?” You voice your worries. She shakes her head. “I have never seen Carmy as happy anywhere else as he is with you. He loves you, Y/n. He wants to be with you, no one else.” She replies.

“You don’t call the people you love clingy.” You point out. She sighs, letting you lay your head on her shoulder. No matter what she said, nothing changed how you felt. Carmen thought you were clingy. Whether subconsciously or not, he thought it. 

The thought made your heart ache. 

───

You were younger than Carmen, you knew that much from the moment you met him. But it had never been an issue in your relationship, until now it seems. A simple, offhand comment about kids and marriage you had made to Syd. You wanted those things, and you wanted them with Carmy. 

That’s what landed you in this position on a cold night, with him sitting on the armchair in front of you and you on the floor, crouched to try and read his eyes. Find any sign that you could get past this. 

“We’re just on different paths. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get this close to you. And I should have stopped myself before I hurt you.” Translation: you’re still young and I can’t hold you back.

He didn’t stay after that. His clothes still hung in your closet, with you on the floor of the living room. 

Translation: what now? 

THE ENEMIES STAGE 

“So, plans for you being in New York?” Diane asks as you and her sit on the rooftop of her apartment building. You sigh, as you lean back on your chair. “Drink a lot. Forget my relationship problems in Chicago and hope for the best.” You answer with a nod.

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. You can’t expect to fix your relationship in different states without talking.” She points out as you look over at her. “When did I hire you as a relationship therapist?” You tease. “Carm and I will be fine.” 

You couldn’t find the translation anymore for what “fine” meant. 

───

The wedding was gorgeous. Diane looked stunning and her husband was the sweetest man. The sun was setting over Manhattan, as you sat at the open bar perched on the rooftop. Staring at the missed call from a familiar contact: ‘Chef’s Kiss’. Carmy. 

Maybe you had asked him for too much. Wanting kids, marriage. He’d give them to you if you asked, you knew that. But the idea of him just putting up with that just to keep you? 

You didn’t return his call or any of his texts. Instead, you kept quiet until you returned to Chicago a week later. A box perched on your apartment doorstep with your belongings. Jewelry, shirts you left at his place. All of them except for the scarf that still sat on Donna’s staircase banister.

Maybe he kept it because it smells like you. Or because it reminded him of something pure. The one thing he really knew was now gone, and the scarf was a fragment of that. 

───

It didn’t shock any of the staff at the Bear when you turned in your notice and stopped working there. Or when you took the couch you and Carmy used to sit on during late night conversations and moved it eleven hours with you to New York. Along with his hoodies, the one you wanted to keep most because it smelled like him still. 

You didn’t delete the videos or photos you had with him. It feels too real if you do. 

You stared at the kitchen. Where he used to hold you, scolding you for how you handled knives. The balcony, where he told you that you were his new dream. The living room where he’d kiss you like it was the first time. The bedroom, where some nights, he made you his own, and others he held you while you slept. 

The only thing you found in the apartment that was foreign to you? A piece of notepad paper, with “ANGEL’S BAR” drawn on the front. You stuck that in your pocket as you made your way to your car. 

It hurts to look at. It hurts to think about him. 

Now it’s just you, in your hundred square foot apartment that you share with a roommate now. You manage to delete the playlist of songs that he loved swaying with you to in early mornings in kitchen lights. You learn his favorite melody by heart: stranger, to lovers, to enemies.

─── 

Closing that chapter of your life, you focused more on opening Angel’s Bar. His logo on the front, in downtown New York. Soft piano playing as chatter fills the room, drinks being poured in the corners. 

It may have just been Carmen’s luck to find you on opening night, chatting around with the customers as he watched from the window, a familiar red scarf wrapped around his neck to help fight the cold air.

Translation: it reminds him of innocence. It reminds him of the better part of himself, the one you brought out in him.

Carmen learned to take lessons from break-ups pretty early on into his life. The one he got from you?

“Falling in love isn't for the weak. So don't try it at home.” He closes the book that he was given as an assignment for his AA class.

Maybe you were his favorite melody after all.

𓍢ִ໋🔪 ♡₊˚ 🧣・₊✧

shine on, shine on, my loves!

thank you for reading! please feel free to engage with this post by reblogging, commenting or sliding into my inbox to leave feedback! i appreciate all of you! check out my carmen berzatto masterlist here for more fanfics!

taglist ✨ (to be added please reply to this post in the comments!)

@wabi-sabi1090

@harrysmatcha

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@urdreamgirl12

@readingwithsass

@angelicflower2020

@wadupppp

- mae

[sunflawyer]

jellyfish !! 🪼

I've always wanted to do this so!!

Self ship reblog game!!!

basically just rb with an art of your f/o and s/i and I'll do a little itty bitty doodle like this!! (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

it may take 1 or 2 days for me to do them so i hope you can be patient! 🧡🌻

[dr-spectre]

Rambling about Marina and Relatability...

I've said in the past that i relate heavily to Marie, but as i think about it further.... I think i relate more to Marina... I just read through this incredible twitter thread by @ _CSenpai_ which i shall leave at the end, but it got me to really think... "huh... Marina is kinda me fr." (Also I'm gonna get pretty personal in this post so keep that in mind too.)

Marina has very serious special interests and clearly spends a lot of time researching and engaging in these interests. She gets VERY excited when someone mentions anything remotely about her interests and takes them seriously. Which is something i do as if someone even remotely mentions Splatoon out of the blue, my chest will go "BZZZTTTT" and i get the tingles and i wanna run around my room.

She's very into machinery, video games, music and manga/comic books. Marina stays up and overworks herself when it comes to music and her interests, which is shown in the dev diaries and chat logs in Side Order and Octo Expansion. This is something i tend to do as well as I consume my special interests way into the night and i can't go to bed because I'm so damn energized. Sometimes i become so focused that i don't even notice that time has passed by for so long and before i even realise it... It's 2pm and now i want lunch.

She corrects Pearl on wizards which reminds me of the kind of stuff i say during my rambles about Callie and her arc in Splatoon 2... I get VERY picky when it comes to people using ahem.... certain words when describing the events that took place.

In the Hero vs. Villain Splatfest, she is the only one who is taking it very seriously while everyone else is smiling or expressing anger.

She's using a god damn GAMECUBE CONTROLLER AND A HEADSET! She's literally me oh my god. When i go over for parties and celebrations and someone brings out a Switch and we play Smash Bros or Mario Kart? I take that shit seriously and i can't tone back my skill level and just have fun.

Also Marina is known to have sensitivity to certain food textures including mayo and pulp in orange juice. Now i LOVE mayo personally but i HATEEEE stuff in my drinks. I am a massive texture eater and i will avoid stuff in food that ruins the texture. When i get pumpkin soup for example, if i see vegetable bits in that shit i will actually feel sick and flick the bits off of my spoon.

Marina is also seen stimming and pacing back and forth when excited. When i tend to get overly excited by myself, i will literally violently shake for a brief moment and then squeal. I'm not joking.

Marina also tends to bottle up her emotions and often lashes out onto others when it's too much for her. Which is something i tend to do... I don't often say how i feel when someone asks how am i and i often wanna scream and break something when the anger is just too much for me to contain. I end up yelling by myself and cuss like no tomorrow. I can find solace in a character who does a similar thing i do, minus the cussing lmao.

I think one of the bigger reasons on why i relate to Marina is gonna be a weird one but... She is almost always seen with her headphones. No matter what situation she is in, she always wears her headphones.

Even when she's Marina Agitando and Overlorder has taken over her body, the Controller VM acts like headphones as it covers her ears!

Now this detail about her wearing her headphones almost often might seem minor, but to me it makes me love Marina even more. I always constantly wear headphones and it's due to various different reasons. First is because i love listening to music and enjoying background noise, second, it dampens the sounds around me as i can be pretty sensitive to certain sounds. And third... well... let's just say that i live with a uh.... loud parent who... gets pretty angry, NOT AT ME! THANKFULLY! BUT... when they scream... and swear... i put on my headphones and wait for the noise to go by. It's a comfort thing for me and helps get through those... rough periods... Marina wearing those headphones often and not being judged for it, makes me feel, happy...

...uh... yeah.

ANYWAYS! Another big thing i relate with Marina on is her want for order and balance in her life. She doesn't like massive changes in her routine and wants to maintain the balance in her life.

i do not like it when my routine suddenly changes and i get upset and angry. I have a strict routine and when it gets fucked over oh MAN OH MANNNN!!!!!!!!!!!

And that last point about feeling safe and secure, as i mentioned earlier with the third point about wearing headphones... I wanna feel safe and secure... I want to feel calm... I don't want someone to suddenly shout or get upset or for my routine to change and i can't do anything about it...

The only thing i don't relate with Marina on is well... Looks. Listen, i ain't no tall black octopus woman with a noticeable figure and a pretty face HAHAHAHA! I find it kind of funny that I'm able to relate SO MUCH to someone like her when I'm some 20 year old dude who looks nowhere NEAR like her. Except for maybe height i don't know.

However, i will say, i actually don't act this excited in person, i tend to be very shy and reserved in person compared to my online behaviour. I say words in a dry manner and i don't have the best social skills. So i guess that's where the relatability for Marie comes in as well. I'm a heavy introvert and despite my need for wanting to connect to others, i would rather stay indoors than go out and meet new people to start friendships or potentially a romantic relationship... like that's ever gonna happen anyways...................

I got two brain cells. It's them.

So anyways, that was all i wanted to say! I love Marina and she's my second favourite Idol, you can probably guess who's number 1 but i ain't talking about... her... well not today anyways.

Thanks for reading!!!

The thread that inspired this blog post: https://x.com/_CSenpai_/status/1367219374948376579

[macfrog]

little aphrodite sex on fire chapter nine

the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.

word count: 7.5k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.

But you didn’t.

Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.

Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.

And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?

No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.

I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.

You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.

But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.

You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.

Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.

You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.

And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.

But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.

Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.

He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.

But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.

You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.

The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”

He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.

“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.

Joel sighs under his breath.

“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.

She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.

So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.

Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.

Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.

“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.

He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.

He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.

You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.

He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.

He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.

This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.

His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.

“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”

Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.

Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.

“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.

He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.

His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”

“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.

He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”

Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.

She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.

“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”

Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.

The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.

Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”

The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.

The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.

“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”

Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.

Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.

How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.

How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.

“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”

Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.

He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.

Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.

Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”

And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.

“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”

The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”

Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.

He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.

He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.

“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.

“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”

“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”

He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.

It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.

Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.

A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.

“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”

“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”

Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?

And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?

He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.

When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.

“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.

You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.

The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.

You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.

Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.

He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.

And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.

He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.

He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.

Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.

He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.

There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.

A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.

“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.

He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.

You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.

You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.

You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.

You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.

Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.

Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.

“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”

You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.

He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.

His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.

You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.

You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.

“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”

His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.

You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”

Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.

You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.

You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.

He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.

“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.

“Best head you ever had. I know.”

He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.

“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.

Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.

He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.

He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.

But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.

The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.

You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.

It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.

That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.

His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.

The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.

“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.

“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.

“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”

He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”

And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.

He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.

Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”

Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”

“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”

“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”

Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”

Placating. It pisses Joel off more.

“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”

“Taken?”

“Hired. By me.”

The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.

“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”

Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”

Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.

He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.

And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.

You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.

Joel Miller has never been in love.

He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.

G’night, love you.

I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.

Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.

It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.

He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.

He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.

But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.

Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.

The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.

Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.

He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.

Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.

Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.

And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.

He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.

Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.

None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.

Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.

And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.

He loves you. He – no, fuck.

He doesn’t just love you.

He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –

blood spilling all over the pristine floor –

pathetic and adolescent in its nature –

butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –

in love with you.

He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?

But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.

He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.

Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.

And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.

He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.

He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.

“Smile,” he says, and you do.

“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.

He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.

Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.

You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.

She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.

Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.

There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.

“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.

You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.

The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.

He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.

He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.

You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.

“What’d you say, baby?”

You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.

“Please don’t ever leave.”

[tunal0verr]

Recorded memories

Toge Inumaki x reader

Content: Wee bit of angst(mb chat) takes place after the shibuya incident so spoilers!! does use she/her pronouns mb chat人(_ _*) use of y/n

Summary: A glimpse into a few memory's with a certain curse speech caught on a gifted camera

A/N:not checked and i didnt clam to be a author team but inumaki nation was lowkey dry recently and if u cant find the art U GOTTAAA MAKE IT YOURSELF ＼（゜э゜）／

December 25th, 2017

“How do I know if it's on?” the voice was quiet as the focus of the video pointed down revealing shredded wrapping paper and an open box.

“Salmon” The camera shook before it pointed up at Y/N

“OH! It's on” She smiled at the boy behind the camera

 “Heyyy vlog it's your favorite y/nn” She took the camera from his hands and lifted it showing the mess of Christmas wrapping

“My super BFF Toge Inumaki got me this camera everybody say thank you Toge” She wiggled the camera up close to his face as he scrunched his nose.

March 13th, 2018

“Welcome back vlog” she whispered to the camera lens before moving the camera back swiftly 

“I am here with my co-host Inumaki and we are on the train going on a mission,” she said moving around in her seat to lay over into his lap blocking whatever game he was playing pointing the camera up at him at a very unflattering angle as he looked down

“Bonito flakes” he sighed as he looked down at her

“That's what I'm saying” she agreed laughing turning the camera to face herself before it fell cutting the recording short

October 31st, 2018

The camera was getting rustled around before it settled on her desk

“Um… do my makeup with me as my best friend is on a life-threatening mission while I have to stay back at the school” She gave the camera a small weak smile

“It's not like he's alone like our other friends are there but” she paused as she sighed

“He isn't  answering his text and I'm worried more because it's just different cause it Inumaki-not saying I don't care about our friends I love them to bits just” Her brows knotted as she looked down through the bag on her lap rambling 

“It's just different between me and Toge it's more comfortable- whatever this is stupid” She snatched the camera rolling her eyes before it turned off

December 31st, 2017

“It's almost midnight vlog” she giggled on the bed moving the camera to sit on pillows

“Are we gonna kiss tonight?” she joked nudging Toge with a smile as a blush crept up to decorate the tips of his ears

“Salmon roe” Toge shoved her back rolling his eyes before typing on his phone to show her

“Why would I kiss you you smell horrible” she fakes reading out with a gasp from his phone as he sat up shaking his head making an X with his arms

She looked up at the camera “he hates me guys my own best friend” she sighed looking down dramatically 

“Tuna mayo!” he groaned pouting at her pushing her shoulder again causing her to laugh and grab the camera 

 “stay tuned to find out if we actually kiss” she stuck her tounge out as she started to move the camera closer to Toge’s fake before he opened his mouth the camera cut 

April 10th, 2018

“And here we have a wild Toge Inumaki resting in the wild” The camera zoomed in on his sleeping face

 “Magnificent creature one of a kind,” she said mocking a fake Australian accent

 “Now we must be careful not to disturb the beast” She leaned the camera closer to his face before his eye peeked open and she gasped

“You're not even sleeping you're a faker!” she laughed as he smiled as it look like he charged at the camera before the recording abruptly ended

August 21st, 2018

The screen is covered with a sliver of the room being shown as a frustrated groan is heard at a distance 

“Like did you ever consider how I would feel? I get you and Yuuta are close and stuff but it doesn't mean ditch me to go and make the same plans with Yuuta” Y/n voice strained as she reprimanded him

“Fish flakes!” Toge’s voice sounded desperate 

“Put the phone down can you do that for once? Just listen to me! For someone who can't speak right you sure are a bad listener,” y/n yelled harshly “Wait no comeback” 

Toge pauses for a second before even considering what y/n just said to him her. Once he does he just stares at her with only a look that can be described as heartbreak before turning and walking out with a harsh slam of the door followed by y/n groans before everything where the camera sat was pushed causing the recording to stop.

Present

She paused and grimaced after watching the last video 

“I should probably delete that right?” she turned to him as there was still no reply from his part

“I didn't mean it you know” her words getting caught in her throat as her voice trembled “You don't have to fake no more Toge get up” She went to go grab his hand but she was only met with the empty bed space that was once occupied by his hand 

“Please wake up we can't just end as best friends I don't want to end just as best friends” She began to sob as she laid on top of his lap as his body rested in the infirmary bed her tears made the room go blurry as they clouded her vision as she poured her heart out in his lap. She moved her arms to wrap around her head blocking out the world. Blocking out the small smile that danced across Toge’s lips

He never was a good fake sleeper

A/N: if this is ass its not fault guys its 3am and a hoe is tired fr

[astrolynnworld]

beach day

pairing: chris x reader

summary: you’re at the beach with friends and chris gets a boner from seeing you in your bathing suit.

warnings: smut! teasing, exhibition, language, sneaky, sex in the changing room.

a/n- another request but i changed it up a bit 🫡 love this rec.

word count: 1,226

nick and madi had planned this beach trip almost a week ago when they had seen that the weather was going to be in the 90s this weekend

they invited a few friends and told us to meet at madi’s house so we can all go together

so here i am putting on some shorts over my bathing suit before packing a beach bag and heading over to madi’s

once i arrive, i greet everyone with a hug before noticing chris’s gaze wash over my body

i ignore because i figure he’s just not used to seeing so much of me considering i only ever wear hoodies and sweats

we hop into car and laura drives us to the beach

once we get there we walk in and find a spot on the same where we could settle it. the beach was somewhat crowded but not as packed as it always is

i take off my shorts as we get ready to go into the ocean but i continue to notice chris’s gaze onto me

he tried to hide it whenever i would look over at him but i still noticed

we went into the water and had fun with the waves for about half and hour before heading back to our site to grab a snack

we all sat around as we ate our chips and sandwiches that laura had packed for us

“thank god for laura” nick states out loud as we all share a laugh

i take a bite of my turkey sandwich that she had prepped this morning and melt into the flavor

“you got mayo on your lip” chris says as he points to his face to show me where it would be on mine

i take my finger and slowly drag the mayo into my mouth

“good?” i ask

he nods his head slowly

i turn my contact back to nick, matt, and madi’s conversation as i notice chris start to adjust himself from the corner of my eye

i get up to throw my sandwich wrapper out as i look down at him and make eye contact.

i notice the slight bulge that sits uncomfortably in his pants as he tries to hide it

was he hard from me? i question myself as i clean myself off and sit back down next to madi

i look back over at him and see him already staring down at me with a slight pout

he looks so bothered sexually. i can’t just sit here and ignore him

“im gonna try to find the bathrooms, chris come help” i insist out loud as an excuse to leave

“yeah sure.” he says before getting up and trying to shield his bulge away from our friends

i guide him to the changing room as he follows blindly

“wh- what are we doing?” he says shyly

“it’s okay chris, i’m gonna take care of you” i say while slowly undoing my bra

he groans at the sight of my freed breasts before trying to further hide boner

i remove his hands, “no need to hide from me baby. i already know what you need” i say as i sink down onto my knees

i place soft kisses on his bulge from the outside of his pants, creating a soft moan to escape chris’s lips

“shh baby, you gotta be quiet so nobody hears you” i say before sliding his pants down to free his cock

his dick twitches at the contact of my hands when i wrap around his shaft and wrap my mouth around the tip

he covers his mouth to mask his moans at the start a moving pace onto his cock

i jerk his cock back and forth as i use my mouth to push deep down into him.

circling my tongue around the tip whenever i needed a break from using my mouth

i felt the dripping precum leak into my mouth from his arousal as he squirms against the back wall of the changing room

“are you close baby?” i whisper up to him

he nods with his eyes shuttered

i remove my lips from his cock as a plea of confusion erupts all over his face

“sit” i insist

as he sits down on the bench that was accessible in all the dressing rooms, i slowly slide out my bikini bottoms and straddle onto him

i wrap my hands around his neck as he has his hands on my waist

i start to kiss him as i grind against his cock, feeling him moan and whine into my lips.

i angle his cock under me and i slowly start to sink down as hold back my breath from the filling pleasure

chris throws his head back into the wall as i start a fair pace of bouncing up and down on his cock

“f- fuck i don’t know how long i can’t la- last… mmm you’re so fucking tight you’re squeezing against me” he stutters out

i tilt his head to look at me as i ride his cock, “hold out for as long as you can okay? and don’t break eye contact. or i’m gonna stop”

he nods his head as his breath starts to pick up

i cover his mouth to hold him back from making too much noise

with my other hand i start to circle my clit as i continue to look into his eyes.

his eyes flutter back and forth ask he tries to hold back his pleasure

i remove my hand and i start to kiss him again, sloppily kisses with quiet moans that fill into each other as i bounce and circle my clit on his cock

i felt the knot of pleasure in my stomach start to fall loose. i start to bounce on his cock faster as i speed up the circulation on my clit

chris whimpers into the air, “fuck. you c- can’t do th- that. i’m not gonna be able to hold back”

“it’s okay baby, you can cum now. let it all go into me” i say as i start to feel myself release onto his cock

i cover his mouth as i notice his breath start to fasten.

he lets out a hard “mmmmm” into my hands as i feel him slightly thrust up into me, indicating his arrival.

i cover his mouth and he lets his head fall back again the wall

“you’re a freak for getting turned on by the sight of me in a bathing suit” i laugh trying to lighten the mood

“i can’t help it, not when this bathing suit highlights every feature of your beauty” he breaths out

i hop myself off him and lend him a hand up before i start to put my bikini back on

we leave the changing room and head to bathroom so i can clean up while he waits outside

after i finish we head back to our spot where matt, nick, and madi are waiting for us

“what took you guys so long?” nick asks shamelessly

“the bathrooms line was so long you’d think we were on the waitlist to enter the gates of heaven..” i lie

they all share a laugh while i look at chris

“yeah no it was fucking crazy.” chris adds before looking back at me with a smirk

———————————————————————

taglist: @secret-sturniolo @sturns-blog @sturniolo-2003 @mayaaatok @sturnswrites @mattsleftnipple03 @mattybswife @tropicasturn <333

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

!"are we still friends?" kiss w/ inumaki!

prompt// heartbeat getting faster with every passing second, their hands on your waist, one coming up to your jaw, whispering your name softly, before just going for it. coming absolutely undone as your hand reaches to tug on their hair (prompt from @jasminesfury)

pairing// toge inumaki x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// jujutsu high is a college, inumaki communicates through sticky notes, inumaki uses his cursed technique to get what he wants, ooc inumaki ?

notes// these kissing prompts r too good not to use sorry not sorry! also yes him using his cursed technique was inspired by that one anon... also any information i say about a character's likes? or like favorite food, i get from jjk fandom wiki dont come for me if its not right ok baiiii <3

You and Inumaki are best friends— or were. Right now, he’s not quite sure where the two of you stand considering how you’ve been acting towards him lately. He and, quite frankly, anyone with eyes could see how uninterested you were acting toward him. You avoided his touch, kept conversations short, avoided eye contact, hell, you tried to avoid him all together—you were ignoring him. It wasn’t like you were doing it on purpose, though! …Okay, you definitely were, but you also definitely had a good reason to. The whole reason this started was because of last week.

You and Inumaki are best friends; you’d obviously take any chance you could to hang out with him, and you thought that was the only reason why—because he’s your best friend—but that day you quickly learned that was not the case. You and Inumaki sat under a tree in a random park. When the weather was nice and your schedules aligned, the two of you would often have picnics together. On these picnics, you two had this unspoken agreement of bringing each other food; he’d bring you what you liked or what he thought you’d like, and you’d do the same for him. You watch him intently as he places all the food he got for you near you, and you smile when he’s finished and is staring at you patiently, waiting for you to do the same.

You ignore his gaze and what he wants, instead tilting your head at him and asking, “What’s your favorite food?”

Inumaki’s face drops, and a pout replaces his previous faint smile as he pulls out a sticky note pad and scribbles, “Are you joking?”

You commit to the bit. “No, I’m serious! What’s your favorite food?”

You watch him fervently rip that note off to write on another one, “Wait, you seriously don’t know?”

The way he’s staring at you makes you relent. “Just humor me for a second Inumaki?” you plead with a soft smile, reassuring him that it’ll be worth it.

He stares at you curiously before nodding and writing, “Tuna mayo onigiri.”

You hum with a nod. “Right, thought so,” you say. “Guess what I have!”

Inumaki’s eyes light up as he excitedly taps his finger against the words he just wrote. His reaction doesn’t take you by surprise; you’ve seen him react like this plenty of times before. It’s what you love about him—how excited and happy he gets about things and isn’t afraid to show it—but something is different. The sun is shining on his face perfectly; it gleams off his eyes, and the way the wind slowly blows past and the trees and flowers behind him sway softly with his hair has you completely mesmerized. So mesmerized, in fact, that Inumaki had to practically shove the notepad in your face for you to even realize you were staring.

You shake your head as if shaking yourself out of your trance, silently acknowledging to yourself that it was odd, but you digress. “Sorry! But yes, I do have that for you!”

He drops the notepad and holds out his hand expectingly, and you giggle as you place the onigiri in his hand. He bows his head slightly at you to say thank you before he digs in, and you smile warmly at him.

“I’ve been trying to get it for you the past few picnics, but they were always out,” you say, frowning. “But today I went early, and they actually had some!”

He acknowledges you with a glance, and your heart skips a beat just from the brief moment that your eyes meet. You try to ignore it, though. You try to ignore how you can’t keep your eyes off him, the butterflies in your stomach, and how warm you feel. Maybe you’re getting sick? Yeah, that must be it. You don’t know how long you got distracted by simply admiring him, but by the time you came back to reality, he was done with his food and writing something on his sticky notes.

He holds up the notepad, asking, “Are you okay?”

You scoff slightly. “Of course I’m okay.”

He frowns at you before scribbling, “You haven’t touched any of your food.”

You look down at the food before returning your gaze to him and awkwardly smiling. “Ah yeah, just not all that hungry, Inumaki...”

You watch him study your face quickly before writing, "Are you sick?” He doesn't give you time to reply before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, and if you weren't already flustered before, you most definitely are now. You're too shocked by his actions to say anything, but it doesn’t matter when he's already scribbling a new sentence. “You feel warm.”

“I'm sure it's nothing, Inumaki,” you try to reassure.

He hands you a sticky note that says, “We should get you back to your dorm and stop for medicine on the way,” before beginning to pack up the left-over food.

You roll your eyes and place your hand over his to stop him, and the way he looks up at you has your brain going blank, so much so that he has to shoot you a questionable look in order for you to realize what you were doing.

You quickly remove your hand from his and clear your throat. “It’s fine, I promise. I probably just have to sleep it off, okay?”

Inumaki doesn't bother writing anything down and instead just stares at you blankly.

“If I'm still ‘sick’ by tomorrow, we can go get medicine, okay?”

He nods, ultimately accepting that answer, but he wishes he didn't because tomorrow never came. You didn't die, obviously, but you might as well have. You started ignoring him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and... you get the point.

Inumaki has no idea what he did; he tried to ‘talk’ to you the best he could. He’d leave you sticky notes, and you would hardly acknowledge them or him. Did he do something wrong? He knows most people found him intimidating at first because of his cursed technique and were hesitant around him, but you never were, so why are you acting like it now? Maybe he came off too strongly; maybe you got suffocated being his only friend—well, not his only friend, but his closest friend; maybe you just had enough. Inumaki told himself he was just going to let whatever happens happen, but he couldn’t. So he said he'd find you after class and corner you if he really had to; you’re already ignoring him; what's the worst that could happen after that? But he couldn’t wait till after class tomorrow; he couldn't sleep; he just laid in bed anxiously, which is why he now finds himself standing at your door. He doesn’t think twice about knocking; he wants—no, he needs—to know why you're ignoring him.

You're surprised to see him there, and his twisted-up face makes your heart drop. You're not sure if he's worried, angry, or both.

“Inumaki, hey.” You’re afraid to look at him for too long, fearful that he’ll look back and figure out your feelings for him, so you leave the door open and start walking away. “Come in.”

He does so, shutting the door behind him. You’re a few feet away from him, so he tries to close the distance between you two, only for you to take the same number of steps back. Inumaki frowns and pulls out his sticky notes.

“Are we still friends?”

No, because you’d rather be more—if it isn't obvious by now, the entire reason you’ve been ignoring him is because you've finally realized how deeply in love with him you are.

You avoid his gaze and zero in on your floor instead, nervously laughing. “Of course, Inumaki, why wouldn't we be?”

You hear him scribble something down before the sticky pad shows up in your field of vision. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

You push his hand out of your vision. "No, I haven't.”

You hear more scribbling before one of his hands grabs your chin and lifts your head up to face him. Your eyes fluttered at the action, and you hope to god he didn't notice. He shakes the notepad in his other hand to draw your attention to it. “Yes, you have.”

You can't lie to him when it's like he's staring straight into your soul. “Okay, fine, maybe.”

Though you wish you did when his face drops and he slowly lets go of your jaw to write, “Why?”

You take a step back, and he takes one forward. “It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns and shakes his notepad slightly as if to emphasize his point, “Yes, it does.”

“It doesn't because I'm gonna stop ignoring you, okay?”

“But why were you ignoring me?” he scribbles frantically.

You sigh. “Just drop it, Inumaki, please?”

He shakes his head.

“Inumaki, just forget about it, and we can go back to normal, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and writes, “Just tell me! I won't get mad; I just want to know why.”

“Inumaki, seriously drop it,” you say as you turn to walk away, but you don't get far before you hear a clatter of Inumaki’s things hitting the floor, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. He has your wrist to his chest, and your other hand is instinctively pressing against him, while his other hand is on your waist. You grow flustered by how you two are body-to-body, with no space to be found between the two of you, and you look at him wide-eyed, both of your breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. You're about to push yourself off of him or tell him to let go of you, but any thought of doing something vanishes the minute you see him start to open his mouth.

“Tell me,” he says softly yet firmly.

You can't even attempt to fight against his command as the words "I like you" pour out of your mouth against your will.

The minute the words leave your mouth, you go wide-eyed in shock from your confession, and from how he used his technique on you, he’s equally as wide-eyed. You try to yank your wrist free from his hold, but he has an iron grip on you no matter how hard you struggle.

You begin to murmur nervously, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "Inumaki-"

But your sentence is quickly cut short when he leans in. He hesitates for a moment before just going for it and kissing you. You don't kiss back at first in shock, but once you grasp what's going on, you quickly melt into the kiss, practically turning into liquid with the way your legs try to give out on you. You quickly tangle your free hand in his hair; he releases his grip on your wrist and places that hand on your waist as well, while you cradle his face with your newly freed hand. You two stand there kissing and holding each other for what seems like forever before he finally pulls away, both of you nearly panting.

“So, uh, does this mean we’re not friends or-“

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[zepskies]

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️ 

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.” 

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.  

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care. 

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

(Lovelies from my "Everything" tag list. If you want to be tagged on Priestly stuff specifically, check out the Tag List link in my bio.)

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

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[louisetaylor]

THE GRAPE DEPRESSION

Once again the boys at Shoot From The Hip have created another masterpiece.

Not for the first time, Tom Mayo steals the show as yet another sweet and endangered child, frail of limb but innocent and good at hugs

The Don Vincenzio (AJ keeps making up foreign names and the others keep getting them wrong lol, see The Phantom Begruvia) may or may not be connected to the Sicilian Mafia. We know he has enemies, because they kidnapped his son once upon a time

The Don missing his own son and wanting another "my heart is starving" and being heartless until he gets his son back

Maria being an interesting counterpoint to this because she is also willing to go to great lengths for the sake of protecting her family (and getting back to how things were before; both she and the Don want to go back to their own happy family past)

AJ seemed to be having a lot of fun playing the Messed-Up Wooden Boy Thing, so that's nice for him

Geppetto being a father desperate to save his children made me feel Emotions...especially when he offered to give up his soul rather than kill Pinocchio...when he cried over Pinocchio's wooden remains...

Tom making his dying outstretched hand turn to a little wooden treelike thing was a nice touch. I expected nothing less of my beloved. Not to mention the bit where he came back from the dead and said "I have Seen the Great Beyond!! A great beast waits in the dark for us all!! :)" Lovecraftian but without the racism. All hail our unproblematic king.

That last spooky bit, working with all the other Spooky Bits, the inhuman wooden man-boy, the sister willing to murder to keep her family alive, the Don threatening his tenants unless they give him a son, and yet the Spookiness is balanced by Love; they work together like apples and caramel. A perfect story for this autumn time of year.

All my favorite SFTH plays balance humor with serious Dramatic Feelings. I think the Grief and Love and Drama make the humor more meaningful and more unexpected. The guys aren't afraid to make the characters genuinely care about each other. (And honestly the stories they come up with are Pretty Darn Good even when you ignore the humor part. Funny how people make better stories when they're not trying to fit the standards of What's Marketable or What's Clever and Cool.)

In conclusion, your honor, I love Tom so much