#my wife u guys

[lovely-oh-so-lovelyyui]

Hey fellow Beatrix stan~💋 Was thinking about how Beatrix does not have a title like “the demon king’s daughter” or “the white rose”. If she had a title, what do you think it would be?

Let me die, let me drown, lay my bones in the ground

I will still come around when the time for sleep is through

Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale

Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you

AHHH hello!! I love fellow Beatrix stans, I literally think about her 24/7. Thank you so much for this ask. It brings me so much joy to be able to talk about her and put down in writing the various ideas I have about her, even though it is very late I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Personally, I feel as though Beatrix has been an enigma throughout the short glimpses we got of her.

Especially as a vampire who has such a long history, most of these are simply theoretical based on what limited information there is about her. If that makes sense?

- Ice Princess

- Queen of Hearts

- Plain Woman

Ice Princess is probably the first one that came to mind with her, I think her impassive exterior is one formed over a long period.

From her actions, she has this callous care for the people around her that I think came from being one of those quiet children that meant well but stayed silent unsure of when they were allowed to speak, so she stayed content in not having to stand in the limelight. So she was probably someone quite introverted, hence when it came to being put out like a puppet her flight or fight response literally caused her to … freeze.

As far as I’ve understood from the way she treats her sons, she almost has an avoidant personality, many people do this by dissociation or simply ignoring things that will complicate their situation at hand, the worst part is it’s never on purpose and they feel guilt but it’s what they believe is for the best.

By choosing not to respond or give in to bait, and never being able to gain the courage to leave her mental castle, in a way she traps herself in her own tower from others because of something that occurs in her life that is so violent, unpredictable, something so out of her control.

It is the catalyst for her mask, like most children raised in these conditions they often find comfort in these abusive situations as it’s something familiar to them, and because her most frequent response became to avoid as much conflict as she could; the persona she now exudes is hardened, cold-blooded, and someone who needs control. Someone that puts priority and duty first not out of obligation or responsibility but as a survival tactic.

Which is my explanation for the ‘ice’ bit.

The princess bit is what I think is a bit more obvious, in comparison to Cordelia who is of viboran and first blood descent which makes her so important as a foreign bride of another powerful - if not equally powerful - clan.

Or Christa who is second or third? cousins with Karl which clearly solidifies her lineage as the blood of the imperial monarch of vampires.

Beatrix would come from nobility, partially as someone who would need solid legitimacy and also because it puts a balance to powers within the court because Cordelia strengthens the power of foreign ministers. Christa reinforced the power of royalists within the court the nobles would be neglected.

Within the peerage of nobility, the highest are the Dukes, usually 2 or more within every empire to restrict the power of the royal family, this is why many of their titles are also Prince or Princess before they inherit their duchy’s, or Your Highness.

Not to be confused with royal titles which are Your Royal Highness, otherwise, you might just be tried for treason and killed.

Again because the main responsibility of ducal families is to limit royal power, hence their families are kept separate. No marriages.

Normally the second most important rank in the peerage - the Marquises - would marry into the Royal Family.

So if there were a need for revolt it wouldn’t be cousin vs cousin or brother vs sister as coups are led by the Ducal Families so whoever wins has to execute all family members on either side and that would simply be crude.

Beatrix was an exception however and as a Ducal Princess the only one relevant enough to challenge the rights of the other wives.

So came the title ‘ Ice Princess’ in her younger years

Queen of Hearts is something I feel occurred once she became more established within her role.

I imagine it was a title of jest at first, where in the years after her marriage Cordelia spent her time throwing lavish balls and travelling the country from noble family to family under the guise of forming connections and spreading patronage; Beatrix was the polar opposite.

She spends long hours confined within her palace sorting through documents, attending royal ceremonies, meeting with officials, dignitaries and ambassadors. She looks through contracts and complaints within constituencies. As most would expect, such thorough combing through of the parliament and court led to quite a lot of lords and influential people being stripped of power, exiled, or executed.

Hence the trail of rolling heads at her feet led to the title ‘ Queen of Hearts.

However, near the end of crimson and amber leaves that once decorated the demon world, comes a new joy. His royal highness, crown prince Shu who is the firstborn of Karlheinz and Beatrix Sakamaki; it’s such a joyous occasion even the demon world’s winter couldn’t damper the hopeful festivities in hopes that he’d make it through the winter.

And he did.

Thus with his birth, and the first obstacle overcome with the resilience of a righteous ruler emerges a new Beatrix from her cocoon. Most are stunned at the frequency, they see her look content if not joyous in the presence of her little sun; she takes him out on parades around the nation and far travels.

Soon disperse the rumours of the plain, bookish woman who is their queen, for who better represents vampiric values than Beatrix. Someone who puts her family and duty first and frivolous activities second, never faltering in her politeness and gracefulness not to mention her striking looks that their prince has inherited. Vividly displaying power and commandeering those around her, they soon grow proud to have someone like her as Queen.

Especially with the work she puts into improving the social, economic and political situation within the country; her hard work evident in the new improved infrastructure, the peace treaties developed, so that some day her son shouldn’t have to lead armies like her husband once has.

So came a new meaning to Queen of Hearts, it wasn’t often someone became monarch and deserved their title.

It was to the extent even Karlheinz was forced to change inheritance laws, for so long only divorced or widowed women could own titles, but in the beginning of spring when more exciting news of her being pregnant again spread ‘The Act of Succession’ was passed, that if a husband were to pass his wife/mother of his eldest child shall take his title till his eldest child (not son) is of age unless specifically passed to another in his will.

It was enough to start outcries, and debates but in the end no one could deny faults within Beatrix as their ruler, and even if they never became regent monarch they happily let her rule their hearts.

Plain Woman had to be the most vicious of the nicknames Beatrix had gained in her time, for what did someone with such pure intentions know of the mental games that would exhaust her soul in the next century.

Obviously Beatrix was beautiful, but in the twisted comparison to the other wives not even the strongest mental fortitudes could resist it's slow decay.

Cordelia with her exotic features, enchanting lilt from her accent, and seductiveness that poured from the cells that made her or even Christa with her innocent pretty features, oh she was as pretty as the moon itself, with her illustrious silver strands and blood-wine eyes.

In comparison, Beatrix often wondered in the colder afternoons, when she would sit alone for hours on end her tea long cold, staring at her ink stained hands, knobbly and ugly, her straw like hair heavy, and her dull goulish skin in the reflection all she can wonder why was this the one truth Cordelia had to utter in all of her lies.

[cozylittleartblog]

New Family Speedrun 00:09.12 (World Record Not Clickbait???)

[qtepasacalabaza]

rip early seasons sam winchester, you would have loved brat :(

[poofbark]

himichako i didnt ACTUALLY want you to be doomed yuri Please come back to me PLEASE

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[n0phis]

it is absurd how blatant people are irl. like why is transphobia your idea of smalltalk with a store employee

then they just move on. like boom ! its there and then its gone. theyll spend the next 5 mins asking you about dog food without picking up on ur name tag. swindled by the left again idk we're so sneaky ig

[emiliosandozsequence]

being in a relationship that's freak4freak really is so soul healing. wishing for all of my mutuals to have that too <3

[skywerse]

I designed finch's dad!!!!

[azuneekun]

no more de-aged, hairless and twinkified shane and harvey. Their appeal is being neurodivergent wrinkly dilfs and im RIGHT.

[yayll]

Hi!! It’s my first time requesting something so I dont know how that works.. um I was thinking of some mission like some kind of ball that dazai and y/n has to go and y/n has to seduce someone to get information out of them. You know those masquerade balls? Yeah I think that really goood!! And dazai gets sooooooooo jealous and after she got the information dazai kiss her infront of that person to show him that she’s his😭😭😭😭😭😭omg

HIII angel sorry this took me a while, but i hope you like it :') i tweaked your idea a lil and fingers crossed this is what you so graciously asked for. i tried to put my best jealous goofy ass dazai in there along with the absolute MUSH his brain turns into when he has you to himself mixed with a lil........ fucked in the headness. i love requests! this was soooo fun to write i love youuuuuu <3

~ a little something about Dazai and his uncharacteristic jealousy ~

"Osamu, come on... You're my only sweetheart, you know that."

You call out half sweetly and half out of breath as you follow him down the hallway of the lavish event you were currently attending, dressed to the nines and trying to remain undercover. You were coming to realize why people didn't date within the workplace as he walked ahead, grumbling to himself. He's trying to remain unfazed, pretending to still be upset as he shrugs with his back turned to you.

"Hmph. I dunno, I don't feel like I'm your 'sweet' anything..."

This causes you to roll your eyes affectionately and pick up the pace, placing a hand on the back of his shoulder to finally stop him in his tracks. You flash him a sincere smile, and speak softly.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that. I didn't know that asshole was going to kiss me after he let me go. I also didn't think you'd ever get jealous..."

You say that last part with a more playful tone, treading dangerous waters of your unpredictable lover's emotions. As expected, he sighs dramatically, casting you a look of disgust.

"Ugh, of course I'm not... That's honestly sooo lame and pathetic. I can entertain jealousy as much as I can entertain one of Kunikida's little speeches on morals, or whatever."

"You mean his 'ideals'?"

You chide, stifling a laugh. He glares at you, his eyes narrowing as he scans you for a moment.

He can't find a single flaw on that precious face, not a single stray hair or stain on your exquisite outfit. He should change that by the end of the night.

"... You're always so negative, correcting me and whatnot. Isn't it tiring being so irritatingly superior in every way?"

This one gets a laugh out of you, You can tell he's slowly lightening up his mood by the way you both begin walking side by side once again.

"Yeah well, if it weren't for that little kiss earlier, we'd both still be all tied up in the wine cellar of this wonderful party."

He flashes you a pout, and shrugs dismissively.

"And here I thought you of all people would like the idea of being tied up with me. Hmph, wrong partner, I suppose."

Now he was starting to pick back at you, though it was cute. Jealousy looked cute on him, it was something you didn't think he was capable of. It was a pity it had to be during a mission where your main asset was your seduction skills and his was mental instability. You hated every second of it, but you also wanted to make sure you both made it out with the secret intel alive.

You make your way into the grand ballroom, the gala is in full swing, and your eyes dart around to find a proper escape route. Just as you see an exit, a handsome and well dressed young man blocks your view, sticking his hand out.

"Hi. You're gorgeous. Care for a dance?"

You stare down at his hand and then back up at the stranger, your face flushing as you're caught off guard.

"Me? No, no I-"

Dazai immediately interjects, sloppily holding a glass of champagne that somehow manifested in his hand and pretends to be drunk. He loved his theatrics, especially when he was desperate.

He bumps harshly into the young man's shoulder, the alcohol sloshing out of the cup as he slurs, but not before he flashes you a wink to tell you to play along.

"Sooo sorry, pardon me. This indeed beautiful angel is quite busy you see... Taking care of me that is. Ooh, I'm a wreck! I'm nothing but a sad and lonely dog.. In this sad and lonely world-"

The man looks at Dazai skeptically, and huffs into a chuckle. He shoves him away, and turns his attention back to you. Your eyes dart nervously between the two, wondering what Dazai will do next.

"Shut it, clown.. Anyway, I think this further proves you should be in the company of a gentleman like me tonight rather than this wet mop-"

The sound of a champagne flute soaring through the air and connecting to the man's skull is suddenly heard, interrupting him and sending him falling to the ground along with broken glass and liquid everywhere. In one swift motion, Dazai is at your side with a premature victorious smirk, but before you can both be on your way, the man regains his posture and spins him around, punching him square in the face. Dazai's not scrawny or weak, but he isn't the most skilled fighter, relying mostly on his special ability and intelligence to get him out of things.

You gasp, instinctively grabbing Dazai by the collar of his suit and dragging him away to get lost in the crowd of concerned people. You finally make it outside and you both collapse onto the soft grass just outside the venue. It's decorated with all kinds of flowers and fragrant rose bushes, it almost looks like you're at the garden of Versailles. You look over at Dazai, his nose bleeding all over the place, but he looks completely unbothered by it. As you reach over to touch the bridge of his nose, he grabs your wrist and holds it away gently. He waves a finger at you.

"No touchy, I've got it."

He does not, in fact, got it. He looks around until he plucks a rose petal and uses it to wipe his nostrils. You frown, getting all up in his space within an instant.

"What on earth are you doing, Osamu? Let me help, you goofball. Your nose is a mess thanks to that stunt you pulled."

You tear off a bit of fabric from your outfit and dab his skin tenderly, holding his head on your lap now. You can see some blood has trailed down his neck, staining the bandages there along with the collar of his crisp white dress shirt you picked out for him this morning. Dazai perks up, his voice slightly strained but full of lightheartedness.

"How does it feel to work with the agency's most tactical and covert operative? Eh?~"

You bite back a smile, and shake your head. You murmur.

"Feels like he's asking for a death wish a little more than usual."

Your lips soon become a thin line, realizing your statement hurts a little more in the context of the situation than it usually would. He notices your mood shift as his eyes flicker from your concerned eyes down to your lips and back up again. He knows it hurts you when he's like this, reckless and acting out on the impulses of his own plans. He wants to sit up and close the gap between you, kiss you until you drop down those brave walls you're putting up for the sake of the mission. For the sake of your feelings for him. He knows he's careless with it all.

He hums, eyes trained on you as if burning the image of your heavenly self into his mind, where you always deserve to be. In the distance, a bulky sketchy looking man runs out of the venue frantically, looking around wildly and you both get the impression it's the guy from the cellar earlier who kissed you in exchange for your freedom.

Shit! You could have sworn you knocked him out cold. Dazai sits up from your lap and you two scoot more into the bush, trying to hide from him as he makes a call. You mutter under your breath, turning to Dazai as you begin to type something out on your communicator.

"Now's the perfect time to let the others know we're ready for extraction."

He's already looking at you, or gazing admiringly more like. He knows he can fuck up everything, pay any consequence, but the thing he needs to get right for the selfishness of his wretched little heart is you. He scoots a bit closer, hearing the sounds of both your shallow breaths harmonizing. He mutters, softly.

"It would also be the perfect time for you to kiss my face better. You know, for my wellness and all that. Besides, that guy wasn't very nice to us earlier and we need to get rid of any traces of him from those lips. Yuck."

You roll your eyes yet again, despite the fluttering that won't let your stomach rest.

"Who cares about that, we have a case to close first."

He smirks, voice dropping low and provocative.

"I care."

He leans in even further, practically caging you with both arms on either side of you. He can feel your breathing become more erratic, his own filled with a pathetic sense of need he always has when he's with you. Dazai's hand reaches out and grabs your chin, turning it up slightly to face him, making sure you drop this silly act once and for all. His voice comes out gentle, firm.

"I need you to physically push me away, or I swear I'm going to kiss you right now, cutie."

Your eyes widen as you let a shaky breath escape your plush lips, murmuring in return.

"I'll.. punch you in the nose again, you know..."

His hand moves from your chin to the side of your face, cupping your cheek as he takes another breath, his body aching to be as close to yours as possible. His eyes are fixed on you, tearing you apart right then and there, but not before putting you back together so nicely. In that moment, he knows you don't mean that, and he knows he can't resist anymore.

He then whispers with a finality, the anticipation torturing him like you do on a daily basis.

"I don't think I'm going to listen to that..."

You break into a faint smile as you perceive him back.

"You've still got a little blood on your-"

Without another word, Dazai closes the remaining distance between you and him, kissing you with fervor as his soft whines reverberate against your lips. You taste sweetness and then... metallic as your lips mesh together for a heavenly moment. He feels alive, this was what he needed, the soothing balm for his soul and any other wound only you could provide. He's like a vampire, a parasite leeching off of your very essence so he could be himself around you. Cowardly burrowing into the safety of your heart. You squirm just a tad, your fingers carding through his brown hair as you try to keep up. He pulls back after his nose can't push more air through and keeps his lips hovering over yours, feeling the heat from your mouth mingle with his as he sees your lips stained red with his blood. Just as he's going to comment on how disgustingly erotic it is to see you like that, he pushes away the indecent thoughts, using the bandage on his wrist to wipe your mouth instead.

"Okay, I'll be good for now. You can call for extraction.~"

It was a dumb thing to do and could be seen as him being territorial or jealous, but the reality of it was that it was the natural order of things when it came to the way he processed his affections. Someone gets in between the two of you in any way?

An uglier and more dangerous past version of himself would have called for an immediate execution, there was a reason he held the titles that he did. He did his very best to keep that mentality at bay, rebuking it every time he felt a dark urge that he felt needed to be dealt with, mostly for your sake and for the sake of the promise he made to a friend once. Though he can't lie and say that's not who he is anymore, he can always find a better way to get his point across... even if a wishful bullet to the head comes out in the form of a kiss on your precious lips. He'll try for you. He'll wear the fastidious label proudly and be Dazai, a jealous man.

[mattslolita]

happy birthday to my favorite singer, my favorite person ever, the love of my life, melanie martinez 🩷🍒💐💘❤‍🩹

[mossmotif]

let them hear it (n.kento)

pushing away the angst i had in mind and prioritizing kissing nanami till he's on the verge of giggling while the two of you are outside in the snow.

What the two of you have is complicated; as complicated as something gets with someone as straightforward as Nanami Kento. 

You vaguely knew of each other because of work before you quit, and then you found yourself taking the same commute as him to get to your new building.The familiar face was a surprise; autumn was on the cusp of tipping over and you were looking over at a man already dawned in gloves and a suspiciously thick looking coat you swear you've seen hanging on the hooks of previous office walls. 

It’s what he’s wearing tonight, although it’s winter, so he’s also smothered in a wool scarf and stops to adjust his ear muffs every once in a while as the two of you walk. The action is somewhat unserious on its own; the idea of a man as serious looking as him so attentively dressed for the weather is already an easy thing to make you smile. But, you’re both a little more than tipsy. 

When Nanami stops for the third time to stop the thing from falling into his eyes, you burst out into laughter as he groans to mask his own slew of giggles. 

The reservation the two of you made this month was on the late side, so after too much wine and food, the streets are empty for the two of you to wander. These appointments have been something a little more than precious to you recently. You aren’t sure how it all started, but you and Nanami have both found ways to indulge in yourselves at least once a month without feeling too guilty about it for about a year now. Lately, it’s been something you look forward to more than anything else you have planned. 

This isn't the first time you found yourself testing your tolerance with Kento. You quickly noted how much of a heavy drinker he was once you found yourself slipping trying to keep up with him. Every month he’ll assure you there’s no need, but you’re rather adaptable yourself; and Nanami would never admit to liking a challenge. It might be wrongfully advantageous of you, but you liked the look of him loose like this. He lets himself lean on you a little more. 

It just helps that the sidewalks happen to be particularly icy tonight. 

“Hold it, hold—hold on,” he says breathlessly. There’s been the hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips since the two of you have left the restaurant doors. It’s so contagious that you’re sure your lips will be split and bleeding by the end of the night. 

He’s doubled over now, earmuffs on the brink of falling once more. You snort before stepping in front of him, bending down to clumsily bring them up his forehead. He looks up to you as you do, looking a little unlike himself. His cheeks are pink, eyes are wide and nearly starry, his lips are wet because he keeps licking them to fight off the cold. It takes everything in you not to ruffle up his hair even more than it already has been. It would be different, you think; it would be your own hands doing the carnage. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to try and fix it then. 

“What is it?” your breath comes out as fog in the air. A physical thing your sluggish brain finds beautiful when you watch it mingle with Nanami’s own breath. This close, you can spot tiny snowflakes melting into his lashes.

He hesitates, as if fighting himself for wanting to speak in the first place. There’s a strange expression on his face, too old and twisted to fit his features.

“My stomach feels like it’s about to burst,” he blurts, still clutching to his middle while hunched over. 

A silent beat passes before you explode into laughter loud enough to wake people, playfully slapping your hand on his shoulder. 

“How crude!” you exclaim, half scolding in your tone. “You’ve seriously got a foul mouth after a few drinks.”

“I would say that was more than a few,” he notes dazedly. 

You hum, trying to get him to match your pace once he straightens himself. His shoulders hunch up to his ears as he does, a slight shiver hidden in the sea of fabric he's practically being swallowed into. His chill, the same as his concealed smile, is infectious. Your body follows his, feeling every bit of the breeze that passes through your clothing. Crossing your arms over your chest, you try and steel off your body.

"Are you cold?" Nanami offers his arm for you to cling onto, giving you no time to answer him. 

The buzz radiating off your skin is silenced by the fabric he wears, squashed into his figure and sticking to him like scorching asphalt. You feel cemented this close to him, letting your arm fall and feeling him interlace your fingers while still keeping it close to his. His gloves keep you from feeling his skin. Your tease about him being the coldest between the two of you dies on your tongue. 

The two of you bump shoulders, a little too inebriated to be walking this close together. The surrounding snow swallows up all other sound, only leaving your heavy footsteps and gentle breathing to be heard. Nanami sighs. You feel the noise travel from the soles of your feet, tingling at the tips of your ears. 

“Comfortable?” you ask cheekily, feeling the pressing weight of him melding into your shoulder as time passes by. He hums in response, another vibration you can feel dancing on your skin.

“You’re warm,” he states, squeezing your hand firmly. Still painfully gloved. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of your own, the only trace of it being the small cloud that leaves your lips. It takes everything in you to not dig your fingers into his hand, until you reached the skin, until he could really feel you, until he would be able toleach all the warmth he wanted from your blood. You think he would do it gently. 

Nanami stops walking first once the entrance of his apartment comes into view. The steps up to the door are covered in snow and ice, they haven't been salted yet. You’re about to tell him to be careful while walking up the steps before you feel something foreign being placed on your head. They’re his earmuffs, unbelievably warm. They smell like the shampoo he uses. 

He keeps his hands on the covers, an extra blanket on top of your ears. The weight makes any noise around you sound like it’s been drowned underwater. The feeling is as steady as his stare, half lidded and a little heavy, but balanced. The falling snow seems to still, as stagnant as the stars above your head. The warmth on his skin matches the mellow light seeping from people’s windows. 

Your skin seers when his hand drifts to your cheek, dragging his thumb across your skin. 

His face looks wind beaten and cold, cherry red at the tips of his ears, his nose, and his cheeks. The flush must run all over him, down to his knuckles and elbows, up his chest and shoulders. You wish you could see. 

“You look like you’re freezing, Kento.” You lean into his touch unsubtly.

This proximity should maybe feel odd, but it’s hard to ignore all those secret moments the two of you share between meals, on commutes to work, on tipsy walks back home, now that you’re both facing each other. 

And he shivers when you use his first name, when you raise your hands to fix his scarf and let the tips of your fingers graze the exposed skin of his neck. The cold teases at those that are cloaked the most, clawing at anything it can find. 

“I’m fine,” he sniffles; soft and trailing and good natured. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you chuckle. He smiles at the noise. 

Something overtakes you, some kind of greed that can only be found in snow so pillowy that it wolfs down any noise, a force you can’t stop unless you step into it with your own shoes. There’s that crunch: where the only noise that life seems to need is your own. His. Yours. You’re both holding each other. The sound of his clothes are all you can hear. 

You hear his movement before seeing it, feel his cold lips on your cheek long after he’s pulled away from you. It’s innocent, modest—but his hands—they cup around your entire face, shifting across your neck. His gloves are still in the way, but you can’t muster any complaints when the feeling is so intoxicating. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks quietly. 

“The cold sobered me up,” you answer, voice thin with the slightest shock. “You?”

“Me too,” he replies. He’s hastily taking off his gloves and the action momentarily puts some distance between the two of you. 

“What—what are you doing?” you scoff confusedly. 

“I can’t feel you,” he explains simply, stuffing the gloves into the pocket of his coat. “I’d like to feel you.”

Laughter ebbs past your lips for the millionth time. The happiness you’ve felt today only feels real because your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all the strain. 

Kento has wrapped you in an embrace, easily picking you up from the ground by your waist. You gasp, smirking into his neck as you wrap your hands around him and try not to jostle the earmuffs too badly. 

You might never know a strength like his; his hands are gentle and firm. When you press a lingering kiss to the juncture of his jaw, one coasts across the curve of your ass before settling into the meat of your thigh. 

“Don’t be too quick just ‘cause you want to get out of the cold. The steps are icy.” You advise him while bombarding his face with light pecks similar to his first one, musing his hair and admiring the pliant looking smile on his face. It’s also the kind he holds when he’s holding back a laugh. 

He hums deeply. You feel it intensely this time, it echoes against your own chest. 

“I’m not being quick because of the weather,” he grumbles, barely hiding his urgency. 

His response has you looking down at him smugly, wishing you could take a picture just so he could see his own flushed face.

this post is the culprit !! everyone please point and laugh at it, it is so embarrassing how long i thought about it.

i hope yall dont mind being tagged, but @riaki @maeby-cursed @threadbaresweater are also enablers!!! wrote this with yall in mind hope u like it

[elderwisp]

GUYSGUYSGUYS-

[ghostbl00]

the silly little priest man 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰with ridiculous cross shaped gun🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[answer2jeff]

when it rolls in like thunder:

chapter 1.5 — anyone else but you.

DISCLAIMER: half chapters are much shorter and used as wholesome, or not ;), fillers for the series! they're essentially palate cleansers so you can be emotionally prepared for more angst + hurt/comfort in the full chapters. however, you won't need to read these half chapters to understand context in full ones.

husband!carmy x hispanic!wife!reader

teaser. chapter 1. next chapter.

warnings : reader occasionally speaks some Spanish that Carmen hasn't picked up on. he thinks it's endearing. nothing else really. just very fluffy and touching. just good ol' sappy carmen and his wife going out for the day before the honeymoon!

authors note : this series is not doing well and it's kinda killing me inside but that's okay! just for funzies. also, the end is mostly dialogue. got a little lazy. sorry!

word count : 3k (not as short as i thought it would be ngl..)

highly recommend listening to the series playlist.

song(s) for this chapter : anyone else but you, & everyone adores you (at least i do)

"14.56? You're kidding me!"

Your eyes scan over the rainbow assortment of fresh, boxed fruit, the overpriced strawberries immediately grasping your attention. But not necessarily in a good way. Neither you or Carmen can totally remember who's idea it was to walk to the farmers market in this dry heat. It's not like you don't enjoy long walks, but it comes with cons. Pollen irritates your nose and the wind always messes up your hair.

You tug at Carmen's shirt, which, for once, isn't a tight-fitting pure cotton tee. It almost looks a little big on him, the sleeves rolled and cuffed perfectly so they still hug his arms. It's collared too. That ring on his finger makes your knees weak. He smells like the cologne he used to snag from Mikey's bathroom as a teenager. Richie got him his own bottle for Christmas the year after his passing and he's been wearing a spray or two on his neck and the insides of his wrists every 'special occasion' ever since.

And a hint of cigarette smoke. But you like it.

You always have.

He looks good. Fresh. Clean. Yours.

"Wow. I mean—" Carmen lets out a breathy chuckle that isn't quite loud enough to be a laugh, "it's a massive box. And it's strawberry season: May."

Still, despite his persuasive tone and the big hand that sits in the back pocket of your jean shorts as he stands beside you, it's not enough to convince you it's reasonable.

"But—"

"And we're at a farmers market, like, 10 minutes away from our place. Convenience costs money, baby."

Carmen peers down at you, retracting his hand from your rear and teasingly pushing your head into his shoulder. You pout. You don't want him to be right. The dramatics are fun.

"Pero, que es eso? Quieren que yo pago casi quince dólares para unos pinche fresas?" You throw your hands up, directly pointing to the tempting, fresh, and beautifully red fruit.

Carmen only nods. Even after 2 years of accidentally eavesdropping on your conversations, filled with the Spanish slang and sometimes vulgar language you've been using your whole life, he still hasn't quite learned much. Most of the time, he's too anxious to ask you what you're saying. He worries it'll make you stop doing it in front of him.

Until he comes to Tina, desperately. She'll ask him for the details but he can only remember bits and pieces of your one-sided conversations with him. She laughs for a moment or makes her eyes go theatrically wide just to fuck with his head. But eventually, she tells him the truth.

You only know this because Tina immediately started cracking jokes after she spent 15 minutes crying over your engagement, and then another 25 over your official elopement. 'Sacaste con un puré, gringo, mi vida! He needs patience!' she'd say to you whenever Carmen did the most minuscule thing that not-so-accidentally set you off.

"Mi amor," you turn to him, pinching your fingers and widening your eyes to make sure he's really paying attention, even if he doesn't understand you, "podemos comprar la misma cosa en Walmart, or algo así!"

The look in his eyes suggests that he didn't catch most of that. The only words he picked up were "mi amor" and "Walmart," obviously. He just assumes you're continuing your pointless bicker. But he doesn't have the heart, or even the want, to stop you.

He does love the way your nicknames for him roll off of your tongue. It warms something in him. Almost as if he believes your words capture your feelings and fully encapsulates him better than boring English ever does. They're smooth and they stick to his brain hours, or even days after they're spoken to him. In fact, he's been pretending he didn't faintly hear you whisper into his curls as he drifted off to sleep 'te amo con todo mi alma' last night, all fucking morning. It's the only full sentence you've ever spoken to him that he's been able to engrave into his memory.

"Uh-huh," he chuckles as he nods his head slowly, his dimples cinching in near the corners of his mouth. His skin looks a little tanner and brighter than usual. The veins in his eyelids are nearly invisible now, and the little moles that are scattered around his face and body are so much darker now. You thank the spring, nearly reaching the tips of summer, sun for bringing some life back to him. But you're not done complaining. So, you try not to smile in awe of your husband.

"Ó sea, que, are they gonna make me grow a magical straw-baby?"

"What, like—like how people say you'll grow a watermelon in your stomach if you swallow a seed?"

"Yeah! Like that!"

"I don't know, peach. Maybe?"

"It's not worth finding out."

"Yeah. Definitely not."

Despite this, you guys buy the damn strawberries.

You continue walking through the market and stopping at every other intricate little selection of produce, picking up ingredients for tonight's, tomorrow's, and the next day's dinner. You're still snacking on the overpriced strawberries, the entire carton in hand. Carmen occasionally lets you pop one in his mouth. He contently bites right before the stem and swallows. They're perfectly ripe, sweet, and juicy. And unfortunately a tad bit sticky. In the end, they're worth the aggressive price tag.

Finally, you stop in your tracks at a flower stand. Bouquets tied together with white ribbonYou're immediately drawn to the vibrant red of the roses and the pure, angelic white of the mums. Oh god, and you're convinced the baby's breath tucked in neatly between each gap that couldn't be closed by blooming petals could remedy the need for plant life in your living room. The fantasy makes you feel like you just can't leave without taking some of these gorgeous flowers with you.

"Mm—" you point, your mouth full of mushy strawberries, "those look really nice."

For a moment, Carmen hesitates. Those flowers will shrivel. They will lose their once attractive and captivating saturation of color. He's not even sure if they'll last more than 72 hours, given how bloomed the petals are. But you still have those clay vases from your engagement party. And he still loves to make you happy. Despite their fleeting nature, your appreciation for his gestures will last forever. Even if their lifespan doesn't.

Carmen's had this tendency for longer than either of you can pinpoint. Having money he doesn't need, money he doesn't use, has led to him making some questionable decisions. All in good faith. But impractical nonetheless. Take, for example, that time he bought you a Cartier love bracelet for your 1 year anniversary.

Yes, you heard that right. Cartier. The gold and shiny flat bands that required the disassembling and unscrewing of 18 karat gold bolts with a miniature fucking screwdriver. Oh, and this was even after you and him agreed to 'no gifts,' as you were already planning a trip to Copenhagen. The reaction he received from you wasn't quite what he expected. Tears streaming down your face and the kiss on his cheek to compensate for the lack of a proper gift for him was not part of the thoroughly walked through plan he wrote in his head. But your happiness is his, in the purest and pathetic and shameless way. He realized this the moment he screwed that last bolt and secured the thin piece of gold against the circumference of your wrist.

It's around 4pm, and the glistening sun is just slightly past its highest peek. Bright transparent blue and green spoons made from hard plastic swirl around in the cheap, (and definitely not authentic) gelato you share. Outdoor seating wasn't the first option, now that spring was slowly evolving into another scorching hot Chicago summer, but the AC of the parlor was sure to give you hypothermia.

"Fuckin' hot out here. Can't see," Carmen mutters, taking a small bite of the creamy pistachio mixture. He squints at the blinding beam of the sunlight. You felt a little guilty for letting him sit right in the direction of the sun. But he insisted.

"Did y'know blue eyes are more sensitive to sunlight?" You raised your brows, wiping the corner of your mouth and licking the gelato residue from it.

"Seriously?" Carmen leans forward, putting his hand above his eyes as a makeshift visor. His hand reaches out to adjust the heart shaped sunglasses that started to fall off of your head.

"Here," you hand them to him, feeling bad that you'd completely forgotten about them.

"And yes, seriously," you nod, hovering over the table and adjusting the sunglasses so they'd rest perfectly on Carmen's nose before sitting back down, "It's because blue eyes have less melanosomes compared to green and brown eyes."

A simple, "thank you, baby," would've sufficed, but kisses your lips, gently cradling your jaw and barely letting a breath of air slip through the empty space between your mouths after the 3rd kiss. Alas, you remove your lips from his and sit back down.

"Is there, like—"

"An exact number?" You finished his sentence.

"Yeah."

"Yes, actually. Blue eyes have 3 in each, green eyes have 5, and brown eyes usually have around 9 to 12 depending on how deep the color is."

You smile, shrugging your shoulders as you try to remain humble. It's impressive, he has to admit. Carmen's always been fascinated by your knowledge of pointless information. He wishes he could store and retain so much of what you know. But for now, he'll just admire you for it. He'll contemplate his lack of ability to remember things like patterns and bullet pointed facts that didn't relate to culinary arts later.

"Huh," he crosses his arms against his chest, his button up shirt squeezing his flesh and showing his slightly faded tattoos "kinda makes sense."

Letting out a laugh or two, you take another disappointing bite of the fake gelato monstrosity. It's not that it doesn't taste decent, but the texture is off and the crystallized ice that formed around the sides is unappealing for the price. Carmen had doubts since the moment you dragged him in by the hand like a greedy kid spotting a candy store. But he didn't say anything. What's the point of using his knowledge and skills to crush making you happy? It wasn't necessary at the time.

But, much to his pleasure of being correct, but his dismay of your disappointment, you aren't the biggest fan of it in the end.

"This isn't great," you swallow, shaking your head and dropping the spoon back into the paper cup in defeat as the green and nutty mixture went down your throat for the last time.

"It's not real," Carmen joins you, just to end up dropping his spoon in the same unfulfilling manner, too. "Most gelato places aren't. Gelato's dense. Not fluffy."

You nod, pushing the cup to the side and interlocking your fingers into his. His calloused fingertips gently caress the back of your hand and go over every little vein and mole that shines through your soft and soothing skin. He's become pretty fond of the whole hand-holding thing. Especially with that pretty rock on your finger. It's delicate. You're delicate. You're his.

"You've been doing that since the day we met, y'know," you hold onto his hand tighter, smiling and snatching your sunglasses back from his face with one swift motion before he can protest.

"What? Explaining shit about food you don't care about?" Carmen chuckles, his teeth showing. Sometimes he was embarrassed of his info-dumping, but he's learned to not be so shameful of it. You find it interesting. He doesn't really notice that he does it anymore.

"Yeah. But it's cute. It's what made me wanna keep talking to you. You don't do it to make me feel stupid, or something. You just.."

You paused to think.

"You know a lot about what you do, Carm. You're passionate."

Ah. The day you met.

Around 3 years ago, you'd just moved to the bustling city of Chicago after writing and successfully selling a beautiful script to an indie short film, which ended up being undeserving of your work due to the poor execution of dialogue. It didn't even end up showing at the film festival you were practically forced to attend. Even after co-writing and directing film projects and not-so-popular cinematic pieces, you hadn't tasted the pleasure of success. You dreamed to write something all on your own and conjure up a moving script of the century. You figured moving to a brand new city would get the creative juices flowing. Eventually, it did, but it took a boring circle of friends and a couple sleepless nights before you were successfully back and thriving in the industry.

You decided celebrating with an appletini or two at a shitty Karaoke bar down the block from your apartment was the best option. And thank god you did.

Carmen caught your eye the moment you detached yourself from your social circle to smoke a cigarette or two outback in the alleyway to melt the anxiety that started to consume you once you got a little tipsy for the first time in months. The tattoo on his hand and the way he crouched down on the asphalt beside Richie who complained endlessly about the complexities of his divorce was intriguing.

You butted into their conversation and lit a cigarette of your own, politely greeting them. Richie didn't say much. It's like he knew it would be Carmen's opportunity to function like a normal person and have a pleasant conversation with a random bar girl in black pantyhose and combat boots. The two of you discussed moving back to Chicago, discovering that Carmen actually grew up there and started a new life of culinary exploration and expertise, while you just needed a sense of control and escapism.

After the conversation had reduced to mundane small talk, visibly making both of you tense up, you finally got his name: Carmen Berzatto. His use of his full name was a little displacing. It made you wonder if you should've known who he was, considering his surprisingly humble background check. You couldn't help but want to know if there was more to him than his career. More than his cigarettes and his tattoos and his weird love-hate relationship with his family friend he called 'cousin' for no real particular reason.

More than the restaurant he'd been trying to revive.

That night caused him to come to the realization that he didn't actually know if there was more to him. Ever since that conversation and its rude interruption of Richie's right hook into some random guys face landing him in a cell overnight, he's been forming into a real person instead of the outer shell that is his job as a chef. He asked about your films, your projects, what made you start working in cinematography, and who your inspirations were. You answered completely honestly and wholeheartedly with every question, never making him feel a burden for his curiosity.

You could tell he was nervous with the way his voice shook and his breath went uneven with every look.

"I was kinda scared to talk to you when you came up to me," Carmen smiles, running his free hand through his dry and defined blonde curls. You squinted in disbelief.

"What? Me?"

"Yeah. I don't know, I–" he shrugs, leaning forward to get even closer to your again "you were cool right off the bat. You still are. Possibly a lot cooler than me."

You roll your eyes playfully, refusing to take the compliment in a fit of flattery. Constantly being humble around Carmen was kinda hard. Especially with the way he unintentionally showered you with compliments that were really just state of facts to him. But he didn't want you to be humble. He wanted you to own that shit.

"And you're beautiful. So, so beautiful. I think that scared me a little, too."

"I think I might've been more nervous than you were. I was just so determined to talk to the hot guy with tattoos and a blue apron over a slutty white t-shirt that I tried desperately to hide it," you joked, laughing harder at the sight of an eyeroll of his own.

"Yeah, well, look at us now. Married," Carmen smiles, gently pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and exposing your decorated lobe with earrings Natalie gifted you for your birthday last year. "I'm glad you stuck it out. You always do. All the time."

Carmen gushes over your ability to 'always know what to say,' when you know deep down your life is just a constant cycle of 'figuring it out' and 'going with the flow' of inevitable highs and lows of life as you go on. Your brilliance is so organic. Everything about you has always been the purest form of excellence and love to him. Even when he barely knew you.

"Can I ask you a really stupid question?" You bite at the inside of your cheek, your hand releasing from Carmen's so you could clasp your palms together in a pleading motion.

"Sure."

You pause, swallowing the familiar lump that hasn't formed in your throat since the first time you told him you wanted every part of him in your life.

"When..." you breathe in sharply through your nose, "did you realize, 'oh yeah, I need to spend the rest of my life with her.' Was there any specific moment?"

Almost without a second thought, Carmen answers with a blush against his cheeks and his hand grasping yours again at the loss of physical contact.

"Probably the first time we kissed."

That response surprises you more than it probably should. That night in your apartment changed his course and perspective on love and life for the rest of eternity. He learned to slow down and let himself fail and pick the pieces of his mistakes back up.

"I love you, Carmy."

"I love you."

He says it back hungrily like he needs it to be branded into the ridges of your mind. And at this rate, it might've already been stamped into your memories of him.

current taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @fallinallinmendes @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

[fraternum-momentum]

SO UM I JOINED THIS LIKE WEBSITE BC I WANTED FUCK AROUND (NOT LITERALLY) AND I WAS CURIOUS BUT ITS BASICALLY KINKY TINDER AND THERE ACTUAL PEOPLE MESSAGING ME AND IM SHAKING IM ACTUALLY TERRIFIED IM SO SCARED I ONLY HAVE A PICTURE OF A CAT AND ITS NOT EVEN MINE