Aug 12, 2023
PLEASE I REALLY WANT TO KISS MAFIA PEPPERMAN
HE IS SO HOT
AND BEAUTIFUL
I HAVE NO WORDS AAAAAA
Hmm~
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Taiwan
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
PLEASE I REALLY WANT TO KISS MAFIA PEPPERMAN
HE IS SO HOT
AND BEAUTIFUL
I HAVE NO WORDS AAAAAA
Hmm~
Colors of Obstinacy
You're supposed to meet your boyfriend in the nearby city. Which you hate visiting, mind you. Unfortunately you end up waiting too long and you have to search for him. When you find him you're less than pleased.
Maybe romantic or platonic fluff fic where reader gets scared of the loud noises of thunderstorms outside and pepperman noticed them and tries to comfort them? and maybe cuddle a bit and reader feels calmer now? :,,o (Can reader be a gn human if thats ok!)
“Beautiful!” Pepperman cries as another bolt of lightning turns the rumbling grey sky purple. He paints frantically, before the image starts to blur within his mind. Then he waits for another bolt. “Wouldn’t you say?”
He turns, but you’re not behind him, watching the rain anymore. You’ve backed away into the shadows, posed tense like a cat about to strike. Your cautious reluctance to emerge from the darkness is beautiful, a painting in its own right. But Pepperman shakes the thought for another time.
"Are you alright?" He calls to you.
"It's loud." You reply, glancing down to your feet. "And. . . a little frightening."
Another crack of thunder. Pepperman jumps with you this time, and sympathy tugs at his heart.
"Ah," he sighs, walking over to you, "I see what you mean." When close enough, he offers you his arms, and you readily step into them. The pair of you gaze back towards the sky, pressing close with every roll of deep thunder. "Not to worry, my dear muse. I will protect you for all manner of harm!"
The dramatic pose he strikes makes you giggle. You lean further into him, sighing. The next thunderclap isn't as scary.
"I must paint you." Pepperman exclaims suddenly. His previous work is abandoned in favor of dragging you inside to another of his easels and canvases. "Why, I must capture the vulnerability we share!"
You laugh more, but happily follow along. Whatever gets you away from the lightning and thunder.
Some Pepperman x Y/N art for the Pizza Tower fandom
Раз уж все набросились обниматься, то можно пожалуйста обняться с Пеппермэном? Он мой любимчик 😫
Пеппер пупсик
Colors of Familiarity
Summary: You're waiting for your boyfriend. Unfortunately some loser takes it upon themselves to flirt with you in the meantime.
Contains: Being UNfashionbly late, Bad pickup lines, Repeated use of cosmetics.
Another Pepperman x Reader fic
Inspired by my friend @pervertedindividual and this silly doodle :3
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
Colors of Expression
Inspired by this little comic by @pervertedindividual
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
💜While I usually don't write for other PizzaTower characters, this was fun to do a short fic on. Apologies if there's any errors, there was no drafts or planning as I wrote this 💜
Pepperman x Reader
Contains: Enemies to lovers (kinda?), Questionable art, Bullying an anthropomorphic pepper, kinda crack-ish/crack fic.
You stared out from the window, concentrating. Rain was still gently falling. You watched as the water in some spots cascaded from the awnings below. It had been raining on and off like this for almost two hours now, not that you were complaining, and didn't show signs of stopping. Your head dipped down again and in a fluid motion a pencil scraped across paper.
Music from the studio played overhead, light notes from the piano added a cliche but relaxing atmosphere while you worked. Your pencil flicked across a few select areas, following the contour of the other lines.
Humming in approval, you raise your arms and stretch, deciding you might as well stand up. As you sigh contently you feel the pressure from your back ease up. Maybe you'll go downstairs and treat yourself to a nice coffee. Or maybe you'll try a tea today.
You pause. Should you take a break now? It's not like anyone else was here in the room. While you didn't mind others in the studio (it was a public space, anyways) you did enjoy the feeling of having the entire place to yourself.
You cast another glance down at your piece. With the groundwork mostly done, you can finally begin the "point of no return" as you dubbed it. Once you begun adding colors you wouldn't be able to erase them.
You shrug, you'll paint a little bit before you go downstairs. Every drop of paint and color had to be carefully calculated. One placement gone wrong and it'd be difficult to correct it, if it even could be.
* * * *
You wince, feeling a streak of paint fall onto your pant leg. At least you weren't wearing your nice clothes today. You jump at the voice that was suddenly beside you.
"Oh my, not only is that a poor rendition of a Chinese brush painting, those colors weren't even used then".
You glance to the side, looking at the giant pepper that was standing nearby. What.
"This style of painting is a tragic amalgam of a brush painting and what ever this style is you're also using. Might I suggest-
"I'll have you know that art is a form of personal expression!" You snap, rising to your feet. How rude.
"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's not art!"
You take a step closer. Throwing a hand up. "Someone taped a banana to a wall and as ridiculous as I think that is, that's still art!
You pause. I think. That counts right?
"Hell I put a cup of coffee on the floor in an art gallery to take a closer picture and when I got back, people were standing over it taking pictures of my coffee. It wasn't even part of the gallery! People are just weird! But they seen that as art"!
The pepper seeming to shrink as you inch closer. Literally.
"Art is a personal expression so if I want to paint with purple and paint an aurora sky with a cherry blossom tree, on a damn mountain, you can sit down and shut up"! You stare down at the Pepper, small and only coming up to your hips in height.
"So you better respect my art you pompous jerk"!
With that you spin back around and lift your canvas. With a sharp click you folded up your tools and began marching towards the door. You'll just have your coffee now.
Pepperman stood motionless, flinching as the door slammed shut. Staring vacantly at the space, he felt a sudden heat rush to his face.
Why was that hot?
* * * *
Days later you returned to the studio. As you swing the door open you groan.
Not this pepper bitch again you curse. Whatever. You were here to paint, so you were going to paint. If he wanted to try you today you were going to demand to see what he dubs "real art".
You shoot a sideways glance at him before your attention falls onto his painting, and the one set on the counter nearby. You snort, "Dude you're painting yourself"?
He turns to you, giving you a questioning look. "And, pray tell, what is the problem"?
You move to hover over his shoulder as you get a better look at his current illustration.
"You trash talk my art but your art is just drawings of yourself"!
"I have illustrated myself in dozens of styles. Cubism, Fauvism, Nouveau, Neocla- Why are you laughing?" the Pepper snaps.
You had doubled over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you laughed. Of course. Of course this pompous ass pepper would only draw himself. You notice his name signed in the corner.
You heard it here folks, your art pales in comparison to the pinnacle of true art. Behold, Phil Pepperman. Historians shall one day sing praises of enlightenment as Pepperman bestows his talent those in this mortal coil.
His art wasn't bad though, you'd admit. You wave him off before regaining your composure. Instead you suck in a breath and simply grin. "Sorry. Just expected someone that was so high and mighty about how bad my art was to not just draw themselves".
"I did not say your art was bad! I simply called it a tragic amalgam." he retorts.
You roll your eyes in response. Instead you set your canvas and tools up.
* * * *
You were seated across from Pepperman, two large canvases separating you both. Weeks had went by and you had grown accustomed to your interactions. While you both would make sarcastic remarks and shoot back insults to each other, there was an edge of playfulness to it now.
Though you'd swear Pepperman would insult you on occasion just to watch your expression turn indignant. You recall the incident last week.
You had shown Pepperman your finished painting, this time a lake with mountains. He eyed the piece quietly before looking up at you, in a deadpan voice "My dear, your trees look like broccoli".
He laughed as you made a face before demanding to see how great his art was in comparison.
After shuffling around a few papers, he showed you the newest drawing of himself.
"Why did you draw yourself as an apple"? You asked.
Huh. Now that you thought about it, he kept being more secretive with what he had been working on for the last two weeks. Any time you would get up to stretch Pepperman eyed you carefully. If you were to walk past, he'd scramble to hide or put another drawing over it.
As you stood up, you decided to test that theory. Sure enough, the moment you began to walk past, Pepperman started to cover something up.
"Man, what ever your drawing must be hideous if you're not showing it off." you comment, studying his expression. Oddly enough, no wise crack comes from his mouth. Confirming your suspicion, you go to sit back down.
Minutes pass by before you decide to poke your head out to the side.
"So uh...what ARE you drawing anyways?" you ask.
Silence.
"The most beautiful piece I've done yet". Pepperman finally speaks up. He tilts off to the side to meet your gaze. You scoff. "A tad narcissistic don't ya think"?
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Would you mind offering your critique"?
"The great 'Phil Pepperman' is asking for the opinion of Y/N? My, I didn't know you'd trust a mere peasant with such a task!" You chuckle as you make your way around to his side of the work station.
As your eyes fixed on the painting he had been working on, the laugher died in your throat. No sound came from you as your mouth simply hung open.
"How hideous is it, that even the sharp tongued Y/N has been rendered silent". he said, although it lacked the usual edge you were familiar with.
"Nnn..?"
The illustration was of you. The colors and shading were vibrant, as if the sun was reflecting off you. You had your eyes half closed in contentment. As you looked farther down at the painting of you, one hand had a cup of what looked like tea while the other had a pencil. In the painting it looked like you were sitting outside, the sky behind containing various hues.
It was beautiful.
"I..."
Pepperman leaned in slightly, tentatively. As if what you were about to say would physically sting.
"It's beautiful".
Colors of Chance
Pepperman x Reader
(Inspired by another lovely comic by @pervertedindividual this is for you, fren🫂💜)
Comic by them:
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
Takes place after Y/N's first meeting with Pepperman from Colors of Expression but diverges from that fic completely after that! You don't need to read that fic for this one!
Contains: The anthropomorphic pepper makes fun of you. Again. A very tiny amount of angst. Fluff ending.
"Oh! It's that Y/N girl again." How fortunate that Pepperman had the chance to see you again. It had been weeks since he seen you last at the studio. He cringed inwardly as he recalled your (deserved) tirade at him. You had come into the studio one other time since that day. What happened instead was that you had opened the door, locked eyes with his, and simply turned around and left.
"Hmm." You click your tongue, startled at the sudden voice nearby.
"Hello there".
"Oh. It's you." You scoff and wipe your hand with a dry rag. "Don't worry I'll be taking my ugly art elsewhere".
"No need I want you to stay." Pepperman stepped towards you and pat you on the shoulder. He wants me to...stay? You give him a silent look to continue as your heart fluttered just a tiny bit.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot last time so how about we start over on good terms"?
You pause for a moment, before giving him a small smile. "Okay".
"Splendid!" He replies, giving you a smile of his own. "So what are you creating?" He asked, glancing over your shoulder at your latest work.
"Well, I'm doing a finger painting of this-" he stifled a laugh. "Wha-Hey! What's so funny?! You snap, feeling heat rise at the back of your neck.
"Finger painting on a big canvas? Quite bohemian don't you think?" He lets out a laugh.
You snort. "So?"
"Wouldn't it be better and more efficient to use brushes instead"?
What a jerk. you felt your eye twitch. So much for getting off on the wrong foot. At some point you tuned out his voice as he continued mocking your art. Your nostrils flared.
"To be honest I think it's cute-"
An exasperated yell torn from your throat, drowning out what ever other critique this overgrown vegetable was spewing. Pepperman's mouth dropped taken aback by the shift in your demeanor.
"Must you judge everything! Where do you get off from criticizing others, huh"?! You snarl.
"I-"
"No! Forget it! This was a mistake." You felt a burning prickle in the corner of your eyes and spun around before tears threatened to spill over.
"And to think I looked up to you." You choked out, barely audible to even yourself.
* * * * *
As you grumbled to yourself as you sunk into the couch. Meeting your idols is a mistake. You huff and cross your arms, glaring into the empty space.
Many months ago there had been a local art convention that caught your attention. You remembered reading the article and the hosted events and grew curious. You had never been to something like this and on a whim decided to make that your plan for the week.
There had been a variety of talents that day. Light and airy melodies echoed throughout the hallways as you took in the drawings around you. Some were vivid hues, some all done in black in white. More still were all of the different styles, all as unique as the artists.
As the day progressed you claimed a seat in the auditorium. You settled yourself in the middle of the row, not too close and not too far away from the podium and waited. That's when you had met him.
You couldn't remember much, if anything, about the other speakers that had come and gone. The individual that stuck out to you that day was a massive pepper that had taken the podium. He had introduced himself as Phil Pepperman and you very clearly recalled how eloquent he spoke. Even his euphemisms were almost poetic as he discussed his art and what he was passionate about.
From what you had learned was that he was rising in fame in your town. He was very strict in his art techniques, refusing to diverge and add any elements not matching what ever style he was emulating.
While you disagreed with the notion of never adding your own twist to your art, you had respect Pepperman for it. His strict adherence to each style was something you could admire. As he displayed some of his illustrations on the projector - side by side with other works in those specific styles - you almost couldn't tell the creators apart.
That was his talent and Pepperman almost had it down to a science. He could mimic most styles he studied and depict what ever he had wanted in it. The downside, however, was that unconventional methods were something he looked down on.
A small scowl formed on your face as you took another sip of your drink. That didn't give him an excuse to be such an asshole though.
Truth be told, you had begun looking up art Pepperman had created and sometimes you'd see his creations on display at festivals. His art was always something you could recognize but maybe that had more to do with the fact he drew himself in various styles. A lot.
Pompous jerk. He only- you jolt up with a start, the sudden screaming from your phone almost causing you to drop it.
"Hello"?
"Hi is this Y/N?" The caller asked.
"Uh, yes"?
"Hi Y/N It's Dave from the studio. I was cleaning out the racks today and noticed you left one of your paintings here. Did you want to collect it or should we throw it out"?
"O-oh," "Thank you, I didn't know I left something there. I'll come get it tomorrow".
You exchange a few more pleasantries before coming up with the excuse that you needed to go.
* * * * *
You arrive at the studio and weave through the random people to make your way to the wall. Most times you didn't mind lingering and making small talk but you weren't in the mood today. There were paintings, clay, and brushes were set to dry or to return to another day.
As you locate your name labelled above one of the slots, you the pull out the canvas and your eyes widen. It was the painting you had been working on last week that you abandoned. A few places had smeared paint, another few had grass and dirt clung and dried into it. That aside though, it was intact. But why was it here?
You quirk a brow as you see a bright green paper folded and taped to the side. The note comes off easily enough and you pull it open.
Y/N if able, could you meet me at the rooftop of Tirizia's this Sunday?
~PP
You let out a huff as you eyes lock onto the all too familiar signature.
Seriously? Why? What did he want? Wasn't Tirizia's that restaurant with the fancy rooftop garden?
* * * * *
It was.
Ivy grew along the stone walls with an occasional pop of color from a flower. As you looked further inside, a large stone and marble structure was in the center of the restaurant. Glass from overhead had filtered light directly onto it as water tumbled down from the peak. From the base there was a small pond surrounded by tables where you could sit and feel the light mist.
Your eyes settled on the stairwell in the distant corner. A trail of flowers lined the railing all the way up and at the top you could see a faint arch illuminated softly. Very briefly you argued with yourself if you should just turn and walk out. Why did you want to meet Pepperman, anyway? He turned out to be insufferable and hated your art. Yet he went out of his way to take your painting to the studio.
Despite wanting to leave, you found your legs carrying you up each step to the rooftop.
"Ah, there you are Y/N." You glance to the side and see Pepperman sitting at a table with a canvas in front of him. There was an empty space beside him with an equally blank canvas, unoccupied.
You eye Pepperman suspiciously as he gestures for you to sit next to him. You shake your head and only take a few steps towards him. This probably wouldn't take long, the minute he started to say anything critiquing you, you were leaving.
"Thank you for saving my terrible painting and taking it to the studio, but you didn't have to".
Pepperman gives you a small frown, "Why do you think it's terrible"?
Your stare at him in disbelief. "Well let's see. The first time you seen my art, you called it a "tragic amalgam" and THEN last week you made fun of me for finger painting on a large canvas. Like who does that? Why do you think..."
"Y/N".
You can't even hear him, instead you continue your rant. "I mean seriously, just because its 'bohemian' at least I CAN add my-"
"Y/N"! Pepperman shouts over you, losing his composure for a moment.
You stop and purse your lips, a scowl flashing across your face. Why did you think you should try talking with Pepperman a THIRD time? You should've left like you were going to. Instead you flinch as he strode over to you and clasps a hand on your shoulder.
He looks away, lowering his eyes to the restaurant below. "I said your art was cute".
"Wha-"?
"I think your finger painting was cute. It was unorthodox and yet you were quite content. Despite the huge mess." He chuckled to himself.
"I...huh"? You couldn't but remain rooted in place. Pepperman actually...thought your art was cute?
"So why didn't you just say that instead of making fun of me?" You glared but your eyes shone with a mix of curiosity.
"Because it's unorthodox. You're an eccentric one, Y/N. I can't make sense of your methods or techniques." His eyes returned your gaze, "You don't follow any rules to what you create, you simply do what you like. It's both whimsical and confusing for one who always follows guidelines and tradition".
As Pepperman finished speaking silence spread between you both. You remained speechless as you tried to process what he had said, only the echo of water and voices from below were heard.
After what felt like minutes Pepperman slowly returned to his seat, as he sat down he looked back at you expectantly.
You clicked your tongue and sat in front of the other canvas. The objects in front of you weren't food, you realized, it was assorted paints.
Pepperman gives you a nervous smile, "I was hoping you would allow me the honor of finger painting with you..."
You crack a wide smile, "With no brushes".
"With no brushes." He repeats and nods, "On a large canvas overlooking this splendid balcony".
You shift and get comfortable in the chair and look over the colors you had. A small groan is heard and you cast a sideways glance at Pepperman. You stifle a laugh as he tentatively picks up a container of bright blue paint. He looked uncomfortable, as he dipped a finger into the thick mixture, but that was a small price to pay as you let out a laugh.