#italian approval gestures

[absinthefog]

massive vice city shitpost merry xmas eve

[kply-industries]

[yumigguk]

HERETIC| jjk & kth (teaser)

pairing: jeon jungguk x reader; kim taehyung x reader

genre: angst, mature themes

warnings: vulgar language

category: teaser

summary: 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.

In the hushed atmosphere, '80s Italian music provides a soundtrack. Your hands carry the faint scent of a condom, the night of “love” imprinted in memory. A night full of tears, moans, and Jungkook's blind promises.

On your lips, there's a taste of early memories about him and you and conversations too profound for this passionate domain. The game feels too taboo. Alongside the Italian music, the violent voices of your friends resonate. You try to focus on what your friends are saying, but your mind jumps to him. You breathe heavily, struggling to remind yourself of him. It’s a monotonous time. It's cold. And you can't understand how the world around you isn't suffocating. He’s not in front of you, but you feel the tension between you two.

Jungkook is a fallen angel. Proud. Unsharing. But wanting to be shared. He's cruel. Merciless. He shatters you completely, and in the end, he smiles. He disrespects you. And you, pathetic, take everything eagerly. He's the god on a pedestal. Only his pleasure matters. You sell yourself until he no longer wants you. Jungkook or the Antichrist.

You light a cigarette and remember the late August night spent together. Undressed. Nude. A glass of wine in his hand. The thick smoke stuck to the ceiling. The rain had started. Strong. Even though it rained, it was suffocatingly hot. The ash fell nonchalantly on the floor, what if the rented Airbnb were to burn?. Or maybe he didn't even realize. A typical apartment furnished for the type of woman you were: a mistress. Are mistresses allowed to fall in love?

"Wouldn't you like us to be stuck in this moment forever?" One of his selfish questions.

"No, it's too hot," you reply shortly and harshly, knowing you're lying. Jungkook wanted to know any weakness.

You and Jungkook started everything as a game. You felt from the first moment that the tender gestures would be fatal to you. That they were part of his fucked-up game to collect yet another soul to destroy. Who are you to deny it? Jungkook was fierce, merciless, and aware of the power he had over you. He fooled you with sweet words and beautiful promises, maybe even unforgettable moments. Which meant nothing to him.

The relationship between you and him was vague. It never had coordinates. Lovers? Nothing to him? All you know is that he stole something from you. Consciousness. You don't realize time and space, but one thing is certain: he's married.

"Y/N?" your friend Bora calls out desperately for your approval. You sense she wants to leave home because she's already packing up.

The rain dissolves you, merging with the streets of Seoul, as if nothing animates you anymore. Would you wish for nostalgia to dissipate with a cigarette, merging seamlessly with the revived state? Yes. That’s how he deals with this. He smokes and doesn't let himself be animated by your feelings or anyone else's. He wants you. Tacitly. Without ever telling you. He wants you ruthlessly, mercilessly, as if his marriage meant nothing. Maybe it doesn't mean anything when you're together.

Arriving home, you reach for the phone and dial. Once again, you plunge into the void. You made a pact with the Antichrist, a decision impelled by your own fragrance that suffocated you, reminding you of him. You find yourself in decline: A notorious film, bitter passions of love.

"Hey–"

"I'm coming over," that's what he says and hangs up.

Droplets of repetitive water. The ticking of the clock. You hear the entrance door, and your breath catches. Wet. Hungry. Desiring. Fire. It sets your body ablaze. Thirsty glances. You relish his nocturnal version, the one whispering for you to stop, both knowing he wants you more. You capture his lips gently; his tongue sharing the taste of tobacco. Impatiently, a little time passed, and he confesses that you've induced an erection (a noteworthy detail). You can't deny the chemistry. Boiling with anticipation, today his twisted pleasures give you a hard time.

"I'm sorry I fucked her." You break from the deadly kiss and lose yourself in emptiness. You don't want to look at him for fear that the passions of love would kill you.

You swallow hard. Heart as small as a flea. Short and chaotic breaths. Why is he apologizing? Your nose tickles, and your eyes try not to let tears escape. Suddenly, you understand nothing.

You've never understood anything. You've never understood who he truly is. Maybe he doesn't even know. Amnesias and confusions. The nullity of your own words.

"Wouldn't you like us to be stuck in this moment forever?" You laugh bitterly.

[yoisami]

tags. nanami kento x gn!reader, fluff, 0.6k wc, the nanami brainrot is so real, mentions of food (tiramisu), established relationship, reader is bad at baking lmfao, not proofread, nanami i miss you :(

“i think the tiramisu’s good to eat now.”

nanami’s gaze travels to where you are in the apartment—you’re rinsing dinner plates and bowls under a running faucet, with sleeves rolled up to your elbows and yellow rubber gloves that reached the middle of your forearm. it’s wednesday, and today, you’re on dishwashing duty.

“how many hours has it been?” closing his laptop gently, nanami rises from his chair as he walks over to your side of the kitchen. your head twists to read the analogue clock that is hung on the other side of the room before you make your estimate.

“probably seven? i put it in the fridge at two,” you hum, clearing the sink of any bubbles. nanami nods his head at you as he opens the fridge, but instead of taking the tiramisu out like you assumed he would, his head inclines slightly to the side, staring inside the refrigerator for a good minute before taking the dessert out. your brows furrow at his reaction.

“what?” you ask—no, you demand. the tone of your voice shifts the mood the ambience in the kitchen, and you sound oddly defensive—as if you’re trying to justify your wrongdoing, or more like, you know that your tiramisu failed to mimic the one in the online recipe.

“why does it look so...” nanami pauses, scrambling to find a word to describe the tiramisu that would save him from your indignant glare. “...unique?”

“kento, you know that the word ‘unique’ does not have a positive connotation to it,” you huff, tossing the gloves to the side as you wash your hands. “do you think it’s that ugly?”

perhaps the most fitting word for your tiramisu is wonky. ideally, according to the photo of the tiramisu in the recipe, the dessert should resemble the flatness of concrete pavement—yours is more like the paths you’d encounter on a mountain hike.

“it’s not ugly. just... unattractive,” he admits. however, he looks at you with such a comforting smile that it almost alleviates the weight of his honesty. you sigh.

“doesn’t that basically mean the same thing?”

“not necessarily. but it looks like it’ll taste good.”

“it better,” you mumbled, watching him insert a spoon into the dessert. what nanami has on his spoon could be described as a preview of what your attempt at the italian dessert would taste like—it’s a thin cut taken from the edge of the glass container, and he nearly looks hesitant to put the dessert into his mouth.

you punch his arm—he obviously doesn’t budge.

“good,” nanami mutters, nodding his head in approval. there’s a subtle look of relief on his face, because if the tiramisu had tasted differently, he knew that there would be a temporary frown on your lips, and it’d refuse to leave until he kisses you breathless.

“really?” your husband nods again as he scoops more of the dessert, gesturing you to open your mouth. your lips part, and you accept his spoon. the tiramisu doesn’t taste bad—in fact, you think it’s really good.

“this was a good recipe,” nanami smiles, feeding you some more as he watches your lips curve upward at the sweet taste. “save it, then you can make it again.”

“i will. help me make it next time—i feel like you’d be able to make it look prettier.”

“maybe,” he shrugs his shoulders, closing the space between the two of you with a gentle peck on your lips. “but it’s perfectly fine like this too.”

the liebestraum playing in the background becomes nothing but a tune that your thoughts are swaying to, and with nanami enclosing distance between you and him again, you reckon the tiramisu tastes better on his lips.

© yoisami 2023. plagiarism, translation and distribution of my works outside of tumblr is not permitted.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Grok

Stephen King: submitted for the approval of the midnight- Elon Musk: [rising from bushes] eyyyy stephano king! King: elon, please stop Musk: you anna me, we besta friends eh stephano king? King: elon, for the love of god

Musk: whattsa matta you, stephano king? Musk: you no thinka we friends? King: no Musk: oh no? we see-a about dat! Musk: grok, what you thinka abouta da stephen king? King: elon what are you doing Grok: boy! that stephen king! what can i say about him?

Grok: that stephen king! wow! yikes! Grok: he should spend less time writing Grok: and more time hanging out with his best friend elon musk Musk: ey? you see? we da best friends! Musk: da grok, he say so! Musk: an da grok, he a good boy and dontcha you lie!

King: what the King: elon, did you invent an AI just to tell everyone that we're friends? Musk: Musk: no uh Musk: it also saya slurs

Clive Barker: what's up steve? hanging with your pal elon? King: he's not my pal! King: you've got misinformation from his doggone AI! Barker: no i'm not misinformed King: yes! now you think i'm elon's friend cuz of grok Barker: no i don't King: then why? Barker: i'm deliberately lying to annoy you Koontz: gosh steve are you really friends with iron man? King: NO

[later] Elon Musk: eyyy stephano king, we-a besta friends no? Stephen King: why am i tied to this bed Musk: eyy there was-a snow storm! Musk: i rescue you! Musk: i-ma you number one fan, stephano king! King:

King: do you have a phone around here? tabitha's got to be worried sick Musk: mama mia!! you a dirty birdy, stephano king! Musk: [obscene italian gesture] you a dirty birdy paisano!!

Musk: i no needa you no more stephano king Musk: i gotta da AI, it tella me what i wanna hear Grok: wow! stephen king! wow! oof! wow! Musk: friendship witha stephano king ended! King: we were never friends! Musk: grok issa my new best friend! King: we were never friends!!!

[hecatemoon87]

This story will eventually involve smut. Minors DNI.

Chapter 1

It didn't take Johnny long to notice the gorgeous dark-haired woman coming and going from the bar where he and his biker club haunted. He was acquainted with the majority of the bar's patrons, but she was new and most importantly, different.

She was classy, elegant even. The women that frequented the bar were sexy and tough. And Johnny was very fond of them. But he suddenly found himself craving for something more...delicate.

The woman was slender and was always well dressed. Today, she wore a form fitting light blue office style dress with high heels. Her hips swayed lightly as she walked from behind the bar and toward the exit. As she slipped out the door, Johnny got up and followed.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon as he reached the parking lot. He scanned the cars and bikes, but did not see the woman. Until he heard a silvery, but even toned voice from behind him.

"Looking for someone?" she said, leaning against the outside wall facing the parking lot. He turned around and nodded. "Yeah, I was. And I think I found her."

He casually approached her, keeping a respectful distance and hooking his thumbs into his front pockets. The woman arched an eyebrow. He could tell she was slightly apprehensive of him.

"I'm Johnny," he said.

"I know," she replied.

"That so? And, uh, what's a classy dame like you doing around a joint like this?" he asked.

"Well, this joint is owned by my uncle. I don't think it's that bad," she said.

"You're Big Sal's niece? I mean no offense to Sal, but ain't no way a pretty thing like you is related to him," Johnny said, chuckling.

She shrugged, "Well, we are related."

"You said you know who I am?" he asked. Johnny was pretty sure everyone within a two hundred mile radius knew who he was. But he just wanted to know what she thought.

"Yes, you're Johnny, the leader of the Vandals," she said, her gaze dropping away from his. That little gesture indicated to Johnny that she was shy and it made his heart flutter all the more.

"Now, here you know my name and I don't know yours. I'm at a disadvantage don't you think?" he said, softly.

He slow closed the space between them and raised his right arm, resting the palm of his hand against the brick wall. He still allowed adequate space between them as to not spook her.

She glanced up again, her eyes were the color of deep honey, illuminated by the dying light of the day. Johnny swallowed hard, he definitely wanted to get to know her more.

She seemed hesitant in giving him her name, but finally said, "Amelia."

"Amelia," he said in his deep, husky voice. "That's a lovely name. So, Amelia, you're just visiting your ol' uncle Sal?"

"I'm assisting him with some accounting matters," she said, making Johnny laugh softly at how formal she spoke. Sal was a middle-aged Italian man, second generation, and was fairly foul mouthed. Johnny was certain Sal dropped out of school in the six grade, so the fact that his niece spoke so well amused him.

"Accounting matters, sounds very important," he said, leaning in just a bit more. He was now able to smell her perfume. It was subtle, but he detected a hint of vanilla and lavender. It made his chest rumble with approval.

She broke his gaze again, looking to the side, still resting against the wall. "I need to head home now," she said, softly.

"You got a ride?" he asked. She nodded, keeping her eyes cast down. He liked how long her eyelashes were, luscious and black against her cheeks.

"Yeah, but something is wrong with the engine, I'm waiting for my uncle to check it," she said, pointing over to a small, light green sedan that had seen better days.

"Mind if I take a look at it? I'd trust me over whatever your uncle Sal is capable of," Johnny said, walking over to her car. She followed him and watched as he popped the hood of the car.

"Start the engine, let's see what I'm working with," he said, waving her to the driver side of the car. Once she started the engine, a black smoke began to pour from the engine and a fill the parking lot. She shut the car off immediately and came back out to stand by his side.

Johnny looked at her in amazement. "How the hell have you been driving this thing?"

"It actually seems worse now," she said, innocently.

Johnny waved the remaining smoke away and took another look. He pulled out the oil wick and saw it was almost bone dry. "Sweetheart, when's the last time you had your oil changed?"

"Oil change?" she asked confused.

He shook his head in disbelief, this woman clearly had no idea about machines. "Just stay here a sec," he said, walking back into the bar. He walked back behind into Sal's office.

"You have a can of engine oil around here?" he asked Sal.

"Uh, yeah, in the supply closet, why?" Big Sal asked.

"Your niece doesn't have a clue about cars does she?" Johnny said.

"Nah, she's got book smarts, no idea about the other stuff," Sal said, rummaging around the supply closet.

With a can of oil in hand, Johnny returned to Amelia and filled her car with the oil. After he was done, he told her to start it again, and after the smoke settled, the car seemed situated.

Amelia got back out and walked over to him. "Um, thank you. I should probably learn a thing or two about cars," she said bashfully.

"You like bikes?" he asked, offhandedly.

"Oh, no...they're too fast and, um, dangerous," she said, shaking her pretty head.

"Yeah? Well, since I helped fix your car, why don't you repay me by going out on a date?"

Her doe eyes widened, and she appeared to be blushing. "Me?"

"Who else am I talking to?" he said, smiling.

"Um, well, I don't know...you're kinda..." she said, trying to find the words.

"Fast and dangerous?" he asked, coyly. "I think you'll change your mind after a good ride."

"Excuse me?" she asked, taken a back.

"About the motorcycle. Once you've had a good ride, you won't be able to get enough," he said, grinning smugly. He knew what he was saying, and he didn't mean the motorcycle.

[boredcoldandhungry]

Teacher AU pt 2

prev part

Nico decided, right then and there as he stood in front of the entire freshman class during their orientation assembly, that he needed to start saying no to his students.

It started way back in May, right before the school year ended, when Nico was eating lunch with Will in Will's classroom. A few kids sat at the desks eating and chatting amongst themselves while Nico and Will sat at the teacher's desk.

Then Calvin Douglas strutted into the room.

"Ah! There are my favorite teachers!" Calvin loudly exclaimed, scaring the freshmen in the corner of the room.

"Hello Calvin! What can I do for you?" Will asked politely.

"Mr. Di Angelo-Solace... es, woah you guys need a nick name or something. Anyway, as you know I'm going to be senior president of the student council next year," he said, pulling a desk closer to where they were sitting and sitting on top of it.

"Yes I heard, congratulations," Nico replied, giving the student a weary look.

"Yeah thanks, so, I was thinking, for freshman orientation next year, we have them play a game," he brought his hands up to make a dramatic gesture in front of his face, "match the class to the Di Angelo-Solace!"

And after a few harassing emails, Nico ended up standing next to his husband in front of the whole incoming freshman class.

"Okay freshman!" Calvin's voice boomed out of the sound system as he yelled into a microphone standing next to Nico. "Now that you've learned our school chants, we have a game for you guys! The two wonderful teachers standing next to me are both Mr. Di Angelo-Solace. Now they have the same name but they teach wildly different classes and your job is to figure out which is which, okay?"

The freshmen let out a confused cheer. Nico smirked at the visible wheels turning in their heads. The favorite guess as to why they have the same last name Nico had gotten so far was 'Are you guys cousins? Or is one of you adopted and you're brothers?' They lived in Oregon for god sakes you'd think the kids would be able to figure it out.

Nico was brought back to the present by Calvin's voice screaming through the speakers again. "Okay, between the two of them they teach... History! English! Italian! Art history! andddd Journalism!!"

This kid could easily become a demagogue if he ever rose to power. Nico would still probably vote him for president.

"Okay I have these necklaces with the names of the classes on the lanyard, when I point to a teacher cheer if you think that's their class, whoever gets more cheers will get the necklace! Everyone got it?"

Cheers of approval filled the gymnasium and Nico felt Will shift closer to him.

Calvin went through all five classes while simultaneously causing Nico and Will severe hearing loss.

Will ended up with the English lanyard, which was pretty obvious. He was wearing a cardigan for god sakes. He also ended up with art history which made Nico giggle considering the only thing Will knew about art is whatever he picked up from Nico's rants during his college art finals.

The kids almost got Nico right giving him history, Italian, and Journalism. Nico was far too dyslexic to be in charge of the school paper, but everything else was right.

The kids seemed pretty proud of themselves to have gotten most of their guesses right.

"Alrighty give them a big round of applause guys!! We'll start our next game in a second!"

Nico and Will sat down in the teachers section. Will grabbed Nico's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

It was gonna be a good school year.

next part

[bubblyani]

Never Going Anywhere

(Kendall Roy x Reader)

A Kendall Roy (Succession) One Shot

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1.1k+

Author’s Note: That pool incident in S3 made me come up with this scenario one fine day a while back but couldn’t write it then. Finally did. Make sure to enter this with some feels cause its full of em. Enjoy y’all!

My Kendall Roy Masterlist

What on earth, did you expect yourself to do? when that dreaded news reached your ears? A news so dreaded, that a breakup seemed almost relieving in comparison.

It would, wouldn’t it? When you heard the love of your life almost died. 
Or seemed to have attempted to take his own life.

Yes, a breakup would have been better. Kinder even.

That phone call from Roman Roy replayed in your head in continuation. “Hey…look, don’t fuckin’ freak out ,okay? But it’s about Kendall…”

Not just anyone. But Kendall Roy.

Was your face turning pale as a ghost too dramatic? Was it sheer exaggeration when life almost left your own body in the process? Or was it nothing in comparison to you heading to the airport to fly to Italy at once?

That Roman. Was HE exaggerating? Was this his version of a cruel prank on you and his brother? Not by the tone of his voice, though. To his credit, he always approved of your relationship with Ken. A sigh left your lips as your foot kept tapping away throughout the entire 8 hour and 30 minute flight. At least until exhaustion and sleep took you over in between.

The disheveled expression felt sufficient to render you an uninvited guest at Lady Caroline’s Wedding. Not to mention your rushed pacing under the Tuscan sun with one question posed at any waiter around: 
 Scusami, Excuse me

dov'è il Signor Kendall? Where is Mr Kendall?

Signor Kendall…sì. Dov’è? per favore Mr Kendall…yes. Where? Please

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Shiv’s soft, concerned query broke your incessant and broken Italian.

“I -uh!” you panted, holding her hand on your shoulder as you looked around frantic “Here for Ken-I” “Okay, WHAT the fuck?” Roman’s hushed tone and appearance made you jump. “Right? for a minute I thought I was seeing things.” Shiv said, “I thought you had a deal making thing today”
“It’s done already” blunt and straight was your reply, for your eyes were busy scanning around.

“Look, I called you… to let you know what happened to your lover boy, and that everything was OKAY. Not for you to make a grand fucking romantic gesture and come all the way here and make a scene.” Roman went on, “Like-is she even invited?” he looked at Shiv, point at you for certain. Yet that did not matter to you.  
 “I won’t ruin anyone’s wedding Rome, I-”

You froze.

Life suddenly returned to your body by the mere sight of Kendall Roy even a few feet away. Hands on his waist, his eyes squinted in disbelief and widened upon realization. The pacing of your heart increased as the pacing of his footsteps towards you did the very same. At last, the Tuscan heat was made aware. At last the sound of the beautiful music in the background found clarity in your ears. Kendall was safe and sound.

If everyone began to murmur and notice your presence even more, you would not blame them. Especially when your eyes began to well up with tears that your vision blurred. You felt your cheeks grow hot as you were overcome with emotion. Overcome with thoughts of what if. What if you never had that chance to see him again alive and well? What if you were too late? What if they were too late? What if the last time you ever saw him was when he left your apartment to go pack for Italy? Why was your embrace not tight enough? long enough? Why did you not kiss him long enough?

Your spiral dissipated when you felt Kendall gently pull you by the hand. Looking down you followed him in the midst of Shiv and Roman’s queries joined by Tom and Greg’s voices. The two pairs of footsteps traveled over green grass and stone rubble until your heels finally clicked inside the villa.

Silence has been your chaperone until Kendall finally shut the bedroom door behind him and released his hand from yours. He paced around.

It took 3 seconds. Until, “It wasn’t an OD, I swear”

Until He spoke. Finally.

No Hello, Hey, or even What are you doing here. For he knew what the  biggest question you possibly could have had. And you will not lie, even after months of familiarizing it in your ears, heart and mind, his deep voice never failed to resonate through your soul.

“I uh-I was in the pool…” he began, “…and just fell out of the floaty. I-I was drunk” anxiety rife in his tone, Kendall looked up to face you with remorse.

Eyes watery and full, you said nothing. How surprising to see you managed to create more tears after all that you shed a few hours ago. After all the inaudible bawling and weeping your heart out at the window seat.

When your silence exceeded 2 seconds, it worried Ken. It seemed from the manner in which his brows furrowed.

“It-It wasn’t a suicide attempt either. Babe you gotta trus-”

“Ken”

Until you spoke. Finally.

And it was a herculean task, when there was a knot in your throat.

“Whenever-” clearing your throat, you continued “Whenever I see you, I see you...growing old.”

Despite Kendall’s shocked expression, you went ahead:

“I see you at the Hamptons , watching your grandkids play in the garden. While you feel the sun on your face, feeling so content”

The mere image of a smiling Kendall, did not fail to bring your own smile out. And you swore you could sense your heart bloom a little when Kendall himself let out a soft smile. On that beautiful face of his. A tear trickled down your cheek at last.

A deep breath later, you spoke once more, “And after all that you went through and learnt, I see you being free. Feeling free. Completely free”

Free. A word worth more than a billion dollars. A word that caused Ken’s smile to grow bigger, to the point your tears broke free from the invisible constraints around your eyes. And you broke in to a sob: “Ken, Y-Your life, your soul. It’s not meant to disappear so fast” you sobbed, feeling the shortness of your breath in between, “Not this fast, Ken. And I-I won’t know what I will do if it does. I honestly don’t know how I'll cope if it does. I can’t see it happen, Ken. I just can’t-”

“Hey-hey…” Ken’s soothing voice engulfed your soul, as his physical frame engulfed your own in the form of a complete embrace.

“Please! Don’t go. Don’t leave me like that. Don’t do that to me-“ Like a child, you bawled, staining his white, cotton linen shirt with your tears.

“Hey…Shhh” He continued to soothe, while his embrace grew tighter. As if he needed this.

“I’m so sorry-I just-“ you said, struggling for air, “I just love you so much-I-”

“I know-i know” He replied, holding you even tighter, following up with the words you longed to hear:

“I’m not going anywhere. I won't leave you like that. Never”

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

My Kendall Roy Masterlist

Tagged: @tammykelly​​ @loveandthings11​ Lemme know if you wanna get tagged.

[ladylooch]

What My World Spins Around- Nico Hischier

A/N: Happy Saturday, readers! Enjoy our Swiss captain and someone to calm the aches in life :) Inspo is this Jordan Davis song.

Warnings: SMUT (18+) Content. Fluff.

Summary: Off-season Nico is the best Nico.

Word Count: 3.7k

The glow of the candle light is almost too romantic for a first date. So is the guy across the table from me. If I hadn’t seen him play a few times, it would be difficult to believe that he’s an NHL player. His sweet, shy demeanor is a complete contrast to the professional athletes I’ve encountered in my 22 years on this earth. Add in the sweet gestures of opening my car door and pulling my chair out for me, the story I’ll have for tomorrow is almost unbelievable to my own ears.

Yet, Nico Hischier, as he lives and breathes, is sitting contently across the table from me. 

“What are you thinking?” He asks me, bringing my attention to his plump lips pursed in concentration.

“Ah…” I trail off, blinking to focus my eyes off his mouth and to the dessert menu resting in my fingers. “Everything looks good… Not sure I can decide.”

“One of everything it is.” His smile dazzles in the low lighting. My body swoons slightly to the left. I chomp on my bottom lip to try and get a grip. 

“If I have to pick, it’s creme brûlée.” I confess to him, sliding the menu to the edge of the table.

“Excellent choice.” He nods in approval. 

The dessert comes out and our conversation continues. We’ve covered the basics and find ourselves effortlessly drifting deeper into discussions of the pressures of being an NHL player, what difficult moments I’ve experienced as a pediatric nurse, and the utter devastation of being dumped by our first loves.

“Well, his loss is my gain.” Nico smiles as my story finishes. He lays his spoon down on the now empty ramekin.

“I guess it is. Lucky duck.”

“It feels like we are both lucky… of all the buildings in the world, we happen to live in the same one.” Nico says. 

“And take the same elevator every day at 9:30am.” I look into his eyes, savoring the way the candle light flickers in them. His soft chuckle dances over the table to me and covers me in a warmth I’ll feel long after we say goodnight. “What can I say? I enjoy a routine. You get it since you’re in there with me every morning.” He bites his lip and seems to contemplate his next words carefully. Eventually, with a slight shake of his head, he exhales.

“I do, but if I’m being honest, I should actually be leaving for the rink earlier than I have been the last month.”

“Oh?” My eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Yeah, but… If I left earlier, I wouldn’t have those two minutes with you. It’s the best part of my day.” I can feel the shift happen completely against my will. Falling for someone shouldn’t happen this easily. In spite of that, I’m gone before our dishes are cleared from the table.

After settling the check, we leave the Italian restaurant and head towards his car parked down the block. As my heels clack against the sidewalk, Nico hesitantly reaches for my left hand. Our fingers entwine together for a perfect fit. When I turn to look at him, a raindrop dashes down my hair. I cringe, looking up at the sky, getting smacked with two more on my forehead. In another moment, a downpour engulfs us.

“Come on!” Nico laughs, tugging me down the block. Running seems to make everything worse. By the time we get to the car, we are both laughing at the look of each other, soaked and getting wetter as we stand there. Nico opens the car door for me, encouraging me to slide in. But when I turn to him, looking at the curls of his wet hair dusting his forehead, I want to know what his lips feel like against mine. Right now. Not in fifteen minutes or an hour or on our next date. Right here in this soaking wet moment. He steps closer to me, showing me he feels the same as his hands come to my hips. I tilt my head back in delicious anticipation, watching his approach. My lashes flutter against my cheek bones as I get my first taste of him.

My eyes pop open just as Nico’s lips touch mine. Gone is the wet New Jersey street and the sound of tires splashing in puddles. Replacing it is the light, blue walls of our bedroom in Switzerland. My fingers come to my lips, tracing their outline and remembering how perfect that night was.

Nico and I never looked back after our first date. We have spent every minute possible of the last year and a half together, loving each other through the highs and lows of life. He was there when I stepped away from nursing after losing a special patient. I was there with the enduring struggles of his most recent hockey season. We celebrated his captaincy with champagne and a bubble bath in our new apartment. Now, after a challenging year that ended without a playoff appearance, we are in his hometown of Bern to spend a relaxing and reflecting off-season.

I roll over to my back and stretch my right hand out, feeling for my boyfriend. Disappointment twists my mouth into a frown when my skin touches the cool sheet. He’s clearly been up for awhile. Light is barely filtering in through the cracks in the blinds which tells me daybreak has just begun. I lay there quietly, willing myself to go back to sleep. But I can’t. My mind is on Nico, wondering where he is and what is going on in his tumultuous mind at this hour. I give up on the idea of sleep after fifteen minutes, tossing the covers off my legs.

The hardwood feels cold beneath my bare feet as I strut out to the kitchen. The room smells of coffee, hinting at the recent use of the Nespresso machine on the coffee bar. I glance around the new, open concept space, frowning when I don’t see Nico within view. A yawn tugs at my mouth, so I release it. My arms stretch up high above my head, pulling the Devils sweatshirt I stole from Nico up with it. I swing my arms back down, placing my hands against my hips to stretch my shoulders out further. I walk to the large windows of the living room, taking in the view of the sun rising. The mountains surrounding the lake dance in orange, yellow, and pink hues, hinting at another spectacular, Swiss day. 

My eyes are pulled to a figure on the dock below. Nico sits, feet dragging along the surface of the lake, creating waves through the otherwise smooth plane. My lips tilt into a tender smile at finding him. I make my way out to the deck then down the stairs so I can join him on the dock. When my feet hit the old, warn wood, the dock squeaks to announce my presence. Nico glances over his shoulder, watching my pursuit with a hunger we apparently didn’t satisfy last night.

“Hi babe.” He murmurs, reaching out for my hand. He guides me to step between his legs as he pushes back, creating space for me to sit between his strong thighs. I do so willingly, letting my feet dip into the cold, mountain lake. Nico tugs me to his chest, arms wrapping securely around my body, chin coming to rest against the top of my head. “Did I wake you?” He wonders, voice dancing across the vastness of the quiet morning.

“Yeah.” I murmur, smiling and thinking back to the sweet memory of our first kiss that visited this morning. “You were in my dream and then missing from our bed.” I lean my shoulders further into him. He tightens his arms immediately, sensing how badly I want to be consumed by him.

“Sorry.” He kisses my hair, lips hovering gently as my eyes close. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“What’s on your mind, captain?” 

“All the ways I want to get better this off-season.” His fingers trail along my forearm as he looks at the mountains before us. “We have so much work to do to get to where we need to be.” The frustration from the end of the season sears the air with his words.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day.” I remind him. 

“No, but we have to better. We need to find a way to win.”

I twist in his arms, careful to not let my wet feet brush against his clothes.

“You say we, but I can hear the me in your words. You’re doing the best you can.”

“Well, if that was my best, it’s not good enough.” 

“Baby.” I whine at him, threading my fingers through his long hair. The strands try to hide his beautiful eyes from me. But I need to see them to clear their storm clouds. “You’ll never be able to move forward if you don’t let this season go. Wrap it all up, tie it to a rock and chuck it into this lake in front of us."

To humor me, he closes his eyes. I laugh as he releases his grip on my hips to ball up his frustrations and chuck them behind me into the water. 

“There we go! Now, your shoulders don’t look so heavy.” I tease him, gently rubbing my fingers along his jaw. “I have to say though, I kinda like that I get you all to myself for awhile.”

“Me too. The rest of the world can wait.” His brown eyes shine in appreciation at me. “Sometimes I wish I could be just yours all the time.”

“Me too. But you have an important job.” I murmur to him. “Putting a whole franchise on your back is tough stuff.” My lips tilt into a sly smile. 

“I just wanna win.” He says to me, eyes dipping to look at my lips. His gaze remains there and I feel the leisurely drag of it across my flesh.

“I know.” I nod at him, watching his cheeks turn a bit more pink as the sun rises higher in the sky. “But maybe don’t forget to have fun while you’re living your dream.” My hand comes up, running through the dark hairs on the side of his head again.

“I have plenty of fun with you.” He leans forward to press our lips together. I slowly close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his kiss. His tongue trails across my bottom lip before taking it’s place in my mouth. I hum a gentle moan onto his lips. “Damn, you taste good.” He says when he pulls away. His brown eyes are lustful as he presses our bodies securely together.

“You taste like coffee.” I murmur, reaching for his abandoned cup. I take a delicate sip of the Nespresso as Nico watches. The caramel flavor wraps my mouth in a sweet coating. A ripple of foam sticks to my top lip that draws Nico’s undivided attention. My tongue lazily glides along the skin to give him the show he’s desperate for. 

“Mmm.” I sigh, savoring one more sip from his cup. “My favorite thing from Switzerland.” I hide my smug smile behind the cup in my hands as his eyes meet mine again.

“Not me, eh?” He questions to which I shake my head. “I guess I shouldn’t expect to be able to compete with coffee.”

“True. But also, you’re my favorite thing in the entire world, not just from here.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, handing him back his mug.

He takes a sip, eyes closing to savor the buzz of caffeine. I bite my lip, then lean forward, kissing the edges of his mouth. He turns slightly to capture my lips, tongue sliding against my bottom lip. I welcome it into my mouth, sighing and melting deeper into his body. His hands run down my back, gripping my ass as he tugs me tighter into his lap. I can feel him thickening against the fabric of his shorts. A throbbing pulse begins between my legs that begs for him to be buried there.

Nico’s stomach growls breaking us apart as we both laugh.

“I guess I’m hungry.” He whispers to me. With his swollen lips, pink cheeks, and darkening eyes, I’d say so.

“Let’s go make breakfast.” I suggest. “I’m dying for some bread with that strawberry jam we got at the market yesterday.” I stand, swiping my hand across the back of my shorts to brush off any debris that is sticking there. 

“Okay, but we do need something besides carbs.”

“Shut your sweet mouth.” I scold him with a glint in my eye. “Off-season rules apply which means we are required to eat at least one carb a day.” Nico chuckles, coming behind me to place a guiding hand on the small of my back.

“When did we decide that?”

“Right now.” I say seriously. He shakes his head with a laugh.

We reach the yard and cross the grass to the rock patio. The small, angular rocks litters the base of the deck for aesthetic purposes. In my quest to join my boyfriend, I disregarded shoes and had hopped anxiously over these the first time. Now, Nico tugs on the back of my sweatshirt to pull me to a stop. 

“C’mere. Gotta protect those cute feet from sharp objects.” He insists, gripping my waist and lifting me easily into his chest. I pull my legs up so he can guide me to the wood stairs. He sets me down on the second one. I give his arm a squeeze as he releases me, then climb the remaining steps with an amused smirk. Cap can’t keep his hands off me.

“Something besides carbs, he says.” I repeat to myself as we enter the state of the art kitchen. Nico doesn’t cook often, but knowing how much joy it brings me, he renovated his off-season home last year for me. I got to pick out my dream appliances, colors, tile, and stone. It all came together in crisp whites, gold fixtures, and dreamy navy accents.

“I can make myself something, babe.” He insists, dumping out his last sip of cold coffee and working a new pod into the machine. “You want coffee, hun?”

“Yes, please.” I say, reaching my hands up into the pantry, searching for the waffle mix I know is up there from last week. Nico, watching my struggle, comes behind me. He places a steadying hand on the slice of exposed skin of my lower back while reaching above me. He easily grabs the mix, placing it in my hand. A gentle kiss grazes my hair as he moves back to the coffee. Neither of us mention the carb content of waffles. 

“I think there is bacon in the fridge?” I question Nico.

“Sure. I’ll check in a sec.”

We move through the kitchen with easy synergy. Nico puts the bacon in the oven. I work the pre-made mix into a batter. Nico finishes our coffees, fixing his black and mine with oat milk, frothed perfectly the way only he knows how to do. He sets my cup next to me, skimming against me as he does. His continual, sweet touches have ignited a flame that begins to consume my body. An electricity fills the air with his gently maneuvering of my hips so he can reach into the drawer to my right for a new kitchen towel. I bite my lip, trying to focus on the batter and not his warmth against me. Nico senses the shift too, moving his fingers to dip just slightly into my shorts. A feminine sigh releases from my lips. He guides my body back until our hips press into one another. 

“I have to confess something to you.” He drags out his words, breath skirting along my neck teasingly, lips hovering over his favorite place to suck me. “I asked them to keep the island this height for a reason.” It is a little bit lower than normal, but I’m on the shorter side and it didn’t seem to bother Nico. He grabs the bowl from my hands, sliding it to the side. My hands pause in mid-air, waiting, wondering what’s next, needing it to be something to calm the desperate ache in my core.

“Oh?” It comes out as a quiver.

“Yeah. I knew it would be the perfect height for this.” His hands press into my back, guiding me forward until I’m bent over in front of him. My butt perches perfectly in the air. His fingers drag along my spine until they reach my butt cheeks, giving them both a generous squeeze. “Mmm. Perfect.”

“You do love being right.” I praise him. The chuckle that comes from him is devilish.

He presses his hips into me, moving in a long circle to brush his erection against my butt. My inner muscles clench, desperate for him to slide my shorts down and slip into me. He is patient, much more than I am, and takes his time, massaging his fingers into my sensitive skin, purposefully straying away from between my legs.

“Nico.” I finally groan in frustration as he makes another pass over my hips. “Please.”

“I’ll take you when I’m ready and not a moment before, mein Schatz.”

“I thought you liked to please?” I quip to him, hoping if I provoke him, he’ll take me fast and hard.

“When you start being good.”

“I have been.” 

“No whining.” He warns me, fingers working the waistband of my shorts down, tantalizingly slow over the swell of my cheeks. The cool air of the kitchen brushes against my heat, but Nico still doesn’t touch me. “What a view. I wish you could see how you shine in the morning sun.” I bury my face into my arms folded in front of me. Involuntarily, my muscles clench around the emptiness. But the movement beckons his touch to me. I melt into the feeling of his fingers brushing against my folds. He slides one in, testing me, the slickness of us fills the air. “This what you need?” He purrs to me.

“Yes.” I moan as he slides another digit in. I gulp as he increases the tempo. I feel so sexy standing in our kitchen together, bent forward with Nico pleasuring me. Pink heat tinges my cheeks as I curl up from the counter in need, letting a feminine moan out.

“I want to tease you more, but you look too good not to have.” He sighs, almost regretfully, to me. His fingers brush against my ass as he works his shorts and underwear down. His cock jolts from his clothing, bouncing against my entrance. He is taut and warm as his head teases my folds before sliding into me. A small stretch to accommodate him has my breathing hitch, then a wave of pleasure sways through my body. He moves again, pushing me tight against the counter, holding my hips in place so he can fuck me the way he wants.

It’s fast and tight and wet as he thrusts deep. I’m breathless and electrified at each brush against my walls. He pulls out less and less each time, hitting that spot in me that he knows will have me tugging an orgasm from us both.

“Turn your face.” He moans to me, releasing me with one hand to grab my face to turn it to the side. He holds my jaw, fingers pressing into both of my cheeks as he pounds into me. 

“Ohmygod.” I whisper to him, “Just like this.” I grip his wrist tightly, nail beds going white with the intensity. I open my mouth to speak to him again, but I can’t. All that come out is a grateful groan.

“Fuck.” He hisses to me as I squeeze him with the first pulse of my orgasm. It builds and builds and builds until it explodes from my core. I cry out in desperation as he plows through. He releases my face to grip my hips roughly again, blood pulsing beneath his finger tips as the counter digs into my stomach from his pressure. The stinging of slight discomfort extends my orgasm until I’ve given everything I can. I collapse back onto the stone. Nico’s motion become jerky strokes then he comes with a harsh exhale of breath and a moan that lodges as a happy bubble into my chest. His body falls onto mine as though he is bowing after an exhilarating show.

The cool marble of the counter soothes some of the warmth in my cheek as I suck in breaths. Nico’s welcomed weight against my back rises and falls in sync with me. The smell of bacon descends into my afterglow. Slowly, Nico slides from me. He tucks himself back into his pants, then glides my shorts back into place. I rise from the counter as his hands come to my stomach, holding me close to him. Gone is the rough, demanding partner and replaced is the sweet, sensual lover. Our afterglow caresses us in each other’s arms. He rocks us into contentment, skin still buzzing from each others touch.

“How did we ever live without this?” I ask him, head resting against his shoulder. He releases a heavy exhale with a slight shake of his head.

“No idea.”

“I want this with you forever.” I say to him tenderly. This isn’t news to him. We’ve talked about marriage. We know it’s in our cards, but Nico’s goals are so hockey focused that the when of that is fuzzy. 

“We will. I know you think it’s hockey, but you’re what my world spins around.” His lips press against the top of my head. 

There’s no ring. It’s not a proposal. Instead, its a promise.

Right now, wrapped together, in a kitchen he built just for me, with my skin still on fire from his strokes, it’s more than enough for me.

[winterrain-11]

Drinking on a Sunday Afternoon

Inspired by a comic by @hollisartsblog

Crowley was — as he was most Sunday nights — piss drunk. He thought it a harmless way to spite the Almighty in a way that wouldn’t earn him accolades in hell. Plus, he got to be inebriated, which was always a fun time along with letting him feel a bit more human.

Aziraphale occasionally joined him — not in the blasphemy aspect, but in the inconsequential indulgence. Plus, Sundays were their date nights (they had finally started calling them dates recently, after around 80 years of having weekly fine-dining excursions, it was impossible NOT to see them as dates) and they usually started lightly drinking at dinner either way. Sooner or later, a bottle of shared Pinot Noir turned into two, then an added whiskey back at the bookshop, then a few weeks later two whiskeys and so it continued.

This particular night, the pair had drank several glasses of sherry at a local Italian restaurant a few blocks from A.Z. Fell & Co on their recent spout of acquainting themselves with the local businesses. (this was all the Angel’s idea of course, but it brought a smile to Aziraphale’s face and that was all it needed to do to drag Crowley along). After a few hours of banter and a few spilled glasses, they were properly tipsy. The two stumbled along the dimly lit Soho sidewalk, leaning on one another and laughing at long forgotten jokes, hands intertwined with one another.

Back at the bookshop, Crowley immediately sauntered towards the liquor cabinet, pulling out a still-sealed bottle of a dark bourbon like one would pull a rabbit out from a hat. Aziraphale let out a noise that could only be described as a groan of hesitant enthusiasm, slouching back further onto the old leather couch he had made his way onto.

“Eh?” Crowley did a drunken little jig, the contents of the bottle sloshing around as he attempted to gain the Angel’s approval, “Wha’d'ya say, Angel?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, a slight smile forming on his lips, “I don’t see why not. Give ‘er here, dear boy.”

The Angel conjured two whiskey glasses with the wave of a hand, taking the bottle from the Demon, who had thrown himself onto the couch next to Aziraphale, legs swinging up and over the arm of it and his own arm draped around his Angel. He poured them both a glass, Crowley prompting a silent toast as he raised his glass with a smirk before downing the liquor along with Aziraphale.

One glass turned to two, then three, and halfway through this third glass is where Aziraphale stopped. Crowley continued on, the Angel – though satisfied himself – not wanting to snuff his Demon’s fun.

~~

A few hours later, Aziraphale was slouched further down the couch, still sweating from the alcohol, feeling heavy and slow within his inebriation. Crowley, however, was currently trying not to spill his fifth glass and failing at being coherent.

“C’mon, y’know, the… the thing!” Crowley slurred, elbowing Aziraphale, “”s the bugger’s name? The fucking – the thing!”

Aziraphale, having not a single clue what ‘the thing’ could be, moved the Demon’s hand from his shoulder, “Dear, I think you should sober up a bit.”

“Nah,” Crowley pulled Aziraphale close into a side hug, the Angel’s shoulders scrunching up to his ears as he was shaken like a sickly, extremely intoxicated maraca, “Nah, ‘aving fun here with you.”

Aziraphale cracked an uncomfortable smile, “That’s very kind, dear. But no more to drink for you. Shall we possibly call it a night?”

“Agh, Angel, the fun was just beginning!” the Demon hissed, moving his hand to graze Aziraphale’s jaw with this thumb.

Aziraphale raised his brow, confused but intrigued by the gesture. Before he could respond, Crowley began again, “You’re dashing, you know that? Always loved that bow tie of yours. Compliments your eyes.”

Aziraphale scoffed, lazily shooing the Demon with his hand and he turned to hide his blush, “Oh hush, you old serpent. When did you become a sentimental drunk?”

“Dunno, but ‘s true! You’re a strapping young laddie if I’ve ever seen one,” the Demon drunkenly lifted himself off of the couch, “A fine man worthy of a courtship I reckon,” he lazily bowed, leaning to grab Aziraphale’s hand, “I have a modest dowry of ten chickens and a three-legged goat if you’ll have me.”

Aziraphale chuckled, pulling himself up from the couch, grabbing Crowley’s other hand and pulling them both face to face, “Oh, what a deal. I’ll have to consider it.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do to win your affections?” Crowley dipped, hand to his forehead in a sarcastic sigh.

“Well, certainly not prance around a drunken fool,” the Angel teased, steadying his Demon, “Perhaps sober up a bit and I’ll be more inclined.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer by his hips, his expression suddenly softened and he kissed Aziraphale on the nose softly. The Demon smiled brightly as he pulled away, looking deep into the eyes of the blushing Angel.

“Always loved that smile.”

Aziraphale pulled them both back down on the couch, mumbling some embarrassed slurry in an attempt to dodge compliments, “Crowley, you’re drunk. Now hush.”

“Don’t matter if I’m sloshed or not, still love your smile, aye?” Crowley leaned further onto the Angel, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders, their noses touching together, “Love ‘lot ‘bout you, Angel.”

The Demon ran his hands down Aziraphale’s back slowly, rubbing his nose on Aziraphale’s, “Quite the beauty, my Angel.”

“Dear boy–”

Crowley pulled himself closer to the Angel, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck and kissing it slightly, speaking some other drunken complement into his skin, muffed beyond comprehension.

“Crowley, this is hardly—“

“Cmon Angel, it’ll be great fun,” the Demon purred, not with bad intentions, but in a drunken conviction. Crowley pushed himself on top of Aziraphale, pinning the Angel softly to the couch. Crowley moved his hands down the Angel’s torso, running his fingers down the seam of his waistcoat and lingering at his hips. Aziraphale sucked in hard, trying to apply his better judgment and not enjoy this too much. Crowley slowly made his fingers underneath Aziraphale’s shirt, running his fingers up his torso. Aziraphale shuttered, moving the Demon’s hands away, no matter how much he enjoyed the touch.

“Crowley, plea—“

Before the angle could finish, Crowley cupped his hands around the Angel’s face, pulling himself into a kiss. The kiss was sloppy – but not a bad kiss by any means. Their lips didn’t fit together quite right, and Crowley hadn’t planned on opening his mouth this wide or leaning as far into Aziraphale as he did, but in terms of a first kiss, it was far from the worst one that they could have had. Unfortunately in terms of length, it was short-lived, as Aziraphale pushed Crowley off of him quickly.

“That’s quite enough,” the Angel snapped, “Sober up.” He was demanding, and also redder than he imagined he had ever been, “Now.”

“Oh, Oh no,” Crowley sent a shake down his body, the alcohol absolving from his bloodstream, “Angel, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you didn’t — Gah, I’m an idiot.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, “It’s fine — it’s just—“ he exhaled sharply, “I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea.”

“How do you mean?” Crowley asked, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.

“I mean that, oh, I don’t want to … let myself get too comfortable, I suppose. Letting myself believe that you desire me when it’s just the alcohol making you want me.”

Aziraphale had gained a lot from humanity, little quirks, stresses, loves — but unfortunately he had also gained insecurities, especially as someone in a body that was fatter than many others around him. He saw the way that humans looked at him versus how they looked at Crowley — with disdain rather than lust. Even the other Angels pointed it out once in a millennia. His size used to be part of the aristocracy, but even throughout the eighteenth century he was never desired as such.

“What?” Crowley exclaimed, nearly stifling a laugh, “Angel, what on Earth are you going on about?”

The Angel tilted his head in confusion, Crowley taking his hands into his own.

“Where did you ever get the idea that I wasn’t attracted to you? Angel, you’re a catch if I’ve ever seen one, I’ll tell you that.”

“I hardly believe that,” Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs in embarrassment, “I mean, come on my dear boy, just look at me.”

The Angel gestured towards his own body, shirt still untucked, hair still unkempt, but face in a depressing grimace unlike Crowley has ever seen.

“Angel, I’m lookin’ at you right now. Have been for the past six thousand years, in fact — and you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, unsure of what to say, then exhaled, “Why now? Why only when we’re drunk?” he pleaded, stepping back closer to the Demon.

Crowley bit his lip, trying to figure out exactly how to put this without sounding like the imbecile he assumed himself to be.

“I just — I hadn’t got the nerve,” the Demon admitted, “I mean, you wonder how a Demon could love an Angel, but how could an Angel, especially one as bloody fantastic and heavenly as you, love a Demon? I supposed over the last few decades it became more, well, apparent that we were more than just friends but …” he began to trail off, regretting miracaling all of the alcohol out of his bloodstream. He cursed himself for even having the thought right after. That was exactly that problem, wasn’t it? He needed the alcohol to open up. He always had.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘go on’.

“I guess it just goes to say that I was scared. Scared of what you’d say, what you’d do, what you’d hate me for. The booze just lets it come out a bit easier, I suppose. Liquid courage.”

“So… it’s not that you don’t want to,” Aziraphale started, “It’s that you did want to. And you were worried about my well-being?”

Crowley shrugged, not wanting to admit his lack of courage out loud, but wanting to affirm the Angel.

Aziraphale chuckled, “We really are quite dense, aren’t we?”

“I’d rather say so,” the Demon pulled Aziraphale in closer, placing his hands on the already loosened buttons of his waistcoat, “I’ll say it again Angel, you really are beautiful, inside and out. Especially on the outside at the moment. Messy hair kind of does it for me.”

“Oh shut it, you old serpent ,” Aziraphale chuckled, pulling himself in closer to the Demon, “You’d think after six thousand years we’d learn to better communicate.”

Crowley exhaled, raising his brows as if to say ‘if only’. The Demon rested his chin upon the Angel’s shoulder, giving him a doe-eyed (or rather snake-eyed) muted smile.

Aziraphale placed his forehead against Crowley’s, softly reaching for his jawline, “Assume you’d like another glass before we continue?”

“Nah,” Crowley purred, planting a quick kiss on the Angel’s forehead, “I think I can muster up some of my own courage tonight.”

[cocrante]

Will asked Nico if they could go for a stroll to the market because he wanted to buy local products and, especially, new clothes. Nico agreed, also because he wanted to start keeping basil, rosemary and thyme plants at home.

The market is a source of life and exchanges—the square fills with spirit, color and voices, enveloped in intense and delightful aromas from the food stalls. It was all there: a small gem that held the essence of Italians, who spoke loudly, laughing and gesturing. It was a source of peace and interest—among those people, Will felt a bit lost but also attracted. He was slowly beginning to understand the language; some words were too long or convoluted, many people spoke in dialect, and it was frustrating not to fully comprehend. But he always found a way to make himself understood:—"Don't worry, they eventually understand you" Nico always reassured him, and the fact that he had engaged in a clumsy first conversation was proof. It was a conversation mostly made up of gestures and uncertain words, but he managed to get everything he needed, earning approval from his boyfriend who was beside him, giving him a smile and a thumbs-up. Will had done well.

"I'll go down there to get the plants. Go get a table at the bar, we'll have an aperitif" he left him for a moment, skillfully walking through the crowd as if he had always lived there. Will then walked towards the bar, saying he was with someone else and would join shortly. The waiter nodded, leaving him two menus.

Nico didn't take long, holding two plastic bags with lovely plants inside. "We'll plant them later on the balcony" he explained. "I don't feel like using dried basil anymore" he took the menu, looking at what they offered, remaining momentarily confused, only realizing later that it was the menu for tourists. He sighed, catching the waiter's attention. He said something that Will couldn't understand, but from the expression on his face and his lively hand moving on the menu, something was wrong. The waiter was visibly embarrassed, apologized, and took away the menus, returning a moment later with a well-stocked platter of cold cuts, local cheeses, polenta fritta, green olives and two glasses of white wine, saying the glasses were complimentary. "What happened?" Will asked, not having understood. "Cor-te-si-a" Nico pronounced slowly, taking the wine glass, inhaling the fruity aroma of the prosecco. Will nodded, taking his glass and toasting with his boyfriend.

Disclaimer !!

I really hope something like this doesn't really happen in Venice ahaha, I raise my hand, please don't take me seriously; it's just an unpleasant episode that happened to me once in a Roman gelateria and a second time in a pizzeria in Bologna (I mean, not to me directly, to tourists whose I saved their wallets ahaha). Anyway, eh—this things are inexcusable, always be careful with prices.

And if you come to visit Italy (currently highly discouraged ~~) and want to go for a walk in the market, always keep your hands on your wallet and phone. Never leave your backpacks on the ground but always keep them in your lap in front of you. Italy is truly beautiful but quite rascal c:

[more-than-a-princess]

@mechatiqe asked: [ 12 ] a lonely bus stop at 2am, (except kaz is snoozing away on the bench there)

Various Settings/Location Prompts - Accepting!

It was one of the few times Sonia would let her perfect posture slip: where no one could see her, or paid enough attention or care to tell her otherwise. In the back of the black car, with its tinted windows and bulletproof exterior, she leaned against the leather seats after fastening her seatbelt, driver and bodyguard in the front. Upscale parties that stretched late into the night, even after a full day of classes, were a test to both her nerves and her stamina. As soon as she'd been free to leave Miss Yukizome's homeroom, her private tutoring sessions for the day had been entirely devoted to primping for that night's gala: skin and hair and nails and makeup, well before she even donned her gown and jewelry that had been painstakingly selected for her via video call at home. Every bit of her appearance, from her looks to her gestures to her words, had to send just the right message to the organizers and attendees: that Princess Sonia of Novoselic was inquisitive and respectful of their culture and customs, not appropriative, and she was delighted to represent her father in all sorts of polite chit-chat, photographs, and dances when requested. Of course, a speech was expected as well, in nothing less than flawless Japanese delivered with the brightest smile.

No pressure, save for the ones that cut into her heels and toes. Weight of the diamonds and emeralds at her ears, neck, and wrist aside, it was her shoes that brought along the aches and pains. As the car turned a corner onto a busier road, well away from the tucked-away mansion in the city's most expensive area, she reached down to unbuckle the small straps around each ankle, letting out a sigh of relief as she kicked the glittery shoes aside.

"Are you more at ease now, Your Royal Highness?" A question in Italian came from up front. Insistent that Sonia not muck up the event, her mother had sent over a guard from Novoselic personally recommended and vetted by her family's head of security who would be certain to keep the Princess in line and on task in the absence of her personal secretary. In public, anyway: in the privacy of the car, Luca hadn't given a single care to how his client slouched in her dress, one that easily cost a three month's salary for the average Japanese office worker, against the seat or how she so easily discarded the shoes her mother had insisted upon. By a coveted French designer that pinched and prodded Sonia's toes.

"Very much so, Luca, I feel as if I might finally breathe today," She smiled, knowing it would be reflected in the rearview mirrors. Breathing, much less eating, were secondary and tertiary activities in her gown, considering how fitted it was through the bodice, but for now she didn't mind. Soon enough she'd be back in the safety and comfort of her dorm, her gown hung on its satin-padded hanger, while she dug into the chicken karaage, onigiri, and sweets the chauffeur had picked up for her from the konbini and that all three of them had made a pact not to tell her family about later. She deserved indulgences here and there, even if they were ones the Novoselic Royal Family didn't approve of.

Just like extending a helping hand when it couldn't be recorded for future posterity, or at least a necessary PR campaign in the wake of a scandal. As they pulled up to a stoplight, Sonia glanced out her window, her tired eyes suddenly no longer feeling so tired. A familiar shade of hot pink, of black lined eyes and a hat and jumpsuit: Kazuichi Soda looked far less animated than his usual self in her presence. On the contrary, he seemed to be waiting for a bus, fast asleep. A bus, she noticed after rolling down the window and sticking out her beautifully-coiffed head to read the sign beside the bench, that likely wasn't coming: the bus ended its route nearly two hours prior, if the sign beside him was accurate.

Sonia frowned. She couldn't very well leave him there, but this was Kazuichi she was considering. Their friendship, for all intents and purposes, was a relatively new development of relatively new mutual respect: he no longer called her Miss Sonia or put her on a pedestal, and she no longer referred to him as her stalker and pursued a restraining order. They were navigating uncharted waters, so to speak, and the last thing either of them needed was for him to read into a situation for something that wasn't there. Still, it would be cruel to simply drive by and allow him to sleep on a bench.

She cleared her throat, having made her decision. "Soda-san!" She called from the car. To no avail, it seemed, before she quickly instructed her driver to remain idle by the bus stop for a few moments longer. Nodding in satisfaction, she stuck her head back out the window again: was she truly going to 'cat call' him? That was what it was, right? When people hung their heads out the window to garner the attention of someone else?

"Soda Kazuichi-san!" She spoke again, this time louder, with full intent to wake him and anyone else in a fifty meter radius. "What are you doing out here so late? I am afraid the buses have stopped driving their routes ages ago. But if you would like, I am happy to share my car with you back to Hope's Peak Academy."

[discountdemonwarehouse]

Domestic December Day 7

Little bit behind schedule, but here we go.

Prompt: Helping them pick an outfit. Terzo helps Quinn pick an outfit for a date with someone he doesn't approve of. He doesn't think the date is really a date either.

AO3 Link with all the days

SFW, no smut, etc.

Ages → Quinn – early/mid 20s, Terzo – late 20s

        The bed squeaked a little as Quinn flopped on it in annoyance. “I have nothing to wear! How do I have nothing to wear, Terzo?!” “You have plenty to wear, tesoro,” he cooed soothingly, walking to her small closet. “Or maybe not.” He hummed thoughtfully as he looked through her closet’s offerings, or at least what was actually hung up and not piled at the bottom on the floor. “Why is your closet so small?” he asked distastefully. “I’m not you, I can’t just demand they renovate to give me a walk in closet. Most of my clothes fit in the dresser because I don’t feel like hanging up jeans.” Terzo sighed. “Remind me to take you clothes shopping.” “I don’t need to go clothes shopping!” “Sì, you do. How will you ever find a man with this? How will I ever become zio (uncle) to your bambinos, if you stay single, eh?” “I never said I planned on having kids! I have this for a reason,” She gestured to the enchanted bracelet on her wrist. He waved a hand dismissively at her, pawing through her closet again before moving to her dresser. “Are you wearing clean underwear?” “What the fuck kind of question is that?” “Yes or no, tesoro, I need to know what items you need.” “Oh my… Yes, I am,” she rolled her eyes. “Bene (good). These…” He tossed a pair of denim cut offs on the bed. “And this.” A crop top. “And… You only own flannel button down shirts. Hm. To my room! Bring the items! Let’s go!”

        Quinn protested as Terzo dragged her through the halls of The Ministry, clutching her clothing to her chest. “What are you doing?” “I’m going to loan you one of my dress shirts.” “Terzo, they won’t fit me, I have breasts, remember?” “Yes, I know. It doesn’t need to fit properly,” he smirked. She stumbled as he shoved her through the door into his clergy suite, locking the door behind them. “Terzo–” “Shh. Go put those on while I get the dress shirt.” Sighing, she locked herself in the bathroom, only humouring him to try and prove how ridiculous his choices were. “I really should wear tights under these shorts.” “No, you shouldn’t,” he chuckled. “You want to show off your… assets.” Quinn made a disgusted noise, rolling her eyes. Emerging from the bathroom moments later, she found him waiting with a white shirt. He held it up and assisted her into it before spinning her around and pulling the ends up, tying them under her bust. He stepped back to inspect her, then nodded firmly. “There.” She looked at herself. “I look like Daisy Duke from Dukes of Hazzard.” “Exactly. Less sophisticated though,” he teased, gesturing at her hair and combat boots. Quinn frowned at him, unimpressed. “He won’t be able to resist you. Not that he deserves you.” It was Terzo’s turn to frown.

        She raised a brow at him. “I am only pointing out he did not ask you on a proper date, he asked you to a very casual event at The Ministry you’d be attending anyways.” “That happens all the time.” “Well it shouldn’t, not for a grigliata (Italian bbq/cookout). It’s basically just The Ministry serving supper outside, the equivalent of saying you’ll sit together during lunch.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “You don’t like him, do you?” She smirked at him. “He’s a fine member of The Ministry. Does he deserve you? Mai. (Never.)” He kissed her forehead. “Tu sei una stella splendente e lui non è degno di leccarti gli stivali.” He didn’t bother to translate for her. (“You are a shining star and he is unfit to lick your boots.”) “So why this outfit?” “Because it’s cute on you. Not too far off things you’ve worn before. You shouldn’t be a different person to win him over – or any man. If they can’t love you for you, they don’t deserve you.” “Listen to your own advice sometimes, yeah?” He laughed a little. “One day, maybe. I have to meet more expectations than you.” “Only if you choose to, Terzo.” He made a noise, shrugging it off. She watched him for a moment, opting to lighten the mood. “So, you’re sure this makes me cute, huh?” “Were we dating – I would never take you to the grigliata (bbq/cookout) as a date, by the way – but if you wore this for the appropriate date with me, it would make me happy. Even with sloppy hair and combat boots.” Quinn rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the help.”

[josefavomjaaga]

Mathieu Dumas gets scolded

@snowv88 wrote

I've never heard of that story with Berthier, Dumas and Eugene, would love to hear it 😆 

Well, it’s actually not much of a story but more of an image that seems to be taken right out of some slapstick comedy. Plus, I’m sure I had already translated this bit before but I seem unable to find it again. So here’s a fresh translation (thank you, Deepl!):

From the Souvenirs du lieutenant-général Mathieu Dumas, Tome 3:

For context: this takes place in 1809, after the battle of Wagram and the armistice of Znaim. Dumas is charged with monitoring the execution of the armistice with the Austrians.

[…] Despite the line of demarcation being very clearly drawn in the convention, I often had, in concert with my colleague the Austrian commissioner, to rectify some small infringements in the position of the outposts. The most remarkable was the one which Prince Joseph Poniatowsky allowed himself on the frontier of Gallicia: informed that an Austrian column of a few militia battalions, having with them four pieces of cannon, was withdrawing into Hungary, where the whole Austrian army had rallied, he crossed the line of demarcation with a strong detachment, cut off this column, took an advantageous position on Austrian territory, and pretended to keep it, as well as the prisoners and artillery he had captured. I submitted to the major general the very well-founded complaints of the Austrian commissioner, and asked him for his orders before writing to Prince Poniatowsky. The major general answered me that this affair did not concern him, and that the execution of the treaty of armistice was entrusted to me under my responsibility.

Berthier: Oh, no, no. Leave me out of this. You know perfectly well how this will turn out. Go get through this one yourself.

I did not hesitate to give Prince Poniatowsky the order to comply with the treaty, to return the prisoners and the artillery, and to bring his troops within the line of demarcation. The emperor, directly informed by the prince of his incursion and of the advantages which could result from it in the event of the resumption of hostilities, did not approve my decision. He sent for me to give him an account of it in the presence of the prince major general and the viceroy of Italy; he strongly reproached me, as well as the major general, for wanting to protect the interests of the enemy and for courting them at his expense.

"What do you think you are doing, gentlemen, deciding on your own authority on matters of such importance? It is you who command the army, and I am here il ré di cope? Let us see, General Dumas, your register of correspondence."

[The Italian expression is unknown to me.]

I handed it to him, pointing out my last letter to Prince Poniatowsky; he went through it, displayed great irritation, and threw the register on the floor. As I was answering the questions he addressed to me on various points in dispute relating to the execution of the armistice, and more particularly on the place of Zara, in Dalmatia, which he demanded to be handed over immediately, Prince Eugène, who was walking with him, turned around and gestured to me not to answer; but this was impossible. Berthier kept the most obstinate silence.

This is the scene I just love to imagine: Napoleon, giving his sermon while stomping through the room, Eugène always at his heels and signaling in exasperation behind Napoleon’s back to Dumas to shut the F up, man, while Berthier pointedly stares at a corner of the room, zoomed out.

"You believe yourselves to be very important men, messieurs chiefs of staff! I have made you into too great lords, and you caress those of the Austrian court. If an Austrian general officer had taken it upon himself to give such orders, he would have been sent to a fortress. The chiefs of staff must only be instruments; I have only to bring in young Marboeuf, an ordinance officer, who is there in the salon de service, and I will make him my major general."

Which, I guess, shows how much respect Napoleon had for Berthier and his co-workers. Not. He basically states that every dimwit could do Berthiers job. (We’ll see about that during the Hundred Days, Your Imperial Snobbiness...)

After having thus indulged us, he dismissed us, and there was no more talk of this affair. [...] Although I feared that I had displeased him by doing my duty, I was nonetheless very well treated: the emperor named me grand officer of the Legion of Honour, and granted me an endowment of thirteen thousand francs from the property of convents suppressed in the duchy of Parma [...].

But as is the case so often, Napoleon is all bark, no bite 😊.

[sonicjustbecause]

Finally I hear Shadow with Raffaeli's voice (Sonic Boom)

About Italian voices)

Daniele Raffaeli is one of my favorite Italian VA for Sonic, alongside Renato Novara. His Sonic is not as soft spoken as Novara's, but he got a really cute voice, Sonic truly sounds like a teen when dubbed by him. He also dubs Shadow.

What to say? The stile is different (more aggressive) but the voice still sounds youthful. I think it suits Shadow very well. Despite being ageless and immortal, Shadow is biologically a little more than a cub. If I give him a cat age, he should be like a one year old cat (I don't know how hedgehogs age). The voice is approved.

Originally Sonic and Shadow had very similar sounding voice, although the two VA were two different people. When Sonic talked softly with Ryan's voice, sometimes he just sounded like Shadow. The advantage in having two different VA is that each of them can focus on his character alone. For Sonic and Shadow who are virtually identical there is this exceptaction that they should also sound the same, so although you remember they have different speech pattern, you still hear a bit of Sonic in Shadow and a bit of Shadow in Sonic. This work better with two different VA with a similar voice since one can be fully Sonic and the other can be fully Shadow.

In Italy Vidale (Sonic X) made them talk the same. Raffaele (unconscious I think) , made Shadow sound a little bit like Sonic, just with slight more growl.

In Sonic Prime Sonic and Shadow got two different VA (the very same from videogames and movie), with vastly different voices.

Now about the character himself: Boom Shadow is the worst Shadow around. Is incredible that, depending from the media, the story or the single game, Shadow can be either one of the best (example: SA2) or absolutely the worst of all (example: Boom). But he is also ridiculed by those around him: 'He is so uncool, i was like him in the past and i was uncool!' things like that. He bears some resemblance with IDW Shadow also in term of intelligence, I wonder if he does not care or he just doesn't realize people around him sees him as a joke. That are the damages mandates do.

Shadow usually is quite melancholic. In some media more than others. Boom Shadow basically appears to be happy overall (he is always smiling if nobody is around), probably victim of his own ego, but he is also unlikeable. He thinks to be almighty and treat the others as lesser being.

[gardens-light]

Friends With Benefits

Trying to balance museum employee by day, vigilante by night, and squeezing in a social life in between hasn't been easy for Steven. Love life? That's pretty non-existent for the poor guy. Dates seem to go well, (when he hasn't forgotten, or got dates wrong) but once things gets steamy... Not so much...

Being a little hung up of being ghosted by his recent date. Steven decides to catch up with his long term friend. To see where he's going wrong and perhaps could help. Well... he got more than he bargained for...

Content- Just some cutesy fluff.

"Tell me everything!"

You placed your drink down upon the surface of the small cafe table. The loud grinding of the coffee beans, gave Steven the few moments hesitation before he spoke.

"Well... me and Amy met up for our third date, last week on Wednesday. We went to the Italian place that you suggested. The convocation was going great, there was a connection between us-"

"Was there a connection? Or was she being polite, while you bore the shit out of her with your rambles?"

"Hey!-"

"Dude! You thought that... um, what's her name?... Chrissy! Chrissy from three months ago. You thought you two had a 'connection.'"

Steven frowned, feeling offended. "Me and Amy did have a connection! We had similar interests and talked passionately about them."

You nodded in approval and gestured for him to continue, as you took a sip from your drink.

"She loved the flowers. I treated her to ice-cream. A-And..."

You were on the edge of your seat. Gazing at him with deeply invested gaze. "And!"

"And she suggested of watching a movie back at my place. So... during the short walk to mine, her hand kinda... didn't stop rubbing my ass-"

"Details man! Give me details! Did she squeeze you? Was it a playful spank?- Most importantly, did you want it?"

You couldn't help but smile, as Steven's face turned red as a beetroot.

"U-Um... yes! I liked her squeezing my ass. It was... firm but not a hard squeeze. When we got to the door to the lobby of my building... sh-she kissed me-which felt so good! But..."

"But what?"

"I panicked when she touched my crotch. So I gave her a quick peck... and said 'goodnight' closing the door behind me." Steven placed his face into his hands.

While you sat back in your chair, feeling defeated and disappointed for his date. "What? Steven!-"

"I-I know! I was such a fool! But she was so beautiful! And smart! And fun! I-I just... couldn't help but freeze and panic."

More like you wouldn't let me help. Marc hissed in Steven's head.

Steven frowned and muttered to himself, "what 'help' could you provide?"

Idiot! I was married! What did you think we did during that whole time? Play Monopoly?...

You took another sip from your drink, before placing it back on the table. "Oh gees man. No wonder why she ghosted you. Wait! Is that the recurring problem during your dates?."

Steven's silence and awkward smile explained everything. You leaned over the table, trying to get a little closer to him. Speaking loud enough just for both of you to hear. "Can you... y'know?"

Steven's cheeks turned even more red, "what? O-Of course I can!"

"Then what's the problem?"

A heavy sigh left him, as he leaned back in his chair. No longer smiling awkwardly, just playing with his fingers. "I... get nervous..."

More like you won't let me take over!.

"I feel like that if... I do have intimacy with someone..."

They'll enjoy it?

"That I could be too rough. And hurt them."

A sweet smile spread across your lips. "Aww, Steven. You're a complete softy. You couldn't hurt anyone, even if you wanted to."

Steven's worried gaze looked up at you. If only you knew otherwise... his sad thought wondered.

Seeing him stare off into space a little. You cleared your throat, snapping Steven back into focus, before he could get lost in his own thoughts.

"How about I help you out?"

Steven pulled a puzzled expression. "H-Help?... How?"

"Simple. We go on a pretend date and you fuck me." You boldly spoke.

His jaw met the floor. Blinking in multiple times in confusion. He even shook his head a little, to make sure he didn't daydreamed. "Wh-What? But you're my friend!"

You simply shrugged your shoulders, "yes and?..." A little sigh left you. "Steven... I can see you get a little more and more insecure, every time a chick ghosts you. You're a sweet guy, and my best friend. I don't want to keep seeing you getting hurt."

"Y/N! Really! W-We don't have to!-"

"Steven. Seriously, I don't mind it. I'm simply just being a good friend and helping you solve your problem. Unless... you don't want too."

He could feel his cheeks feel a little warm. "Well..." He rubbed the back of his neck, "I-It's just... you're my best friend, Y/N. What if it gets a little weird between us afterwards?... or... we ugh... become no longer friends?..."

A soft chuckle left your throat, as a sweet smile spread across your lips. "There's nothing to worry about. Your performance in bed can't be that bad. How about we meet up back here tonight?"

"T-Tonight?"

"Yeah. Y'know the pretend date, I just mentioned? We'll act like we've never met- kinda like we met on Tinder or something. Does six o'clock sound good for you?"

"Y-Yes! I'll be my normal self. Normal 'date Steven'. Not the 'best-friend-I've-almost-known-my-whole-life' Steven..."

Six O'clock. Jamie's Italian.

"Act like we never met. Act like we never met." Steven repeated constantly as he rocked on his heels. Holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers, while fumbling with his tie in another.

You gotta let me out tonight.

Steven turned to his right, facing his reflection in the window. Marc stood with his arms crossed in the glass.

"No. This isn't a normal date-"

Aren't you supposed to pretend it is? Besides what's the worst that could happen?-

"That I could lose my best friend forever because of your screw up. Like you've screwed up everything else in my life.-"

Or we could have such a great time. That the soulmate we've been looking for, as been in front of us the whole time.

"That would never happen- oh sweet Jesus."

The sight of you came into his view. Steven's jaw hung open a little as he gazed at your appearance in awe. A cute red cocktail dress, outlined every curve of your silhouette. The sweetheart neckline showed off your cleavage nicely. You felt Steven's eyes wonder up and down your frame, as you sweetly smiled.

"Steven, right? Thanks for waiting. Sorry I'm late." You spoke in a warm tone.

It took him a good solid minute to find his voice again, and hand you the bouquet. "Th-These are for you!" was all that could stumble out of his mouth.

"Thank you. You remembered." You tried to hide your smile behind the bouquet, as you personally found Steven's awkwardness amusing.

He continued to rock on his heels. Only stopping and becoming as stiff as a board, when you reached out for his hand and held it in a gentle hold.

"What's wrong? A little shy?-"

"You're so fucking hot."

A confused expression wiped away your teasing smile, taken completely by surprise of Steven's sudden boldness. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, feeling embarrassed and ashamed by Marc's sudden outburst of words.

Don't screw this up! I beg of you! Steven pleaded Marc. As he adjusted his tie and cleared his throat.

"Oh dear! Oh my! I-I don't know what came over me. I completely apologize! I-I mean... you look so beautiful..."

"Thank you?..."

It took you a moment to shake off the awkward and sudden complement from Steven. Before you allowed him to lead you into the restaurant. The waiter lead you to the table, the waiter pulled out your chair before the thought hit Steven. Tucking yourself in and with Steven following, the pair at you gazed over the menu in silence. Only talking when announcing your order and giving each other small smiles.

More moments of small talk and brief awkwardness passed, before things got better and an actual convocation was flowing between the pair of you. Topics varying from interests, work and career goals. To personal and lifestyle goals.

"I honestly didn't think I would find myself at the gift shop at a museum." Steven admitted. "I've always wanted to be a tour guide. Or work on the artifacts and display them."

"Really? I thought you just took the position cause you wanted a job." You spoke in interest. "I honestly thought your interest in Egyptian history was more of a hobby."

"Well... who else learns to read hieroglyphics?"

You raised an eyebrow, "you can read hieroglyphics?"

"Ye-Yes, is that-"

"Fascinating? Yes! I never knew that! Why didn't you ever tell me about this hidden talent?"

Steven felt himself a blush a little, "I-I thought it would bore you. Cause y'know... you sometimes say 'not to mention nerdy stuff.'"

"Yea. 'Nerdy stuff' like rambling on about forgotten Gods and how the mummies were made. But being able to read hieroglyphics? That's awesome! You, sir! Are way to qualified to work at that gift shop."

A sweet smile came to his face, "r-really? I've tried to tell that to my boss Sarah. But she keeps dismissing me. My application aren't even taken seriously whenever a new position comes up. And it frustrates me, when they hire someone new, who clearly Googled stuff on their phone before the interview.-"

"And bullshit on their resume? Babe, I've got someone exactly like that at my job. So I can completely understand where you're coming from."

Babe?... S-She called me 'babe.'

Your meals shortly arrived at your table. But you kept asking about other interests or hobbies that Steven may had, that you didn't know about.

Steven felt good- great in fact. The way everything flowed so effortlessly between the pair of you. Similar interests and goals surfacing through convocation, that you both honestly didn't know about one another. His warm and geeky smile fluttered your heart, every time you looked at him.

This... is actually more fun than I admit. An honest thought swam through your head. Maybe... we should do this again sometime...

After finishing your meal, and splitting the bill. You and Steven left the restaurant, sharing moments of laughter as you sub-constantly begun to walk back to his place. It wasn't unusual for you guys to head back to his place after meeting up, but reality dawned on Steven as he approached the lobby door.

"We're...here. At my place..."

You hugged him from behind. "Yeah. Guess we got carried away talking. Let's go inside, maybe you could warm me up."

You felt his body stiffen, as Steven's mind lingered on your last three words. Placing a hand upon his cheek you made him face you. "Steven... we don't have you to, if you don't want to."

"Trust me Y/N. I-I want to... Tonight has been so great. And I've been nothing but comfortable with you this whole time. It's just... I'm worried that I might ruin things."

You gazed into his puppy-dog eyes, "how could you ruin things?."

"I-I don't know... Just... worried. That's all..."

Pulling him closer to you. Steven held his breath as he felt your breasts push up against his chest, your free hand playing with his tie as you leaned in close. His lips quivered as both of your eyes closed, and fell into a sweet, soft kiss. You could feel his nerves through his body language. Each kiss returned was paused by a slight hesitation. His hands fixed on your hips, afraid to move anywhere else. While you played with his curly locks and tie.

As you pulled away, your hands sliding down his torso and gently holding onto his belt. A sweet smile upon your lips, as Steven smiled sheepishly while blushing.

"W-Would you like to come inside?" He nervously asked.

You answered with a simple nod. Following Steven into the lobby and walking towards the lift. As you stepped inside and he pressed the button for his floor. Steven went all stiff again, as he felt you hug his arm, your breasts gently nudging his forearm with gentle bounces, as the lift jolted from floor to floor.

"Y-You have to meet my fish, Gus" his nervous tone blurted.

The awkwardness made you laugh under your breath, "really?"

"Yeah. He's a Goldish, but has one fin. I know 'Nemo' might of been better, but he's not a Clownfish. Gotta name pets appropriately."

Again you simply nodded, and continued to smile sweetly.

By the time you both reached his flat, Steven was nothing but a bundle of nerves. His eyes wandered all over your perfectly framed form, as you walked around in your little red cocktail dress. His heartbeat drumming in his rib cage, every time you bent over his desk to get a closer look at something. His cheeks redden every time you caught him staring, but flashed him a teasing smile. As you hiked up your dress a little more, or pulling the bodice down to expose more cleavage.

For the love of Ra, she's fucking gorgeous!

Steven looked at Marc in the nearby reflection of the kettle. Y/N is right there! Flirting and being playful. And what are you doing? Standing in the middle of the kitchen like a fucking idoit!.

"She's always been gorgeous. Her lovely personality, and how she laughs. All I need is her smile to make my day-"

Then what's holding you back?

"Th-There's so much emotion and thoughts going around in my head. I-I honestly don't know what to do."

You slowly turned your attention onto Steven, as he didn't realize he spoke out loud.

Listen. We have always loved and cared about her. You were too nervous to say or do anything still now. If Y/N wasn't comfortable with this idea, she wouldn't of offered. Plus she's flirting and being teasing- literally!.

"B-But how is sex supposed to improve or change things?"

"Steven?... Are you alright?"

You're overthinking! That's it! I'm taking control!

"What? No! No, you're not!"

You pulled a puzzled expression. "Steven. It's alright. Nothing will happen unless you want it to."

"Everything will be ruined-"

Shut the fuck up! You look completely ridiculous! Let me out!

A small gasp left your mouth as Steven collapsed onto his knees, his head slightly tilted back as eyes rolled into the back of his head. You quickly approached his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Steven! Steven, are you alright?"

His body posture straightened as he knelt against the hard wooden floor. His eyes fluttered open and slightly shaking his head. His gaze met your worried expression.

"I'm sorry" Marc spoke, trying his best to mimic Steven's voice. "I guess the alcohol went straight to my head.-"

"We don't have to do anything. I'll go home, there's nothing wrong in that-"

"Trust me. Letting you leave would be a deep regret. You're so lovely and ravishing right now, I honestly can't control myself. A... part of me, is so concerned that everything between us would be ruined. That it... 'overrides' the part of me that wants to just simply fuck you and make you mine. And I don't just mean tonight."

Again the sudden boldness' caught you off guard. You gazed at Marc, blinking in multiple times in confusion. He swivelled around on his knees to face you, making it easier for him to cup your face.

"May I kiss you?" Marc asked.

This time it was your turn to blush a little. As you nuzzled against his nose a little. "You said you wanted to make me yours right?" your sweet voice teased.

Marc gently pulled you a little closer. "If we start... I might not be able to control myself."

You sweetly bit his lower lip, "are you going to make me yours, or not Steven?"...