#I beta-test different names for Port in my spare time

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

could i request a nikolai x reader imagine with a drunken confession from either party that leads to awkwardness the next day and then a real and sober confession?

Y e s. Sorry to keep you waiting, had a busy week.

On The Rocks - Nikolai Lantsov

Content Warnings: Alcohol Consumption. Drunken Confessions. Suggestive Content. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Nikolai Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy , @writingmysanity

It was a dumb statement, clearly all ego and no sense and if Nikolai had thought about it even for a moment he would not have pushed his boastful comment into something he needed to prove, but he was already six shots in when the words left his mouth, and they didn't fall on deaf ears.

"I could still drink you under the table, Kir Bataar," he states, that grin of his so foxlike and devious even without the alcohol spurring him on.

Tamar laughs and she is ready to let it go, but he holds her gaze and Tamar wasn't born to back down from a challenge. "Want to test that, Captain?" She asks, raising a glass.

"This I have to see," you whisper into your drink.

Now you know, Tolya knows, and Tamar knows you should have cut him off a while ago. But it is hard to get Nikolai to listen to sense even at the best of times. It's often just rebutted with "I prefer to live on a healthy diet of impulsivity and regret." And you know how much he will regret when his head is hammering in the morning.

Tamar is still able to hustle cards while Nikolai is forcibly being tapped out. "I'm going to make sure he makes it to his bed in one piece," you tell the others.

"Don't let him drag you overboard," Tolya calls after you.

"Or into bed," Tamar adds before knocking back the last of her drink. You laugh at them both before guiding Nikolai out.

The alcohol has reduced his normally expansive vocabulary, and excessive capability to talk to the limit of your name. Like a request, a need, a prayer. Only your name over and over.

You're trying to ignore him, he is always charming, always flirty, but this... This feels specific. "Any port in a storm," you mumble. Nikolai drunk as he might be looks offended.

"You doubt my intention," he asks. His smile is soft and his eyes don't leave you, if you didn't know how much he had drank you'd almost believe it was really you he wanted, and not just because you are here and he is drunk.

"I doubt that you would be looking at me with those eyes if you weren't drunk," you tell him, making sure to keep him a distance from the edge of ship.

"I crave you," he admits, looking up at the sky, "you might notice that I'm in love with you to the point of breathlessness, if you weren't always looking the other way."

Your throat is suddenly sand dry and you think you might forget how to swallow, but then Nikolai is tripping up over the deck and you remember just how much he has had to drink. It would be foolish, you tell yourself, to put any merit to drunken confessions, things he would not otherwise say. But it doesn't stop your heart from begging you to reach out to him. But you've gotten pretty good at ignoring your heart until now, why should tonight be any different?

"If you keep walking like that Captain you won't get to your-" he pulls you in close, keeping you steady and your words fall short.

"See," he smirks and you can smell the bourbon, "perfectly balanced."

"It's cruel you know," you tell him, keeping your voice genuine but not scolding. "To play games with someones feelings just because you've had enough alcohol to not think your actions have consequences."

He frowns, and in the moonlight you can recognise that look of hurt in those eyes of his, all traces of Sturmhond long gone and just the boy prince remains.

"Come on," you remind him, "before you start the rumours going about why it took me so long to get back."

You wake him with a tall glass of water and he scrunches his face. "Couldn't you spare me some whisky?"

"After your performance last night?" You laugh, "no, Captain, I don't think I can. You drank like a fish, I can imagine your head hurts."

You're not incorrect, his head does hurt, but he wakes to the pain in his chest running a close competition to the banging in his skull.

His memories break the fog of the thumping pain and he wants to have words with himself, strong and explicit. That is not how he wanted to do things.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I was out of line."

"You were drunk, besides it isn't like I took you seriously, I know better," you tell him. That stings Nikolai more than he thought it would.

"What do you mean by that?" He asks, sitting up right.

"I just mean to say I know you have no real interest in me Captian, so I didn't take drunken flirting to heart," you explain.

"What makes you say that?" He asks. You look at him with softness and you are met with almost sad eyes- needy, wanting, restless. The ocean of emotions swimming in that gaze nearly knocks you breathless.

"I," you manage a breath, "Nikolai you cannot ask me that, it's unfair, if I think about the possibility of your feelings for me too long, I get dizzy and lightheaded. I cannot let myself get lost in the illusion youd have feelings for me, it's not fair to me."

"Do you have feelings for me?" He asks.

"That is a bold and frankly unfair question," you start.

"I have not said an untrue word, sober or otherwise, so I need ask, do you have feelings for me, because I want nothing more than to be clear and honest about the depths of mine."

You feel the air in your lungs tight in your chest. "You meant it?"

"I meant it," the look he holds you with is stronger than any physical grip you've ever known. "Do you?"

"I like you," you say a little coy.

"You... like me?" He smirks, edging closer.

"I really like you," you try, leaning to lessen the space.

"I was hoping for maybe a different word," Nikolai admits.

"Want?" You offer. Something in his eyes lights up.

"Oh, that word might be even better,l"

"Here, now?"

"Those are my favourites so far."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov #nikolai duology #rule of wolves #king of scars

[needcake]

day 3: cherish

Human AU, G, 700 words.

Arthur Kirkland (England) / Teodomiro da Costa (Portugal)

@engportevents

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They have fallen into a routine. It was the same one they had gotten used to since Teo’s second book, the one that made it to the top 10 best sellers for weeks and catapulted their normal, small existence into unwanted fame.

Back then, Arthur had begrudgingly accepted being shoved around by the publisher’s publicist, left at the fringes of the room while Teo’s picture was exhaustively taken and he was asked again and again why did he decide to kill the main character in the final chapter. Read the damn book and learn why, he would grumble to himself and Teo would laugh tiredly, thinking Arthur couldn’t see the bags under his eyes from going on too little sleep and too much self-doubt about his own literary choices.

His husband had the habit of doing his best writing late at night and well into the early hours, so Arthur and his strict accountant schedule would leave him to it in his office and curl up in bed alone, only to wake up the next morning to find him tucked in the far side of the bed where he had slipped quietly into as not to disturb Arthur’s sleep even if it did leave him with the shortest end of the blankets.

The second book’s success had been a surprise to all of them, since the first one hadn’t gathered enough attention and barely made any money back to the publisher. But now there was even talks of an award, and even though Arthur knew it stroked Teo’s ego, it also weighted him down. There were great expectations for the third book currently being written. Would it prove him to be as great a writer his new acclamation made him out to be or would it expose him as a fraud who had gotten lucky, but was no more than another failed writer struck by fleeting inspiration? Arthur knew his husband well enough to know he hoped for the former while firmly believing in the latter. He also knew that whatever happened, it would equally crush him.

So he let routine take over and hoped it provided him with the solid ground he needed. He would wake up in the morning while he slept and leave him breakfast and a full pot of coffee in the kitchen before heading into work.

You’re too good to me, Teo would tell him when they finally saw each other during the home-cooked dinners he greeted Arthur with when he would come home at night after spending the day looking at his computer screen and excel formulas and blurry numbers. We make it work, he would say in return and Teo would smile that small, sad smile that always spoke volumes of how little he thought of himself and that made Arthur’s heart tighten painfully.

He would then retreat into his study and Arthur would be left alone in front of the telly to watch the news and maybe the first half of the football match depending on the day.

When one night came and he made his way into bed early, and by early it meant not too long past midnight, which Arthur checked through sleepy half-open eyelids, and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s middle, breathing deeply into the back of his neck, he knew he had finished it.

“Is it any good?” he asked, securing his arms around his stomach and pulling him tighter against his back.

“I’m sure the critics in the paper will hate it,” Teo answered, which in Teo-talk meant that yes, it was good. Arthur sighed contently and leaned back into him.

And it was good. The third book proved to be an even greater success than the previous one. Some Hollywood producers wanted to acquire the rights to turn it into a movie, Teo’s schedule became a jumbled mess of meetings and interviews and photo shoots, and they saw each other even less for the following months while he went on a world tour to promote it.

But when he came back home, they again fell back into routine. And Teo laughed, small and a little too self-conscious, when he saw the page Arthur had ripped out and had framed and hung under the ancient clock they had gotten from Arthur’s older sister as a wedding gift, and that consisted only in the two-sentence inscription he had written, and was the same in all three of his books:

To Arthur.

For the coffee.

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#I beta-test different names for Port in my spare time #engport #hws portugal #hws england #aph england #aph portugal #hetalia #engportweekevent #a wild fic appears

[asooptimization-blog]

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